Page 10 of The VIP Package

I’m not making much of a case for why I’m not nuts.

I start to hand back the handkerchief, then decide that’s inappropriate. The thought sets me laughing again. So does the sight of Ashton Holyfield’s bare chest heaving, his ripped-openshirt showcasing magnificent pecs. He’s still wearing his tailored suit jacket with the tip of his silk tie pointing right at his cock.

“You’re a hot mess,” I manage to wheeze. “Your hair’s all fucked up and your pants?—”

“I’ma hot mess?” He lets go of my hip and tugs up his trousers, fastening the button with fingers still sticky from me. “You show up at my resort without a reservation, go prowling around my boiler room commanding strangers to fuck you, andI’mthe hot mess?”

“Just the one stranger,” I point out. It’s not much of an argument. “I’m open to multiple strangers, though.”

“I know. I saw your paperwork.”

Jesus, why did I hand him that? He might have a point. I might be insane.

But as I study his way-too-attractive face, I considerinsanemight be just what I need.

“Are you really Ashton Holyfield?”

His dark scowl unclenches. He looks almost bemused. “You think I’m the janitor?”

“You think that matters?” Of course he’s an elitist asshole. “I’ve got nothing against men who perform blue collar manual labor.”

“Nor do I,” he claps back. “But they don’t tend to wear Armani.”

Fair point. “Is the resort really closed?”

“Do you always question everything?”

“Yes.” Most definitely. “Some things more than others.”

“Though clearly not whether it’s wise to have unprotected sex with men you’ve just met in a boiler room.”

I wince. “Would you believe me if I said it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like that?”

“Yes.” He sounds surprised to admit it. “I would.”

“Well it was.” I look down at my dress on the floor. “It’s been a weird day.”

“You don’t say.” He bends down and picks up the tattered remains of my dress, folding it neatly before handing it to me. “I’m not certain it’s salvageable, but if you like?—”

“Don’t bother.” I walk to my duffel, still leaking his cum down my legs. My underwear’s missing, so I’m dressed in a bra, attempting to maintain as much dignity as possible. “I’m sure there’s something else I can wear.”

Unzipping my gym bag, I pull out pink Lycra bike shorts and the bright-yellow sports bra I wear when I need to do laundry. There’s a good chance I didn’t bring underwear.

“So much for dignity,” I mutter as I pull on the shorts.

“Allow me to suggest a shopping spree in our on-site boutique.” Ashton steps to my side, lending his muscular forearm for balance while I wriggle into the bike shorts. “Complimentary, of course. It’s the least we can do before sending you on your way.”

“We?” I straighten and smooth down my hair. “Thought you gave the whole team a paid holiday.”

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, looking a little bit flustered. “Be that as it may, my accountant will want records of why I gave away hundreds of dollars in charitable clothing donations.”

Charity? Something about that word sets me on edge. Clenching my jaw, I stuff the ripped dress in my gym bag.

“Don’t let me trouble you, Ash Hole.” I try to pull on the bra top, but it gets twisted around my head. “I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

He frowns, catching the edge of the Lycra to help me tug it in place. “You can’t go like this.”

“Dressed like a refugee from a Lululemon explosion, you mean?” I look down at my outfit and yeah—it’s not awesome. “Believe me, I’ve done worse.” Today is a perfect example.

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