Page 11 of The German's Guilty Pleasure
He lifted a brow and fought back a smile. “Man meat? Classy.” I shrugged in defiance of the conversation. “What about the males in other countries?”
I eyed his still tented trousers. “It doesn’t appear that will be a problem. Let me amend my statement. Any red-blooded male is going to buy something set up like a gaming console that strokes their man meat, regardless of what it’s called.”
Another naughty grin slid across his face. “Not untrue. So, how do you say it here? We have hit a homerun?”
I shook my head while I walked to the door. “No, you knocked it out of the park.” His resulting smile and wink told me he knew exactly what the saying was. “I have a meeting in three minutes. However, don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten that my picture was on your app. A discussion will be had at a later date in regards to that matter.”
He strode toward me with intent and purpose. “Do not think for a moment I have forgotten that you think a fifteen-thousand-dollar sensual aid is the same as one that is fifteen dollars. A discussion will be had at a later date in regards to that matter.”
I nodded once, turned on my heel, and hurried down the hall. I did have a meeting in three minutes, but first I had to find new panties. His little demonstration melted mine right off.
Five
Lars
My groin was relaxed for the first time all day. After spending a quality ten minutes with The Diamondback, the roaring in my veins had lessened to a dull ache, but that was about to change again.
I rapped on the door to her apartment and waited. When she did not answer immediately, I pressed my lips to the door. “Miss Matthews, I can hear you breathing on the other side of the door.”
The latch clicked, and she stuck her head out. “Miss Matthews? Did I do something to rub you the wrong way, boss?”
Mmm, this woman. I spent the entire day biting my tongue to avoid inappropriate responses. It looked like that was about to continue. If this were a perfect world, I would push the door open, throw her on the bed, tell her the problem was she hadn’t rubbed me today, and then relieve that ache that had once again become a burn the moment I saw her.
“On the contrary, I was practicing for this evening.”
“Practicing for this evening, why? Did I miss a meeting?”
The door swung open to reveal the object of my desire … wearing a tank top and the shortest shorts I had ever the pleasure to see. Considering I was in Miami, that was saying a lot. I cleared my throat to avoid my voice sounding like that of a prepubescent boy when I spoke. “Dinner.”
She shook her head at me. “We don’t have a dinner scheduled for tonight. This was the one night all week that we didn’t have a scheduled dinner.” The way she put emphasis on the wordscheduledtold me she was indeed unhappy. I could change her mind.
I stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind me. She had definitely made the place her own since she moved in. I loved her eclectic collections ranging from flowered teacups to tiny deer figurines. I ran my hand over the open lid of her stereo cabinet. “This is new.”
“Hardly. It’s from the early 1970s,” Serenity said, leaning against the back of a chair.
I did not take my eyes from the stereo when I spoke. “I meant to your apartment. It is incredible to see a piece like this in such pristine condition. It is more incredible to see one that opens from the top with the original player still inside. Truly magnificent. How did you come by it?”
“Do you mean how did my homeless butt manage to afford an antique? That’s what you’re really asking, right?”
When I glanced up, our gazes locked. I had my hands wrapped around her upper arms before she could take another breath. “I do not recall saying anything about your homeless butt or your ability to afford antiques. You are the one who said such nonsense. Do not imply that is something I would say.”
Her bluster fell away, and she dropped her arms to her sides. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That’s all me.” She rubbed her forehead in the cutest display of frustration I had ever seen. I lowered her hand back to her side without letting it go.
“Now then, how did you acquire such a lovely piece of furniture?”
She sighed heavily in resignation. “I was visiting Babette the other day, and she had it by the side of the garage for the thrift shop to pick up. I asked her if I could have it. I intended to repurpose it, but when I got it home, I discovered the player still worked, and look,” she stepped around me and opened the small door on the front. Inside was a row of vinyl records. “Original albums from some of the great hitmakers of the 70s.”
I knelt and pulled one out. “Wow, I do not know a lot about American music from that era, but even I know Steely Dan and The Eagles.”
She motioned at them. “I know, right? I was blown away. I guess what they say is true, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
I stood and brushed off my hands. “Or in this case, woman’s, but yes. It appears to be very much true. I would like to come over some night with a bottle of wine and listen to these albums. Would that be something I could impose upon you?”
She brushed her hand at me and grinned, before ducking her head. “You’re never imposing. I’d love to have someone else appreciate it as much as I do. I like to put a record on, open the patio door, and sit outside on the balcony. It’s relaxing at the end of a long day.”
“Sounds lovely. So lovely, I might reconsider our plans.”
She lifted one perfectly plucked brow at me. “Our plans? We didn’t have plans. I had plans. I planned to listen to some music while sipping a Bartles & Jaymes.”
