Page 73 of Rogue
“Fine. You men always miss the point. You’re in such a rush.” I gesture toward Diego, and Hayden actually laughs.
Now that’s progress.
“Genuine power comes in the promise of a single word.” I fall silent. A naughty, manipulative move, pulling a Haydenesque stunt on them at a time like this.
The room erupts with noise, each man trying to fill the silence.
“Orgasm,” Hayden says with authority.
I shake my head no.
“Orgasms,” Diego adds, stressing the plurals.
I shake my head again.
Jaxson stares down at me. “Foreplay.”
“Be more precise.”
“Verbal foreplay.”
Yep, I learned it from the best, I think but can’t risk saying.
“Verbal foreplay,” Declan repeats. Yeah, the concept is probably as foreign as chef’s salad in his book.
“Or in one word…titillation. The promise of what can be. Why do you think lingerie was invented? Or lipstick? Or why women sway their hips. Fuel for every man’s fantasy.” I drive my point home. “While I was telling my tale about getting my tonsils tickled, who was in control?”
Dead silence. Guess losing control isn’t something these alpha males will ever ante up to. I arch an eyebrow at Jaxson.
He rolls his eyes at me.
At least he’s no longer the focus of Hayden’s anger. I give myself a mental pat on the back. Yep. Way to control a bad situation.
“She’s good. Had me going, real hard,” Declan adds.
“Where did you find her again?” Diego asks. “Franco’s going to be eating out of her hand.”
Hayden speaks. “Point taken, Kylie. Do what you must. You’re all . . . dismissed.” He chuckles once more.
Holy hell. I deserve a medal.
Taking a manila folder out of his desk, he passes it to me. “Share this information with Francis.” Then he addresses Jaxson, and whatever good humor lingers within the room is balled up, speed washed, rung out, and then hung out to dry.
“Go.” Hayden points to the door.
What the hell?
“Kylie, leave us,” Jaxson says.
Oh shit. This isn’t going to be pretty. He hasn’t dismissed Jaxson’s action.
I take my time. Scooping up the envelope with the thick wad of Franklins, lining up the papers inside my three-inch manila, adjusting the leather chair . . .
The silence in the room is deafening.
“You done?” Hayden demands.
I nod.
