Page 77 of The Love Scam
“No, I’m not greedy. Two, three times a year, max. Only once last year.” Usually they were smart. Usually they gave in. Usually that was enough… until the next time.
He nodded. “Okay. I mean—that’s not great, but it’s something. And maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe you’ll retire.”
“Maybe,” she said, and thought,Doubt it. But hell, if it’ll make you feel better.Then a thought struck her. “Okay, so you found my spreadsheets and even looked through a couple. You didn’t also by any chance—”
“Yeah, I looked at your porn.” Finally, a smile. “Assablanca? Really?”
“You shut up!” she cried, then burst into giggles. Rake cracked up, too, and she was so relieved she’d made him laugh, she decided just to be mortified, not mortified and furious. “It was a gift from a friend. I swear!”
“Sure it was,” he managed, then laughed harder.
“I refuse to apologize for being interested in terrible porn!”
“Which is yet another reason I adore you.”
Well. He was sweet to say it, even if it had to be a lie. Then he started tickling her, and then she showed him a thing or two about pressure points and leverage, and before long their giggles had faded and they were hot and panting and needing each other, and soon enough
(too long took too long)
he was inside her again, filling her up with that glorious cock, and she was clutching him to her while her heels dug into his back and he murmured, “You’re glorious, God, you’re so wonderful,” and she very determinedly didnotthink about tomorrow.
Forty-three
She woke up once, reached for him, started to panic.
“Shhh. I’m right here. I had to make a couple of phone calls.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay. Not going anywhere now ’til morning.”
Morning,she thought with despair, and snuggled back up to him.
There was a firm knock at the door, and Delaney extricated her limbs from Rake’s—three bouts of sex had done the man in; he was snoring like a lumberjack with a head cold—grabbed the hotel robe out of the closet, and called, “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Oh.Fuck.“Rake!” she whispered. “Wake up.”
Nope. Too busy snoring.
“Rake!” She kicked the bed. “Rake, you gotta wake up now.” No time to get dressed. No time to think up a plausible—
You know what? Fuck it.
“Hnnn? ’Laney? S’wrong?”
“Everything,” she said, and opened the door.
The older woman was impeccably dressed in a yellow tweed suit with a cream-colored blouse, sensible flesh-colored panty hose, and sturdy brown shoes. Her hair was blond and silver and pulled back. Her eyes were Rake’s.
They measured each other. “Nice to meet you in person, dear.”
“Yeah,” she said, but really, it wasn’t.Nicewas the wrong word. She stepped back from the door and turned toward the bed. Rake was on his feet, focused on wrapping the sheet around his waist. The early-morning sunlight gleamed in his chest hair.
Gleamed in his chest hair? Get ahold of yourself, woman.
“Rake, I know this is going to seem impossible, but this is my client. She’s—”
