Charisse lay curled up in the dark. The high thread count cotton sheets and pillow top mattress gave her no comfort. At least she had pajamas on. She was sure they were what Raul had chosen and not something Conor picked out. They were plain knit shorts and a cami. By tomorrow night she’d probably be sleeping in a sheer teddy…if she was lucky. For all she knew he’d really go the whole slave route, and she’d be sleeping in cuffs and a collar. Maybe chained to the bed.
She shivered. Conor had never struck her as a guy who was into BDSM, but the amount of times she’d judged a situation or person wrong threatened to overwhelm her and revert her back to the blubbering mess she’d been at the beginning of the week.
She took a deep breath.
An image of Conor fondling the model’s breasts beneath the flimsy dress she wore as they drank champagne took over her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut against the image, trying to force it out of her head. Conor could screw whoever he wanted. She just had no idea how she was going to get through three weeks of sex with him. Maybe she could feign being sick for the three weeks or get a doctor’s note saying sex would be too difficult while she tried to recover from her time with Josh.
She opened her eyes, feeling a bit more optimistic. She’d schedule an appointment tomorrow if she could. Probably mentioning Conor and Dr. Mandala as a reference would get her pushed to the top of the list. Then she’d finally come out ahead in a deal for a change.
She heard the front door open. Her room was right next to the living room by the Ansel Adams picture she’d admired the first time she’d visited. Without thinking, she stood up and padded to her bedroom door. She just wanted to sneak a peek out of morbid curiosity.
She opened the door a crack and peered out. She heard his footsteps coming into the apartment. She expected him to turn the other way to his bedroom, but to her surprise, he turned toward her room. Their gazes met for a split second before Charisse ran back to her bed and jumped under the covers. Maybe he hadn’t seen her at all. Maybe she’d just imagined it.
She closed her eyes to feign sleep. From behind her eyelids she could tell the room lightened and knew he’d pushed the door open. She tried to slow her breathing. Surely he was all sexed out by now. He’d orgasmed twice with her, and who knew how many times with the model. She didn’t want him in her bed.
The scent of pot and sweat accosted her. She wanted to wrinkle her nose but knew he’d notice. Why didn’t he just leave? He seemed to stay in her doorway for as long as it took her to file a customer’s nails.
“It’s after two,” he said at last. “You should be asleep. You have an early day.”
She opened her eyes. The light from the hallway outlined him, making him appear as a shadowy figure. “You sound like Daddy. That’s a little disturbing. I guess everything worked out like Marie said it would, with me being payment.”
He reached out, grabbed the knob and slammed the door shut.
One for her. Except feeling like a whore did not feel like a victory.
Evelyn Aster 