Body of Work (5 page)

“Still sleeping at eight thirty—must’ve been a late night.”

Not just work calling, but the owner. The guy who not only signed Brian’s paychecks, but kept dangling the juicy carrot of partial ownership in his face. Guess he’d forgo the sarcasm and let Trevor needle him a little.

“I closed last night. Didn’t get out of there until after twelve thirty.” Tack a couple of hours onto that for the fucking and late-night talking in bed, and he’d had all of five-or-so hours’ sleep.

Trevor’s phony laugh came through the cell. “I bet there’s more to it than that. What was her name—no, scratch that question. Who gives a shit what her name was, right? Better question, was she worth the sleep deprivation?”

The guy was a no-class womanizer, but Brian forced himself to laugh as if he agreed. “Yeah, definitely.” And that part was one-hundred-percent true.

“Lucky bastard. I scored one at Frenzi when the power went out. Big tits and lips to match. She couldn’t keep her hands off me in the bar, but when I tried to get her primed in the BMW, she froze up. Wouldn’t let me touch her, looked at me like I was a pervert when I suggested she suck my dick on the way to my place. All I got out of it was missionary in the dark. Put her in a cab after instead of driving her home. Why bother, right?”

What a dick. If Trevor wasn’t holding Brian’s future in his hands, he’d tell the guy exactly what he thought of him. “Better luck next time.”

“I’ll choose better tonight. Maybe I’ll take home two to make up for last night.”

Brian had nothing against casual sex or kink, but Trevor’s attitude toward women made his blood boil. Good thing the asshole kept his presence at the gym to a minimum. Speaking of which, hopefully the idiot wasn’t saying all this shit within earshot of members. “Are you up front?”

“Sitting in my office. I need you to come in.”

“Somebody call in sick?” Code for hungover on a weekend morning.

“That twit with the big fake tits, Shanna, and she’s not sick. Try still drunk from last night. I’d fire her ass if I hadn’t fucked it already.”

Unbelievable. The dick had made Brian sign a contract prohibiting romantic involvement or sexual contact with members, yet he was fucking his employees, thus rendering them un-fireable when they pulled shit like calling in wasted. From where Brian stood—which happened to be buck naked in a member’s living room—Shanna had more brains than he’d given her credit for. She’d essentially traded her ass for job security and the ability to completely slack off. This bullshit would stop when he owned a share of Iron Works, that was for damn sure.

“When?” he asked, shrugging on his pants.

“Half an hour ago. Eight-to-three shift.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I grab a shower.”

“No time for that, I have a nine-fifteen tee-off. Be here in ten.”

Asshole. “On my way.” He stuffed the cell in his pocket and took a look around the room. Pretty nice in the daylight. Walls and furniture in shades of brown. Cream-colored curtains and chunky metal accessories. Not a prissy thing in sight—a living room any guy would be comfortable in. Cassie even had a decent-sized TV. If she liked sports as much as she liked sex, he might ask her to marry him.

The random thought stopped him mid-stride. A couple months of easy conversation and one hot night didn’t mean he should cash in his savings for an engagement ring. But damn, coming home to Cassie after work every night—not difficult to imagine.

He crept into the bedroom and collected his shirt and socks from the floor. He’d been right, she was cute when she slept. So damn adorable he didn’t want to disturb her. She murmured in her sleep, her eyebrows drawing together. Her hands moved to her breasts, cupping them. Cute, hell yeah. Sexy, double that. If he hadn’t agreed to go to work, he’d burrow under the sheets and bury his face between her legs for a wakeup call. His cock thought that was a great idea. It wanted him to tell Trevor to cancel his fucking tee time and work a full shift for a change, while Brian spent the day making Cassie come as many ways as possible. And that list got longer by the second.

He bent to whisper in her ear, then thought better of it. One sleepy smile from Cassie and he’d be lost in her. Last time he checked, nobody was paying him to fuck, so he’d better haul ass to the gym. He resisted kissing her—barely—and went to her kitchen. Another nice, tidy room. Navy and stainless steel with shots of yellow here and there. And the woman stocked quality food. He grabbed a couple pieces of fruit for breakfast on the go. Snagged a notepad from the fridge door and scribbled a short note. He closed the door behind him and jogged to his Jeep. Leaving sucked, especially this way, but he’d see her later tonight. With that to look forward to, nothing could ruin his day.

* * * * *

Wow, he’d certainly left his mark. Cassie smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. An oval bite mark on her neck and three small spots that were definitely bruises from his fingertips digging into her hip. Nothing on her nipple, surprisingly. Kind of disappointing. The tenderness when she moved spoke of how well he’d used her pussy. If he meant what he’d said, tonight he’d do it all again. A shiver rippled through her. Tonight was too far away.

She stepped to the vanity to read the note he’d left on her kitchen counter.

Good morning, Cutie. Got called in to cover somebody’s 8-3 shift. I wouldn’t have answered the damn cell, but I didn’t want it to wake you. Stuff to do after work, then I’ll probably grab a nap before bouncing because somebody very hot and sexy wore me out. Not complaining, though—last night was incredible. You were incredible. See you soon.

So the man wasn’t a poet. The note still scored nicely on the romance scale. He’d enjoyed last night, enjoyed
her
. Then he’d spent the night wrapped around her, a gentle giant replacing the rough lover from earlier. God, she was totally hooked, so much worse than before. She wanted him. Daytime, nighttime, as much as she could get. She just had to be smart. Keep him in her bed and out of her studio.

Not that he’d have a problem with the explicit subject matter in her body of work—show her a man who didn’t enjoy naked photos. The trouble with disclosing her boudoir business fell into the opposite column. The few guys she’d told had been
too
interested, expected her to show them “the dirty pictures”. The one time she had shared… She shivered. Never again. Since the breakup with Lance—after which he’d used that sharing against her—she’d vowed to keep all the skin she shot hidden. The only people who knew about her alter ego’s work were her clients and Nana, after bailing Cassie out. That’s how it had to be, period.

Speaking of clients, the Mancusos would be here at three. Since she’d already prepped for their session, she had time to hit the gym—for the sixth time this week. Training had been part of her regular routine since her early twenties, but this was definitely the most dedicated she’d ever been. Because of her increased motivation—Brian—she could see the beginnings of a six-pack on her midsection. She twisted to see them flex. Raised her arms to shoulder level and curled her fists upward, making her biceps pop. Not too shabby. Her triceps and shoulders could use some extra work, though. Maybe she should splurge on some personal training.

She smiled at the idea, already picturing Brian bossing her around in the gym, his hands on her body as he guided her movements. Definitely worth dipping into her savings a little.

She hustled down the hall to her bedroom. New gym clothes rarely made it to the monthly budget and the pickings in her drawer were slim. He’d already seen her in her birthday suit, so her limited wardrobe shouldn’t make too much difference. She chose cut-off sweats that showed a little more butt than appropriate and one of her former extravagances, a Nike workout tank with a built-in bra that boosted her breasts. A couple of barrettes to keep her unruly hair from poking her in the face, her cross-trainers and ready or not, she was off.

* * * * *

Tons of cars packed the Iron Works parking lot. Cassie found a spot in an outer row and locked her faithful little Ford. Not that anybody would want to steal it, especially parked next to a BMW worth at least four times as much. One day she’d upgrade her vehicle. After she’d banked enough money to buy a location for her studio
separate
from her home. She patted the hood as she walked away. Even with her increasing referrals, she and the Ford had many more years together.

She spied Brian’s dark-green Jeep near the door. Due to last night’s storm, the top was up and the doors in place. Not the norm. The man preferred it stripped to the bare bones, a deathtrap on four thick wheels. She’d only seen him driving it one time, but the image was a keeper. Ginger-haired lumberjack of a man with one hand on the wheel, one hand on the roll bar overhead, his left foot sticking out the doorless gap as he peeled into the lot. A man’s vehicle had never done much for her until the day she saw Brian in this Jeep. Consider her among the converted. Now she couldn’t help thinking about sex every time she saw a green Jeep, any green Jeep. But especially this one.

She walked along the driver’s side, her fingers lightly trailing along the warm metal. Considering what it might be like to go for a ride triggered old fears. What if the thing rolled? What if they hit a bump and without doors or a roof, she was thrown clear of the vehicle? No, she wouldn’t go there, to ancient history and heartache over her loss. Not with much better scenarios to focus on. Brian driving them somewhere off the beaten path, tying her to one of those padded roll bars and fucking her until she screamed loud enough to be heard all the way to the city. Oh boy. Also not the thing to be thinking about right now.

She stopped a couple feet from the gym door. Yanked her shoulder bag around front and feigned rooting through it. She could pretend she’d forgotten some important item. Drive home and masturbate instead of working out. With the hum building between her legs, she’d probably be riding her vibrating dildo for a good twenty minutes. That had to count as cardio. Heck, if she knelt and kept her knees bent, it’d be a leg workout too.

“Hey, Cassie. Don’t usually see you here on the weekend.” Sam, another of Iron Works’ personal trainers, paused beside her to hold the door open. “Coming or going?”

She couldn’t help smiling, and not because Sam was incredibly hot, though in an entirely different way from Brian. If she answered “coming”, she wouldn’t be. Not for at least an hour. She’d never had an orgasm at the gym, though she’d certainly gotten close on the stationary bike. Dangerously close the times Brian was in her field of vision while she pedaled and ground her clit into the saddle.

“Drag her in here, Sam.” Brian’s voice snapped her back. She followed the toe-curling sound to where he stood behind the front counter, arms folded across his chest, a panty-melting smile on his face. “Or I’ll come over there and do it myself.”

Sam nodded toward the opening. “You don’t want to mess with the big guy. Better do as he says, or next thing you know, he’ll be hauling you out for his Sunday boot camp.”

“His boot camp?” She tried to focus on Sam while they crossed the entry area to the desk. Tried. Hard to do with Brian unabashedly stalking every step she took. “Is that a new class—I haven’t heard about it.”

“Not new, and not here.” Sam flashed a grin. He really did have an incredible smile. “Forget about the boot camp, you don’t need it. You get any better-looking and we’ll never get any work done while you’re around.”

Such a flirt, Sam. Always chatting up the female membership, spreading his charm and no doubt inciting some hot fantasies. Just not in her.

“Hey, Jacobs. I’m off in an hour. You and me and the gloves, and I’m not talking about hitting the heavy bags.”

Sam let a laugh rip, then tipped an invisible hat at her. “And with that warning, I’m off to prep for a sparring match.”

She watched Sam until he disappeared around a corner, then turned back to the desk to scan her membership card. “You and Sam are going to box? I might have to stick around to see that.”

“If you want to see me punch the cocky smile off his face, be my guest.”

From everything she’d observed and heard the past few months, Brian and Sam were buddies. Good ones. The scowl on Brian’s face didn’t support that theory. He hadn’t tried to hide his possessive nature, nor did she want him to, but jealous about Sam being, well, Sam? “Um, okay, maybe I’ll take a pass.”

He handed her the standard-issue white towel offered to all members when they worked out, but when she accepted it, he used it to pull her closer, rather than letting go. “You’d rather not see me damage his pretty face?”

The counter separated them, but it might as well have been air. Heat rolled off him—it surrounded her, sparking a riot of conflicting sensations inside. “I’d rather not see
you
like…however this is.”

He released the towel, and the lack of tension made her stumble backward. “Have a good workout.”

As if that would happen now, with Brian obviously pissed at her. Did he seriously think she was interested in Sam, especially after last night? She went through the motions, stashing her things in a locker, working through one of her upper-body routines in a zombie-like state. Three sets of curls with the bent bar, super-setted with skull-crushers and close-grip presses for triceps. Then, seated military presses for her shoulders, alternating with decline-bench abdominal crunches. Twenty minutes gone and still no sign of Brian in the weight room. Not even for a peek.