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Security steps forward, and he gives me a sheepish look, but lets them run their metal detecting wands over me. “There’s a knife in my bag,” I inform them, dropping it to the ground.
One of the men runs a wand over it, and the thing lights up with several beeping noises. They look up at Johnny who’s smiling. “I told her to take it in case that asshole detective came around again.”
They chuckle, handing the bag to Johnny so he can make the final decision. When they’re done running the wand over me, Johnny hands the bag back to me. I take it from him, trying to keep my distance. If I can feel Brawler on me, I don’t want Johnny to. “Glad I’m back,” I say as we head toward his suite. “I need a shower in the worst way.”
His chest rumbles appreciatively.
He opens the door to the suite, and I walk in and stop. Candles flicker on the square dining room table tucked to the right of the room. He never uses it as far as I can tell, but today, fancy white plates are laid out with heaps of steaming food. An ornate vase lies in the center, beautiful white roses bursting out of it in bunches perfectly arranged.
He grabs my hand in his, pulling it up to his face so he can kiss my knuckles again. He loves to do that. Always has. It reminds me of some debonair character from the old South. A true gentleman. The kind us girls only read about in books. It’s such a sweet gesture that’s so unlike him—but also very much like him.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Just a little something,” he preens.
I turn toward him, and although I don’t regret Brawler’s touch on my skin, I’m burning from the inside out. Brawler doesn’t know I care for Johnny and Johnny doesn’t know I care for anyone but him. Telling them isn’t an option.
“Speechless? That doesn’t seem like you.”
“I’m just…wow.” I shake my head. “I’m underdressed. I smell like sweat.” The need to take a shower remains in the forefront of my brain, even though whatever is on the plates smells absolutely delicious after all that training and sexing. My stomach growls in hunger.
Johnny chuckles. “Let’s just eat. I happen to like the way you look after a workout.”
He doesn’t know the half of my “workout”, which is a good thing.
I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. “Just give me a minute,” I say. Not giving him a chance to respond, I walk quickly to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. He won’t give me enough time to take a shower, so instead, I take a washcloth, wet it down with warm water and wash my arms, neck, and chest. It’s ludicrous to be thinking about Johnny detecting Brawler on me, but I have to keep Brawler safe. I can’t bring him into this mess that way.
I pull my hair out of its tie and it streams down my back and over my shoulders. I reach for my hairbrush that’s usually on the sink and stop. It’s not there. I pull the drawers out, but still can’t find it, so I settle with running my fingers through my hair until it looks presentable. When I come out through the bedroom again, I look for the bag of clothes I have, but can’t find that anywhere either. What the fuck? When I actually want to change into something nicer than training outfits, Johnny—or his cleaners—have gone and done something to my shit.
Shaking my head, I walk back out into the main room only to find Johnny at the door. A hand pushes his chest, and he moves backward with the pressure. My hackles rise, ready to step in, but then a voluptuous redhead walks in, lips stained bright crimson. She giggles. “They told me I was needed.”
Anger and jealousy whiplash through me. “Um, what?”
“Oops,” the woman says, glancing over at me with a coy smile. She’s older than I am, but she’s acting like a giddy fucking schoolgirl, which infuriates me even more.
Johnny nudges her hand away from his chest. “There’s been a mistake.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t think so,” she singsongs, running her hands up him again like I’m not even fucking here. “Your dad sent me.”
Well, this is fucking rich. “Your dad sent you a…whore?” I implore, crossing my arms and staring Johnny down.
The girl turns glittering eyes on me. “I’m not a whore.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’m an escort. A pricey one too. Rocket and I are well acquainted, aren’t we, baby?”
I stand there, hands fisting. I keep glaring at Johnny to see what his move is before I push this bitch out of the place. Or worse.
“It’s a mistake, Clarissa.”
Acid sours my stomach. “Oh, goodie. You’re on a first-name basis,” I deadpan.
Dagger-like eyes pierce me when he looks at me over his shoulder. “Clarissa, you need to leave.”
Her mouth drops.
“Now,” he says, pushing her out the door and closing it behind her.
“What the fuck, Johnny?” I explode as soon as the door is shut.
He turns a heated gaze on me. Rationally, I know I have nothing to be upset about considering Brawler’s cock was just inside me but what-the-ever-loving-fuck! He dives a hand through his dark hair. “You heard her yourself. I didn’t order her.”