Page 14 of Duke
The guns are all in glass cases mounted against the walls, arranged by type. The cases themselves are clearly meant for security as well as display, since they’re framed with wrist-thick bars of steel, and the glass is easily an inch thick, and each one is locked with a fingerprint scanner. So even if someone did break in, they’d have to cut the cases out of the wall and carry them out of the apartment, or they’d have to have serious tools to cut them open.
“Um.” I blinked a few times. “Wow.”
“You didn’t really think I have a collection of panties, did you?”
I blinked a few more times. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
He laughed. “Actually, neither would I.” The laughter turned…lascivious. “I mean, I’d collect your panties, if you wore any.”
“I do usually wear them,” I said. “I just…”
He turned to face me, arms crossed over his chest, an eyebrow lifted. “Go on. I’m curious. Why aren’t you wearing any panties, Temple?”
I glared at him for a few beats, and then crossed my arms under my breasts, giving him my hardest, coldest, I-don’t-give-a-shit expression. “Because I was boy-hunting.”
He unsuccessfully tried to stifle a burst of surprised laughter. “Boy-hunting? What the fuck is that?”
“The girl version of picking up chicks.”
“So you were in that shitty dive bar looking to get laid?”
“Yep.”
His shit-eating grin pissed me off. “Well, now, there’s honesty for you.”
“What were you expecting?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Trying to drown heartbreak at the bottom of a bottle, maybe? You were giving off some pretty strong leave-me-the-fuck-alone vibes. Didn’t even give me the time of day.”
“Maybe you’re not my type.”
“What is your type?”
I hesitated because I didn’t really have a type, other than a minimum standard of hotness. “Not you.”
Duke chuckled and turned away, putting a thumb to one of the cases. “Piece of advice for you, Princess: don’t ever play poker, because you suck at lying.”
“I’m not lying!” I huffed.
When the lock beeped, he opened the case and pulled out a gun. It looked like a miniature version of the machine guns you see SWAT guys using on TV. It had a stock that folded and a short barrel. There were several long, curved clips with the gun, which he stuffed into the cargo pocket of his shorts. That also pissed me off, because putting those idiotic pockets to actual use meant I couldn’t mentally make fun of him for wearing cargo shorts anymore.
Slinging the machine gun over his shoulder by the strap, he turned and paced over to where I was still standing in the doorway. He stopped when our bodies were almost, but not quite, touching, the tips of my breasts so close to his chest it would have been difficult to slip a piece of paper between us. His proximity did that stupid black magic again, whereby my body completely overreacted, going straight into hyper drive—my nipples hardened, my breath shortened, my brain went to useless goo, and my pussy got all hot and moist.
And you bet your ass Duke noticed.
His breath was warm on my cheek. “Temple, babe, not only are you lying, you’re lying poorly.” He touched his forehead to mine, and my face tipped up automatically, my lips parting, my breath caught entirely, now. “If I’m not your type, then why can I smell your pussy dripping for me?”
“My pussy isnotdripping,” I lied.
“Oh no?”
“Nope.” Gotta maintain the lie, even when neither of us believe me.
He wrapped one hand around the back of my neck, his thumb brushing through the flyaway hairs at the nape escaping from my bun. His other hand, where was his other hand?
OH.
Oh shit.