Page 67 of X's and O's

Her cheeks flushed again, but this time it wasn’t the blazing red of embarrassment.

It was more the sweet tinge of color a woman got when she liked what a man was saying to her.

And when she was starting to feel good about herself.

She’d heard the sincerity in my voice. I hadn’t needed to fake it.

Just like I knew she would, she sucked in a wobbly breath, found some sort of determination inside her, and hiked her skirt up farther. She lifted her ass off the seat and dragged her panties down her thighs so discreetly I didn’t catch more than a glimpse of them before they disappeared into her purse.

It was too much too soon for me to ask to keep them in my pocket.

Next time.

I blinked at the thought. Violet had only booked me for a night. There wouldn’t be a next time. She’d alreadymade it clear she didn’t have the money to become one of my regulars.

That was the deal with most women who booked me. I wasn’t cheap, and one night was really all I needed to send them on their way with a new set of skills and a fresh confidence their men hadn’t been able to foster in them.

I’d never felt disappointed over not seeing one of them again.

I shook myself a tiny bit, realizing I’d gotten entirely too swept away in a ten-minute car ride. This was all about her. Not about me. I refused to let whatever attraction I was feeling get in the way of building this woman up so she had the confidence to take on the world when she walked out of my hotel room doors in a few hours’ time.

That was the objective here after all.

Wasn’t it?

17

VIOLET

Iwas sitting in the back of a sleek black limousine with possibly the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life.

And no panties.

Toby was going to have a field day with this when I got home and told him about it.

My limited experience with men had me believing they mostly smelled like sweaty socks. That was all I’d known of boys from growing up in foster homes and high school. The men I’d come across working as a cleaner were often worse, reeking of cigarettes and stale alcohol. Toby was much more into personal hygiene than the average man, but he stole my perfumes more often than not, so while he never smelled bad, he’d never smelled particularly interesting to me either.

Wyatt DeLeon was a different story altogether. His cologne danced in the air between us, a tantalizing blend of something distinctly masculine I didn’t have a name for but couldn’t stop inhaling. It was spicy, and I foundmyself drawing in slow, deep breaths, not just to calm the racing of my heart but to drown in his scent.

His silver hair had once been dark, judging by the darker flecks throughout. He looked too young for it to be as silver as it was. It made me wonder if something had happened in his past to cause it. But then the premature graying suited him so perfectly, part of me wondered if it was actually dye. His tanned face held fine lines at the sides of his eyes, and his eyes themselves…

I let out a shuddering breath, realizing I was staring at the man and those eyes were firmly locked on me and somewhat amused by the way I was blatantly checking him out.

The interior of the car was suddenly a million degrees. I reached for the door handle, desperate for air.

“Sit there until I get your door.”

I went to argue, but he was already out of the car and moving around to my side. A second later, the door opened, and his hand appeared.

I took it, using his help to get out, careful the entire time to keep my legs together so he didn’t catch a glimpse of my panty-less pussy.

As soon as we got inside the restaurant, I was finding the nearest bathroom and putting my completely unattractive but safe pair of tummy-shaping panties back where they belonged. Even if they did dig into my skin, leaving ugly red marks around my stomach and bikini line.

“You didn’t need to get the door for me.” I clutched my purse and let myself be guided around the car and onto the sidewalk, tucked into the crook of Wyatt’s arm.

He frowned down at me. “Of course I did. There was traffic.”

I glanced back at the road that John, the driver, was merging back onto. It was the main street of Providence, but it was hardly what I’d call traffic. A few cars passed by, but a seven-year-old could have safely crossed the road independently.