Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

Me, too. “It’s for the best.” She pushed aside a wave of disappointment and did an automatic scan of the street…to avoid him. “Besides, I didn’t get the sense Shaun was looking for a repeat.”

“Wolverine’s real name is Shaun?”

“Yep.”

“What’s his last name?”

“We didn’t get to last names.”

Ginny kept her eyes trained on the sidewalk in front of them, but she felt Melody’s sharp, blue gaze cut her way. “You got to five orgasms but no last name? Girl, you’re slipping. I used to be able to rely on you for all the local intel. I expected you to know exactly who he is, where he’s from, what he’s doing here, and at least a couple of his deepest, darkest secrets.”

“Look, it’s not like I didn’t ask, but he kept his cards very close to his vest, and then he distracted me with his giant dick, and—”

“And a bunch of orgasms—”

“Right. When I woke up at dawn, naked in my shampoo chair with a cape for a blanket”—and a note that read, “Thanks for the haircut, sweet Virginia”—“he wasn’t around to answer my questions.” Except one she shouldn’t have been harboring in the first place, namely, Want to do this again? He’d answered that question loud and clear with his stealthy exit and pithy little note.

“Wait.” Melody skidded to a stop. “He left you alone, naked, and asleep in your salon? What an inconsiderate imbecile. Anybody could have walked in.”

“This concerned me at first, too, but it turns out he left me alone, naked, and asleep in my locked salon.”

Melody scrunched her brow. “He took your keys?”

“Nope. My keys were in my purse, where I’d left them.”

“But…your door locks from the outside. How’d he do that?”

She’d asked herself the very same question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, then moved closer to Melody to avoid a cluster of people coming out of DeShay’s Diner. “Wolverine’s got skills.”

Chapter Five

The noise and constant movement of people inside the busy diner set Shaun’s nerves on edge, undoing the endorphin rush of last night’s haircut, as well as the positive effects of a rare eight solid hours of dreamless, uninterrupted sleep. Seeking the illusion of escape from the crowded restaurant, he glanced out the window, and nearly did a double take when he caught a flash of red hair in his peripheral vision. Sure enough, sweet Virginia zipped by, look

ing sleek and sexy in her high-cut jog top and low, snug shorts. A taller blonde woman jogged with her, but he had a hard time registering much else because they passed, and then, inevitably, his eyes fastened on those slim, almost coltish legs, and her truly spectacular ass. All the din of DeShay’s receded to a peaceful hum. He watched until she disappeared from view.

Mr. Sentimental south of his belt buckle immediately sat up and begged for a reunion. Luckily, the table hid the reaction from any onlookers, including the man sitting opposite him in the booth.

He shifted his attention back to his father, who was talking away, oblivious to the fact his audience had tuned out. Aside from Shaun’s future, which Shaun didn’t particularly want to discuss, they had few shared interests and even fewer shared experiences. Conversation didn’t flow naturally and easily between them. Tom was trying though, possibly out of concern for his eldest son’s isolationist tendencies, if the invitation to join him at the busiest lunch spot in town served as any indication. The least he could do was pay attention.

“…when I asked for the divorce, I expected Monica to take it hard, you know, emotionally, but I never dreamed she’d turn into such a calculating bitch.”

Oh yeah, that’s why he’d tuned out. His dad was surprisingly clueless about the women he got involved with. “Monica never struck you as calculating? Maybe around the time she started seeing you—a married man? Or when she gave you the home-wrecker ultimatum?”

His dad shrugged. “I couldn’t see past her face. And that body.” He smiled at whatever picture his mind called up. “You’re too young to remember, but Monica, twenty years ago, was a sight to behold. I’m telling you, the things she would do to me, and let me do to her—”

“Hey, look. There’s the line.”

His father’s forehead wrinkled. “What line?”

“The one we shouldn’t cross, as father and son.”

Now Tom laughed. “C’mon. We’re adults here. Didn’t your grandfather and I take you to your first titty bar down in Annapolis when you turned twenty-one?”

“That was different.” Also much closer to his last titty bar than his first, but he didn’t feel the need to share every damn thing. “Sitting in a titty bar didn’t force me to think about you having sex with my stepmother.” Mercifully, he wasn’t thinking of them at all, but rather sweet Virginia, laid out across her reception counter, arm flung over her eyes, heels digging into his chest, praying to God, and Jesus and, if his ears hadn’t deceived him, Wolverine, in each short silence between the sounds of their bodies slapping together.

“Pfft. Stepmother.” Tom waved the word away, and Shaun’s highly entertaining flashback disappeared as well. “Some mother she turned out to be, step or otherwise. Since the divorce, she’s been living it up in Atlanta on the king’s ransom of alimony she demanded, sucking me dry and completely ignoring our son.”

“Justin’s almost eighteen. From what I can tell, he’s not pining for Mommy.”