Looking Inside

“Jeez, and you called me a fashionista,” she murmured amusedly, running a hand admiringly over the shoulders of a row of neatly hung suits.

“Use what you like. And as far as props, well, I might have some inspiration over here. If you’re feeling particularly bold, that is.” There was something she heard in his voice that made her arch her brows. He walked out of the closet and over to a large armoire in the seating area. He opened the cupboard. “I’ve got a Techilicious in here—”

“Techilicious,” she exclaimed in excitement, poking her head around his back to peer into the cupboard. “Oh, it’s a stereo system.” He grinned at her obvious disappointment.

“What’d you think it was going to be?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, blushing. She frowned at his widening grin, and then couldn’t stop smiling back when she noticed the humor dancing in his blue eyes. “It sounded kind of racy: Techilicious. I thought maybe you kept something . . . naughty in here.”

“Oh,” he said as if in sudden understanding. “Well I’d hate to disappoint you.”

He slid open a deep drawer. Her eyes sprang wide. He didn’t say anything while she looked into it and the nerve endings on her skin tingled and her breath stuck in her lungs. She saw several boxes of sex toys, more padded handcuffs and restraints, a black leather paddle and a crop with a slapper on one end and a leather flogger on the other. Heat rushed through her. Her heart started to drum in her ears.

“You really are kinky,” she said, still staring into the drawer.

“Am I?” he asked, reaching up and cupping her jaw. He brushed his finger against her cheek, and she knew he felt her heat. “Don’t be scared, Eleanor.”

“I think maybe you want me to be.”

He gently lifted her face until she met his stare. All traces of amusement had left his handsome face. “No. Never afraid, that’s not what I want for you. But I’m going to be honest. I like when you’re a little nervous, like right now. Your eyes look so beautiful. So sexy. God, I can’t wait to look down at them when I put my—” He broke off when a thrill went through her, and she shuddered. “Shhh,” he soothed. He brushed his thumb against her parted lips. Her lungs hitched and she inhaled his scent. “Mostly, that’s what I want, Eleanor. I want you to be excited. I want to watch while whatever anxiety is there gets burned away by pleasure and lust.”

He placed his opened hand on her throat. She swallowed thickly, knowing he felt her leaping pulse against his palm.

“Anything in a box is new, never been touched,” he told her quietly after a pause. He nodded toward the drawer. “Whatever is in that purple bag has never been opened either. I’m not even sure what’s all in there. I got it as a favor at a fancy unisex bachelorette party I was invited to at a club in London for Abigail Chasen.”

“The hotel heiress?” Eleanor asked him breathlessly, peering at the foil magenta bag curiously. “Rumor has it she’s pretty wild.”

“Rumor is dead-on, in Abigail’s case. Maybe you should check out what’s in there,” he said dryly.

“You and she didn’t—”

“No, are you kidding? She married Gerald Sturgis, the lead singer from Easy Blood? Gerald and I were friends.”

A chill passed through her. “But didn’t Gerald Sturgis pass away recently?” she asked, studying his face in mounting concern. She wasn’t super familiar with the punk rock band, but it seemed she’d seen something in the papers about the colorful, irreverent British rocker dying.

He nodded. She didn’t see his sadness at that moment as much as sense it. “Yeah. Last spring of a drug overdose. Gerald was truly one of a kind. Easy Blood exploded on BandBook, and that’s how I first met him. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he was the kind of person who makes an impact on you. He didn’t know shit about taking care of himself or thinking about much beyond the next second and a good time, but he was extremely talented. Always smiling. It still seems weird. He was so full of life.”

“And then one day . . . gone,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry, Trey.” She realized Sturgis’s abrupt death was probably one of the reasons he’d been plunged into an existential crisis, left wondering what his life meant. Sturgis and Trey were far from being the same, of course, but both of them had led a privileged and unrestrained existence. In many ways, she could imagine Trey viewing Sturgis as a kind of amplified, bigger version of what he—Trey—had been like in his youth.

“I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” he said. “Gerald and I weren’t super close. I only saw him maybe once or twice a year. In my business, I meet a lot of people, loads of big personalities, tons of talent. It comes with the territory. But Gerald wasn’t just a work acquaintance. He was a friend. It hits deeper than you’d think, when it happens so unexpectedly like that.”

“You’re not giving me the wrong impression,” she said softly. “He meant something to you. His death is part of why you’re reexamining your life, isn’t it?”

He nodded once.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. She listened to her heartbeat thrum in her ears. Then she felt his fingertips caress her cheek.

“Talk about a mood spoiler. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she assured. She smiled up at him. He smiled back. The moment stretched. She swallowed back the ache in her throat.

“Would you . . . you rather not?” She waved anxiously at the opened drawer.

He blinked. “Oh, I’d rather, all right.” Her smile widened at his adamancy. “Unless you would rather do something else?”

“No,” she laughed. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

He looked a little relieved. “Good. Anyway, like I said, use anything in the room that you’d like. But you don’t have to use any of the stuff in the drawer, Eleanor. It’s your call. Speaking of calls, do you have your phone on you?”