'I'm upfront, Kat. I'm not dishonest. I don't offer anything I can't deliver. I could offer Kitty a real good time, but I couldn't deliver any more than that. Besides, she's happy with that skinny dude from the movie set, isn't she?'
'What are you offering me then? An upfront good time, wham, bam, thank you ma'am?'
'If that's what you want. But if you want more . . .'
'Yes, I do want more. Don't look so spooked. Not a big white wedding or a pack of kids with your looks and my brains. Nothing like that.'
'What then?'
'As Aretha would say, R.E.S.P.E.C.T., find out what it means to me.'
'Hey, I do respect you, babe.'
'Well, I dispute that, babe. Although you might have just a shred or two more of it for me than you do for women in general. And that's only because I've thwarted your . . . juggernaut of seduction.'
'My what?'
'You find 'em, fuck 'em and forget 'em, Lincoln. You can't relate to a woman beyond what it takes to get her joggers off. You need to understand that we aren't fucktoys. We are people.'
'Sheesh.' Lincoln toyed with his chicken salad, reminding Kat of nothing more than a sulky nine-year-old who'd had his favourite action figures confiscated. 'You are harsh, Kat. You don't know me. You don't know how that hurts me.'
'The truth does, or so I'm told. But, hey. Cheer up. I've got something planned for later. Something that will help you with your little problem.'
Lincoln perked up, holding his fork close to his gleaming teeth. 'Tell me.'
'I don't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say that . . . nudity is involved.'
'For real?' Lincoln's favourite toys were back in his hot little hand. He grinned and made short work of the salad. 'Do you want a dessert? Shall we just pay now?'
'Sure. Halves, remember,' Kat reminded him sternly.
'You're the boss,' teased Lincoln.
'How very true.'
They took a sharp right through the glass doors of the restaurant and headed for the basement stairs.
'Aren't we going to your room?' asked Lincoln.
'Not yet.' Kat winked. 'I have a different kind of workout in mind first. You'll need to empty the gym, though I don't suppose it'll be busy at this time of night.'
'You'd be surprised,' muttered Lincoln, but when they arrived at the state-of-the-art health suite, only Kitty was present, rowing fiercely against an imaginary tide.
'Sorry, sweetie, time's up,' drawled the gym trainer, but Kat held up a hand.
'Actually, I'd like Kitty to stay.'
'Why?'
Kat moved to the door, turned the key, which was still in the lock, and pocketed it.
'Because we'd like you to let us entertain you, Lincoln,' she said quietly.
Lincoln was still gawping at Kat when Kitty arose from her rowing machine, redirecting the focus of his gawp to her. She was wearing the briefest and tightest of leotards; the high cut made her legs appear to start at her hips and carry on and on and on, while her breasts fought to escape from the inaccurately titled neckline. More like a titline, thought Lincoln salaciously. He was sure that this leotard would have a thong back, and he was tempted to ask Kitty for a twirl so he could find out. Would that be disrespectful? Probably.
The gods appeared to be smiling on him, though, for she walked over to a mat and sweetly asked, 'Mind if I do a few stretches?'
She turned and bent, touching each of her toes in rapid sequence. Oh Lord. Oh yes. A thong back. See those glutes strain and tense and then go back to perfect peachiness. Surely that must be uncomfortable up the crack of her ass, though?