Hendrix (Raleigh Raptors 3)

I fished out a couple articles of clothing and stepped into my bathroom.

I hurried into the clothes, then swung open the door, giving London a dramatic catwalk show.

She eyed my incredibly short cotton pajama bottoms and the off-the-shoulder sweater that revealed my red lace bra strap beneath. "You're going with the Raptors sweater?" she asked.

I gave her a firm nod, flipping my long red hair over my head and shaking it up a bit before righting myself.

"The one with Hendrix’s number on it?" London asked, her eyebrows arching higher the longer she studied my outfit.

I spun to face my full-length mirror, admiring my long legs that were now toned and sculpted from my multiple Krav Maga classes every week.

"What?" I asked, situating my hair to just the right amount of tousled. "He said wear my sweats. And I know that tonight is not going to be the night. I know he just wants to lay down ground rules. But it won't hurt him to be just a little bit tortured, right?"

London parted her lips and closed them a few times before she shook her head with a sweet smile that was her signature look. "Do you know what you're doing, Savannah?" she asked in her most innocent voice. The voice of a concerned best friend who was worried I might be getting in over my head.

And maybe I didn't know exactly what I was doing, but that's kind of how I lived my life. I liked testing boundaries and walking along the edge of danger. And if that wasn't Hendrix Malone, I didn’t know what was. All could probably be traced back to the fact that my father had been one of the most overprotective fathers in the history of the planet, but he was still a good dad.

"Sure I do," I said with a shrug I didn't exactly feel. "I'm going to have a business meeting with Mr. Malone," I said as if I were saying, Mr. Grey. "We're going to negotiate the terms of the execution of my virginity."

London burst out laughing, and I couldn't help but join in. I mean good God, it sounded like I'd fallen into an erotica novel, minus all the hot sex that would have happened by now if I'd been in one.

But hopefully, since Hendrix reached out, maybe we were one step closer to getting to those steamy pages from the novels I delighted reading when I wasn’t limp from schoolwork.

"Okay," I said, facing London as we reeled in our laughter. "How do I look?"

London's eyes looked me up and down, and she shook her head. "Dessert," she said. "You look exactly like dessert."

I fashioned a smile that was much more confident than I felt and nodded. Dessert was exactly what I was going for, despite the nerves threatening to make my knees shake.

At exactly seven-fifty-nine, I walked up Hendrix’s long gravel path to his front door. I totally ignored the trembling in my fingers and channeled every ounce of confidence my Krav Maga trainer had drilled into me.

Not that I had one thing to fear from Hendrix Malone—he would go to blows for me—he would never hurt me. But the classes weren’t all about self-defense—they were also about self-reflection and self-worth. And I made sure to focus on those aspects as my inner self-doubt reared its ugly head. Shouting things at me like, inexperienced, not good enough, untouchable, not worth the hassle.

I swallowed the knot in my throat, lifting my chin just a bit as I smoothed my fingers over my chosen armor for tonight—the pajama shorts and off-the-shoulder sweater I’d chosen and displayed for London earlier. This would be a business transaction, and it was with someone I trusted. That's all that mattered. And once it was done, that self-doubt would have no more fuel for its ugly words.

Hendrix opened the door after one timid knock, his blue eyes going from calm and subdued to wide and fiery in the span of a blink. His gaze was slow, shocked, and this side of hungry as he looked his fill from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I simply arched an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" There was a deep growl in his voice that did things to my body. And when he stepped out of the doorway to silently invite me in? I may have put a little bit more swing in my hips as I slid past him.

He groaned as my backside came into his line of sight, not entirely because of my ass, I believed, but the fact that I had his name and number scrawled across my shoulder blades.

"What?" I asked innocently. "You said to wear my sweats." I raised my hands out horizontally, spinning to face him as I stopped in what was his main living room just off the entryway door.