Dirty Laundry (Get Dirty 2)

“Fine. Come on in.”

I leave the door standing open and walk to the living room, not even checking to see if she follows. But she does, of course, closing the door with a soft click, and then her wedge heels swish on the tile floor until quieted by the rug.

She gestures to the chair opposite where I’ve claimed the expanse of couch, and I simply raise one eyebrow, but she takes it as permission and sits down daintily before taking out her phone, a small notebook, and a pink sparkly pen. Seriously?

“Okay, Mr. Perkins, I’d like to go over my thoughts for the interview series first so we can make sure we’re on the same page. Is that okay?”

She smiles like she’s trying to soothe an angry bear, and hell, I guess she kinda is. I lean back, letting my arm stretch out over the back of my couch, relaxing a bit.

“Keith.”

Elise, who’s checking her notes, looks up. “Excuse me?”

I chuckle, rubbing at my head. “For the love of fuck, call me Keith. Not Mr. Perkins. That was my dad.”

I see her mouth twitch a bit and she mouths, ‘for the love of fuck’ before shaking her head, seemingly amused at my random turn of phrase. Still, she blushes just slightly, and I find it . . . well, she looks even hotter now. “Okay, Keith. And please call me Elise. Does that sound like a plan?”

I nod as graciously as I can muster, which is basically not at all. Hot or not, she’s in my private territory, and I’m doing my best to just be polite. “Sure.”

“So, I’m thinking that you’re obviously an enigma and your fans want to know more about you, especially since you tend to shun the spotlight. That’s really rare in this day and age, when most stars can’t seem to hog the spotlight enough.”

“I like having my privacy, that’s all. Always have.”

Elise nods, leaning forward. “And I think a series of interviews will give us a nice peek into your life. I understand your point of view.”

“Is that so?”

Elise gives me a heartstopping smile, nodding. “I know you don’t believe me, but yes. So maybe a past, present, future setup or something more along the lines of your professional life and personal life mixed in with tidbits about your history in each? All in all, just a bigger, better picture of who you are. It’ll satisfy the fans and keep reporters like me, but with a lot less morals, off your doorstep. I’ll know about the structure as we see where the interviews naturally lead. Anything you want to add or that’s off limits?”

My first thought is that everything is off limits, but I know I can’t say that, so I simply nod in agreement before I think better of it. “Actually, Elise . . .”

The name sounds sweet on my tongue, making me remember just how damn sexy she looked all fired up, standing in my doorway and calling me on my shit. Her cheeks are still a bit flushed from the fiery exchange, and now that she’s leaning toward me, I can see her voluptuous breasts pressing fully against her dress.

It helps, and the idea that was hatching in my head a moment ago suddenly seems a lot more possible. I turn on the charm, dropping my voice a bit. “Elise . . . this is obviously not by my choice. I’m very much a private person, and I like to be in control . . . of my image, of my music, of what I do and don’t do . . . honestly, I like to be in control of everything. So these interviews chafe against that by their very nature. How about we make a deal, you and me?”

I don’t miss the way her breath hitches when I mention being in control. Deliciously interesting. She licks her lips, her little pink tongue darting out, and I have a flash of her tongue licking me all over. My cock twitches, and I realize . . . maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.

“What kind of deal did you have in mind?” she asks, her voice a bit breathy. I smile, knowing I’ve got her on the hook.

“Let’s make a deal that for every question you ask me, I get to ask one back. You want to know me, but that’s very one-sided. Of course, I won’t be writing a tell-all expose of your private life like you seem to want to do about me. So the least you can do is make this a little easier, a little more conversational and less of an interrogation. What do you say?”

She bites her lip, thinking about it, and I want to soothe the bite with my tongue. Or shit, maybe bite her lip myself while she fucks herself on my fingers. “I don’t know—”