Built for Love

9

Abel

“It’s illegal to wiretap people,” Mark informs me. “We’re a two-party state so both parties have to consent to the taping.”

“Man, I am not trying to make a record to withstand some legal shindig. I’m trying to protect my woman.” Impatiently, I tap my fingers against the counter. Upstairs, Pepper is getting ready for this farce of a date. I told her to wear something ugly. She gave me a look of disbelief and disappeared upstairs, but what was I supposed to do? She was naked in my bed all night and now she’s going out with another man. It makes me mad enough to want to break this marble counter in half.

“I didn’t know you had a woman. When did this happen?” Mark sounds like he’s making notes on my life—which he probably is and that’s what makes him a good detective.

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Wait, it’s that interior designer that works for you, isn’t it?”

“That’s Beck’s woman.”

“Oh. Okay. I knew one of you had a thing for her. When I went to your offices a few months ago, the security guard wouldn’t let me in because she was the only one in the building.”

“Sounds like he was doing his job.”

Mark makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “You’re way too overprotective.”

“You shot out the taillights of a guy who said hello to your sister.”

“He had a record!” Mark shouts.

“Sure.”

“Let’s move on,” he suggests. “We can’t wiretap.”

“If it was Rachel…” I trail off.

Mark sighs. “Fuck you. Fine. We’ll wiretap, but how are you going to pull that off unless she agrees to wear a wire?”

“Don’t you have tiny things you can put in her lipstick?”

“This isn’t a Mission Impossible movie and I’m not Tom Cruise.”

“More’s the pity. What do you have?” I wait him out because I know he has some gadgets. He’s the go-to private detective for famous people. He can find shit out about you that even your parents didn’t know.

Finally, he sighs. “Stuff. How long is this going to last?”

“A few hours. It’s not like you have any place to go.” Mark is as single as the rest of us.

“Yeah, yeah. See you at six.”

After disconnecting, I go in search of Pepper. Predictably, she is not wearing anything ugly or shapeless. And while I wouldn’t go so far as to say her pink pants and white top were seductive, they aren’t unattractive either. Why can’t she wear a barn coat, some galoshes and a big hat that covers her face? I’d recommend this, but I don’t want to get stabbed in the eye with the pen she’s shoving into her purse.

“Taking notes during a dinner date?” I try for a light tone. “That’s a new one.”

“It’s not a pen. It’s a pair of scissors.” She pulls it out and displays it on her palm. To my surprise, it’s exactly as she says. The long, thin tubular thing is not a pen but two blades sheathed inside of a long plastic barrel.

I turn the ingenious thing over in my hand. “You planning on stabbing him with this? Because if so, I approve.”

She plucks it away from me and sticks it back into her purse. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Because he’s an asshole who could’ve killed you and all the tenants in the building.” That was an easy answer.

Pepper seems to agree. “Good point, but no. I always carry scissors. You never know when you’re going to need them. You might have to cut a tag off or open a letter or—”

“Stab a guy in the back of his hand if he gets too friendly,” I suggest.

“If you want Chad to be knifed, you can do it yourself.” She slings the small white purse over her shoulder and walks out of the room. Her perfume wafts by my nose, and my dick grows hard. It’s not really her perfume that does it for me. It’s everything about her, from her long legs and juicy ass to her suckable lips and sexy eyes. Thinking about her makes me hard; smelling her makes me want to come in my jeans. I shove my hands into my pockets in an attempt to hide my erection. At least with her pretty nose in the air, she’s not looking at my crotch. If she did, she might take out her scissors and point them at me.

The thought of a sharp blade pressed against my balls does help to reduce the surge of blood into my groin. But then I think of her naked with a feral look on her face. In that situation, she could hold any number of sharp objects next to my cock and I’d just beg for more.

“Aren’t you going to say something about my outfit?” she asks as we get into my truck.

“Nah. You look great though.” I nearly gnaw off my tongue in an effort not to tell her to go back inside the house and change into something shapeless and off-putting, although I’m not sure what that is. She could wear a sack and I’d still be turned on.