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“The text just came through. You really think women wait?”
I narrow my eyes and think about dumping his ass as a client. But damn, it’s a lot of money. And there’s a jealous little mean streak in me that likes the idea of him going without for four weeks. It must be agony for the over ego-endowed, beautiful asshat.
“Do you listen to yourself?”
“All the time.”
“You are what they call a sleazy asshat. God.”
“God is correct.” He stops, shoves a hand through his hair and unlocks the phone and thrusts it at me. “There. Check. See? No texts. Just one that came in from someone called Mona.”
He’s right, and I feel like a horrible person looking, but what am I meant to do? Trust needs to be earned by clients. Especially this one, because my judgment with him is completely in a different country and sambaing to a fantasy of him and me. I make myself breathe slowly and steadily until I’m mostly back under iron control. Or control.
Ryder snatches the phone away and holds it down so I can see as he deletes the text and the number. “Gone. See?”
There’s something that looks like hurt in his expression, which is crazy. A man like that doesn’t get hurt, not by me, or my accusations that we both know come from the truth of who and what he is. And he likes being that person.
But…he deleted everything from the woman. That must mean something.
A tiny voice inside whispers it’s only one incident out of a billion that make up who and what he is. While I can get him to change enough to pull all this off—I hope—I don’t know if a man like him can change.
I don’t know if a man like him wants to.
And it’s not my place.
Only the here and now is.
That’s where I have to remain focused.
“Ryder,” I say, “you can’t delete your past. Your life. It doesn’t work that way. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, but I don’t trust clients until they earn it because it’s the only way to make things happen. And for you?”
“I’m a lost cause?”
Is he? “No, I mean, our problem is this won’t be the last one. It’s like I said in the car, these women will keep coming for you, keep tempting you. And over these four weeks that’s dangerous. One day, one night, there’ll be some babe you want. You’ll be tempted and you’ll give in.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that.”
“Or that’s why you have me.”
Ryder drops his hand and those dark melting chocolate eyes are on me again. He shakes his head a little, like I’ve hurt him again. But I don’t know how. It’s all true. And what’s more, we both know exactly what he’d rather be doing right now.
“Y’know, Elliot,” he says, voice low. It wraps about me, the heat in it belying the cool expression on his face. “Contrary to whatever’s in your damn head, I’m not a fucking machine. I don’t think about sex every second of the day. I don’t have sex the moment I can.”
“I didn’t—”
“Bullshit.” He stalks up to me, closing the small gap and he meets my gaze. “You were thinking that. You were thinking—what’s more, your fucking words are saying—I can’t control my base urges. I like sex, yes. A lot. I like new experiences. I like to submerge myself in pleasure. But there are times I don’t. Times when I’m not interested in the offer, or it’s one I know I can’t take up. Or you know, life happens. I’m more than a cock.”
“Ryder, I’m not saying that.” Even though it’s in my head. I clench my hands. “But we both know you’re easily tempted.”
“I have control. When I choose to use it.”
We stare at each other. I swallow as a gaggle of people come down the street and I pull Ryder over to the side of the building, near the door. The yellowy light of the streetlamp hits him and he looks for all the world like a fallen angel and it twists hard in my chest.
“You hired me, Ryder. You hired me because you couldn’t do this by yourself.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d also be judge and jury.”
I sigh. “I have to think of every angle. All the time. And you…it’s not just reputation, it’s who you are. Or,” I say, amending slightly, “that reputation is so embedded in you that it comes across as who you are.”
