Chapter 26
Rhys
Once she was over the shock, my little chatterbox couldn’t stop talking.
She fired a thousand questions at me on the ride back to the house.
I answered as many as I could. I’m so grateful Arianne planned ahead.
On Thursday, Keira will spend the greater part of the day with the brain behind SCORE Yours, Beckett, and the director of marketing at the advertising agency to kick things off and talk specifics.
Then, my girl will spend some time with legal to go over the contract.
She’ll die when she sees the number associated with being the face of SCORE Yours.
I’ll front her the money so she can hire her own lawyer to read the fine print.
Given Keira’s new role in my life and business, I’m fully aware I’ll have to come clean with Beckett and Arianne.
Probably after I talk to Noah.
I park the Aston Martin inside the garage, get out, circle the vehicle and help Keira out. With our fingers interlaced together, we trail towards the house. I don’t think anything in the world could wipe the grin off her face.
She lets go of my hand when we reach the top step.
“Where are you going?”
“My room,” she says.
My eyebrows furrow. “You’re not sleeping in my bed?”
“I’m no longer allowed to sleep in my bedroom?”
“Well, no.”
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. You’re my girlfriend. You belong in my bed. End of story.”
She places a hand against my chest, and taps it a few times. “I must say, as backward thinking as this caveman-possessiveness-alpha-beat-against-my-chest-silverback-gorilla-style-Tarzan-Lord-of-the-Jungle routine is, it’s sort of endearing and… hot.”
I grin.
“To address your concern, Tarzan, I’ll come and join you in a few minutes,” she says. A mischievous glee glints from her hazel-green eyes. “There’s something I have to do in my bedroom first.”
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” Her voice goes up several levels.
I cock an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“I am.” That high-pitched voice again.
“How long before I can expect you?”
“Eager much?”
“I haven’t fucked you since this morning, so you could say that.”
“Go on.” She shoos me off. “I’ll be there shortly.”
She strides away from me, my eyes glued to her ass in that formfitting, stunning white dress.
She glances over her shoulder and winks.
My cock wakes up.
It’s like I’m one of Pavlov’s fucking dogs, conditioned to react when I’m around her.
I shake my head and make my way to my bedroom.
I step inside, turn on the lights, and freeze.
What the fuck?
“Keira, why is there a chair in the middle of my bedroom that wasn’t there before?”
“You’ll soon find out.” She shouts back from the hallway.
She must’ve placed it there while I was waiting for her to get ready.
I’m intrigued enough not to ask more questions.
I slip off my jacket and hang it. I roll my shirt sleeves up to the elbows, walk to the panoramic window and admire the nighttime view. I’m not right on the water, but from this vantage point, I can still see the ocean.
I check my watch.
Several minutes have gone by.
My impatience mounts.
Where the hell is she?
The door opens, and Keira peeks her head around it. “Ready?”
“I’m not sure what to expect, so how would I know if I’m ready or not?”
“Now you know how I felt earlier,” she says with a grin.
“Cheeky.”
She pushes the door open and walks in wearing a bathrobe and carrying a basket.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s part of the show. These”—her eyes fall to the basket that’s covered with a sheet or something—“are props.”
“Show? Props?”
“Yes, there will be entertainment and props are necessary.” She drops the basket on the floor. “No peeking.”
“Did you drink too much champagne or does this have to do with my announcement?”
“I didn’t overdo it on the bubbly, and for your information, this was planned well before you dropped the joyous news in my lap,” she says. “I know you’re getting a little antsy, but it shouldn’t be much longer. I need another five minutes to slip into my costume. Sit. Make yourself comfortable.”
“What game are you playing?” My voice is like gravel.
“Be a good sport. Play along.” Imploring eyes stare up at me. “Please, sit.”
I don’t budge.
“Rhys, you’re twice my size. It’s not like I can move you.” She approaches me. “Please, sit.”
I make a face.
“I promise, it’ll be worth your while.” She flashes me a seductive smile.
I oblige.
“I’ll be right back,” she says.
“This better be good.”
“It will be.” She singsongs her response as she waltzes out of my bedroom.
I check my watch every five seconds.
There’s a strange clicking sound coming from the ceiling speakers. She must be using the wall mounted iPhone dock in the hallway that controls the multi-room system upstairs.
A weird beeping sound fills the air.
“Oh shit, that’s way faster than I expected. False start.”
Whatever this is, she’s put a lot of thought into it.
She starts the song from the beginning.
I’m no longer a stranger to the beeping sound. Then, the brassy sound of saxophones and trumpets blare into the room.
I can’t help my smile.
Little devil.
The hit song is as iconic as the movie.
Some things never get old.
I must’ve been sixteen years old when a friend from school invited a bunch of us over to his place to show us what he had discovered on his older brother’s laptop when he was snooping around.
Porn is porn, but 9 1/2 Weeks will forever more be the ultimate teenage boy wet dream because, holy hell, Kim Basinger was a sex bomb in that movie.
On cue, my girl busts into the room.
I cock a brow. “That’s what you call a costume?”
“It is tonight.” Her sly smile is dangerous.
She traded the bathrobe for a fitted black suit. The blazer hits her at the waist and the skirt hits her below the knee. She paired the suit with a silky top, heels and fishnet stockings––all in white. She looks classy and vampy.
“Where’s your glove?”
Her grin matches mine. “You’ve watched the video?”
“You bet.”
“This idea came to me this afternoon, so I didn’t have time to scour the city for the eighties must-have fashion statement in question. Is that going to be a problem?”.
“If you give me a good show, it won’t.”
“I plan to.” Her attention moves to the ceiling.
“What is it?”
“Here I am talking and half the song has played. I haven’t even asked you to turn on the flat screen TV.”
I’m confused. “I’m supposed to watch TV while watching you do whatever it is you’re going to do?”
“I was going to play the music video while dancing.”
“I must’ve watched Joe Cocker’s ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On’ video with the striptease scene a million times. I’ve memorized Kim Basinger’s every move. As sexy as she is, I want to see your moves,” I say. “No TV.”
She seems relieved. “I was feeling the pressure. Kim is a hard act to follow,” she says. “At least now, I can improvise.”
“Silly girl,” I say. “I’m not dating Kim. I’m dating you.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back, then.”
And, she’s gone.
She starts the song again and runs back into the room.
“Okay, we’re set.”
She’s a bit frazzled.
I chuckle.
“FYI, you’re not supposed to laugh.” She frowns in discontentment. “This is supposed to be sexy.”
“The song is halfway through,” I say as she stands there and scolds me.
Her hands go flying in the air before landing on her thighs with a thump.
“Go fetch your phone.”
She frowns.
“I’m not putting an end to the entertainment portion of the evening,” I say. “Let me be your DJ.”
She rewards me with a dazzling smile. “Okay.”
She runs out of the room and she’s back in a flash.
She hands me her phone.
I get up and head to my walk-in closet. There’s another control station in here. I place her phone on the dock and start the song from the beginning.
I emerge from the closet. “We’re all set.”
“Why didn’t you divulge this earlier?”
“Because I didn’t know what you had up your sleeve, woman.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “Let the show begin. Again.”
I take a seat.
She sashays to the basket, swinging her hips to the rhythm of the music. She bends over, flashing me that perfect ass, and grabs something. She turns around holding a whip in her hands.
This should be good.
With a series of runway strides, she stands in front of me. She lifts her hands and flexes the whip over her head a few times, as if testing it, while doing a little sexy dance with her hips.
My cock approves.
She brings the tip of the whip to my stomach. My eyes drop to where it trails up the pathway of the buttons of my shirt. She then traces it across my chest. Meeting her gaze, I grab hold of it. She’s still holding strong to the other end.
“Is it my turn to use it on you?”
“Let go of the prop.” She pulls hard.
Too bad for her I’m stronger.
“I asked you a question.”
“Play along, big guy.”
I cut her some slack and let go.
“Now I’m out of character.” She huffs. “I have to take it from the top. Can you start the music from the beginning, please?”
“I will, but I need a kiss first,” I say.
She pins me with an unimpressed stare.
I lift my hands up in a truce. “Okay, okay. I’ll be patient.”
“And this time, no distractions from the audience,” she says with a motherly finger wave.
“I like domineering Keira.”
She smiles wide.
I run in and out of the closet.
The sexy eighties tune envelopes the room by the time I sit back down on the chair.
And from the look of it, she’s in full character.
She turns her back to me, and to the tempo of the song, she unbuttons the blazer.
She slides it off just enough to flash me some skin.
She glances over her shoulder to make sure she has my full attention.
Oh, she most certainly does.
She repeats the sexy move, flashing me the other bare shoulder. She wiggles her ass left to right as she slides the blazer off her body. The movement is slow and mesmerizing. She turns around and throws the blazer at me. I catch it with one hand.
“Nice top,” I say. “No bra?”
Her protruding nipples are a distraction.