Chapter 9 Ty

I finally got some work done after she left. Because once I saw the books she was reading and the pair of handcuffs she had found in my desk- I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

I had security pack up the files and load them into a car and went to the Ritz. I was useless sitting at my desk, smelling her perfume through the door and imaging all the terrible things I wanted to do to her. And the terrible things she was reading about and fantasizing someone do to her. Not just anyone- an older man, her boss.

But she was just a child. It was crazy. I couldn't, and even if I could, I shouldn't. She still had so much to learn about life, about herself, about men. Especially about men like me. She was gentle, sweet, and innocent and I had no right to go anywhere near her. Especially considering the sort of relationship I needed. You don’t walk before you can crawl, and you don’t run before you can walk. I would have her compete in the decathlon before seeing a race track.

I had years of experience behind me, in every sense of the word. Other women had taught me what I knew about her sex, not all of it very nice. Not all of them very nice either.

Milly was a sheet of pure white paper on which life had not yet written a word. And I was prepared to take the permanent marker to her.

Heat burned deep inside me, anger at first, then a sort of excitement at the thought of teaching her, being the first. There was something about that purity, that innocence, that was exciting.

A light, tentative knock came at the door. "Come in."

Her eyes traced the bed, and the food.

“I’m glad you could make it,” I said, honestly.

“You're lucky I need the work.”

"I meant the unusual circumstances."

"It's either a secretive high-pressure sort of thing or some sordid plan of yours.”

I can feel my heartbeat in my pants again. "The Ritz is sordid?"

“No, I guess not. Sordid would be Atlantic City if you went cheap at a motel off the boardwalk. But not the Ritz and Champagne and strawberries.”

“And you’re here, so if it’s what you think why not turn around?”

“I was curious how you used the telephone.”

“It wasn’t easy.” Or painless. Aspirin and Tylenol did nothing, but I’d be dammed if I let them give me baby heroin.

“That’s why I needed you. I had the hotel get me an air-gapped secure computer from a service and I added the food and champagne in case you were hungry. I can’t hold a phone, or even the key card for the room very well, so I need your hands to be mine.”

“And the strawberries?”

“Less challenging than M&Ms for me.”

She laughed a lovely boisterous laugh that couldn’t be faked. If I had my hands I would show her tawdry and sordid and everything else.

“If you have a phone on you, please put it in the Faraday Cage on the table.”

I didn't want to point with my club hands, but the cage was unmistakable.

"That's a name I haven't heard since High School. Didn't he stand in a cage and lightning would strike it?"

"I felt a big one would be bad taste. Besides I’m not worried about lightning.” It never strikes twice. “I care about Wi-Fi."

She ran her finger over the shining stainless steel. It was unintentionally seductive.

"I won't get zapped or anything will I?"

"No, it's just steel mesh, grounded but not positively charged."

She opened the door on top and slid two phones in. “A little paranoid with security?”

“With client security.”

“But you trust me? What about all the other phones in the hotel?”

“Low level signal jammer. The more powerful ones would be illegal, so it’s safe from the neighbors and the hotel's but if you place a phone right next to it, even a flip phone would beat it. Also, you can’t leave until I'm done with you."

Her skin flushed the color of strawberries.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

Work.

Business.

Quit imagining what color the rest of her turns.

"I don't want to keep you from other plans, I know it's a Friday night. Why don't you have a seat and we'll get to work?"

***

She was professional and attentive, and generous with her ideas as we worked. Not to mention sexy as hell as she typed, despite those very unflattering glasses she put on, and the ponytail she thoughtlessly imprisoned her hair with.

I let her interrupt me with questions and was shocked they made me think, and influenced the way my proposal was taking shape.

“Just tell me shut up if my questions bother you.” She hid behind her glasses.

“I would have a long time ago- and without your permission.”

We worked and she began telling me about some project she had to do in school. Truthfully, I was paying more attention to her than her words. I was impressed. Her eyes began to glow with the light of an enthusiasm close to passion as she talked.

That is how she would look in love. A crazy thought, and a violent idea, but I was certain it was the truth.

She finished talking and I sorely wished I had been listening instead of having these violent ideas.

“I’m sorry, I’m boring you talking about a stupid school project. You do things like that every day.”

“If you bored me I wouldn't be here,” I said sharply.

My eyes moved from her warm, softly full little mouth to her wide, bright eyes, roaming over her high cheekbones, her delicate temples, the fall of silky blonde hair framing her face, and then going back to that mouth. It had passion and sweetness and sensitivity, only waiting for the right man to set fire to it.