Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [27]
Again, Laura considered her response. She hated being so easy to read. She hated that he could see her and she still couldn’t see him.
RILEY: It’s so unfair that this stupid camera only works one way. And for your information, I AM mad, at myself. Last night went too far, and it absolutely won’t happen again.
FLYBOY1: What size shoe do you wear?
She blinked at the screen in utter disbelief. Here they were, discussing shared sexual depravities, and he was taking down sizes? RILEY: Why on earth do you want to know?
FLYBOY1: Humor me.
RILEY: 7½. But if you do anything stupid like have sexy shoes delivered to me because you want me to walk around naked in them or something, I will promptly throw them out into the snow.
FLYBOY1: You take the fun out of everything. She sighed. RILEY: None of your business. FLYBOY1: 36C? She let out yet another irritated harrumph. RILEY: 34, if you must know, but you got the C right. FLYBOY1: Guess I’m a good judge of tits. And yours are beautiful, honey. Only problem with the present I sent you yesterday is that I didn’t get to see them. She rolled her eyes. RILEY: Poor planning on your part, I suppose. Damn it, why was she letting herself be engaged this way? She was supposed to be putting a stop to this. FLYBOY1: Show me now. Laura sucked in her breath as she stared at the screen and tried to keep her expression neutral. No man had ever made her feel so torn between her real self and her inner bad girl. To her surprise, part of her wanted to unbutton her pajama top right now, wanted to sit typing to him topless. But if she kept on with this, she feared she’d lose some precious part of herself. She’d come close to that last night, she thought—to giving away something she wasn’t sure she wanted to give. At least not to a man she’d never meet in person. RILEY: No. And you know what else? I’m done with this, Braden—REALLY done with it. As of right now, I want nothing more to do with you, got it? She liked that his next answer took awhile. She liked having surprised him with her anger. And even though she sat in the desk chair, still aroused, still wanting—that anger was real. Last night had gone too far. She never should have done something so intimate with a stranger, and it had left her feeling ashamed. This had been mysterious and intriguing, and probably the most truly exciting thing she’d ever done—but the horror she’d felt last night, coming right on the heels of her orgasm, had made it clear to her that it had to stop. FLYBOY1: Won’t work, Laura. You won’t turn the camera off. Arrogant bastard. RILEY: I don’t have to turn it off to ignore you. And I’m going to start ignoring you right this instant. I came here to write a book, now I’m going to write it. FLYBOY1: How it’s going, the book? She didn’t answer, instead pulling up the file she’d been writing in. FLYBOY: Is your alter ego busy solving some heinous crime? She swallowed, hard, because she found it difficult to ignore someone directly addressing her, even through the computer—but she still managed to. In fact, she started vigorously typing the next scene of the book. The writing was terrible, of course, but she could fix it later. For now, she mainly wanted to look busy and absorbed in her work. FLYBOY1: Come on, honey—don’t be like this. I have to. To protect my sanity. It was tempting to tell him that, to let him persuade her back into conversation—but no, not this time. She had to stand strong. She kept typing—something about Sloane Bennett being hot, the hottest man Riley had ever laid eyes on, let alone kissed. FLYBOY1: Talk to me. Another sentence—this one about Sloane being the sort of man who could tempt Riley to do things she never had before, but how Riley refused to be tempted because she had a case to solve and she intended to show Sloane she was a good detective, and that having sex with him probably wouldn’t do much to convince him of her mystery-solving prowess. FLYBOY1: Please.