sure I can’t persuade you to join me?” He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms behind his head as his eyes flickered to his lap.
“Put a shirt on,” she demanded, “and then we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m so much more open when I’m comfortable.”
Sofia paused to consider this. If a new client had said this she would have called his bluff, knowing the worst-case scenario was that she’d be treated to a glimpse of his birthday suit. But Isaac wasn’t exactly a new client, and she’d been to that party before. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do to test a stranger, especially one in a skirt. How many women could resist the sight of a nude Isaac Blue? Sofia didn’t have a spreadsheet, but she could guess the stats on her own.
The real question was: Could she resist seeing him like that? An hour ago, she would have said yes, but an hour ago, it had been six years since they’d been in the same room. An hour ago she’d thought the only thing she felt for him was the dull, ghostly pain of betrayal. Now she knew better. But maybe the only way to beat the player was to play by his rules. Never mind that her nipples felt like a set of pushpins just from his proximity and forget the fact that her blood had caught fire in his mere presence. She could totally handle the sight of Isaac’s unbelievably perfect six-pack.
The only way to decide was to fall back on her proven methodology. They were still in the first twenty-four hours of the turnaround, which meant they were clearly in the forty-eight-hour assessment period. It was crucial that she spend this time getting to know who her client was, and as much as she thought she knew Isaac, her job was to approach this as a professional. Sofia only had one rule when it came to assessments: she always did them on the client’s terms. If they wanted to go to a bar, she went. If their dealer showed up, she stayed out of it.
Knowing exactly what she had to do, she returned his shrug. “If that makes you comfortable, it’s fine with me.”
She caught the surprise flicker in his eyes even as he stood and kicked off his designer boots, but by the time he tugged down his zipper, his cocky grin had returned. Isaac pushed his pants to the floor with a triumphant flourish, leaving him standing stark naked before her.
“Feel better?” she asked, gluing her eyes to his in what was likely to be the stare-off of the century.
“Much.” The word oozed with his slow, delicious Georgian accent. He winked at her, and Sofia felt heat flush across her skin.
Goddammit, he still knew how to press all her buttons. Although to be fair she doubted that any hot-blooded woman would have been able to handle the combination of his undeniable charisma and the stack of abs that narrowed into a chiseled V.
“I suddenly feel at a disadvantage, Miss...?”
The overly polite prompt for an introduction reminded Sofia exactly why it didn’t matter that Isaac Blue was naked in front of her. Maybe it was the symptom of a bruised ego that she thought he should remember her, but memory problems were far from rare in her clients.
“Miss King. I mean, Ms. King.” Then again, maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble with his memory.
“It’s a pleasure.” He closed the small distance between them and caught her hand, drawing it up to his lips. She knew his slow-as-honey words came from a mouth that didn’t only draw out its sentences. Heat radiated off him, and her eyes felt heavy, as though his mere presence was a powerful opiate. Her own personal drug.
But as he released her hand, she caught sight of his ink-stained fingertips. Sofia snapped back to reality, stepping away from him and tugging at her blouse as she shook her body free of his intoxicating effects.
“We should get to work,” she informed him, switching into business mode. “You’re expected on set tomorrow.”
Isaac frowned, running a hand through his tangled black hair. “I’m expected on set on Tuesday.”
“Tomorrow is Tuesday.”
“What the hell happened to Sunday?” He strode toward the bedroom, abandoning his flirtatious charade, and began ransacking the top of the dresser.
Sofia watched, mentally noting what she saw in his bedroom. No evidence of drugs. That was a good sign. Although there were some empty beer bottles. That wasn’t so good. Other than that, there was the usual contents of a guy’s pockets spilled across the bureau: loose coins, a wallet and a couple of condoms.
Intact condoms.
Still-wrapped condoms.
Unused condoms.
She hated herself for noticing.
“Lose something?” she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway.
“My phone,” he snapped, “my Sunday and, apparently, my mind.”
Sofia’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile. She was right on track after all. “That’s why I’m here.”
* * *
Isaac wanted to kiss the smug smirk off her painted lips and then nail her to the wall to show her exactly who had the upper hand here. But right now, and he hated to admit it, she did. He’d almost had her, calling her bluff when she pretended not to know him. As if he couldn’t see through her icy, hands-off act.
Fia Maxx might be calling herself by a new name. She might even have transformed from a nubile eighteen-year-old hottie to a gorgeous cock-teaser, but she couldn’t fool him. Not that he wouldn’t mind getting to know Ms. King a little bit better, particularly the lush, full breasts swelling under her fitted blouse.
Isaac pressed his body into the side of the dresser to hide his growing erection. Wood to hide wood. He’d be able to laugh about it later, but right now all he could think about was hoisting Fia’s long legs around his waist and riding her until her head fell back as she unraveled. She might have changed, but there was no way her O-face had—there was no improving on perfection.
Sure, she was playing it cool right now, but he’d seen her quietly squirming when he’d dropped his pants for her. She could try to pretend she didn’t feel the same electric connection that had sizzled between them six years ago, but there was no denying it was still there sparking and crackling since she’d walked back into his life.
And he was going to show her exactly what she’d been missing.
All he had to do was play along, let her think she could fix him or whatever her plan was, and he’d be back in her good graces and her panties. There hadn’t been a week that Fia Maxx hadn’t popped into his head since she’d disappeared without a word, and he needed to make up for lost time.
He’d fuck her out of his system. That was all. Give the studio what they wanted and get what he needed—Sofia spread naked on his bed. It was a win-win situation.
He just had to regain the upper hand.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked, waving his cell phone at him from the bedside table.
“It is,” he said.
Sofia held it out for him, and he paused. If he walked over and took it there was no way to hide his arousal from her. But if he stayed put, she’d guess why he wasn’t moving. Might as well give her something to look forward to. Isaac moved toward her, his dick rigid as a tent pole. Sofia’s eyes widened a little and she snapped her gaze up to his. It was too late. He’d caught her looking, and he’d seen exactly what he expected to in her momentarily thawed eyes: lust.
There was a chance he could sweep her onto the bed right here and now. Their gazes locked on one another, and he knew she was imagining the same thing. His hands hiking her skirt around her shapely hips as she wrapped herself around him. He’d rip off her silky stockings. Sofia’s mouth quirked into a grin and she shook her head slightly as if she knew what he was thinking.
He wouldn’t have to rip them off. Ms. King was definitely