by Shayla Black
She shrugged. “Niall is more my type.”
“And by that you mean a thousand miles away and unobtainable. Safe.” Kiki slapped the table. “Damn it, it’s time you got laid. How long has it been?”
“Not long.” She put her head down and mumbled. “Two years.”
Kiki gasped. “You haven’t slept with anyone since Tom? Oh my god. I never imagined it was this bad. I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it.”
“I talk to you about everything and you didn’t think I would mention a couple of one-night stands somewhere in there?” Her eyes trailed back to Caveman Hottie. He really was amazing to gawk at. The slightest hint of a beard spread across his jaw. Though he’d probably shaved this morning, his masculinity wouldn’t be denied.
“It’s a muscle, you know. You have to use it to keep it healthy. I think your vajayjay has atrophied. That’s why you can’t think straight about this death threat stuff.”
“It’s not a muscle,” Lara argued. But it probably had atrophied . . . and maybe grown a few cobwebs because she hadn’t even played around down there herself in the longest time. She hadn’t had time. Even in her head she sounded prim, like she was already collecting cats and preparing for old-maid-dom.
She had a sudden vision of that caveman putting his hands on her. Big hands. They wouldn’t be soft. When he touched her, she would be able to feel every callous and rough edge of his skin. He would have working hands, hands that had built things and protected people. He wouldn’t ask her what she wanted. No, he wouldn’t hesitate to give her what he thought she needed.
“Um, do you want to borrow my sweater?” Kiki’s question forced her out of her daydream.
“No. Why?” Lara turned, not wanting to get caught staring.
“Yours is really thin and your nipples are giving this group a show,” she pointed out.
Lara crossed her arms over her ridiculously erect nipples. “Guess I was a little cold.”
Kiki gave her a skeptical glare. “How about we go and introduce ourselves to the hottie and see if we can buy him a coffee. Or better yet, we could take him to the bar next door, get him tipsy, and have our wicked way with him.”
“Our?”
“There’s a reason I’m known as Kinky Kiki, hon.” She grinned, looking back at the caveman. “I’ll go talk to him and you can join us after you interview the bodyguard.” She glanced down at her watch. “He’s late.”
Lara checked her phone. Sure enough, she was supposed to have met the mysterious Connor five minutes ago. She’d gotten here early enough to have a cup of tea, but then she’d actually been instructed to meet him . . . outside.
Oh, god. Lara nearly fell off her seat. There was only one person standing outside the coffeehouse.
That glorious hunk of man.
“Kiki?” she squeaked.
Her friend settled a designer bag over her shoulder. Lara had tried to convince her to buy a purse from some Nepalese women’s organization that supported indigenous children, but Kiki had replied that when Louis Vuitton supported them, she would, too. “Yes?”
“I think that’s my bodyguard.”