Breaking All Her Rules Read Free Page B

didn’t drink like that anymore. Rock bottom had been a few years back.
    Still, he eyed the minibar with no small amount of interest. Then his thoughts shot back to his shared cab ride.
    Grace Song.
    Hell, he hadn’t flirted like that in more than a decade. It had been...well, it had been great. She’d been so damn pretty. So uptight. And he’d wanted to uncoil all that glossy black hair and see just how long it was. How it would feel sifting through his fingers.
    That was a Grade-A fantasy considering he’d been too burned out to have one in the past six years. Mainly he’d just let porn supply the visual while his right hand took it from there.
    Which was kind of empty and hollow, really. But hey, he had to get off sometimes, and he genuinely lacked the energy to do it another way.
    Though tonight, he could easily imagine which image he might...
    He cleared his throat. Slightly creepy. That was slightly creepy. But if no one knew...
    He pressed his hand against the front of his towel, against his hardening member. Who the hell cared if it was creepy?
    His phone rang, the sharp sound making him jump as pulled his hand away from his dick like a guilty thirteen-year-old.
    He walked over the phone and swore. If it was Marsha again he was going to growl at her. Because he’d left his phone sitting in the other room on the bed for a reason. He didn’t want to deal with people until he absolutely had to.
    He didn’t want to go “take in a show” or have sushi, or get a manicure or whatever the hell else Marsha might think he needed to do to fully enjoy his time in New York. He would deal with that crap when he had to. Tonight, all he wanted to do was stay in his room, order dinner in and jack off. It didn’t seem like a major ask.
    He picked up the handset.
    “Hello,” he said, growling already.
    “Yes, Mr. Camden. There’s a visitor here for you. Grace Song. She’d like permission to come up.”
    It was as if all of his penis’s hopes and dreams had come true.
    Down, boy, she’s not here for that.
    Well, why the hell else would she be here? Unless she was looking for
Fox in the City Part Deux
after she’d discovered his identity.
    Maybe she’d used Google to find him. Though, he had no idea why she would. He was some random guy she’d shared a cab with, who’d done a rather terrible sketch on a card for her.
    “Yeah,” Zack said. “Send her up.” He paused.
    He looked down at where his hand still gripped the towel. Well, that would have to be taken care of.
    He dropped it and left a pool of snow-white terry cloth on the floor before going back into his bedroom and opening up his suitcase.
    He ought to get his suit out. If it was wrinkled Marsha would probably have his ass on a platter. Apparently “hobo chic” as she had once called it, was not a thing.
    He tugged out a pair of jeans and shrugged them on, pulling them up and stuffing all relevant parts down in there carefully before doing the zipper with even more care. He did not need a zipper incident.
    That would be the ultimate irony. He finally got his penis to sit up and pay attention. If he immediately mortally wounded it with a zipper he would just have to tell life to go screw itself.
    He heard a light knock on the door and he went out into the living area. He walked to the door and opened it. It really was her. All five-foot-nothing of her. Dark hair still pulled back in that little bun pinned primly at the nape of her neck. Her cheeks a pale pink, a streak of blush paint over porcelain skin. Her almond-shaped eyes were deep brown, nearly black, framed with lush dark lashes.
    She was perfection. And he hadn’t even gotten to her figure, which, though petite, packed the kind of punch that...well, that had made him lust again.
    “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.
    She looked him over, from his face down to his bare chest, to his jeans, which were barely hanging onto his hips, and the color in her cheeks deepened.
    “Your phone,”