"Remember my last birthday party?"
A million flashes of memory flooded his brain: Alabama in a seductive turquoise sheath, her bodyguard, Barby, fucking the male dishwasher, Paloma sucking the skin off of his cock … "Yeah. I remember."
"Did you remember that there's a camera in every room of this house?"
The saliva dried in his mouth. "Uh, yes. I did."
"Then you also forgot that besides having a security crew, I review the tapes every night."
The meaning of her words sunk in as deeply as the touch of her breath on his face. "I saw you and Paloma in the laundry room." Alabama paused, using a finger under his chin to tilt his head up. "I've seen a lot of people fuck but I never saw anything like how you treated her." She sat back a bit. "Are you in love with her?"
"Paloma? No. She's not my type."
"Type enough to fuck but not type enough to keep?"
"Exactly."
"Then what is your type?"
"Self-sufficient. Strong. In Control." With each statement, he pulled her mouth closer to his own, his hand at the back of her neck. "And beautiful enough to make me forget what day of the week it is." His mouth covered hers and he inhaled sharply, a tingle stabbing his groin. "So, what was it that I did with Paloma that you liked?"
"The way you touched her. The way you kissed her." She took a breath. "Like you really cared."
"I do care … I mean, I did care. I … I know that I'm married but Doris … "
"Is paralyzed." His eyes widened at her mention of his secret. "And she was your childhood sweetheart that you married to take care of her."
"Yes."