"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 β¦ "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?"