“What?” Camryn asks.

“Unless I’m the one who did something wrong.”

This earns me a confused look. “Do you think you did something wrong?”

I shrug. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that it had been so long.”

“Noah isn’t like that. He wouldn’t care.”

Camryn’s right. I replay the evening in my head. Dinner. Champagne. Dancing. Flirting. Laughing. Groping.

“Maybe I was too aggressive. I had my hand in his pants the second the door closed.” I push my hands into my hair, remembering how I acted, in all my horny glory. “The lock didn’t even click into place and I was all up in his business. I started giving him a blow job in the damn foyer of our apartment.”

“That’s hot,” she commented, taking another bite of her food. “What guy doesn’t want a blow job in the foyer?”

I don’t know. Apparently Noah. But he’s been practically begging to show me his dick . . . I frown, unsure if my actions last night somehow caused him to pull away.

She leans toward me, her eyes full of sweet pity. “Sweetie, if you’re sucking his dick, you can do it anywhere, anytime, and it’s okay. It’s almost a rule.”

The worst part of this whole situation is the growing seed of doubt he left. What’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I good enough?

“What happened next?” she asks.

“He took me into the bedroom and stripped me down. We were kissing.” God, the kissing. The man can do incredible things with his tongue. “And then he was rubbing his . . . anaconda . . . all over my . . . honey pot, and I mentioned something about a condom.”

“Hmm.” She looks as perplexed as I feel. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word honey pot?”

Shaking my head, I continue. “No. But maybe it was me. Maybe my vagina’s ugly?”

The guy seated next to us whips his head in my direction so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

Camryn pats my hand. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your vagina. I’m sure of it.”

“Then why, Cam? Why? Why would he do that? Because I don’t believe for one second that he was all of a sudden ill.”

She shakes her head. “No, neither do I.” She sets her fork down next to her Cobb salad. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

My stomach tightening, I nod.

She wipes her mouth with her napkin and leans forward. “I think it hit Noah that this unique situation with you isn’t what he’s used to. This isn’t a random hookup, or a booty call that he can duck out on in the morning. Whether you guys like it or not, sex between the two of you is going to mean something.”

I frown and chew on my thumbnail. “In what way?”

“You’re a married couple now.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a business agreement. An arranged marriage. And I proposed we be fuck buddies since we’re stuck together. It’s not some romantic till-death-do-us-part, lovey-dovey marriage.”

Camryn holds up her palms. “All I’m saying is sex for men isn’t just physical like we sometimes like to believe. And I think something spooked Noah—got into his head.”

“That’s ridiculous.” But is it? Aren’t those some of the same things I was worried about? My whole objection for us having naked fun in the first place?

“Ridiculous or not, I want you to know that his backing out had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with something going on inside his head.”

“So, what do I do now?”

She grins wickedly. “That all depends. Do you still want to bang him?”

Stupid question. Is the value of pi 3.14? Does my husband have a horse cock? Yes to all of the above.

“More than anything.” I grin back at her, my expression equally cheeky.

Camryn cracks up laughing. “Okay, then here’s what you do . . .”

• • •

Later, back at the office, I’m working away when my head snaps up. Walking past my window—was that Noah just now? I jump out of my chair and peek around the doorjamb. Yep . . . I’d recognize that ass anywhere. He turns the corner and I follow him at what I hope is a casual distance. Time to confront him, just like Camryn suggested.

When I reach Noah’s office, his door is shut and locked. But the lights are on and I can see the silhouette of his head through the frosted glass window. It doesn’t look like he’s on the phone or having a private meeting with anyone.

I give his door three loud raps. “Hey, Noah.”

No answer. So he’s being stubborn. Too bad; I can be stubborn too. I knock again and call, “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”

The door flies open. Noah looks irritated. Well, good—I guess that makes two of us.

“Something better be on fire,” he snaps.

I keep my eyes steady on his. “Sorry, but no. And we should talk in private.”

His mouth presses into a firm line, but he steps aside to let me walk into his office.

I shut the door behind me and turn to face him. “So . . . about last night. Care to tell me what happened?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Weren’t you there? You already know.”

“No, I really don’t.” Straightening my back—I can’t match his height, but I’ll still try—I plant my hands on my hips. “The date, the dancing, the wooing . . . and then the bailing.”