Just Toying Around… Read online

  Nick nodded. “That would probably work best. Let’s finish up here and then settle in and watch that movie you mentioned.”

  “Okay.” She poked her tongue in her cheek, and surveyed what was left on the table that they hadn’t covered. To her surprise, she’d inadvertently saved her three favorite things. She took up the first one, a small mini-massager. “This is called the Baby Bullet,” Meg told him. “It has a variable speed remote control and is largely used as a clitoral stimulator.” She grinned. “But it can also be used for intimate massage.” Meg placed the small massager into a soft nubby glove and tripped the remote. “Hold out your arm,” she told Nick.

  “I, uh—”

  “For heaven’s sake, it’s just your arm. It’s not like I told you to drop your pants,” she told him with an exasperated huff.

  Nick grudgingly held out his arm. Meg gently stroked the strong muscles of his extended limb. Ran the pulsating glove back and forth, circle upon circle. He blinked, seemingly startled at the pleasant sensation. A slow smile bowed his lips. “That’s…nice,” he said, skeptically surprised.

  Meg quirked a grin. “Yeah, just imagine how it feels against your back or against your neck. Your thighs, or gliding up the insides of your calves. I-it’s very relaxing.” Meg had to turn it off—she was becoming too turned on. A fleeting frown passed over Nick’s handsome face as she withdrew the glove.

  “Well, at least I understand the significance of all the little knots on everything now,” Nick said with a self-deprecating grin. “Damn, that felt good.”

  “Did, didn’t it?” Meg agreed, pleased that he’d admitted to enjoying the massager.

  Nick studied the table with a new appreciation of sensory pleasures. He certainly wasn’t a kid in a candy store, Meg conceded, but the change was almost as drastic. He seemed genuinely intrigued now.

  “What else have you got here?”

  Meg selected another favorite. “This is Shiver Cream.”

  “Shiver Cream? Sounds interesting. Do tell,” he murmured silkily.

  Meg uncapped the lid and loaded her finger with the almost colorless cream. “Give me your arm again.”

  To Meg’s delight, this time he didn’t even hesitate. She cupped his hand and applied the cream to the inside of his wrist. “Now wait just a minute,” she said. “Feel anything?” she asked.

  “Nah, not really.” Disappointment tinged his voice. “Am I supposed to?”

  The secret smile she’d barely managed to keep hidden, curled her lips. Meg lowered her lips and blew lightly on his wrist.

  Nick’s eyes widened and he whistled low. Shuddered. “Damn. I-it’s hot and tingly. What did you call this stuff again?”

  “Shiver Cream. Like it?”

  “Yeah,” he breathed. “Blow me again.”

  Meg’s startled gaze flew to his and a wicked chuckle erupted from Nick’s throat. Her blood caught fire at the Freudian slip, simmered in her veins as graphic images tumbled one right after another through the secret cinema of her mind.

  “Blow on my wrist again,” Nick clarified, that slumberous gaze unwavering.

  Meg lowered her lashes, bent low and zigzagged a steady stream of air against his sensitized wrist. Nick inhaled sharply, his breath hissing through his teeth. Meg felt her breasts go heavy, her nipples bud. A ribbon of warmth threaded through her and settled in her womb. She ached for release…ached for him.

  “Th-that’s incredible.” Nick sighed.

  “I like it,” Meg admitted.

  That somnolent gaze once again captured hers. Something dark and sinful and slightly mischievous lingered there. “Want me to do you?”

  The ground shifted beneath Meg’s feet as another lust-quake detonated below her navel. Her breath trembled through her lips. A vision of those gorgeous lips hovered centimeters above her flesh gripped her, made her mouth parch with want. Say yes! a little voice screamed inside her head. Say yes! One word and he’d do it. Just one word. Say yes!

  “Yes,” Meg finally managed, and she smiled at the coup. Advantage Desiree.

  Nick tugged her into his lap and Meg settled willingly, nervously, but ready to be led. “Now, where should I put this?” Nick mused softly, his voice low and rough and full of promise. “Ah, I know.” Huskier this time, deeper.

  He pulled her hair from her neck and tucked it over her shoulder, then painted a trail from behind her ear down the side of her neck. His touch alone created a sizzling trail of sensation. He nuzzled her neck and blew softly.

  The swift tingly heat made her shudder. A purr of pleasure vibrated the back of her throat.

  She felt his smile against her skin. “Like that, do you?”

  “Y-yes.” Meg sighed shakily. “Blow me again.”

  Nick tensed, and a husky moan rumbled from between his lips. He sent another wave of warm air over her neck, making her shiver. Then, to Meg’s immediate melt-down, his lips replaced his breath. Slow, sweet nibbles, the lave of his tongue against her sensitive skin. She was coming unglued. Her limbs had liquefied and a low insistent throb had commenced between her burning thighs. Meg clenched her feminine muscles, felt the slick heat coat her folds. Need and want coalesced into something primal, something just out of her reach and out of her control.

  He had control, Meg realized. He was hot, he was ready and he wanted her, but he held back—she could feel it. He’d somehow managed to cast her into the writhing pit of sexual hell, while he’d kept himself in check. How had he managed to—

  “Do you remember what you did to me last night?” Nick asked huskily.

  Meg couldn’t reply, simply nodded.

  “Remember how you set me off? Twice. Made me come in my briefs?”

  His tongue swirled around the shell of her ear. She nodded again as scenes as thrillingly graphic as his words materialized behind her closed lids.

  “I’m going to do that to you now,” Nick promised, or warned, she couldn’t tell. “I’m going to hold you and make you beg and set you off—twice.”

  Nick tilted her jaw toward him and kissed her, lightly at first, then put his complete intent into the erotic caress and laid siege to her mouth. He swallowed her groan, threaded his strong fingers into her hair and angled her more firmly against him. She felt him harden against her rump, felt the full length of him rub a few scant inches from that part of her that longed for that part of him. Meg wiggled in his lap. Frowned through a kiss despite the persistent flow of pleasure cascading through her body.

  She wanted— She needed— Meg turned in his lap, straddled him. Her sex nestled above his, provided that sublimely carnal pressure she craved. Smiling now, she framed his face with her hands, explored his mouth more fully and pressed herself tightly against his magnificent chest. Her nipples pearled beneath her bra, rasped against the silky fabric.

  As though she had telegraphed her needs, Nick slid his hands under her top and deftly released the hook of her bra. Those talented hands skimmed her rib cage, then trekked slowly upward until he held both aching globes in his hands. He squeezed and tweaked, thumbed and palmed her, and all the while, his lips never left hers. His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, mimicking a rhythm that had unconsciously begun below their waists. He rocked slowly against her mound, wreaking havoc everywhere. Her mouth, her breasts, her sex.

  A coil of heat tightened low in her tummy. Meg felt her breath start to come in short little puffs. She whimpered against his mouth and he upped the tempo. Barely, but enough. Her skin dewed, became flushed. A frantic beat pulsed where her pelvis met his.

  Nick released her breasts, smoothed his hands down her body and finally anchored them at her hips. The climax she’d craved hovered just out of her reach. She could feel it there, ready to starburst and eddy through her. But she couldn’t reach it, she couldn’t—

  She wanted—

  She needed—

  Nick sucked hard at her tongue, held her firmly and rocked even harder against her. Once, twice…Meg’s body bowed with shock as release swep
t her up in a tornado of sensation, then she shuddered violently. A moan tore from her throat and she sagged against Nick’s chest as the aftermath of the climax pulsed through her. Her eyes fluttered shut and a contented sigh whispered past her lips.

  “More amazing than I’d ever dreamed,” she murmured, wonder in her voice.

  Nick’s breathing was still labored, but growing steady. He gently stroked her back and kissed the top of her head. “One down and one to go.”

  9

  A RING OF THE PHONE reluctantly propelled Desiree from Nick’s lap. He missed her warmth at once. Nick had never held a more responsive woman. Had never enjoyed a partner’s climax more. Her little pants of pleasure, that soft satisfied purr that had resonated from deep in her throat all but sent him over the edge. The only reason he’d been able to hold it together was that he’d been so intent on taking care of her, so determined to send her where she’d sent him last night.

  Completely over the edge.

  She’d gone, all right. Gone and sent a postcard to taunt him. She’d shattered, had acted as though she’d never had the pleasure of an orgasm in her life. But of course, he knew better. He need only look around the room, check out her arsenal of sex toys to know that she’d been on the receiving end of countless orgasms. He had heard the relentless buzz of the vibrator. She’d just done a convincing job of making him feel like the first man to ever take her there, making him feel special.

  Nick watched her from across the room. Her skin still held that fresh-from-pleasure island glow. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and a becoming flush stained the side of her neck that had received the most of his attention.

  Shiver Cream, indeed, Nick thought, absently scratching his chest. That was some potent stuff. Nick had been stunned to realize that he’d liked it, hadn’t expected to enjoy any of these so-called adult toys. But the sensation had been hedonistic, surprisingly erotic. Once she’d applied it to him, he’d been consumed with thoughts of applying it to her…all over. Then fanning his breath over every square inch of her. Licking her. One thought had triggered another until he’d finally snapped and pulled her into his lap.

  A feral grin claimed his lips. He couldn’t wait to do it again.

  Desiree ended her call. “That was Marcus Kent,” she told him, looking slightly disappointed and annoyed. “One of the vendors is leaving and he’d like me to come down and say goodbye. I hate to do this, but do you mind if I run downstairs for a moment?”

  Nick shrugged. “No, of course not.”

  Relief lightened her shoulders. “Why don’t you read through my journal while I’m gone?” she suggested. She reached behind her back and refastened her bra. Absently straightened the rest of her clothes. Thirty seconds later, she’d pulled her hair up in that claw-clip again, glossed her lips and shoved her feet into her sandals. She moved through the room like a whirlwind with a purpose. Nick had never seen a woman get it together so quickly.

  If she was self-conscious, or even mildly disconcerted about their recent love-play, she certainly didn’t show it.

  He found himself equally impressed and irritated.

  After that little stunt she’d pulled at the restaurant last night, he’d had to wait a solid fifteen minutes before he could walk. She’d left his lap as pretty as you please in less than two minutes and looked fresh and chipper, as though they’d shared a cappuccino—not a mind-blowing, back-clawing orgasm.

  He was being unreasonable, Nick told himself, feeling his jaw clench painfully. What difference did it make if she could recover more quickly than him? It didn’t lessen the impact of what they had shared.

  He’d just made her come, for chrissakes.

  He was The Man, Nick silently affirmed. He couldn’t imagine where this Neanderthal mentality was coming from, but he didn’t seem able to stop it. It would certainly account for the absurd urge he’d had to beat his chest and roar after she’d collapsed against him, sated and spent and thoroughly pleasured.

  Desiree handed him her journal, bent down and pressed a quick but meticulous kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back,” she promised.

  And he’d have her on her back, Nick thought.

  Bloody hell. Another oafish thought. Nick shut his eyes, rubbed the back of his neck. A soft whoosh sounded as the door closed silently behind her. With nothing else to do, he turned his attention to the journal.

  Nick didn’t readily open it, just traced a finger down the spine. Strangely, he found himself reluctant to read it. This innocuous little book held the potential to ultimately finish what he’d come here to do. Though he truly believed that Desiree didn’t have a lover, the possibility still existed and the proof could very well lurk in these pages. If that was so, he’d be done here. Finished. He’d be able to report his findings to Ron—Ron would be furious, of course—but Nick would be able to go home and return to his life.

  Incredibly, the idea of returning to his plush, sterile condo in a trendy new complex here in Atlanta didn’t instill the profound relief he’d fully expected to feel. A peculiar, almost hollow feeling settled in his gut. Nick took a sip of his warm soda, chalked the disconcerting sensation up to hunger.

  He couldn’t possibly be depressed at the thought of going home, of quitting this insane charade.

  Nick had a life, a career waiting on him, after all. He typically worked a twelve-hour day, then spent an hour or so at the gym to burn off the stress he’d accumulated in the office. After he left the gym, he’d call one of his favorite eateries—the numbers were efficiently programmed into the address book in his cell phone—swing by, grab dinner and relax in front of the TV until he fell asleep. At some point, he’d wake up, stagger to bed, and then start the whole process over again each morning. He certainly didn’t live life in the fast lane, but there was a certain comfort in the routine. Or so he liked to think.

  After a few moments, Nick mastered his emotions, took a deep, resigned breath and stoically opened the journal. Desiree’s neat script filled the lined pages. She’d dated each entry, recorded the name of the toy, the company who produced it and her first impressions after use. If he had to choose three terms to describe her work, the words, neat, professional and organized would aptly sum it up.

  This woman didn’t do anything halfway, Nick thought with a small grin. Absolutely nothing. A kernel of respect grew for her. He’d bet his time-share that she alphabetized her spices, color-coded her coat hangers and bought her plastic bins in bulk. She probably kept every bank statement, every tax form and could put her hands on her insurance policies in less than ten seconds. She seemed to thrive on order and didn’t allow any unnecessary clutter in her life. If he was wrong and she did have a lover, Nick concluded grimly, he’d undoubtedly be a husband soon.

  Only a fool would let her go.

  With that telling thought, Nick steered his attention to a more productive task—reading the journal. Nick had scanned enough briefs in his career to sift through the details and retain the pertinent facts. He put that talent to work and when he was finished, blew out a ridiculously relieved breath—no lover. He’d been right.

  Which meant that Ron could very well be right also. His brother’s bizarre theory started to almost seem plausible. Could she actually be doing all of this solo? Granted, there were some products she didn’t necessarily need a partner for. That damned bird-thing, Nick recalled with a surge of irritation. Some of the creams and jellies.

  But what about all the other stuff? Nick wondered. What about the penis jelly rings and the handcuffs and the adult games? What did she do about those things? Make it up?

  Surely not, Nick mentally scoffed. Still, a niggle of doubt surfaced. Dirty talk and talented toes aside, all the data pointed to Ron’s theory. Nick took a moment to examine the facts. One, she hadn’t brought anyone with her. Two, she hadn’t admitted to having a significant other who might have tested these toys with her. And three, there was no mention of him—Antonio—in her journal. Furthermore, Nick had spent a great deal of
time with her, had been in her room for the past couple of nights and she hadn’t received one personal phone call. Every call had been trade-show related.

  Pretty damning evidence, he decided.

  Nick swallowed. Swore. What a damn mess. It was a no-win situation. Either Desiree lost her job or his mother lost more of her retirement. And though he’d come here to help Ron, Nick knew he couldn’t permit either scenario to happen. Desiree didn’t deserve to lose her job for the sake of Ron’s shoddy products, and his mother simply couldn’t afford to bail him out again. Nick would simply have to find another alternative. A fraud or no, Desiree’s assessments of Ron’s products were right on the money. Ron had simply needed a scapegoat, but Nick couldn’t allow him to use Desiree.

  Nick exhaled loudly and, for lack of anything better to do, glanced around Desiree’s room. Everything was neat and tidy. No clothes littered the bed or floor, having obviously been stowed in the appropriate space. Various bottles of female paraphernalia lined the low dresser and a nice attaché and matching handbag sat on the floor beside the bed. All in all, everything was just as he’d expect her to—

  Nick stilled as everything inside him went quiet. Her handbag…which undoubtedly held her driver’s license.

  One glance would tell him her real name.

  Elation surged through him. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Nick stood quickly, ignoring the nervous flutter that had begun in his stomach as well as his squawking conscience. He hurried to the door, slowly pulled it open and peered out into the hall. Empty. Even if she were in the elevator, she’d still have to come down the hall.

  He had time.

  Nick double-timed it back to the bed and picked up her purse. His conscience had begun to screech in protest now, almost drowning out all of his legitimate reasons for snooping through her personal possessions.