Just Toying Around… Read online

  He certainly didn’t have any intention of doing it now.

  He could handle the frustration. Really. Any minute now, this raging erection would wither and he could quit thinking about what it would be like to sheath himself in Desiree’s heat. To feel those small capable hands of hers gliding over his skin. Clutching his ass, urging him on as he pistoned in and out of her hot, velvety channel.

  To Nick’s supreme irritation, a low-buzzing hum suddenly broke the tense silence. A grim, humorless smile turned his lips and a bark of laughter erupted from his throat.

  Another fantasy took hold. He closed his eyes and groaned. Swore. Groaned again.

  Imagined her flushed skin. All that glorious hair fanned out on a stark white pillow. Long, bare limbs writhing on top of crisp sheets. Her small even teeth sunk into that amazingly full bottom lip. Naked, puckered breasts. A tangle of moistened chocolate curls at the junction of her creamy thighs…

  Buzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  …her clever fingers massaging the secret bud nestled like a treasure in her wet, feminine folds. Arched neck, a moan of pleasure…

  A bead of sweat broke out on Nick’s brow. Frustration welled, peaked. He resisted the urge to gnash his teeth. To scream.

  Buzzzzzzzzzz.

  Ah, hell. With a defeated sigh, he lowered his zipper and took matters into his own hands.

  SHE’D PROBABLY NEVER SEE HIM again, Meg reflected gloomily as she applied her mascara. She blinked, satisfied that she’d coated each lash and slipped the slim tube back into its place in her makeup case. Going to the trouble of getting ready for their date seemed like a monumental waste of time considering he’d most likely departed the hotel first thing this morning, or at the very least had moved to a different room.

  But Meg went through the motions anyway on the off chance that he still planned to keep their date. After all, he hadn’t called to cancel. He struck her as the type who’d extend such a courtesy.

  When she’d returned to her room this afternoon after attending her trade-show duties, she’d fully expected to hear his regrets on her voice mail. But she hadn’t. Nor had she heard any activity in his room. No TV. Not so much as the flush of a commode. It had been eerily quiet.

  Honestly, though, if he stood her up, could she really blame him? A sigh seeped past her lips. Despite the fact that they’d had a great time and had obviously clicked on several different levels, he’d been asked a very personal question—about his erection, for pity’s sake!—by a complete stranger.

  And it was all her fault.

  Of all the rotten luck, Meg silently railed. If it had been anyone but Marcus Kent who’d caught the two of them in the hall, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  And it was a predicament. As screwed-up as a soup sandwich.

  Marcus had cornered her downstairs again this afternoon, extolling his unending delight over meeting Antonio and getting his perspective on all the products she’d been critiquing. The curiously effeminate man had practically rubbed his greedy little hands in anticipation. He simply couldn’t wait. And, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Antonio could start critiquing, too? Do a He Said, She Said-type review and run them together? Run their pictures beside their column, just like Ann Landers?

  Oh, I don’t know, Meg thought sarcastically. Lemme think about that a minute. No!

  Meg pulled in a shaky breath. No, it would not be wonderful. Their pictures? Please. When hell froze over. She didn’t even use her own name, for heaven’s sake. Why the hell would she want her picture up there for the entire world to see? Hey, Ma.

  Check out this url. www.yourdaughterthenympho.com.

  A hysterical bubble of laughter fizzled up her throat. This was turning into her worst nightmare. If it weren’t for Paris—for the opportunity to study with Pierre—despite the fact that she enjoyed critiquing, Meg would give notice and head straight back to her unsuspecting virtually stress-free life. There was a lot to be said for peace of mind, Meg decided, and ever since Marcus had seen Meg in the hall with Nick, her peace of mind had been shattered.

  Marcus had lots of ideas, all of which had begun to make Meg physically ill from thinking about them. Because each one was worse than the last—and they all involved the partner she didn’t have, but seemed she would be forced, in short order, to get.

  Meg had gone over it and over it in her head and, if Nick showed up tonight, she’d have no choice but to ask him to pose as her lover. A shiver of need accompanied that thought. But Marcus had seen him, would inevitably see him around the hotel. It was either ask Nick to masquerade as Antonio, or confess to Marcus that she didn’t have a partner at all.

  Regrettably, neither scenario was very attractive, and if she didn’t ask Nick, she could kiss going to Paris next summer goodbye.

  She’d have to ask Nick.

  He’d probably say no, but what the hell? At this point, other than her job, her dream and a-potentialboyfriend/chance-of-a-lifetime/weeklong-tryst-with-the-sexiest-man-she’d-ever-laid-eyes-on what did she have to lose?

  Admittedly, Meg had been unreasonably attracted to Nick from the start. She’d practically gone into a molecular meltdown from the moment he’d first stepped into the elevator with her. Something about him tripped every single one of her triggers. She didn’t know what exactly and she certainly didn’t know why.

  But she’d never craved a man so much, never turned into a single throbbing nerve of need by simply staring at a man’s lips before. All of these little indicators should have tipped her off, should have prepared her for The Kiss.

  But they hadn’t.

  Meg had been within a millimeter of orgasm when Marcus Kent had interrupted them. One more wiggle—mercy—one more slip of his tongue into her mouth and she would have climaxed.

  Right there in the hall.

  Still fully clothed.

  Thanks to a man, not a toy.

  Dammit, she wanted that orgasm! It was hers. She’d waited her entire adult life for a real, male-induced orgasm and Marcus Kent had robbed her of it. Meg felt like stamping her foot, like a kid whose favorite toy had been stolen by a schoolyard bully. She wanted to scream in frustration. She settled for a whimper of regret.

  Now, who knew what would happen? Even if Nick did keep their date, she seriously doubted he’d agree to be her pseudo lover. And even if he did, look at the torture she would be in for. They’d be forced to talk about the product line, the toys…sex…all the time. She’d have to prep him, give him a crash course in Sex 101. The thought made Meg smile. She—a virgin in every sense but the word—giving him sex lessons.

  Like he’d need any. Meg snorted. She knew without a doubt Nick Devereau had plenty of experience when it came to bed play. If his kiss had been any indication of the rest of his abilities, then he undoubtedly had been pleasuring women since puberty. Highly motivated libido or no, Meg knew it took an extreme amount of talent to make a woman almost come with nothing but a kiss.

  Meg shrugged into her dress, then fastened a pair of strappy sandals onto her feet. If he didn’t stand her up, maybe she’d get lucky and he’d kiss her again.

  “SO, LET ME MAKE SURE that I’ve got this straight. You want me to pretend that we’re lovers, to pretend that you and I have used—do use, on a regular basis—sex toys when we make love? That I’m this Antonio person?”

  Desiree swallowed. Nodded jerkily. Amazingly, she seemed genuinely embarrassed. “That about sums it up, yes.”

  “You are a sex-toy critic for an online magazine and you’re here for the trade show that’s going on in the hotel?”

  This time she cleared her throat. “Right. I had to come alone, and then my boss saw me necking in the hall with you… He assumed you were Antonio.” She shrugged. “I’m kinda in a bind.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on Nick. Ron had asked him to be her lover in fact—which he’d refused to do—and now she’d asked him to be her lover in theory.

  The situation had just taken another absurd turn, but one that would benefit R
on’s cause. It would certainly be easier to gather the ammunition to discredit her if they were working so closely together. Playing the part of her sex-toy critique partner would undoubtedly result in togetherness, probably more than he could comfortably handle, Nick realized as a finger of trepidation slid down his spine.

  And while he’d imagined many scenarios for how this date would proceed, Desiree Moon asking him to pose as her sex-toy critique partner had never been one of them.

  Nick lounged back in his chair, considering her thoughtfully. That explained why she’d seemed so relieved when he’d shown up at her door. She hadn’t been anxious to see him—she needed something from him.

  To Nick’s surprise, he found himself unreasonably perturbed. The idea that she’d resort to using him to keep her critiquing job shouldn’t bother him, considering he was the one with the ulterior motive. He’d only come to the hotel with the purpose of gathering evidence for Ron, to ruin her credibility in that very field.

  But it did.

  Some sort of revelation he didn’t wish to pursue lurked in that thought, so Nick—being Nick—bullied it aside and focused on the positive.

  This could definitely work to his advantage. True, pretending firsthand experience with questionable things such as penis jelly rings would be intensely humiliating and against every natural instinct he had as a man.

  But it would even the playing field.

  He could help Desiree while gleaning his information for Ron. Then he wouldn’t be the only one benefiting from this insane, totally ridiculous scheme. She would, too.

  He mentally shrugged. He could work with that. In fact, now that he’d boxed his misgivings into a neat little package which no longer concerned him, Nick felt more comfortable going into stealth mode. Just to punish her for making him feel so out of sorts, he pulled an Emeril and kicked it up a notch.

  “Okay,” he said at last.

  Those impossibly green eyes rounded in relief. “You’ll do it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Nick lowered his voice to an intimate level, and blatantly perused every inch of her. Her mouth, the subtle curve of her jaw, the slender column of her throat. How would she taste there? he wondered. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent female whom I’m intensely attracted to,” he murmured. “You just offered me the opportunity to discuss sex with you at length.” He lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Why wouldn’t I agree?”

  She gulped. “You realize that Marcus will put you on the spot? Expect you to answer very personal, potentially embarrassing questions?”

  Nick nodded. “It’s worth the trade-off.”

  “Penis jelly rings are just the tip of the iceberg,” she warned.

  “I can handle it.” He hoped. Damn. What could possibly be worse than penis jelly rings? Did he really want to know? No matter. Undoubtedly, he’d find out.

  Seemingly satisfied, Desiree leaned back into the barrel-backed chair in the lounge and absently ringed the rim of her glass with her index finger. She wore a tangerine-colored tank dress that swung loosely around her thighs and the sexiest little sandals he’d ever seen. Nick imagined he could have her out of the dress in less than three seconds. She could leave the shoes on.

  Bloody hell. He had to stop thinking like this. He had to—

  “Antonio?” Desiree sing-songed as she wiggled her fingers at him. “Yoo-hoo?”

  Nick blinked. “Come again?”

  Smiling, Desiree tsked. “You have to remember that you’re Antonio now. It’ll look funny if Marcus or Ann address you and you act like you don’t know who they’re talking to.”

  “Right,” Nick said, feeling foolish. “Forgive me. I’m not used to answering to anything but my own name. Funny how that works.”

  Desiree chuckled. “Trust me, when this is over, you’ll be glad that you haven’t used your real name.”

  Nick stilled. For the first time since he’d met her, it occurred to him that he didn’t know her real name.

  “You use a pseudonym?” he asked lightly, though he knew the answer to that question. He simply wanted to see if she’d tell him the truth. To see if she trusted him enough to give him her real name.

  Which was ridiculous, Nick chided himself. She shouldn’t trust him, was right to guard her privacy. Why did he keep testing her character when he was the one here with the hidden agenda? Sheesh. He had to get a grip.

  “I do,” she replied hesitantly.

  When it became obvious she didn’t intend to share her real identity, Nick posed another question. “When this week is over will you give me your real name?”

  Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug and she regarded him with a sexy enigmatic gaze. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’ll still want it at the end of the week.”

  “I will,” he promised. And truer words have never been spoken, Nick realized. A curious tightening squeezed his chest, not altogether pleasant.

  The silence lengthened and it occurred to Nick that the conversation had become too serious. “So.” He blew out a breath, summoned an amiable smile. “How did you come up with the name ‘Desiree Moon’?”

  “Can’t remember,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was drunk.”

  Nick chuckled again. God, this woman was full of surprises. “Drunk?”

  “Yep. Totally cocktailed. I applied for the critic position online, made up the name, everything.” Sighing, she rested her cheek against her palm. “While I was drunk. Things just sort of escalated from there.”

  You could drive a truck through the hole in that explanation, but if she didn’t feel inclined to fill it in, then he certainly didn’t intend to ask. Pastry chef to sex-toy critic was quite a leap. Nick had wondered how she’d gotten started doing something that, at times, seemed so totally out of character. She baffled him. Intrigued him. Made him laugh.

  “So—” she sighed “—are you absolutely sure that you want to go through with this?”

  Nick nodded. “Sure.”

  “Then we’d better get started prepping you. I don’t know exactly when Marcus is going to want to see us, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’ll probably be sometime Thursday.”

  Nick’s brow wrinkled with confusion. It was only Monday night. “We need to start prepping me now?” he asked. “How much am I going to have to learn?”

  “A lot,” she said meaningfully, as if Nick didn’t have the first clue about sex. “He’s going to expect you to know about virtually every product that I’ve critiqued. Let’s see,” she mused, tapping her finger against her chin. “I have my journal, so we can go back over everything that I’ve done up to this point. Then we can go through all of the products that I’ve got up in my room. That should be enough to make sure you pass muster.”

  Nick blinked. She made it sound like a damned arsenal. Another question surfaced. “You keep a journal?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?” he asked uneasily.

  “I like to write down my impressions of a product as soon as I finish using it. That way when I go back to write my critique, I have more to go on.” She paused. “It’s not just whether an item is stimulating or not. I critique everything about a product. Size, texture, scent…everything.”

  He’d known she was thorough. He’d gleaned that much on his own. To Nick’s displeasure, a vision of her giving him the old heave-ho immediately after they’d had sex to write in her journal suddenly filled his head. What would she write about him? His size? His texture? His scent? Or, God forbid, his performance?

  A fist of anxiety tightened his gut. Nothing, Nick reminded himself, because he wasn’t going to sleep with her. He wouldn’t allow things to progress that far.

  Nick had never doubted himself when it came to pleasuring a woman. He was an excellent lover, had been told so on many occasions. He had absolutely no reason to suspect that, were they to ever make love, he’d be unable to satisfy her.

  Furthermore, since he’d met Desiree, his thoughts had
been consumed with what it would be like to taste every inch of her, to bury himself so deeply inside her it would take dynamite to blast him out. In his dreams—the only place he could have her—he’d put that curvy little compact body of hers into more positions than a side show contortionist.

  But in those dreams, it had never occurred to him that she’d be critiquing him.

  Quite frankly, he didn’t like the idea at all. He wouldn’t tolerate it, Nick decided with grim determination. If by some chance he and Desiree were able to pursue a normal relationship after this business with Ron was finished and they did make love, he’d just have to make sure that when they were finished, she wouldn’t have the strength to give him the heave-ho, much less the necessary energy to pick up a pen. Feeling somewhat smug, Nick smiled blandly and absently scratched his chest.

  “Why don’t we go back up to my room?” she suggested. “We can order room service and uh, get started.”

  Nick nodded. “Sure.”

  “Great. We’ll start with the pleasure enhancers and save the, uh, more adventurous toys for tomorrow.”

  Nick mentally scowled at that remark. She made it sound as though he couldn’t handle the “adventurous” toys. Admittedly, the whole idea of sex toys was distasteful to him, but that was a personal choice, not the result of a weak sense of adventure. He could be every bit as adventurous as the next guy.

  “Don’t hold back on my account,” he told her.

  She cocked a brow, regarded him with a secret smile. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” he said, slightly exasperated.

  “Fine. We’ll start with the vibrators.”

  5

  WHILE NICK HAD stepped next door to return a call, Meg took the time to retrieve her journal and arrange the many boxes of adult toys/enhancers on her bed. She sorted by category. Vibrators, massagers, enhancers, various creams, jellies and massage oils, a few bondage items and adult games.

  In just a few minutes, Nick would join her and she would be required to do a little Show and Tell session on each individual item. The idea simultaneously inspired a rush of panic and a tingly coil of anticipation. Her insides quivered.