Just Toying Around… Page 8

  The confession made a smile tremble around her lips. “You’re in lust with me?”

  “Yes,” Nick confessed, oddly relieved. “I have been since the moment I first saw you. You’re gorgeous and you’re interesting, and you make me laugh and you have the sexiest mouth I have ever seen—” He leveled his gaze on hers. “I’ve been sitting here watching you eat—just eat, dammit—and the whole time I’ve been battling a hard-on. When you ate off my spoon just now— Licked the spoon—” Nick looked away, blew out another breath. “I had to get up. Do you understand?”

  Her brows winged up her forehead. “Are you saying—”

  “I’m saying I had to get up,” he repeated meaningfully.

  A calculating grin turned her lips. “Or what?”

  The minx. She was determined to drag the words out of him. He supposed he owed her that much. Nick passed a hand over his face. Managed an embarrassed smile. “Or I would have left the restaurant with a wet spot on the front of my slacks.”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed.

  Oh? That was it? She’d made him all but tell her that he’d been hard all evening long, had practically exploded in his shorts and all she had to say was “oh” punctuated by a pout? “Was that not what you were expecting me to say?” he asked.

  “Frankly, no.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she repeated.

  “Then what were you expecting me to say?”

  She arched a brow. “Frankly?”

  “Yes,” Nick said, growing exasperated. “Frankly.”

  “Well, frankly, I expected you to say that watching me eat turned you on so much that you almost came. That every time I put that fork in my mouth you were imagining putting something else between my lips. Like your…” Desiree leaned forward and whispered the rest of the words in the most erotically graphic, depraved, sensual monologue Nick had ever heard.

  Dear God, she was killing him.

  Nick’s breath came in short, hard puffs. He gripped the side of his chair with both hands and a bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. To his immense pain/pleasure, Desiree’s toes snaked up the side of his leg, brushed his inner thigh, and settled on his groin.

  Nick exploded. He came. Hard.

  Desiree smiled. Calmly slid the dessert from the middle of the table and took up her spoon. She moaned, groaned, wriggled and wiggled, all the while licking and laving that utensil.

  Her foot remained anchored at his crotch.

  Her clever toes nuzzled and stroked, and didn’t let up until she’d finished her dessert and he’d considerably enlarged the wet spot on his slacks.

  So much for control.

  By the time they left the restaurant Nick had reached a grim realization—being honorable with a woman hell-bent on seduction was a damn difficult task.

  Yes, Desiree had her own agenda, and after that little toe-session underneath the tablecloth, Nick knew exactly what she wanted.

  Him.

  7

  “THANKS SO MUCH for doing that workshop,” Ann told Meg as they walked out of the Colorado Room. “I think the vendors really benefited from your lecture.”

  Meg wasn’t so sure, but she thanked her for the compliment all the same.

  There’d been one guy in the back who’d stared at her through the entire session, watched her every move and hung on to her every word. He hadn’t frightened her. It hadn’t been that kind of look. This guy had been younger than most of the men and women present and he’d seemed particularly interested in her opinions.

  To Meg’s surprise, there’d been something oddly familiar about him, but she couldn’t imagine why. She was certain she’d never met him before. Most likely, he’d been a recipient of one of her bad reviews. She hadn’t given many and certainly hadn’t ever given one to a product that didn’t deserve it. In fact, most of them had been with the same company.

  Something clicked in Meg’s troubled thoughts. She stopped. “Ann, who was the younger guy in the back? The one who asked so many questions?”

  Ann’s pert nose wrinkled. “Brown hair, heavy on the gel?”

  Meg nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Ron Capshaw,” she drawled. “Fancies himself a ladies’ man and is prone to brag.” She shrugged. “Seems oily to me but Marcus says he’s a good guy, just needs to grow up. Marcus is usually a good judge of character.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell, but that didn’t mean anything. She racked her brain, searching for the connection. “What company is he with?”

  “He owns—”

  “Guilty Pleasures, Inc.” Meg finished, as the name she’d been searching for finally materialized. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Ann asked.

  “Why he glared at me through the whole session.” Meg bit her lip. “I’ve given several of his products bad reviews.”

  “Did they deserve them?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Meg readily agreed.

  “Then you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. You’ve been doing your job. That’s all.” Ann firmed her chin. “He needs to take your advice and make the adjustments to his product line. I’ll say something to Marcus.”

  “No,” Meg insisted. “Don’t do that. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just ignore him.”

  And hope that he ignored her. She had at least three Guilty Pleasure products upstairs right now awaiting her critique. She certainly didn’t plan to let him intimidate her into a favorable review if the stuff didn’t deserve the praise. Still, if they weren’t up to par, this could get seriously uncomfortable.

  Luckily, Meg had a protector this week.

  Nick.

  Just the thought of him made her shiver.

  Dinner last night had been an experience. Meg still couldn’t get over how bold she’d been, how forward. A slow smile curved her lips.

  But he’d deserved it.

  Meg hadn’t had any idea that he’d been sexually excited, that that had been his problem. He’d seemed strained, tense throughout their meal, but she’d just glumly assumed it was because he regretted asking her out. That she’d talked too much about their food—Meg was passionate about her work, loved to talk about it—and had turned him off with her continual chatter. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  Still, she usually wasn’t so dense. Last night had apparently been an off-night for her.

  But once Nick had confessed, once he’d explained his preoccupation… Well, everything had gone from being clear as mud to clear as glass. And something had come over her. She’d gone into full Desiree mode.

  She’d been so relieved, so bowled-over by his I’m-in-lust-with-you statement that her blood had instantly caught fire. That admission had tripped her naughty wire and ignited a wicked bomb.

  She’d talked dirty to him.

  Said exactly what she wanted to say in just the way she wanted to say it. Hadn’t held back. She’d put her foot between his legs, massaged him to climax twice—in a public restaurant. It had been nothing short of a breakthrough, Meg marveled. Nothing short of miraculous. For her.

  Aside from that one little moment of panic when Chef Roberto Villarreal had started to make his rounds, the night couldn’t have been any better. Meg frowned, chewed her nail. She knew Nick had noticed her discomfort when she’d spotted the chef. She’d all but leapt from her chair, hastily excused herself to the ladies room. She’d taken the long, circuitous route in order to bypass Villarreal. Then, she’d stayed hidden in the bathroom for a ridiculous amount of time.

  But she’d had to. She and Roberto had attended a seminar together in June, barely four months ago. They were more than acquaintances; they were friends. She’d hoped that he would have made his rounds earlier in the night, but she hadn’t been so lucky. Just par for the course, Meg silently lamented, her typical run-of-the-mill luck.

  Still, though she knew he’d noticed, Nick hadn’t commented on her abrupt departure. And he wouldn’t, she knew, because he wasn’t the type. He was�
�� He was honorable, Meg decided. The term was old-fashioned and outdated, but it applied to him. Perhaps that was why she didn’t have as many reservations with him, why she’d been blown away by the full force of her attraction. The misgivings she normally felt when presented with a potential partner had been absent from the get-go with Nick. They hadn’t been there to act as a filter against the attraction. Without that safeguard in place, she’d been able to experience the blunt force of her need.

  “By the way,” Ann said, drawing Meg’s attention back to the here and now. “Mr. Kent wanted to see if Wednesday evening would be all right to have that dinner meeting?”

  Earlier than she would have liked, but it would do. That would leave her one more night to prep Nick for their performance. “Sure. That’ll be fine.”

  “Seven o’clock in Mr. Kent’s suite okay with you?”

  Meg nodded. “Sounds lovely.”

  “Great.” Ann beamed. “I’ve gotta run. See you tomorrow night.”

  Meg took a bolstering breath and checked her watch. She and Nick were meeting again tonight to finish up his lessons. They’d need to go over her journal, and finish up with the other toys in her room.

  Speaking of which, Meg thought, she needed to critique a few items before he arrived this evening, and upload her reviews onto the Web site. If she didn’t take care of the majority of the products before she left this week, she’d never get caught up once she got home. It was now or never. Resigned to that end, Meg made her way back to her room.

  “HAVE YOU MADE any progress with her yet? Learned anything useful?”

  “It depends on what you mean by useful,” Nick said. He thumbed through the paper, idly scanned the sports page, though he wasn’t really reading it. He needed to call his mother, make one more attempt to try and talk her into investing her retirement fund and was trying to frame his argument in his mind before he presented her with the idea again.

  Ron huffed an exasperated sigh, clearly annoyed at Nick’s evasive comment. He sat at his desk, booted up his laptop. “Has she let anything slip? Does she have a partner?”

  Nick sighed, growing more uncomfortable with his role in this farce by the minute. “I told you last night, things have taken a bizarre turn. I’m playing the part of her sex-toy critique partner, remember?”

  “Yeah, and that’s strange. Why does she need you to pretend to be her lover? If she had one, why didn’t he come with her?”

  Nick had wondered that himself, but he didn’t want to add any fuel to his brother’s fire. “Marcus Kent didn’t see her liplocked with someone else in the hall—he saw her liplocked with me. She needed me to play the part.”

  “If she’d brought Antonio, she wouldn’t have needed you at all,” Ron pointed out stubbornly. “This is all we need. I say we go with it. Out her for the fraud she is.”

  Irritation rose. “It’s not enough, Ron. Before we ruin this woman’s career we’re going to be certain that you’re right. It’s not enough,” Nick repeated adamantly.

  “But she didn’t bring a lover! That should tell you—”

  “If she’d brought a lover,” Nick growled through clenched teeth, “my getting close to her would not be necessary. You’d know beyond a shadow of doubt that she wasn’t a fraud.”

  Which was the only reason Nick had gone on with this ridiculous farce. She’d completely undone him last night. He’d lost it. Remarkably, twice—a phenomenon in itself. In the middle of a five-star restaurant. She’d turned him into someone he didn’t even recognize, was dragging him into unknown emotional territory. Nick didn’t like it. Didn’t know how to deal with it.

  Regrettably, the head with the brain wasn’t leading this expedition.

  “Do you think she’s a fraud?” Ron asked finally.

  Nick sighed. He honestly didn’t know. True enough, she’d propelled him to orgasm twice—with her feet, of all things. But he’d been sitting there with a hard-on, ready to rip his hair out, for chrissakes, and she hadn’t recognized the signs. It just didn’t add up. He couldn’t make the pieces fit. “I don’t know,” Nick admitted after a moment. “But I doubt it.”

  Ron shrugged. “Maybe I should call Mom.”

  A red mist swam before Nick’s eyes. “Like hell, little brother. I agreed to go along with this scheme, and I won’t go back on my word.” He paused, pinned Ron to the chair with his gaze. “But if she’s not a fraud—if she’s the genuine article—then you’ll correct the problem with your product line on your own. You will not ask Mom. For anything. Not for one red cent.” It wasn’t a statement, or even a command. It was a warning. “It’s time that you take some responsibility for your actions.”

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” Ron shot back, facing his computer once more. “I’ve put everything I’ve got into this business and I can make it work. I know I can. But I can’t do it if she keeps giving me those horrible reviews.” Ron paused as he stroked a few keys on the on the computer. “I saw her today.”

  Nick looked up. “So, you saw her. What was the problem?”

  “She’s just so damn smug, Nick.” Ron sighed dejectedly. “Like she knows everything. And I’m telling you, she doesn’t know anything. Mark my words, when this week is over you’ll have to admit that I’m right. I’m right about this one,” he insisted desperately.

  “Have you even considered that she might know what she’s talking about? That it might behoove you to make improvements to your product line?”

  Ron rolled his eyes so far back in his head, Nick was certain he must see the roots of his hair. “No offense, but you don’t know anything about the adult-toy industry. There’s nothing wrong with my products.” He sniffed, but wouldn’t meet Nick’s gaze. “She just has it in for me.”

  Nick felt tension begin to knot in his neck. “Ron, that’s absurd. She doesn’t even know you. How could—”

  “Sonofabitch!” Ron muttered hotly.

  “What?”

  “She’s done it again. Dammit.” Ron gestured wearily at the screen. “Look at this. Ah, hell.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “Did she have to do this now? At the damned trade show? Couldn’t she have at least waited until she got home to post this load of bull?” Ron turned back to Nick. He jabbed a finger at him. “This is your fault.”

  “My fault?” Nick repeated, astounded.

  “You were supposed to stay close to her,” Ron ranted. “Keep her occupied. If you’d been doing what you agreed to do, she wouldn’t have had time to write this damned review.”

  “I can’t keep an eye on her twenty-four seven,” Nick returned. “Furthermore, she’s just doing her job.”

  “Yeah, how ’bout you doing yours?” Ron retorted. “The quicker we can put her out of commission, the better. What time are you supposed to meet her tonight?”

  “Six,” Nick said tightly.

  “Don’t leave her side.” He turned pleading eyes to Nick. “You’ve got to take care of this. She’s ruining me, Nick. This one will work. I know it.” He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I get so tired of being the family failure, so tired of always letting you and Mom down. Dad died before I could make him proud of me. Hell, all you ever had to do was breathe and you had his approval. Why couldn’t he have shared even a little of it with me? Was I so hard to love?” Ron asked quietly, once again reminding Nick of the painful, unfair truth. “Help me make this one work. Please.”

  Nick sighed. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for.”

  NICK LEFT his brother’s room and headed to the bank of elevators at the end of the hall. The tension that had begun at the back of his neck had spread to his shoulders and down the middle of his back. A ball of unease sat and festered in the pit of his belly.

  Nick gave a sigh of frustration. He felt like he’d been hijacked by a nightmare, trapped in a bad dream and didn’t have a prayer of waking up to put an end to the madness.

  How had things escalated to this point? Nick wondere
d. How had things gotten so completely out of control? He’d simply been trying to spare his mother more heartache, help her hang on to his father’s hard-earned money. His intentions had been honorable, despite the dishonorable method he’d been forced to employ.

  But from the moment he’d started this damned ruse, nothing had gone according to plan. Every time he tried to regain control, to keep his perspective, Desiree threw him a curve ball. Rewrote the script. Nick kept telling himself that the new playbook she handed him would work to his advantage, but he grimly suspected he was only deluding himself.

  Nick Devereau had never had any reason to delude himself. The perceived weakness made him ball his hands into fists, made him itch to punch something.

  Nick prided himself on being logical, on staying one step ahead of the game. Right now, he didn’t know where he stood—didn’t even know if he was still in the game, for that matter—and it simply drove him crazy. Hell, he didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be doing Ron’s dirty work.

  And he especially didn’t want to hurt Desiree.

  But he couldn’t help Ron without essentially destroying her. He swore hotly. That had been fine in theory, when he’d simply been looking at an abstract picture. When he’d only had his mother’s feelings to contend with.

  But now the whole sordid scenario made him feel petty and small and left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

  Because he knew her.

  True, he didn’t know her name. But he knew the smell of her perfume, knew that she was thorough and obsessive when it came to her work. Knew that she hummed when she didn’t think anyone was listening and that she sometimes laughed so hard she cried. She had a wicked sense of humor, was hot for him and could make him hot by simply breathing.

  No, by God, he didn’t know her name—but he knew enough about her to know that he didn’t want to hurt her. He knew that her Desiree Moon alter ego was very important to her. Nick didn’t know why. Didn’t understand the significance. Hell, maybe she found her real self lacking in some way. He couldn’t imagine why, but knew that women sometimes got their wires crossed when they held a mirror up to themselves.