Just Toying Around… Read online

  Nick didn’t claim to know all the mysteries of the female mind—heaven forbid. He certainly didn’t know everything in Desiree’s head.

  But he wanted to.

  And that’s what had sent him into a tailspin. That’s what scared the living hell out of him. He shouldn’t want to know those things about her. It didn’t factor into his mission, into the damned job he’d come here to do. The more he learned about her, the harder it would be to set her up for the fall.

  If Ron were right about her, Nick would have to pass the information along to Ron. He had no choice. It would be the right thing to do, and Nick Devereau always did the right thing. Cut and dried.

  But the more time he spent with her, the less right it felt.

  Nick passed a hand over his face, loosened his shoulders and forced himself to calm down before he knocked on her door. Despite his present turmoil—despite it all—he couldn’t wait to see her.

  How messed up was that?

  Desiree pulled the door open and a smile bloomed on his lips. She grabbed his shirt, yanked him inside and laid one hell of a kiss on him. Breathing hard, she pulled back. Happiness and desire sparkled in those gorgeous green eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said huskily.

  Just like that, every trouble he’d carried with him from Ron’s room melted away. Nick felt a smile tug at his lips. Something warm and pleasant ballooned in his chest. “You have?”

  She nodded. “I have.”

  “What exactly have you been thinking about?”

  She tilted her head up and offered her mouth again. “Kissing you…and stuff.”

  Bloody damn. “And stuff?”

  She nuzzled his neck. “Lotsa stuff.”

  “Hmmm,” Nick hummed. That sounded promising.

  “But—” she sighed “—I suppose we should get business over with first. Marcus Kent wants us to have dinner with him tomorrow night.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Nick asked.

  “No, not really. But there’s still quite a bit of inventory we need to cover.” Desiree threaded her fingers through his and led him deeper into the room. “When we’re finished, though, I wondered if you’d hang around and watch a movie with me. That new Denzel Washington film is on pay-per-view.”

  That sounded great, Nick thought. They could lounge around, watch a movie and relax. He desperately needed to relax. “Sure. That sounds great.”

  Her tentative smile brightened. “Excellent. Do you mind if I finish with a couple of reviews before we get started?”

  “No.” Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do whatever you need to do.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nick noticed that she’d cleared the bed, had transferred all of the rest of the toys and such to boxes that lined the walls. Her laptop sat on the small table they’d shared the night before. Everything was neat and tidy, organized. A small floral-bound book lay open beside the computer. The dreaded journal, Nick surmised.

  Desiree sat cross-legged in the chair. She’d twisted her curly hair up into some sort of clawlike thing and a few chocolaty tendrils clung to her neck. Today she wore a pair of white capri pants with a bright-yellow sleeveless tank top. She’d left the sandals off and those talented toes had hot-pink nails. Her feet should come with warning labels, Nick thought, recalling what those dazzling little digits had done to him last night.

  “Have you worked a lot today?” he asked.

  “Uh, a little. I had to give a workshop this afternoon.” She frowned as her fingers flew across the keys. “Had one guy sort of heckle me.”

  Nick frowned. Amazingly, anger blindsided him. “Heckle you?”

  “Yeah. This guy named Ron Capshaw. He owns Guilty Pleasures, one of the companies I critique for. I’ve given his products a few bad reviews. He’s taken it personally, it seems. Jerk,” Desiree humphed. “It’s not my fault that his line’s not up to par.”

  Damn. What had Ron been thinking to call attention to himself like that? Thank God he’d decided to spare their mother any future humiliation and used his middle name—Capshaw—as his last for business purposes. Still, heckling Desiree in the middle of that workshop was the height of stupidity. Nick mentally swore. He could cheerfully throttle his brother right now, Nick thought darkly.

  “He’s not gonna like it,” Desiree continued, “but I added a couple more today. Bad product, bad review.” Her chin firmed adorably. “I’m not going to be intimidated by anyone.”

  “Did, uh— Did he say anything to you?” Nick asked. He’d kill him if he did, Nick decided. Brother or no, he’d simply be forced to kick his ass.

  “Not directly, just asked me a bunch of stupid questions.” She shook her head. “It was weird. He kept staring at me like he knew something I didn’t. It was bizarre.” She shrugged it off.

  “So what was wrong with the products?” Nick asked as casually as he could.

  “See for yourself,” Desiree told him, still preoccupied with her review. “They’re in the box closest to my bed. It’s the edible undies and the lubricating gel. The undies taste like stale licorice and the gel could double for axel grease.” Her nose wrinkled. “It’s third-rate all the way.”

  Nick imagined she was telling the truth, but wanted to see for himself. He picked up the edible underwear first—hell, at least he’d heard of these. This stuff had been around for years. He’d even eaten a few pair.

  He took one bite and promptly spat it back out. Nasty!

  Desiree laughed at him. “I warned you.”

  One bite of those underwear would wilt the staunchest erection, Nick thought, attempting to dredge the taste by swallowing repeatedly. Given the choice, he’d drink sour milk before he’d put those rotten underwear back in his mouth.

  Though it was probably a waste of time, Nick uncapped the lubricating gel and forced a small amount from the tube onto his finger. The thick, dark brown substance looked suspiciously like it had leaked from a soiled diaper. Nick sniffed it, recoiled. It also smelled like something that had leaked out of a soiled diaper. Reluctantly, Nick rubbed it around on his fingers. It was gross, felt sticky and slimy. Given the intimate nature of this particular product, Nick couldn’t imagine any good purpose it could possibly serve.

  He sighed.

  She was right—Ron’s products sucked.

  8

  “THIS IS A penis jelly ring.” Meg tossed the small nubby ring to Nick for his inspection, then crossed the room to get a couple of canned sodas from the minibar. “That’s the thing that Mr. Kent asked you about out in the hall. Remember?”

  He grinned ruefully. Scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m trying to forget.”

  “Yeah, well. Not yet.” Meg plopped his drink down in front of him and settled back into her seat. “I don’t care if you get permanent amnesia after tomorrow night, but you’ve got to have a mind like a steel trap until then.” Meg grinned. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah. What the hell does that thing do? What’s it for?”

  “Well.” Meg swallowed nervously. “First, uh, depending on a man’s size, you have to soak it in hot water, stretch it to fit.” Meg did her best to ignore Nick’s dubious expression. “Then you roll it onto an erect penis until it fits snug at the base. It acts like a tourniquet of sorts, prevents the blood from receding after climax and subsequently results in a longer erection.”

  Nick grunted. Scowled. “Why are those little knots all over it?” He gestured to the pile on the table. “All over all of this stuff, for that matter?”

  Heat scalded Meg’s cheeks. “The, uh, soft nubby texture acts as a clitoral stimulator.”

  “Come again?”

  “For the woman,” Meg explained. “A clitoral stimulator. And, in some cases, a vaginal wall stimulator.”

  Nick’s expression turned pained. A muscle ticked in his tense jaw. “Let’s move it along, shall we?” he said in a slightly strangled voice. “What’s next?”

  “I’ll let you pick.”

&nbs
p; He shrugged and randomly picked up a small tube. “What’s this?”

  “That’s called Virgin Again. Once applied, it makes the muscles which line the vaginal walls, uh, tighten. Contract, for that first-time-feel all over again.”

  Nick’s brows shot up and he examined the tube with interest. “Well, what do you know? Does it work?”

  “Dunno.”

  His gaze found hers. “Haven’t critiqued this one yet, huh?”

  “No, not yet,” Meg lied. That would be one of those items she’d simply have to BS her way through. She’d need a male perspective for that particular product and considering she didn’t have one, it would be next to impossible to tell if the cream actually worked.

  “What about this?” Nick asked, peering intently at another product he’d selected from the table. He stretched the elastic bands like a slingshot. “What does this do?”

  Laughing, Meg snatched it from his fingers. “This is called a Hummingbird.”

  “Doesn’t look like any bird I’ve ever seen,” Nick commented dryly.

  “Be that as it may,” Meg replied, “this is actually a neat little toy.” Meg held up the elastic bands, stretched it out so that Nick could see how the toy was supposed to fit. “These bands fasten around a woman’s hips and the bird nests, literally, between her legs.”

  Nick’s mouth went slack.

  “It’s the same principle as a jock strap,” Meg explained, growing warm. “See?”

  He nodded, still seemingly paralyzed.

  “This little gadget requires two double-A batteries, has three variable speeds and comes with a handy remote. Theoretically, a woman could strap this baby on beneath her clothes, trip the remote from her pocket and pleasure herself…anywhere. At a board meeting, in the car, strolling down the aisle of a grocery store. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Nick swallowed. “Have, uh— Have you used one of those?”

  “I’ve critiqued similar products,” Meg admitted as a rush of heat spread through her limbs.

  “A-are you wearing one now?” he asked hoarsely.

  She chuckled. “No.”

  “Thank God,” Nick breathed fervently. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Closed them again. “Okay. We can move on.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded, apparently unable to form the necessary word.

  Meg showed him a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. “Self-explanatory.”

  He nodded. “So if you’ve never used them, how do you critique them?”

  “Well, first I check to see if the lock opens properly, doesn’t stick. I make sure that the craftsmanship is quality, not second-rate. Then I check for comfort. I manacle one wrist like so—” Meg fastened one of the cuffs on her hand “—then I make sure that it’s not painful, that the padding around the cuff is sufficient. Make sure that it doesn’t chafe.” She inserted the key into the lock and released the cuff. Her gaze met his. “That sort of thing.”

  “So, you’ve never let your real critique partner handcuff you?” Nick asked casually. Too casually.

  “No,” Meg replied as she sorted through the various articles on the table. It wasn’t a lie per se—she’d never let anyone handcuff her.

  Nick quirked a perceptive brow. “That trust issue again?”

  “That’s right,” Meg murmured. After Grant—The Big-Mouth Two-Minute Wonder—she couldn’t imagine surrendering that kind of power to anyone. After a moment, she said as much. “That act requires more submission than my character was formed to permit. It’s not just a trust issue, though that’s certainly a huge factor. It’s the yielding of control to another person.” She managed a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not very good at that.”

  Nick returned her grin. A unique understanding simmered in his caramel gaze and something else, something she couldn’t readily identify. “Me either,” he admitted. He expelled a breath. “So what’s next?”

  Meg sipped her soda. “You tell me.”

  “Okay.” Nick took a sip of soda and perused the table once more and picked up a small black and gold package, similar to a jeweler’s box. “What’s this?”

  “Ben Wa Balls.”

  Nick choked on his drink. His eyes watered. “Ben-what balls?” he wheezed.

  Smothering a chuckle, Meg bit the side of her bottom lip. She quickly removed the box from his hand, flipped the case open and swiveled it around so that he could see. Twin silver balls, slightly smaller than walnuts, gleamed from inside the case. “Ben Wa Balls,” she repeated slowly.

  Clearly, Nick didn’t have a clue what these were used for and, judging by his equally perplexed and horrified expression, his imagination appeared happy to oblige with all sorts of scandalous and depraved possibilities for their use. He passed a hand over his face, rubbed the back of his neck. “Do I really need to know what these are for?”

  “I suppose not,” Meg replied, avoiding his gaze. She flattened her twitching lips.

  Nick saw her mouth quiver. His eyes widened accusingly. “Go ahead and laugh at me,” he said, half-chuckling now himself. “This is new territory for me. I’d managed to go my entire adult life without knowing about any of this stuff.” He motioned impatiently with his hand. “Virgin Again and vibrators with rotating tips and that Bird-thing—” His eyes narrowed. “From now on every time I look at a woman, I’m going to wonder if she’s got one of those strapped on beneath her clothes. Wonder if she’s on the brink of—” He blew out a breath, forcing a calm he didn’t feel. “But I can see that you’re dying to tell me about those damn balls, so go ahead,” he offered magnanimously. He chuckled. “I think I’m past the shock point now.”

  Meg sincerely doubted it, but she wouldn’t tell him that. She was relatively familiar with all aspects of the adult-toy world and she still found herself routinely shocked.

  After all, she hadn’t shown him any of the gay and lesbian toys. He’d have a stroke if she pulled out that double dildo the Man-To-Man company had sent her last month. Or the oral sex machine. Or the blow-up dolls. The list went on and on.

  But the Ben Wa Balls were harmless. He could handle them.

  Meg cleared her throat. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. The Ben Wa Balls are an exercise tool for a woman. They’re like little dumbbells for the vaginal muscles.”

  “Is that right?” Nick cocked a brow. “Do they come with a workout video?”

  “Very cute.” Meg smirked. “Anyway, a woman inserts them into—”

  “I know where they go,” Nick interrupted tightly, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic high-pitched tone. “How do they stay there? What keeps— What keeps them from falling out?”

  “That’s where the muscle part comes in. They’re excellent for strengthening the—”

  “The muscles. Right. I got it. Let’s move on.”

  He didn’t look ready to move on, Meg noted. He looked ready to bolt. She resisted the urge to park herself in his lap. To wrap her arms around his neck and flatten her breasts against his powerful chest.

  A wry grin twisted her lips. After last night’s behavior, that certainly wouldn’t shock him. She still couldn’t believe that forward siren who’d massaged him to climax with her toes and talked dirty to him was her. She never did things like that…never behaved so boldly. It was fun being Desiree Moon. Meg had never felt so free, so completely liberated and alive.

  Presently her body thrummed with heightened awareness, with an insistent need that bordered on frantic. Meg had watched Nick run his hands through his hair, repeatedly mussing the tawny locks. His tanned skin was slightly flushed, and she longed to kiss the grimness from his beautifully sculpted lips, watch those butterscotch orbs darken with desire. Warmth burned the tops of her thighs, flowed determinedly toward her feminine core.

  Meg took a shallow breath, summoned composure. They had to finish this first, she told herself, willing her erratic pulse to slow. Keeping her position with Foreplay—making Paris a reality instead of a dream—depen
ded on Nick’s performance. If she couldn’t get the deer-in-the-headlights look off his face in the privacy of her room, she didn’t have a prayer of him pulling off the necessary performance in front of Marcus and Ann. A finger of apprehension tripped down her spine. She couldn’t even think about the ramifications of failure. It simply wasn’t an option. She needed the job, needed the money and the future financial security it could give her.

  “Uh, Nick?” Meg began hesitantly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  He snorted dubiously. “I doubt it.”

  A giggle bubbled up into her throat. Poor Nick. He thought she had all this experience, that she was some sort of sex guru. Little did he know, she thought with a silent sigh. “No, I mean…is there some sort of catastrophe about to strike? A fire? Tornado? Earthquake?”

  His brow furrowed. “Er…no. No, not that I know of. Why?”

  “Because you look like you’re waiting for a root canal without anesthesia. Braced for impact.”

  “I’m not braced,” he denied, straightening a bit. “I’m, uh…just concentrating very hard.” He delivered the line deadpan, but ruined it when his eyes began to crinkle in the corners. Then he outright laughed.

  Mercy, Meg liked that laugh. It vibrated deep inside her. “Well, just make sure when you concentrate very hard tomorrow night that you do it with a smile. The brooding, horrified mask you’re wearing now isn’t very convincing as a merry sex-toy critic.”

  That heavy-lidded gaze found and held hers. “But tomorrow night, I just won’t be playing the part of the merry sex-toy critic—I’ll be playing the part of your lover.” The last word was uttered as a caress and Meg felt it all the way to her little toes. “Trust me, that’s a part I’ll be able to play without any problem whatsoever.”

  A warm tingle started at her scalp and shimmied down. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms and she quelled a shiver. “Well,” she said for lack of anything better.

  “What’s next?” he asked, releasing her from that mesmerizing stare.

  Meg blinked. It took a good five seconds to recover from the lust-induced hypnosis Nick had wound around her. She glanced around the table, forced herself to focus. “Just a few more things here, then you’ll need to review my journal. You can take a look at it sometime tomorrow, if you’d like.”