DOUBLE DARE: The Chronicles of Katrina (Book Two)

by Tabke, Karin

  “You are my hot date, Katrina,” he bit off.

  “But I told you I was busy.”

  “Are you trying to blow me off?”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “Maybe.” He made no apologies for it. He raised the pizza in his hands. It smelled almost as good as he did.

  “That’s my pizza,” she said reaching out for it.

  He pulled it back, causing her to step forward and the belt of her robe to slide undone. Simon hissed in a breath. It took every vestige of willpower she possessed not to quickly retie the belt. Instead she smiled seductively and clasped the golden balls stroking her G spot. The smooth fabric of the robe outlined her breasts and the edges hung fervently onto the tips of her hard nipples.

  “I paid for it,” Simon said, huskily, keeping his hot gaze trained on hers.

  “But I ordered it.”

  He smiled slowly, once again in complete control of himself, and her body ached for him. “If you let me in, I’ll share it with you.”

  “Simon—I don’t think—”

  “I promise. I swear, I will not touch you, even if you throw yourself at me and demand I make mad passionate love to you.”

  Well, that certainly surprised her. Katy smiled. How could she not? This man brought out a deep private part of her she never knew existed.

  She backed into her apartment while holding the door open for him. “I’ll call the cops if you misbehave.”

  He grinned and said, “I have no doubt.”

  Katy tied her robe securely as she headed for the kitchen but said over her shoulder, “Keep going straight into the living room and just put the box down on the coffee table.”

  Nervously, she considered another glass of wine. But her, plus wine, plus Simon, equaled trouble. One glass was already too much with him in the room. She grabbed a bottle of cold Pellegrino from the fridge and a beer from the stash she kept on hand for Elliot whenever he was over fixing something. Figuring Simon wouldn’t want a glass, she slid two plates from the cabinets, tucked a handful of napkins under her chin, and reached for the red pepper flakes she had taken out earlier in anticipation of her pizza.

  “Christ, woman, what did you order? The kitchen sink?” he called from the living room.

  Katy smiled as she sauntered carefully into the living room, making sure not to give the golden balls too much leeway to trigger a spontaneous orgasm. Just as she readjusted her gait, the balls slid over just the right place and she couldn’t stifle a soft moan. Simon looked up. His eyebrows shot up, then lowered as a knowing smile curved his full lips. Oh what she wouldn’t give to be able to kiss him right now with the assurance nothing bad would happen as a result.

  “I see you like the little gift I left for you.”

  Carefully, she sat down on the edge of the sofa so as not to move the balls any more than necessary. She handed him his beer just as he reached out to help her with her burden.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking down at the pizza that indeed looked as if the entire contents of a refrigerator had been dumped on it.

  Simon took her bottle of water and glass, and set it down next to his beer.

  When he took a swig, he grimaced.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Elliot likes his Guinness ice cold.”

  Setting the bottle down, he cocked a brow. “Elliot?”

  “Elliot, my—” It occurred to Katy as she watched Simon’s dark brows crowd together that maybe he was … jealous?

  “Your … what?” he asked.

  “My … fix-it guy.”

  “What does Elliot fix?”

  “Oh, this and that.”

  Simon picked up his beer and took a long draught, then pointed the mouth of the long neck at her breasts. “Doe he fix those?” He proceeded to point the bottle south to her lap. “Or that?”

  She straightened and gasped as her hips rocked against the balls.

  Simon grinned like the devil and took another long pull from the bottle, draining it. “I’ll be happy to fix that for you, Doc.”

  “I’m not broken, sir.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. If you’d like another beer, help yourself, they’re in the fridge.”

  “I think I will.”

  She watched him covertly from beneath lowered lashes. She loved watching him move. Long, powerful strides that he never hurried unless he was in pursuit. Of her.

  When he sauntered back into the room he smiled that knowing smile again. “You have a nice place here, Doc.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he sat down across from her, she nodded toward the loaded pizza. “I was hungry.”

  “I gathered that.”

  He pulled a large piece from the box, slid it onto a plate and handed it to her along with a napkin. “Thank you,” she mumbled while sitting perfectly still, afraid if she didn’t, the balls would roll inside her again.

  Simon smiled as he took a bite of the scrumptious smelling pizza. “Mmm, good pizza,” he said.

  Pizza was a weakness of hers and she liked knowing it was one of his, too. It was an indulgence she didn’t feel so guilty about because she ran. A lot.

  He nodded toward the paused television screen. “9 ½ Weeks?”

  Katy shrugged and chewed her pizza.

  Simon devoured his slice and slid another one on his plate. “Your still waters run deep, Dr. Winslow.”

  Daintily sipping her drink, Katy shook her head and said, “I don’t want to talk about sex.”

  “Then let’s talk about why you keep running away from me.”

  “I’m not!” But she was.

  He nodded and raised his bottle in a silent toast to her. “Maybe you’re running away from yourself.”

  He let that hang in the air for a minute. His insight into her psyche irritated her. “I didn’t realize you had a psychology degree.”

  “I have a people degree, Kat. And my Spidey senses are telling me you’re afraid of what it is you really want because you have some crazy notion that it’s wrong or twisted and that if you act on it, it will come back and bite you in that pretty little ass of yours.”

  She choked on the piece of pizza she was chewing. He reached over to pat her on the back, but she stuck her arm out, waving him off. She swallowed the bite and washed it down with a drink of her water. Dabbing at her lips, she set her napkin down and looked pointedly at him.

  Because it always has, she admitted only to herself. “That’s not true.”

  “All of the evidence points to my conclusion.”

  “You have no evidence.”

  Tossing her a dubious glance, he grabbed his beer, and settled back against the sofa cushions. “Where are the Ben Wa balls?

  She swallowed. “In the box.”

  He grinned. “Your hot box?”

  “No!”

  “Liar. That is evidence in and of itself. You can’t admit to your own sexual curiosity or your willingness to explore.” He smiled softly. “Out on the balcony, I had to draw you out of your shell. My dirty secret question shocked you into a spontaneous answer, but then I still had to draw you out. When you dropped your robe, Kat, I about came in my pants.” He leaned toward her. “So did you. Even from a distance I saw how it made you feel. Sexy. Wanton.” His eyes blazed. “Powerful.”

  “Shut up,” she whispered.

  “You shut up and let me finish. Drunk or not, you were so turned on by me, a stranger, that on the first night we met you came for me in less than five minutes. Me, a stranger, gave you your first orgasm, Kat, as well as your second. You’re a sensual woman who fears pleasure.”

  “I don’t fear it—” She was afraid of the aftermath.

  “Then what are you afraid of?”

&
nbsp; She set her plate down and wiped her fingers on the napkin. “Exposure.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “Of my weakness that can be used against me.”

  He straightened. “Has it been before?”

  She bit her bottom lip and turned away from him. Oh hell yes, it had, and she was paying the ultimate price for it at this very moment.

  “Is the douche bag threatening you somehow?”

  “No!” she admitted too quickly.

  “Is that what you were alluding to earlier?” He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through their texts. Katy squeezed her eyes shut, mortified.

  “When I asked if someone had upset you, your answer was, ‘and then some’,” Simon said looking pointedly at her. “Answer me, is douche bag threatening you?” His eyes widened as it dawned on him. “Is he using what happened in San Diego against you?”

  “Please, delete that thread of texts.”

  He did it immediately and held up the phone for her to see.

  “Thank you,” she exhaled, and relaxed as much as she could into the comfortable pillows.

  Setting his phone down on the coffee table, Simon’s face drew tight and serious. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  The urge to tell Simon everything was overwhelming. He was a man of action and intuitively she knew that if he was involved, heads would start to roll. If he wanted to be involved. Saying it was one thing, actually meaning it was another thing entirely. But what held her back was her fear that if he knew of the lies being told about her, the seeds of doubt would be planted and it could conceivably change the way he perceived her. Right now he saw her as a smart, sexy, uptight scientist. Not a thieving, slutty one. “Nothing you can fix.”

  “You cut me to the quick.”

  She laughed. He was so old-school sometimes. It was one of the things she liked most about him. “How so?”

  “I thought you trusted me.”

  “Trust you? I don’t even know you.”

  “Then get to know me.” He grinned. “I promise you, the more you get to know me, the more you’ll get to know yourself. When you know us both, that’s when the real fun will begin.”

  “Look, I don’t want to get to know you only to discover that I like you, and then—for whatever reason—wake up one day and there be no more you.”

  His grin widened. “Oh I think you already like me. A lot.”

  “You’re an egomaniac!”

  He slid another slice of pizza onto her plate and handed it to her, then did the same for himself. “I come by it honestly. Now eat, my little scientist, I like my women with a little more meat on their bones.”

  m your woman or one of your women?” There, she’d let him see it. Her possessiveness. Her jealousy. Now what was he going to do with it?

  Simon’s green eyes sparkled in a mischievous way. A week ago, it had been enough to get her in bed with him. But now, she wanted more. More than sex.

  “I guess that depends on you,” he said.

  Nervously, Katy folded and unfolded her napkin. Her throat was suddenly dry. Grasping her glass, she chugged down half the contents in a very unladylike manner.

  “What say do I have in your life? Especially when I know nothing about you except that you’re a cop named Simon who has a fetish for sexting and stalking molecular geneticists.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty to me like that.”

  Katy giggled, the sound so foreign to her ears that she stiffened. Dr. Winslow did not giggle, nor had her predecessors, Katrina Winslow college student or high-school geek or loner little girl.

  “You should do that more often, Kat, you’re always so serious.”

  “Hello,” she said, pointing to her glasses, “molecular geneticist.”

  He smiled. “You’re the hottest molecular geneticist I’ve ever met.” He reached over and nudged her glasses down to the tip of her nose. “With or without the glasses.” His smile widened. “Now if you’re an honest molecular geneticist, you’ll admit that you know a little more about me than my name and occupation.”

  Heat spattered her cheeks.

  “Don’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybes about it, Dr. Winslow. Just to make sure, why don’t you tell me what you know about me?”

  “I have more questions than answers.”

  “Answers first, other than what you’ve already said, what do you know about me?”

  “You like pizza and warm Guinness.” She grinned when he raised his brows in a “that’s-not-what-I-mean” look. “You like tits.”

  “No, I love your tits.”

  “Oaky, you love my tits. And at the moment, you love to fuck me.”

  “I’d love to make love to you, too,” he said seriously.

  Swallowing hard, Katy sipped her water. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too intimate for what we have.”

  He smiled tightly. “Baby steps.”

  Her heart thumped. He was far more patient with her than she was herself. Would it be rude, she wondered, if she crawled into his lap and wrapped his arms around her?

  “You like nice clothes and have good taste.”

  He nodded. “What else?”

  “You’re a good sexter.”

  He smiled and leaned toward her. “My goal is to make you cream every time you hear your text alert.”

  Mission accomplished.

  Breath rushed from her lungs as she squirmed, causing the balls to roll, which elicited a sharp intake of breath. Biting her lip, she squeezed her eyes shut as the hot wave of desire lessoned a few degrees. “I already do, Simon,” she admitted.

  “If I hadn’t promised to keep my hands off you, you’d be on your back with me buried balls deep inside you right now.”

  Opening her eyes, she started. He had moved closer, only a foot away now. His breath was warm, and quick, his gaze piercing with unleashed desire.

  She wanted sex with Simon more than anything at that moment, but she knew if she succumbed to him, she would somehow regret it. She needed more from him than he had given her.

  “What’s your last name?” she asked, trying to redirect the energy

  Moving back into the sofa, his face tightened. “I could lie to you or I could ask you to understand that that isn’t something I can divulge at the moment.”

  “Oh, so mysterious,” she said, making a woo-woo face.

  “Not trying to be.”

  “Why then? Because you don’t trust me?”

  His features softened slightly. “Because you’re safer not knowing.”

  A cloud of darkness passed over his face and she realized he wasn’t lying. She gulped. She got that he was a dangerous man with a dangerous job, but how could knowing his last name endanger her?

  Withdrawing, once again feeling like she was a second-class citizen because he had closed up when it came to getting into his head, she murmured, “Maybe one day you will trust me enough to tell me.”

  “Again, Cinderella, it isn’t about trust, it’s a safety issue.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking away from him.

  He reached over and slid her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, then nudged her chin up with two fingers as he turned her to face him. His touch was electrifying. The chemistry between them, palpable. Dry-mouthed and wide-eyed, she stared at him. His deep green eyes darkened to an unfathomable color. He felt it, too. It was kinetic. And crazy. “Why do you always act as if you’ve done something wrong?”

  “I don’t,” she denied, ducking her chin.

  He nudged it back up and moved closer. His warm breath caressed her cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart, you do.”

  She was in uncharted territory here, and
it made her uncomfortable. “I—I have issues. They’re dumb and I don’t like to talk about them.”

  “They aren’t dumb, and I want to talk about them.”

  “Why?” she demanded, jerking her chin out of his grasp. “So you can use it against me later?” Like Evan, she thought. Evan, the man she’d known for five years, worked with side by side for three of those five and whom she had slept with for the last six months? The man she thought she might marry. A man she’d known far better than Simon, yet she hadn’t known him at all. Abruptly she stood and the minute she did the damn balls rolled inside of her.

  “Fucking Ben Wa balls!” She clasped her legs together at the knees and scurried to the powder room off the living room.

  She was slick, and had no problem inserting a finger inside. She fished around for the string and when she found it, hooked her finger around it and gently pulled. The balls slid out.

  “Oh, my,” she gasped. The quick subsidence of the pressure the balls were almost as stimulating as the pressure they created. She had hoped for a better end, but in light of the conversation and the company, she was safer without them reminding her of who gave them to her and how he could shatter her body just by looking at her. Wrapping them in tissue, she slid them into her robe pocket, washed her hands, and walked purposefully back into the living room to find Simon standing by the window and gazing out at the illuminated bay.

  “This is a great view,” he said absently.

  “There’s an even better view from my rooftop patio,” she replied, hoping to change the trajectory of their conversation.

  She walked up behind him as he turned to face her. His dark brows jammed together, his full lips tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Cinderella, some more than once. I’ve hurt the people I love, and been hurt by them. I’ve done some shitty things and probably will again, but one thing I have never done is blackmail anyone who wasn’t a criminal. Certainly not anyone I care or cared about. If you can’t trust me to at least not use your words, texts, confessions, or whatever you divulge to me in private against you, then there is no point in continuing this conversation or anything else.”

  He strode past her, grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table, and slid it into his trouser pocket. He stared at her, waiting for her to do—something. Words caught in her throat. What? Was she supposed to confess that she was going to go to trial and could possibly go to prison for supposedly stealing something she’d developed herself? That two of her former colleagues had filed sexual harassment charges against her? Or the really scary stuff—that she was sexually fucked up, couldn’t trust anyone if her life depended on it and she had abandonment issues? She couldn’t tell him any of that because he would look at her with disgust and walk out the door. She was a monumental failure and so very ashamed.