Past Midnight

by Jasmine Haynes

  Their waiter was heading their way. “We have another diner who will be joining you, if you have no objection.”

  Erin’s young admirer slid into the seat next to her.

  29

  ERIN BREATHED DEEPLY OF THE MAN SEATED NEXT TO HER. HE smelled wonderful; not something she could identify in particular, but an expensive, spicy, male-dominant scent.

  “Hi. Craig Miller.” He laid his book on the edge of the table, then stuck his hand out first to Dominic.

  They shook. “Dominic”—he touched his chest, then extended his hand—“my wife, Erin.” He didn’t provide a last name.

  Hmm. Coincidence that Craig made his lunch reservation right after Dominic had gone forward to make theirs? He took her hand, his grip firm, his touch dry. Thank God he didn’t have sweaty-palm syndrome. “Nice to meet you,” she said, dropping her voice, shooting for low and sexy. “Are you going to Reno?”

  “No. A little farther.” He didn’t offer additional information, but his smile was as warm as his touch, his eyelashes lush for a man.

  Okay. No Reno. Playing with him a little was safe then. Craig Miller was totally hot with those movie-star looks, dark hair, brown eyes, and a deep voice a woman felt on the inside. “I noticed your book out there,” she said, letting him know she’d seen him, not just his book. “I love to know what others are reading.”

  He blushed. It was kinda cute.

  Dominic shot her a look, not quite a smile, more of a smirk because, number one, it wasn’t like her to question people, and number two, she’d openly admitted she’d been watching.

  “It’s a biography on Joseph Goebbels,” Craig said.

  “Oh, you’re a historian. How interesting.” She smiled brightly, laying it on thick. That would get Dominic going.

  Craig’s color deepened. “Not exactly. I write historical fiction, the World War Two period.”

  Dominic set down his menu, his attention grabbed, but he let her do the talking.

  “That is very interesting,” she enthused. “World War Two spy novels?” Being a writer, he’d love talking about what he did.

  “Yeah, you could call them spy novels.” He picked up his menu as if he were embarrassed and needed a distraction.

  Their waiter arrived with coffees all around and to take their orders. He looked at Erin first. She leaned a little over Craig in order to point around the waiter at a plate on the next table. “What’s that? It looks delicious.”

  The waiter stepped back to see. “Goulash, ma’am.”

  “Is it good?” she asked the man across, raising her voice so he could hear over the incessant clatter of the train. He nodded, mouth full, surprised someone would interrupt.

  Under normal circumstances, Erin wouldn’t have done anything like it. But she was the woman whose husband wanted to watch her have sex with another man, and this Erin had a lot more freedom. This Erin was downright bold. “I’ll have that.”

  “It comes with a salad. What kind of dressing would you like?”

  She let her eyelashes sink a moment, her lips curving as if she were reviewing each individual taste. “Blue cheese. It’s so tangy, but sweet at the same time.” Like come, she thought.

  Craig grinned. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  It reminded her of that movie When Harry Met Sally, when the woman ordered the same thing after Sally faked an orgasm in the restaurant.

  Under the table, Dominic tapped her leg with the toe of his shoe. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. She felt like a hot little tease. And she didn’t have to do anything either. The train was too crowded, and she was not doing it in the john. It was a game. And it was fun.

  “I’ll take the burger,” Dominic said when it was his turn.

  “You’re so boring, sweetie,” she teased. “You should try something with pizzazz.”

  “I’ll let you have all the pizzazz.” The glance he shot Craig was deliberate with subliminal messaging.

  “So,” she said when the waiter was gone, “back to your spy novels. Do you use your own name? Would we have seen your books in stores?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I use my name, but it’s no big deal.”

  She noticed the blush again and began to suspect he was embarrassed. She didn’t recognize his name from anywhere either. Maybe he felt the prick of not being a household word. Then, without a clue how the idea popped into her mind but knowing it was brilliant, she said, “It’s a total coincidence that you’re a writer because we have something in common.”

  He raised a brow. “Don’t tell me. You’ve written a novel, and you’re trying to get it published.” Erin detected a hint of disgust in his tone.

  She flapped a hand, laughed at him. “I’ve already had several novels published.”

  Dominic choked on his gulp of coffee before catching himself. She got the biggest kick out of leaning closer to Craig and dropping her voice to a sexy note. “Don’t tell anyone, but I write erotica. And I don’t use my real name.” She leaned back, making sure her jacket was open wide enough so that her breasts were fully visible—and inviting. She smiled at his gape. Hah, he believed her. She held up her hand. “Don’t ask me what it is. I have to keep my anonymity.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re Zane,” he said with an ounce of awe.

  Zane? Honestly, she’d never read erotica and didn’t know any of the writers. Was that Billy Zane? No, he was an actor.

  “Honey,” Dominic interrupted, “we’re incognito this trip.” He raised one devilish brow.

  She glanced from Craig to Dominic and back to Craig. Then she patted his hand. “Dominic’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything. This is just a . . .” She paused for a heartbeat, then puckered up to add, “pleasure trip.”

  Craig was young enough to let his eyes widen at the innuendo. And it was definitely an innuendo. “It’s your secret. I’ll just”—he cut off, waited a beat—“fantasize about it.” His eyes traveled from her to Dominic, gauging her husband’s response.

  Dominic merely smiled, cool, smug, and knowing.

  Her pulse began to buzz. Craig was falling in with the program, flirting back, picking up on the fact that Dominic was fine with it all. Oh yeah, erotica writer was perfect. She didn’t have to wonder how to bring sex into the conversation. She’d put it right out on the table, and he’d taken the bait. “And I absolutely love my job.”

  Beneath the table, Craig’s leg brushed hers. A purposeful touch. A flash of heat. Warmth rushed through her body, her clit suddenly pulsing, her breasts tingling. Beneath the thin bra and tight T-shirt, her nipples peaked. Dominic saw.

  With the young man’s thigh resting against hers, she smiled wickedly at him across the table.

  DOMINIC SHOT HERA LOOK. ERIN BATTED HER EYELASHES AT HIM.

  You dirty little slut. He had no doubt she knew exactly what he was thinking. She was goddamn perfect, opening the door to sexual banter with a stroke of genius. Her jacket framed her breasts, and damn if her nipples weren’t completely suckable right through the T-shirt.

  “I bet you love the research.” Craig grinned, fixing Dominic with a direct gaze.

  The game was on, and the kid wanted in. “You have no idea,” Dominic said.

  He was sure Craig would have asked for specifics if their lunch hadn’t arrived at that moment.

  Erin tried the goulash before the salad. “Oh my God.” She let out a sexy moan of pleasure that made him hard as granite.

  She was on a roll. He loved it.

  “That’s to die for.” She waved at the opposite table. “Thanks for the recommendation.” The guy merely nodded.

  Then she bumped Craig’s shoulder with hers. “Try it. I have to know if you adore the taste as much as I do.”

  Craig seemed a little stunned, aware of the sensuality in her words, her touch, and the fact that she had no compunction cozying up to him with her husband sitting right across the table. He was starting to realize he’d bitten off more than he could chew, so to speak.

&nb
sp; “It’s great,” he said after swallowing a forkful.

  Dominic waited. He had no idea what his wife would say or do next, and the uncertainty had his blood hot and his cock throbbing. He was dying for her next word.

  Elbow on the table, she leaned her chin on her fist a moment, toying with her fork in the goulash as she gazed at Craig. “How do you do your research?” she asked, eyes wide, innocent. “Reading books and cruising the Internet? Or more . . . hands-on?”

  She had the pause just right. Even Dominic felt it in his groin.

  Craig matched her look. “Hands-on is the only way.”

  “I agree.” She took a bite of goulash, savored it, turned a smile on him. “I’m very tactile,” she purred. “Writing spy novels, do you have to go out and . . . play with your gun?”

  Christ. Dominic wanted to kiss her. Or fuck her. Both.

  “Occasionally I have to do that. You’ve got to keep it primed, you know.”

  She nodded with all sincerity. “Dominic keeps his primed, too.” She smiled sweetly. “A man never knows when he’s going to have to whip it out on the spur of the moment.”

  Dominic sputtered, chuckled, then couldn’t help himself. “You are so bad.”

  She pouted charmingly, then patted Craig’s arm. “I’m teasing. That’s what we”—she lowered her voice with a quick look at the opposite table—“erotica writers do. Everything is a sexual innuendo.” She laughed sweetly. “We can’t help ourselves. It’s in our genes.”

  “Is that your DNA genes?” Craig asked, “or these jeans?” He dropped his hand beneath the table, and he had to be touching Erin.

  Dominic’s heart kicked into high gear. He was suddenly so goddamn hard, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand straight.

  Then Erin’s hand disappeared under the table. “It’s always in these jeans.”

  Dominic could swear he heard every single snowflake hit the ground. What were they doing under there? Though the angle of their arms and bodies wasn’t right for it, he had the distinct image of Erin holding Craig’s fingers to her hot pussy.

  Then everyone’s hands were back on the table, and Erin leaned forward. “I do believe this young man is capable of a few innuendos himself.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Dominic agreed, damn near lightheaded with all the testosterone zipping through his blood. “After all, he’s a big boy.”

  Erin gave Craig a sidelong glance. “I have a feeling he’s a very big boy.”

  Craig smiled but said nothing, filling his mouth with goulash. Erin had said it all for him.

  It seemed only moments of cock-hardening sexual tension in which Dominic wasn’t aware how he’d done it, but his burger was gone and so were most of his fries.

  The waiter cleared their dishes. “Dessert?” he asked, plates stacked along his arm.

  “I couldn’t fit another thing in,” Erin said, then tossed a glance at Craig. “At least not dessert.”

  Damn. She was daring, flirting outright in front of their waiter. Dominic didn’t have a chance to feel even a spark of jealousy that he was on the other side of the table. He didn’t have a chance to think. There was just the thrum of his blood, the ache of his erection, and Erin’s heat arcing across to him beneath the table. She was his sex object, the fantasy woman that drove him wild, and the images in his mind were crazy, taboo, exciting, dirty, nasty, and enthralling.

  “I could use a glass of wine.” She tipped her chin and stroked a finger down the smooth column of her throat. “I’m parched.” She managed to make everything she did and everything she said sensual, sexual.

  Christ, this was what he’d dreamed of when he’d told her tales over hot phone sex. “I’ll get something from the snack bar.” It was the cue to invite Craig to join their party in the panoramic car.

  Maybe they could convince him to get off in Reno after all.

  The waiter brought two checks, laid one in front of Dominic, the other next to Craig. Dominic tossed his credit card on top of his bill, but Craig merely signed.

  “Sleeper car,” he said when they both looked at him.

  Holy shit. The kid had a goddamn bedroom on the train.

  Suddenly, the possibilities were endless.

  ERIN’S HEART STOPPED MIDBEAT. HE WAS IN THE SLEEPING CAR. HE had a private room.

  He had a bed. Oh my God.

  Dominic gazed at her, a slight tilt to his lips, and she knew she wore that squirrel-in-the-road look.

  Craig shifted his leg against hers. “I’ve got some wine in my cabin. If you like chardonnay. The accommodations are pretty nice.” He smiled widely as if he’d trapped a fly in his web.

  She blinked rapidly. Okay, back up, breathe. She’d flirted. He’d flirted back. That didn’t mean she had to sleep with him just because they had wine in his cabin.

  Then again . . . her heart beat faster, and her skin flushed.

  Dominic smiled at her, all sweetness and light. “We should see it for the research value”—his eyes sparkled and she knew exactly what kind of research he was talking about—“ in case you decide to set one of your stories on a train.”

  Bastard. She had to laugh at him; he was in hog heaven. She’d done this to herself, flirting, sexual innuendos, allowing Craig to put his hand on her thigh, and even covering it with her own, giving him a squeeze of encouragement.

  Erin, you’re an idiot.

  But she’d enjoyed the flirting. And she was wet between the legs, turned on by it all. So what if they went to his compartment? She could still say no. Maybe sex wasn’t even his intention. Duh. She couldn’t be that stupid. Of course it was. And she’d egged him on.

  Craig stood, picked up his book. “I’m in the last compartment in the first car when you leave the dining room.” He pointed to an older woman in a white blouse and navy slacks standing sentinel at the sliding door to the sleeper cars as if she were keeping the unwashed masses from entering the citadel. “I’ll let the porter know you might be coming through.” Not will, but might. “Thanks for letting me join you for lunch. The goulash was a great recommendation.”

  He left. She appreciated his politeness and the fact that he didn’t push too hard. All he’d done was invite them.

  “It’s just a glass of wine,” she told Dominic, toying with her cup, the coffee now cold. “No big deal.”

  “He specifically reserved lunch in order to sit with you.” Dominic signed the credit card slip the waiter had just brought.

  “That was a coincidence.” But the thought had already occurred to her.

  He shook his head slowly. “No. Before they opened the dining car for lunch, there was announcement that all sleeper-car passengers were given first seating. He wasn’t going to eat lunch in here.” Dominic smiled until it hit his eyes. “He came for you.”

  She shrugged. “All right, so it wasn’t all coincidence.”

  “It’s just a glass of wine,” he echoed her, then lowered his voice to a slow, seductive whisper. “No big deal.”

  She pointed her finger at him. “Don’t push.”

  He held her gaze across the table for a long moment. “I don’t have to because I know you want it.”

  Did she want it? What about tomorrow when it was over? Could their marriage really survive something like this? Maybe their ability to do it meant their marriage was over anyway. It might have been over the moment they lost Jay, and they just hadn’t figured it out yet.

  Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

  “Let’s get our stuff,” she said. “I don’t want to leave my bag in the panoramic car.” She’d see how far Dominic let it go before he stopped her.

  If he stopped her.

  30

  CRAIG MILLER HELD UP A WINE BOTTLE. IT WAS A VERY GOOD LABEL. “I snagged some real wineglasses from the galley.” His face lit with an endearingly boyish smile as he poured.

  Erin stood on the threshold of his compartment. She thought of Shane. He’d seen her naked, watched her masturbate, sat next to her as Dominic took her. He was
a known quantity. But this man she would never have to see again. He wouldn’t surprise her in coffeehouses, wouldn’t pop up in other areas of her life. He was safe. He was attractive. And this was what Dominic wanted.

  So, with her husband in the aisle behind her, she adjusted her limits, and stepped fully into the sleeper. Fuck everything else. She was going to have fun no matter how it ended.

  “Wow, this is pretty cool. Thank you.” She took the wine Craig offered—it tasted expensive, too—and gazed around the compact room. On the left, the lower bunk was neatly made up, the head of the bed by the door, indicated by the pillow. Above, the closed upper bunk slanted out slightly from the wall, the release handle in the center.

  “The bed can be folded up into seats, but since I’m alone and there’s another chair over there”—Craig pointed to a single seat in the corner—“I just left the bed down.”

  “You’re in the lap of luxury.” She dropped her carryall down by the window seat and did a one-eighty, noting the sink and mirror and a door that read TOILET and SHOWER in small lettering.

  Dominic remained just inside the compartment’s opening. “We should have gotten one of these, sweetie,” she told him.

  “It’s only a seven-hour trip to Reno.” He took the wine Craig had poured. “Thanks.”

  Erin slid onto the corner of the bed by the window, pushing the curtain back to gaze out. “Look, there’s a ski lift.” The chairs were full despite the snow flurries, the riders bundled up, skis dangling in the air. “I wonder which resort that is.”

  Before either of them could answer, if they even knew, an announcer came over the PA to say they were about to enter the oldest, longest tunnel still existing over the mountain pass. Suddenly plunged into darkness, the compartment door closed with a discernible click over the whoosh of the train. She was alone with them.