by Jo Leigh
She wanted him to be swept away by her.
She’d better get started. She would go to her room, get showered and changed. He’d mentioned wanting dinner, but she’d taken care of that already.
Tonight was for lovers, and she felt like one as she headed for the elevator. It may only be for four more nights, but she would make each one count.
9
TRACE WAS DRAWN to the pool by the mellow sound of Frank Sinatra crooning “The Summer Wind” from invisible speakers.
The pool looked amazing with its underwater lights. The rest of the large space was lit dimly, mostly by candles and the wall sconces. Instead of chlorine, the air had been scented lightly with flowers, something sweet and exotic. He felt as though he was on an island, a safe haven away from the real world.
He wondered where Piper was. She’d left him a message on his cell, telling him to meet her here at 8:00. He was on time.
He’d showered after his workout, put on something easy and casual, which was evidently a good choice for this pool-side dinner.
Walking slowly, he went to the edge of the pool and looked down into the water. It was so inviting he regretted not bringing his trunks. On the other hand, there was no one here. Why not?
Just as he was about to take off his jacket, something made him turn.
Piper. Jeez. She looked incredible. His gaze moved down her body. The dress, long, sleeveless and with a low-scooped neckline, fit her like a second skin. It was red, and the material shimmered. He could see the hard jut of her nipples, the curve of her hips.
“Hungry?” she asked.
He laughed. “Oh, yeah.”
“Good.” She walked past him and he let himself savor the line of her back, the way the material contoured over her delicious behind.
She stopped across the pool at one of the white tables. As he approached he saw a champagne bucket, several domed platters, candles glittering in the dim light.
“A special treat from Amuse Bouche,” she said as he held her chair.
He sat down across from her, liking the direction of the evening more and more. He poured them each champagne as she uncovered dishes. Lobster morsels, saffron rice, wild mushrooms. “It looks wonderful.”
She served him on the plates he recognized from the restaurant, then fixed a dish for herself. Sinatra kept singing.
They ate for a few minutes. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so relaxed, which was interesting because the awareness of Piper seeped into every part of him, his hands, his chest, and of course, his cock, half-hard with anticipation.
“What’s that smile for?”
“This is great,” he said. “Is this service available to all the guests or just you?”
“No, anyone can reserve the pool after hours.”
“Wow.”
“But there’s something you should know.”
“What’s that?”
Her lips glistened. “There’s no shoptalk allowed poolside.”
“I see.”
“None at all.”
“So what does that leave us with?”
She stabbed a piece of lobster and chewed it delicately. “I guess that leaves us. Which might be interesting, if we let it.”
“Interesting, how?”
“Well, how much do we really know about each other?” she asked. “I’ve known you for years, but only in one context. There’s a great deal about you that’s a mystery.”
“Me? Not really.”
“Yes, you. For example, this music. Do you like it?”
“Love it. I’m a big fan of the Chairman of the Board.”
“What else?”
God, her eyes where intoxicating. Blue and questioning, fantastic in candlelight. “I don’t like country,” he said. “Or hip-hop. Or show tunes.”
“Hmm. Okay, what do you like?”
“Classic rock, Mayer, Linkin Park, Usher.”
Her brows went up in surprise.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never think of you listening to anything modern.”
“Excuse me? I’m not that much older than you.”
“I know. But you act like—” She stopped. Concentrated on her food.
“I act like…?”
“Older, okay?”
“So you’re saying I’m boring.”
“No. Not exactly.”
He leaned back. “This gets better and better.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but whenever I see you, you’re all business. I’ll admit, your wit redeems you, but come on, Trace. Most of the time you act like one of Dad’s old cronies.”
He flushed as the arguments came to him rapid-fire. But he said none of them. After a hit of the cold champagne, his temper cooled enough to admit that she had a point. “It’s my job.”
She leaned over and put her hand on his. “I know. Hence the questions. Tell me about the part that’s not your job.”
He looked at her fingers, so long and beautiful, and thought about how much he wanted the dinner to end and dessert to start. But this was probably a good thing. Talking, getting to know each other. Perhaps if she didn’t perceive him as the enemy, she’d be more willing to listen to him.
“Well?”
“There’s not much to say. Work is pretty consuming.”
“You have days off. Vacations.”
“Not many.”
“Trace.”
“Okay,” he said, missing her hand the moment she went back to her meal. “I play tennis. Golf. I like going to Central Park.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I walk around Strawberry Fields sometimes. Go to the model boat pond.”
“The zoo?”
“It’s usually too crowded for me. But I like to skate.”
Her fork clattered to her plate. “You in-line skate?”
“Yeah. Why are you so shocked?”
She laughed. “I had this image of you in your three-piece Armani, wearing a helmet and knee pads.”
“I own jeans.”
“You do not.”
“Hey.”
“I’ve never seen them. Not that you don’t look smashing in your casual chic, but it’s not jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Jesus, you really do think I’m an old fart.”
She smiled as she looked at him, and despite her message, he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else on the planet. But then her delight shifted into something else. Sadness? He wasn’t sure.
“People make assumptions,” she said, her voice tinged with melancholy. “They only see what’s easy. Or what’s available, I suppose. But once they’ve made up their minds…”
“I think this might be the first time we’ve ever talked about something other than business.”
She nodded, then sat for a long moment staring at a candle. Then she smiled again. “Did you bring any jeans?”
He shook his head. “I’m here on business.”
“Do you really have jeans?”
“Of course.”
“Do you get them pressed at the dry cleaners?”
“What difference does that make?”
“It doesn’t, I suppose. Only…”
“What?”
“I think you’d look really hot in faded jeans with a few well-placed tears.”
“I’ll rip some the moment I get home.”
She was back. Teasing Piper was better than anything. Even better than pissed-off Piper, who was also more fun than she should be.
“Now are you going to tell me you have ripped, faded jeans?” he asked.
“I do, actually.”
“Purchased that way?”
“Nope. Worn out.”
“I’ve never seen them.”
“No, you haven’t. Grunge is part of my private life.”
He laughed. “What private life? You’re the most photographed person in the world.”
“No, I’m not. I’m actually number four, but that’s beside the point. I do have secrets, Trace
. What the world sees doesn’t represent everything that I am.”
“Why don’t you want people to know you’re smart?”
The smile she gave him made the candles seem dim. “Good one, Winslow. Very good.”
“Cut it out and tell me.”
She sipped some champagne. He was surprised at how much she’d eaten. She rarely ate much. A bite or two of everything, then lots of water. Most of the women he knew did the same. He wondered if she ever just pigged out. Ate a box of donuts or a gallon of ice cream.
“It works for me,” she said. “With the public, at least. I just give them what they want, and no one presses for more. I have no interest in sharing myself with the world. That wasn’t a choice.”
“But your image is.”
She shook her head. “That’s not remotely true.”
“Come on, Piper. I’ve seen the photos. No one forced you to go out and get wasted.”
Her lips pressed together and her gaze shifted. “New rule. We’re not allowed to talk about the press, either.”
He nodded. “Sorry. You’re right. I want the same thing you do. I want to know who you are.”
“Ask me.”
“Do you read?”
She nodded.
“What’s your favorite book?”
“East of Eden,” she said.
He was surprised. Not only at her answer, but at how ready she was with it. “No kidding.”
“You?”
“Shogun.”
“Ah. Manipulation. Intrigue. I’m not surprised.”
“At least it wasn’t The Art of War.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Movie?” he asked.
“Tie between To Kill a Mockingbird and Raiders of the Lost Ark.”
He laughed, hard.
“What’s so funny?”
“Not close to what I expected,” he said. “Not close.”
“Good.”
He looked at her shining eyes. “Yeah, it is good.”
“You ready for the next part of our adventure?”
He grinned. “I am.”
“Okay then.” She stood up, walked over to the huge spa and pressed a few buttons. The engines running the jets were surprisingly quiet. The music, which had changed to some contemporary jazz, still swirled around the pool.
Piper stepped away from the spa, smiled at him. Then she pulled her dress slowly up her body.
He forgot to breathe as he saw that she was naked. Totally, completely naked. Except for her heels. It was a damn fine look. Dessert had never been more tempting.
SHE WATCHED HIM take off his clothes. First, the sports jacket, then the dark blue shirt which made his eyes look so sexy. His chest. Oh, God. It was a work of art. Just looking at it made her want to touch him, to run her hands slowly up and down with her eyes closed so that nothing got in the way of all the texture and form.
She sighed as he undid his belt. That was in her personal top ten erotic moments. The Undoing of the Belt. It was such a simple act, a prelude to so much. Fingers specific, the softest hiss of leather, which, while she couldn’t hear at the moment, her memory provided like a tiny gift. Then the button, one handed, and the slow drag of the zipper.
He toed off his shoes, and let his pants pool at his feet. Mmm, she liked the black silk boxers. She laughed.
He quirked his head. “Um, not the best time to be laughing at a guy.”
She waved her hand as she walked closer. “I was just thinking that Boy Scouts could camp under that tent.”
He looked down. Threw his hands up in shock. “Oh, my God. What’s happening? It just keeps growing.”
It might not be the best time to laugh, but she loved this. Laughter, good conversation, music, the soft, warm air. The world was hers, at least for the moment. All the burdens of her day had been left in the elevator. Tonight was for fun. For passion. For discovery. The only way Trace would see Hush as she did was if all their bullshit could be put on hold, at least for a little while.
He’d taken off his socks, and now his hands were at the waistband of his shorts. She stopped him with a kiss. She moved his hands, replacing them with her own. She lowered herself along with his underwear, revealing his hard, thick erection. “For me?” she whispered as she settled her knees on his crumpled pants.
“Piper…” His hand went to her cheek. He lifted her chin until he was looking deep into her eyes. “My God.”
She smiled, then turned her attention to the proud beauty before her. The scent of sex mixed with flowers. Her thumb dipped in the pearl of moisture, spreading it over the mushroom head. She tried to think of anything she’d ever touched that was quite as silky, but she couldn’t come up with a thing. Wrapping her fingers around him, she stroked him all the way down, then back up again.
He moaned above her and when she steadied herself with a hand on his hip, she felt him tremble. Such power. She could break him with a touch, with her lips and her tongue.
But that wasn’t what she wanted. Not to break him, but to learn him. To feel his blood pulse, hear his harsh breath, the sound of his need.
She leaned forward and ran her tongue in a circle around the head. Her eyes closed as she let her other senses take over. He smelled so wonderful. Clean and spicy. And then there was that undercurrent, that ozone smell of lust.
Her lips closed over him and she rubbed her tongue on the sensitive underside, waited for his gasp, for the shiver to run through his body. Wondered if he could feel her smile.
Taking him as deeply as she could, she pleasured him, loving this, feeling naked and erotic and aching.
His hands went to her face, but his touch was light, a gentle caress, following as her head moved back and forth. She wondered if he watched her, or if his eyes were closed, his head thrown back.
Her own were still shut, but she could tell that if she didn’t stop soon, he was going to come. It wasn’t time.
Giving one last long suck, she sat back. His hands dropped as he whimpered his disappointment.
“Don’t worry, Trace,” she said, rising to her feet. “This is just the beginning.”
“I don’t think I’ll survive the ending.”
“Sure you will.” She turned. “Follow me.”
He did. She glanced back and grinned at his distress. Not a terribly nice thing to do, she knew, but it was too heady to resist.
She reached the side of the spa which was churning with bubbles and heat. In a few steps, she was waist-deep and sighing with pure bliss. She sank down, the bubbles jetting into all the right places.
“You stopped that for this?”
She turned her head to see Trace standing at the side of the spa, looking daggers at her. “Yep.”
“Fine,” he said. “Swell.” He climbed in, wincing as he settled close. “You’re a cruel woman, Piper Devon.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”
“Why not? It’s fun. I so rarely get to see the immediate response to one of my devious plots.”
“Exactly what is your devious plot?”
She leaned over and kissed him. Not a minor kiss, either, but deep and full and long. And that wasn’t all. She touched him again, grasped his erection, pumped him as she thrust her tongue. When she was about ready to come herself, she pulled away. “I’m going to make you forget your own name,” she said, her lips real close to his ear. Then she stuck her tongue there, too.
He turned around to kiss her again, but she wanted to keep up the tension so she reached for yet another bottle of chilled champagne. There were glasses, but the hell with them. She popped the cork and drank from the bottle.
His mouth was open, his eyes wild. “You…you…”
“I think the word you’re looking for is bitch.”
“I would never say that.”
“But you’d think it.”
“True.”
She grinned. Handed him the Cristal. “Relax, big guy. We’ve got hours.”
<
br /> He took a long drink, then put the bottle back in its ice. When he looked at her again, his eyes held mischief. “You know, two can play at this game.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. And she felt his hand on her thigh. “Be afraid,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Be very afraid.”
10
TRACE CLOSED his eyes, concentrating on the hot water bubbling against his body instead of Piper’s hand. Which was not easy.
He’d been on the edge for what seemed like hours, and he had to do something about it soon. He tried to recall the last time he’d been so frustrated and was somewhat surprised to realize it had been years. Since college. When he was alone, he took care of things himself, and when he had company, he was in control so when he wanted to wrap it up, he wrapped it up.
Usually, he was the one using delaying tactics, taking his companion to the brink over and over. He had to admit, this turnaround had its good points, although it was time now to go back to the natural order of things. As soon as he could calm down a bit more, he’d show Piper a thing or two.
He was still amazed at how surprising the day had been, and tonight had surpassed all his expectations. He’d never envisioned a relaxed evening, one where he didn’t feel he had to watch every word, that was all parry and thrust. He smiled, thinking about the other kind of parry and thrust. That would definitely play a major role in the remainder of the night.
“What are you grinning about?”
He opened his eyes to find her staring at him. There was a softness to her face that reminded him of when she’d been a young girl. “You. Us.” He nodded toward the dinner table. “It’s nice.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m pretty stunned by it all, too.” She reached back to snag the champagne. “Do you think it’s just the sex?”
“That’s got to be a big part of it,” he said, not as taken aback as he should be at his own candor. “We’ve been dodging this bullet for years.”
“I know.” She took a drink. “While we’re being so cozy I wanted to tell you—” she turned to him once more “—I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I was a kid. I shouldn’t have put you in such an awkward position. Your job, everything. It was wrong, and I apologize.”
