Bad Boys Online

by Erin McCarthy

  She quickly deleted the e-mail, intending to dash off a quick note back to Russ saying she was busy at work, but would meet him at their usual time and place after bowling tonight. Her finger was on the mouse, ready to create an e-mail, when she noticed a new message in her in-box.

  From Mack Stone.

  Her body ignited like a blowtorch in response to just seeing his name.

  Shoot, she was really in trouble.

  Glancing back over her shoulder to make sure no one had crept up on her, she clicked on the message with trepidation.

  I'll pick you up at seven. Dinner at Mojo's. What's your address?

  – M

  Kindra, I ache from wanting you.

  No greeting, no preamble, no electronic smiley faces. Just wham. Right between the thighs.

  Kindra inserted an address in the send field. Subject: Date. Then she typed:

  Russ, I'm so sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel our date tonight. I have a headache.

  Mack hadn't even touched her yet and he had already ruined her for other men.

  Chapter Two

  "I cannot believe you decided to come bowling when you could be on a date right now with Mack Stone." Ashley shook her head at Kindra as she pulled her hot pink bowling ball out of the ball return.

  Kindra rubbed her eyes. Her friends had been grilling her for the last forty minutes about her date with Mack. And that was after a similar interrogation from Ashley earlier at lunch.

  Trish, who was wearing jeans and a deep red shirt that matched her bowling shoes, set down her beer with a snort. "Seriously, Kindra, why play with bowling balls when you can be playing with Mack Stone's balls?"

  "Trish!" Kindra felt herself flushing.

  Ashley and Trish laughed. Even Violet, who was even quieter than Kindra, looked shocked, but amused.

  If they only knew how much she wanted to play with Mack Stone and all his body parts, they would be beyond shocked. They would stop breathing.

  "I didn't want to let the team down. I'm going out with Mack tomorrow night."

  "We wouldn't have minded," Violet said, patting Kindra's leg as she sat down on the bench next to her.

  Kindra knew her friends wouldn't have minded. And she was actually the worst bowler of the four of them, so they would hardly miss her. But she'd been glad for the excuse. She needed twenty-four hours before she could face Mack.

  If she faced Mack. Part of her was still wondering if she should cancel the whole thing and go back to Russ.

  She knew what she was getting with Russ. Safe, clean, uncomplicated. He didn't even know her last name or where she lived. For all she knew, Russ lived in Alaska. She would never have to encounter Russ over the water cooler or be cornered by him in her office.

  Ashley stomped back from her turn, hands on her hips. "Spare. That's the third one in a row."

  "I think I'm going to cancel," Kindra blurted out.

  Trish dropped her bowling ball on the floor. It crashed, spun, and landed in the gutter. "Crap, Kindra! You made me throw a gutter ball!"

  While Trish's ball rolled slowly down the lane, her friends rounded on her.

  "You're nuts," Ashley said.

  "Certifiable," Trish said.

  Kindra turned to Violet. "What do you think?" Violet would probably be on her side.

  Violet brushed her long dark hair out of her face. "I don't blame you, Kindra. He sounds like the kind of guy I wouldn't want to go out with. I like the gentle type."

  "You like the dorky type," Trish said disparagingly.

  Though Trish and her bad boy types weren't exactly Kindra's style, she had to agree that Violet went for quiet and uninteresting. Sort of like mild salsa. Why even bother? You'd be better off just biting a tomato.

  "That's not true." Violet pulled on her turtleneck decorated with miniature pumpkins and shook her head.

  Violet was even better at camouflage clothing than she was. Granted, it was October, and slightly cool, so perhaps a turtleneck might be warranted. But the pumpkins? Kindra couldn't figure that out. She was not into revealing clothes personally, tending to favor conservative suits at work and track pants on the weekends, but never once had she felt the urge to wear tiny pumpkins on her breasts.

  "Well." Trish waved her hand. "From what Ashley says about this guy, he's hotter than hot, so if you cancel you're just plain crazy." She grinned. "Or chicken shit."

  It was true. She was chicken shit. And she had sworn to herself on her twenty-sixth birthday in July that she was going to stop doing that. She was going to take charge.

  That had been the reason for going out and finding Russ, since real men hadn't been working out for the last decade or so. Of course, Russ was real, he just wasn't actually physically there with her. But at any rate, the point was, she had put her foot down on being chicken shit.

  And here she was doing it again.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. The feel of Mack pressed against her came rushing back.

  "Fine, I won't cancel."

  "Alright!" Ashley gave her a high five and said, "Now what are you going to wear? Because if you wear those track pants, I will beat you."

  Eliminating work clothes and the wind suits didn't leave her many options. "Jeans?" she asked, biting her lip.

  Trish said, "It depends on the jeans." She tossed her thumb toward the lane. "Violet, you're up."

  Ashley eyed her long and hard and said, "Don't worry. We'll fix you up. By the time we're done with you, Mack Stone will be eating out of your hand."

  Her hand was not what she wanted Mack to be eating out.

  Kindra mentally groaned. Help her, she was turning into a total pervert. And liking it.

  @ When seven o'clock rolled around on Saturday, Mack was nervous and horny. Not necessarily in that order.

  Nervous, because he wanted to do this right.

  Horny, because, well, because he was going to have sex with Kindra.

  As Mack drove through the West Park neighborhood of neat and tidy houses, he wondered again why a woman like Kindra had sworn off sex. He didn't doubt for a minute that she had. The look on her face had been too serious.

  It could be as simple as a sour relationship or just that no man had ever taken the time to give her pleasure. It made him angry that there were men who would just take and never give a thought to a woman's pleasure. He wasn't satisfied until the woman he was with was satisfied.

  If Kindra had suffered through a string of lousy lovers, it was no wonder she was disinterested. He could fix that. He could satisfy her. He'd given himself twelve hours after all.

  Mack pulled into the driveway of a white Cape Cod with gray shutters. It was tiny but well kept, and there were a couple of pumpkins sitting on the front steps. He'd never pictured Kindra as the homeowner type.

  They had worked together a lot over the past year, and about the only thing he could say about her for sure was that she was intelligent. She did her job well. Quickly and with little fuss.

  Other than that, he couldn't claim to know Kindra at all.

  He wanted to know her. And not just in the physical sense. He was drawn to her, attracted to that flash in her eyes that popped up from time to time.

  Parking his black SUV in the driveway, he got out and rang the doorbell. He waited. And waited. He rang the bell again.

  Rocking on the balls of his feet, he peeked in the window. He couldn't tell if she was home or not. Had he been stood up? That hadn't happened to him since… ever.

  The door flew open. Kindra hovered there, her face pale and her eyes huge. Her hair was still tightly bound in a clip, and she wore no makeup that he could tell, but she had on a denim skirt.

  It hugged her hips and ended with a naughty little slit in the middle an inch or two above her knees. Mack swallowed hard. He'd seen Kindra's legs plenty of times at work. But cov-ered in nylons and sticking out from under a shapeless black skirt.

  Now her smooth, creamy legs were bare, making his hand ache to run along her calf. She wore sanda
ls with straps and her toenails were painted a chestnut color, giving rise to images of her feet sliding across a white sheet.

  Above the skirt rested a navy blue tank top. Which was not revealing in any way. But given that Mack was used to having all of Kindra covered in layers of business boring, this was enticing.

  The cotton top was straining against her lush chest. He stared in appreciation. Kindra had been hiding some great tits.

  "Hi," she said breathlessly.

  "Hi," he said with a glance up, then couldn't stop himself from zeroing back in on her chest. Why had she been covering those up? It defied logic.

  Her arms covered her chest and a pink hue tinted her cheeks. Her embarrassment was evident. It was also arousing.

  With a smile, he reached out and pulled her arms away with a light tug. "No, don't cover up. I'm enjoying the view. You have a beautiful body, Kindra."

  She tugged her arms back. "You're making me uncomfortable."

  "I'm going to see it all anyway, sooner or later."

  "Later," she whispered.

  "So, you haven't changed your mind?" He needed to hear her say it, having had twenty-four hours to think about it, that this was what she wanted to do.

  Her chest rose and fell. Her hand crept up to fiddle with the clip on her head. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "No. I haven't changed my mind."

  Thank God. Mack tried not to fall on the ground and kiss her feet in gratitude. But hell, for a second there, he had feared for his sexual safety. If she had said no, he might have actually suffered some real damage from lack of release.

  He smiled at her. "I'm glad. Now are you ready for dinner?"

  They didn't talk on the ten-minute drive to the restaurant in a trendy rejuvenated old neighborhood. Kindra seemed to be concentrating on breathing, and keeping her legs crossed and far away from him. Mack was concentrating on driving and accidentally-on-purpose bumping her with various parts of his body as often as he could.

  A thigh brush here, an arm rub there. At one point he stretched all the way across the front of her, brushing everything, to retrieve his sunglasses from the glove compartment. Kindra sucked in her breath and froze.

  Whether or not it was arousing Kindra, he couldn't tell, but it sure had him hot and bothered.

  Mack had called Mojo's ahead of time and had requested the smallest table in the darkest corner. As he guided Kindra to the table, his hand on the small of her back, he was happy to see they had followed his instructions.

  Once seated, they were sitting almost next to each other, plants and shadows separating them from the nearby tables. Their knees were touching.

  Mack slipped his hand under the table and stroked Kindra's bare knee. Smooth and soft.

  She jerked it away.

  Now he intended to find out exactly why Kindra had chosen cybersex over the real thing. And what would be his best strategy to please her. To make her moan. To have her begging for more.

  He shifted as his black pants swelled beneath the table. Damn. If he kept this up, he was going to knock the whole table over with his dick.

  "So how does a nice girl like you wind up having online sex?" he said, going with the element of surprise.

  Kindra nearly swallowed the lemon wedge in her iced tea. Eyes watering, she coughed and sputtered. She should have known Mack would be curious and questioning. He certainly was at work, and it made him a good designer. But they weren't talking about download times here, they were talking about sex.

  But this was not like a normal date.

  Mack Stone was a cut-to-the-chase kind of guy. Working with him had shown her that. The encounter in her office the day before had confirmed that.

  He was also a flirt and something of an expert on women. Everywhere he went, there was bound to be one or two dangling after him, giggling and smiling and offering to fetch and carry for him.

  To Mack, this was probably just mild, everyday kind of stuff. Eat dinner, talk about sex, then do it. But for her, little Kindra Hill, this wasn't exactly the kind of conversation she had on a regular basis. She didn't talk about sex.

  Well, if you didn't count Russ, that is. But that was different. That was like an outlet, a hobby. Some women scuba dived, some women knitted. Kindra talked dirty to Russ.

  Which somehow made her seem frighteningly sad and twisted. Maybe it wasn't too late to take up chess or spelunking. Tennis could be fun.

  In answer to his question, she said carefully, "I'm not sure that's any of your business."

  His ice blue eyes never left hers. "You're my business. For tonight anyway. I want to know you."

  Kindra shivered and wished she hadn't let Ashley talk her into wearing this tank top. It was clingy and totally ridiculous for October, even if the temperature had peaked at seventy degrees that afternoon. She had worn a denim jacket with the tank top at home, but the cut was so narrow, it had made her feel as if she were stuffed in a straitjacket, so she had taken it off.

  Now she wished she were covered in head-to-toe denim. Loose denim. A denim sack. Then maybe she wouldn't feel like Mack was looking at her, picturing her naked.

  Of course, the whole point was that she wanted him to see her naked. No correctionshe wanted to see him naked.

  But getting from here to there was the hard part. She almost wished he had just jumped her bones the minute she had opened her front door and had forgotten all about this wine-and-dine part.

  But that would make her a really cheap date. She was being cheap enough already; she supposed she should at least spend the guy's money first. A flush started hiking up her face. She wasn't so good at this in-person business.

  "Well," Mack said. "If you're going to talk dirty, you should at least find someone who knows how."

  While this sounded interesting, Kindra was aware that though they were in a dark corner, they were still in a public place. With other people around. Mack's voice sounded really, really loud to her.

  She opened her mouth to shush him.

  "I mean, that guy is completely unoriginal. Come on." His voice rose another notch. "I want to lick your nipples until you come like a rocket, hot and wet…"

  Yikes. Did he want a microphone in case the chef didn't hear? Or maybe he could take out a billboard ad or start an Embarrass the Shit out of Kindra website. She darted a glance around and nearly hid under the tablecloth when she saw that two different tables of people were gawking at them.

  Mack was oblivious to her horror. Or the shocked looks of their fellow diners.

  "That sounds like he just typed a passage right from a porno."

  Kindra fisted her hands and whispered, "Mack!" Couldn't he see she was mortified?

  "Now if I was going to say something to you, it would be something like, 'I can't sleep without seeing you in my dreams.'"

  Wait a minute. Hold the phone. She looked at him in surprise. Was he trying to get poetic on her? That wasn't part of their bargain. She couldn't handle him saying loverlike things as if he actually cared about her. It would be too much like what she really wanted.

  Kindra sat up straight, startled at her thoughts. What did she really want? Sex with Mack, right? Nothing else.

  Right?

  Mack brushed against her knee with his leg, and she felt it reverberate through every inch of her body.

  "No? Not your style? How about, 'You're a beautiful woman and I want you so bad I ache to taste you.' "

  Kindra had known she was no match for him. This confirmed it. He seemed to be teasing her, a little smile playing around the corner of his mouth. She sat stock still, afraid to move, afraid to say something needy and grasping, which was how she suddenly felt.

  Vulnerable.

  "Not doing it for you?" Mack smiled patiently. "Do you like it dirty? I can talk dirty to you, Kindra. How about… 'You've got a sweet little ass and I can't wait to fuck it.' "

  Her mouth dropped. She felt it clunk down onto her chest. She found her voice. "I don't think, uh, dirty, is my style."

 
Not that she had a style. But Mack using words like that when talking about her was too much. Way too much. So Russ used them with her all the time. But Russ wasn't real. Russ was like her computer screen had just gotten really smart and was talking with her. Real, but not real at all.

  Russ wasn't looking her in the face. With gorgeous blue eyes and muscles rippling in his short-sleeve rayon shirt. Russ didn't have a low, powerful voice that made women want to stand up and howl at the moon.

  Russ wasn't Mack. Oh, so real, and oh, so close.

  Mack grinned. "Dirty's not your style? Not yet, anyway."

  If she were inclined to be honest, which she wasn't, she kind of liked it when he talked like that. But nothing was going to make her admit that. Not in public. If he tried really hard in private, using all his powers of naked persuasion, she might concede the point.

  The waiter stopped next to them, brandishing plates of food. "Oh, look, our dinner is here!" she beamed at the waiter, then took a nice long swallow of her iced tea.

  Maybe she should have accepted the wine Mack had suggested instead. She was a little tense.

  When the waiter moved away, leaving the steaming fajitas in front of her, Kindra busied herself with filling and rolling up a tortilla.

  As Mack did the same, he suddenly asked, "How old are you?"

  Pausing with a pepper on her fork, Kindra looked at him. He wasn't looking at her, but was cutting his chicken. It was a harmless question.

  She answered, "I'm twenty-six."

  "How long have you worked for MicroDesign?"

  "Four years." Kindra took a bite of her fajita and savored the spicy flavor.

  "So do you own your house or do you rent?"

  Was this a loan application?

  She swallowed her food and said suspiciously, "Why do you ask?"

  He shrugged and leaned back against his chair. "I'm just trying to get to know you, that's all."

  Well, stop it. That was the last thing she wanted.

  This was supposed to be like the live version of Russ. Anonymous. Sex for the sake of sex. Mack would try and prove his point, she would get to fulfill a year-long fantasy, and everything would be hunky dory. On Monday they would pretend this had never happened, and life would go on.