Simply Irresistible

by Deborah Cooke

  Ty realized that a lot of the vehemence of his reaction came from his concern that Amy would explore the games more, and he wouldn’t be able to ensure her safety. That worried him enough to make him be so forthright.

  “You’re stalling.” Amy had folded her arms across her chest. “You haven’t ’fessed up to anything.”

  Ty gritted his teeth. He might as well lay it all out. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, at this point. “What works for me is really simple. I like what my partner likes. Whatever excites her works for me, because there’s absolutely nothing hotter than a woman who can’t get enough of you or can’t have you fast enough.” Ty held her gaze, and saw her eyes widen. He leaned closer, watching how she quickly licked her lips, hearing her breath catch, wanting to touch her more than anything in the world. He dropped his voice to a purr. “Not. One. Thing.”

  Amy swallowed. “What if your partner liked you tying her up? What if it made her wild to have her wrists bound or to be blindfolded?”

  “I guess I’d have to get out my old Boy Scout manuals and practice my knots.”

  “Says he with a decided lack of enthusiasm,” Amy said, her disgust clear. She shifted her legs, the way she did when she was reading, but Ty didn’t think it appropriate to admit his enthusiasm was greater than she realized. “I think you’re full of it. I think you’d tell her that her fantasies were wrong and refuse to play along.”

  Amy looked out the window then and Ty couldn’t think of a thing to say in his own defense. Well, except to admit the truth and that wasn’t going to save his butt.

  He waited, but she didn’t look at him.

  He took a deep breath and left the parking lot, squealing the tires a little bit. If he drove too quickly down her street, that was just too bad.

  The thing was that he hadn’t told her the whole truth about his fantasies. He remembered his hour as Matteo, the softness of Amy’s lips beneath his thumb, the sweet curve of her butt under his hand, and the intensity of the desire he’d felt for her in that session. It had been incredibly hot—and they’d practically been in public and had been mostly clothed. The possibility of doing the same things naked and in private—let alone doing more than that—was enough to make him dizzy.

  All because he knew Amy liked it.

  “There,” she said, pointing to a house a hundred feet ahead. “You don’t have to get out to open the door.”

  “It’s what I do,” he retorted.

  “Don’t bother. I can manage a big car door all by myself.”

  “Amy!”

  She was opening the door before Ty could think of an argument in his own defense, and she got out of the car so fast that he barely managed to pull out his wallet to pay off their bet.

  “Thanks.” Amy plucked the bill from his fingers and slammed the door hard. She walked away, without giving Ty a chance to continue their conversation.

  He sat and watched until she was in the house, his blood simmering with more than frustration. He wanted to follow her. He wanted to try to convince her to believe him with his touch. No, he wanted to back her into a wall and kiss her until she couldn’t think about any other guy or any other fantasy lover than him.

  The simple fact was that he felt protective of Amy because he liked her.

  A lot.

  Enough to want more than a few fake dates.

  But now that he’d stepped square in it, even those fake dates were in jeopardy unless he found a way to apologize.

  * * *

  Ty’s hundred dollar bill was so crisp and new that Amy didn’t want to break it.

  She showed it to Fitzwilliam, who was unimpressed. He sat beside his bowl of kibble, his expression expectant.

  Amy still felt a little agitated that Ty knew where she lived. She was more agitated that they’d argued. She could see his point, but it infuriated her that he refused to see her point.

  Despite herself, she liked that he’d waited until she was inside before driving away.

  And when he was gone, Amy’s world seemed a little less colorful.

  She couldn’t stop thinking of how Ty had looked when he’d accelerated to get them away from the drivers he didn’t trust. His eyes had glittered and his lips had thinned. He’d looked like a different man than the charming one who met her for lunch. A decisive and commanding man.

  A demanding one. The sight had worked for Amy in a big way.

  Never mind his intensity when he parked the car and gave her a serving of truth. And when he told her what he liked…well. Amy wondered whether she might have ovulated in that moment. He was really really hot and she’d hoped that he might act upon his urges.

  But he hadn’t. He’d kept everything under control, except his voice.

  He had dropped the f-bomb twice. She’d never hear him do that before.

  There had been a moment when he’d come up behind her and put his hand on her back at the party, that she’d thought of Matteo. She’d been almost startled when Ty’s murmur had been in her ear, instead of Matteo’s gruff Spanish accent.

  Not significantly less aroused, though.

  Maybe she was mixing them up, which was a troubling possibility. Amy changed and washed out her new dress, then went into the kitchen. The fridge was depressingly empty and she regretted eating so little at the buffet. She’d been too nervous to indulge, although everything had looked delicious.

  “I need to have a cooking day,” she told the cat. “Like Mama and I used to.” She frowned. “Maybe next weekend.”

  She opened a can of cat food for Fitzwilliam, and a can of soup for herself. While it was heating, she walked around her part of the house, imagining what Paige would notice about it. It was still beautiful, despite the extra doors needed for the duplexing, and the main rooms were generously proportioned. The living room at the front had a bay window that looked over the porch and a fireplace, which Amy used in the winter. The mantel was original and lavishly carved. She ran her hand along it as she passed. She’d always liked the tiles in the fireplace, too. Her parents’ dining suite was still in the room, although Amy seldom sat in there.

  There were two bedrooms on the main floor as well as the kitchen and a full bath. The kitchen was smaller than would have been ideal—Amy remembered her mom joking that there could never be enough counter space in any kitchen—and had been renovated the last time in the seventies. It was sufficiently vintage to be due for an update. One bedroom, the one immediately behind the dining room, had always been Amy’s dad’s library. It had built-in bookshelves, still full of his books, and a fireplace, as well. There were two chairs in front of the fireplace and Amy remembered many winter nights spent there, reading with him.

  The back bedroom was chilly and had been used as a storeroom when Amy’s parents had been well. They’d used it as a bedroom when someone was sick, and technically it was Amy’s bedroom now. She often slept in the living room, though, on the couch, or in her father’s library. She couldn’t rearrange the other main rooms without disturbing her good memories, not any more than she could empty the attic, so she made do.

  Was Ty right that she was always making do? There was a germ of truth in that, for sure.

  The second floor had four bedrooms and a full bathroom. The bedroom immediately over the kitchen had been turned into another kitchen. Lisa and her mother used the largest room as a living room and ate in their kitchen. The other two rooms were their bedrooms.

  The stairs continued past their door to the attic, to her mom’s dressing room and closet and lots of buckets catching rainwater.

  One of Amy’s favorite daydreams was how she’d fix up the house if she won the lottery. Her mom had always wanted a larger kitchen and they’d talked about integrating that back bedroom into the kitchen, since it hadn’t really been in use anyway. That changed when her mom became ill. It was still a good plan, though, because it would mean that the back end of the kitchen would open into the yard.

  The back yard had never been given much atte
ntion as a living or entertaining space. Amy’s mom had grown a lot of vegetables when Amy was small and much of the yard had been in production. If the kitchen opened to it, though, Amy could imagine a patio, maybe with grapes trained over a trellis and paths between the vegetable beds. Flower beds, too. She was inspired by the house she’d visited that day with its beautiful yard.

  There was a garage at the back of the lot, one that defied gravity by remaining upright and provided accommodations for wild creatures. It could be rebuilt, if it was done before it fell down, but without a car, Amy’s priority was the roof.

  The fact was that even at cost, she doubted she could afford the roof. She wouldn’t phone Derek until she had some idea of where to find the money. In the morning, she’d call Ty’s friend, just in case there were more options than she realized. It really couldn’t hurt to find out.

  She put Derek’s card into the drawer that held all her household bills and estimates, then went to eat her soup. She plucked one of her mother’s favorite recipe books off the shelf to browse as she ate, because she was due to fill the freezer with pre-made meals.

  Amy was yearning for a taste of home cooking.

  Her mother’s cooking.

  As soon as she’d served the soup, her phone rang.

  Of course, it was Brittany.

  Amy only half-listened to all the drama of the day, because evidently the dress had been fixed. When the call ended, Amy realized that her cousin never asked about her own date, and knew that Ty had called the relationship right without even meeting her cousin.

  His family was big and they liked to razz each other, but there had been an incredible sense of love between them. Amy had seen how they supported each other, and provided for each other, in the same way that her parents had supported her. Ty’s safety net would never be gone, though, unless the Apocalypse came.

  There were so many of them.

  She could be a little bit jealous of that.

  Or she could use it. The Dark Prince himself was alone in Amy’s story, reviled by those around him because of his scars. Lothair was too embittered himself to reach out for help. He didn’t even think he needed any assistance.

  But his slave, Argenta, knew better.

  She challenged his expectations.

  Amy thought about the Oscar Wilde quote and knew that her story was going to deliver to that expectation. She seized her pen and the pad of paper and began to write.

  The prince lifted my chin with one gloved fingertip, and I could feel the weight of his gaze upon me.

  Then he let his hood slide back a bit so I could see his face. I knew he expected me to avert my gaze but I didn’t. I looked. His one eye was patched and judging by the scars, I wagered that his eye was gone. I had glimpsed the deep wound that etched his cheek, pulling down one corner of his mouth. Another scar, or perhaps more of the same one, erupted from the top of the patch, and carved a line to his temple, pulling up the end of his dark brow so that he looked diabolical. On that side, I could see that his scalp was red and marred, as if he had been burned. On the other side, his hair was as dark as ebony, thick and wavy. His eye was as green as new grass.

  He had been handsome before his injuries, and even now, I found his face arrestingly beautiful. If he had expected me to quail in terror, he was doomed to disappointment. The scars on his flesh showed his valor to me. They showed that he had faced an ordeal and survived it. They were a mark of his venturing beyond the borders of Euphoria. I wanted desperately to know where he had been, what he had seen, what it was like beyond our borders.

  I wanted to go there myself.

  Clearly, there was peril to be found in such distant lands. Someone had disfigured him deliberately, so savagely that I wondered why.

  I looked my fill and sensed his surprise.

  “No pity,” he said softly.

  I shook my head, holding his gaze.

  Something changed in his expression. If anything, he became more intense. We stared at each other and the air seemed to heat between us…

  Chapter Eight

  Amy wore the green suit to work on Monday.

  Because she was going to call Red. She didn’t know much about money and banks, but she knew that her chances of being loaned any money were much greater if she didn’t look as if she needed it so desperately.

  The suit gave her confidence, too.

  She dug in her own closet and found a pair of black pumps she’d bought ages ago—for her mom’s funeral—and hadn’t worn since. They were black and the heels weren’t too high. They were Italian and leather, a tribute to her mom’s affection for quality. She’d thought them elegant then, and they didn’t look dated at all. She wore the loafers to work, then changed.

  Mrs. Murphy looked her up and down, but Amy was saved from any interrogation by the ringing of the phone. She’d already made an appointment with Red—who sounded very nice, and knew nothing about her, which was proof that Ty wasn’t organizing things for her behind the scenes—when the flowers were delivered.

  For her.

  It was a beautiful spring bouquet, with lilies and roses and more, in shades of pink and purple and white. Amy was astonished, because no one ever sent her flowers.

  She opened the card and her heart stopped for a moment.

  I’m sorry was written inside. I was wrong. Give me another chance at lunch today?

  And it was signed by Ty.

  Amy took a shaking breath and stuffed the card into the pocket of her suit jacket. He’d apologized and she was completely seduced.

  He probably didn’t need to know that she’d been planning to give him that chance at lunch today anyhow. She knew it was important that he’d lost his temper and that he’d sworn.

  Amy put the flowers in pride of place on her desk and enjoyed how Mrs. Murphy regarded them with suspicion.

  The morning flew by.

  * * *

  Ty was looking forward to lunch on Monday.

  No, he was looking forward to seeing Amy again.

  He wanted to provoke her to defend her favorite genre again, just so he could watch her without distraction. He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to learn more about what she liked and why.

  Mostly, he wanted to apologize in person.

  He worried about the flowers, that he might have made a bad choice of color or that she might have allergies. He worried that she might dislike getting them at work, but he wanted her to receive them before lunch. He worried that she might not give him another chance and watched the minutes tick by with painful slowness.

  He had to get her phone number because it killed him that this apology had had to wait.

  Reviewing April reports for his best clients that morning didn’t captivate his attention. His mom had called the night before and again that morning, gushing about Amy and what a marvel she was. Ty had no disagreement with anything his mom said.

  Book, line, and sinker sounded like the truth.

  Ty was early to the food court and claimed a seat at Amy’s usual table. He was starting to think of is as their usual table. From his place, he could watch the elevators. He opened his book but glanced up at intervals. Even though he was waiting for her, he was startled when she appeared.

  Amy wasn’t wearing navy.

  She wore a suit he hadn’t seen on her before, with a tweed jacket in green and gold and a skirt in solid green. The hem swung around her knees in a fabulous way. The loafers were gone, and instead, she wore a demure pair of black leather pumps.

  He swallowed and stared.

  Amy smiled and spun in front of him before taking off her jacket and sitting down opposite him. “What do you think?”

  “Gorgeous,” Ty said, and meant it.

  Amy blushed, right on cue. “My mom was a dressmaker. I still have all of her clothes but I didn’t really think about us being the same size. I’m a little taller than her, but that’s it.” She smiled and stroked the tweed. “I remember her making this.”

  The love she had f
or her mom shone in her eyes, and it was enough to break Ty’s heart.

  “It suits you,” he said. “Great find.”

  She grinned impishly. “Don’t you miss my loafers?”

  Ty considered them. “I only regret that you didn’t give me the chance to burn them.”

  “Never! I need them for the trip home.”

  She crossed her legs, giving him an ideal view. “You are killing me,” he murmured. “Is this how you’re going to get even with me?”

  “Liar! You’re too nice a guy to ogle women’s legs.”

  “You might be surprised,” Ty growled and she eyed him for a minute.

  She started to blush and he watched. “Thank you for the flowers,” she said quietly.

  “I am sorry.”

  “Me, too. You really made me mad.”

  “We have that in common, then,” he acknowledged and she smiled.

  “My gentleman was quite annoyed that he didn’t have my undivided attention when I got home,” she said, surprising Ty with that confession. Her eyes sparkled when she looked up at him. “He doesn’t take well to being left home alone on the weekend.”

  “Your gentleman?”

  Maybe her role-playing at F5 wasn’t the only surprising thing about Amy.

  “Fitzwilliam gets disgruntled if dinner isn’t in his dish on time.”

  If she was talking about a man, she had some kind of strange domestic life. “Fitzwilliam?”

  Amy laughed and Ty knew his confusion showed. “He’s a cat, a Maine Coon. When I first found him, I thought he was a brooding type, but he was just suffering.”

  “Found him?”

  “They left him!” She confided, outrage putting an enticing spark in her eye. “When the neighbors moved, they left him behind. He was abandoned with no food and was eating garbage if he could find it. I heard him yowling before the new people moved in.”

  “And he wasn’t theirs?”

  “Their children have allergies. They couldn’t keep him. I took him home.”