by Julie Leto
She put the glass on the bed stand and slid back onto the comforter, an inch or so closer to him than she had been before. “You weren’t much older, or did you exaggerate before?”
The challenge in her eyes, in the way she leaned forward on both hands, her pajama top billowing out and allowing him a shadowed view of her breasts, stole Grey’s ability to think.
He swallowed, but his mouth had become very dry. Thirsty. For a sip of her. For a taste of the brandy he could smell lingering on her heated breath.
“I was fifteen.” Not a lie. For him or Zane. They’d both lost their virginity with the same woman, a twenty-year-old neighbor who’d made it a challenge to seduce both twins, though neither knew at the time, nor cared when it was all over.
She nodded, obviously remembering as she sidled closer, her perfume reminding him of hot cinnamon. “Both of us young, both seduced, both enjoying the experience thoroughly.” Her breasts heaved with her heavy sigh. “No wonder we’re both such sexual creatures.”
Her gaze captured his, her pupils and irises blending into fathomless centers. When she licked her lips enticingly, Grey stopped fighting his instincts. Even Zane wouldn’t be able to resist kissing such a sensuous woman, no matter their past.
He launched forward, their mouths colliding. Whether from shock or from desire—he had no idea which and didn’t give a damn—he found her lips open. Her heat drew him, ensnared him, even as their tongues curled and clashed. Like the brandy flavoring her kiss, Reina imbued him with the kind of heady heat a man should sip and savor.
Only she escaped. A rush of cold met his mouth the instant she broke the kiss. She dashed off the bed, spun for a second, and then took two strides back.
“You’re not Zane!”
6
GREY’S SENSES OVERLOADED, blocking his ability to read Reina’s expression. Damn. Just a moment ago, he’d been lost in velvet heaven, his mouth merged with hers. Even as his desire surged, he’d kept his hands to himself and focused only on her taste, her scent. For an instant, he knew her. Unbridled. Unrestrained. The real Reina Price, the woman beneath the sexy clothes and thoroughbred air.
Then she’d pulled away, his secret revealed. He took a deep breath, trying to interpret the look on her face. Shock? Definitely. Horror? No, not exactly. Anger? Yes, at first, but the indignation quickly drained from her eyes, replaced with her cool, practiced indifference.
“You…are…not…Zane…Masterson.”
She ended her staccato explanation by rolling her lips inward, as if she was trying to suppress any emotion brought on by this revelation. For an instant, Grey thought a flash of humor lit her eyes, but he figured he’d imagined it. He’d been caught. Red-lipped. No woman he’d ever run across would find such a lie amusing.
Still…Reina was no ordinary woman.
“Let me guess, we kiss differently?” he ventured.
Her eyebrows shot up, then just as quickly relaxed. She’d showed him her surprise rather than her apathy, if only for a second. “Frankly, I wouldn’t know.”
“Excuse me?”
She shrugged, returning to the bed as if the lie and the kiss were nothing of consequence. Fortunately, he knew better.
“Your brother and I have never kissed.”
Grey took a moment to catalogue that information. “You’ve never slept with my brother?”
Reina grinned, obviously amused by his inability to swallow the reality she handed him. “Zane and I always have been and always will be strictly friends. If he told you otherwise, Grey—” she emphasized his name, probably just because she could “—he was lying. Or exaggerating. He has been known to do that.”
She rolled her eyes, apparently remembering some instance when his twin’s penchant for blowing things out of proportion had caused some stir, one that apparently she hadn’t minded. No wonder his brother liked this woman so much. She seemed totally unaffected by his playboy charisma. She was probably a damned good influence on Zane’s inflated ego.
Grey held up his hands. “Honestly, he didn’t tell me anything. He said you two were just good friends, but I assumed…”
“That we’d once been lovers?”
“You are an incredibly beautiful woman. And these vibes have been going on between us.”
She cleared her throat, then refilled her brandy glass. “Yes, that should have been my first clue that you weren’t Zane. As adorable as I find him, we’ve never had the kind of chemistry you and I seem to have. And here I blamed my heightened state of arousal on reading the diaries and on Claudio’s collection. Apparently, there was more at play.”
“Well,” Grey muttered, “nothing was really at play just yet. But we were getting there.”
Grey expected her to try to deny his claim, particularly now that he’d lied to her, but she reclined against her pillows, her brandy snifter poised between her palms.
“I prefer to know the identity of the men I kiss,” she said after several pensive sips. Then without warning, she slid across the mattress, nearly to the place where she’d been when he kissed her. Close enough for him to smell her exotic scent again. Close enough to inhale the brandy on her lips.
Grey almost moved back, as if the sheer force of her confidence had the power to push him aside. Instead, he scooted forward. She was an incredibly fascinating woman. Like a mystery he had to solve, an investigation he had to break before the deadline on the morning edition.
“Sorry for the switch,” he said, his fingers inching across the comforter, his hand inexplicably drawn to the silky softness of her pajamas.
She paused, her gaze expectant but patient. He couldn’t think of anything else but the possibility of resuming their kiss.
“You don’t really think that’s enough of an explanation, do you?” she asked after a quick sip of brandy. “Or do I need to call Zane if I want the whole truth?”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m considered the honest, hardworking Masterson twin.”
“Oh, I’ve heard. From Zane. I think he appreciates your efforts to be his complete and total opposite. Keeps anyone from ever handing him more responsibility than he wants. Maybe I should call him, just to make sure he’s surviving. I’m assuming he’s busy being you right now?” She glanced at her bedside clock. “Hmm. What would Grey Masterson, notorious New Orleans newspaper editor and lover, be doing so late on a Saturday night? Ordinarily, of course.”
Grey scrunched his brow. “The real Grey Masterson would probably still be working at the newspaper, getting an early jump on the Monday edition. But my brother called a few hours ago and I basically told him to do whatever he pleased without asking where he was or whom he was with. That’s why I’m here, Reina. I’m tired of being me all the time.”
“So are a lot of people. Tired of being themselves, that is. Too bad we don’t all have twins we can switch places with. I think the two of you are rather lucky.”
He watched her eyes, and though they still possessed that heavy-lidded quality that made him wonder if anything could truly excite her, he wanted to believe her easy acceptance. “You aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you who I was? That Zane didn’t tell you?”
Her lips twisted a bit while she considered his question. “I’ll live. Tell me, what if Zane doesn’t portray you the way you want to be portrayed?”
“Zane can’t make me look like any more of a fool than Lane Morrow did. The woman has the whole world thinking that she not only tamed my wicked ways, but she broke my heart and left me to wallow in my despair, unable to date, unable to connect with another woman.”
“Have you tried to prove her wrong?”
“Why should I?” He snapped, then paused. Reina didn’t need to hear his troubles. He’d become his brother primarily to escape having to think about Lane or the tabloids or his newspaper or anything else associated with his life. Even now that she knew his secret, he had no intention of slipping back into his old ways. He’d wanted to be Zane so he could have some fun. Even her problems with the robber
ies at her gallery wouldn’t keep him from that pursuit.
“I’m sure Zane will take care of proving Lane wrong. He has a natural propensity for finding and seducing beautiful women. I even left him one to start with.”
Grey told Reina about his stalker, about the troubles at the newspaper. And about the ulcer he’d been self-medicating with bottles of antacids, though he hadn’t planned on filling in so many details. But he did owe her the truth, particularly since he still needed her help to continue his ruse.
He also confessed that when he’d called Zane for help with Toni Maxwell, he’d secretly hoped Zane would suggest they switch places. Just as Zane had predicted, Reina found the entire situation slightly amusing and rather ingenious. She probably would’ve found it downright funny if he’d told her who he was before he kissed her.
She was indeed a unique woman. Like both him and his twin, maybe even more so, Reina had been assigned a role to play at an early age. The daughter of a celebrity, she’d been under public scrutiny from birth. He’d already noted the way she morphed from an aloof seductress in public to a comfortable-in-her-skin sensual woman in private. He only wondered if there were more layers he could peel away, more facets he could discover.
“So Zane is running a newspaper?” Reina didn’t bother to hide her cynicism from her expression or her voice.
“It’s his turn. He owns nearly as much stock as I do. And he does have a journalism degree. Did he ever tell you that?”
“No, but I have a degree in art history,” she countered. “Doesn’t mean I’m qualified to run the Louvre.”
“Zane’ll do fine.”
She eyed him skeptically, but he had a strong feeling she wasn’t doubting Zane’s ability as much as she was questioning Grey’s perfunctory confidence in his brother. She was insightful, this woman. Fact was, Grey had come to realize he didn’t care that much if Zane saved the paper or not. He simply wanted out.
“Your brother is incredibly resourceful and shamefully overeducated,” she said. “I’m equally sure he’ll do fine. But I am still surprised he didn’t tell me about this switch. I would have played along—he knows that.”
Grey nodded. Zane had told him as much, but Grey hadn’t wanted Reina in on the secret. Never, in all the times he’d switched places with his brother, had anyone outside the two of them been aware of the switch. In the past, they’d suspected having co-conspirators would somehow spoil their fun. This time, however, Grey simply hadn’t wanted to be himself—at all or with anyone. He considered the desire childish now, but hadn’t he been entitled to a little selfishness?
“I had no idea he had a friend he could trust so implicitly. Apparently, I was wrong. I mean, you weren’t even lovers, but you shared the secret of your first sexual experiences.”
Reina grinned slyly. “And now you know my secret, too, don’t you?”
Grey sat up straighter. “Did Zane get more details? ’Cause personally, I’d love some. I need them, if you think about it. If I’m going to present an accurate portrayal of my brother, I should know everything he knows. Particularly about you.”
His attempt at humor didn’t fall as flat as he expected. One corner of those luscious lips of hers raised ever so slightly upward.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But first things first, Grey Masterson. Now that you’re not who I thought, what should I do with you?”
REINA COULDN’T DENY the ache of exhaustion tightening the muscles around her eyes, but she absolutely couldn’t attempt sleep until she had the answers to several burning questions. At least she knew why she’d suddenly been attacked by a raging case of lust for Zane, a man she’d been immune to for years. This sexy charmer wasn’t Zane. He was Grey. According to Zane, Grey was the serious twin. She wondered. According to Lane Morrow—whom Reina wouldn’t trust with the name of her dog groomer, and she didn’t own a dog—he was a militantly private man with a taste for kinky sex. According to Chantal, who’d read the book from cover to cover, the B-movie bitch had delighted in intimating that Grey’s appetite exceeded even her feminine prowess, and yet, when they’d parted, he pined for her and hadn’t dated since. Reina had no idea if this was true, but she had a strong suspicion that if it was, it wouldn’t be for long.
She’d believed him to be Zane when he’d come into her room tonight. That’s why she’d let down her guard, why she’d decided to consider pursuing the potent chemistry suddenly brewing between them. But she hadn’t planned on the power of the kiss, hadn’t planned on the instantaneous explosion of awareness that cleared the smoke from the screen of his deception. No matter how much she loved Zane as a friend, no matter how much she trusted him to forge a sexual relationship with her—one with parameters they could both tolerate—he never would have kissed her without first laying down the ground rules. They’d both lose too much if things didn’t work out.
But with Grey, what did she have to lose? The man obviously enjoyed sex as much as she did. He probably wasn’t looking for anything serious, and after the debacle with Lane Morrow, he’d value discretion. And God, but the man did things to her libido that threatened to drive her insane. She wanted him.
And Reina had been taught to always go after what she wanted.
He took away her brandy, placed it on the floor and then scooted back into her personal space. His blue eyes gleamed with a potent mixture of promise and possibility.
“I have several interesting suggestions about what you could do with me, Ms. Price, if you’d like to hear them.”
A flutter deep within her stole her breath. When was the last time a man had such an immediate, powerful effect on her? She’d seen his face a thousand times before, and yet she was fascinated by the nuances of his expressions, the subtle, perhaps even imagined, differences between Grey, the stranger, and Zane, her friend.
This is Grey, she reminded herself. Before today, she’d never seen him. Never spoken to him. Knew him only through his brother and by his reputation. Tonight, though, they’d shared a kiss. Brief, but intense. Searing with enough raw and honest lust to show her the truth.
What would another kiss show her?
“I’d rather experience what you have in mind,” she answered. “Some men can be all talk.”
His sly grin burgeoned into a full-fledged smile. “I can say the same for most women.”
Touché. Lane Morrow had undoubtedly done her share of talking, although only after she’d done her share of doing. Well, Reina wasn’t about to be lumped into any classification that included a wench like Lane Morrow. She inched her face closer to his, her gaze drawn to his perfectly shaped lips, her tongue desperate to taste him again.
“I’m not most women,” she whispered, allowing a teasing swipe of mouth against his.
“Prove it.”
His challenge shot a surge of adrenaline through her and she rode the electric wave until her mouth pressed against his, her tongue eager to duel, her breath ragged with need. Grey met her with equal force and, before she knew it, she’d thrust her hands into his hair, clutching him as a sudden release of her pent-up lust sent her into an unfamiliar, uncharted spiral. She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. Confusion must have shone in her eyes the minute he pulled away. She quickly tempered her expression.
“Wow,” he said.
She tossed her hair aside. “Just a kiss,” she claimed, trying to convince him—convince herself—that nothing special, nothing unique or different had just transpired. Even if she did, for a brief liberating moment, feel completely out of control.
He narrowed his gaze. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
She moistened her lips, unwilling to admit that the simple joining of lips had rocked her to her core. “What do you want, Grey? Tell me.”
“That’s obvious. I want you, Reina. I have from the minute I walked into your gallery.”
She tried to steady her breathing, tried to stop the rapid rise and fall of her breasts so that his gaze would remain only on hers. Not becau
se she didn’t want him to admire her breasts. She did. She wanted him to admire them unclothed and with more than just his eyes. She ached to feel his hands on her, his mouth on her. Shaking her head, she tried to clear the dizziness. Reina never shied from exploring her sexual side, or from sleeping with a man she desired. But never had she wanted a man so much that she wasn’t willing to wait, didn’t aim to draw out the seduction, stoke their desire until the flames became unbearable.
But the fire licking her skin from the inside out was already an unqualified conflagration. How could she feel any hotter? Any deeper in need?
She grabbed the lapels of her pajamas and tore them open, popping buttons, laughing at the tinkle as they dropped to the floor. Pulling her arms languidly from the sleeves, she dropped the shirt to the floor, then leveled her gaze at him as his stare dropped to her bare breasts, her aroused nipples.
“What are you waiting for, then?”
Hunger widened his clear blue eyes to china saucers. That all too familiar swell of feminine power rushed through her blood, intensifying her pulse at each sensitive point—her throat, her wrists, her breasts. Moisture trickled between her legs. A kiss had her ready. He could strip her completely bare and thrust into her right here, right now—her body was prepared.
He inched his hands onto her waist, his touch explorative and yet possessive. She closed her eyes, prepared to feel him completely. When his palms stopped along her rib cage, she blinked and caught her carnal reflection in his eyes.
“You’re waiting again,” she pointed out.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
She allowed a tiny grin, then tugged his shirt over his head in one quick movement. Splaying her hands over his broad chest, losing her long fingers into the soft curled hair there, she pressed her palm against him until she could count the rapid beats of his heart. “I want sex, Grey. Amazing sex. Earth-shattering, you-ought-to-write-a-book-about-it sex.”
