GirlMostLikelyTo

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Translating what?”

  “Er…” Damn. She paused too long, trying to come up with a lie. “Novels.”

  He furrowed his brow. “What sort of novels?”

  Double damn. “Romances.”

  “What sort of romances?”

  “Romancy ones.”

  “Explain.”

  Wren sagged. “Darn it. You had to push. Fine. They were erotic romances.”

  His eyes lit up. “That sounds fun.”

  She stared at him. “Yep, it was. Of course it’s ruined men for me.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, no guy can be like the heroes of those books.”

  He gave her an inquiring look.

  “They’re supermen,” she said.

  “In what way?”

  “Every way. Mentally and physically.”

  She could see him trying not to laugh and decided to tease. “I don’t want you to feel threatened but the men in those stories are every woman’s dream. Alpha males with finely honed bodies, sculptured muscles and immaculate six-packs. Their silky hair has no hint of dandruff and their smiles are perfect, not a crooked tooth or cavity in sight. They’re amusing, charming, brilliant in bed, and I mean really brilliant. They’re able to overcome every obstacle, can eat ox penis without barfing and of course they’re totally devoted to the well-being and happiness of the heroine. Or hero if they’re gay. Or both if they’re bi and get lucky.”

  He stared at her so intently, she was tempted to keep talking to fill the gap but pressed her lips together. What was he going to say?

  “Threesomes?” he asked.

  That’s what he picks up on? And was that a croak in his voice? “A few of the books were ménages.” Her heart hammered.

  He coughed. “Did you like those?”

  Yep, that was a croak. “Some of them. Not the ones with two women and one guy. I think that’s a guy fantasy, to have two women doing—er—things to them and each other.”

  Deep water alert!

  “Not every guy’s fantasy.”

  Wren felt as though an overenthusiastic dental hygienist had just sucked all the moisture out of her mouth.

  “Two bi guys and one straight woman sounds good to me,” Adam said.

  Really? Wren was desperate to speak but no words came out. Was he telling her something here? Hinting? Had she just made the jump of the millennium? Adam, Tomas and me?

  “What about you?” Adam asked.

  What about me?

  Wren opened her mouth and still speech eluded her.

  He leaned closer. “You like the idea of two guys sharing a woman, looking after her, taking care of her?”

  How did they get into this?

  “Depends on the guys,” she managed to force out.

  “You like blond guys?”

  Oh God. “I prefer dark hair.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He sat back. “Now explain the brilliant in bed.”

  She was saved by the arrival of the wine. Thank God.

  “Later,” he said.

  She gulped. This was heavy-duty flirting and she needed an asbestos suit. Her nerves were shredded. Eating pizza seemed impossible.

  Adam poured the wine and held up his glass to chink against hers. “A special toast. Sorry. Please. Thank you.”

  “You’ll have to explain that.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to dine with me. Sorry about my abysmal performance in your Italian class. You might have guessed I know about ten words of the language. Please—well, I’ll leave that for later.”

  Her heart did a backflip but she dragged a snarky comment out of her head. “Ten words? As many as that?”

  He chuckled. “On the other hand, I’m fluent in Elvish.”

  She smiled. “That could be useful if you stumble across Rivendell. But you ought to be in an Italian for beginners class.”

  “Do you teach one?”

  “No.”

  “Then please can I stay in yours, Miss?”

  He gave her a cheeky grin and Wren’s heart continued its complicated gymnastics routine, bruising lungs and stomach as it flipped and twisted.

  “I won’t be a nuisance,” he said. “I’ll just sit and listen.”

  And distract me as well as smirk at Tomas.

  “If you don’t pass the end-of-term test, I’ll be in trouble.”

  “A test? Seriously? Christ.” He sucked in his cheeks. “I’ll cheat.”

  Wren raised her eyebrows. “You don’t seem the type.”

  “I’m not. I’ve never cheated at anything.” He stared straight into her eyes and Wren felt herself sliding. “I don’t want to cause you problems. You’d have to give me the answers unless…you’re prepared to give me intensive private lessons.”

  Oh God. “I’d be in even more trouble for that. We’re not allowed to privately tutor Ezispeke students.” Nor go to bed with them, though she suspected that rule and her personal resolve would be tested later. She twirled her glass. “Mind you, since I’m already a thorn in Olive Speke’s side, maybe I could bend the rules.”

  “She doesn’t like you?”

  “If I breathe in her vicinity it annoys her.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did. She treated me like everyone else to start with and then one day she just didn’t anymore. I don’t like not being liked. I go out of my way to be the sort of person people are happy to be around. Mostly.”

  The pizzas arrived and they started to eat.

  “I didn’t used to be bothered by what people thought of me,” Adam said. “I wasn’t a nice guy and I knew it. I rode roughshod over others’ feelings, sacked people without a second thought. I was so driven to succeed that I didn’t see what I was missing, what was missing in me.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Shows how much I’ve changed that I can even admit that. I put an ad out for a new PA a year ago, ended up taking on a tag team and finally realized how good it felt to have someone who genuinely cared about me. Two someones, either of whom would tell me when I was being a jerk, worry when I was sick and praise me on a job well done. Things my parents should have done when I was a kid.” He picked up and then put down his glass. “Ah damn. I don’t think that confession was very alpha male of me. Should I add that I single-handedly saved the planet from alien invasion on two occasions?”

  “Very impressive.” I love you.

  Except Wren knew she didn’t. Not really. This was just lust raising its greedy head and roaring like a hungry lion.

  I will not fall in love with this man.

  Only she suspected she could say it a thousand times, and it would make no difference.

  Chapter Nine

  Tomas eyed the contents of the bag he’d taken from Veton’s car with a mixture of disgust and alarm. He ripped the wrapping off two items and laid them on his bed—black vinyl pants that were going to stick to his skin like…skin…and some sort of harness made up of strips of black leather a couple of inches wide, fastened together with rings and silver buckles. The damn thing belonged on a horse. Shit. One problem, well more than one, but where the hell was he supposed to stash the phone that was his lifeline?

  He stripped to his boxers and snatched up the pants. At least no one had worn them before him, though he hoped bartending at Cirque wasn’t going to be a regular request. While he worked the door, he wore a long black coat. He stalled on the zippers. There were two at the front, allowing a flap to drop down and uncover his cock, and one at the back that’d run up the crease of his butt. Fucking hell. Tomas flung the pants down, slumped on his bed and had a conversation with himself.

  I don’t want to do this.

  No one’s going to see you.

  How do you know?

  Do you know anyone who goes to a fetish club?

  How do I know until I’m there?

  No one’s going to touch those zippers except you.

  Yeah, well he had that right.

  Tomas thought about sea
rching for his luggage locks and securing the zippers with those. If he’d known where they were, he might have. After he pulled the pants on over his boxers, he groaned, took them off again and removed his underwear. Now he knew what a visible panty line meant and although he’d feel a prat in the pants, he’d also look a prat with the line of his boxers showing. His snort of amusement sounded false and overloud in the room. I care what I look like?

  He got tangled trying to put on the leather harness until he realized it wasn’t supposed to only cover his chest, but be attached lower down. Tomas bristled. No way was he wearing anything round his cock. Those damn pants would hide nothing. He unfastened a couple of the buckles and threw the strips aside. He was left with an empty ring dangling at the front over his sternum and one at the back. Maybe he should hang a “hands off” sign from both of them. His subsequent burst of laughter was genuine.

  Tomas stood in front of his floor-length mirror and glowered at his reflection, annoyed because he almost liked what he saw—a pissed-off guy with black eyes who could have walked off the set of a sci-fi movie. He pulled black shoes and his gray peacoat out of his wardrobe and snagged socks from his drawer before he called his real boss.

  “Orange service. How can I help you?” Julia asked.

  “I’d like to top up my phone.”

  “How much would you like to put on it?”

  “Twenty-two pounds.”

  “Two calls in one day, Tomas?”

  “Aren’t you lucky? I’m out tonight and can’t take my phone.”

  “Out where?”

  He should have known he wouldn’t get away with only that. “Marco wants me behind the bar at Cirque.”

  “Why can’t you take your phone?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I could leave it in my coat but I have to wear a bartender’s outfit. No pockets.”

  There was a short silence at the other end. If she made any comment, he’d—

  “You need backup?”

  He stiffened. “Absolutely not.” Since he was the cop most likely to bring down another partner, it was best he work alone. Christ. Bad enough that he had to go out in public like this, let alone end up the laughingstock of the force. “Marco’s just testing my compliance. He doesn’t suspect anything.”

  “Call me the moment you’re back in your flat. If I haven’t heard from you by five a.m., I’ll have Veton brought in.”

  “Okay.”

  Julia had a whole series of actions lined up in case he went out of contact. He suspected they were all a waste of time. If Marco found out who he was, he’d be dead before anyone could rescue him.

  He buttoned his coat, stuffed Marco’s phone in his pocket and slunk out of his flat.

  * * * * *

  “Excuse me, but we’re closing.”

  Adam and Wren jumped. Wren glanced at her watch and gasped. It was nearly midnight.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said to the waiter. “We lost track of time.”

  They’d talked through almost two bottles of red wine. Adam had laughed at her stories and she’d laughed at his. She’d never heard of anyone trying to cook in plastic containers. Setting your kitchen on fire three times had to be a record. But for all Adam’s domestic failings, she could sense a guy very much in control in his business life. He was used to giving orders and being obeyed. He was like the guys in the books she translated—and the ones she’d bought—heroes with flaws. Who’d really want Mr. Perfect?

  As they stepped onto the street, Adam slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and took her hand. Wren barely smothered her sigh of delight. When he wrapped his fingers more firmly around hers, her body hummed like a tightening wire.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said.

  And she was instantly filled with butterflies. If they went to her place, she knew what would happen.

  I am incapable of saying no.

  Did she want to?

  In three weeks, he’d be gone.

  For three weeks, he could be hers.

  In three weeks, he might want to keep her.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Do we need a taxi?”

  “We can walk.”

  Maybe by the time they reached her apartment, common sense would have strangled her lust. She tugged him in the direction of the Headrow, one of the main shopping streets of Leeds. A drunken guy staggered past them, his girlfriend clinging to his arm as she teetered on high heels. A group of youths congregated at a bus stop, swearing loudly at each other. Wren didn’t like Leeds at night, but she felt safe with Adam. He moved to walk between her and the rowdy group.

  “Leeds is a different place when it’s dark,” she said. “Things crawl out of the woodwork. I suppose all cities are like that.”

  “Where would you like to live?”

  She blew out a breath. “In an isolated beach house made of weathered wood, with big windows looking out onto a wild sea. What about you?”

  “In an isolated beach house made of weath—ouch.”

  Wren had elbowed him.

  “I like my house in Greenwich,” he said with a wry smile.

  She imagined his home to be some minimalist pad with stripped floors and artistically distressed brown leather couches. He’d have a big white bedroom and she saw herself lying in bed next to him reading the Sunday papers while they fed each other chunks of buttery croissant and drank freshly squeezed orange juice.

  “And my house in Zurich and my house in Colorado and my house in France,” he said. “I’m thinking of buying an isolated beach house.”

  “Ha ha. Favorite food?” she asked.

  “Steak. Yours?”

  “Peanut butter and Alaskan king crab legs. Not together obviously, though I must admit I’ve been tempted to try that. I’ve only had crab legs a few times but they are sooo good. Although I did throw up on each occasion. Too much melted butter. I never learn.”

  He chuckled.

  “Your biggest fear?” she asked.

  “My business failing, letting my employees down, letting myself down.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Mine’s totally selfish. I’m terrified of being eaten by a great white shark. That wild sea is purely for decoration.”

  Adam chuckled.

  “What’s your biggest regret?” she asked.

  He stopped walking beside a brightly lit store, pulled her round to stand in front of him and stared straight into her eyes. “Failing to find you five years ago.”

  Pain and pleasure flared in Wren’s chest.

  “I always wondered,” he said. “Now I know.”

  She understood he was talking about whatever this thing was between them. He stroked her cheek and she turned into his caress, her heart racing.

  “What if we’d not been separated by the crowd?” he whispered. “What if we’d gone back to my hotel or your apartment? Would our lives have taken a different path? Would you be teaching in a language school in Leeds? Would I have been so wrapped up in my business I forgot…how to live?” He choked on the last few words.

  The city faded to mist. All she could see and hear was Adam. All she could feel was his desperate sadness that echoed her own.

  “Would another touch of your face…” He swallowed hard. “Would those extra moments have made the difference? Kept us away from that mob? Would another kiss have melted my heart and made me a better man?”

  Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it pulsing in her head. Forget that she wasn’t supposed to go out with a student. Forget that she wasn’t supposed to fall for another charming guy. Forget that a sensible woman wouldn’t let this go any further, tonight at least. Wren wanted him with an intensity that should have terrified her but instead it set her ablaze with excitement.

  He is irresistible.

  She stepped even closer so their bodies brushed together, slid her hands to his head and traced his face with her lips, running them down to the hollow of his neck and around the curve of his jaw up to his ear. His already unsteady breathing
turned ragged. She couldn’t remember when she’d last taken a breath. He pulled her tight against him so she felt the hard ridge in his pants.

  “Christ, Wren,” he whispered against her temple.

  Her panties were soaked. Her pants too, probably. She verged on the point of dissolving. I want to kiss you. Wren tipped her head and looked into his dark eyes before she touched her lips to his.

  OhGodohGodohGod.

  But it was his tongue that slid against the seam of her mouth seeking entrance, and for a few seconds she resisted, wanting to prolong the anticipation. He pressed a little harder and with a soft groan, she allowed him in. Adam wrapped his arms tighter around her as he tasted and teased. They slow-kissed with a desire that grew like a thunderhead. Soft and white gradually morphed to hard and dark. Slow shifted to fast until they were kissing each other as if it were their last moment on the planet. If it had been, it was the way Wren wanted to bow out.

  When they came up for air, jarred out of the moment by a piercing wolf whistle, they lifted their heads like startled deer and burst out laughing.

  “Christ,” Adam said. “We’re going to get arrested.”

  * * * * *

  Tomas didn’t try to hide his bad temper. He slammed the coins down on the bar and checked for the next customer.

  “You need a lesson in manners.”

  He ignored the comment. It had been made by a big, bald guy wearing a long black leather coat. The jerk had been staring at him off and on for almost an hour.

  “You need me to teach you some,” the man said.

  “Fuck off,” Tomas muttered.

  The guy laughed, which annoyed him even more. The more Tomas snarled, the more people seemed entranced by his surly attitude. The Doms saw it as a challenge. The subs assumed he was a Dom. Only the fetishists ignored him, mostly too vanilla for their tastes.

  Though he had been directly propositioned by a Dom seeking a sub—did he fucking look as if he wanted to lick someone’s feet? A sub desperate for a Dom—puppy eyes were never going to work. He wouldn’t hurt a woman whether she wanted him to or not. By a woman with a plastic tail who wanted to stick it in his asshole—no thank you very much. By a man with horns who had a face full of metal and apparently a cock that matched—really no thank you, and through it all, the bald guy continued to eyeball him.