Another picture was Davy, Sean and the middle brother, all grown up. Grinning, their arms over each other’s shoulders. Yowsa. All three of them had turned out fiendishly good-looking. What were the odds of that? She wondered where the fourth brother was. There was a formal engagement portrait, too, the middle brother with the long hair, gazing adoringly down into the face of a pretty dark-haired girl. How romantic.
Margot took a swallow of her wine and indulged in a sharp pang of envy. She had no brothers or sisters to hang pictures of. Her father had been out of the picture most of her life, and thank God for it. Mom had been great, a tough, funny, salty old bird, but she was long gone. The few precious pictures she had of Mom were lost in the void. She hadn’t dared to go back to her place to collect her things after what happened.
What became of the stuff in a rented house if a tenant disappeared without a trace? She had no relatives to claim it. Did the city do something with it? Or did her landlord just shove it all into garbage bags and call the Salvation Army?
Just one more of the many questions that tormented her at night.
Oh, well. Wanting to be part of a family wasn’t a weakness of character. Being sick with jealousy over other people’s families definitely was, though. She tried to jostle herself out of it. Poor, pitiful Margot. So sad to be all alone in the world. Yeah, yeah. OK, that was enough. The pity party was over. Everybody out of the pool. She had stuff to do.
“Hors d’oeuvres are ready,” Davy called.
Her stomach rumbled at the concept, and she headed back into the kitchen to check them out. Mikey was in doggie heaven. He’d already choffed down his dinner, and was getting chunks of raw beef dropped into his mouth for dessert, the little stinker.
“Fresh baguette, olive paste, herbed goat cheese and sundried tomatoes from the Italian deli,” Davy said. “Help yourself.”
Margot stared down at the colorful spread of tempting food on the kitchen bar. “Good God. You call this hors d’oeuvres? This is a full meal!”
“Not by a long shot.” He dropped another shred of beef fat into Mikey’s waiting mouth, provoking a frenzy of wagging and squirming. “The full meal comes after. This will barely warm you up. Besides, you taught Ifs, Abs and Butts today. You can afford to splurge.”
Margot’s mouth twitched. “Dumb name, huh?”
The deep dimples that bracketed his mouth were so gorgeous when that swift grin flashed out. “Memorable,” he said.
Margot rubbed her bottom ruefully. “Believe me, it is. It’s a killer.”
His eyes traveled the whole length of her body with obvious approval. “If that’s how you get that panther woman body, I’m all for it.”
She stared at him, startled. “Panther woman?”
His eyes slid away from hers, embarrassed. “Just something about the way you walk. You’re so graceful. You know, like a female panther on the prowl. Sinuous and gorgeous. Dangerous.”
She felt herself going warm and soft inside, like a whole body blush. “Dangerous? Me?” She tried to laugh. “I wish. Panther woman. Gosh, I like it. You know just how to flatter the socks right off a girl.”
“It’s not flattery. I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
She slashed at the air with mock claw hands. “Here comes Panther Woman,” she hissed. “She’s hungry, too, so watch out. She’ll chomp you in one gulp.”
The gleam in his eyes turned thoughtful. “I had a dream about your Panther Woman persona last night.”
She bit her lip, apprehensive. “Do I want to know what it was about?”
“I don’t know,” he said calmly. “Do you?”
“Is it sexual in nature?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
She weighed caution against curiosity, and caution won. “Then don’t tell me.”
“Fine. Whatever. Try one of these.” He smeared a chunk of crunchy, olive-oiled baguette with goat cheese, laid two gleaming sun dried tomatoes on top, put a napkin under it and presented it to her. “This is for your poor tired butt.”
“My butt thanks you,” she said demurely. She took a bite, and the intensity of the flavors almost made her moan. She chewed blissfully.
The itch of curiosity got steadily sharper. “Oh, I give up,” she snapped. “Tell me your dream. You dirty tease.”
His grin was triumphant. “You were a dominatrix. Playing bondage games with me. Ropes, chains, showing me who was boss.”
Of all things, that was the last one she expected. She was rooted in place, oil dripping down her arm. Could he have tuned in to the sexual fantasy she’d had last night? She felt transparent and scared.
“Holy cow. How did you…is that what you’re into?”
He caught the oil drip with a napkin, and sponged it off before it got to her elbow. “No,” he said. “I like control. Maybe you’ve noticed.”
“Uh, yeah,” she admitted. “It’s kind of hard to miss.”
“Weird, though.” He shrugged. “It worked for me in the dream. I woke up with—oh, well, never mind. Do you like corn on the cob?”
She embraced the change of subject with relief. “Who doesn’t? Can I husk it for you?”
“Yeah. The water’s boiling. Crisper on the right. Do four for me and as many as you think you can eat. They’re really good.”
His refrigerator was well stocked, which was no surprise. A body like his had to run on a whole lot of really high-quality fuel. The husks she peeled revealed translucent white kernels set on the cobs like creamy pearls. Water bubbled, mushrooms sizzled, the garlic and shallots in the marinade tickled her nose. Davy McCloud’s big, well-appointed kitchen was the most seductive place she’d ever seen.
Probably just because Davy was running it, though.
She dumped the corn into the boiling water and gave the olive paste a try. Fabulous. She mixed it with the goat cheese. Even better. She chewed slowly, savoring the sight of him slicing red onions. Men always looked sexy when they cooked, and Davy was outrageously sexy to begin with. The combined effect was way over the top. He tossed the onion slices into a pan, where they began to sizzle.
“Just look at the guy,” she complained. “Give me a break. He chops onions and his eyes don’t even water. What are you, anyhow, freaking Superman?”
The grin that lit up his face took her breath away. It was like a ray of light flashing out of him. “Let’s throw those steaks on the grill.”
They carried platters of gorgeous food to the table on his porch while the steaks grilled, after which they loaded up their plates and set to it. Mikey had relaxed, too. He was sprawled under the table, fast asleep, belly distended, twitching with happy doggie dreams.
She’d almost forgotten what such civilized pleasures felt like. Dining al fresco, sipping fine wine, eating great food, enjoying a soft breeze off the water. To say nothing of the stunning scenery across the table, dressed in jeans and a loose white linen shirt that showed off a tantalizing glimpse of chest muscles. The man was insanely gorgeous.
Delicious, after months of scrimping and scrambling to stay alive.
Dinner was amazing. The steaks were tender, heaped with sweet fried onions and browned mushrooms. The corn exploded in her mouth, sweet and dripping with real butter. The potatoes were aromatic with crushed rosemary. The frilly salad greens gleamed with Tuscan olive oil.
He leaned across the table to refill her wineglass when she finally began to slow down. “We need to talk about—”
“How to proceed, yes,” she cut in. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Davy. I’ve told you several times that I can’t afford this, and every time you shine me on. I just got fired today, my rent is late, I’m full of bills, and you’re out there racking up expenses with wild abandon. Like that cleaning service. And the lab. You’ve got to stop.”
Since you’ll never see me again after tonight anyhow. The doleful thought weighed on her more heavily every second that passed.
He took a deliberate sip of his wine, eyeing her over th
e rim of his glass. “First off, the crime lab is no charge. A friend did the tests for me for free. Second, the cleaning service is my housewarming present to you, welcome to the neighborhood and all that.”
“No way.” She was already shaking her head. “I can’t let you do that. There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“I know about your fake identity, Margot.”
That stopped the words right in her throat. “How…” She swallowed, licked her lips. “How the hell do you know about that?”
He gave her a no-big-deal shrug. “It’s my trade. Did you think I wouldn’t check? I’ve known since the day that Tilda introduced us.”
She put her wine down before it could slip out of her numb fingers. “Actually, in the normal world, men don’t do background checks on women before they’ve even exchanged phone numbers.”
Davy lazily speared a chunk of crisp golden potato off the serving platter, chewed and swallowed it. “What’s normal?” he asked lightly. “Besides, it depends on the man’s level of interest.”
She folded her arms over herself, regretting the snug tank top she’d worn. It made her feel naked and vulnerable. “I think it depends more on the man’s level of paranoia,” she said.
“Paranoia and common sense caution look similar, depending on your point of view. In any case, your ID is amateur crap. No depth to it at all. Whoever put it together for you should be put out of business.”
She felt almost offended on behalf of her poor crappy ID. “It was all I could afford,” she snapped. “Just how far do you feel justified in snooping into my life? What else do you know about me?”
“Not as much as I want to. Let me finish, Margot.”
The steely note in his voice punctured the bubble of her nervous anger. Davy stared into his plate, brow furrowed, as if he were choosing his words, one by one. A prickle went up her spine.
Maybe she was about to find out why she shouldn’t have relaxed.
“I’m not going to pressure you about your past,” Davy said. “What I’ve done till now, consider a gift. And what I plan from here on out, I’d like to propose…an arrangement.”
Her nervous prickle intensified, and she wished she’d passed on the wine. “What kind of arrangement are you talking about?”
“First, I want to be real clear with you. I don’t want any misunderstandings. I know what I have to offer a woman, and what I don’t have. I want to lay it out, all up front. No bullshit of any kind.”
“Oh, my God.” Margot put her hands up over her cheeks and found them feverishly hot. “Wait, wait. Are we talking about sex? How did we get onto sex without me noticing? I didn’t see any road signs.”
“Please let me finish.”
Her heart pounded. She pressed her hand over her mouth.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “I’ve admired you ever since the day I met you. I’m fascinated by you. I want to go to bed with you.”
She looked out at the water, at the salad, at the half-empty wine bottle, anywhere but his eyes. It sounded so…bald, put like that.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I, uh, see.”
“You said last night that you don’t have the time or energy for a boyfriend. You also said you don’t do no-strings sex. I’m in the same situation. I don’t like anonymous sexual encounters, but I’m not interested in commitment or marriage, either. With anyone, so don’t take it personally. I value my private time and space and privacy. But I am interested in having an affair with you.”
“I see.” She couldn’t drag in enough breath to fill her lungs.
“You need protection from this stalker,” he went on. “You would need it whether you went to the police or not. I would like to help you solve this problem. It would give me a great deal of personal satisfaction to turn this asshole who’s bothering you into a grease spot on the road.”
“Uh, thank you.” She felt like she should say something intelligent at this point, express some opinion, but her mind was completely blank of intelligent opinions. All the available space was occupied by the mind-blowing concept of an affair with Davy McCloud.
“I would be glad to help you out with your financial difficulties,” he said. “I’m not rich, but I don’t have money problems.”
“And in return, I have sex with you?” Margot blurted.
Davy let out a slow breath. She sensed that he was gathering his patience. “In return, we enjoy a mutually satisfying affair,” he said carefully. “With no illusions about the future.”
She wished she could be cool and detached, like him, but she’d never been able to be nonchalant about sex, no matter how she tried. Confusion and fear churned together inside her. “Why don’t you just call a classy escort service? It would be less trouble for you,” she said.
The swift flash of anger in his eyes was quickly hidden behind his usual cool self-control. “The idea doesn’t turn me on. You do.”
“Oh. Thanks, I guess,” she whispered.
He picked up his wine and swirled the liquid around the glass. “Just think about my offer. I make it very respectfully.”
“Sex without commitment is not respectful,” she said.
His eyebrows lifted. “Depends on how one goes about it.”
A gust of wind off the lake lifted her hair, and made her shiver. “You’re so cool,” she whispered. “And I’m so not. I don’t know how to be. Not in any sense of the word. I try, but I just can’t manage it.”
“I know you’re not. That’s why I want you. I never said I wanted the sex to be cool.”
She felt it with an awareness that went beyond her senses; a force blazing out of him that rocked her backwards. A swirl of erotic images went through her mind and her tingling body; naked with Davy McCloud, kissing him, touching him, clutching his big body as he pinned her down, moving inside her. He would be dominant in bed, like he was dominant in everything. He exuded it from every pore.
She didn’t go for that, as a rule. She made a point of picking out guys who were unthreatening. Dominant, macho guys weren’t her thing, never had been. Too much conflict. Nothing but trouble.
In fact, this was a scenario that would normally have provoked a sense of suffocated panic, swiftly followed by the urge to make a lame excuse and flee like a bunny before things went any further.
The feeling that raced through her now was panic of a very different kind. A flush of heat that swept across her skin, tingling and burning. A clenching, low and tight in her body around a glow of bright awareness, like something waking up inside her, an animal hunger that she didn’t even recognize as her own. It pulsed hot and soft in her chest, quivered in her throat, behind her eyes. Tingling in her hands.
Sexual energy pulsed off him in waves, in spite of the cool calculation in his eyes. He was probably imagining the same scene as she; he being the lord of the manor, running the show, taking what he pleased while she writhed and whimpered, in his thrall. Desperate for it.
Her chair flew over backwards and crashed to the porch floor as she sprang to her feet. She avoided meeting his eyes as she picked it up.
She wanted to run, and she wanted him to stop her. He could probably read it in her face, that his twisted offer excited her as much as it shamed her. She turned to lean on the porch railing, lifting her hot face to cool it in the breeze off the lake.
Her classic tendency to get involved with guys who wanted to use her was rearing its ugly head at the worst possible time.
But at least Davy McCloud was honest about wanting to use her, her inner devil slut whispered. No sweet lying promises from him. He just opened his mouth and let the hard truth drop out.
She loved that about him, even when she hated him for it. And he was offering to let her use him, too. No small thing, considering.
Damn him. Damn this whole kinky situation. And damn her for being desperate and screwed up and turned on enough to actually…
Consider it.
She felt his warm presence looming behind her. “I didn’t mean to
upset you.” His voice was low and tentative.
“I’m not upset,” she lied. “It’s just…problematic, that’s all.”
He hesitated. “On the contrary. I’m trying to simplify things.”
She shook her head. “You really don’t get it, do you? It’s simpler for you, but not for me. All the simplicity for you is at my expense.”
He leaned on the railing next to her. “I don’t follow you. How do you figure?”
She slanted him a quick, impatient look. “Because you’re a man! Duh! Because you would have the upper hand from the very start. The power dynamic would be screwy. You might feel entitled to demand sex when I don’t feel like it. Or to do things I’m not comfortable with. Or—”
“Not a problem.”
She glared at him. “Oh, yeah? And how would you know what is or isn’t a problem for me? Are you psychic, or all-knowing?”
“No.” He touched the back of her neck, winding a lock of hair around his fingertip. The glancing touch sent pleasure rippling down her back. “It’s just that my pleasure has everything to do with yours.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against the back of her neck.
She almost sank to her knees, they went so soft. She gripped the porch railing. “Davy. God,” she whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”
His breath fanned across her shoulder. “That’s what I’m hungry for, Margot. Your pleasure. I would never do anything to hurt you or make you feel bad. Believe me. It’s not my thing.”
The words, the images, the rich, dark tone of his voice, all brushed over her like the tender touch of sable, or silk.
“Look at me, Margot,” he said quietly.
She did. The controlled hunger in his eyes made her want to grab onto him and cling like a vine, tight enough to cut off his blood supply.
Wow. A shortcut to self-loathing if there ever was one.
Out of Control Page 11
