The Red Diary

by Toni Blake

  Carolyn tilted her head slightly. "Come on, Laur, we're all friends here. And I know some interesting places you've done it."

  Her friend tossed teasing glances around the table, as if tempted to tell what Lauren refused to.

  "Carolyn, don't." She didn't even know what Carolyn planned on saying, but she didn't want to find out.

  "Leave her alone if she doesn't want to say," Nick chimed in unexpectedly. "It's nobodies business if she doesn't want it to be."

  Carolyn shifted her smile to the man who'd just spoken. "Then what's your answer?"

  Lauren's stomach sank. Despite how he'd just defended her, she didn't want to be here. She didn't want to hear any more of this conversation.

  As Nick slowly looked up, she lifted her glass and took a long, cold drink.

  "The most unusual place I've ever had sex, huh?" He peered into Carolyn's eyes now, and Lauren reached for a tortilla chip-anything to occupy her hands.

  "That's the question, stud," Carolyn answered, and Lauren had that awful feeling from the party the other night, from watching Carolyn in the pool earlier, that feeling of being forced to endure something disturbingly intimate.

  "Hmm ... " Nick reached up to scratch his chin as he looked off in the distance. "It's tough to choose, since there've been so many."

  Lauren took another swallow of her wine cooler, suddenly wanting to be drunk, desperately.

  "You don't have to limit yourself to just one answer," Carolyn said, clearly enjoying the game.

  "No, no," Nick replied, speaking slowly, as usual. ''The question is what's the most unusual place you've done it?' Place. Just one. I want to follow the rules and give the best answer." He wore the same hint of a smile she'd witnessed on his face before.

  "Well, what's it gonna be?" Carolyn prodded.

  He took a sip of his beer, then finally began to nod. "I think I've got it."

  "Well?" Carolyn asked, impatient "I'm dying to know."

  "I once did it," he began, shifting his gaze to Lauren,

  "on horseback."

  Chapter Five

  Nick watched her mouth drop open as all the color drained from her pretty face.

  Despite his irritation a little while ago, he hadn't said it to horrify her. He'd said it to make her wonder if fantasy and reality could mesh. He'd said it to arouse her.

  No matter how he tried to stop, he kept thinking about her fantasy, imagining his hands skimming over her thighs, hips, ass, making her crazy for him. He imagined being the man behind her on that horse.

  "Well," Carolyn replied, her voice a little deeper now, "that sounds pretty wild. Details?"

  He kept his gaze rooted firmly on Lauren. "Sure," he said, then lifted his beer.

  Lauren squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, but never drew her eyes from his, either. God, he wanted this woman-too much. At the moment, he couldn't even make sense of it, couldn't separate his past from his present, his obsession with her life from his newer obsession-taking her to bed.

  "My uncle owns one of the horse farms up on Route 52," he lied, still peering into her warm blue eyes. "One spring, I met a girl there-her father was looking to buy a Thoroughbred. She hadn't ridden before, so I offered to teach her. I got on the horse behind her and showed her how to use the reins, and we ended up riding out into the woods."

  He paused for another drink, aware that every person at the table sat slightly tensed, waiting for the rest of the story, but he still spoke only to Lauren. "I put my arms around her, started kissing her neck," he said. Lauren swallowed nervously. "Things progressed from there."

  "What about her pants?" Carolyn asked. "How did you ... you know."

  Good question. Good enough to make him shift his eyes to her since he was winging this and hadn't expected to be tripped up. "Nosy little thing, aren't you?"

  She grinned. ''I'm not shy." "That's obvious."

  "So answer the question."

  He slowly pulled in his breath, pondering possibilities. No way would he say the imaginary girl was wearing a skirt. That would be too much like Lauren's fantasy, and he didn't want to give himself away. "She stood up in the stirrups," he finally said, "and I pulled them down as far as I could. It was enough."

  Lauren was through with this. She pushed to her feet.

  "Excuse me," she said, then headed into the house, not caring if she had a good reason for leaving, not caring what anyone thought of her.

  The first thing she did was hurry upstairs to her office, where she located her sex journal in the bookcase, right where it should be, untouched. Of course it was untouched-what had she been thinking? Still in a flurry, she ran back downstairs, went into the bathroom, shut the door, then peered into the large mirror spanning the wall. Her eyes looked as frantic as she felt, and her heart trembled. A wave of dizziness passed over her and she clutched the pedestal sink for balance. How could he know? Did he know? His story hadn't exactly mirrored her fantasy, but the similarities had literally taken her breath away. Yet she had to be reasonable, rational. Could he have read her journal? No, definitely not. It was impossible. Even without that fear, though, it was as if he'd held her in some invisible grip. She'd been unable to pull her gaze away as he'd looked into her eyes and shared his horribly personal story, and-oh God-truthfully, she hadn't even wanted to look away. It had been as if he were seducing her with his words, his voice, his dark overpowering eyes, and as if she had let him. Her body felt nearly as wrung out as if she'd just had sex. She shook her head at her reflection-you're going insane. Then she reached for the faucet and splashed cold water on her cheeks.

  Still, even as she snatched a towel from the brass bar and pressed it to her face, her mind raced back to the parallels between his story and her fantasy. The questions rose again in her head. Is there some way he could know about it? Any way at all?

  She sharply pulled in her breath, thinking, trying to reason.

  No-there was no way. Because no one knew. Not even Carolyn. No one.

  But then what? Was this some wild coincidence?

  At the moment, she had no other explanation, so she'd have to accept that. It was either that or believe he'd somehow read her mind. When she finally left the bathroom, she once again considered not going back outside. But this time she was going out with a purpose-it was time to end this stupid party.

  "Are you all right, Laur?" Carolyn looked worried as Lauren returned to the patio. The same crowd, Nick included, still resided around the table, though they'd gone quiet.

  "Actually, I'm not feeling very well. Too many wine coolers," she claimed, hoping no one had noticed she'd drunk less than two. "I don't mean to be rude, but ... I think it's time to call it an evening."

  "Of course," Carolyn said, sounding perfectly sympathetic. "We'll take off."

  'Thanks, guys. Sorry." She gave her head an apologetic tilt.

  "No problem, Lauren," Mike said, getting to his feet. As the rest of them stood up, as well, Carolyn shifted her attention back to Nick. "So, you'll come?"

  Lauren blinked. What had she missed with her latest disappearing act?

  "Yeah, I'll be there."

  "Great." Carolyn flashed a victorious smile.

  "What's great?" Lauren asked casually, trying for a smile of her own.

  Carolyn swung her gaze to Lauren. "I invited Nick to Phil's party tomorrow night."

  The news crashed over her like a tidal wave. Carolyn had invited him to Phil's party. And he'd said yes. Oh God. Still, she smiled, nodded, played it cool, like it was no big deal. It was the last defense she had at her disposal.

  "Well," Nick said, focusing on her again with those dark, seductive eyes, "see you tomorrow," And even just that-his gaze on her for those few simple words nearly buried her. It was as if he were saying more. Sexual things. Even Carolyn had seen it earlier, so she knew she wasn't imagining it. His eyes talked dirty to her.

  But in a late and surprising burst of strength, she didn't crumble this time. Just the opposite, in fact. She girded herself,
looked directly at him, and copied his confident tone. "Sure," she said, mimicking one of his favorite terse replies, then turned and walked away.

  Nick scaled the ladder propped against the rear of Lauren's house. He absently glanced toward the nearest window-not trying to see inside, but just wondering where she was and what she was doing-and found the blinds drawn. Well, if he didn't see her today, he'd definitely see her tonight.

  Normally, a party at Phil Hudson's house was the last place he'd want to go, but under the circumstances, it'd been an invitation he couldn't turn down. If he wanted to see what life was like for the wealthy moguls behind Ash Builders, what better way than to observe them in full party mode?

  Of course, if Henry was there, he'd have to lay low at the off chance he'd be recognized. As with Lauren, he hadn't seen Henry since he was twelve, and with a company the size of Ash, he had no reason to think Henry even knew Nick worked for him. He wanted to keep it that way, especially now. A face-to-face meeting, with the truth laid out between them, could lead to the sort of confrontation that could cost him his livelihood. And besides. now that he wanted to seduce Henry's daughter, secrecy about their previous connection in life seemed all the more vital.

  Yep, going to Phil's party seemed a good way to watch the rich in action: Henry, Phil, Carolyn ... and, of course. Lauren-the main reason he was going. He drew in his breath recalling how she'd looked at him when he'd told his story about the horse. He'd savored watching her blue eyes widen, seeming lost to him. It'd been as if some invisible beam had connected their gazes and built a slow, simmering heat inside him. He felt it even now, and it had nothing to do with the scorching Gulf Coast sun overhead.

  Just then, the buzz of his beeper cut into the hot midday silence. Lowering his roller to the tray, he snatched it off his belt to see that Tommy Marsden was paging him, likely finished with his current job and wondering where Nick wanted him next. He was heading to the van for his old car phone when an abrupt noise jarred him, halting his footsteps in the grass. The garage door. After yesterday, he'd know the sound anywhere. When he spied the ritzy little Z4 backing out, stylish sunglasses hid Lauren Ash's eyes, but the rest of her looked as gorgeous as usual. Long blond locks fell about her shoulders like waves of pale satin, and her sleeveless top revealed slightly bronzed shoulders and graceful arms stretching to the steering wheel. He lifted a hand in a small, indecisive wave and her return gesture was just as noncommittal. Then he opened the passenger door of the van and reached between the seats for the phone.

  Which, it turned out, was dead-he'd forgotten to charge it again. He glanced up with the quick thought of asking the princess if he could use her phone-just in time to see her careening up Bayview Drive away from him.

  He started to circle the van, thinking he'd drive to the nearest 7-Eleven pay phone, which would waste fifteen minutes. But then it occurred to him that he could just use her phone anyway. It would only take a minute and save a lot of time. He rounded the house and found the key under the planter.

  The very instant he stepped inside the back door, however, the undeniable truth struck him. Now that he was inside, he knew he couldn't just use her phone and walk right back out.

  Knowing the house lay empty again set his heart racing shamefully. He wanted more, and despite himself, he knew what he wanted more of

  He glanced to the phone hanging from a wall in the kitchen, then to the hall that led to the stairs. He could call Tommy in a few minutes, he decided, because almost without his consent, his work boots took the steps that led toward the hallway. A heavy, relentless guilt hammered against his ribs, but his feet paid no attention.

  As he approached the winding staircase and peered upward, his heart pounded wildly. This was so fucking dangerous; he shouldn't be here and he knew it. Not only was it dangerous, but just plain reprehensible.

  Yet it was as if just one taste of her secret thoughts had addicted him. It wasn't so much choice as surrender that finally led him up the stairs.

  He moved quickly, thinking-just one, I'II read just one more fantasy, then I'll get my ass back downstairs and call Tommy, and get the hell out of here. His chest hurt by the time he reached the office and seized the red volume. He didn't sit down this time, in more of a hurry than yesterday.

  He opened the book toward the back to find the pages empty, then flipped closer to the front where her pretty handwriting abounded in dark green ink.

  I lie on a bed amid the softest cotton sheets, in the middle of a rich, verdant forest, tall trees making a canopy overhead. The forest floor is a thick carpet of lush green ferns. Daybreak urges my eyes open, but the cool shade and not-yet-faded sounds of chirping crickets begin to lull me back to sleep.

  When large hands close over my breasts through my thin nightgown, I open my eyes with a start to find an utterly captivating man sitting astride me, leisurely caressing me. His touch darts sensation from my chest downward to the crux of my thighs-even more when he shifts, settling his erection there through the gown. He is lean, muscular. and nude, and his easy expression makes me think of some woodland sprite who might flit from bed to bed delivering pleasure to unexpecting maidens.

  Only he is no sprite-he is all man, corded muscles rippling his arms, chest, thighs, and his eyes slowly tum more feral and hungry as he gazes down on me.

  "More, .. I whisper. unplanned.

  He smiles, well pleased, then backs away from me to the foot of the bed.

  "More, .. I say again, fearing his departure. This time it is a plea.

  "Raise your gown," the woodland man instructs me.

  Reaching for the hem, I slowly pull the white cotton up, up, higher and higher; as he watches, until finally it rests around my waist.

  "Open your legs, " he instructs, his eyes never leaving me.

  I do as he asks, displaying my most intimate parts.

  In that moment, the bed transforms into a large swing with ropes of flowering vines. I sit perched on the forest swing, legs spread, wondering if he really is some sort of magical being, when he whispers, "Hold on. Don't let go."

  As I grip the vines at my sides, a breeze gently lifts the swing so that it glides lightly back and forth. My naked man of the woods kneels before me among the fems, and as the swing drifts up to him in slow motion, he delivers a soft lick between my thighs. I moan as the swing moves away, the stroke from his tongue radiating through me like light, heat. When the swing nears him again, his tongue bestows another hot lick that makes me cry out.

  Again and again, the swing sways to his mouth, his tongue serving up the sweet, teasing torture-and just when I think I' II go mad, he catches the wood in his hands to keep me from swinging away. He rakes long, luxuriant strokes up my center as I watch him, his face grown wet with my juices. The pleasure is so exquisite it nearly moves me to tears-filling me, filling me, until finally I am all pleasure, all sensation, and I am screaming with it, crying from it, soaking in every glorious affection my woodland lover imparts.

  As the phenomenal orgasm finally fades, I shut my eyes, only to feel the vines evaporate in my grasp, and when I fall, the soft cotton of the bed catches me. I ease my eyes open to find him lying next to me, pulling the sheets up over us as I ease into his warm embrace.

  He read it quickly, his heart beating too fast, and when he finished, he felt sorely tempted to read more. Too sorely tempted.

  Just another glimpse, he promised himself. That was all he needed. One more peek into her fantasy world. Could he let himself?

  This will be the last time, he vowed. Taking a deep breath, he turned the page.

  Blue ink for this entry, but not regular blue ink; a slightly lighter, brighter blue that made him think of the ocean.

  And that was what she'd written about. Floating on the ocean. Then a man bursting up through the water, and she spread her legs for him, just like in the last fantasy. He couldn't help thinking she must like that a lot to have written two fantasies about it, back-to-back. His heart pumped even harder, blood gatherin
g in his groin as he imagined the princess, wet and open to him, imagined making her whimper and cry out.

  He shivered-fully aroused but almost sorry now, sorry he'd turned the page, sorry he'd needed more so badly. He couldn't recall a single moment in time when he'd ever felt so possessed by something ... something imaginary, no less.

  Not only that, but now lie found himself wanting to read another, and another, his skin burning with hungry desire. It would be easy to sit and read this book all damn day.

  But for God's sake, he had to exercise some sort of discipline. It was madness to be here anyway.

  the worst sort of offense. Remorse crackled through his veins already. What kind of man was he? He'd never claimed to be a saint, but he didn't like feeling he was approaching the opposite end of the spectrum, either.

  Slapping the book shut, he slid it back into place and exited the office. Yet the images of her-gliding in a swing, nightgown at her waist, and afloat in the ocean, bare and bronzed and sexy-stayed with him as he descended the stairs. He could almost feel his hands on her moist skin, could almost hear her, taste her. His heart hadn't even begun to slow. As he took the corner into the kitchen, something moved and he flinched, bolts of panic slashing through him. "Meow."

  Dropping his gaze to find the white cat from yesterday near his feet, he muttered with relief. "Cat, you scared the shit outta me."

  Taking a deep breath, he headed for the back door, quickly locking it behind him, depositing the key beneath the turtle, and thanking God he'd gotten in and out so fast. What the hell was he even doing? He hardly knew. He was starting to feel like the juvenile delinquent he'd once been. It came back to that damn book of fantasies-it was like a porch light and he a brainless moth. And if he didn't watch it, he'd get charred to a crisp.

  He'd climbed back up the ladder and started painting before he realized he'd forgotten to call Tommy. He shook his head in irritation just as the beeper buzzed against his hip again.

  * * *

  Lauren put away the last of the groceries, then hauled a twenty-pound bag of birdseed toward the back door. Freeing one hand to tum the lock, she swung the door open-and the phone rang. Swell.