Show and Tell (33 page)

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Authors: Jasmine Haynes

Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #Fiction

BOOK: Show and Tell
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When he was gone, she trailed her finger along the back of Norman’s hand, a half inch from actually touching him. “Now, back to you and your fascinating job. Are you here all week?”
 
 
He gulped. “Yes.”
 
 
“How wonderful. You should see something of San Francisco,” the implication being that she could show it to him.
 
 
She and Scott used the expression
cock teaser
, and tonight she deserved the title. Poor Norman. It wasn’t nice, she was a total
b
-
it
-
c
-
h
, but Norman was human payback. Twisting a little, she imperceptibly glanced at her watch. Her quarry wouldn’t dare be a second late.
 
 
“I don’t know that I’ll have time to make it up there.”
 
 
“Oh, Norman.” She pouted, her lips puckering. “It’s a forty-five -minute drive from here. You
must
see the city.” She batted her eyelashes. “
I
live up there.”
 
 
Norman had a small stroke and seemed incapable of speech for a moment. The bartender slid their drinks across the bar, and she was tempted to wrap Norman’s fingers around the glass so he’d have something to ground him.
 
 
Beyond his shoulder, Scott slipped into a chair at a table in the corner, his dark gaze settling on her.
 
 
Trinity swung her foot, the back of her stiletto heel slipping off. In train fantasy parody, she leaned down to slowly slide her hand from her knee along her calf, tipped the shoe back on, then let her fingers glide all the way back up.
 
 
She didn’t even notice Norman’s reaction until he choked, coughed, and finally caught his breath. Deliberately, she put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Are you all right?”
 
 
Norman’s gaze seemed riveted to her red nail polish, and she glanced at Scott. Sitting back, his elbows on the chair arms, his fingers steepled, he raised his mouth in a slight smile.
 
 
She tipped her lips up in acknowledgment.
 
 
The waitress brought him an imported beer. He watched, drank, watched. Unfortunately, Trinity was too far away to see his eyes, and the expression on his face revealed nothing.
 
 
But he’d see you were mine.
 
 
His very words in the theater. She was not
Scott’s
. She was her own woman and did what she pleased. No man
owned
her. Harper had a chance, and he’d blown it. Her anger had grown exponentially over the weekend. Or maybe it was determination not to play the fool for a man ever again.
 
 
Except when she
meant
to sound like a bimbo, as she did with Norman. “So, I’m
dying
to hear more about you.” She puckered once more and flagged her finger at him. “Where do you live?”
 
 
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scott stand and head to the bar.
 
 
Norman tugged at his collar as if it were suddenly too tight. “Chicago.”
 
 
“Oh, I’ve never been to Chicago. The Windy City.” She laughed as if she’d made a joke.
 
 
“You never said you wanted to go to Chicago, sweetheart.” Suddenly right there, almost between them, Scott trailed a hand down her arm, then grabbed her hand. “I’d have taken you.”
 
 
Eyes wide, terrified, Norman had nowhere to go, trapped on one side by Scott and a wayward barstool on the other.
 
 
Scott held up her ringless left hand and stared at it. “Where’s your wedding ring, honey-sweetie-girl?”
 
 
Norman made a noise. Trinity feared a real stroke.
 
 
Yet she smiled oh-so-sweetly for her
husband
. “I thought you told me not to wear it if I went out to a bar by myself. Or men wouldn’t want to talk to me.”
 
 
She was glad their end of the bar was empty. It was one thing toying with Norman, but she didn’t want eavesdroppers.
 
 
Scott raised her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, then he turned his smoky dark gaze on Norman. “Some men don’t care if a woman’s married. Right?” He raised a devilish brow. “I didn’t catch your name.”
 
 
“It’s Norman,” Trinity said, because Norman didn’t answer.
 
 
“
You
don’t mind, do you, Norman?” Scott insisted with a smile.
 
 
The man’s face colored deeper than her father’s on his worst conniption-fit day.
 
 
“Stop teasing him,” she admonished. “The poor man will think you intend to beat him up.” She eyed the bartender, who stood next to the house phone in case he needed to make an immediate call.
 
 
Scott clapped Norman on the back. “Jessie’s right. I’m teasing. Don’t worry. I never bust a gentleman’s chops when my wife comes on to him.”
 
 
“I think”—Norman found his voice—“I’ll call it a night.”
 
 
Scott held the man’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Trinity’s, fire in his eyes. “Tell him we don’t want him to leave yet.”
 
 
What on earth was he up to? Trinity decided to play along. “Please don’t leave yet, Norman. I like you.”
 
 
Easing closer to her side, Scott slipped his arm around her, bending down to nuzzle her temple. Norman now had room to escape, yet he didn’t, suddenly fascinated by the scene.
 
 
“Yeah, Norman, she likes you.”
 
 
She stroked Scott’s chest. “And he’s not the jealous type, Norman. He’d never try to
own
a woman or tell her what to do.” She gazed up at Scott fondly. “Or manipulate her or trick her.”
 
 
He slipped his hand under the fall of her hair, caressing her nape. “No. I give her every freedom her little heart desires.” Then he turned to Norman, and blinked, very slowly, as if he were assessing the man’s worth in that length of time. “I even let her be with other men when she wants to.”
 
 
Trinity’s heart stopped. She couldn’t stop the next words out of her mouth. “You
let
me?”
 
 
He lifted her chin and kissed her hard on the lips. “I forgot.” He glanced at Norman. “Men don’t
let
her do anything. She’s woman enough to do whatever she wants.” His mouth kicked up in a smile. “Then again,” he added, relentlessly holding her gaze, “if she’d rather have another man watch
us
, I’d like that, too.” Once more, he slid his gaze toward Norman. “We both like it a lot when someone watches us, don’t we, sweetheart?”
 
 
The theater wasn’t the first time he’d conjured up the image of being watched. She’d participated fully in the role-play. It even made her wet. But he couldn’t mean it for real. Could he?
 
 
“Would you like to watch, Norman?” Scott turned back to Trinity, kissing her nose. “Unless she doesn’t feel like it tonight. I would never trick her, manipulate her, or force her into doing something she didn’t want to do.” He tipped her head with his thumb beneath her chin. “Because while I think of her as
mine
, I’d never say I
owned
her.” Back to Norman he went, as if he were eyeballing a tennis match. “She likes her freedom. I wonder how much freedom she wants to take advantage of?”
 
 
He was goading her, banking on her calling a halt to whatever he had in mind. He was
still
trying to manipulate her. Well, she wasn’t about to back down from a challenge.
 
 
Picking up her melting margarita, she swiped her tongue along the edge, then washed the salt down with a long swallow. “
Do
you want to watch, Norman?”
 
 
His eyes were fairly popping out of his head as he nodded.
 
 
She leaned closer. “Then here are the rules. You watch. But you don’t touch us.” She pushed back to snug closer to Scott’s chest. “At least not tonight.” And finally she smiled. “But you
are
here the whole week.”
 
 
There. Scott would have to be the one to back down now.
 
 
Instead, he slid his hand down her back, along the crease of her butt, and beneath her. She was wet. Her nipples peaked against the Lycra top. Norman couldn’t take his eyes off them.
 
 
She didn’t want this, did she? She
couldn’t
want it. It was naughty, nasty, yet tantalizing in a now-that-you’ve-thought-about-it -you-want-to-try-it kind of way.
 
 
But Scott wouldn’t let her do it.
 
 
“Shall we use your hotel room, Norman?” he asked politely.
 
 
Good Lord. He
would
let her do it.
 
 
JESUS. He didn’t intend to do this, did he?
 
 
Hell, yes, he did. She was his. Norman would know it, and more importantly, so would she.
 
 
Scott had been damn near close to violence when he’d entered the bar to find her leaning in to give Norman a good long gander at her breasts.
 
 
Her nipples beaded so close to the surface, Scott’s mouth watered with need. She blew his brain’s circuitry with her low-cut top and short skirt. She was dressed to slay, the clothing almost nothing more than bands of material covering her privates. Red lipstick, red fingernails, high heels, long, bare, tanned legs, and a sassy attitude goading him to issue the challenge.
 
 
“What do you say, Norman?” He regarded the man with a steady gaze, allowing one corner of his mouth to curl slightly. In a man-to-man contest, if Norman backed down now, he’d never have the confidence to pick up another woman in a bar.
 
 
“Umm.” Norman fiddled with the bar napkin.
 
 
Jezebel held her breath, her body tense under his arm. Oh yeah, she was hoping good old Norman wouldn’t have the nerve.
 
 
Scott caressed her ear with his tongue. “Don’t worry, baby doll, if he doesn’t want to watch, we’ll find someone else.”
 
 
She shivered. He held her snug against him, in case she tried to bolt.
 
 
He’d never been a jealous man, but she made him crazy. The idea of trashing this guy’s face over her had consumed his thoughts for ten minutes.
 
 
Until he’d gotten this brainstorm.
 
 
And Scott had to have it. He’d never done the like in his life, the extent of his kink being a bit of dirty talk, fantasy role-playing, adult toys, and making her come in a dark theater. This was a whole new level, and it had his blood pumping hard and fast through his veins.
 
 
Norman cleared his throat. “All right.” He glanced down the length of the bar to the bartender. A towel going round and round the glass in his hand, the guy eyed them with half-closed, speculative lids.
 
 
“I’ll write my room number on this napkin.” Norman double-clicked the pen and wrote. “You can come up in . . .” He cleared his throat. Passing a glance over Jezebel’s bare thigh, then her beaded nipples, he looked at Scott. “Ten minutes?”
 
 
“Done.” Triumph simmered in his blood as she trembled beneath his arm.
 
 
Norman yanked out his wallet, threw some bills on the bar for his tab, then slipped off the stool. When he was gone, Scott read the number, folded the napkin, and stuffed it in his pocket. Picking up her drink, he sipped, the tangy taste of margarita, salt, and a hint of her own intoxicating flavor.
 
 
Folding himself onto Norman’s vacated stool, he never broke contact with her, his thigh tight against her knee.
 
 
Something sparked in her eye. “You think I’m going to run out of here now that he’s gone.”

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