Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (92 page)

“First time shopping with us?” the saleswoman asked.

“Yes,” Faith said, and there was that blush again, creeping up her chest, into her throat, up her cheeks. “I mean, it’s not for us. Well, it’s for us, but—”

“Aw, darling,” Will said, putting an arm around her and hauling her up to him. “She’s a little nervous,” he told the saleswoman. “It’s my birthday, you see. Bit of a present. The kind I buy.” He felt Faith stiffening beside him, and looked down at her. “Where did you want to start, sweetheart?” he asked her tenderly. “I’m all yours. Or do you want me to take charge?”

She cleared her throat. “I’d like to look at your scarves,” she told the woman. “And various sorts of ties. Something in that general area.”

“Ah,” the clerk said. “The Restraint section. In the back, right down here. Follow me.”

She led the way, her soft-soled shoes making no sound against the tile floor.

“Let go of me,” Faith hissed at Will, and he dropped his arm and grinned at her.

“I’m paid back for that gambling addiction,” he told her. “Not sure we’ve quite got past losing my house and all my money, but you’re definitely working on it.”

“Here we are,” their guide announced, turning around in the back aisle. “You’ve got your ties here,” she said with a gesture. “Handcuffs, lined and unlined. The lined ones are much more comfortable,” she assured Faith. “Of course, it depends what you prefer, but we find that most couples like to start at the low end of the spectrum, at the fantasy level, then move up as their preferences dictate.”

She pulled out a good-sized square box from the bottom shelf. “This is particularly popular, if you don’t have a bed with posts. The Under-Bed Restraint System. It fits between your mattress and box spring, and tucks away when you’re not using it. Nothing for the kids to find.”

“Very…sensible,” Faith managed. Will would have answered, but he’d got a bit distracted by the cover of the box, at the woman spread-eagled on that white bed. He’d never run that way, but he could definitely feature it. With the right woman.

“Such a good idea, darling,” he said, taking the box from the clerk. “I know you were after something a bit more extreme, but for your first time…”

She was still blushing, but she had a glint in her eye, and she’d grabbed the box from him, was looking it over critically. She opened one end and pulled out a tangle of black straps, testing the hook-and-loop fastening on one circular restraint. “You said you’d always wanted to wear real handcuffs, though. Now you’re chickening out? How am I going to be a cop using this thing? Pretty tame. And I want you to have a really
good
birthday.”

She closed the box again and handed it back to the clerk. “Actually,” she told the woman in her usual businesslike tones while Will was still grappling for an answer, “I want something more scarf-like, like I said. Or maybe some really soft ropes. Pink, red. Those sorts of colors.”

“I understand.” The woman led the way down the aisle. “Here you are.” She picked up a plastic bag. “Scarves, feather tickler, and blindfold. Very popular starter set. All pink.”

“Fine,” Faith said. “Can you just leave us here? We can manage now.”

“Of course. I’ll be up front, if you need anything else. Take your time, and please feel free to browse.”

Faith put back the plastic bag and didn’t look at Will. He waited until the saleswoman had moved away, and then said, “A cop, eh.”

“Serves you right.” Her hand was going out to touch various bits of tackle, testing, stroking, then moving on. She was still going for severe, but she wasn’t quite managing it. “You are
wretched.”

“I am, am I? You could have just done this online, you know. Not that I’m not enjoying it heaps,” he hastened to add. “And I’d like to point out, as a comparison shopper, that this is a seriously well-equipped place, and I’m putting my hand up here and now to explore it with you. But if you’re embarrassed, that’s why they invented plain brown packaging and mail order, eh.”

“I need to see the fabric,” she explained, her cheeks still tinged with pink. “I need to feel it. It needs to look silky, and sensual, and not cheap. We’re after some shots that are mostly black and white, just the one splash of color on her wrists. And maybe a blindfold, too. Just in case. But it’s got to look pretty, not nasty or tacky, and I have to see it to make sure.”

“Tasteful,” he remembered, watching her caress a length of wide, heavy red silk ribbon. She pulled it off its hook, ran it between her fingers, held it up and tested its length.

“Like I said.” She sounded distracted. “What do you think?”

“Mmm…” He took the ribbon from her, put a hand on her shoulder, and turned her around. “This the idea? Hands behind the back?”

“Yes.” Her voice came out a little husky, because he was wrapping the ribbon around her wrists.

“I’d say,” he said, stepping back and admiring the effect, “that it’s brilliant.”

“On Hope?” She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, with her wrists side by side behind her back. Her hands tied with that red ribbon, against the swell of her rounded bum.

“Who?” He wasn’t paying attention. He was busy.

“Gretchen. Hope. Your co-star. How is she going to look in it, in her bra and underwear?”

Who cared? He’d lost the plot, because he had an entirely different scenario in mind.

“Well?” she demanded. “Good? Not good?” She wandered over to the mirror on the wall and turned so she could see herself. “Oh, yeah,” she sighed. “Good on her. Don’t you think?”

“Yeh.” Will cleared his throat, which had gone a bit dry. She was coming back over to him now, and her hair had fallen down from its bun a little more from the exertions of the day, from his hand in it earlier. A few unruly strands framed her oval face, and a few hairs were stuck to her cheek, next to that mole over her lip. Having her hands tied like that was thrusting her breasts out towards him, and he reached out despite himself and brushed the hair back. His thumb traced the little mole, because he was only human, and what man would have been able to resist that?

“Good,” he said. “And I really, really want to kiss you again. Could you remind me again why we can’t?”

Her eyes had widened, and her lips had parted, and he didn’t have to look down to know that her nipples had hardened under the T-shirt, because he could see it out of the corner of his eye, and if this kept on much longer, he was going to be embarrassing himself.

“Because…” she said, and swallowed hard, and he saw it. “Because you’re leaving. And you don’t stick anyway.”

“Oh, yeh,” he sighed. “That. Honesty’s a bugger, eh.”

She laughed a little, just a breath out, and swallowed again, then turned her back to him. “Untie me. Please.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, felt her tremble a bit under his touch, and, with a herculean effort, pulled the end of the red ribbon, untwisted it from around her wrists, and handed it back to her. “Changed my mind,” he told her. “I’m not exploring this shop with you, because one little ribbon, and you’re killing me. I get you in the vibrator section, and…no.”

“Really?” She looked surprised, and pleased, he could’ve sworn, and then she hurried on. “Well, I just need to grab a couple more things, and we can go. And no, there’s no way I’m going to be looking at vibrators with you. I don’t even know what they look like, to tell you the truth, and I don’t think today’s the day to find out.”

“You’ve never…” He stopped, then tried again. “You’ve never owned a vibrator? Don’t most women?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and said, “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation. I don’t know. It’s not something I generally discuss with my friends.”

“You don’t—” he began, then stopped.

She crossed her arms. “I don’t what? Now you’re the one who can’t finish a sentence. And I can’t figure out what kind of person you think I am.”

“Because I can’t figure it out myself,” he found himself confessing. “You’ve had me on the back foot since the day I met you, and no mistake. I think I’m ahead, and then there I am, rocking back again. Sucker-punched.”

She didn’t answer that, and he never did find out why she’d never owned a vibrator, or even
seen
one. Seriously? Because she was repressed, or because she could get there without help? He was getting an idea which it was, but he wanted to know for sure. No, he wanted to
learn.
For himself.

But he didn’t. Instead, they checked out a few minutes later with her red ribbon, a couple pink scarves just to be on the safe side, a black satin blindfold, and the worst case of sexual frustration he’d experienced since he was fourteen.

He leaned his head against the seat of her truck with a groan when they were on their way back to the apartment building at last. “Next time you go to the naughty shop?” he told her. “Leave me at home.”

The smile was playing around her pretty mouth, trying to escape. “I can’t say that was the most comfortable experience of my life, either. And we haven’t even gotten to the tying-up scenes yet.”

“Trust me. Holding Gretchen when she’s tied up? That’ll be a doddle compared to what you and I just did. They say the dress rehearsal’s the hardest bit, and I reckon they’re right. If I’m going to be rehearsing with you.”

Hole in One

Hope stood at the mullioned window of the living room in the suite at the Hôtel du Louvre, looking out at the Avenue de l’Opéra. Her gaze rested on the majestic eighteenth-century stone buildings that lined the street, golden light streaming from their windows, then traveled all the way down to the Opéra itself, its classical façade topped by the famous copper dome. The scene wasn’t very different at all from the painting she and Hemi had looked at in the Louvre today, a painting she had seen on a slide and loved in an art history class, but had never dreamed she’d be seeing in person, with the colors glowing as if the canvas had been lit from behind.

Her footsteps had echoed on the marble floor in the endless galleries as she’d taken it all in, and when she had flagged, Hemi had been there to see her do it, to take her for a coffee in a sidewalk café “to restore yourself.”

It was raining in Paris tonight, but that had meant that Hemi had held a big black umbrella over her head as they had walked back from the restaurant, and that she’d had to hold his arm in its black overcoat, and had felt the softness of the wool—cashmere, she’d guessed—and the size and strength of the arm beneath it. She’d stepped carefully over the slippery cobblestones in her heels, and he’d slowed his pace to match hers.

She had never been so spoiled. Or so off-balance.

She hadn’t believed it when she’d been chosen to come along for the show during Paris Fashion Week. She was far too junior for such an assignment. In fact, she’d been looking forward to a week to throw herself into her job without her supervisor Martine around, had merely hoped for some time to assimilate all her new duties, so she could appear more competent than she had been so far once Martine came back. Martine expected so much, and Hope didn’t want to disappoint her.

She hadn’t thought she would possibly be able to go. Until she’d seen
him
again.

“You’ll be with us in Paris, eh,” he’d said, stopping by her cubicle after work one evening. Most of the staff had gone home already, but Hope was still there. Working to catch up with some portion of the mountain of work Martine had given her, and worrying about her sister.

Hope had looked up with shock at his approach, shoved back hastily from her computer to stand, and had had her desk chair roll away with her, until he’d put out a big hand to grab it by the back and stop its progress over the plastic mat. She had been fiery red, she was sure, by the time she’d scrambled to her feet.

“I—” she began, then stopped and got hold of herself.

You are as good as he is,
she reminded herself.
He might have more money, and more power. But he’s not any more of a person than you are.
“I’m afraid it’s…difficult,” she went on, once she was able to speak more calmly. “The possibility of travel wasn’t mentioned when I took the job, and I have obligations that don’t allow me to leave at such short notice.”

“What obligations?” He was frowning again, his expression hardening. “I didn’t think you were married, or that you had children.”

“That’s because,” she said, striving for poise, and trembling inside at what she was saying, “those kinds of questions aren’t allowed. In an interview, on an application, or anywhere.”

There was banked fire in the brown eyes now. “You’re telling me that I’m not allowed to ask you personal questions.” His voice was soft, but the intent behind it was anything but.

“Not unless they relate to my work.” She was shaking, but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t stand to lose this job, but she couldn’t let him run her over, either. She was done with that.

She waited for endless seconds while he held her with his eyes, willing herself not to drop her gaze. And then, to her shock, he laughed. “I can see I’ve underestimated you,” he said. “We’ll try it another way, then. I’ll ask you, what do we need to do to accommodate you so you can come on this trip? I’d like you to be there. Let’s make it happen.”

She smiled tentatively back, and there was that warmth again in the brown eyes that met hers, that tenderness that she’d only seen in him during these few brief moments when he’d been alone with her.

“I have a sister,” she said. “Karen. She’s sixteen.”

She could see something in his face now. Was it…relief? “Then let’s get Karen looked after, so you can come on this trip and look after me. Look after my interests, that is,” he’d added smoothly at her look of surprise.

Which was why she was here. At least, which was why she’d been in the decent but hardly luxurious business hotel a few blocks from here, edging around the bed to reach the closet in her tiny room. Until Hemi had asked her, during a rare quiet moment at the end of the week, to stay on for the weekend.