Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (93 page)

“So I can show you my Paris,” he’d said. “The best Paris. I think you need to see it. I think you’d appreciate it.”

She’d started to say no, but somehow, she hadn’t. Because he hadn’t commanded her. He’d
asked
her. And because he’d seemed to care so much that she said yes.

And now she was here. In a suite that was all elegance, its walls hung with gilt mirrors, its windows hung with silk. Waiting for Hemi to join her “for a drink.”

She could have said no. She should have said no. If she had been able to say no to him.

Faith lifted her hands from the keyboard, let out an audible groan, lowered her head to the desk, and banged it a couple times. “Stop,” she told herself. “Stop it now.”

She’d written the Roundup copy, finally, the day before. After her day out with Will, and the next day, when they’d gone into the studio and used the supplies she’d bought. When Will had stood, bare-chested, acres of smooth brown skin on display, and held Gretchen.

Calvin had image after image now of Gretchen’s tiny frame, viewed from the back, in a bra and a pair of the very lowest, tightest, darkest jeans. With her wrists wrapped in red ribbon, Will’s hands all over her, and Will’s dark head bent to hers.

Will, who wasn’t Hemi. Who was Will, funny and sexy and sweet. Will, who
would
take no for an answer, because he wasn’t a ruthless multimillionaire CEO. He was something so much better; a reasonable man living in the real world. And all the same, Faith had stood there in the Adult Megastore with him and battled to keep herself under control, because, like Hope, she’d had a hard time saying no to him.

Her copy, after all that, had apparently dripped sex, because Steve, her manager at the Roundup, had had a funny look on his face when she’d gone in today for their weekly meeting.

“Excuse me? Faith?” he’d said. “What have you been drinking? And where can I get some of it?”

“Oh,” she’d said, and wished she could cure herself of the habit of blushing. “Inspired, I guess.”

“Well, sprinkle a little more of that pixie dust, then, because you’ve just earned yourself the Ali Baba campaign,” he’d said, referring to one of the company’s sister casinos. “They’ve got a new show, too, featuring belly dancers. You ought to be able to do plenty with that. Think Arabian Nights.”

“Scheherazade.”

“What?”

“The Arabian Nights. That’s who…Never mind,” Faith had said hastily. “Thanks. Great.”

Which was what she was supposed to be doing now. Thinking sexy Middle Eastern thoughts, not Maori Underwear Mogul thoughts, because one paid the bills, and one didn’t. She turned back to the computer and closed the document on Hemi even as he walked down the hall with that red ribbon in the pocket of his suit coat, about to show Hope how he liked his women. Which was underneath him.

No. Work.
She began to type something that would actually pay those bills, got a paragraph down at last, and swore when the knock came.

The knuckles banged again. “Hot desert night,” she typed hastily, then got up and went to the door.

Thursday afternoon. Maintenance request, she hoped. Not a medical emergency, please, because she hated those. She got attached to her old people. She couldn’t help it.

It was a medical emergency, but only for her heart, because it was Will on the other side of the door. Will in shorts, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, his feet bare.

“Don’t you ever get cold?” she asked him, trying to get some control over herself. “Most people wear pants in the winter.”

“What? Nah, course not. It’s not cold here. Besides, Kiwis wear shorts. Probably because we have such good legs.” He grinned at her snort. “Although not waxed,” he pointed out. “That would be a hill too far.”

“What can I do for you? Besides admire your legs, of course.” Which, all right, she was doing, but then, he had major thighs. A person would have had to be blind not to notice, and she wasn’t blind.

“Thought we needed some family-friendly entertainment,” he said. “Something more wholesome than rubbish and bondage.”

“We?”

“Yeh. You and me. We. Us. As we’re friends and all. Because here I am, got nothing to do but think nasty rich-bloke thoughts, and I’ve got to tie Gretchen to the bed tomorrow. Need something to take my mind off that, eh. I’ve got some friends besides you in Las Vegas, if you can believe it, and I’m taking them miniature-golfing on Saturday.”

“Miniature…golfing.” It couldn’t have been further from Hemi in the Hôtel du Louvre with his red ribbon and his powerful stare. She’d lost the battle, and she was laughing.

He grinned and scratched his nose. “Yeh. Well. They’ve got a couple little kids, and they’ve been looking after me a bit while I’ve been here, had me to dinner and such, so I wanted to do something for them, and that’s what they suggested. Thought you could come along, be my date. And it’s a Family Fun Center. Got racecars and bumper boats and pizza and all. Good times. Want to bump my boat?”

“No,” she said, aiming for severe and failing completely. “But I want to beat you through the windmill. Five bucks says I do it.”

***

Which was why she was wearing a UNLV sweatshirt and holding a golf club two days later while the wind blew through the palms surrounding the Family Fun Center, watching Will crouch beside a four-year-old girl and work his magic.

“You just give it a good whack, sweetheart,” he told Sefina. “Send it straight up that ramp, because our team’s going to win.”

The little girl duly swung, and her club missed the ball entirely, the force of her swing carrying her around in a circle.

Will laughed. “Once more,” he urged her. “You’ve got this.”

She didn’t, of course, and Will ended up putting his hands around hers and helping her, then cheering and doing a little dance when the ball went up and through the hole at the top of the ramp.

“Pound it.” He held out his big fist and bumped it gently against her tiny one. “We are the champions,” he told her solemnly.

“The champions!” she echoed happily.

Lelei sighed beside Faith, one hand on her belly. “Such a good guy. Wish he was staying.” She cast a glance at Faith. “Bet you do, too.”

“Oh, no,” Faith said hurriedly. “We’re just friends. And I’m his…well, my mother’s his landlady.”

“Yeah. We heard.”

Faith didn’t answer, because Will was looking at her, a light in his eyes, a smile on his face that had her looking back.

“Breathe,” Lelei told her helpfully, and Faith jumped and laughed. And breathed.

***

“So how has this dude been in the clinches?” Solomon asked Faith. He had one big arm around the back of his wife’s chair while they all ate pizza in the cavernous din of the café.

“Oh, you know,” Faith said with a shrug. “He’s managing, although dark and dangerous doesn’t come easily.”

“You’re glad you didn’t do it, cuz,” Will said. “Don’t think Lelei would’ve gone for the bit we did yesterday. Had that girl tied to the bed in her undies.” He’d lowered his voice out of deference to the kids. “I had to close my eyes and think of England to do it myself. And next time, we’re in the shower.”

“Nightmare,” Solomon said.

“Yeh. That’s what I said.”

“Definitely not,” Lelei said with a shudder. “Definitely, definitely not. Besides, something better is going to come along for you,” she told her husband. “I know it.”

“Well, you know,” he said, “you’re my good-luck charm, so it’s bound to.”

“Mommy!” Sefina announced. “We’re all done! We want to whack-a-mole!”

Lelei began to rise, but Solomon heaved his big frame up from the bench. “Stay there. I’ll go.”

“So what’s the deal with these pictures?” Lelei asked when the kids were safely out of earshot. “I didn’t realize it’d be that graphic.”

“Oh, it really isn’t,” Faith said.

“Here we go,” Will said. “Faith’s specialty, explaining the purely family-friendly nature of the entertainment to you.”

“Quiet,” Faith said, trying not to laugh. “It
isn’t.
It’s not that nasty, and you know it.”

“Hmm,” Lelei said after Faith had finished. “So is this erotica for men, or erotica for women? Because in my experience, they’re two different things.”

Will stared at her. “And you know this how?”

“How do you think? You think mothers never have dirty thoughts? Or fathers, for that matter?”

He groaned. “I did not need to hear that. I think Whack-a-Mole is calling my name.”

Faith smiled, but answered Lelei. “For women, is my plan. That’s the bigger audience for real stories, for a storyline. We’re doing the website all in softer colors, softer focus, keeping the shots more suggestive than graphic. I’m hoping we’ll get more erotic romance than erotica, but it’s all an experiment. The pictures are turning out great, though. Right along those lines. I think we’ll get some good stories.”

Will snorted. “Good stories. Right. Is that really what women want? Some fella to tie them up and whip them?”

“Nobody is whipping anybody,” Faith said. “I told you.”

“Of course not,” Lelei said at the same time. “It’s fantasy, not reality. Do you think women can’t tell the difference?”

Will looked at her in surprise. “You read it? It doesn’t bother you, how unrealistic it is?”

“How wonderful is realism, though?” Lelei asked. “Real life is hard. Maybe it isn’t in New Zealand, but here where I live, real life is bad bosses and car trouble and wondering whether your baby can wear those shoes for another month, because your January gas bill is going to be way too high. What’s wrong with wanting to escape for a little while?”

“Doesn’t it set unrealistic expectations, though,” he asked, “of what your average bloke actually is?”

Faith answered that one. “Well, let’s see. What does a man think, if he reads some thriller about a guy who’s six-five and 250 pounds, going around the country righting wrongs and beating up six guys with one hand tied behind his back? Sleeping with the best-looking woman in town, who happens to be single, and just happens to be looking for a quick, no-strings hookup with a mysterious drifter? Does he imagine he’s that guy? No,” she answered for him as Lelei nodded emphatically across from her. “He knows he works in an office, and he really should hit the gym more often, and if one guy punched him
once,
he’d probably be in the hospital. But he enjoys reading about it anyway, doesn’t he? And somehow, because he’s not a total
idiot,
he’s able to discern that it isn’t his reality.”

“Although,” Lelei put in judiciously, “maybe if more men actually read those books, they might get some ideas, make a little more effort, and their ladies wouldn’t have to escape quite so much. Not speaking from personal experience,” she added hurriedly. “I’m all good there.”

“I’m not touching that,” Will said. “But is that what women actually want? Somebody to…hurt them? Push them? I’ve been going about this all wrong, then.”

“Of course not,” Lelei said, sounding a little exasperated now. “But the fantasy? Sure, it’s a filthy-rich dude who’s absolutely crazy about you, who can’t imagine anything better than spending all Saturday morning in bed making delicious love to you, no matter who’s playing in the bowl game. He might even come on pretty strong, because he’s so overwhelmed by how much he wants you. He can afford to make all your problems go away, and show you a really good time, too, and what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Will said. “I agree with you, if I think about it. I’m a sportsman, after all. That’s why I have a job, to provide men with their fantasy escape. So they can watch me get bashed on the paddock, and live vicariously for a couple hours.”

“That’s what they do,” Faith said. “Isn’t it? They imagine that’s them, put themselves in your place.”

“They might,” he said. “But they don’t see what it’s really like to do it, the grunt that goes into it. It’s a fantasy, like you said. But I have to laugh, you know, about the photos, about the fantasy. Can’t think about it too seriously, because if I did…” He ran a hand over his jaw and grimaced. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he admitted. “I don’t fancy having somebody else’s girlfriend on her hands and knees in front of me, or tied to my bed. I need to laugh about it, or I can’t do it.”

“Gretchen’s really pretty, though,” Faith said. “I’d think you’d enjoy that no matter what.”

“What, knowing that she’s thinking about somebody else to get through it? That she’s off with Quint, in her mind? Nah, not so much.”

“Quentin,” she said reprovingly.

“Whatever. And is it just me, or does Quentin look a bit like a Labrador?”

Faith laughed, and Lelei was laughing, too, the brief tense moment forgotten. “She loves him,” Faith said. “And bite your tongue. That’s a Marine you’re talking about. She showed us a picture of her boyfriend at lunch yesterday,” she told Lelei. “And yes, he might be a little bit homely. But he’s a sergeant!”

“She told me he was the jealous type, too,” Will said. “That it was a good thing he didn’t know about the photos, or he’d probably shoot me. Good to know.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going back to New Zealand, then,” Lelei said. “Or are you?”

Solomon came back with the kids then, and they clambered up on the benches and drank thirstily, worn out from their enthusiastic whacking.

“Good talk?” Solomon asked.

“Tell you later,” Lelei said. “You’ll be interested. Call it pillow talk.”

“Oh?” He was looking interested right now.

“I am never, ever going out with the two of you again,” Will pronounced. “Geez. I’m embarrassed.”

“Really? By us? Man, baby, we’re doin’ good,” Solomon told his wife. “Embarrassing the porn star and all.”

“What’s a porn star, Daddy?” Sefina asked brightly.

“Never mind,” Solomon said hastily. “New subject.”

“I was just asking Will,” Lelei said, fighting a smile, “about going back to New Zealand. About if he was. About whether he’d heard.”

“I didn’t realize that was a question,” Faith managed to say. He wasn’t going back? Here he’d acted like he wanted to pursue something with her, but he couldn’t, because he was leaving. But he wasn’t leaving? Was it all a story, then?