Played (Trapped Book 3)

by Beverley Kendall

  “You look beautiful, by the way. That dress is gorgeous.” She’ll look even better out of it.

  A pleased smile spreads across her face. “Thank you.”

  I reach over and clasp her hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you tell me about your day. How are things at work? They treating you like the hero you are?”

  Pleasure lights her eyes and I hope some of it has to do with my thumb stroking the back of her hand.

  “Actually, I do have news I forgot to tell you about. I got a raise and as of last Friday, I wrote my last lifestyle article. I’m going to be reporting real news.” Her voice vibrates with excitement, the same excitement reflected in her eyes.

  “That’s fantastic.”

  Ms. Templeton’s offer is there, fomenting in the back of my mind. I’m going to tell Erin about it later tonight. After dinner. After we’ve spent the evening together and the thought of moving to California and jeopardizing what we have is unimaginable to her.

  The news about her job helps solidify her reasons to stay. She hasn’t been at ATL a year yet and she’s already gotten a promotion. And when she’s ready to go into broadcasting, she doesn’t have to leave Georgia for that. There are plenty of news stations right here she can work for.

  “I know, right? I can’t believe that responding to an Amber alert would also be good for my career.”

  She doesn’t know the half of it. But she will, because, like I said, I’ll tell her later tonight. Carly Templeton is here until Friday. I still have two days.

  But I really can’t see Erin taking her up on it. Oh, she may talk to her about it, who wouldn’t? She may even use it as leverage to get a better deal at her current job. But pack up and move to LA and leave her family and friends—Paige and Bree—behind? Not a chance.

  Leave me? I pray the hell not.

  I mean, who does she know in LA except Rebecca and Scott? And as great as they are, we’ve only known them for a few years, so they don’t exactly fall into the life-long friends category.

  “I’m glad ATL is working out for you. You did say you weren’t hot about writing lifestyle puff pieces.”

  Erin shrugs. “Everyone has to start somewhere, and I didn’t have to do it for long.”

  “I guess that means you won’t be looking to leave any time soon.” The paper or the state.

  She gives me a questioning look as if sensing there’s more behind my question. “I’m not looking but I’m always open to new offers.”

  “What kind of offers?”

  “Something that pays better,” she says with a laugh. “And almost anything in TV news broadcasting.”

  “Aren’t those jobs on the coasts?”

  Erin sighs wistfully. “Yeah, the good ones. But that would mean leaving Paige and Bree, and I’d miss my girls way too much.”

  Paige and Bree? What about me? Wouldn’t she miss me too much?

  Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time my feelings, my wants aren’t taken into account by my girlfriend when it comes to making life-changing decisions. After all, Stephanie hadn’t said a word to me before she walked into that clinic and aborted my child. She kindly informed me after the fact.

  Then again, the situation with Erin is different. This new relationship we’re forging is literally hours old. With more time, I’ll be given at least the same consideration she does her best friend and goddaughter.

  But at least now I’m assured she’s not going anywhere.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Erin

  The poor guy.

  I watch as Josh handles the waiter, who is racking up misunderstandings and “wrong” orders like a professional pool shark.

  “No, she ordered the shrimp and I ordered the rib-eye,” Josh states, only the slightest bite in his voice to reveal his growing impatience.

  Our waiter, Jeremy, who can’t be much older than me, looks stricken as he stares at the plates of lobster and salmon in his hands. His third screwup of the night.

  First, he’d spilled water on my dress. Not a lot but enough to make full use of the air dryer in the ladies room. Thank goodness I’d moved when I did and most of the damage is closer to the hem. Then he’d brought us the wrong drinks. Who on earth drinks seltzer these days?

  Now this. He must be new.

  “I’m so-sorry.”

  I flash him a smile. “These things happen.”

  It’s almost comical the way his face collapses in gratitude. He may want to reconsider his suitability for food service work.

  Josh isn’t as forgiving. “Can you please just get us our meals? I’d really appreciate it,” he adds, softening his tone. The guy is handling our food.

  Jeremy gives another profuse apology before darting off.

  After he leaves, Josh offers his own apology, “God, I’m sorry. This is not the way I wanted our first date to go.”

  Like I said, poor guy.

  “None of this is your fault,” I assure him. “And who says I’m not having a good time?” Right now, his company is enough.

  Josh’s mouth twitches as he quirks a brow. “Oh, I didn’t realize you enjoyed having water spilled on your dress and having to wait almost an hour for your food.”

  Well there is that.

  “Josh Marshall, are you doubting your talent at scintillating conversation? Doubting you can keep me entertained without the aid of food or drink?” I tease.

  His smile, an orthodontist’s dream, sets off a colony of butterflies in my stomach when he flashes it at me.

  “Believe me, I’m all about entertaining you,” he says in a deep, sexy purr, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

  Warmth suffuses my cheeks and not because I’m embarrassed. No, it’s because he’s getting me hot in public where we can’t do anything about it, and I’m not sure we’ll be doing anything about it at all tonight.

  I’m not one date Jane. I’m you have to earn a place in my heart before I’ll have sex with you Erin. Except for Josh, that’s how it’s always been.

  “Then tell me what you’re doing for Mitch’s bachelor party. April suggested us teaming up and doing something for them together.” See what I just did? It’s called diffusing a situation before it becomes explosive.

  Josh’s eyes lift back to mine and he slowly reclines in his chair. Okay, we’ll do it your way. “Tell me what you got. Strippers?”

  “Of course not,” I say, laughing. “And not because I’m a prude or anything. That’s just not Paige’s thing. She finds men dancing around in G-strings, jiggling their junk in women’s faces embarrassing.”

  Paige is a teeny bit of a prude. But to be fair, at the male revue we’d gone to during our senior year in high school, one of the strippers had zeroed in on her, straddling her chair, his dick inches from her face. If she’d turned any redder, you could have seen her from Mars.

  I look at it as good fun. The guys are tanned and fit, and they know how to dance. They don’t turn me on, so it’s not a sexual thing.

  Josh frowns but his attempt at appearing crestfallen is comical. “Does that mean no strippers for us?”

  “That’s exactly what that means,” I state smugly and then take a sip of my daiquiri.

  “Okay then, what do you have in mind?”

  I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think he’s going to like it. “What do you think of a weekend of pampering and adventure? It might get a little pricey but I’m sure we’ll be able to swing it. Manicures, facials and massages are the pampering portion of it. Swimming, snorkeling, speedboating and hiking make up the adventure part. What do you think?”

  Josh takes a drink of his vodka tonic, maintaining eye contact with me all the while. The glass is almost empty by the time he sets it back down. “You in a bathing suit all weekend is my kind of bachelor party.” The heat in his eyes says everything his words don’t. Although, his statement makes it explicitly clear what’s on his mind. And that would be me.

  The tingling between my legs is a precursor of th
ings to come. Like the undermining of my willpower.

  I’m not one date Jane. I’m not.

  “I’m being serious,” I say, smoothing the white cloth napkin on my lap to give myself something to do with my hands.

  That smile again. This time hotter, sexier. “So am I.”

  The tingling continues unabated.

  I’m just going to ignore the sexy looks he’s sending me. “So that’s a yes?"

  “I’m in. I’m in all the way.”

  In all the way. He doesn’t play fair. But then he warned me he wouldn’t. Ruthless bastard.

  “Great,” I chirp. “I’ll email you a link to a couple places I’m thinking of. They’re all within an hour’s drive of Paige and Mitch’s. I was also thinking we could rent two of those eight-seater SUVs.”

  Josh shifts in his seat and then pulls his chair closer to the table. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I think he’s making some…um…adjustments, and I can’t help smiling at that.

  He clears his throat. “I’ll take care of the transportation. How many people are you inviting? My count’s at eight and that includes all the guys from Warwick.”

  “I have seven girls for sure. I’m also thinking about inviting Chelsea. She’s April’s friend’s twin sister and she’s moving to here next month.”

  Jeremy chooses that time to return with our meal. The right ones this time.

  “Sorry I took so long. There was a mix-up in the kitchen.” Flushed and breathless, he places our meals in front of us.

  They got the shrimp right this time. However, I’d asked for seasoned roasted potatoes and instead he brought me mashed potatoes. The exasperated expression on Josh’s face says I’m not the only one who immediately registers the mistake.

  Before he has a chance to open his mouth, I send him a quelling look. Let it go. “Not a problem,” I say, flashing Jeremy a smile. “This looks great.”

  The moment our waiter is out of earshot, Josh leans over and growls, “We’re having dessert at my place tonight.”

  Josh

  “Wait here. I’ll bring the car around,” I say once we exit the restaurant.

  Boy, do I have a lot to make up for.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m fine walking. It’s not far,” Erin says dismissing my offer with a wave of her hand.

  I look down at her heels. They have to be—what—three inches? Maybe four. We parked a little over a block away and I know enough about women and high heels to know their walking-in-heels comfort level has an extremely limited shelf life.

  Pausing, Erin raises one shapely leg, briefly holding up her right foot, which is encased in an open-toed black stiletto. My blood thrums. Calling her sexy wouldn’t do her justice.

  “When it comes to my feet, I believe in style and comfort. Although, I’m not sure I’d survive a night of dancing in these.”

  I take her hand in mine as if it’s the most natural thing. And when her gaze snaps to mine, her expression a mixture of pleasure and surprise, that’s the way it feels. Natural. Right. In turn, her hand closes over mine and I swear to God, I think my heart skips a fucking beat. I’m not joking. First time it’s ever happened in my life.

  I pull her closer and the prospect of being inside her again has my brain short circuiting. But I’m not going to push. This is our first date and who the hell knows if she’s going to hold me to some undetermined time frame before she’s okay with us resuming the physical part of our relationship.

  Sex between us was great.

  Fucking addictive.

  I’d gladly forgo my mother’s lasagna for the rest of my life if it came down to a choice between the two.

  Yes, it was that good.

  So you can see why I can’t wait for her to give me the green light. Why I’m already semi-hard walking down the street, holding her hand and wondering what she’s wearing under that beautiful dress of hers. The lacy, baby-blue thong? The light-purple bra that’s more decoration than support?

  Erin lets out a short laugh and lightly tugs my hand. “Hey, what’s the hurry?”

  It’s only then I realize that in my rush to get back to my apartment, I’ve picked up the pace and she’s having a hard time keeping up with me. I slow down instantly.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, chagrined, sending her an apologetic smile.

  That’s when the unthinkable happens. A raindrop hits the tip of my nose.

  Erin lets out a squeak and her head goes back, her gaze skyward. “Is that rain?” she cries in disbelief.

  Then it’s as if the sky opens up, the sidewalk going from bone dry to splattered in rain in an instant. Since we’re already halfway to the parking garage—which thank God is covered—there’s no point in me taking her back to the restaurant to wait while I get the car. I hastily shrug off my jacket and hold it over Erin’s head while tucking her under the shelter of my arms.

  She shoots me a grateful smile and wraps her arm around my waist. “Let’s run.”

  I cast a pointed look down at her shoes. “You sure?” I don’t know how women walk in them much less run.

  “Come on, before we get soaked.”

  We’re not the only ones making a dash for it. The rain seems to have caught everyone by surprise, and other people had to come up with makeshift umbrellas. Two girls not too far in front of us are running in heels probably as high as Erin’s, holding their purses over their heads.

  By the time we reach the covered entrance to the parking garage, I’m out of breath and a good portion of my shirt—mainly the back—and my slacks are soaked through. Erin fares much better with only the bottom part of her dress plastered against her legs.

  Inhaling deep labored breaths, Erin gingerly touches her hand to her hair. “Lord, I must look a mess.”

  “You look beautiful. Nothing’s ever going to change that,” I assure her, holding my soaked jacket—which probably now holds two pounds of water—out and off to the side.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she chides gently. But her eyes say something different. She knows she’s special.

  Minutes later, we’re in my car. I stowed my jacket in the trunk to prevent it from ruining the upholstery. There isn’t anything I can do about the clothes I’m wearing beyond covering as much of the seats as I can with a few plastic grocery bags I found in the trunk.

  Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I brace my forearms on the steering wheel and release a defeated sigh. “It had to fucking rain. Everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong.”

  From start to finish, the night has been an unmitigated disaster. First her ex drops by her house, then there was the horrible service at the restaurant—Scorpio is permanently scratched from my list of dining haunts—and now this. It’s like Mother Nature teamed up with Erin’s ex and the waiter to conspire against me. But then part of this was my own fault. I should have brought an umbrella. A ten percent chance of rain means rain is still possible.

  Erin touches my arm. “I told you none of this is your fault.”

  Technically true but that doesn’t change anything. I wanted tonight to be perfect. I’d show her an amazing time and take her back to my place for dessert… Fat chance that’s going to happen now. She’ll want to go home and get out of her wet clothes.

  Get out of her wet clothes.

  Fuck, even the thought is getting me hard. But to what end? It’s gonna be a blue balls night. I start the car. “I’ll have you home in a jiffy.”

  Her brow furrows. “I thought we were having dessert at your place.”

  Surprised, by head snaps in her direction. “I—” I break off abruptly.

  I was going to say, that was before we both got soaked but I’m not a complete idiot and I never look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Right. Dessert. My place.” I’ve got such a hard-on for her, she’s reduced me to monosyllabic sentences. I should be worried about the power dynamics coming into play here but the only thing I’m thinking about is if she’ll let me eat her for dessert
.

  “And don’t you want to go home and change first? Your pants are soaked.”

  I wonder if she’s soaked.

  Jesus Christ, man, get a grip. Focus. Driving with a hard-on is like driving impaired. Neither is safe.

  “You wouldn’t mind?” I steer the car toward the booth to pay the attendant.

  “Why would I mind? Your place is less than five minutes away and mine is a thirty-minute drive. Plus, I’m not that wet.”

  I wonder how long it’ll take me to change that?

  Focus! The odds are probably pretty high that you’re not getting laid tonight so simmer down.

  “Plus, I left my clothes at your place this morning.”

  Right, her clothes.

  In no time flat, I’m ushering her into my apartment and switching on the lights. The first thing she does is take off her shoes.

  She releases a sigh of pleasure the moment the last one comes off. “Much, much better.”

  God, the look on her face. I avert my gaze and run a hand through my damp hair. It isn’t going to be easy, keeping my hands to myself—and off her.

  Erin looks around and then at me. “So what’s for dessert?”

  I smile. “Strawberry cheesecake.” I know it’s her favorite. It also happens to be from the best bakery in town. Actually, in all of Georgia, if you ask my mom. Consider it the secret weapon in my charm offensive.

  “From Granny Mae’s?” she asks, her face lighting up.

  “Where else?” Finally, something is going right.

  Light floods the kitchen as I flick the switch at the entrance.

  “No. Go change first. I’m not in a rush.” She steps between me and the refrigerator and makes shooing motions with her hands.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m not going to starve. But if you can spare a towel, that would be great.”

  Her hair looks fine to me but who am I to argue with her. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Still in the closet by the bathroom, right?”

  I follow her out of the kitchen and down the hall to the rear of the apartment. “Nothing has changed.”

  She makes a sound in her throat but doesn’t say a word.