Secrets of a Playboy

by Janice Maynard

  “I asked Stanley to keep an eye on you. I won’t apologize for that. A single woman in a strange city. Things happen.”

  She sighed. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

  “Thanksgiving is tomorrow.”

  “So?” He frowned at her as if she had personally slaughtered all the turkeys. She didn’t have to explain herself.

  “I assumed you’d be spending the holiday with your extended family.”

  “There aren’t any. Well, that’s not technically true, but we’re not close.” She shrugged. “My parents don’t like making a big fuss about the holidays. Tomorrow will be a normal day, one or both of them at the hospital. Our relationship is what you might call strained, so I’d rather stay here and keep working.”

  “I don’t like that.” His mulish expression was comical.

  “You don’t have to like it, Zach. I’m a grown woman. And although I appreciate the fact that you were worried about me, you don’t have to lose a moment’s sleep. I’ve taken multiple self-defense classes. I can take care of myself.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “I’m sorry we argued. You have a right to your opinion.”

  She wrinkled her nose, twining her fingers with his, feeling the inevitable heat. “But I should have kept it to myself. I’m sorry, too.”

  “Truce?” he asked, with that intimate smile that turned her inside out.

  “Truce.”

  His thumb stroked the back of her wrist. “Go upstairs and pack a bag, Frannie. Stay with me tonight, please? I’ll take you to Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow. Quin and Katie are hosting at their new house. It will be fun.”

  “You could pick me up in the morning.” Here she was again. Trying to pretend she wasn’t infatuated, in lust, in something.

  His gaze was filled with determination and another emotion she couldn’t name. “Don’t make me beg, Bug. I want you in my bed tonight.”

  Her stomach took a long free fall to the bottom floor. But she wasn’t a coward. “I’d like that, too. Do you want to come upstairs with me and wait?”

  He flushed, his eyes glittering. “Better not. We might never leave. I’ve spent the last five nights alone in my bed, Frannie. Didn’t much care for it. You’re lucky I don’t take you in this chair right here. You across my lap. Think about it.”

  She was thinking about it. The image he summoned made her knees tighten and her abdomen pool with heat. “Okay, then. Alone it is.”

  “Good choice.”

  Thirty minutes later, Zach helped her into his car. She shot him a sideways glance, noting how well he moved. “I take it the doctor cleared you for driving?”

  “He did.” Zachary glanced to the left and right before pulling out of the parking lot, but there was no traffic at one in the morning. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you’re tired,” he said, clearly trying to be a gentleman.

  She put a hand on his thigh. “I’m not that tired.”

  The car lurched forward. “Don’t be a brat, Bug. I’m steering two tons of metal. Hold that thought.”

  She was curious to see his condo. After spending time at his home on the northern coast overlooking the Atlantic, she wondered what kind of nest he had built for himself in Portland. As she’d noted at SRO headquarters, studying an individual’s personal space told her a lot about who they were.

  Zachary parked his car in a numbered spot inside a gated area. When they got out, she caught his eye over the roof of the car. “The rain has stopped. Could we walk for a bit? I seem to have a lot of energy at the moment. That’s the downside of working at night. I always need to unwind.”

  “I can help you with that energy,” he drawled.

  “We’ll get there, I promise. But I need some exercise.”

  She had unwittingly given him another opening to make a suggestive comment, but he refrained. “Whatever you say.”

  When he took her hand in his, Frannie lectured herself sternly. This wasn’t a fairy tale. Zachary was no Prince Charming.

  But it was hard not to indulge in the fantasy, despite the reality of the circumstances. There was no moon. The man in question wanted to get laid, but he would not be tamed. Still, a girl could dream. Picturing herself in the midst of a happily-ever-after wasn’t a crime.

  Frannie didn’t know how far they walked. She was tall, so Zach didn’t have to alter his stride much at all. She was happy, giddy almost. Was she falling in love with Zachary Stone? The groundwork was there. He had been her first crush, her first romantic touchstone. Over the years when she had spent time with other men, she knew she hadn’t judged them fairly. They just weren’t Zach.

  She and Zach had a lot in common—shared history, shared interests. But unlike her adolescent memories, Zachary was a man now. Strong, sexy, the yang to her yin. Or maybe the other way around. Her Chinese philosophy was rusty.

  Without warning, the skies opened up. Rain poured down as if someone had unzipped a cloud. Frannie yelped and huddled closer to Zachary.

  He pulled her into the shelter of a building and tucked his coat around both of them. “Perhaps we should have checked the radar, Bug.”

  The light from a nearby lamppost illuminated the sheets of rain blowing sideways. Frannie shook with laughter as they huddled under the modest overhang. The only thing saving them was the fact that the wind was coming from behind the building. “You’re going to regret bringing me home with you,” she said.

  Zach hitched his coat over their heads, and with his free hand took her chin and tipped it up. “Never, Frannie,” he said. He kissed her hard, his urgency impossible to miss. They had been apart five days, and it seemed an eternity. “I missed you,” he said.

  “Same here.” She leaned into him, groaning aloud. It was good, so good. Like diving off a cliff and landing in a warm sea of wonder.

  Desperation and laughter. Yearning and satisfaction. An end to her doubts and a beginning. Perhaps yin and yang after all. She went up on her tiptoes, trying to get closer, trying to feel all of him.

  “Too many clothes,” he muttered. He snaked a hand under several layers and found her bare back. “Ah, that’s better.”

  His hand was freezing, but she chose not to point it out. His fingers on the skin at her spine created a special kind of warmth. “Should we make a dash for it?” she asked in between kisses.

  A police car drove by, slowed, then presumably decided Zach and Frannie weren’t a threat to society and moved off down the street.

  Zachary chuckled. “You’re the girl. I’m tough. Whatever you say.”

  “I’m weighing how much I hate getting soaked versus how comfy your bed is...”

  “Oh, it’s comfy,” Zach said soberly, his eyes dancing. “Very comfy.”

  Mother Nature must have taken pity on them. The rain slowed to a steady drizzle. “I’m ready,” Frannie said. “Let’s do this.”

  They set out at a pace just under a jog. The distance back to the car had multiplied. Even though the rain lessened in intensity, both of them were drenched by the time Zachary retrieved her bag from the trunk and led her inside his building. They dripped their way through the lobby and into the elevator.

  Frannie moaned inwardly when she saw her reflection in the mirrored interior. She looked like the proverbial drowned rat.

  “Stop that,” Zach said.

  “Stop what?”

  He stared at her with a gaze that was hot and sexy and determined. “I don’t care if you’re wet,” he said. “You’re beautiful, Frannie. Head to toe.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Receiving compliments had never been her strong suit. She didn’t doubt his sincerity, but it was a relief when the elevator dinged, signaling their destination. Zach’s condo occupied half of the top floor of the building. In the daylight, the view would be phenomenal.

  At the moment, neither of them was interested. The dra
pes were drawn, shutting out the cold, dreary November night. When Zach began flipping on lights, Frannie was enchanted. His home on the northern coast in the woods was modern, but here, he had chosen classic furnishings. Lots of jewel tones and rich wood and velvet.

  In front of his fireplace a faux bearskin rug invited all sorts of hanky-panky. “I like it, Zach,” she said. “It’s beautiful and comfortable. Very appealing.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shrugged out of his wet coat and hung it on a hall tree. Frannie did the same. They were still wet. Too wet. Frannie’s teeth started to chatter.

  Zachary eyed her with a small smile. “Before you freeze to death, I have a question. As my guest, you have dibs on first shower, of course. Or to save time, we could get in together. Your call.”

  She hadn’t expected this. When the clock struck midnight, she had been planning to go back to the hotel, change into warm jammies and watch Christmas movies on TV. Now, here she was. Her choice. She had packed a bag, after all.

  The problem was, she felt bedraggled. Wasn’t a woman supposed to prepare carefully for a romantic night? Perhaps that was another problem. She was a planner. A plotter of details. In order to do her best work, she made endless lists and laid out everything in advance. No surprises. No room for error.

  Spontaneity was scary. Especially when it came to the man who was stealing her heart.

  Zachary stood there looking like the most wonderful serendipitous surprise. She stomped on all her doubts and jumped without a net. “I wouldn’t want you to sit in those wet clothes while you wait on me. Sure. A double shower is fine.”

  Ten

  The look on his face made Frannie very glad she had agreed. Maybe he had been expecting her to decline. For a split second, surprise flashed across his features. The next expression was impossible to misunderstand.

  A man. Wanting a woman.

  Hungry. Intent.

  “Come with me,” he said gruffly. He took her by the wrist and dragged her down the hall to his bedroom. She barely had a glimpse of his huge king-size bed before he pulled her into the master bath. Here, the amenities were hedonistic and luxurious in the extreme.

  “Wow.” Her vocabulary escaped her.

  “The marble floor is heated,” he said, flipping a switch. “Go ahead and take off your shoes. You’ll see.”

  Taking off her shoes seemed a reassuringly small step. But when she turned around, Zach was already naked from the waist up. “You’re right about the tile,” she said, trying to pretend the sight of him didn’t take the starch out of her knees.

  What happened next was like a very slow game of strip poker. She removed her watch. He did the same. She unfastened the simple silver necklace she wore. Zach emptied his pockets of change and a pen. When she unzipped her black pants and stepped out of them, he took off his slacks and tossed them in the hamper.

  Now she was naked from the waist down, but for her undies.

  Zach wore fitted boxer briefs in dark gray with a navy stripe. The fabric outlined the interesting parts of his body, leaving nothing to the imagination, including the fact that he was fully aroused.

  Her sex went damp and needy as if it had been waiting for just this moment.

  Zachary watched her like an airborne hawk eyeing a tiny mouse on the ground.

  He moved closer. “Need any help with that sweater, Bug?”

  “Well, I—” She lost her train of thought when he took the bottom edge of the soft cashmere and began tugging it upward over her head. When he was done, her hair was even more of a mess. Zachary didn’t seem to notice.

  He was flushed, and she could swear his hands were shaking.

  Now, only the bra was left. She was glad she had worn a nice one today. It was not particularly fancy, but the sheer blush pink flattered her skin. He cupped her breasts, one in each hand. As he weighed them and plumped them gently, he sighed. “It’s a damn good thing I didn’t know what you looked like naked when we were teenagers.”

  She rested her cheek against his bare chest, right over his heart. The steady ka-thump, ka-thump made her feel as if she had come home at last. But the feel of him pressed up against her was far more erotic than comforting. It was safe to say she had never responded physically to any man the way she did with Zach. She wanted him so badly she was tempted to skip the shower and drag him down onto the floor.

  For a woman who prided herself on careful thought and intellectual calculation, this wanton urge to throw caution to the wind was terrifying.

  She traced a tiny white scar on his collarbone, the pale indentation barely visible at all. “What’s this?”

  His chest moved as he chuckled. “When Farrell was seven and I was five, Dad bought him a BB gun for Christmas. Before they got to the part about safety rules, Farrell had already shot me right there in the living room. I howled like a banshee. Three-year-old Quinten was sobbing, because he was scared and didn’t know what was going on in all the hubbub.” He shook his head. “It was a Christmas to remember.”

  Frannie kissed the small imperfection, tasting the salty tang of his skin. “Are there any other scars I should know about?”

  * * *

  Zachary shuddered hard, wondering if his knees might buckle. One minute his Frannie was a prim librarian, the next an impossible-to-resist femme fatale. Never knowing which kept him on his toes.

  He clenched his hands in her hair, that wonderful mass of black silk. He couldn’t wait to see it spread across his pillow. In fact, he’d enjoyed that exact fantasy a lot during the past few nights.

  “Hold that thought,” he muttered. Releasing her was an actual pain. He reached into the huge shower cubicle and turned on the water, adjusting the faucet carefully. Normally he liked it scalding, but with Frannie in there beside him, medium hot would work.

  When he turned around, his throat tightened. Frannie was naked. While he had been fooling with the water temperature, she had shed her bra and panties. Holy hell, she was incredible. It was that combination of pale, pale skin and jet-black hair. She reminded him of a fairy-tale character in a book he’d seen at a friend’s house when he was a little kid. The girl who ate the poisoned apple.

  He was losing brain cells at an alarming rate. Lust burned from the inside out. It dawned on him suddenly that he was the only one of the two of them still wearing an item of clothing. Before he could remedy the situation, Frannie reached out and touched him through his underwear. Her fingers curved around his erection.

  Her smile was equal parts shy and determined. “I love your body, Zach. It’s so different from mine.” She stroked him gently but firmly.

  He was pretty sure he gasped aloud. “I like you touching my body,” he said. “So I guess we’re a perfect match.”

  Though her technique wasn’t particularly practiced, she worked him up to the point he had to call a halt or find release in a way he didn’t want.

  “Time-out,” he croaked. He backed away, shed the boxers and took her hand.

  “Do you have a towel for my hair?” she asked.

  “It’s already wet. Why don’t you let me wash it for you?”

  Her eyes rounded. He might as well have said, let’s both of us dance naked on the porch. “You?”

  “Why not? I have good shampoo. It’s not girly, but it smells nice.”

  Long silence.

  “Okay...”

  He could hear the doubt in her voice. “What’s the problem, Bug?”

  She shrugged, looking uneasy. “You washing my hair seems awfully intimate.”

  Zachary burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, his shoulders shook and his eyes were wet.

  Frannie crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Why is that so funny?”

  “My God, Frannie. You’re in my house, about to step into my shower buck naked, and you’re worried about a little shampoo between friends?”
r />   “Laugh now,” she said, her scowl dark. “But when I return the favor, you’ll see.”

  He shook his head in bemusement, never quite able to figure her out. “C’mon. We both need to warm up.”

  His shower had dual overhead faucets and plenty of room to maneuver. The shower gel he opened was some he had bought on a recent trip to France. It was made for men, but the bold, spicy fragrance with the hints of orange and ginger could swing either way.

  Frannie’s naked, wet body kept distracting him. “Let me wash you first, and then I’ll do your hair.”

  “I can wash myself.”

  “Maybe so, but humor me.”

  After he dumped a dollop of gel into his hand, he warmed it between his palms and then touched her. He hardly knew where to begin. “Are you getting warmer?” he asked, running his hands over her breasts simultaneously.

  Frannie’s low moan made the hair on his arms stand up. Other things were already up. He washed her neck and down to her hips and everywhere in between, but he kept coming back to the curves of her breasts. They were spectacular.

  She had her eyes closed now, her arms loose at her sides. It was as if she was silently telling him he could do anything he wanted. The unspoken invitation seriously revved his engine. With another dollop of gel in his palm, he turned his attention to the space between her legs. When he stroked her there, her eyes flew open.

  “So soon?” she asked. “You haven’t done my hair yet. I haven’t touched you. This seems premature.”

  He kissed her lazily, still pressing his fingers into the soft folds of her body. “Who said this was the only time?”

  When she shuddered and came moments later, he didn’t bother to count the minutes. They had all night.

  Frannie was limp with pleasure when he shampooed her hair. “You’d better let me do it,” she muttered. “It’s too much trouble.”

  He wanted to be inside her. Badly. But he was enjoying himself by pampering her. “Relax.” He worked the shampoo deep into her long, wavy tresses and massaged her scalp. “I’m having fun, Bug.”