Secrets of a Playboy

by Janice Maynard

  Rinsing took some time. He used the sprayer. When the water ran clear, he kissed her long and slow.

  Frannie twined her arms around his neck, distracting him with her lush curves pressed against his chest. “You could open a shop,” she teased. “A day spa. You’d have women lined up for miles. Now sit down on the bench, and I’ll wash yours. You’ll see how wonderful it is.”

  Zachary closed his eyes, telling himself he could hold out a little while longer. He felt her dribble the shampoo over his scalp. Then she began rubbing her fingers around his ears, down to his neck, back up to his forehead. It was erotic. It felt damned good. But every time he peeked, her breasts were on eye level.

  Finally, he snapped. He leaned forward and caught one raspberry nipple between his teeth. His hands settled on her slippery waist. “You taste good, Frannie.”

  She retaliated by spraying him in the face. “You’re supposed to relax,” she complained. “I don’t think you’re getting this spa thing at all.”

  He stood, turned off the water and sluiced water from his face with one hand. “Men know only two ways to relax. Alcohol, and what I’m about to do to you.”

  Her jaw dropped the tiniest bit before she snapped it shut. “Ooh. Promises, promises.” Then she frowned. “But you didn’t let me wash the rest of you.”

  “I’m clean enough. Out, woman.”

  He handed her a fluffy towel and took one for himself. The warm floor beneath their feet felt pretty damn fantastic. If it wasn’t so hard and unyielding, he might have considered a little foreplay before they headed to the bed.

  Frannie eyed him warily. “It takes me a long while to comb out my hair and dry it,” she said.

  “Oh no.” Zachary was adamant. “No time for that.” He kissed her again, lingering, letting her feel how much he needed her.

  “I’ll get your bed wet.”

  “I can buy a new bed.”

  “Zaacchh.” There it was again. That sweet feminine squeal that made him smile. The same drawn-out syllable he had heard so many times in high school.

  Thankfully, his ankle had improved enough that he could scoop her up in his arms, laughing when her towel disappeared and Frannie tried to preserve her modesty. Trouble was, she only had two hands. He dumped her on the bed and raided the nightstand for condoms. He couldn’t remember the name of the last woman he had taken to bed. Did that make him a jerk? Besides, he usually indulged at the woman’s house, not his.

  Sex with Frannie was different. He couldn’t explain how if anyone had asked him. It just was.

  She was still worrying about the damp spots on his expensive damask comforter while Zachary was ripping back the sheets. “I want you, Frannie. Please. Get under the covers.” He saw gooseflesh on her arms and legs.

  Finally, he got his wish. Frannie’s hair—that glorious wavy cloud of black—fanned out across his pillow. He felt a punch to his chest. For the first time ever, he allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to come home to this every night.

  * * *

  Frannie was dizzy with fatigue and seduced by the softness of Zachary’s bed. The solid walnut four-poster reminded her of something in a king’s chamber. Perhaps she was a captive, part of the spoils of war. She chuckled inwardly at her own whimsy.

  Zachary dimmed the lights but left them burning at a low glimmer. He wasn’t laughing anymore. He looked deadly serious. A man intent on conquering a challenge.

  He wasn’t going to have to fight very hard. Her earlier orgasm had been like an erotic amuse-bouche. It had only whetted her appetite for the main course.

  Even in the midst of her arousal, one part of her cataloged all the ways a man like Zachary Stone had accumulated his considerable expertise in the bedroom. She wasn’t a prude. She made no judgment about what a young, virile man had enjoyed with willing females of the same mind. But the part of her who wanted somewhere to belong also wanted to believe she was different. She needed to believe that she, Frannie, might be able to give Zach something no other woman could. The only thing those faceless women were after was his body...and maybe his money.

  If this relationship had any hope of moving forward, Frannie wanted to be his partner, his all in all.

  He reared up on one elbow. When he bent and kissed her belly, the skin contracted. “That tickles,” she said, half-breathless with longing.

  “Sorry.” He kept doing it, so his denial wasn’t convincing.

  She reached for him and found the straining, pulsing erection that was so very fascinating to her. Warm velvet skin over the firm shaft of a man, a man who wanted her desperately. Didn’t every woman deserve a man who would crave her? Didn’t Frannie?

  She squeezed him carefully, feeling the drop of fluid at the head, swirling her fingertip in the wetness. When Zachary shuddered and groaned, she felt invincible.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “Take me, Zach. Please.”

  He reached for the nightstand, grabbed protection, rolled it on. When he came back to her, he spread her thighs with two warm hands. Then he stared.

  She felt exposed.

  Even more so when he lifted one of her ankles onto his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, Frannie. I won’t hurt you.”

  In this position, she had no defense. But her very vulnerability aroused her and told her how much she trusted him already.

  He entered her slowly, letting her adjust to his size. For the moment, he had all the power, holding her legs open, teasing her clitoris with his thumb. The dual stimulation shot her back to the top in seconds. Waves of frenzied sensation rolled through her abdomen and coalesced at the spot where their bodies joined.

  A jolt of pleasure so intense, so immeasurably compelling, bore down on her. Wait, she cried. Wait. But she didn’t realize the words were in her head. She climaxed hard, losing herself in him.

  Zachary moved quicker, more wildly. Never did he lack control. He was protecting her, measuring his entry. His thrusts flirted with the point of pain, but not once did he give her anything but unadulterated pleasure.

  Her mind went blank. All she felt, all she saw, all she wanted was Zach.

  At last, he reached his limits. Easing her leg down onto the mattress and separating their bodies, he bent and kissed the soft fluff of hair at her sex. Then he entered her again and pounded like a guy who had been denied for weeks, months, years.

  Frannie lost track of time. The world narrowed to this bed, this man. He said her name like a prayer when he came. His body tensed, shook, then moved frantically inside her, over and over until a second orgasm, even longer than the first wave, drained him.

  He slumped on top of her, his weight considerable.

  She was fairly certain they both dozed. The night had taken on a surreal quality. Just as she was sliding deeper, she remembered that her phone battery had been almost dead when she left Stone River headquarters. It wouldn’t matter except that it was the holiday and her parents might call. Not only that, but one of her friends was about to have a baby. Frannie didn’t want to miss either contact, even if she didn’t see the message until tomorrow.

  “Zach?” She rolled him onto his back and smiled when he grumbled in his sleep. “Zach?” She shook his shoulder. “Do you have an extra phone charger? I left mine at the hotel.”

  It was three in the morning, maybe later. The man couldn’t be blamed for burrowing into the covers. She tried once more.

  This time he raised up, bleary-eyed, and wiped a hand over his face. “My office. Big drawer. On the left. Come back quick.”

  After grabbing an angora afghan from the bench at the foot of the bed and wrapping it around her body toga-style, she tiptoed out of the bedroom. The house was quiet and dark, but not cold. A tiny night-light in the corridor provided just enough illumination that she didn’t run into walls.

  She and Zach had passed his office on their earlier mad rush to the
bedroom. The door was halfway open. Frannie pushed it wider. Maybe tomorrow she would explore. This was Zach’s personal space, very different from his SRO office. She smelled leather and Zach’s aftershave.

  The desk was more of an elegant table, piled with stacks of paper. She saw catalogs and pizza flyers and a city tax bill. Zach traveled often. Maybe he was so busy he simply dumped all his mail here and triaged it later.

  He’d said the big drawer, but all of the drawers looked big to her. And they were crammed with stuff. She found a stapler and an ancient BlackBerry, but no phone cord. Even though he had told her to look on the left, she tried the drawers on the other side, too. When she opened one on the bottom right, it was as neat as the others were messy.

  Curious, she picked up a thick stack of paper. It appeared to be a manuscript. The top page had only six words—The Falcon’s Revenge by Zachary Stone.

  What? Without thinking, she flipped to page two and began to read. By the end of page four, she knew she was trespassing. Zach’s opus, at first glance, appeared to be a police procedural or a thriller or a mystery. It was too soon in the story to tell for sure, and she didn’t have permission to go farther. Carefully, she replaced the top sheets, straightened the pile and put the whole thing back in the drawer.

  Zachary was writing a book? Why hadn’t he said anything? Didn’t he know she would be interested? It seemed a glaring omission in the course of their recent reunion.

  She sat there at his desk for several minutes, her mind racing, her fingers worrying the fringe on the afghan. It was dumb to feel hurt, but she was. Why wouldn’t he share an endeavor so exciting, so personal? Frannie had rattled on and on about her world over the last couple of weeks.

  The answer was both clear and dismaying, and in some ways, not a surprise at all. Zach was an island, a man apart. No one told him what to do with his life.

  He might have thought Frannie would intrude. That she would offer to edit or ask if he had an agent or any number of other excited suggestions.

  Her heart sank. It was true. When it came to Zach, she always wanted the best for him. If he had told her about his writing, she would have been all over him with a million and one different comments and questions.

  For Frannie, it would have been the natural and loving thing to do. She and Zach were friends, more than friends...

  She knew Zach was asleep right now. He wasn’t going to come looking for her. Suddenly, she was tired and dispirited and so very disappointed.

  Seeing him after all these years had rejuvenated her. The joy of getting reacquainted. The sheer fun of reminiscing about the past. More than anyone on the planet, he understood the way her brain worked. He understood her. And she had believed such an understanding was a two-way street.

  But she was wrong. Zachary Stone was not her soul mate. He was just another guy taking what a willing woman had to give and offering nothing in return. She had reached out and opened up, but he hadn’t. Not only that, but she had made spontaneous choices about being with Zachary. She had broken most of her own personal rules. And now she was in too deep.

  Fighting tears, she turned to the small table adjacent to the desk, opened a drawer and finally found what she was looking for in the first place. After that, she went back to Zach’s room, plugged in her phone, shed the afghan and climbed into bed.

  Zachary roused enough to kiss her and pull her close. Half an hour ago, she would have thought this was the best moment of her life.

  That was before she understood the intimacy was a charade. He hadn’t given himself to her. Zach was like the proverbial iceberg. He had allowed her to see the tiny percentage above the water, but most of the real Zach was hidden away.

  It was a good thing she had been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Instead of brooding, she slid into a deep sleep, not rousing until her phone beeped the following morning. When she got up and checked, there was a new baby boy in the world. The picture made her smile.

  Then she looked at the time. “Zach!” She stood beside the bed and shook his arm. “Wake up.”

  He opened one eye. “Sleep,” he groaned. “We need more sleep.”

  “That’s your fault. It’s Thanksgiving. What time do we have to be at your brother’s house?”

  “Noon.”

  “I still have to change. Do you want me to call a ride to my hotel? You could pick me up there.”

  He dragged her down into the bed, taking advantage of her naked state to cop a feel. “What I want is for you to come back to bed, sweet Frannie.” He kissed her lazily but thoroughly, making her heart turn over in her chest.

  She was bent over the bed at an awkward angle, with most of her naked body exposed. Zachary was temptation personified, despite everything that had happened. If she had her way, she would slide back under the covers, make love to him and pretend all was right with her world.

  Instead, she slapped his hand away. “Behave, Zach. Are we supposed to be bringing food?”

  He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, looking like a cross between a lumberjack and a male model. “I paid for a huge ham. Had it delivered to Quin’s house yesterday. He and Katie are doing the turkey and dressing and sweet potatoes. Farrell and Ivy are bringing side dishes and dessert.”

  She wrapped herself in the afghan again. “Did you tell them you invited me?”

  “Not yet. They would have been asleep last night. But it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. At the holidays, people fix nice place settings. Text them, please, so Katie won’t be flustered when we get there.”

  He laughed. “You obviously don’t know Katie well enough yet. She’s the most organized person I’ve ever met. But I’ll text her. Quit giving me the evil eye.”

  When Zachary was occupied with his phone, Frannie decided to just change here. She reached into the small bag she had packed and grabbed clean underwear, black wool crepe dress pants and a teal silk blouse. Then she ducked into the bathroom to get dressed. She probably needed another shower, but there wasn’t time.

  Her hair was a disaster. Going to bed with it wet had turned it into a fuzzy cloud. Ruthlessly, she tamed it with a brush as best she could and then twisted it up in a sophisticated knot on the back of her head. Crystal earrings that matched her blouse completed the look. A little makeup, and she was good to go.

  She threw open the door to the bedroom. “I’m ready.”

  Eleven

  When Frannie came out of the bathroom, Zachary was still in bed, enjoying the warm covers and replaying the night before in his head. When he jumped up guiltily, Frannie surely noticed his erection, but she didn’t bat an eye.

  In fact, he thought she was acting strangely. “Give me ten minutes,” he said. “And FYI, Katie and Quin are delighted you’re coming.”

  By the time he was shaved, dressed and in the car with Frannie, they really were pushing their noon deadline. But they made it to Quin and Katie’s new house with three minutes to spare. Frannie had been quiet in the car, unusually so. Was she regretting last night?

  Zachary was on top of the world. He was happy that Frannie was sharing Thanksgiving with his family. Truth be told, he had been dreading the day. Two sets of happy couples. A cute baby. Zach the odd man out.

  Not that he wanted to get married. He didn’t. But it was nice to have a date today.

  In the midst of all the hubbub, Frannie jumped right in, helping get lunch on the table. Of course, most of it was already done by the time Zach and Frannie arrived.

  Ivy handed Frannie the baby. “Play with Dolly, will you? I’m going to put her down for an early nap in a few minutes, so the adults can enjoy the meal in peace.”

  Zachary wanted to laugh at the look on Frannie’s face, but he didn’t. She held little Dolly as if the kid were a bundle of dynamite. And the fuse was lit.

  He took pity on the woman with the high IQ and the apparent fea
r of infants. “You want me to hold her?”

  “Oh yes.” Frannie passed off the little girl with a look of relief.

  Zachary put the baby on his shoulder and rubbed her back, laughing when Dolly pulled his hair. “You don’t like kids?”

  “I don’t dislike kids,” Frannie said. “I’ve never spent much time with babies. I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

  He gave her a wry glance. “You’re good at everything you do, Bug. Babies aren’t all that complicated.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “It’s a moot point. I doubt I’ll get married. And if I did, it wouldn’t matter, because my work takes me all over the world. I’m not mommy material. I’ve made my peace with that.”

  “Isn’t marriage all about compromise?”

  She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. “What would you know about compromise, Zachary Stone? The world pretty much rolls your way from what I can tell.”

  That odd, unsettling comment was the last private moment he had with Frannie for the next hour and a half. Something about the conversation disturbed him, so he filed it away to study later.

  The meal was a huge success. The various cooks had outdone themselves. In addition to the turkey and dressing, Katie had made her granny’s sweet potatoes and produced made-from-scratch rolls that would make a grown man weep. Ivy, a very good cook in her own right, had brought several Charleston-flavored dishes, since she had lived there for so many years.

  Dessert was both pecan and pumpkin pies. Everyone around the table took small servings of each. Farrell lifted a glass during the final course. “To Stone River Outdoors. May we not screw it up.”

  “Hear, hear.” Zachary nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Quin raised a toast to their guest. “And to Frannie who we hope will put our fears to rest one way or the other.”

  When it was all over, Zachary would have given a thousand dollars for a nap. He had a clue his fellow diners felt the same. Dolly was always up early, so Ivy and Farrell were yawning. Quin and Katie had gone to great lengths to make preparations for the lunch, so they had to be exhausted.