Eric brightened considerably.
Sliding out of bed, Cindy knelt and pulled the suitcase-size box from under her bed. She opened the lid of the carton, recalling with jarring clarity the diversity of the products she’d given a perfunctory glance.
“Wow,” Eric said, standing behind her.
She rummaged through the bounty, and not wanting him to know how inexperienced she was with the tricks of his trade, handed him the products she thought might be useful.
“Coconut body liqueur…textured condoms…” She held up an interesting-looking battery powered device and raised her eyebrows in question.
Eric shrugged and added it to the pile.
“Chocolate flavored whipped cream…crotchless panties?”
Eric passed on the whipped cream, but fingered the minuscule panties. “Maybe later?” he asked.
She nodded and bent back to her task.
Suddenly Eric was kissing her neck, and rubbing his hard chest against her bare back. “Um, Cindy,” he whispered. “Don’t you think we have enough equipment for the first go-around?”
She smiled lazily. “Get the lamp, would you?”
“No way,” he said, pulling her back to the bed. “I want to see you.”
“And I,” she breathed, pushing down his underwear to free his erection, “want to see you.” She took in the size of him, then bit her lip, covered him back up and shook her head. “I don’t think it’ll fit.”
His laughter filled her ears, apparently pleased with her assessment. “I’ll stop whenever you say.”
But of course she didn’t stop him. She lay trembling against him like a virginal coed, wanting him so much it frightened her. They broke the seals on the flavored potions and proceeded to paint and consume each other’s bodies until they both panted with restraint. She wrestled with the condom package until he took it from her and opened it, then handed the condom back to her. With shaking fingers, she placed the condom over the oozing tip of his straining shaft.
“The other way,” he prompted with a smile.
She glanced down to find that yes, indeedy, she had the thing flipped. “Oops,” she said, knowing her cover was blown. She wasn’t a sophisticated sex kitten—she couldn’t even roll on a condom.
“Let me help,” he said, putting his hand over hers, pinching the top of the condom. “I have a feeling,” he said with a groan as her hands encircled him, “I’m going to need extra breathing room.”
He eased her back to the pillows and settled between her knees, covering her like a big, warm blanket. Her body sang with exhilaration from the feeling of his skin against hers. The light hair on his chest teased her breasts as his hands entwined with hers above their heads. With the moment of reckoning near, Cindy had nearly lost her capacity to speak. Instead, she let her body converse with him, responding to his kisses, nips and caresses with expressive shudders, contractions and yielding.
“Ladies first,” he whispered, then began making love to her with his hand, his arousal branding her thigh throughout. Within seconds, he had her straining against him, moving with a slow, probing rhythm. Months of pent-up sexual energy and the heady presence of the man above her sent her quickly over the edge with shameless abandon. Their moans mingled as she slowly descended.
He withdrew his powerful hand and she instantly felt his shaft at the door of her desire. She ran her hands down his back, clutching his buttocks, inviting him inside. He advanced slowly, his heart thrashing against hers, his teeth clenched. Her knees opened slowly to give him full access and he filled her with one long moan. Cindy threw her head back and arched into him with ecstasy, crying aloud. He slipped his hands under her hips, undulating into her body with agonizing slowness and shocking depth.
She clawed at his back, matching his rhythm, tightening around him instinctively to draw the life fluid from him. Their rocking tempo increased to a frenzy of movement and sounds. Cindy sensed his approach and when he shuddered his release, swelling emotion pulled her over with him. He cried out, his face a mask of pleasure-pain, then lowered his face to her neck.
Gasping for breath, Cindy stroked his back softly and felt an odd stirring in her chest. Stark fear forced her to lighten the moment. “I’m glad you changed your mind about spending the night,” she murmured.
His deep laugh rumbled against her neck. “So am I.” He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled devilishly. “And the night is young.”
Cindy’s toes curled with anticipation. “Now about that gadget with the battery pack…”
CINDY HOVERED between sleep and consciousness for long, languid minutes. Imbedded into the fluffy mattress, her body ached pleasantly. Slowly she opened her eyes, although her left one felt a bit sticky. The events of the previous evening flooded over her. Eric still slumbered, facing her and breathing shallowly through his mouth. Awake, he was gorgeous, but asleep, the man was a god.
When she remembered the way he had held her, a warm, fuzzy tingle spread over her limbs. Their familiarity staggered her. She turned on her side to watch him. Tender, fun, sexy. She sighed. If only Eric’s job was more…ordinary. Of course, she reminded herself, his vocation explained why such an eligible man remained eligible. Apparently, all the good ones were either taken or made their living selling blow-up dolls.
She wasn’t sure why she was complaining. She should be grateful that her uneasiness about the man’s job kept her from falling head over heels in love—
Cindy jerked back. Love? Manny had once said love was best saved for cashmere and Dom Perignon. Pain exploded in her head, reminding her of how much she’d had to drink at the party. And coconut body liqueur did not contribute to a fresh morning mouth. She lifted a hand to her tingling scalp, only to encounter a tangle of wiry hair. Groaning inwardly, Cindy wondered how scary she must look right now.
Keeping an eye on Eric, she slid out of the bed and limped across the carpet, wincing at her stiff muscles. She wore the yellow crotchless panties, and they had found their way into uncomfortable crevices. Their clothes were strewn from chair to chair, and all surfaces in between. Bottles of flavored potions littered both nightstands and the memory of their consumption brought warmth to her cheeks. And a nurse’s cap from the sampler case hung over the edge of a lamp shade—now there was a week’s worth of journal entries.
She yanked a short terry robe from the bench at her vanity and pulled it around her, then leaned forward for a glimpse in the mirror. Cindy gasped, covered her face with both hands and peeked through her fingers.
Her hair sprang in indiscriminate directions. Medusa with a serious case of bed head. A strip of eyelashes stuck to the center of her forehead like some kind of weird tattoo. She plucked at it, managing to loosen one end.
Before Cindy could decide what to do first—dive into the shower or simply leave—the phone rang. Eric stirred. Cursing under her breath, she lunged to the nightstand on her side of the bed and pounced on the phone. It was only eight-thirty, for heaven’s sake, and this was supposed to be her day off!
“Hello,” she snapped, turning her back to the bed and walking as far across the room as the cord would allow.
“Um, good morning?” Manny sounded sheepish.
“This had better be good,” she whispered sharply, cupping the mouthpiece.
“You’re not alone?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
“As a matter of fact, no, I’m not.”
“Oh, brother. Quinn isn’t warming your sheets, is he?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I totally agree, but I have a bit of news that you might find, er, eye-opening.”
She turned to look back at the bed. Eric lifted his head and glanced around the room, then smiled when he saw her and rolled onto his side to watch her. Instantly, her nipples pebbled and her thighs twitched with the memory of his weight on her. “What is it?” He’s married, he’s a felon, he has seven children in Iowa.
Manny cleared his throat. “Well, I hadn’t gotte
n around to disposing of his pajama pants yet—I thought I might cut them up, you know, maybe make pillow covers or something out of the fabric.”
Eric lifted himself with flexing biceps and piled the pillows against the headboard. The nubby blanket slid down past his waist, but he didn’t seem to mind. And neither did she.
Her heart thrashed in her chest. “I don’t care what you do with them,” she told Manny sweetly. “But I do wish you would get to the point.”
“I found his monogram on the pocket, Cindy, and I did some checking. The man in your bed is Eric Quinn, all right—Eric Quinn Stanton.”
The air left her lungs. Her vision narrowed to the handsome man lounging on her bed, fragrant from her body’s scents, smug with the knowledge that not only had he duped the naive general manager, but he’d bedded her, too. Humiliation crashed over her, with mortification close on its heels. A hot flush singed her skin from feet to forehead.
“Cindy, are you there?”
He’d lied to her. Lied in order to get next to her, to win her over, to blackmail her—who knew the extent of his motivations? Of all the unmitigated gall. She had a good mind to take those inflated gonads of his and give them a hearty twist. The phone slipped out of her hand and she took one determined step toward the bed, her muscles propelled by calm fury.
Eric absently watched the phone fall to the carpet, completely distracted by Cindy’s approach. He swept her tousled appearance with a smile and lustily wondered if she’d be willing to fulfill his morning urges like she’d fulfilled him last night. He hated to push, but the woman was addictive. Her sex sampler kit had been a delightful surprise. Without a doubt, they were horizontally compatible. He smiled. For a few seconds last night, he could have sworn they levitated off the bed.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked from across the room.
He nodded contentedly against the pillow, then glanced behind her. “Don’t you need to hang up the phone?”
“No.”
A smile crept up his face. She obviously didn’t want the phone to disturb them again.
“You’re pretty good,” she said quietly, stepping closer.
His allowed himself a sliver of pure male satisfaction. “I’d like to think we were good together.”
She sauntered closer, her hips swinging. “Oh, I guess I should take some of the blame—I mean credit—for what happened.”
Something in her too-seductive expression set off warning bells. “More role-playing?”
She stopped by the bed, then leaned over slowly and opened the drawer in her nightstand.
“Nurse and doctor again?” he asked, craning his neck.
Still reeling from last night’s adventures, he couldn’t imagine what she could be springing on him now. “I’m open to just about anything,” he pressed on nervously.
But when she withdrew her hand, he blinked, because she held a can of mace. “Except pain,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I am not into pain.”
Cindy’s expression turned lethal as she aimed the can directly at his melting manhood. “The only game going on here, Mr. Stanton, is the one you’ve been playing, and it stops now.”
Baffled, Eric pressed his back into the mound of pillows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you or aren’t you Eric Stanton?”
He blinked. “Of course I am.”
“Don’t lie to me—huh?” She straightened slightly.
“Yes,” he declared hotly. “I’m Eric Stanton!” Had she lost her mind?
Her mouth tightened and the can shook. “You aren’t even ashamed enough to try to deny it?”
Astounded, Eric felt his jaw drop. “Why should I deny it? You’ve known my identity almost from the beginning.”
Now she looked amazed. “What?” And angry. “How dare you? All along you led me to believe you were Eric Quinn, adult toy salesman. Get out of my bed and get the hell out of my room.”
Incredulity settled in even as he made small, methodical moves to extract himself from her bed. He spoke slowly, keeping his eye on the nozzle of the mace can. “Adult toy salesman? Where did you get a cockamamie idea like that?”
“From you, you…you shyster!”
“Shyster?” Eric backed out on the opposite side of the bed, suddenly wondering if she was unstable. All too aware of his nakedness and glad to have the bed between them, he held up one hand and laughed softly. “Cindy, put down the mace, okay?”
“You’d better start making tracks, Stanton.”
“I have to get dressed.”
“Ten seconds, then I start spraying every appendage you’ve got.”
“Cindy—”
“Ten…nine—”
“Wait!” He stooped to grab his pants, then jerked them on as he stumbled across the room.
She followed him, taking aim. “—eight—”
“I don’t understand,” he protested, grabbing clothes as he trotted through her bedroom. “Last night we—”
“—seven—”
“—had incredible sex—”
“—six—”
“—many times, in fact—”
“—five—”
“—and now—” He jogged backward through the hallway, shrugging into his tuxedo shirt.
“—four—”
“—you’re ready to—” Eric passed through the sitting room in a blur.
“—three—”
“—disable me!” He backed up against the door, half dressed, his arms full of clothes. “Can’t we discuss this?”
“—two—” She assumed a firing stance.
He whipped around and undid the dead bolt and chain with lightning speed.
“—one.”
“I’m gone!” he shouted, throwing open the door and diving headfirst into the corridor. He landed with a thud, followed by the sound of her door slamming.
Eric raised on his elbows and groaned at the smarting carpet burns on the undersides of his arms. He heard a noise and turned his head to see two white-haired women standing in the hall, staring.
He smiled tightly and pushed himself to his bare feet, then gathered up his tux jacket, his boxer shorts and one sock. “Morning, ladies.” Stepping aside, he gave them a friendly nod as they passed, wide-eyed.
When they rounded the corner, he cursed, feeling like a pervert. Mystified and irate, he walked back to Cindy’s door and rapped loudly. “Cindy, open the door. Dammit, Cindy,” he whispered harshly through the door. “At least give me my shoes.”
But apparently, she was not in the same generous mood she’d been in last night when she’d—oh, hell. Eric set off in the direction of the stairs, painfully stubbing his toe on the carpet. When he heard the sound of her door opening, he turned back, relieved she had changed her mind about talking to him. He barely had time to duck before one large hard-soled shoe bounced off the wall behind him. The second shoe clipped his shoulder, then her door slammed again.
Confounded, Eric stuck his sockless feet into the stiff shoes, and shuffled toward the stairs, dragging his pride behind him.
9
AFTER GOING TO THE TROUBLE to make a pot of coffee, Cindy passed on her morning dose of caffeine since she already had the shakes. She clung to the full mug anyway, taking comfort in something she could actually get her hands around, unlike her current predicament.
A fresh wave of self-castigation kept her rooted to the stool at the breakfast bar. She craved a long, numbing shower, but she couldn’t bear to go back into the bedroom, to see the remnants of her lovemaking with…that man. And to think she’d actually flirted with the idea of falling for him. She gritted her teeth, trying to banish the memory of the intimate things she’d done with him and to him. And the “Box o’ Sex Toys” she’d unveiled, trying to impress the “trinket man” when all the while…
She groaned, blinking back tears. How could she have been so stupid? The man had come to study her staff, to scrutinize her operation, to test her professionalism
, and last night she’d played “Santa and the naughty elf” with him. When she thought of the ridiculous props she’d worn, entering the witness protection program actually seemed liked a viable alternative to facing Eric Stanton—or her staff.
What would her employees think of her cavorting with the enemy? Would they label her a traitor? And how fast would word spread to headquarters? Panic seized her anew. Had Eric Stanton already reported what undoubtedly seemed like lascivious behavior toward guests? Perhaps she’d been too hasty to eject him from her room, sans a shower and his shoes.
At the sound of a discreet knock on her door, Cindy inhaled deeply, summoning courage to face Eric if he’d returned. She smoothed a hand over her haphazard hair, not that it helped—or mattered—then padded to the door, her heart pounding. She looked through the peephole, nearly collapsing with relief to see Manny’s grim mug staring back at her. “Are you alone?” she called.
“Yes. Are you?”
She swung open the door, then nodded miserably.
Manny sighed. “I couldn’t hear everything on the other end of the phone, but it sounded bad. Is the receiver still off the hook?”
She shrugged. “I forgot about the phone.”
“Sorry to have been the bearer of bad news,” he said as he moved inside.
To her horror, she welled up with tears. “Oh, Manny, I couldn’t have dreamed up a worse nightmare.”
“I should have figured it out,” he said, pulling her into a comforting hug.
“I should have figured it out,” she exclaimed. “I should have realized Eric wasn’t hanging around just to spend time with me.”
Manny frowned. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. And don’t waste time dwelling on what you can’t change.”
12 Stocking Stuffers Page 61