“Are you ready to order?”
Finn heard the waiter well enough, but she had no intention of looking away from those brown eyes, not now that she had them in her sights. “The salt-crusted Mediterranean branzino, two, if you please.”
“Very good, sir.”
Both Finn and Casey smiled, Casey looking down to keep from laughing.
Bloody Malik, Finn thought, wishing that she had punched him harder. “Perhaps I should guess, yes?”
“Perhaps you should.” Casey’s eyes came back up, challenging.
“I’d say Veronica, but that would be too obvious.”
“True.”
“And besides which, I can’t really see you ending up as a bartender in some New York dive while fading into alcoholic obscurity.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Perhaps you should just give me a name.”
“Rachel?”
Casey frowned.
“You’re right. I knew a Rachel once, it was very unpleasant.”
“First girlfriend?”
“No, that was Paula.”
“What happened to Paula?”
“Too much of a top for my tastes.”
“Ah. The age-old conflict of interest.”
“I like what I like, and besides, it all worked out in the end.”
“Really?” Casey asked. “Don’t keep me in suspense, please. What happened to Paula?”
Finn’s eyes lit up but she said nothing.
“Top secret?”
“Highly classified. However, I can tell you that it involved balls flying at her face.”
Casey stuttered in the midst of taking another drink, swallowing awkwardly as she choked back her laughter.
“She worked the pro tennis circuit.”
Casey cleared her throat and took up her napkin. “Of course.”
“Football was more my sport.”
“Position?”
“Tight end.”
Casey resisted the urge to lean forward, an unexpected desire to be closer welling up and sending a pleasant shiver along her spine.
“Tailback?” Finn offered instead.
“No, I’d say tight end is more than fitting.”
“Juliette.”
“Juliette?”
“Your name.” Finn spoke through her grin. “Tell me your name.”
“Is that what you want, Daddy?”
Finn almost groaned, reaching for her glass instead.
Casey chuckled and watched her take a drink, liking the telltale blush of color along her neck, knowing somehow that Finn knew it was there and disliked the knowledge. She leaned forward and reached for the bottle, wanting to turn it within the ice and reveal the label.
Finn caught her by the wrist before she could get there, gentle for the most part, but firm enough to establish control. Their eyes met and Finn changed her grip, letting the tips of her fingers find the underside of Casey’s wrist. She could feel Casey’s pulse beating hard beneath the soft skin and it made her smile. “Don’t be naughty.”
Casey pulled her hand away slowly, her fingers sliding along Finn’s until they parted.
“It’s not such a high price to pay,” Finn said.
“It might be dangerous for you.”
“Your name?”
“Perhaps.”
“I was thinking the other might be more dangerous.”
“The other?”
“What if you do have a husband?” Finn said. “Here I am making my play, and the next thing I know, someone is punching me in the throat.”
Casey laughed. “It doesn’t seem like such a high price to pay.”
Finn sat back again. “Have you ever been punched in the throat?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“It hurts.”
“Well, you know what they say, the trick is not minding that it does.”
“So you’re saying that you’re worth it?”
“Am I?”
Finn’s crooked grin slipped free. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t think so.”
“You look as if you can take care of yourself.”
“It’s the boots, right? Too butch?”
“Butch, yes, but they work.”
Finn leaned to the left a bit and looked at her feet. “I just polished them, actually. It felt like a betrayal of some sort.” She looked across the table. “All those years to break them in properly and cultivate some character, and then I go and ruin it.”
Finn, Casey thought, a start of recognition following upon the heels of the name. Finn O’Connell. “Who punched you in the throat?”
“Rachel’s husband.”
Casey felt a pleasing ache within her cheeks, uncertain of the last time she had smiled so much. “Was he big?”
Finn’s brow went up. “How big do you have to be?”
“A big, bad daddy such as yourself? I’d say pretty big.”
Finn said nothing, but neither did she look away. The sounds of the restaurant filled the atmosphere around them, though it did very little to invade upon their quiet connection. Several conversations could be heard, one about local politics and the other crucifying some poor bastard still trading in derivatives. The music was Bach, playing low, but it was still loud enough to be heard should anyone care to listen.
“He wasn’t that big,” Finn responded at last. “But he caught me by surprise.”
“Didn’t know, or didn’t expect him?” Casey asked gently, thinking that perhaps Finn was telling the truth. Her eyes were too open and she had no reason to lie, even if they were playing.
“Didn’t know, actually.” Finn grinned ruefully. “I was stepping out of the shower at the time.”
“Ouch.”
“Not one of my better moments,” Finn agreed.
“Then my name shall not be Rachel.”
Finn thought she heard a tender inflection within Casey’s tone, and it made her blood run hot and smooth. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, Finn.”
“Tell me your name,” Finn demanded with quiet authority.
Casey was about to say it, the letters tumbling and sliding together upon her tongue and pressing eagerly toward her lips. Casey, she thought, willing them into life after sleeping for so very long. She was about to, but another name intruded before she had the chance. Finnegan.
“What?” Finn asked, seeing Casey’s eyes deepen in color.
“Finn…is that your full name?”
“It’s short for Finnegan, actually.”
Casey considered the name in silence, never looking away as the fingers of her right hand caressed the stem of her wineglass. Finnegan…bloody hell. Finn Starkweather.
“I didn’t pick it,” Finn said, trying to decipher Casey’s expression.
I thought you were a man. “Don’t worry, I like it.”
“I wish I could return the favor.”
“Is this your usual scene, Finn?” she asked softly. “Because if it is, it’s very good.”
Finn considered the question and then looked down. She narrowed her eyes upon the fabric of the tablecloth, pushing a finger at a small knot within the weave. She hadn’t been sure how all of this was going to pan out before she’d made her play, but now, in the midst of it, she found herself utterly certain. She could smell Casey’s cologne and it was subtle and earthy, her mind clinging to the well-worn fantasy of how Casey’s skin would taste. Only now that she could actually smell her cologne, things had shifted and her curiosity had been reborn with different colors and intonations. I’ve got to be the dumbest fucking idiot in the world, she thought, closing her eyes. She had wanted this for so long, just to look across the table at such a complex and beautiful woman. Though it was not just any woman that she had been wanting, it was Casey. She wanted Casey. If they were going to play, it would have to be fair.
When Finn looked up, her expression was completely without guile and the words were ou
t of her mouth before she could stop them. “No scene, just you.”
Casey felt the warmth of the expression throughout her entire body, her pulse turning thick and moving south with surprising ease. Though it wasn’t just warmth this time, it was pure heat, dark and liquid and delicious. And it was the truth, she could see it, though it didn’t make any sense whatsoever.
Finnegan Starkweather, former Interpol and a private investigator who had given up the game about ten years ago, as far as Casey knew. It was always a good idea to keep an eye on the other team, even if they were sitting in the stands, and they had never actually crossed paths despite being hunter and prey. She’d been a bounty hunter for several years, Casey remembered that much, but she had dropped off the grid and Casey had stopped paying attention. Though I see I was remiss in that.
Showing her hand like this and stepping out into the open, it was completely illogical. And though her guard was now firmly in place and the game would change by morning, Casey could not deny that she wanted more. More of what exactly, she wasn’t sure, but more was definitely on the menu. More of you, Finn O’Connell…or is it Starkweather?
“You’re wrong, I’m not very good at this at all.” Finn pulled the wine from its resting place and set it on the table between them.
“I beg to differ,” Casey said, feeling an odd twinge of panic. Finn was throwing in her hand, and she had never been so disappointed or curious in all her life. Finally, a woman worthy of the game, she acknowledged. Don’t give in so easily, Daddy.
“I don’t lie very well.” Finn reached into her suit and pulled out a business card. She placed it beside the bottle, a simple white card with nothing but a phone number printed in dark blue ink. “Not about this.”
“This?”
“You.”
Casey blinked in surprise at her answer, though she pushed it aside as quickly as she could. “You’re not staying for dinner?”
Finn smiled at the playful tone. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because what I really want isn’t on the menu,” she answered smoothly. “And the wine was for you, Casey Marinos.”
Casey was torn between pleasure and protest as Finn stood up and walked away, though it was her curiosity that won out as she leaned forward and turned the bottle, finally revealing its label.
Her eyes went wide and shot up, focusing hard on Finn’s back as she disappeared beneath the arch that led to the bar. She didn’t know whether to be more impressed by the vintage or by the fact that Finn knew her real name.
Casey took up her glass, staring at the wine label once more and trying to decide just how much danger she was actually in, and how much dancing might be required in order to get away clean with everything that she’d come for. She had never in her wildest dreams expected a ’47 Cheval Blanc to be waiting just for her.
But then I didn’t expect you either…Finn.
Her slow smile filled with mischief and challenge in equal measure, her eyes finding the plain yet bold business card sitting in wait beside her impossible bottle of wine. “Finnegan.”
Kim Baldwin, a 2008 recipient of the Alice B. Readers’ Appreciation Award, has published eight novels with Bold Strokes Books, including the new romantic adventure Breaking the Ice, set in Alaska. Four of her books have been award finalists. She has also contributed short stories to six BSB anthologies, including four in the Erotic Interludes series. Her next release is Missing Lynx, the third book in the Elite Operatives series co-authored with Xenia Alexiou, in 2010. A former network news executive, she lives in a cabin in the north woods of Michigan.
Meeting My Match
Kim Baldwin
I’d always had a knack for matchmaking. Put me in a room full of women and let me spend a few minutes with each, and I’d be pretty damn good at selecting which pairs would be good fits. But I was completely clueless, of course, about how to find my own special someone.
My friends realized my talents early on, and word began to spread. Before long, I began getting so many requests for help from lonely women that I started an online dating service in my spare time. Nothing big enough to compete with the major contenders out there—it was only a sideline and I got all my clients from referrals—but my success rate was phenomenal.
I had the standard questionnaire like the big boys, detailing likes and dislikes, personality quirks, goals and aspirations. And those queries certainly helped in red-flagging potential disasters in terms of who-fit-best-with-whom. No control freaks with disorganized, laid-back types. No die-hard romantics with jaded playgirls. But once you’d gotten the basics covered, I’d found that the real key in narrowing the choices for my particular clientele lay in finding compatibility in the one area that most dating Web sites don’t adequately address. And that’s in the answers to questions #205—Describe in detail your sexual likes and dislikes, and #206—Describe in detail your ultimate sexual encounter with a stranger.
My motives for this undertaking weren’t entirely unselfish, you understand. While I took great joy in bringing two people together, I have to admit I wasn’t averse to fulfilling my own appetite for passion when the opportunity arose. If a cute femme answered #206 with a fantasy that set my blood boiling, I’d find a way to make that dream come true. Personally. Of course, she never knew it was her matchmaker she was hooking up with in a dark bar or upscale hotel suite, and once the deed was done, I’d dutifully find her a prospect with long-term potential. I viewed it as a slight detour in their road to true romance. Call it my “finder’s fee,” if you will, because I never charged for my services. And I always delivered.
I’d never found anyone who shared my own ultimate encounter, but then again, I never really expected to. It was a little out there, I admit, and most women won’t confess to fantasizing about taking—and being taken—quite that way. But two weeks ago, I got an application from a blond bombshell named Stacey, and her answers could have been my own. Just reading her detailed description to #206 worked me up. And as an added bonus, she seemed in all other ways just the type of woman I was drawn to. Sweet, smart, and funny. We had a lot of the same interests, and her honesty and openness were refreshing. I couldn’t wait to meet her.
Her profile told me she worked a day job as a personal trainer, so I swung by her gym the next day to get a surreptitious 3D look at her and wasn’t disappointed. She was just my height, tanned and toned, with breasts to die for and a sexy smile full of mischief. When she bent over to spot a client on the weight bench, I was in the perfect position to get a long, lingering look at her high, round ass, and it was such a fucking turn-on that my insides were already twisting in anticipation.
But it was several hours later before I was able to do anything about it. I waited patiently for the light in her bedroom to go out, then remained in my car for another hour to make sure she was well asleep. Lucky for me, she was serious enough about her fantasy that the details of her answer to #206 proved to be accurate. There was no security system in her home, and the window to her bedroom was unlatched.
I slipped in and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust. The figure beneath the light sheet in the big bed was still, and her slow, steady exhalations assured me she was asleep. She stirred slightly when I gently eased her hands near the solid brass rails of the headboard, but she didn’t awaken even when I fastened the padded cuffs to her wrists and locked her to it.
As I leaned over her and put my mouth beside her ear, I was enveloped by her fragrance. Her hair smelled of vanilla and honey, and her body had a musky essence that was entirely her own. Before I spoke, I put my hand close to her mouth. Even though I knew she wanted this, I was aware that I would startle her, and a nosy neighbor calling 911 could put a definite crimp in my plans.
I gently stroked her cheek with the back of my hand to wake her. She murmured something unintelligible, rousing slowly from a deep sleep, and there was just enough ambient light from a night-light in the corner that I could see when her eyes popped open. The moment the
y did, before her flight response could kick in, I whispered, “Paradise.” It was her safe word; she’d even included that in her questionnaire, as though she knew somehow that she was scripting her future.
I could tell the word registered, because she slumped back against the pillow and didn’t fight the restraints. Even in the dim light I could see that her eyes weren’t frightened, only curious.
“Shh, don’t make a sound,” I said, playing the role exactly as she described. I lit a single candle so that she could see me. Her fantasy stranger wore a ski mask, but after much inner debate I decided to forgo that little detail. Women seem to like my dark eyes, angular features, and crooked smile, and I didn’t want to be a total stranger to her. Maybe that was part of my fantasy.
Slowly, I reached down and lightly stroked the cock that strained to be freed from my skintight jeans. Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t suppress a pleased smile. The way she was looking at me sent a sharp jolt of arousal to the pit of my stomach, making me almost dizzy with anticipation.
“Are you…” She hesitated, and I knew she wanted to hold fast to her fantasy. She didn’t really want confirmation that I wasn’t the intruder I pretended to be. So I played along, feigning ignorance.
“Am I what?” I asked gruffly as I continued to stroke the cock. “Am I going to fuck you blind? Make you come so hard you can’t move?”
I could see the reaction my words were having in the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened. My recitation was scripted, so she knew now with complete certainty that I was her fantasy come to life. Her words, but I felt as though she was somehow my own dream girl, conjured entirely from my imagination. Too perfect to be real.
“I won’t fight you,” she said shakily, and I detected an almost involuntary lift of her hips against the sheet. “Don’t hurt me, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
I grinned my crooked smile at her and released the button at the top of my fly. Her eyes fixed on the cock, measuring its length and girth, and she licked her lips. There was a clink of metal as she tested the cuffs.
Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman - Romantic Interludes 2 - Secrets Page 23