Power Play

by Warren, Nancy

  “Don’t move,” she cried and sped to the bathroom, tossing bags as she went.

  She tissued her hands off like the instructions said, but it was too slow and they were sticky. Knowing this was one expensive treatment basically down the drain, she turned on the hot tap and got the soap. She washed her hands, then her feet, going at top speed knowing Jonah was standing outside the door waiting.

  Finally, she slapped water on her face to rinse off the mask and dried her face as fast as she could. She pulled the towel off her hair as she ran into the bedroom. Dug through her lingerie until she found something black. It wasn’t see-through, it was a very nice Victoria’s Secret short black nightgown, but it would have to do. Brush through her hair.

  She ran to the door and opened it.

  “Yes?”

  JONAH LOOKED AT EMILY and gulped. Her face looked like copper that had been left in the rain. Green streaks ran down her temples and striped the sides of her hair. A big patch of gray-green goop was lodged beneath her ear, as though she’d been patched.

  Her gown was inside out, and he suspected backward since the tag was staring at him.

  A squish of something that looked like white glue seeped between two of her toes.

  She was about the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Room service,” he said.

  “You have the wrong room.” She was the only woman he could imagine who could pull off haughty while wearing green goop on her neck.

  “I don’t think so.” He shut the door behind him. Placed the tray down on the desk since the bed was a bit of a mess, with a green-streaked towel laid over the pillow, and a couple of used plastic bags tossed on top.

  “I, uh—” He thought he was supposed to do the rose next, but he wasn’t absolutely certain.

  She gave a shriek and that’s when he knew she’d caught sight of herself in the mirror. “Wait.” She flapped her hands. “Wait. This isn’t working at all. I was giving myself a mud mask. I’m a mess,” she wailed. “Now the whole fantasy’s ruined.”

  He glanced at her, her body a feast for his eyes, the short gown only teasing him. “No. It isn’t.”

  He dug the key of his temporary room out of his pocket. “Go down the hall to 310. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He kissed her shoulder. “We’ll start over.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And this time I hope nobody who sees me in the hall orders anything.”

  She ran into the bathroom and took a wet cloth to her face. Laughed, delighted. “Did they really?”

  He nodded. “Double cheeseburger and fries. I had to call it down to the kitchen. Now some other waiter will get my tip.”

  “I’ll give you an extra good one.”

  Once she’d cleaned all the green stuff off her, she slipped a raincoat over her gown and stepped into black pumps. Trust Emily to color coordinate her nightdress with her shoes even when no one would see them.

  She took the key and slipped out of the room.

  SHE LAY ON THE BED, HER short black silk gown riding high on her thighs, the crisp white sheets cool beneath her body.

  There was a knock on the door.

  She went to the peephole. The room service waiter gave her the stink eye.

  She opened up right away.

  “Room service.” And he pushed his way into the room and shut the door looking harassed. “Kirsten’s knocking on your door at this very minute. Luckily the light’s not very bright or she’d have figured out it was me.”

  “Kirsten? What can she want?”

  “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Poor Kirsten. That Sadhu has her tangled in knots.”

  “I know somebody else who is tangled in knots,” he informed her. “And I have a special dish for you that needs to be served hot.”

  His eyes scorched her as he said the words. Kirsten, the wedding, the rental dishes, the bad bridesmaid dress, the list of responsibilities she had for tomorrow, all of them faded away.

  “Then we’d better get started right now.”

  She felt a little breathless as he looked at her with those hard cop eyes that had seen it all. The white jacket and black pants with the stripe down the side, the white shirt and bow tie, none of it was Jonah. He was like a stranger, only a wonderfully familiar one. She found her gaze going to the silver dome.

  “What have you brought me to eat?”

  “Something sweet and delicious.”

  She licked her lips. “I never said what was under there. In my fantasy.”

  “No. I had to improvise.”

  He set the tray down on the desk that was like the one in their room only clear of junk. None of their stuff was in this room. Jonah must have put his clothes away in the drawer for she couldn’t even see his discarded things. She’d have liked to, simply for the familiarity.

  This was uncomfortably impersonal. Like her fantasy, but with an edge of unpredictability she wasn’t sure she liked. The thing with fantasy was that she was in complete control, changing anything and everything at will. But with Jonah involved, the control had shifted away from her. She wished quite suddenly that she’d never teased him with her silly fantasy.

  Certainly she’d never dreamed he’d act it out. At least not without her help.

  He reached toward the tray. Slowly. His arm not his in that unfamiliar jacket, the white glove seeming oddly menacing. She was aware of the sounds coming from outside. A vehicle pulling into the gravel parking area. A car door slamming.

  He didn’t go for the silver dome. His hand closed over the rose.

  Slowly he pulled it from the vase, and she saw the water droplets tumble off the dark green stem to splash onto the napkin folded beside the champagne bucket.

  The red petals touched the skin of her upper chest and she was shocked by the coolness of the petals, the velvety sweep over her extra sensitive skin. He traced a path across the top of her breasts, over the top, onto the silk, and then ran the flower across the fullest part of her breasts, bringing her nipples tingling to life.

  He placed the rose on the bedside table.

  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

  She did. Wondering what was in store. Excited and apprehensive all at once. How well did she even know this man? Maybe it was the white gloves but she flashed to Dexter, the show about a seemingly normal guy—also in law enforcement now she thought about it—who was also a serial killer.

  She knew she was being ridiculous. If he’d just take off that silver dome and let her see what he’d brought her—because somehow she was pretty sure it wasn’t a roast beef dinner—then she could settle.

  As though he’d read her mind, he leaned forward, brushed his lips softly across hers. “Wondering what’s under there?”

  “Yes.”

  He nibbled her lower lip. “You can trust me,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  He kissed her for a while, as though he couldn’t tear himself away from her mouth. She didn’t even care what was under that dome, all she wanted was him, out of that uniform and naked. Preferably now.

  But he pulled away at last and she had the satisfaction of seeing his dark pants seriously distended by his erection as he crossed to the room service tray.

  He brought the plate with the silver dome over to her. Presented it and with a flourish, removed the lid.

  There were two items on the plate. A dish of red, ripe strawberries.

  And a black blindfold.

  Her gaze flew to his. He was looking at her with challenge, as well as understanding in his eyes. “I figured the basic fantasy was sex with a stranger. So, I took a poll of the guys on the team.”

  “You did?”

  “You’d be surprised at the breadth of experience on an over-thirty hockey team.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  He flicked her a wicked glance. “I talked to most of the other teams, too, to get a good cross section of opinion on what would hav
e been on the tray in your fantasy.”

  Sure he had. “You did?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Some of the guys had some ideas that were a little crude, to be honest with you. And I don’t know where you’d buy the equipment in this town.”

  She swallowed, not at all certain how she felt about the blindfold. “That’s a problem.”

  “Oh, yeah. I thought about asking your aunt and uncle at dinner. They seem like they know Elk Crossing pretty well. But it’s hard to work nipple clamps into dinner conversation.”

  “I admire your restraint.”

  “Thank you. Then me and some of the guys thought that maybe you’d more easily believe I was a stranger if you couldn’t see me.” He fingered the black fabric. “Of course, it’s all about trust.”

  “And I could simply pull off the blindfold at any time.”

  “Theoretically, if you weren’t handcuffed.”

  Her eyes flew wide-open. “Tell me you don’t have handcuffs hidden in that ice bucket?” He was a cop. He must have cuffs. Oh, what had she got herself into?

  He shook his head. “Without the nipple clamps and so on, I don’t see much point in handcuffs.”

  More relieved than she cared to admit, she agreed that handcuffs on their own were simply too tame.

  He picked up the black fabric, ran it up her thigh, over her body, brushing past her breasts. She felt her breath quicken, and then he slipped the black silk over her eyes, and tied the length gently behind her head.

  16

  SHE HADN’T BEEN BLINDFOLDED since Pin the Tail on the Donkey at a kids’ birthday party.

  This was quite different.

  Without her eyesight, she was super aware of sound, and smell and touch. The muted sounds of the heating system in the hotel, the fragrance of the rose, much more muted than a true summer rose, but smelling of florist’s greenery and a slight hint of summer. The sheets had the crisp freshness of laundered linen where the fabric touched her, while everywhere else she was covered by the silky nightdress, giving her an entirely different sensation. Even the blindfold itself was an experience. The fabric had been cool when he first placed it over her eyes, but it was rapidly warming and if she moved her head on the pillow, she could make out the bump of the knot.

  A crinkle of foil, the winching sound of untwisting wire, and then the scrape of cork against bottle preceded the pop as he opened the champagne. She heard the hissing sound as he poured the foaming liquid into the glasses, the familiar sounds telling her as clearly as her eyes would have what he was up to.

  She heard nothing more and so jumped when a finger pad traced its way down her shoulder, hooking under a strap and pulling it over her shoulder.

  He put an arm behind her back and raised her to sitting, then she felt the cool glass touch her lower lip. She was perfectly capable of holding the glass for herself, but it was much more fun to let him feed her. A tiny waterfall of bubbles spilled into her mouth, a little bit escaping to slide over her lip and down her chin. Jonah kissed her wet mouth and then followed the drip of champagne with his tongue.

  The wet heat of him licking her, the sizzle of the drink going down her throat, the fact that he was bringing her fantasy to life in an entirely unexpected way, all was making her so hot she could barely keep still. She wanted to crawl all over him, to speed things up and get to the hot sex part, but she restrained herself, feeling pretty certain that her patience would be well rewarded.

  “Open your mouth.”

  She did, wondering what was coming. More wine? A kiss? Something more bold?

  He popped a strawberry into her mouth and after the dry wine the sweetness danced on her tongue. He dipped the fruit in champagne and painted her, her lips, her neck, easing the fabric of her nightdress lower on each pass until she was panting with need.

  She expected to feel the cold wine applied by fruit on her nipples and was so shocked when she felt an entirely different sensation that she moaned. Her desire-fogged brain took a moment to process the fact that he’d stroked her with the rose petals.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, making her feel as if she was both beautiful and special. Her heart was pounding, her desire moving from simmer to boil when he painted her nipples with wine-drenched berries. The cold and wet had her gasping and she could imagine that her nipples were standing on end with the combination of cold and excitement.

  “I see goose bumps. You must be cold.” Then he warmed the sensitive tips with his mouth.

  She might be sightless, but she wasn’t helpless. By reaching around she found the dish with the strawberries and, choosing one, reached toward him, feeding him the fruit, wondering what it would taste like warmed from his body, determined to find out.

  When he planted a berry in her belly button she wasn’t all that surprised. When he poured champagne over the top she gasped. “I missed dessert,” he said, and then sucked the berry and the champagne from her navel.

  Her hips were gyrating in wordless need and suddenly his mouth was there, feeding on her. After the slow teasing, she was so shocked to find him giving her everything she wanted that she couldn’t hold herself back. With a cry she couldn’t suppress, she let herself go, bursting on his tongue like one of his foolish strawberries.

  He held her through the aftershocks, planting little kisses on her thighs, her belly, moving his way back up her body. “I wanted to make that last a whole lot longer,” he said, in a low voice, “but I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She pulled off the blindfold, blinking in the light from the bedside lamp. Then she grinned at him. “I never got to the second part of my fantasy.”

  He swallowed, looking dubiously at the fabric swinging from her hand. “There’s a part two?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “You’re sure you’re not too tired?”

  “Just getting started.” Very deliberately, she set the dish of berries in easy reach.

  “On your back, big guy.”

  17

  KIRSTEN HAD NO IDEA WHAT TO DO or where to go. They’d had such a good time tonight, she and Sadhu. He made her feel like the woman she’d been briefly when she’d believed in herself and known she was capable of doing anything she strived to.

  She liked that person, knew she could be her again if she put her mind to it. Especially if there was another person in the world who believed in her.

  And then he’d done it again. After a wonderful evening when he’d made her laugh, made her feel like the most important woman in the world, when the brush of his fingers against her knee while they sat beside each other made her woozy with desire, he’d dropped her off at her place.

  With a kiss on the cheek.

  A kiss on the cheek!

  That was the biggest insult of all.

  She’d gone into her little rental house and flipped on the TV, but she couldn’t concentrate.

  Her last cigarette. She needed her last cigarette. The notion of dragging the smoke deeply into her lungs, the slight punch of light-headedness, the soothing calm that overtook her.

  The white cylinder was in her bag. She ran for it, rummaged through to the bottom where it had fallen.

  It had been crushed by all the junk she’d thrown in there. Damn it, why hadn’t she been more careful? She sifted through and pulled out the pieces, but there was nothing there to smoke. She dropped the crushed mess of tobacco, paper and filter into the trash.

  Emily. Emily had the rest of the pack of smokes. She was holding them for her. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t that late. She jumped into her car and drove to the Elk Crossing Lodge. Ran into the place, up the stairs to room 318. Luckily, she saw nobody around but a room service waiter going down the corridor. Somebody was lucky. They were getting champagne and two glasses and a red rose.

  She got a kiss on the cheek.

  She banged on the door.

  Nothing.

  Banged again.

  Still nothing.

  Then the foolishne
ss of what she was doing struck her with painful clarity. Jonah and Emily were probably making love right now, not exactly interested in answering the door to a nicotine addict.

  She turned away slowly and walked back to her car. What was she doing, anyway? There were gas stations, convenience stores. She could buy another pack.

  Except she hadn’t really wanted Emily to give them to her. She thought what she really wanted was some advice. Well, there was nobody around to whine to, so maybe she needed to suck it up and figure some things out for herself.

  As she drove home, she had to accept that she’d already smoked her last cigarette.

  She wasn’t going back to cigarettes any more than she was going back to guys who didn’t deserve her. And if Sadhu didn’t want her after all, then maybe she’d be absolutely fine on her own.

  She pulled into her drive, so preoccupied she didn’t notice the green SUV parked on the street. When she got out and headed for the front door, she saw him.

  Sitting on her front step with a bunch of red roses. Not one, but what looked like a couple dozen.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “I wanted to stay away, but I couldn’t.”

  “That is very good news.”

  She walked closer. He seemed nervous. He’d always been so confident around her, it was funny. He held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

  When was the last time a man had bought her flowers? So long ago, she didn’t even own a vase.

  “Thank you.”

  She opened the door and invited him in.

  For something to do, she found an empty spaghetti sauce jar and filled it with water, putting the roses in carefully.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Sadhu said.

  “What is it?” Here it comes, she thought. The real reason he’s been such a gentleman. The girlfriend, wife, boyfriend, whatever.

  He walked up behind her. “This,” he said softly, and turning her around, kissed her. Not on the cheek. But full on the mouth.

  He kissed her long, and deep and with so much passion she felt more light-headed than if she’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.