“I’m serious. I bought it for my new baby godson. I’m starting him a Disney collection.”
“You really cried?”
“Well, okay, maybe not real tears. But, man, it came close when my sister-in-law came in to tell us dinner was ready, and that she’d made the turkey.”
She snorted.
“She is the world’s worst cook. I think even my brother Nick, the cop, cried then. And that started a fight because Mark, the marine, noticed and gave him crap about it. My mother came after them with a wooden spoon when they started yelling and woke up the baby.”
“Aha!” She shook her index finger at him accusingly. “So the baby was asleep while you were watching Dumbo?”
He stared, obviously realizing he’d just been nailed. “Damn, you’re quick. I’ll have to remember that.”
They both laughed as he poured them each more wine. He served Meg some bread, torn fresh off the loaf. Falling into the same easy sense of companionship they’d felt the night before in his truck, they spent another hour laughing, whispering, sharing cheese and grapes, and watching the stars come out above. At one point, when he tried to show her one of the constellations, Joe moved closer, sitting behind her on the blanket. It was the most natural thing in the world to scoot back between his parted legs, leaning back against his hard chest as he whispered in her ear and pointed up to Orion’s belt.
Frankly, Meg couldn’t care less about any belts except the one pressing against the small of her back. Somehow, the wine had made her lethargic and restless at the same time. She stretched against him, tilting her head to the side to put it on his shoulder. “This has been a wonderful evening,” she said, whispering the words close to the bare, warm skin of his neck.
She saw him swallow, hard. Then he said, “Maybe I should get you home. We were out pretty late last night.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m fine.” Wriggling closer, she hid a languorous smile at the feel of his jeans against her backside. He was very fine, too. And obviously very aware of their closeness, if that hard ridge in the crotch of his pants was any indication.
“Meg…”
His voice was gravelly and thick with something she didn’t quite recognize. She turned to face him and when she saw the way his eyes darkened as he stared down at her—their faces inches apart, their mouths so close they shared the same breaths—she suspected it might be exactly what she was feeling. Heat. Desire. Pure need combined with budding emotion. “Yes, Joe?”
“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” he whispered as he cupped her waist.
She shook her head, licking her lips. “Did I tell you if you don’t kiss me soon I might just open the door and throw myself off that balcony?”
He didn’t even try to resist. With a helpless groan, he lowered his mouth to hers, catching her lips in a wet, deep kiss. She met his tongue with her own, wanting to taste every bit of him, to drink him in as she’d drunk the wine.
He moved his hand from her waist, sliding it up her body in a slow, smooth caress. She arched toward him, her breasts aching and heavy. He cupped her through her clothes, making her shudder in his arms.
As if unable to resist, he tugged her sweater up, revealing her stomach, inch by inch. The cold air in the room made her flesh pucker, but he warmed it with his touch. She whimpered against his mouth and shifted closer, until she nearly sat on his lap while they exchanged deep, slow kisses. When his hand paused below her breast, she wanted to cry, and sent him a mental demand to continue.
“Oh, yes,” she said with a throaty sigh when he finally did. He touched the lace of her bra, then higher, slipping his fingers inside the fabric to brush his fingertips across her puckered nipple.
She felt an ache, low in her belly. No, lower…in the hollow place between her legs. She’d never felt this intense a need before. Even during her few sexual encounters, Meg had never been as aroused, as fully in tune with her body, as she was now in Joe’s arms.
“Please, Joe,” she whispered when he continued those maddeningly delicate touches.
“Please what? Please stop?”
“Stop and I just might have to shove you off the balcony!”
He grinned, then slid her bra strap off her shoulder, pushing it down until her breast fell free. “You are spectacular,” he whispered as he looked at her, catching her fullness in his hand.
Frankly, Meg had never been too sure why men were so fixated on women’s breasts. But the look on Joe’s face now—adoration, appreciation, pure desire—made her very confident.
“I have to taste you, Meg.”
He lowered his mouth to kiss her there, working his way in tiny tastes to her nipple. She took in shuddery, panting breaths, anticipation making her shake.
“Yes, please,” she whispered, arching her back, wanting him to stop torturing her with the warmth of every exhaled breath and those gentle nips and kisses. Wrapping her fingers in his hair, she threw back her head and moaned when he finally moved his lips over the taut tip of her breast and sucked deeply.
Hot, liquid desire spread down through her body, settling with throbbing intensity between her thighs. “Oh, touch me, please,” she said, needing more, needing him to do something about the awful, delicious, maddening, incredible fire.
He complied, stroking her stomach, then her hip. “Touch you where, honey?” His voice held a teasing note as he moved to pay careful attention to her other breast, increasing the pleasure even more. He lowered his hand and cupped her thigh. “Here?”
She shook her head, almost unable to speak.
When his palm pressed against the hot center of her, she jerked in response and moaned. “Yes, there.”
“You’re burning up, aren’t you?” he said, his voice little more than a growl.
“Joe, tell me you brought something else in that picnic basket of yours.” She reached for his belt buckle. “I haven’t had to worry about birth control for a long time.”
Joe didn’t make sense of her words at first. He was too busy enjoying the way she tasted, the heaviness of her exquisite breast in his hand. He inhaled her, noting the way her skin smelled of vanilla and the intoxicating scent of aroused woman. The damp heat between her legs had made him shake with the need to tug off her slacks and to explore her. Fully. Deeply. Thoroughly. But what she’d said finally sank in.
His hand stilled. He lifted his mouth from her and sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Meg.”
He saw a veil of disappointment drop over her face. “You don’t have…”
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I meant what I said last night. I know it’s too soon, and I didn’t bring anything.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to find the noble instincts that had prompted him to remove the condom from his wallet before he’d picked her up tonight.
Maybe tomorrow he’d be glad he hadn’t given in before he’d had the chance to come clean with her. But right now he was too aroused to muster up much appreciation. “It’s probably for the best,” he said, trying more to convince himself than her.
She uttered the kind of four-letter word that he heard every day on this construction site, though usually it was spoken by sweaty men in hard hats. He almost laughed, in spite of the incredible sense of frustration rushing through him.
“I hope you have wings, Joe,” she said. “Because I am going to push you off the balcony.”
“SEDUCTION,” Meg whispered out loud the next afternoon as she parked near The Red Doors. She didn’t know which terrified her more: the idea of walking back into the place and speaking to the owner, or going ahead with her scheme to seduce a man she’d known for less than forty-eight hours.
Because of what had happened last night, she had no doubt about wanting to go further with Joe. She was ready to embark upon a wildly sensual affair with an incredible man. But first things first. She had to get him to want it, too.
After that embarrassing moment when they’d both realized they couldn
’t safely have sex, they’d tried to cool things down. Meg had straightened her clothes, then helped pack up the picnic basket. She could feel Joe’s disappointment, but also sensed some relief. He’d gotten a little carried away, but still hadn’t changed his mind about it being too soon for them to move into a sensual, erotic relationship.
As far as Meg was concerned, she was several years too late in starting her first sensual, erotic relationship. College groping just didn’t count.
A nice girl would probably back off, let him set the tone and the timing. But, as Meg had learned the other night when she’d dutifully kept her date with Ted the Weasel, sometimes it didn’t pay to be a nice girl. Not when being a bit of a bad girl could give her what she sensed would be the kind of pleasure she’d only ever read about in romance novels.
When she entered the complex, Meg beelined for the pickup counter inside the foyer. An attractive, middle-aged blonde, wearing a tight, pink sweater stood there. She was speaking with a balding, distinguished-looking older gentleman in a crisp, navy suit. Meg had seen them both working in The Red Doors the first time she’d come. The man’s posture was so perfect, and his language so precise, she pictured him as an English butler. Quite a contrast to the blonde, whose honey-smooth words rolled off her tongue in a cadence that could only come from south of the Mason-Dixon line.
“If you’re sure that’s all, then, Mrs. Merriweather?” the man asked as Meg approached.
“Yes, it is,” she replied. “But, Alfred, if you don’t start calling me Dixie, I’m afraid I might just have to put some pepper in your tea to spice you up a bit.”
The man pulled himself up even straighter and Meg thought she detected a hint of warmth in his eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, his voice low and sedate. But Meg heard a note of something—intensity?—which surprised her, coming from such a reserved-looking gentleman. As he turned to leave, he nodded to Meg, then left the vestibule.
As soon as he’d gone, the blonde turned to Meg. “Well, hello, sugar, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“You, uh, recognize me?”
“Of course I do.” The woman—Dixie—came out from behind the counter. She walked slowly, with a confident swing to her hips and an assessing glint in her eye. “Though I couldn’t have predicted the wardrobe. Child, where have you been shopping?”
Meg bit her lip. “I have an appointment with the owner.”
Dixie tapped the tip of her index finger on her cheek, still staring Meg up and down, then said, “Yes, I heard about that.”
“Could you ask Miss Ruskin to come out here?” She looked at her clenched fingers. “I really don’t want to go inside.”
Sliding a protective arm around Meg’s waist, Dixie said, “Come on, we’ll go up in the private elevator. You can get to the office without anybody seeing you. By the way, I’m Dixie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Meg let the woman lead her around the counter, watching as a nearly hidden elevator door slid open in the discreetly paneled wall. “Pretty ingenious.”
“We strive for discretion. A gentleman places an order on the computer, it’s brought down from one of the boutiques and waiting for him to check out ten minutes later.”
“It’s a great idea, and I’d probably love it if half the men of Chicago weren’t viewing me wearing the kind of underwear I’ve never even tried on in my life,” Meg said.
“Never tried on? Well, darlin’, we simply must do something about that.” Dixie’s warm laughter allowed Meg to relax for the first time since entering the complex.
She felt even more relaxed when she met Jamie Ruskin, one of the owners of The Red Doors. The woman, an attractive redhead, didn’t look the type to own a risqué lingerie shop. She was petite, with a short mop of red hair and an open grin.
“My business partner, Faith, asked me to apologize for not being able to meet with you. She feels as badly about this as I do.” As soon as Meg sat, Jamie put a file into her hands. “I found the paperwork your cousin turned in with the program, including the release you signed. I never noticed it, but the name of the store is spelled shear, like scissors.”
“He covered his bases.” Meg shook her head in disgust. “If you had noticed it, you would have thought it a typo.”
“Exactly. Listen, please don’t sweat this,” Jamie continued. “I’ve been working on the code all day myself, and I’ve called in another programmer. We’ll get you out of that program by tonight, I promise.”
“Thank you.” Meg was so relieved she even managed a smile.
“In the meantime, aren’t you a little curious?”
Meg had nearly forgotten Dixie was still in the room. The blonde gave Meg a Cheshire-cat grin as she sat on the corner of Jamie’s desk. She crossed her legs, looking as sexy and confident as only a woman who’s old enough to know what she wants, and young enough to enjoy the hell out of it, could. “I mean, wouldn’t you like to take a peek at some of the more popular items men have purchased after seeing your picture?”
Two days ago Meg would have laughed in the woman’s face. But two days ago she hadn’t been contemplating seducing a sinfully sexy man. “Items?”
“Don’t mind her. Dixie loves to dish out advice about sex and love.” Jamie chuckled. “But she sure can’t take it herself.”
“Don’t start,” Dixie said, rolling her eyes.
“Did I miss something?”
“Oh, just Dixie’s secret admirer,” Jamie explained. “She’s going out of her mind because someone’s been leaving her mysterious notes. Speaking of which, any new developments?”
“No. And I don’t care since I’d never be interested in a man who can’t damn well be honest about his feelings.”
Jamie shrugged. “I’d be flattered.”
“Me, too,” Meg said, unable to resist Jamie’s playful grin.
Dixie sighed heavily. “Back to your lingerie situation, missy.” She glanced at Jamie. “Our Meg here tells me she’s never even tried out anything the least bit sexy. And judging by her outfit, I think we can take her word for it.”
“I teach,” Meg explained defensively. “I need to be comfortable chasing after seven-year-olds all day.”
“Well, sugar,” Dixie said, her voice nearly a purr. “If you want any twenty-or thirty-seven-year-olds chasing after you all night, you need a change of wardrobe.”
Meg thought about it. Then she nodded. “Think you can dish out some advice along with that lingerie?”
Dixie clapped her hands together. “Oh, my, did you come to the right place! Pull up a chair and let’s get busy.”
CHAPTER SIX
NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENED, Joe was absolutely determined to keep his hands off Meg on Wednesday night. They were going out again, and this date, dammit, would be about fun, laughter and companionship. Definitely not about sex. Not about slow, wet kisses. Not about the way her nipples had tasted on his tongue, or the warmth between her thighs.
“Cool it, idiot,” he told himself as he parked his truck outside his parents’ restaurant.
Santori’s was the perfect place for their date. It’d be loud, bright, filled with nosy family members and friendly diners. There was simply no way he’d be able to give in to attraction—okay, lust—in the middle of the mayhem. They’d simply spend another evening together, building the sense of liking they’d established from the first, and, he hoped, also building on the trust she’d begun to feel for him. Trust he was going to have to rely on when the time came to come clean.
Thankfully, Meg’s own plans had coincided perfectly with his. She’d called him from her cell phone, saying she had to do some shopping and would meet him at the restaurant. So, they wouldn’t have those long, private moments inside his cozy truck to deal with, either before or after dinner.
“You can handle this,” he told himself. But when he walked into the restaurant and saw her standing there, chatting with two of his brothers, Joe’s good intentions flew right out the window.
“Holy crap,” he whi
spered.
His Meg, the second-grade teacher, was nowhere to be found. In her place stood a fantasy—the seductive, sultry Meg previously hidden within the computers at The Red Doors.
She wore a silky red blouse, the kind made with fabric so thin it probably whispered with her every move. The top draped each curve, not clinging, but sliding over those lush breasts Joe had kissed just twenty-four hours before. The deep vee of her neckline gave an enticing glimpse of her pale throat. Joe had to suck in a calming breath when he saw one of the waiters cast an appreciative look at her cleavage.
With the blouse, she wore a black skirt. But it was nothing like the one she’d worn Monday. This was skintight, clinging to her tiny waist, and to hips designed precisely to fit a man’s hands. It ended a few inches above the knee, revealing perfect, long legs clad in shimmery black stockings.
If they had a seam, he was going to croak.
She turned slightly. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered. Seamed.
“Joseph!” his mother cried, catching sight of him. She walked over, arms extended.
Bending for her kiss, he winced when she instead rapped him on the head with a knuckle. “You’re late. I taught you better. You kept your lady friend waiting.”
Over his mother’s head, he saw Meg grin. Even her face looked different. She wore more dramatic makeup that emphasized the delicacy of her skin and the depth of blue in her eyes. She’d done something new to her hair, pulling it into a loose braid, while leaving little curls around her temples. She looked like pure class and pure sin wrapped up in one mouthwatering package.
“Wow,” he mouthed. Joe knew the heat in his stare told her he liked the way she looked. Her cheeks went a little red, but she managed to give him a sultry smile in return.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Santori. I was early.” Meg walked over to Joe, moving slowly, with an exaggerated swing to her hips.
He was drooling by the time she got within three feet. Then she stumbled slightly on her slim, high heels and fell into his arms—right where she belonged.
Behind the Red Doors Page 24