“Yes,” he said flatly. He shrugged into his jacket. “I like women. Men who like men give me the creeps. I’m not into the whole politically correct scene.”
Desiree’s smile seemed ominously bright. He frowned. “Have I offended you? Do you have a gay brother or something?”
“No, you haven’t offended me—you’re entitled to your opinion. And I don’t have a brother, I’m an only child.” She paused, her expression curiously amused. She strolled to his window, checked out his view of the Atlanta skyline. “I’m just surprised. I would have thought someone as, uh, virile as you would be secure in your own masculinity.”
Nick was still lingering on the virile part when the rest of her compliment backhanded him. He grimaced. “I’m perfectly secure in my own masculinity. Didn’t you hear me? It’s un-masculine behavior that bothers me.”
He caught her chewing her nail and another warning bell sounded in his head. Something was up, but he didn’t know what. “How long is this going to take?” he asked, hoping a subject change would erase some of the angst from her gorgeous profile.
She turned, robbing him of his breath once again. A strange fluttering winged through his chest. “Probably an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Why?” Her brow knitted. “Do you have plans for after dinner?”
Somehow, Nick had gravitated toward her. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, smiled when he felt her relax against him. “I do.”
“Do they include me?” she murmured.
“Most definitely. Me, you and a bottle of wine.”
“What about a bottle of Shiver Cream?”
He drew back. Lowered his voice to a more intimate level. “I thought we used it all.”
“I have more.”
Nick arched an appreciative brow. “Good.”
“We’d better go,” she said, though her heart clearly wasn’t in it.
Nick kissed her forehead. “Yeah. Let’s get it over with. And don’t worry. I’ll play my part well. Everything will be fine. What could go wrong?”
WHAT COULD GO WRONG? Meg wondered with dread.
The possibilities were endless.
If her suspicions were correct, one thing in particular could go wrong but Meg refused to entertain the thought. She’d simply have to intervene. Rescue Nick and save Marcus Kent’s teeth, she thought, tamping down a hysterical laugh. How the hell had she gotten into this mess? How had things escalated to this comical degree of deception?
Certainly, she enjoyed her job as a critic. She loved the freedom she had to speak her mind, to put into print some of her most scandalous thoughts. Keeping up the pretense of having a lover was pertinent to keeping her job, to ensuring her future success as a top-notch pastry chef. She’d desperately needed Nick to do this for her—she just hadn’t counted on her stress level blowing the top off a seismograph.
“Ann called and gave me Marcus’s suite number,” Meg told him. “He’s in twelve-fourteen.”
Nick guided her into the elevator and depressed the call button for the twelfth floor. He wore an elegant charcoal suit, Armani or some other top designer, Meg presumed, given the tailored fit and smooth lines, with a crisp white shirt and forest-green silk tie. His tawny locks had been lightly gelled into place, giving him a more polished look. Meg caught a whiff of pricey cologne, a soft woodsy fragrance which suited him perfectly. The scent coupled with his nearness made her knees suddenly weaken with want. Him, her and a bottle of Shiver Cream, indeed.
When this week was up, she’d miss being Desiree Moon. She swallowed tightly, allowed her gaze to once more slide over Nick. More disturbingly, she’d miss him.
“Any last tidbits of advice?” Nick asked, pulling Meg out of the quagmire of emotional quicksand she’d fallen into.
Yeah, Meg thought, remembering her concerns about Marcus. Stay outta the shower and don’t drop the soap. “Er, just remember everything we’ve covered,” Meg improvised. “I’ve trained you well, Antonio. Make me proud. They shouldn’t suspect a thing.”
Admiration clung to his smile. “Damn, you’re sneaky.”
She fluttered her lashes with exaggerated flirtation. “Don’t you mean good?”
“Oh, you’re good all right—good at being bad.” Nick caught her ridiculously pleased grin. His eyes widened, and he laughed as though unsure of what to make of her. “Is that all it takes to compliment you? Tell you you’re good at being bad?”
She pulled a shrug. “Easy, huh?”
Evidently bewildered, he was still peering curiously at her when the elevator slid to a stop on the twelfth floor. He tore his gaze away from her and led her out into the hall. “It’s showtime.”
Another nervous tremor shook her tummy. Meg pulled in a fortifying breath and walked with Nick down the long carpeted corridor. Marcus’s suite was a corner unit located at the end of the hall. Nick rapped a couple of times on the door and within seconds, Marcus’s smiling face beamed at them. Particularly at Nick. A shiver of foreboding whispered down her spine.
“Hi!” Marcus said with enthusiasm. “Come on in! Come on in,” he boomed with delight.
They went through the introductions again. Marcus played the gracious host, ushered them deep into the suite and, in short order, placed drinks in both their hands. He seemed to linger a fraction overlong when handing Nick his, Meg noted anxiously.
The rooms were spacious, carpeted in a serviceable beige Berber and appointed with cherry-finished reproduction antiques. A large sitting area with a couple of striped camel-backed couches formed an intimate area to chat.
Unease dogged Meg’s every step, but Nick appeared to move without difficulty into his role as her lover. He kept her firmly anchored at his side. He continually touched her, held her hand, draped his arm around her shoulder or kept a couple of fingers snugged at the small of her back. But the dizzying contact never ceased. Arousal buzzed along her nerve endings like radio static, a neverending hum of awareness.
After a few more minutes of idle chitchat they moved to the open-spaced living room. Meg and Nick sat hip to hip on one of the comfortable sofas, leaving the other one vacant for Marcus and Ann. Nick casually slung an arm around her shoulders, settled her firmly against him. In her mind’s eye, she replanted herself in his lap, removed his shirt and—
“Have you had a good week so far, Desiree?” While the question had been posed to her, Marcus nonetheless kept his gaze fastened on Nick. Irritation surged, forcing Meg to bite back a brittle smile.
“I have, thanks,” Meg replied, injecting an overly bright note into her voice. “Where’s Ann?”
“She’ll be here shortly.”
Good, Meg thought. Perhaps between the two of them they could keep Marcus occupied. So far, Nick seemed to be oblivious to Marcus Kent’s keen fascination, but she didn’t know how long Nick would continue to think the man was just being extremely polite. For a confessed homophobic, Nick had certainly let Marcus slip beneath the radar. Despite her frazzled nerves, Meg found it perversely funny.
“So, Antonio. What business are you in?” Marcus wanted to know.
“I’m an attorney.”
“Oh, is that right? Always thought attorneys got a bad rap.” Marcus parked himself on Nick’s other side. “You specialize in anything?”
“Corporate law,” Nick said smoothly, as though he’d answered the same question hundreds of times. Wearing a bemused smile, Nick scooted over a fraction, allowing more room for Marcus.
“Ah,” Marcus said knowingly. “Big business…for a big man.” Marcus’s gaze raked Nick from head to toe.
Nick’s amiable expression faltered.
Time to intervene. “That’s right,” Meg trilled, her voice pitched higher than usual. Meg wrapped her arms around Nick’s waist. “He’s my big man.”
A knock sounded at the door and Marcus excused himself with a smile. “That’ll be Ann.”
Thank God! Meg thought.
“Desiree?” Nick murmured between his clenched teeth. “What the hell is going o
n? Is that man doing what I think he’s—”
“Please,” Meg begged urgently. “We’ll leave as soon as dinner is over. I’ll owe you one,” she promised.
He snorted under his breath. “You’re going to owe me more than one.”
Both Nick and Meg stood when Ann breezed in. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “Apollo’s was supposed to have our dinner ready when I got there to pick it up.” She smiled ruefully. “But that wasn’t the case. Still, I hope you’re hungry. We have plenty.”
“I’m starved,” Nick said. “Are we ready to eat?”
Meg squashed a frown at Nick’s overeager ploy, but played along nonetheless. “I’m famished,” she lied dramatically.
Truth be told, you couldn’t get a kernel of corn down her constricted throat with a slingshot, but she’d have to manage somehow. That portent of doom she carried like an albatross around her neck grew increasingly heavier. A premonition, she feared, of things to come.
“It must take an amazing quantity of food to sustain a man of your considerable size,” Marcus remarked with another overt glance at Nick.
Meg felt Nick’s fingers twitch in hers.
“Cut it out, Marcus,” Ann chided fondly as she transferred carryout boxes from a plastic sack onto the dining table. “You’ll embarrass him.”
Ann, seemingly familiar with this aspect of her boss’s behavior, glanced at Marcus as though he were just a playful puppy, not a sexual predator with his sights set on Meg’s man.
“I don’t embarrass easily,” said Nick. A feral glint stewed in his narrowed gaze. “But I’ve been told I have a nasty temper.”
To Meg’s astonishment, Marcus actually shivered. “Oh, do tell.”
“Did I mention that I was hungry?” Meg interjected before Nick could react. “In fact, I’m almost light-headed. Is that about ready, Ann? Can I help you with anything?”
“No need to help. It’s ready.” Ann had doled out the boxes and poured drinks. She gestured for everyone to sit down. “I know this is a little informal, but Marcus can’t abide the poor room service of this hotel.” She shuddered delicately. “So I took the liberty of ordering Apollo’s legendary Chicken Alfredo for us. I hope no one minds.”
“It’s fine with me,” Meg hurried to assure her.
“Me, too,” Nick added, sounding relieved at the change in subject.
“In fact, Chicken Alfredo is one of my favorite dishes. I love Alfredo sauce.” Meg felt compelled to keep the conversation rolling in any direction but what they’d originally come here to discuss.
The sex toys.
“Speaking of sauce,” Marcus said, “what about the new Body Sauce by Risqué Business? Have you had a chance to look at it yet?”
“I have. It’s nice. Tastes good and the texture is pleasing. Did Risqué Business send a representative?” Meg asked, hoping to keep the dialogue on the vendors and not the products.
Nick sat beside her, head bowed determinedly over his plate. He kept his mouth full and his fork loaded. The generous portion that had graced his plate had all but vanished.
“Risqué Business did send a representative,” Ann remarked. “They’ve been around for a long time and have always had a good product line.”
“What was your take on the Body Sauce?” Marcus asked Nick. Panic clogged Meg’s throat. Her gaze darted nervously to Nick.
Nick appeared startled at first, then he looked at her and his gaze darkened with desire. “It tastes all right,” he murmured after a beat. “On Desiree. Don’t know if I’d like it on ice cream, though.”
Marcus and Ann chuckled while a fierce swift heat blanketed Meg from head to toe.
“How did it taste on him?” Marcus asked lightly, but his eyes glittered with something horrifyingly akin to hunger. Flattering Nick would only feed Marcus’s voyeuristic appetite, but what choice did she have? Nick had set the rhythm for how this little session would proceed. She wasn’t about to hit a discordant note.
She let her gaze slide over his impressive length, finally coming to stop at his gaze. Licked her lips. “It was delicious. Better than that Raspberry Chocolate Dream we shared the other night.”
The innuendo was lost on Marcus, but it didn’t keep him from quivering with delight. His eyes practically rolled back in his head. Nick’s expression blackened with outrage and every muscle in his body tensed.
With effort, Meg swallowed back an insane burst of laughter. Though things were too ludicrous to take seriously, she didn’t think her perverse sense of humor was in Nick’s scope of understanding at present. Not when Marcus continued to stare at him with undisguised lust.
Nick had emptied his plate, leaned back in his seat and slung an arm over her shoulder. His fingers swirled a lazy figure eight on her upper arm. Despite the slow, purposeful movement, Meg felt the tension radiating from him. He was ready to snap—Marcus’s neck, most likely.
“I’m sure the two of you hear this all the time,” Ann said. “But you make an adorable couple. See, Marcus,” she went on, gesturing to them with her empty fork. “This is what love looks like. This is why you’re in this business.”
Meg’s tentative smile froze on her face. From the corner of her eye she noticed Nick’s drink had stalled halfway between the table and his mouth, and he wore a similar transfixed expression. This is what love looks like?
Love?
They liked each other. Lusted, most definitely. But love?
A peculiar tightening squeezed Meg’s chest. A fist of bare-knuckled panic slugged her. Her pulse quickened. Tripped. Roared. Nah, she told herself. Not love. Nick was simply doing an excellent job of convincing them that he was her critique partner. He’d only done what she asked him to do and Ann had obviously inferred something altogether different from Nick’s admittedly attentive behavior.
That made perfect sense.
Satisfied that she’d rationalized Ann’s incorrect assumption into something she could understand, Meg breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Honestly, love? Like she could handle. Love was out of her comfort zone.
“What about those penis jelly rings I mentioned the other night?” Marcus asked, his tone still light but strangled. He scooted to the edge of his seat. “Do they prolong your erection, Antonio?”
Meg had anticipated this question and quickly formed an answer before Nick could ready his fist for impact with Marcus’s face. “We haven’t critiqued that particular product, Mr. Kent, and don’t intend to. Uh, Antonio, doesn’t need any help keeping an erection.”
“No, I don’t,” Nick confirmed adamantly. “And that’s all I have to say about that. Desiree, honey—” the endearment held a venomous edge “—if we’re going to catch that movie, we’d better go.”
Meg supposed he planned to throttle her. She made an exaggerated show of checking her watch. “Oh, you’re right, darling.” She quickly stood. “We’d better go.”
“B-but what about dessert?” Marcus sputtered. “We’ve barely touched on any of the other things I wanted to talk about.”
“Oh, I think you’ve touched on enough,” Ann remarked, her eyes twinkling with perceptive humor.
“We have dessert waiting in our room,” Nick told him, sending Meg a look that smoldered with as much anger as suggestion. He firmly intended on making her pay for his performance—he clearly planned to torture her. Heat funneled low beneath her navel and she mentally shrugged. She was into that.
Nick thanked both of them for the meal and speedily strode to the door.
“Darling, why don’t you go and hold the elevator,” she suggested sweetly. Without a backward glance, Nick escaped into the hall.
Meg turned to Marcus. Her previous irritation fled as she took in his tragically disappointed frown. After all, she knew exactly how Marcus felt—she, too, had been bowled over by her attraction for Nick. She certainly couldn’t fault Marcus’s good taste.
“Antonio doesn’t like to be finessed,” Meg told him. “If I would have suspected this at all, I could have
warned you and saved you both some grief.” She patted his arm. “Furthermore, he’s mine. And he doesn’t bat for your team.”
Marcus heaved a dramatic sigh. “More’s the pity, you lucky girl.” He brightened, all business again. “You are delightful and you’re the best reviewer we have. Our Web hits have gone up thirty percent since you came on board. Keep up the good work.”
“Thank you.” Meg smiled. Her heart lightened at the unexpected praise. “I plan to.”
“And now I know why,” Marcus countered meaningfully. “Oh, well. Off you go.” He tsked under his breath and stared longingly down the hall. “You don’t keep a man like that waiting.”
Marcus was right. She and Nick had waited long enough…and she owed him one.
Meg would gladly give it to him, too—if he didn’t kill her first.
11
NICK HAD ALREADY BOARDED the elevator and was patiently holding the door for her when Meg finally caught up with him. She flinched at his thunderous expression. Clearly he hadn’t found the episode as amusing as she had. Rather than lean against him as she had the entire night, she lounged against the wall and stared innocently at the ceiling.
“Well,” she said when he didn’t immediately say anything. She took a page from Lucy Ricardo’s book, huffed an exaggerated breath and exclaimed, “Boy am I glad that’s over.”
His eyes bugged. “You’re glad it’s over?”
Meg winced. That crap might have worked with dear ol’ Ricky, but Nick wasn’t about to let it fly. “S-sure. Aren’t you?”
“Immensely,” he growled.
Silence stretched between them once again. Meg peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He stood still as stone, jaw clenched tight and lips compressed in a thin hard line. He didn’t look like a man who wanted to talk, but Meg felt compelled to cast another line into the old conversational pond. “I enjoyed my chicken,” she remarked inanely.
“I might have,” he returned tightly. “If I hadn’t had to inhale it.”
Obviously Nick didn’t share Meg’s desire to pretend nothing had happened, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. She’d likely be unnerved if she’d spent the evening fending off advances from Ann. Meg fidgeted uncomfortably. Heaved an internal sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Just Toying Around… Page 12