by Lisa Wells
“I haven’t gotten that far in my planning. But I’m thinking, she’s going to shoot him down. Wipe the arrogance out of him in a big way.”
He tugged on his ear. “You’ve got a mean streak.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I prefer to call it an ornery streak.”
His gut tightened. “You’re writing a romance, so there has to be a happily ever after resolution.”
She shrugged. “I’m thinking about giving it the Nicholas-Spark’sEnding Treatment. The hero’s heart gets broken, and the heroine regains her independence and dignity. And revenge for her brother.”
“Your brother doesn’t hate me. He trusts me.”
“This story isn’t about my brother. It’s about my heroine’s brother.”
He frowned. “I don’t think I can sell that.” Nor would he want to.
“You’re not going to be my agent, so that’s not a problem.”
His palm itched to make contact with her ass. “If your heroine is so fabulous, why doesn’t she have a boyfriend? Why is she single?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer. Would she tell him?
She gave him her sassy look. “She’s between boyfriends.”
He exhaled. “What happened to her last boyfriend?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced away. “He reminded her too much of her first love…but she didn’t realize this until he declared his love.”
“And?”
She took her glasses off and wiped them with her napkin. “Have you thought anymore about taking me to the fantasy bash?”
Ian frowned. She wasn’t going to kiss and tell. “What if I said yes? Are you saying you’d be okay watching me have sex with another woman?”
She propped her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with her hands. “Could you watch me with another man?” she asked, a wicked grin on her face.
Was she purposefully pushing his buttons to see how much he cared? “Honestly?”
Her smile didn’t waver, but the gleam in her eyes turned a darker shade. “Of course.”
He’d promised her a lot of things this week. One of them being honesty. “I don’t think there’s a chance in hell I’d ever be able to share you with another man. The thought causes me to want to punch something.”
“We’re not a real couple. Just a short-week couple.”
“I know.”
She leaned back and picked a piece of lint off her sleeve. “And we’re not in love.”
He waited for her to look up at him. “I know.”
“Then take me to the sex party.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t understand why it’s so important to you to go to one. You don’t have any sex-party scenes in your manuscript. Everything you have is between one man and one woman.”
“This may be my only chance to experience all of these different sexual avenues with someone…like you.”
“Like me?” He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this.
“You know. Safe. Non-judgmental. Someone who lost a bet and who has to keep his end of the lost-bet bargain.”
Ian’s stomach dropped. The friggin’ bet. Neither of them had mentioned the bet. Who was a better teacher or mentor? That was the question, wasn’t it? And then, she’d gone and seduced him, and he had to concede she had in fact won that round. But, damn it, they’d come farther than that. Hadn’t they?
She stared at him as if daring him to argue. “I did lose the bet, didn’t I?” Damn this arrangement. Surely she was feeling some of the same doubts he was feeling about their ability to keep their relationship purely a mentor/mentee bargain.
“You did indeed lose the bet?” She did air quotes around the word lose. “Which by default means you have to teach me everything you can about sex and sexual tension.”
He stamped down the desire gnawing at his throat to once again say this was a bad idea. “Please remind me to never take you up on a bet ever again.”
“Does that mean you’re going to uphold your end of the one we have in place?”
“I’ll make you a deal, if I can find out more about the people hosting the party, and they are legitimate, then we’ll go. Not because I want to, but because I’ll keep my promise to teach you about sex this week.”
She cheered and clapped her hands. “You’re the best. How will you do that?”
He shook his head. He was a friggin’ idiot. “I’ll do what any endowment brat would do. I’ll hire a private detective.”
She plopped her elbows back up on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Speaking of endowments. I should say, yours did not disappoint.”
He chuckled. “I aim to please.”
The waitress came and cleared their table.
“Oh that you did,” Kinley said, giving him an exaggerated wink. “In fact, let it never be said I’m not anything if not a gracious bet winner. That being said, I owe you big time for agreeing to take me to a sex party.”
He crossed his arms and sat back. Was there a silver lining in this fiasco? “Big enough to answer a question for me?”
She pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose and glanced at him over the top of them. “I was thinking a blowjob would be a great thank you. But sure, if you want the answer to a question, I guess I could grant you that instead.”
“Tell me why you and your last boyfriend broke up.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ian and Kinley slid their masks into place before he raised his hand to knock at the front door of the Robinson House, a pre-Civil War reproduction of Tara from Gone with the Wind. Before he could knock, an intimidating black man dressed in a red tuxedo, wearing a black half-mask, opened the door.
Kinley stiffened next to Ian.
Was she afraid? He drew her to his side. Or was she having second thoughts about what they were doing? He kissed her temple. It had been twenty-four hours, but he was still reeling from the knowledge she’d cried out his name during an orgasm given to her by another man. Of course she’d gone on to say that it was a fluke, a mind-meltdown on her behalf because her brother had mentioned Ian’s name earlier that day in a conversation, but Ian had latched onto that tidbit of information like a pit bull to a steak. Because, come on, it’d been ten years. If he was still on her mind—and while in the throes of passion, no-less—then Kinley hadn’t been nearly as indifferent to him as she’d claimed.
He cursed this wretched deal they’d struck yet again. They should be back in their hotel room, in bed, where he’d devote the next twelve hours to making her scream his name, over and over again. So he could etch himself into her mind for another ten years.
But no. A promise was a promise. That promised stemmed from a bullshit bet. And here they were. At a friggin’ fantasy bash.
One of these days, he really needed to learn to tell this woman no.
The man who answered the door didn’t smile. “Names?” He had a no-nonsense voice.
“Brad and Angelina.” Ian gave him their stage names. Names they were assigned after being selected to attend the party. The invitation he’d found in the elevator had only been the beginning of the process.
Once he called and RSVP’d, he’d been required to send photographs of himself and Kinley. From there, he had to wait to hear back from the hostess to see if they’d been chosen by a committee to be allowed to come to the party.
Then he had to give permission for them to do a background check on them.
His detective reported that Fantasy Bashes threw friendly parties all over the country for young couples and single women. They were regularly attended by beautiful partygoers from all over the world.
They were known for their intimate sensual ambiance and welcomed newcomers and first-timers.
“Very good.” He stepped back. “My name is Dan.”
A woman stepped out from behind Dan. She had on a dark green nightgown that squeezed her boobs into a gravity-defying display of cleavage.
Dan placed his hand on
her shoulder. “This is my wife, Charlie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ian said. “I’m Brad and this is Angelina.”
Kinley stepped forward and held out her hand. “It’s nice…to meet you.” Her voice sounded different to him. Hesitant. He placed his hand in the small of her back. If she was having second thoughts, they would go.
“It’s very nice to meet the two of you,” Dan said, shaking Ian’s hand and kissing Kinley’s. “Have you done this before?”
Was the tension in the air his imagination or real? “This is our first.” Ian glanced past the host. He saw a wide hallway painted a rich red with a lot of doors. No people spilling out. No shindig underway. No sound, barring faint jazz music.
“Then my wife will explain the rules. Rules you must follow.”
Charlie smiled. Her eyelashes fluttering through her white mask. She stepped away from the door. “Please follow me.” Her voice was low, soft, and perfectly southern. Charming.
Dan stood back and allowed them to enter.
Ian took Kinley’s hand and followed. “Do you live here?” he asked Charlie. His detective said the house belonged to a couple, not Fantasy Bashes.
The house sat in the middle of a secluded lot. A wall of trees surrounded the perimeter—a throw-back of a large plantation home. From what he could tell in the dark, while the car-service drove down the winding driveway, the groomed grounds were top notch. Obviously an expert cared for them. They were a long way away from the Strip.
“No one lives here.” Charlie stopped next to a door and opened it. She motioned for them to enter first.
A large red divan was situated in the middle of the room. A fire burned low in the belly of a fireplace whose chimney extended to the top of eighteen-foot ceilings. On the wall above the mantle hung a huge flat screen television.
“There is a remote on the divan’s arm. Please turn the television on and watch the video. When you are ready, knock on the door, and you will be escorted to the party. Or, if you desire, you may go home.” With those simple instructions, she turned and left them alone in the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked Kinley, who’d been unusually quiet. Since when did she become the silent type? “We can go home at any time.”
She lifted her chin and glanced at him. “Do you know Dan and Charlie?”
The question surprised him. “Not exactly. I think I met her in an elevator at the conference. But with the mask, it’s hard to say for sure.” He took her hand and kissed her palm.
She gave him a smile and then tugged her hand away. “That tickles.”
“You look so beautiful.” It was all he could do to keep his hands off of her. He’d thought of a few other ways he wanted to make love to her. “Perhaps, we should leave and go back to the hotel. Do what we do so well.”
“You’re looking mighty fine yourself in your tuxedo, Mr. Thompson. But I do declare, it sounds like you may be getting cold feet.”
He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He leaned down and captured her lips in a short kiss. “Or maybe a case of possessiveness.”
She touched her fingers to her lips. “You’re very good at confusing me. You’re the one who said I needed real experience in order to be able to write erotic romance well.”
“I did, didn’t I? Shall we watch the tape and see what we’re getting ourselves into?”
She nodded and walked to the divan. For a moment, he just stared. Dressed in a long red dress that hugged all her curves, and displayed her ass like an hourglass, he’d been entranced all evening. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and hung down and around her shoulders in a cascade of curls. A zipper held the dress up. Easy to unzip. Easy to step out of. Easy to have sex in.
He sat down beside her and turned on the television. The first scene on the screen was of a bedroom. A bed—the size of three king beds pushed together—crowded the room. On the bed were a group of men and women engaged in sexual acts.
“Oh, wowza,” Kinley said, her hand coming to her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting that right off the bat.”
Ian chuckled.
To the side were cafe style tables. Men and women sat at the tables. Some were watching those on the bed and openly masturbating, others were drinking and talking as if alone in the world.
As quickly as the show appeared, the screen went dark.
“Shall we go home?” Ian asked, willing her to say yes.
Kinley glanced at him. Glanced at the door. “Did you notice they were all wearing bracelets?”
He frowned. She didn’t sound like a woman ready to go home. “Really?” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.
She smoothed the skirt of her dress. “Men don’t wear bracelets. How could you not notice they had them on?”
He crossed his leg, resting his foot atop his knee, and reminded himself of his promise to her. “What kind of bracelets?”
She shrugged. “Some type of charm bracelets.”
The movie came back on. Charlie and Dan were sitting on a couch. They were dressed in sleepwear. Charlie spoke. “Anything legal or within reason is allowable at one of our bashes. Everyone here is an adult and consenting.”
Kinley shivered. She reached out and touched Ian’s hand, lacing her fingers with his.
He kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”
“Perfect. Just a little nervous,” she responded.
“In the baskets, sitting on the table under the window, are charms,” Charlie said.
Ian fetched the basket and placed it on the couch between them.
“Choose the charms that represent the things you are willing to experience. The ping-pong paddle represents your willingness to allow another couple to spank you. If you wear a paddle with a pair of eyeglasses, it represents that you are willing to allow another couple to watch you being spanked,” Dan said.
“If you wear the number two on your bracelet, this symbolizes you are willing to swap partners,” Charlie said.
Kinley picked up a charm of the number two. She held it up to the light and stared at it before placing it back in the basket.
Ian sighed in relief.
“A three or higher represents your willingness to participate in group sex similar to what you just watched,” Charlie said.
Kinley explored the charms in the basket but didn’t pick any up.
“The handcuffs tell other couples you are into bondage and are willing to participate in light BDSM. We do not allow anything beyond light BDSM,” Dan said.
Kinley glanced up at Ian. “Let’s not do that.”
“Okay,” he said, smiling. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with doing.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead, glad she’d said no to that experience. He’d never be able to allow another person to harm her in any way.
On the screen, Dan spoke. “If you wear a bracelet with no charms, you are telling other party participants you are new, and you want to watch and learn. We recommend this for all first-timers.”
The television went black.
Kinley and Ian stared at one another.
“I’m good with just watching,” he said.
She licked her lips. Shook her head. “Nope. I’m doing this. We’re here. There’s no going back now.”
He swallowed the bitter tasting lump in his throat.
She squared her shoulders. “I say we wear the number two on our bracelets.”
He hissed out a breath. The words were like a gunshot to the heart—the pain intense. “You’re killing me, Foster.” He said the words in a joking tone, but he wasn’t joking. At all. What was wrong with him? Why had he brought her here? He wanted more than a few nights with her. A lot more. Why was he just now letting that truth into his brain?
The fact was, he didn’t want any of this. He didn’t need a threesome to be happy. He needed Kinley. And if she wanted non-vanilla sex, he could give her that. Without adding additional people to the mix.
But he’d made a promise. To go back on the promise would be to break his word. He wasn’t a liar.
She smiled like he’d made her extremely happy. Like she was completely unaware of the storm raging inside of him. “Somebody should have done that a long time ago.”
She’d have her week of kink. “And somebody needs a spanking.”
Her brows furrowed.
Ian figured the best way to handle tonight was to approach it like the pulling off of a band-aid—just get it done. He grabbed a bracelet, slipped the number two on the silver band, and placed the bracelet on her wrist.
She created a matching bracelet for him and then insisted on being the one to take the basket of bracelets and parts back to the window desk when he made a move to do it himself.
He walked to the door and knocked as they’d been instructed.
The door opened.
Charlie and Dan came in. “Ian, you will go with Dan. Kinley, you will come with me. You will meet at the party. If you want to come together as a couple you may. If you want to circulate as singles you may.”
“I prefer walking into the party with Kinley on my arm,” Ian said. He needed to claim her as his.
Kinley laughed. “Nonsense. If we’re going to do this, let’s go all the way. Let’s be mysterious and seductive.”
He frowned but allowed himself to be led out of the room.
…
As soon as the door closed, Kinley turned on Charlie. “What in the hell are you up to? Why are we here? Why are you here?”
Charlie laughed loudly. “Hosting a party.”
“Is this a Passion Party?” Kinley felt like the universe was spinning out of control, and she didn’t have a tight grip on reality. And why in the hell did she insist on wearing numbers on her bracelet?
She thought for sure Ian would put his foot down and demand they only watch tonight. What in the hell was he doing letting her have her way in all of this? Did keeping a promise mean that much to him? She’d been ready to shove that number two charm up his nose—gah, that stubborn man!
“This is our first business. Selling Passion Party products is a natural extension of what we do as sex party hosts,” Charlie said.