Simon Says...

by Donna Kauffman

  “You didn’t tell me he was so old. Or that his roomie was so young.”

  “They’re always young. And what difference does that make?”

  “None, just that it was kind of a jolt seeing him in that towel, and looking at that and thinking about the ridiculous giggling and—”

  “Why in hell were you with Tolliver in a towel?”

  “Calm down.” Although a part of her undeniably perked up a little at the implied possessiveness. She hated jealous men. But on Simon it was kind of hot. And a little sweet. “He—Tolliver—was in the towel,” she said, leaning again. “I was just carrying them. When I got there, Tolliver and model-of-the-moment were taking a shower. Together. With clear audio.”

  She felt him shudder a little. “Oh.”

  “I know.” She rubbed her arms. “But I thought it was good luck for me, because then I had free reign in the room without them knowing I was even there. I figured the shower getting turned off would be my signal to scoot, or at least get back to doing something maidly.”

  “Maidly?”

  “Technical term.”

  His lips twitched, even though she could feel that his body was still singing with tension. “So, what happened?”

  “I didn’t see the velvet box anywhere, or, for that matter, any jewelry, which led me to think he was using the room safe. Which is in the closet. It was hard to balance with all the towels—”

  “What towels? What closet were you in?”

  “The walk-in closet. The towels were my cover.”

  “Your…cover.”

  “Right. Anyway, I was trying to crouch down and check to see if the safe was in use—don’t even ask for the code, the guest can set his or her own—and it looked like it was being used. Then I lost my balance, sprawled all over Miss Universe’s vast shoe collection, and that’s when the shower went off.”

  Simon straightened. “What did you do?”

  “I managed to get into the other room before he stopped me—”

  He turned to her. “Stopped you how?”

  “By saying the word ‘stop.’” She looked at him. “Are you really so anal, or just big into micromanaging?”

  “I work alone,” he said. “And I’m never anal.”

  “So, why the third degree every time I mention Tolliver?”

  His shoulders relaxed slightly, but the intensity in his gaze didn’t diminish one bit. “I don’t like you anywhere around him.”

  “If you’re worried I might become a squealer-in-waiting, don’t. Besides, I doubt I’m his type. I can actually think and speak in full sentences.”

  “I’m not worried about you—not in that way—it’s Tolliver.”

  “I can assure you he’s not my type, either.”

  “That wouldn’t necessarily stop him if he thought you had something he could use.”

  “What, you think he’d jump me or something? He can’t know I’m working with you.”

  Simon swore and abruptly stood, leaving Sophie to catch herself before falling over. “I don’t know what in the hell is wrong with me.” He paced to the window. “I shouldn’t have sent you in there.” He turned. “Did he get a clear look at you?”

  “No, not really. I had to leave the towels on the table right before I stepped out, and that was the only time we had a clear view of each other. I could have done without that, but I seriously doubt he’s the type to pay attention to the ‘idiot help’ as he called me.”

  “He notices more than you’d think.”

  “I think he needed to get back to Suzi or Candi and dry her back. I don’t think he paid any attention to me.”

  Simon said nothing, but continued to pace.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t find it. I’m guessing that was why he was so outraged to find hotel staff in his room. Because he had something to hide.”

  “Possibly. He’s not the easiest man under any circumstances.” He paced back. “You said you looked in the drawers, everything?”

  “Wherever I thought he might stash an invaluable antique. Like I said, there were all the usual trappings of guests. Clothes, shoes, makeup—oh my god, the cosmetics she uses. But not a piece of jewelry. Not so much as a watch on the dresser or nightstand. I thought that was odd.”

  “Tolliver uses a pocket watch.”

  Sophie didn’t ask how he knew that. She’d been begging for more to the story all along, but he was agitated enough at the moment that she doubted now would be the time.

  “Still, with the shoes, the designer clothes, the makeup, I’d have expected his partner would have been decked out with a jewelry store’s worth, at the least.”

  “In the safe, I’m guessing.”

  “Probably.”

  Simon finally stopped pacing and came to sit beside her again. He surprised her by turning her face to his, his touch far more gentle than his demeanor or his expression, which was still quite intense. “Thank you for being willing to help. This…situation is out of your league. I knew that, there was no excuse. I’m sorry I let you go in there. I never should have—”

  She silenced him with a kiss.

  “Sophie—”

  “It’s over. At least my part. I’m safe, okay?” She kissed him again, then paused when he continued to hold back. With her lips against his, she whispered, “Simon…please.”

  And that was all it took.

  His mouth was on her, her hands were on him. He plucked her glasses off and tossed them in the general direction of the nightstand. Her hairnet followed. And then he was kissing the side of her neck, his hands spearing through her tangled curls as he lowered her back down on the bed.

  She started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Sophie…”

  “If you think I’m going to stop, think again,” she said, yanking his shirt free of his waistband.

  When he stopped kissing her shoulder, and started to lift his head, she dragged his mouth right back down again. “Your conscience isn’t going to get the better of you for at least another…thirty minutes.”

  Then he did lift his head, and the most glorious grin was creasing his handsome face. “Only thirty minutes?”

  Wow. She might die from the pleasure of that broad, open grin alone. But at least she was going to be mighty happy in heaven.

  “I’ll let you decide,” she said, and pulled his mouth to hers.

  10

  HE HAD NO COMMON SENSE left when it came to Sophie. He wasn’t the possessive, controlling sort. Far from it. And yet there was no denying she’d roused a little of both in him, without even trying. Okay, maybe more than a little. And despite telling himself that he wasn’t going to touch her again, his hands were all over her, as was his mouth. That’s where he’d wanted them to be, if he were completely honest, since shortly after he’d blinked his eyes open at the crack of dawn this morning to find her crouching by his bed, her hand shoved into the chair cushion, and a guilty expression all over her incredibly adorable face.

  He didn’t even know her, not in any real sense, but what he did know was as intriguing as it was intoxicating. She had a smart mouth and oh-so-vulnerable gray eyes. She was confident and clever, and yet a more self-deprecating woman he’d never met. She seemed to think she was invisible, and yet she had the body of siren and the face of an angel. He couldn’t find any equilibrium around her, much less exhibit even the least bit of rational thought. She’d left him aroused, disconcerted, anxious and a little pissed off. All of which—the fact that she could even do that to him—bothered him. Pacing the floor while she was gone, being more nervous, scared even, than he could ever recall being, had only amped up those emotions.

  And as he slid his hand under her to tug at the zipper, he knew he wasn’t going to be rational about this anytime soon. Maybe if he got a taste of her, it would help him to put her—this—in perspective, to get some kind of balance back, get himself back into the mind-set he absolutely had to be in, if he was going to outwit Tolliver and get Guinn his damn emerald. Back to where he’d bee
n right up until the moment he’d caught her breaking into his room.

  Her hands were slipping around his waistband as she pulled his shirt the rest of the way free, and his body leaped to full, erect attention. He stopped tangling with her zipper and pulled her hands away, pinning them next to her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittering with desire and sheer joy, and he’d never, ever, wanted anything or anyone so badly in his entire life.

  He let out a long sigh.

  “Don’t,” she said, wariness creeping into her expression.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he assured her.

  “Simple solution. Don’t.”

  “I’m being completely honest when I say that I’ve never wanted to continue, with such great enthusiasm, and for as long as I could hold out, possibly ever.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt, then.”

  “Sophie—”

  “Simon.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “You are impossibly enticing.”

  She laughed at that, a purely delighted sound that only served to bring him to an even more urgent state.

  “Why, because I say your name in a pleading whine?”

  “Because you look like innocence personified, and yet…” He slid his hands down her arms, and along the ample curves of her body. “You feel like the most sinful thing I’ve ever—”

  “Simon,” she said, only this time her eyes had drifted shut, and her voice had taken on a distinct needy, breathy quality as she arched into him, urging him to continue his exploration.

  “I have work to do,” he said, his hands still moving down along the sides of her hips, along her thighs. His body begged for release. “Serious, important work.”

  “I know. And I’m still willing to help.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, leaning in and taking a long, lingering taste of the slender white column of her neck, so beautifully presented to him as she arched further, pushing her head back into the mattress.

  He didn’t want to think about what he’d done, what he’d gotten her to do. He just wanted more of this…this mindless exploration, this giving in to the basic demands of need and want. He should be worried about what she’d expect afterward, from him, but realized, in that moment, that he was far more concerned with what he’d want. From her.

  His mind hung on that, even as he slid his hands up her thighs, pushing her ridiculous uniform up as he went. He moved his body down over hers, trailing nips and kisses along her now exposed shoulder, which was just as damnably soft and sweet as the rest of what he’d discovered thus far.

  There could be no relationship, of course. Their lives were far too divergent. She seemed to be okay, taking this for what it was, a crazy chance encounter that they, two consenting adults, were simply taking full advantage of. Why he couldn’t get his head in that same place, he had no idea. But he knew, the more carnal knowledge he had of Sophie, the more knowledge he’d crave, of all kinds. Anything to do with her, her wants, needs, hopes, dreams, he’d want to know all about it. Hell, he already did.

  She was writhing now, as his hands slipped up over her hips, under the uniform skirt, only to discover something quite flimsy and lacy. He didn’t know why that surprised him. She was, in every way, intensely female. He supposed it was her no-nonsense talk, the way she viewed the world and had no problem expressing those views and expecting others to concur with her adroit conclusions. She wasn’t always careful with her mouth, and he liked that about her. Dear God, he liked all kinds of things about that mouth. Her tongue, so sharp at times, so at odds with her innocent Bambi eyes and pale, soft skin. He wanted her to do all kinds of things with that tongue.

  Then there was the rest of her body, made for a man to sink himself into, every aching inch. He could only imagine how bloody fantastic she was going to feel wrapped around him, holding him deep inside her, and he wanted to find that out more than he wanted his next breath. Which, given how hard his heart was pounding, was becoming increasingly difficult, the more he explored.

  He slid farther down as he pushed the skirt up higher still, until he could see the soft pink cotton, trimmed with lace, and a tiny bow, right where he wanted to press a deep kiss…before moving lower. He kissed just below her navel, making her gasp and pump her hips. He wrapped his hands around her hips, his fingers sinking into the softness of her lush backside as he urged her upward, and pulled at the tiny bow with his teeth.

  “Simon,” she said, the word more gasp than anything.

  “Mmm” was all he could manage, as he breathed in the scent of her, so ready for him, for everything he wanted to do to her, with her.

  He tugged at the bow with his teeth, pulling it down, using his hands to slide the tiny straps down over the soft flesh of her hips and thighs.

  She gasped and her hips jolted when he kissed her intimately, then she groaned in deep appreciation as he slid his tongue over her…and deep into her. Her hips jerked, then quickly found a rhythm with his strokes, short, heavy gasps alternated with long, appreciative moans, until she was writhing beneath him, slender fingers buried in his hair, holding on for sweet life as he took her, trembling, shaking, over the edge. He pressed kisses along the soft skin of her inner thigh as the quakes continued to roll over and through her, deeply gratified that he’d brought her such pleasure. He looked up, expecting to find her head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, only to find her looking steadily at him, lips parted, and a somewhat stunned expression on her lovely face.

  A warmth filled him then, a kind of pervasive spreading of joy that was quite insidious. Yes, he’d given her an orgasm. First try. Not bad. In fact, he was damn happy, and hopeful for a repeat performance. But that wasn’t what the joy was all about. More an aftereffect, proof of what he’d already suspected. Which was that partnering Sophie—in anything—was likely to always be an enlightening and particularly satisfying endeavor.

  Then she let him go and reached for his shoulders, sinking her fingers in and trying to pull him up. “Come here,” she said, her voice all husky and sweet. “You give great prelude, you know, but there’s more. The more you might be particularly interested in.”

  “Sophie, wait—”

  “I couldn’t be a safer partner,” she assured him. “I’d show you my medical records, but that might kill the mood a bit, given I don’t carry them on me. I know you have no reason to just believe—”

  “That’s not it.”

  She tipped up her head and looked at him. “Then what is it? If it’s protection, well, I’m safe there, too, I—”

  “That’s not it. I mean, I have that covered. Or would. Will. In a manner of speaking.”

  She smiled a little at that. “Good to know.”

  Oh, but he wanted to consume her, every sweet, smart, sassy, kind, trusting, wary, innocent, perfect inch of her. “What I meant was that…” He trailed off, realizing there were far more things he wanted to say to her, tell her, than were wise. Especially in a moment like this. “I wanted to…” He kissed her inner thigh, then nudged closer, then kissed her right where it made her hips arch again, made her gasp. “Again,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you could, and I rather liked taking you there the first time, so…”

  She stopped tugging at his shoulders and gave herself over to his questing tongue. “Seriously?”

  He laughed at that. And it felt damn fantastic. He grinned against the inside of her thigh. “Quite, actually.”

  “Are all Kiwis as…generous as you?” she panted, writhing, as he continued his sweet assault.

  “Can’t speak for them. Only for myself.” He lifted his head, just briefly, to look up at her, so enticing and stunningly beautiful, sprawling naked, waiting for him. She was so responsive, so…perfect. “Are the men of your acquaintance that lacking?”

  “Let’s just say that a man with your looks and charm isn’t generally expected to have a you-first mentality in bed.”

  “I believe I’ve been insulted.” In response, she sunk her hands into his hair a
nd moved his mouth back where she wanted it. He chuckled…but did as commanded. And when she came again, they both groaned throughout her sweet release.

  She reached for him as he pushed himself up farther, until he was lying next to her.

  She tucked her leg over his and the entire movement had a familiarity to it that caught at that same part of him that she’d been so effortlessly snagging since he’d busted her foray into a life of crime.

  “I was just saying,” she said, flushed and still short of breath as she pushed his hair from his face with delicate fingertips, “that if it were normal for men of your ilk to be generous in bed, I wouldn’t have been so surprised.”

  “I have ilk?”

  She pushed at him and he responded by rolling her to her back and sliding on top of her. “All I know,” he said, “is that making you climax is sexy as bloody hell, and speaking quite selfishly, my ilk and I thoroughly enjoyed the repeat performance.”

  “You know what I think?” she said, as she shoved his pants down.

  He kissed the tip of her nose, shifting off her just long enough to strip the rest of the way down. She was tugging him back before his clothes hit the floor, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Truly, she was irresistible. “What do you think?”

  She shifted under him so she was between his thighs. “I think it’s time your ilk stopped talking and started— Oh.” She tipped her head back and arched sharply up to meet his first thrust, which filled her perfectly, if the way she held him was any indication. “Right. That.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said, smiling as he kissed the side of her neck, and started moving inside her. How she could amuse him and make him so hard it hurt, all at the same time, he had no idea. And, at the moment, didn’t much care. Being deep inside Sophie was like sinking into heaven. In fact, he could happily die right then. Well, perhaps a few moments beyond right then. He moved faster…deeper. She urged him to push harder as she dragged her uniform the rest of the way up and over her head.