Going Under Page 7

  An excellent argument for keeping this to a one-night stand—no need to mail-order fresh makeup. One-point-five night stand, that was.

  She considered jewelry, but that sent her for a little spin. All of it pre-dated her new identity and everything seemed to shout of who she’d been before. Maybe only she would know that those pearl earrings were from her debutante ball and the diamonds a wedding gift from Henry. Both corresponded to her carefully sanitized public identity—so much easier to base lies on a framework of truth and unphotoshopped photographs, in case anyone looked too closely—but she’d never worked up the right stories to go with them.

  One thing for certain, if she continued the affair with Fox, as curious as he’d proved to be so far, she’d have to tighten up her details. Probably time for that anyway. No getting comfortable. For the time being, she locked the jewelry away again.

  Emily of Lyra didn’t go for bling anyway.

  She’d left her hair down after blowing it dry, meaning to leave it that way, but it made her feel weird. She knew it had gotten really long—she washed it regularly, after all. Still the way it hung heavy down her back, the ends brushing her behind, gave her an oddly vulnerable feeling. She looked more like the idealistic young woman she’d been and the sight bothered cynical Em more than she’d have predicted.

  So she brushed it all up into the high ponytail at her crown, feeling more normal, slipped on a pair of black leather boots and headed downstairs to make a quick bite to eat. Dinah took her usual spot on the top of the silver trashcan lid, supervising the dinner prep. Which ended up being a sandwich, because she didn’t want to get more elaborate than that. Buzzing with excitement, she felt more jazzed to see a guy than she remembered being since her teens, with all that silly, hopeful expectation. The long privation, no doubt.

  “I have a date tonight,” she confided to the cat. Between girls, they could admit it was an actual date. “Keep an eye on Anansi, would you? And no getting on the kitchen counter.”

  Dinah blinked agreeably, eyeing the ham. Em gave her a piece of it and some extra kibble to munch on for a few minutes before she picked it up to keep Anansi out of it. Reflecting that she should have planned better—so rusty—she went back upstairs to brush her teeth and apply a fresh coat of lipstick. She looked okay, she decided. Definitely passable.

  And happy.

  Chapter Eight

  The doorbell rang and Fox welcomed the sound with relief. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Emily had bailed. She was on the hook but by no means fully reeled in. He even braced himself for disappointment, just in case the person at his door proved to be some neighbor borrowing sugar instead.

  Hallelujah, it was her.

  Looking delectable too. She had the kind of natural beauty that made her gorgeous in any light, but standing on his porch in a black leather jacket and faded-to-snug jeans, she damn near took his breath away.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said and hesitated.

  Apparently she took his brain away too. “Come in, come in.” He took her hand, drawing her inside, then, unable to resist, lifted it over her head and spun her in a dancer’s twirl. The jeans looked even better from behind. She had washed her hair, but put it back up in the ponytail. He awarded himself a point for pegging that one. Time enough to get her to let it down. Meanwhile, the nape of her neck offered some very kissable spots. “You are one beautiful woman, Miss Emily.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged out of the leather jacket. “Why do you call me that? Most everyone calls me Em.”

  He took it from her and hung it up in the hall closet. “At first, because you hadn’t said I could call you by your nickname. Some people are funny about that. And now...” He trailed off, wondering how much to reveal.

  “And now?” Her red sweater clung to her breasts, not huge but enticingly full and nicely showcased by the low neckline. He allowed himself one look as he turned, before determinedly meeting her eyes.

  “Now I kind of like the librarian vibe. Would you punish me if I’m naughty, Miss Emily?”

  She kind of half laughed, as if not sure to take him seriously. Hell, he wasn’t sure how serious he was.

  “Is that what you’re into?” she asked, cocking her head. Not offended. Maybe interested.

  “There’s not much I’m not into. You?”

  “Umm.” She blushed. He absolutely loved that she could blush. “I might be out of my depth here.”

  “Not at all.” He took her hand again and guided her into the living room. Get her away from the front door, to remove the obvious temptation to run away. “Wine?”

  She took in the cheerful fire, the bottle of good red wine. Then gave him that look, the one that was rapidly becoming his favorite. “I thought we agreed on no romance.”

  “This is not romance.” He poured wine for both of them and handed her a glass, which she accepted readily enough. “These are basic creature comforts. Though, if you prefer, we could sit out on the deck in the cold rain and be miserable.”

  Her silvery eyes sparkled but she didn’t laugh out loud. “It’s not raining.”

  “Your jacket was damp.”

  “From the mist.”

  “I have so much to learn from you.” He raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”

  She didn’t love that, but didn’t object, clinking her glass against his and sipping. “What’s up with the index cards?”

  “Those, my sweet, are for our game. Care to sit?”

  Perching on the edge of the couch, she slipped a hand between her knees, keeping her fingers curled around the stem of the wineglass. Not entirely at ease. He set a stack of playing cards on the table and placed the pile of inverted sticky notes next to it. After a quick shower and shave, he’d used the rest of his time to prepare those.

  “Strip poker?” she asked. “Isn’t that a bit prosaic?”

  “It would be,” he agreed, “though it’s a classic for a reason. I’m totally amenable to playing that also, or instead. But if you’re thinking of getting me naked so you can take advantage of me, I have to warn you—you’re not getting any until tomorrow night.”

  She frowned at him but relaxed a little. Definitely a good call not to let her rush this. “I do believe you’re a tease, Mr. Mullins.”

  “One of my very favorite things.” He shuffled the cards, the way his gambling father taught him. Half the game is dazzle, son. Sparkle and they don’t notice the rest. “No, we’re playing a variation of Go Fish.”

  “You’re kidding.” But she snickered and sipped her wine. “Are we ten years old again?”

  “The games of our youth live on. But okay, this will be a more interesting variation. Kind of a blend with Spin the Bottle.” He gave her a very serious look. “Which means we’re thirteen.”

  She laughed, not loudly, but with a genuine smile. Relishing the triumph, he grinned back at her. Getting a woman to laugh came second only to getting her to come. Another kind of foreplay.

  “The rules are simple.” He dealt them each seven cards. “We start the same way as Go Fish, but if I don’t have the card you’re looking for, you can fish from the deck. But if that card doesn’t match the card either, you have to draw from the sticky note pile.”

  “And what’s on those?” She reached for them and he snagged her hand to stop her.

  “Ah, ah, ah. They’re a surprise.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you made them up, which means whatever is on them is slanted in your favor.”

  “True. Let’s add this rule, if you don’t like what’s on the note—for either of us—then you have the option to make up your own on the spot.” He turned her hand over and, watching her reaction, pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. A tremor ran through her, just as when he’d deliberately brushed her nipple on t
he beach. Such a sensual and responsive woman. He couldn’t wait to get her naked. “Ready to play?”

  She tugged her hand away, took a sip of her wine, set it on the coffee table and took up her cards. With great amusement, he watched her put them in order. People revealed their characters in ways they never thought about when playing games. “I’m first? Do you have any twos?”

  “Go fish.”

  She drew a card from the deck, wrinkled her nose in disgust and slid it into place in her hand. Then she eyed the pile of sticky notes, sighed a little, and took the top one. “These sticky notes have no sticky.”

  “I cut them off. Have you ever tried shuffling a stack of sticky notes? It might be the third circle of hell.”

  She snorted, studying the words on the note. Reining in his impatience to know which question she’d drawn, he waited her out. She glanced up at him. “Really?”

  “You can give as much or as little detail as you want to. Or, remember you have the option to make up your own question to answer. That one can go back in the pile.”

  But she tapped the edge of the stickyless note on her knee, her eyes thoughtful. Possibly mischievous. “I propose a rule change.”

  “After the game has already started? I don’t know.” He drank from his own wine and pretended to consider the matter. “What do you propose?”

  “We both have to answer the question.”

  “Done.”

  She shook her head at him, laughing softly. “You’re a terrible negotiator.”

  “And you’re gorgeous. What’s the question?”

  She read off the note, eyebrows raised at him. “‘What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?’”

  Though he’d added the question himself, a spark went through him. He whistled softly. “Gold standard question, right off the bat. The perils of randomness.”

  “It’s not truly random, though. The order is biased in a number of ways.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s not important. So, the person who draws the card answers first, I suppose.” She tapped the note again, thinking and looking ever so slightly flushed. The fire, the wine or embarrassment? “I’m boring, I told you. I once had sex in a car. That’s probably as kinky as it gets.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “These are supposed to be honest answers.”

  “Scout’s honor! Your turn.”

  “I don’t want to say now.”

  Her eyes lit with delight. “I think that’s a forfeit.”

  “Make up a question for me then.”

  “No, no, no.” She shook a finger at him. “If one person answers, the other one does too.”

  “That’s not a rule.”

  “Yes, it is. I just added it.” She gave him a taunting smile, clearly enjoying herself, and sipped her wine. “Spill, Fox.”

  He considered lying, as he suspected she had, not wanting to scare her away so early in the game. Something he hadn’t planned for when he thought this up. Digging out more about her had been on his mind, not confessing the depths of his depravity. Of course, “kinkiest” could be subject to interpretation. But he also didn’t want to temporize and then later have to admit to having already done something she might be interested in trying.

  “I’m beginning to worry,” she teased. “Is there a sordid moment with a Taiwanese underaged prostitute in your past?”

  “No—never anyone underage. Solid rule with me.”

  She leaned in, interested. What was she hoping to hear? “But?”

  “I’m realizing it’s difficult to rate kinkiest with someone who thinks having sex in a car counts as wild behavior.”

  “Not wild at all. I was young, stupid and didn’t even come.” She seemed a little surprised to have confided that and sat back again.

  “You would have with me.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  The way her mouth formed the words made him want to grab her, kiss her and prove it right there.

  “You still haven’t answered the question. At this rate, we’ll be here all night before we run out of cards.”

  He loved watching her lose that careful guard and enjoy herself. Already the evening was an unqualified success. Now to tempt her without scaring her. “I’m going to pick a ménage.”

  Her mouth fell open a little. Tantalizingly. “Seriously? Two women at once?”

  “One woman and one man.” Hopefully it wasn’t a mistake, telling her that.

  “Wow.” She considered it, the wheels of her mind working, visibly decided not to ask for more detail. “Is that something you’re really into?”

  “I’ll answer that if you tell me why you didn’t come in the car.”

  She shrugged one shoulder, reached for her wine. “I don’t always—something for you to keep in mind, with your high expectations—and it was just...meh.”

  More she wasn’t saying there. A sadness, but not a huge one. “I liked the ménage okay, but I prefer one on one,” he told her, observing her reaction. “It allows me to focus on my partner. That said, if you’d want to bring in a third, I’d be willing to accommodate you.”

  That flustered her. “Would be difficult to plan that in time for tomorrow night.”

  “I mean at some point down the road.” He deliberately baited her with that. No way would this be a one-night-only deal.

  She looked away, setting her glass down again, not replying to that. “A ménage doesn’t seem kinky enough to hesitate over.”

  “Says the woman who insists her wildest exploit was a meh experience in a car.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  “I’m not going to.” He grinned when she looked surprised. “Not yet. There were other elements, but I think I answered the question.”

  “Then it’s your turn.”

  “Do you have any Aces?”

  “Ha! No, go fish.”

  He pulled a two from the pile and tucked it in his hand, then studied the sticky note pile, wishing he had not shuffled the damn things.

  “Hoist by your own petard?” Emily inquired sweetly.

  “Something like that,” he muttered and snagged the top note. “Ah, a nice fastball down the middle. Lost my virginity at 12. You?” He handed her the note as proof.

  She made a face. “I hate this game.”

  “No weaseling out.”

  “How could you have been 12?” She burst out. “Who does that?”

  “I was an early bloomer and didn’t know better.”

  “Thus your solid rule on no underage?”

  “That and other reasons. Also no animals. Total ability to consent is paramount. And now I get two more detail questions on your answer.”

  “Shit!” She thumped her knee. Then covered her mouth with her hand and muttered into it. Still, he heard the answer.

  “Twenty-one—really? Were you waiting to be able to have a drink afterwards?”

  “Shut up. I was bringing up the median for pervs like you.”

  “Okay. Obvious follow-up. Why did you wait so long?”

  “Lack of opportunity, mostly.” She retrieved her glass and tapped her nails on it. They were short and unpainted but neatly shaped. “I just wasn’t one of those girls who got asked out much and I never had much reason to do the asking. And your other question? I’m magnanimously not counting the snipe about drinking age, which technically was a question.”

  He really wanted to ask about her date at that debutante ball. This was the payback for knowing more about people than you were supposed to. “Were you in love?” The question popped out for no clear reason and he wanted to yank it back. Why the hell had he asked her that?

  “Oh! I’m sorry. That’s a personal, emotional-baggage question which is against the rules.” She gave him an arch loo
k. “As your penalty, you must answer a free-form question from our panel of judges.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Do your worst. But it has to be a sexual history question. Stick to theme.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in. Close enough for the scent of wine and warm orange blossoms to shoot through him to tighten his balls. “Why this game, Fox?”

  He leaned in, too, pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and stroked his fingers through it. “Because I didn’t want this to be over too soon.”

  “What’s with you and the anticipation thing?”

  “Is that an extra question?”

  “Okay, sure. And to front-load it, I thought I was in love, but I wasn’t. There.” But she didn’t pull back.

  “The anticipation thing is about discovery. About the tension and moments like this.” He leaned in a bit more and, when she didn’t move, indulged in kissing those alluring pink lips, a deeper, sweeter color with the lipstick she wore. This time she opened her mouth for him right away, hot and urgent. She made a little sound, a kind of moan deep in her throat and, for all his talk of anticipation, he wanted nothing more than to push her back on the couch and bury himself in her until that sound became a scream of ecstasy.

  Because of that, he broke off the kiss, immeasurably pleased by the flash of frustration on her face.

  “I think we should just have sex,” she said.

  He nearly agreed, more than over the edge at that point.

  “Get it over with,” she continued. “Purge this lust already.”

  And that was enough to change his mind. She’d asked about him growing tired of her while she plotted all the while to get away from him as fast as possible.

  He kissed her again, a brush of lips, and said, “Your turn.”

  Chapter Nine

  Em didn’t know whether to laugh, smack him or make a grab for that tantalizing bulge in his jeans and force matters between them.

  So, she studied her hand. “Nines.”

  “You have to ask if I have any,” he retorted, eyes alight with desire and fun.