Barbara Dunlop - A Secret Life

“No,” he answered honestly. “Can you?”

She glanced away.

After a moment of terse silence, he dragged his hand through his hair. “Is that it, then? We say goodbye here?”

Her lips were pursed tight, and she fixed her stare on the far wall.

“You have the greatest moment of your professional career.” He tried unsuccessfully to keep his voice from breaking. “And then you walk away from me forever?”

Her tone was bitter. “You think that was the greatest moment of my professional career?”

“It was Charlie Long.”

“Ma’am?” queried the attendant.

Joan looked up.

“Your car is out front.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Anthony.

“No, you’re not.”

“Is there a problem?” asked the attendant, coming around the small desk to frown at Anthony.

“No problem,” said Joan, increasing her pace.

“No problem,” Anthony echoed, keeping up.

“Go away,” she hissed.

“Not a chance.”

“You’ve been fired.”

“Not until we’re out of L.A.”

Joan stopped abruptly and turned back to the anxious attendant. “Could you please call security?”

Anthony couldn’t believe he’d heard right. “Don’t be ridicu-”

“This man is bothering me.”

HEATHER CAME to a halt beside Samuel at the bottom of a ladder-like staircase that disappeared into the gloom of the opera house cupola. They’d already explored the dusty, cluttered attic above the stage in their quest for a safe stakeout. Fading light filtered through the cupola windows, adding to the illumination of Samuel’s flashlight.

“If you’re afraid to climb-” there was a thread of amusement behind his jab “-you can always wait here.”

“I’m not afraid,” Heather lied, eyeing the steep staircase, working on quelling the butterflies in her stomach. She was pretty sure she could make it to the top. It was getting back down that might kill her.

“You sure?” he asked.

There were numerous windows in the cupola, and Samuel had assured her they’d have a view of his house from three sides. They were armed with a low light camera in the hopes of getting a shot of whoever had broken in. Vertigo or not, Heather wasn’t missing out on the action.

“I’m sure,” she said, taking a bracing breath.

“Great.” His full lips curved into a calculating smile.

“What?” she asked.

His voice turned seductive. “You remember what you promised me?”

“No,” she lied, not meeting his eyes, even as her pulse jumped.

“Liar,” he purred in her ear.

Of course she was lying. But the promise had been an impulse born of fear. And he hadn’t died. And, despite the buzz building in her body, she really wasn’t ready for whatever kinky sex thing he had in mind.

She put her foot on the bottom step.

He caught her by the arm. “Not so fast.”

“We need to get into position,” she said.

His chuckle told her how he’d interpreted her words, while his thumb drew little circles on her bare arm. She was suddenly, acutely conscious of her short, cotton skirt and her tight tank top.

“You know what I meant,” she said tartly, attempting to pull away. But a little part of her-okay, a big part of her-wanted him to push a little.

“A promise is a promise,” he mocked, as if reading her mind.

“I thought you were dying at the time.”

“But I lived.”

The silence stretched until she braved a look into his eyes.

Hoo boy.

Those were some sexy eyes. And his thumb was roaming toward her shoulder. Who knew a shoulder could be so arousing?

He didn’t say a word, just stared at her while the debate raged inside her head.

“What did you have in mind?” she finally asked, telling herself there was no harm in hearing him out. Maybe it wasn’t something hugely kinky. Maybe it was something normal. Although, if it was too normal, she’d be disappointed.

What was she saying?

“Take off your panties,” he rumbled.

The butterflies regrouped in her stomach. “Why?”

“Because you promised any kinky perverted thing I could dream up.”

Okay, this wasn’t looking so normal. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Not unless you tell-”

“Take them off.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

There was laughter lurking behind his eyes. He was yanking her chain. He wasn’t going to do anything awful.

Was he?

“Now,” he said.

“Fine.” She held up her index finger. “But this better not hurt.”

“It won’t hurt.”

“You promise?”

“Live a little, Heather.”

She stared at him for another second, trying to decide if she was being incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Then she reached under her skirt and hooked her thumbs around her lacy panties, pulling them down and kicking them off over her sandals.

There. She’d promised, and she was following through. It was the only honorable thing to do. She really had no choice.

He scooped them up and tucked them into his pocket.

She folded her arms over her chest, trying not to let the air currents swirling up against her damp flesh turn her on. “Now what?”

Would he tie her to the railing? Take her up against the attic wall? Had he brought along some kind of sex toy?

“We go upstairs,” he said easily, gesturing for her to precede him.

“We’re going to have kinky sex on the catwalk?”

“Who said anything about kinky sex?”

“But…” Her jaw dropped open as she realized his intent. “You pervert.”

“I think we pretty much established that already.”

She bopped him in the chest with the end of her fist. “You’re going to look up my skirt.”

“Hey, it was your idea in the first place.”

“I-”

“And it was a good one.”

“And you swore you didn’t do that kind of thing.”

“Not without permission.” He moved closer again. “Can I assume I’ve got your permission?”

“You may not.”

This time, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Never took you for a tease.”

“I’m not a tease.”

“You sure make promises you won’t keep.”

“You tricked me.”

“I did,” he nodded. “That was my master plan all along. Get shot, and get you to promise me kinky sex.”

“You’re insufferable.” It might not have been a setup, but it sure felt like a setup.

“Tell me something, Heather.”

“What?”

“Do you want to climb up those stairs in front of me?”

His question sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to tell him no, but his intent gaze told her he’d know she was lying.

Truth was, now that she really thought about it, climbing up those stairs with Samuel behind her would be daring. It would be sexy-like nothing she’d every done before, like nothing she’d ever do again.

“It’s just you and me, babe,” he rumbled, his rough fingertips brushing a tendril of hair back from her face. “None of your Boston boys will ever have to know.”

He had a point.

She lifted her lashes to gaze into his dark, sinful eyes. If she was ever going to go out on a sexual limb, now was the moment to do it. And this moment might never come again. She was more than a little nervous, but she turned away and started up the first steps.

Her skirt swished, and her thighs fanned each other as she walked up one step, then another, then another. She could feel Samuel’s gaze, hot and prickly on the backs of her legs.

The aging wood groaned and the staircase bowed as he mounted the first step. She kept climbing, and he kept pace, the distance remaining constant between them.

By the time she stepped out on the catwalk, she was a heated mass of hormones. Her skin gleamed slickly in the fading light. And it was a fight to keep from throwing herself in his arms.

Samuel moved to a floor-level window, removing the camera from around his neck. “This’ll work,” he said, then eased his big body down to lean back against the wall.

Heather stared at him in disbelief. Where was the kiss? Where was the embrace? Where was the fast, hard sex up again the wall?

“What?” he asked.

She pushed back her damp hair, trying to ignore the throbbing insistence between her legs. “I thought…”

He lifted his brows, his expression deadpan.

She took a step forward. “Then what the hell was that all about?”

He grinned. “That was about me watching you walk up a flight of stairs.”

“But-”

“You thought we’d have sex now?”

Who wouldn’t think they’d have sex now? Wasn’t that the point of foreplay? Wasn’t that the point of getting her out of her panties and talking dirty?

Unless he didn’t want sex. Was there something about the glimpse of her butt that had turned him off?

“Put the insecurity on hold,” he said, lifting his sling. “I’m waiting until I have two good arms.”

“Oh.” They couldn’t do it more than once?

He nodded out the window. “And I can’t get a picture of our thief if I’m banging you, can I?”

Okay. Fair enough. Now she just felt stupid.

His voice turned gentle. “But come and sit on my lap.”

She rolled her eyes. “Will you make up your mind?”

“I have made up my mind. I’m here for a stakeout. But you’ll make it more entertaining. Unless you think the bare floor will be more comfortable.”

She squinted down at the wooden planks. “I’d probably get splinters.”

“You probably would.” He held out his good arm.

She moved toward him. “Fine. But you keep your hands to yourself.”

He steadied her as she lowered herself into his lap. “Ah, Heather. I’ll put my hands anywhere my little heart desires.” And then he set his warm, broad palm on the top of her thigh.

“I hate you,” she said, wishing he’d take his hand away, but hoping he’d move it higher. She was a pathetic jangle of sexual need, and he had her completely under his spell.

He chuckled. “It’s not me you hate. It’s that prison you’ve locked yourself inside.”

What a ridiculous statement. “I’m not in a prison.”

His fingertip moved ever so slightly, and she sucked in a gasp.

“What should you be doing?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Tonight. It’s Friday. If you weren’t in Indigo with me, where would you be?”

A pithy swearword zinged across her brain as she realized she’d stood up her date. “Jeffrey Plant.”

“Who’s Jeffrey Plant?”

“My date. Back in Boston. I’m supposed to be at the Heidelberg Strings. What time is it?”

“A little past eight.”

“Give me your cell phone.”

“Please?”

She turned to glare at him. “Please.”

“Sir?”

“This isn’t about sex.”

“Everything’s about sex.”

“Well, we’re not going there.”

“Sure we are.”

No, they weren’t. They were not. “I need to call my boyfriend,” she lied.

He reached into his pocket and handed her the phone, his expression telling her he guessed she was exaggerating the relationship.

“Thank you,” she said, before she realized being polite would only encourage him in his fantasy.

“Sir,” he rumbled, as she pushed the buttons.

“Never,” she growled back.

“Hello?” came Jeffrey’s voice through the small speaker.

“Jeffrey?” She tried to sit forward, but Samuel snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back into the cradle of his thighs.

“Heather? Where are you?” The sound of a crowd was in the background, and she could picture him in his tuxedo in the lobby of the Wang Center.

Guilt had her struggling in Samuel’s grasp, but it was futile. “I’m in Indigo with Joan.”

Samuel snorted, and she reached back to bop him.

“You’re supposed to be here,” said Jeffrey.

“I’m sorry…sir,” she added to needle Samuel.

In retaliation, his hand moved up and closed over her breast.

She inhaled sharply at the sensations that instantaneously shot through her body.

“I don’t like what I’m hearing about your sister,” said Jeffrey.

“What are you hearing?” She bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to combat the impact of Samuel’s caress.

“What do you mean, what am I hearing? I’m hearing what everybody else is hearing.”

Samuel’s fingers closed on her hardened nipple.

She swallowed a groan. “It’s complicated,” she gasped into the phone.

“I don’t particularly care if it’s complicated. When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

His voice turned imperious. “Make it now.”

Heather didn’t remember that tone being so annoying. “I can’t.”

Samuel’s fingers tightened, not quite enough to hurt, but enough to command her total attention.

“Yes, you can.”