“Read the signals wrong, Clay. You read the signals wrong,” she said, parking her hands on her hips.

“What signals am I reading wrong?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

He shook his head in frustration. “Evidently I don’t. And on that note, it was a pleasure spending the evening with you.”

Once he returned to his home, he tossed his suit jacket on the couch, unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it in the laundry. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, shed the rest of his clothes, and then flopped down on his bed, surrounded by the sounds of silence.

He considered taking up meditation for a nanosecond. Then practicing a mantra. Hell, maybe he could even give yoga a shot. But in the end, none of those things suited him, so he did what his instincts told him to do. Reach out to Julia.

CHAPTER FOUR

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:23 PM

subject: You

I keep thinking about what happened on your street. Can’t stop worrying about you. Are you okay?

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:24 PM

subject: Me

Mostly. How are you?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:25 PM

subject: Not my favorite day that’s for sure

Been better . . .

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:26 PM

subject: Wish I could change that

I hate the thought of you having a bad day. I want you to be happy.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:27 PM

subject: I’m not unhappy

I’m just worried about you. I feel like an ass. Like I just left you there on the street.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:29 PM

subject: You’re not, but you have a nice ass :)

I’m a big girl. I made it home safely. But it’s sweet you were worried.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:31 PM

subject: Sweet? Me?

I still am worried. Is Stevie bugging you?

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:32 PM

subject: Soooo sweet . . . strong, confident, sexy too

He’s fine. It will all be fine soon enough. Let’s talk about something else. I came up with a new cocktail tonight.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:33 PM

subject: Mixing it up

Tell me about it.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:34 PM

subject: Delish on your lips . . .

It’s lemonade, vodka and champagne.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:35 PM

subject: That describes you . . .

Sounds like something I’d never touch but that will be beloved by your bar goers.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:36 PM

subject: Love your innuendo

It is already. The gal I run the bar with served a ton tonight. Said it was a big hit. Everyone was happy-buzzed too.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:37 PM

subject: Double entendres too

Sounds like a perfect state of existence. Can I have one of those too? The happy-buzz, that is.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:37 PM

subject: Named it for you

I call it The Heist. What did you do tonight? If you were on a date, please just tell me you played with kittens at a rescue shelter or something instead.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:39 PM

subject: No pussy tonight

I saw a play. My favorite kind of storyline. (And thank you for the name. Maybe I will taste it sometime)

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:41 PM

subject: Keep it that way!

The kind with a plot twist?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:42 PM

subject: Good memory

Yes. Call me impressed.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:44 PM

subject: You are on my mind

I remember everything about you . . . So . . . is today getting better for you?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:46 PM

subject: Yes. Since 20 minutes ago

Now it is.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:48 PM

subject: What was your favorite day ever?

Tell me a favorite memory from when you were younger. Pumpkin patch visit as a boy in Vegas? Lettering in varsity football? Prom? I bet you were prom king.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:49 PM

subject: I was not . . .

But I looked good in a blue ruffly tux.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:50 PM

subject: Pictures please

Dying to see THAT.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:51 PM

subject: Lawyers don’t send pictures

I know better than to send self-incriminating evidence.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:53 PM

subject: Damn that lawyer photo clause

I will just have to imagine you in your tux, and even though you were probably an insanely hot teenage boy, I suppose I really should be perving on you as a man. An insanely hot man. And you probably look insanely hot in a tux.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 8:55 PM

subject: Tux fetish?

I suspect any tux I wore would look best with your hands on the buttons.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 2, 11:56 PM

subject: You fetish

Unbuttoning them.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 9:02 PM

subject: Dangerous ground

We shouldn’t be doing this . . .

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: May 3, 12:04 AM

subject: Say the word

Do you want me to stop?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: May 2, 9:05 PM

subject: Don’t stop

No . . .

He told himself he was safe from her web of lies and brand of hurt by the three thousand miles that separated them. As long as he stayed a continent away, he’d be okay. So when her name flashed across the screen with the enticing words—incoming call—he answered immediately.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she said in a sleep-sexy purr.

“Are you in bed?”

“Only place I like to be when I’m talking to you,” she said, and he loved knowing what she looked like all stretched out on her bed. Like an invitation. A beautiful fucking invitation for him with those long, strong legs, her curvy hips, her beautiful breasts, and that gorgeous red hair spread out on the covers.

“I bet you’re wearing something sexy. Some little lingerie or bra-and-panty set,” he said, keeping the talk to sexiness because he couldn’t handle anything more right now.

“Do you want to know?”

“I want you to paint the image in my eye.”

“I have on my bare legs.”

A bolt of heat shot through his body, as he pictured her. “I like it when you wear those.”

“And I hope you’re not disappointed, but I don’t have on a bra.”

An appreciative growl escaped his throat. “Mmm. That is an excellent look on you. You do bra-lessness well. And now I’m picturing those naked shoulders of yours, kissing you all over, nibbling on your collarbone.”

“Biting down,” she said, continuing their imaginary travels.

“You taste so good, Julia. So sweet. Your skin is so damn sweet all over,” he said, and the memory of her taste rushed back to him, blasting into him like a collision of senses in his memory. Her collarbone, the fruity smell of her hair from whatever shampoo she used, so much more enticing than any other woman’s, the smell of her legs when she’d stepped out of the bath. And most of all, the scent of her arousal. The way he could tell just from inhaling her how he’d turned her on.

“Don’t you want to know what else I’m wearing?” she offered, her voice as naughty as could be.

He stretched out on his own bed, and parked his free hand behind his head. He was so hard right now from picturing her, but he had to restrain himself because he knew he couldn’t have her. But maybe this kind of teasing would be enough to get her out of his system. He knew this was trouble, he’d been there before, but this woman allured him like no other. She was a sexy drug and he wanted another hit.

“I do want to know,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Hold on a sec,” she said, and he heard a scatter of movement on her end. Then her voice again. “Go see.”

Those two words shot straight to his groin, and he was fighting a losing battle with resistance when he scrolled to his screen, and thumbed open his text message to find a picture. A flash of white lace, a glimpse of her hipbone, and then her hand just barely dipped into the waistband of her panties. Suggesting what she was about to do if things continued.

Did he want them to?

No. And yes. And no. And yes. But as he tried to retain the reasons for hanging up, they all fell to dust when she whispered, “I’m touching myself and I’m thinking of you.”

He groaned, unbidden. Everything in him craved her. Needed her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She didn’t answer right away, only breathed once, a low, sexy moan. In the span of those seconds, images flashed before him—her tied up to his bed, her bent over his desk, handcuffed to his balcony. Him pleasuring her, owning her body.

“Kissing you,” she whispered, and his blood stilled because he’d been expecting something dirtier from her sexy mouth.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“I wouldn’t like any of the other things if I didn’t like kissing you first,” she said, a gasp escaping her.

“What do you like about the way I kiss you?”

“Everything. Every single thing. Your lips are soft, and your stubble is rough, and you know exactly how to kiss me and make me melt for you,” she said, and something about her voice was different this time; needier, hungrier.

“I love it when you melt into my arms,” he said. “When I first see you and first kiss you.”

“And it’s like lightning or electricity or something,” she said, and her breathing intensified.

“Like we can’t get enough of each other, and can’t stop kissing,” he said, and a shudder wracked his body. “Tell me where your hand is now.”

“Between my legs. Moving faster,” she said, and let out a sexy cry that sent heat waves throughout his bones and blood.

“Are you writhing there on your bed?”

“Yes.”

“With your legs wide open?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice rising higher, and he could tell she was getting closer. “Are you touching yourself, Clay?”

“No,” he said, though he was sure he’d need to handcuff his wrists any second to keep from grabbing his erection.

“Please,” she said, her voice a delicious beg. That beg unwound him. It reached deep into his dirty mind and made him want to do everything with her, for her, to her.

“Please what?”

“Please touch yourself,” she moaned, and he pictured her rocking her hips into her hand. With that image burned in front of his eyes, her voice in his ear, he knew it wouldn’t take long. A few quick strokes, and he’d be there.

“Why do you want me to?”

“I like picturing you touching yourself. I like the image of your big, strong hand wrapped around your cock. Stroking yourself. Thinking of me.”