Emma Holly (5 page)

He ran a gentle finger across her lower lip. "Doubt me all you like. I enjoy exceeding expectations."

Charity refrained from admitting he already had.

Eric
was grateful he could unnerve her. The advantage almost restored his sense of being in charge.

Because "almost" was probably the best he could hope for, he held his peace for the rest of the drive. It was a brief one, just a cruise up Highway 5 in the big Phantom, then east to Capitol Hill.

Understandably, considering her economic constraints, Charity's apartment was on one of the neighborhood's seedier streets. Halfway down the block, the popular Apocalypse Tattoo—whose shadowed doorway Eric had used during his surveillance—did nothing to increase confidence. Without being told, Maurice stayed with the car while Eric walked Charity up. The chauffeur muttered under his breath about
Mr. G
not liking this. Eric wasn't fooled. He knew Maurice adored every aspect of his job, from his uniform to being wired for surveillance. Even setbacks, such as being separated from Eric and their charge, were simply fodder for his rich fantasy life. This, as much as his excellent driving skills, were what had led B.G. to keep him on.

Smiling to himself, Eric followed Charity up a stairway full of stains that appeared to go back to the state's founding.

At least the apartment was an improvement. Inside the third-floor studio, Charity had made her own small oasis, with bright Indian hangings and thrift-shop furniture. A tinkling beaded curtain separated the galley kitchen from the single room. Her bed was a boxspring and mattress stacked on the floor.

She must have had a knack for making things grow, because the window held an impressive array of cacti, a monstrous asparagus fern, and a view of the distant bay. Eric knew better than to let his gaze linger there. Too forceful a reminder of how high up he was would make him dizzier than her kiss. He turned away with gritted teeth. Contrary to his expectations, the rest of the apartment was neat.

"Turn your attention this way," Charity suggested with a fey smile, "and I'll show you why I'm renting this heap."

She thrust open two folding doors to reveal a big walk-in closet, jammed from floorboard to rafter with clothes and accessories. From the looks of them, very few of the contents qualified as sensible. He marveled that she'd found anything conservative enough to wear to work.

"I may not be good at much," she said, "but I'm a regular bloodhound for a sale."

"My," he breathed, unable to withhold a grin. "An embarrassment of riches to choose from."

"Not your usual challenge, eh?"

"No, indeed." Overwhelmed but entertained, he sat on her makeshift bed, already racking his brains for how he could top what she owned herself. "Tell you what: choose your favorites—whatever makes you feel sexy and comfortable."

"I'm comfortable in most anything."

Her tone held a warning that made him smile. "No worries," he assured her. "You can't shock anyone at
Mosswood
."

This caused her to laugh with genuine delight. He was glad to hear the sound, then uncomfortable. He kept forgetting that this was business, that it wasn't—not truly—for his pleasure alone. Being out of range of B.G.'s mechanical eyes and ears was making him reckless.

Too antsy to sit while she made her choices, he paced around the orderly clutter, taking inventory of her possessions. His mother, a born snob rather than a schooled one, would have been horrified by such love of sparkle and flash. Eric was charmed. The place was pretty for all its cheapness. Because no one else would do it for her, Charity had made herself a home.

A shock awaited him at her bookshelf. Next to a stack of fashion magazines, he spotted B.G.'s name. It leapt out from the spine of a former library copy of
Quantum Quirks
, mildewed and minus its dust cover—the type of book you could pick up at a rummage sale for a dime. It seemed the last thing a girl like Charity would find intriguing, yet here it was.

Nonrandom synchronicities
, B.G. would have said.
Our minds forge meaning out of chaos
.

Eric was about to ask her if she'd read it when a photo studded with purple rhinestones drew his eyes away.

The picture showed a slightly younger Charity standing on a ramshackle boat dock, arm-in-arm with a woman who could have been her sister. Dressed in matching shorts and halters, they were laughing wildly as each held the opposite end of a fish the size of a sardine. It was a happy picture, but something about it made Eric sad.

"Is this your mother?"

"Yes," she said, closer than he realized. She had come up behind him without a sound. She smelled of orange-scented shampoo and hot woman, the combination instantly branding itself on his brain. Her hand brushed his where it held the sparkly frame. "She's in L.A. now, I think. I cut off contact between us.

Mom's last boyfriend was a drug dealer. Just a 'rave organizer' according to her—as if those bags of pills he toted around were candy. I love my mother, but that was too much for me. I'd had enough of watching her prove how stupid Wills women are when it comes to men."

"You aren't stupid."

"I have been, as you must know if you've read my file." She sighed and touched her mother's laughing face. "I try to be smarter. It just never seems to work out."

He set the picture back and turned to face her. "Charity, if you don't feel comfortable doing this, if you have any doubts at all, we can call it off. You don't have
to
worry about the money. I'd pay you out of my own pocket."

She smiled, the expression tilting her violet eyes. "I'm not afraid of taking risks. I've done plenty of dopey things in my life, and I've come through them all. If going with you turns out to be stupid, I'll survive that, too. I mean, all I have are my instincts. Even if they're wrong, they're all I have. A person has to decide which road to take based on something. I don't want to miss out on an experience that could be good."

Her attitude inspired admiration and a pinch of fear. To think of her going on as she was, year after year, losing jobs and hooking up with slacker boyfriends, never even trying to play it safe…
You've got your
mind
, he wanted to say.
Your reason
. But that was presumptuous. Who was he to lecture anyone about their life? He'd done a few colossally dopey things himself.

"I'll make sure this is a good experience," he said, brushing her silky waves from her face. "No matter what, I'll make sure."

For a moment her eyes were wide and starry. Then she laughed, a throaty chuckle that set off fireworks inside his groin. "Galahad," she teased.

He kissed her even as she laughed. Because he wanted to. Because no one was here to stop him.

Because she'd said the name he wished he could really claim. Tilting his head for access, he slid his hands down her lush little body and pulled her giving flesh tight against his front.

His cock thrummed like an engine, but she didn't fight. Instead, she wound her arms behind his neck and melted, squirming against him when his hold wasn't close enough. One thigh climbed and wrapped the side of his hip. Unable to resist, he slid his hand slowly down its slope to cup her rear. Nothing but her lay beneath her hose. Her cleft was wet. When he brushed his fingertips along it, her pleasured hum made him long to toss her onto the bed. He didn't care that B.G. expected him to wait. He didn't care that this job had saved not just his pride but his sanity. At that moment, he would have traded everything he had to be an average Joe about to get laid.

"Mm," he said, unable to restrain the sound as he carefully pushed her off. Once again she had him panting. "Okay. We're not doing this now. We're going to follow the rules."

Her gaze narrowed, and she folded her arms across her chest. He saw he had chosen a less-than-fortunate word.

"You agreed," he reminded her, "unless you want to renege."

She rolled her eyes at him and stalked back to her red canvas carryall, preparing to zip it shut.

"Wait," he said. "I want to dress you for our trip."

"You want to dress me."

"Yes."

She stared at him, her face stubborn and closed. He thought she was about to protest, but she surprised him. Without warning or ado, she pulled off her top and wriggled out of her mini-skirt. Her bra was classic Victoria's Secret, sheer and blue with fussy embroidered flowers that covered next to nothing at all. In spite of his desire to keep the upper hand, Eric's breath went out of his lungs. Her figure was really something, making his blood feel suddenly sluggish within his veins. The hose, however, had to go.

Before he could open his mouth to say so, she peeled them off and threw them in his face. He caught them, plus a whiff of her arousal. Though the scent shot through him, he did his best to sound calm. He promised himself that her neatly trimmed pubis, now delightfully exposed, wasn't going to be his personal Bermuda Triangle of lust. "Do you own the panties that match that bra?"

"It's a thong," she snapped—as if he, or any man, would consider that anything but a plus.

He smiled and, after a heartbeat, she did, too. "All right. I'll find it."

Digging the scrap of blue out of a drawer, she pulled it on with more finesse than she'd yanked off the rest of her garments. Eric appreciated the show, as well as the end result when she turned around. Her navel ring twinkled like a star. He'd been looking too low to notice it before.

"Very nice," he said, adding an irrepressible male sigh.

For that he earned a peck on the cheek.

"Well." She spread her arms, obviously enjoying his bemusement. "Do I go like this, or is there something in particular you want on top?"

He knew the answer already. He'd spotted the perfect thing as soon as she opened her closet door.

Going straight to it, he removed a demure pink knitted dress with a retro-looking fold-down neck. He spread it gently out on her bed, then added a pair of off-white pumps. All the outfit lacked was a pillbox hat and a pair of gloves.

"That's my interview dress," she objected. "It's, like, totally boring good girl's clothes."

"Please," he said. "I'd enjoy seeing you in it."

She raised one well-plucked brow. "I thought you wanted me to wear what made me feel sexy."

"Wear it to make
me
feel sexy."

"Right. Ever hear about the silk purse and the sow's ear?"

"You already are a silk purse. Clothes can't change that either way."

She had her fists dug into her waist and her feet set wide. She wasn't terribly tall, but the length of her legs made her seem as if she were. Her thighs had a bit of muscle, just enough to call to mind an X-rated version of an Amazon. "I want a bribe before I'm wearing that."

"This isn't a negotiation."

Unimpressed, Charity flashed a grin. "Dude, you've thrown a boner the size of Texas, and you've had it since before I took off my clothes. You want me to go along with you. You know you'll be disappointed if I don't. Therefore"—she made a drama of the word—"I strongly suggest you compromise."

He was forced to concede her point. "What do you want?" he asked warily.

She padded to him, barefoot in her bra and thong, jiggling the way women were born to jiggle from the dawn of time. She stopped with her peaking nipples brushing his shirt. "I want you to show me what you would do to a guy. In bed. If you had your choice of favorite things."

He blinked, startled. No one had ever asked him to blur his preferences this way. He wouldn't have guessed the request would pack such a punch.

"It's your job," she pointed out when he paused. "Maybe you're not allowed to get me off, but you're supposed to keep my motor revved. I guarantee this will do the trick."

He wished he could argue but couldn't quite form the words. He was supposed to be in charge here. On the other hand, if she decided she liked male-on-male action, they'd have more erotic options down the road, options he very much wanted to explore. What he did now could ensure he'd have the chance—as long as he didn't give up all semblance of authority. With his jaw bunching in frustration at the reality of that risk, he jammed his hand through his hair.

"You want to," she said, the statement shocking through him as if they were connected by electric wires.

"You want to hump me like a man."

He felt the flush scald across his face, then saw its echo in the darkening of her eyes. This idea was turning her on.

"All right," he said, his body deciding for him. "Take off your clothes. I want you facedown on that bed with your bottom in the air."

Her mouth went slack with surprise, with arousal, and then—without a word of debate—she did what he asked. She slipped off her bra and thong and climbed into bed. A candy-pink bolster held her hips at just the angle he wanted. The smooth curve of her haunches made his mouth water.

He hesitated, then did what he was craving, smacking one side of her bottom with the flat of his hand.

He did it just hard enough to make her jump, to test how firm she was. She rubbed the pinkened flesh as if it stung.

"Every favor has a price," he said as she sucked a breath to protest. His voice was not as steady as it should have been, but it silenced hers. "You have to pay even if no one sees except us."

When she looked at him, interested and alert, her eyes were too bright to bear, her curiosity very close to innocence.

"Don't watch," he ordered, pressing her head back down. "I don't want you seeing what I do."

She shivered, but the reaction seemed more like excitement than nervousness. Eric could claim both himself. His fingers were stiff as he wrenched down his zipper, his current state inviting accidents. He only released his breath when he swelled free. His shoes were next, then his trousers and briefs. He hadn't the patience to remove more than that. When he climbed over her, his arousal hanging hot in the open air, her shoulders tensed.

For a second, he thought of doing what he guessed she feared.

"I have oil," she said, clearly trying to sound game. "Plus a box of condoms. They're in the nightstand drawer."