Emma Holly (8 page)

When the former wrestler loaned Charity his jacket to shield her from the sound's cool breeze, Eric's only recourse was to roll his eyes. There was, after all, no rule against being a gentleman.

He was forced to listen, admittedly with amusement, while she twirled her hair and prattled suggestively.

Did Maurice enjoy driving stick, she wanted to know, or was it hard to
get
comfortable? Had he needed time to adjust, or did he plunge right in? Her hand drifted to her bosom as she confessed she couldn't imagine driving that way herself, but maybe if someone showed her—patiently, gently, taking care that she wasn't hurt—she'd get to like it just as much as the normal way.

Simple soul that he was, Maurice blushed and stammered enough to satisfy the most jaded flirt.

"You are so pretty," he finally burst out, despite the fact that B.G. had to be listening through his headset.

"I really hope we get to fuck."

Charity laughed at this, seeming pleased by his directness. Whether she'd guessed they had an invisible observer, Eric couldn't tell. Her wink of answer, noncommittal though it was, made Maurice tug at the cloth stretched across his crotch. Eric was impressed by the bulge she'd managed to inspire.

"That's enough," he said, catching her hand before she could "accidentally" brush against it. "Leave Maurice at least a fraction of his brain for driving."

She didn't pout or pull away her hand, but her smile said she knew what her performance had done to him. Predictably, she chose to sit up front with Maurice when the chauffeur drove the Phantom down the ramp at Bremerton.

She made quite a seduction of handing back Maurice's jacket, going so far as to help him button up. Eric wondered if she knew how long she'd have to keep this up. They had a drive ahead of them; Mosswood was deep in the Olympic forest, closer to the Pacific side of the peninsula. Rather than point this out, Eric swung into the back without comment. He told himself he wasn't worried. The car had no window between the seats. Charity couldn't say anything to their driver that he wouldn't hear.

To ensure she also didn't do anything he couldn't see, he slid forward to the edge of his seat. It was a toss-up as to whether this or Charity's simple nearness unnerved Maurice more.

When she slipped off her pumps and crossed her ankles on the walnut dash, the car bobbled in the lane.

The incline of her legs made her hem fall halfway up her shapely thighs. Back at her apartment, Eric had instructed her to finish off her outfit with real stockings. Now they shimmered like golden sand.

Maurice heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said at her inquiring smile. "I love the view, but it's been way too long since any of us got off."

Charity twitched the hem to her knees. "What do you mean? I thought the game didn't start until I reached the estate."

"Well, uh—" Maurice darted a quick look into the back, but Eric had no wish to censor his answer.

Apparently, his earpiece gave him no direction, either. "Usually that's the case, but Mr. Berne started the proceedings early. As soon as you were chosen, he said everyone had to wait until you arrived. We weren't even allowed to masturbate."

His voice lowered on the word as if Charity were too much of a lady to have her ears defiled. Eric doubted she noticed. Her cheeks were flushed with what might have been anger but probably was not.

Her feet came down with a thunk, and she turned on the leather to face Maurice. "How long ago was that?"

"Three weeks," Maurice answered. "Three weeks and twelve horny hours without an orgasm." He laughed at his own doleful tone. "I was starting to pray for a wet dream so I could stop hobbling around."

"Three weeks," Charity repeated, then pressed her tongue between her lips. "What would have happened if you'd disobeyed?"

Maurice's big, square hands shifted on the wheel. "We-ell," he said with a grin that probably surprised her. "If I'd really cut loose, I'd have been kicked out. If I'd just misbehaved a bit, I'd have been punished."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"Oh, it is a good thing, believe me, even if it does make a person nuts."

Wetting her lips again, Charity shook her head in disbelief. "I don't think I'll ever learn to like following rules."

"You'll see," Maurice predicted. "After you've been waiting a while, after you've been teased until you think you're gonna go insane, when you finally get some, it just about blows your head off. I never had sex like that before I came to Mosswood. Never knew it existed. Once, I actually had an orgasm from the sound of a woman's laugh. To tell the truth, I'm usually sorry when Mr. Grantham goes back to work,

'cause then we do what we want. I don't know about that physics stuff, but B.G. Grantham is a genius at cranking people up."

"But you'd rather I didn't tease you now?"

"I wouldn't stop you," Maurice admitted with a quiet laugh. "Thing is, three weeks is longer than we're used to going without. We're all a little blue-balled now."

Charity blinked, taking this in, then turned to gaze out her side window. They were passing through one of the peninsula's picturesque Victorian towns. When she squirmed slightly in her seat, Eric suspected she couldn't have cared less about tourist charm. She was thinking about how hard-up they all must be, about how hard-up she might be herself in a little while.

Despite the likely reason for her silence, he knew better than to assume she was giving in.

She
made up her mind before she spoke it, letting them drive deep into the mountains before the words came out.

The trees were thick here: old-growth Douglas firs overshadowing the blacktop with long, shaggy shawls of moss. This was the Hoh Rainforest, one of the biggest and most fertile remaining in the world. Apart from the road and their car—the only one she'd seen for miles—they might have entered a primeval land.

Charity had never been to this part of Washington, hadn't known this many shades of green existed. The sun itself seemed an alien substance when filtered through the living screen.

"Not long now," Maurice said, his first words in a while.

His voice held an edge of tense excitement. She looked at him, at his knuckles tight on the wheel, at the solid ridge between his thighs. His erection pounded at whatever fantasies had him in their grip. From what she'd heard of their eccentric host, it seemed unlikely he'd get the release he'd been praying for anytime soon. That being so, his anticipation at nearing Moss wood was worse than cruel.

Speak up
, she ordered herself.
Tell them what you want. The worst they can do is refuse
.

"Stop the car," she said with such determination that Maurice obeyed with a screech of brakes.

He turned to her worriedly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Rather than answer, she looked at Eric. He'd slid back in the seat once he'd realized she wasn't going to grope Maurice while he drove. Now, as cool as he'd been before she kissed him, he crossed his arms and curved his lips in a faint, smug smile.

This, more than anything, set her path. She would not, under any circumstances, be treated like she was bush-league. Maybe she was compared to him, but she didn't care. She'd demand respect all the same.

"I want this man to take me, and I'm not going any farther until he does."

"What?" said Maurice, obviously shocked.

"Charity…" Eric began with condescending caution.

She raised one hand to silence his protest. "I know the rules, but before I decide to obey them, I want proof."

"Proof." Eric's slitted eyes took on a laser gleam.

"Proof that this will be worth it. Proof that letting your boss play games with my libido will create an out-of-the-ordinary experience. If
he
can't prove that"—Charity jerked her thumb toward Maurice—"I doubt anybody can."

"Oh, boy," said Maurice, sounding torn as to what he hoped would happen. Charity didn't consider turning her head. Eric's burning gaze held all the answers she cared about.

"You must have the power to make decisions. You're the one who chose to make your boss's staff wait

three weeks."

"I chose for all of us. B.G. and I have been waiting, too."

His voice was graveled, lower than his usual tone. The sound touched her inside like a stroking hand.

She wanted to kiss him then, wanted it with a deep and ferocious ache—to press her lips from his stern, fine mouth to the tip of his hardened cock. She knew from the flush on his face that he was as ready to rock as Maurice. With that in her consciousness, she waited for him to decide. After a minute, he did.

"Give me your earpiece," he said to Maurice, confirming her suspicion that more than a flunky was on the other end. She was disappointed that Eric wouldn't choose on his own, but intrigued that the mysterious Mr. Grantham was probably listening in.

Sadly, Charity couldn't hear a word he said. The only evidence that he was speaking was Eric's serious face and nods.

At last, he handed the headset back to Maurice. "Here's the deal," he said. "You"—he pointed to Maurice—"may climax at my discretion. You"—he pointed to Charity—"may not. And both of you must agree in advance to pay the penalty B.G. and I set."

"Penalty?" Charity said, disinclined to give him carte blanche.

"Nothing that will harm or frighten you," Eric assured her. "But I won't tell you now what this will cost you later."

Charity rubbed the groove beneath her lower lip. "If I agree, I want you there. I want you close enough to see and hear every stroke. And"—she continued before he could speak—"I don't want you consulting your boss for permission."

Eric grinned like a cat. "Permission isn't necessary. He's already insisted on my presence to facilitate."

Her excitement surged at the heat in his eyes. The energy between her and Eric had the air humming.

Almost forgotten, Maurice mumbled a curse. "You two are gonna kill me. I think I'd rather watch you do it than get off myself."

"That offer isn't on the table," Eric said, still not looking away from her. "At least not today. So Charity, do you agree to pay our price?"

Charity's skin tingled violently. "I do," she tried to say, but all that came out was a whisper.

"Good," he said. "Maurice, pull the car onto the shoulder and
get
out."

Maurice performed this maneuver smoothly.

"You
get out, too," Eric said to Charity.

Charity obeyed wide-eyed. She'd put her shoes back on, and her ankles wobbled on the mixture of gravel and grass. No doubt she'd expected getting her way would require more of a fight. She was lucky B.G. allowed room for spontaneity.

To Eric's relief, the road was as quiet as if they'd parked in the wilderness. The rustle of pine needles was the only sound that added to their own. Since they'd stopped at the top of a hill, if any cars did come, they'd be able to spot their approach. Eric hadn't planned this, but it was just as well. B.G.

wouldn't like it if his private games became a matter of public talk.

B.G. left me in charge
, he thought, the knowledge giving him a thrill.
I say what happens now
.

"Start with his belt," he said, pointing to Maurice.

Maurice was breathing heavily, his big wrestler's chest going up and down, his chauffeur's hat clenched in one hand. His erection pushed out the front of his pants, lines of strain radiating out from it all around.

When Charity reached to pull the tongue of his belt from its buckle, his eyes closed in longing.

"Watch her," Eric ordered the chauffeur. "I know you want to see her take it out."

Maurice gasped as he obeyed.

The sound of the belt clanking free was loud. Despite the bounty that swelled—barely covered—before her, Charity's eyes slipped to Eric's when she was done.

"Zipper?" she asked helpfully.

His nod had her easing it down, peeling the halves apart like the wrapping for a present. More of Maurice's boxers appeared, gray to match his uniform. They were loose enough that his erection didn't breach the placket. Length wasn't Maurice's most distinguishing attribute. Instead, his cock was as thick around as a beer bottle—and as hard to work into a tight space. Remembering made Eric a little too excited for comfort.