Game On (The Bod Squad Series Book 1) (4 page)

“No,” she said. “No, it isn’t.”

The waiter approached the table, but before he could get a word out, Chas cut him off with: “We’ll have the prix fixe. Come back later for the particulars. And we’ll start by each having a Truth Alone Triumphs and a dozen oysters—please choose a sampling of all the ones you offer.” The waiter nodded and left, dismissed.

Susannah paused. “Truth Alone Triumphs?”

He smiled, confidence oozing off him in waves. “It’s a fabulous gin drink with curry. And feels like the perfect drink to have when I come clean.”

Their eyes caught and held for the entire length of time it took for the waiter to return with the drinks. They continued to lock eyes while the drinks were poured, and they toasted, in silence, to the passionate strains of “As Time Goes By.” They drank, a long pull each, and set the glasses down. Then Susannah spoke. “Okay,” she said, “come clean.”

Chas took another sip. Then met her eyes. And looked straight into them for a long moment. She met his gaze with challenge, and it only enticed him more. “I know who you are,” he said with surety. “I know that you’re looking into me. I find you fascinating, intriguing, and downright magnificent. How ’bout we screw all this and go investigate each other?”

There was a long silence. Susannah’s eyes widened beyond all possibility. Chas’s mouth curved into a deeper smile, a deeper challenge. Jackson’s voice came clear over the earpiece: “Susie Q. Time to go. We’ve been had.”

“Well,” Susannah said, “if we’re really coming clean, give me a moment to talk to my babysitter.” She pulled out the earpiece and spoke into it. “Jackie, honey. Go to bed. Feel free to use the penthouse. I’m taken care of for the night.” And with that she took the earpiece and crushed it between her palms, then tucked the pieces into her cleavage.

Chas laughed, a throaty, full-bodied chuckle, filled with anticipation of a long night ahead. “Lucky earpiece . . .”

“If you want to fully destroy it,” Susannah said, well on her way to pleasantly tipsy, “you’ll have to get it.” And with that she stood up a bit shakily on the heels, grabbed her purse, and walked toward the exit.

Chas inhaled the scent of pursuit. It was going to be a fine, fine night. As he stood up, he left a crumpled hundred on the table out of respect. It was a small price to pay for skipping dinner and going straight to dessert. He just hoped he’d get several helpings before the night was out.

‡‡‡

SUSANNAH GOT OUT
of the town car in front of Chas’s brownstone and looked up at the building, recognizing that this beautiful estate was to be her battleground. She was a bit drunk, yes, but well aware of what she had done. Leveled the playing field. Given herself a night to remember. Thrown caution to the wind. And opened herself to possibility.
Of what, exactly?
she wondered. Of romance? Of sex? Neither. Or both. It reminded her of something her French great-aunt had said to her, shortly before she died. In broken English she had said, “You must to take ze pleasure of life.” Then she grabbed Susannah’s hand, her own hand shriveled like a claw. “Say it wis me, my sweet
fille
. You must to take ze pleasure of life. Promise me.” Susannah had smiled, tears in her eyes, until finally she said, “I promise, Aunt Geneviève. I promise to take the pleasure of life.”

And here it was, suddenly laid out before her.
The pleasure
of life
. Chas Palmer. His town house. His eyes. His biceps, for godsakes.
Fuck it
, she thought.
Just once in my life, I want to throw caution to the wind and do whatever I want.
But just to be safe, as well as loyal and honorable to her company, she sent a text to Jackson as Chas spoke to his driver.

Enabling phone for tracking and audio. Don’t listen too close. Don’t worry. L

And in a moment, she received the quick reply:

Legs. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. That means you can do ALMOST anything. J

She smiled, threw her phone in her purse, and followed Chas inside. The brownstone was almost as she remembered, except now it felt different, like a museum after hours. Quiet. Like a mausoleum, or a Buddhist temple. And startlingly beautiful in its veil of silence. Chas closed the door behind her with a satisfying click. She could feel him, walking up behind her as she stared up the stairs, felt him standing inches behind her, felt his hot gaze all over her as she almost imperceptibly arched toward him. And then, in the span of a heartbeat, he closed the space between them, fisting his hands in her hair and putting his mouth on the tender spot on her neck. She let out a startled moan. . . . How had he learned her so quickly? But he hadn’t learned everything yet, no, not yet. He was just off to a promising start.

“I’ve wanted my hands on you since that first instant,” he breathed, “and now I want to taste each inch of you.”

She moved just a hairsbreadth away and leaned over onto the marble stairs, giving him ample view of her rear. “When I fell on the stairs, I was envisioning all sorts of things. . . .”

‡‡‡

CHAS’S BREATH CAUGHT
in his throat. He was ready for her, or so he thought. But this was almost too much for him to bear. He was so hard he felt like his pants might rip in two. But he calmed himself and took her up on the challenge, sliding himself against her, gently, just enough to tease her, just enough to let her feel the tip of his erection. He was in control, but only just—he could feel, with every fiber of his being, that he had met his match. Something primal and deep was boiling in his blood, and he relished the moment, taking his time with her. He was more excited than he’d been in years, and every part of his mind, body, and soul was focused on the woman in front of him.

Susannah laughed with pleasure, allowing him to rub up against her, loving the feel of him. And there was clearly plenty of him to go around. From top to bottom, Chas was every inch the consummate man, and she hoped all those inches added up to being the lover she desired: the one she dreamed of, the one she prayed for, the one she dared to believe existed. Few men could possibly fit the fantasy she had conjured all these years. And so far, the only man to even come close was Charles Oakley Palmer III.

She pulled away from him, sat on the stairs, and took her heels off. “You know,” she said, slurring ever so slightly, “I hate wearing heels. I only wore them for you. My boss said you liked the tall ladies.”

Chas cocked his head. “Oh, I do. But that’s the nice thing about you, Legs. The heels are a turn-on, but you’re tall enough without ’em.”

Susannah blushed, feeling it all the way to the tips of her ears. Ooh, this man. He had her panties tied in knots, and it wasn’t even the beginning of the race. When the horses broke free . . .

Chas leaned his face down close to hers. “How much did you see of my bedroom last night?”

“None. And I would have loved to,” she replied without thinking. “Why?”

“Because I’ve got something to show you,” he said, and held out his arm.

Feeling quite a bit like the belle of the ball, she allowed him to guide her upstairs. Following the series of Aubusson rugs that perfectly matched the rest of the décor, they came to the end of the hall, the room just past the office she had been in last night. Chas opened the door, and it was as though Susannah’s fantasies sprang to life.

In the center of the room was an enormous purple-and-gold-decorated king-sized bed. It was appropriately named, as it looked like it belonged to a king. It had a beautiful antique wooden headboard with matching vanity and side tables, and was clearly a family heirloom. But it was obvious from the first glance what Chas wanted to show her. She looked up to see a domed ceiling with multiple dormers and a huge skylight—the very roof she had dreamed of since she was a little girl. When Susannah was growing up, her father had always taken her to the planetarium in the Air and Space Museum—it was one of her most cherished memories of him. Since that time she’d dreamed of having a domed roof that looked up at the sky.

“Oh,” she whispered, “oh, Chas. It’s like a fairy tale come true.”

He gave her a tender look as though he were thrilled that he was getting a glimpse of her softer side. “Would you like to lie on the bed and look out the skylight?” he asked her in a low voice. “I always wanted to be an astronomer as a kid; I was the riffraff that spent all my spare time at the planetarium. Growing up, my ceiling was plastered with those glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars, but I always dreamed of the real thing. This was my answer to that dream.”

“I was the same kind of riffraff,” she said with a grin. Without needing further encouragement, she climbed atop the bed and lay on her back, looking up. Chas joined her. She could hear, faintly, sounds of the New York street and the occasional whirling of the wind against the panes. She looked up and wished she could see into the night.

“Do you mind if I turn out the lights?” Chas asked. “It’s better for seeing the sky.”

“Please,” she murmured. And he did.

Suddenly—through that
exquisite
skylight—she could see the stars, and it felt like she was looking through a porthole and seeing the entire universe. She sighed in wonder, and Chas shifted, entwining his fingers with hers as they looked up. “My word,” she breathed, “when I was a little girl I used to dream about something like this.”

“Funny,” he said, “when I was a little boy I used to dream about the same thing . . . but I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have a lady like you to share it with me.”

She turned to face him—wondering if he was for real—and their lips met. This was not like last night, not the kiss of pursuit or conquest. This was tender, gentle, the stuff of wistful fantasies. She let out a gasp as he nibbled on her lower lip and ran a finger through her hair. “Let’s take this slow, okay?” he asked. And all she could do was nod, speechless. She’d had a string of casual lovers, and she was very comfortable in the bedroom. But something about this guy was really throwing her off balance. It scared her and turned her on in equal measure.

He took his time with her, kissing every centimeter of her face, trailing his tongue down her neck, twisting his fingers through her hair. Once or twice he grabbed her hair and pulled, surprising her. “Oh, I love that,” she moaned. “Please pull my hair. And tease me, Chas. . . . I do so love to be teased.”

He pulled her hair again, and nibbled on her ear, whispering, “It will be a pleasure, my lady. I do so love to tease.”

He turned her away from him, deftly unzipped her dress, and pulled her close again. She could feel the staunch hardness of his biceps as he caressed her, the softness of his lips as they ran down the length of her spine, and the ever-present reminder of his desire burning a hole in the back of her leg. She was wet all over at this point, the whole night careening forward like something out of a dream. Every detail about this man made her more and more intrigued—and more and more turned on. Though they had only scratched the surface, she was dying to know more. Something long dormant in her had been awakened, and she was ready to let herself go.

He found his way underneath the gown and trailed a finger up her leg, tracing delicate patterns on her calves as he tongued his way down her back. His hand reached up above her knee, and he found her garter. Sharply drawing in a breath, he murmured, “I had forgotten. I want to see.”

He stopped what he was doing to light a beautiful candelabra on the wall opposite the bed; it was mounted over a fireplace that Susannah hadn’t even been aware of. The candelabra was silver with gold filigree and was clearly handcrafted: it was a tree, with votives nestled in the leaves. Turning back to her—she was still lying on the bed—he saw the mist in her eyes and said, “Pull the dress up, Susannah. Slowly. So I can see you.”

Happy to oblige, and dying to remove every scrap of separation between them, she slowly pulled up her hem, stopping when she got to the line of her garter. His breathing hitched as he strained to see what he desired. Suddenly he was distracted—a small silver pistol glimmered on her left thigh. He smiled. “A gift for me?”

She winked. “It’s a flask. I thought you’d appreciate it, given your love of guns. And it has a treat in it. Absinthe.”

“Ooh,” he exhaled, “I like the way you think.” Slowly approaching the bed, he bent over and licked a trail from her heel to her thigh. She moaned in pleasure. He removed the flask and offered it to her. “Taste?”

“I’d love a taste,” she said seductively, taking a swig and then pulling him to her, engaging him in a passionate kiss. This kiss was astounding, filled with need, longing, and heat. And he gave it to her twice as hard, meeting each thrust of her tongue with his own. Then he pulled back.

“I’d also love a taste,” he said, interest burning in his eyes. He took the flask and enjoyed a large swig before delicately pouring a few drops all the way up her leg. Then he took his time kissing, nibbling, making his way up to the very center of her. And then he began to tease. He ran his tongue on the inside of her thighs and used his hands to stroke her legs. She writhed in pleasure, clearly wanting more with each passing moment. He brought his hands up, moving over the dress, over every inch of her. Then he took a finger and softly ran it under the rim of her panties, feeling how soaked they already were. He cursed, and ripped her panties off, leaving the garters on. Then he stood up and looked at her.

She was unbelievably beautiful. Her hair fanned out beneath her, and her eyes were hooded and unfocused. The skirt pooled around her waist, framing her signature long legs, splayed wide, as her body buzzed with need, waiting for what he’d do next. He gazed at the center of her, dripping wet and swollen, begging for his touch. He didn’t know if he could last long enough to pleasure her, but he was damn well going to try. He thought at this point he had teased her—and himself—enough. He wanted her fiercely and needed to taste her immediately.

He didn’t hesitate, but settled himself between her legs, hoping to catch her by surprise. He moved his tongue inside her in one deft move, and she screamed and cried out for more. He devoured her, enjoying every taste of her, her scent, her hand on the back of his head guiding him in farther, her screams of pleasure. He took his time with her, taunting her at one moment, then giving in to her every need the next. All too soon she bucked and arched, coming to a shattering orgasm.