Girl Gear 1: All Tied Up (4 page)

Ray, Jess and Leo exchanged glances of shared male misery. Ray bit the first bullet, glanced at the number on his sheet and took his place beside Sydney.

His rugged olive-hued brawn and broad shoulders created an interesting backdrop for Sydney’s classic elegance. The two made a perfect couple, and Macy felt a giddy twinge. At least until, in the next second, she registered the remaining odds.

She wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t panic. Not until she knew for sure…Okay, it was time to panic. Because as Jess stepped in beside Melanie, Leo took up his position at Macy’s back.

The man whose eyes she wanted to gouge out, whose feathers she wanted to ruffle and pluck, whose clothes she wanted to strip from his body in order to learn the scent of his intimate skin, was going to be her partner.

“Okay,” she said, and her voice squeaked, so she started again. “Okay. This is how this works. The first
rule is that you never show your partner the items on your list. Guard it with your life.”

“Got it,” Jess stated.

And Melanie, not to be outmaneuvered by her mate, added, “That’s easy.”

So far, so good. Macy opened her mouth to start again—only to have her next words cut off by Eric’s loud, “Wait a minute here. This doesn’t make any sense. What’s the point of working in teams if this isn’t about teamwork?”

Leave it to the sports fanatic to overanalyze the rules of her game. “What’s the point of a game of chess? A game of racquetball? A one-on-one game of hoops?”

The stadium lights dawned in Eric’s bright blue eyes. “One-on-one, eh? Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Definitely the wrong comeback to make when surrounded by five of the six gIRL-gEAR women, starting with Macy on his left.

Her hands found a perch on her hips. “Because you didn’t stop with the smart-ass interruptions long enough for me to explain?”

Melanie chimed in next. “Because you didn’t trust a woman to come up with a game that would interest a man?”

“Because you didn’t give a woman credit for having an original thought?” Lauren. Always one to support her best friend.

And Sydney. “Because you didn’t think a woman’s competitive streak could really be a mile wide?”

“Because, when it comes to sports, you don’t listen to anyone who doesn’t have a penis?”

The potshot volley, having begun in the third circle, continued down the line—the final salvo too close for
Eric’s comfort. At Chloe’s question, he took a step back and raised both hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I give. Macy, you’re brilliant.” He offered her a deferential bow. “Abso-friggin-lutely brilliant.”

“And here I thought you’d never notice.” She was beginning to think no one would notice. That she’d been imagining her brilliance alone all this time. The way things had been going this evening, in fact, she felt positively unbrilliant.

So, of course, Leo chose that moment to move in closer, nudging his hip to her backside, reminding her of the pickle her unbrilliance had gotten her into. Here she was, stuck playing a game of her own making with a partner more foe than friend—a petard of an entirely different nature.

His breath brushed the hairs at Macy’s nape. She ignored the sensation, chalked up the contact to his proximity and not to any underhanded attempt to move his first pawn—though she did reserve the right to change her mind and retract the benefit of the doubt.

She exhaled and regained her train of thought. “Okay. Where was I?”

“Guarding our lists with our lives,” he reminded her.

“Right. It’s also important that once you start finding the items on your lists, you keep your findings to yourself. This is not a team effort. One-on-one, remember? The prize goes to only one of you. One of us. Whatever.”

“Anyway, when we get together next month, the one who has found the most items on his or her individual list will be off sailing the Seven Seas. Or at least the Caribbean.” Sensing a cheater at her back, she crushed her paper to her chest.

“Now, I don’t expect it will take anyone the entire thirty days to finish. There might even be some of you who finish up tonight.” She sent a pointed glance down the row toward Anton and Lauren. “But Sydney won’t be awarding the prize until next month’s game night.”

“And I suppose we have to be present to win?”

Macy winked at Ray. “I like the way you think.”

Eric had finally had enough. “Can we look now or what?”

“In a minute.” The crucial moment had arrived. Her players were pumped and primed. Now not to lose them in the details. She pinched together the pads of her index finger and thumb. “Just one more little itty-bitty thing to mention.”

“Uh-oh,” echoed in tones from soprano to bass.

“The items on your list? The kinky, suggestive, sexy and one-hundred-percent-adult items?”

“I told you, Macy. No sex shops.”

Macy was definitely going to have to introduce Sydney to the joys of a certain store she’d discovered on lower Westheimer.

“Actually, Syd, none of the things on your list could be purchased even if you wanted to buy them. Well, I suppose that’s not exactly true, but I’m not going to go there.”

Macy waved away the thought of offering payment to Leo Redding, and dropped the bomb. “You see, the source of every item you’ll need to find to win the scavenger hunt belongs to the member of the opposite sex in your spotlight.”

L
EO
R
EDDING STOOD ALONE
in the first-floor hallway of Macy and Lauren’s building. The light was dim, the narrow windows being set high in the old warehouse’s
walls, and night having long ago fallen. The row of original and restored bare-bulb fixtures cast enough of a glow to allow him to read the list he hadn’t yet taken time to go over.

He had to give Macy credit. The woman had a sense of adventure like none he’d ever encountered. This scavenger hunt of hers was inventive and inspired and…he wasn’t sure he could put into words what all it was.

He knew women well, was used to the sexual subterfuge engaged in by those he dated. He expected no less when he entered a relationship and discovered the unique challenges each partner offered. Sex was always an exchange of power, whether shared in a one-night stand or a when-the-mood-strikes fling.

Which was why this scavenger hunt of Macy’s intrigued him. She had the competitive spirit he enjoyed in a woman. Too bad she didn’t recognize the potential of that energy. Or didn’t apply her ambition beyond living for the moment.

He couldn’t deny the cultural phenomenon of gIRL-gEAR. He’d spent enough time on the firm’s corporate structure to know that Sydney Ford and her partners had hit with uncanny accuracy on urban fashion’s next best thing.

And now, reading the list of a dozen-plus personal items he’d agreed to discover about Macy Webb, he was struck with the logic that drove her individual success.

Beyond her enthusiasm for putting together the game, she knew what buttons to push to get play under way. In this case, the collective testosterone buttons of the five men in the room.

The women of gIRL-gEAR were hot. And if the rest of the guys’ lists were as provocative as Leo’s, he fig
ured winning wasn’t much of an issue when Macy had made the chance to score a prize in itself.

Then he wondered what was on the list of items she would be working to discover about him. He wouldn’t mind if she discovered his preferred brand of long-legged briefs. He’d gladly allow her to find his only childhood scar; the skateboarding accident had required a zipper of stitches to sew up the Frankenstein gash on his hipbone.

And, while she was there with his pants down, he wouldn’t object to her searching out not only the erogenous zone he shared with all men, but his other. The one women loved to discover—at least those who took the time to learn exactly what
he
liked in bed.

Okay. Here he was, standing in a darkened hallway working on a hard-on. Something had to give. Twice tonight Macy had brought him to the point of wanting to get off and she’d done nothing more than run him over with her clever little mind.

And wasn’t that what made a woman worth knowing? If she knew how to flex her mental muscles, she could be guaranteed a man’s appreciative attention to the rest of her body. So why was he standing here playing with himself when he could be upstairs playing with her?

Or at least seeing how many of his game points he could rack up this evening while he had her to himself, before she’d had time to recover from the party or shake off the chemistry they’d stirred. He wasn’t an underhanded cheat, but neither was he above playing all odds in his favor.

Besides, he had nowhere to be tonight, and the idea of going back to the office held less appeal than it had an hour ago. Macy was alone. Lauren had left with Anton, which meant Leo was footloose as well.

He and Macy had taken turns moving their pawns all evening. She didn’t have to know his return was a calculated advance on her queen. And if she learned more than he wanted her to know, well, that was a tactical risk he was willing to take.

He could afford a forfeit or two. He could afford whatever it took to beat Macy Webb at any game of her making.

A
NOTHER GAME NIGHT BITES
the dust.

Macy pulled one bra after another from the shower rod in Lauren’s bathroom, testing for dampness between her fingers and the palm of her hand. Dry enough were the ten she hooked over her forearm. The last two she moved to the towel rack.

Lauren could hardly object. She was gone for the night. Totally ignoring every best-friend rule ever written, she’d gone home with Anton, lucky dog, leaving Macy alone to deal with the leftovers of the evening’s insanity.

Oh, well. Tonight the work would be welcome. In addition to the physical chores, mentally sorting through the events of the evening would keep her plenty busy until time for bed.

Should she run out of questions to ask herself about the way the scavenger hunt had unfolded, or have trouble coming up with answers, well, there were always toilets to scrub. Floors to wax. A balcony to sweep clear of cobwebs and fallen leaves.

Then there was the mural on her bedroom ceiling that needed another fish or two. A dolphin. A turtle. A mermaid to give the room a bit of oomph. If Macy reached total desperation, she’d sit down under the sea, make a list and have it ready for when her artistic best friend came home.

Anything to keep her mind off the fact that, with Lauren gone, the loft was empty. Macy was alone.

Back to the scavenger hunt, she thought, flipping off Lauren’s bathroom light. How practical, really, were the game’s dynamics for her readers? If not for the sailing vacation, Macy’s guinea pigs would no doubt have expressed even less enthusiasm at having to devote time to an activity that came with no guarantee of, well, anything.

Strangers playing would at least be getting to know potential dates. This group was only in it for the prize, not the possibilities. The game was too long; that was it. The true challenge would be to find the items in one evening. From several members of the opposite sex. Forget the one-on-one, long-term assignment. The lists could be distributed as the guests arrived. No coupling, no teamwork.

Actually, though, now that she thought about it, she could present both options. The longer game would provide a broader field, giving players time to test their partner’s boundaries. And the shorter version was the perfect arena in which to rack up rapid-fire points, boom-boom.

She liked it. Liked it a lot. A two-fer. Now to figure out how to get two columns out of one idea. Ha! As if Sydney in a million years would go for that idea. It was probably a good thing Macy wasn’t a solo entrepreneur. She’d be forced to fire herself for living by the motto that all work and no play made Macy a dull girl.

The whir of the loft’s elevator motor caught her off guard, and she scurried from Lauren’s corner of the loft. If Lauren and Anton had already gotten into it over the game, Macy wanted to be out of her best friend’s throwing range.

But when the freight car ground to a stop, when the outside gate rattled opened and the inner door followed, Lauren and Anton were the least of Macy’s worries.

Because standing inside the metal cage, one long-fingered hand propped on the wall, the other braced against a lean waist, head lowered, shirt cuffs buttoned, tie snug to his throat, stood one incredibly gorgeous corporate attorney.

Leo Redding looked up, and Macy’s stomach thudded to her feet. A man shouldn’t be able to do to a woman what this one could do with his eyes alone. Gingerly, she retreated.

Boldly, he advanced, bringing into the room not only his uppity attitude, but an air of such style and class Macy itched to lick him, er, to muss him from his
GQ
hair to his toes shod in rich black Italian leather.

The heavy metal door rolled shut behind him. He pulled the hinged grate to a close along its metal track.

Alone. The two of them. Together on her turf.

The devil jabbed a pitchfork at her shoulder. An angel sang sweetly from the opposite side. It was so hard choosing between naughty and nice.

“Lost your way, I see,” she said.

He shook his head. “Only my ride. I came here with Anton, remember?”

“And he took Lauren with him. Leaving you stranded.”

What a weaselly excuse. She knew what Leo wanted. The cheater. Thinking he could learn her scavenger hunt secrets if he caught her alone, with her guard down and…ten demi-cup, push-up bras hung over her arm.

Oh, good humiliating grief.

“I suppose you need to use the phone to call a cab?”
She directed a pointed glance toward the leather cellular case attached to his waist.

Shaking his head, he moved farther into the room, assessing the equipment in the entertainment center, thumbing through the selection of CDs, crossing to the balcony and sliding open the plate-glass door before he answered. “I have a phone.”

“Well, then, I assume you came back for the obvious.”

“The obvious?” He tossed the question absently over his shoulder.

“To get started on your scavenger hunt.” She waited for a denial, but he stepped outside, giving her nothing but a very nice view of his backside, from wide shoulders to long legs and his really great ass in between.

“You’ve got a terrific view from here.”

“You can say that again.” She muttered the comment under her breath and followed. Leaning a shoulder against the wall on one side of the door frame, she kept the heels of both bare feet on the loft’s hardwood floor, dipping only her toes into the balcony’s shark-infested waters.

Leo finally glanced in her direction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Nothing. Just agreeing. About the view.” A safe enough reply. And true.

The neighborhood itself was newly renovated, which meant ongoing construction, the noise of road work and heavy equipment filling many hours of the day. Part of the price the residents paid for being among the first to support the new downtown.

But the nights were another thing entirely. From her fourth-floor balcony, the view of the city skyline beck
oned to Macy like a playground, a theme park, a childhood never-never land waiting to be explored.

She glanced over to catch Leo still staring her way.

He’d turned his back to the railing and stood, arms crossed and relaxed. “You like it here, don’t you?”

The pitch of his voice had lowered and softened, but Macy couldn’t think about the change in his tone. She couldn’t afford to let down her guard, or her anything, around this man. “I do. It’s fun, watching the city morph and change. Everything old is new again, or however the cliché goes.”

“Seems to be the way of things. I’ve been looking at condos in the old Rice Hotel. And Anton showed me a couple of the places near Buffalo Bayou he and Doug renovated.”

Macy nodded an acknowledgment, then moved back into the loft, sensing this conversation would soon turn to the weather. Leo wasn’t here for that any more than he was here to discuss the city’s real-estate market.

She wanted to know why he’d come. What he wanted. If he intended to stay. Why she wanted him to do just that when she should be showing the arrogant beast to the door.

He walked out of the balcony’s darkness and into her light. The stars in the night sky behind him winked with but half the sparkle in his eyes. Macy forced herself to breathe.

She couldn’t let him get to her this early in the game. She had to avoid this plaguelike attraction. The man was too logical, too seriously uptight and sensible. She doubted she’d find a spontaneous bone in his body.

Then again, that depended on what one considered a bone, didn’t it?

“What’s the frown for?”

She glanced up at his question and frowned. “I’m not frowning.”

Sliding the balcony door shut behind him, Leo responded to her denial with the bold arch of one brow.

“Okay. I’m frowning. But only because you said I was.” Yes. That made a world of sense. But it was certainly better than confessing her previous ponderings.

“Then you admit to the charge. And I rest my case.”

Macy once again crossed her arms, sending the clothesline of underthings swinging at her waist. “Tell me, Mr. Redding. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a prostitute?”

“A prostitute won’t screw you when you’re dead.”

She snorted. He hadn’t even hesitated long enough to blink. “I suppose you’ve heard them all.”

“It comes with knowing the territory.” He took a predatory step into the room. His mouth crooked with a predatory grin. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

Maybe so, but Macy Webb was no man’s prey. “Yes. I remember you making that boast.”

“I wondered about that. If you remembered.”

“I don’t forget much of anything. Unfortunately.”

“Except where you keep your lingerie?”

“Funny.” She glared and draped the lot over the back of the sofa. “Okay, I forgot to do my laundry until this afternoon.”

“So I noticed.”

“That I didn’t do my laundry?”

“That you weren’t wearing your laundry.” At her affronted expression, he added, “When you were in my lap.”

“And I guess I should be flattered?”

He shrugged one shoulder instead of answering with
a simple yes or no. “It wasn’t like I went out of my way to look. Your chest
was
in my face.”

“I see. So, what you’re saying is that when my chest isn’t in your face you don’t notice it?”

“No. That’s not what I said. But now that you mention it…” He let the sentence trail away.

Macy picked right up where he left off. “Mention what?”

“Victoria’s Secret? I think she shared it for a reason.”

He was
so
going to pay for that one. And he could start with a little scavenger hunt currency. “What about
your
secrets?”

“My secrets?”

“Sure.” She plopped down on the sofa, tucked her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her shins. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To zip through your scavenger hunt list? Get it over with and out of the way?”

He headed for the big square chair in which he’d sat earlier this evening. She watched him walk, watched him sit, watched him square an ankle over a knee and spread out his hands on the chair arms.

“Sure. Why not? What do you want to know?” He looked at her from behind those pewter rims that framed long brown lashes and clear green eyes.

She would not be sucked in by his studly
GQ
perfection. She would not. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Hmm. What was wrong with this picture? And why hadn’t she studied her list instead of leaving it on her desk to go over in bed once she’d put the loft back in order? “I can ask you anything on my list and you’ll answer?”

Elbows on the chair arms, he propped his fingertips
together under his chin, shrugged again with just one shoulder. “Unless it’s something I don’t want you to know.”

“Aha!” She bounded to the edge of the sofa, pointing a finger. Four of the bras at her shoulder slithered down into her lap. “I knew there was a catch.”

A brow went up. “There’s always a catch, Macy. But go ahead. Try me.”

There
was
always a catch, wasn’t there? Macy thought, folding her renegade laundry. And the catch in finding out what she wanted to know was that Leo would be asking the same in return.

But she’d be damned if she wouldn’t ferret out at least the one item she remembered seeing on her list. “Okay. Tell me this. Where is the most bizarre place you’ve ever had sex?”

Leo blinked slowly, thoughtfully, looked at Macy over his index-finger steeple. Then he removed his hands from his face. “Geographically bizarre? Like Bangkok?”

“Bangkok? Hmm. No, actually I mean strategically bizarre. On the back of a horse, in an airplane bathroom. That sort of thing.” She stacked the lingerie on the arm of the sofa and turned an expectant look on him.

Leo turned an expectant look on her stack of lingerie. “In a box seat. At the theater. Wearing a tux.”

The theater? A tux? And his date in formal wear, too? How could they—Unless—Macy had about ten-thousand logistical questions, but then Leo said, “My turn.”

With a sudden flutter of nerves, she pushed an unruly mass of hair from the right side of her face, repeated the gesture on the left. “Ask away.”

“Exhibitionist tendencies. It’s a question on my list.”

Macy looked his way slowly, sensing a strange, compelling touch, as if his finger had tipped up her chin and turned her head toward him. “And you were wondering what, exactly?”

His jaw tensed. The tic of a pulse throbbed at his temple. He glanced again at the arm of the sofa and at her lingerie.

“Oh, that.” She laughed lightly, ignoring the twisting, tightening tickle spinning like a roulette wheel beneath her rib cage. “I usually don’t make a habit of exposing my underthings, no.”

“But would you?”

“Strut my stuff?” Did she have it in her to be so bold? Her lips curved upward. And here she’d thought Leo so conventional and conservative. “I might.”

“Now?”

“Now?” She glanced toward the bras. “You want me to…”

He gestured with his chin. “The one on top. Put it on.”

The novelty print? She had black lace, silver lamé, zebra stripes, silk and satin. And he wanted Tinkerbell and Peter Pan?

One corner of his mouth almost lifted. “Just put it on.”

She was absolutely out there to be considering this. Such a strange turn for her scavenger hunt to take. But wasn’t this what she’d wanted? To see where her games might go? Besides, putting it on didn’t mean she had to take anything off.

Keeping that tidbit to herself, she stood, hung the bra around her waist and fastened the single rear hook. The cups and straps dangled over her belly. She slipped her arms out of her sleeves and down inside her T-shirt,
working the straps up over her shoulders beneath the narrow pink top.

She exposed a whole lot of belly in the process, but managed to get the bra into place without too many awkward movements. All that was left now was to wiggle one arm, then the other, back through the T-shirt’s armholes and, ta-da!

He didn’t move a muscle. Not so much as an eyelash. No tic in his jaw or fingers clenched on the chair arms, nor was there any other dead giveaway of a man holding his fierce lust in check. Then again, what was there for him to lust over?