Mystery Date (Harlequin Blaze) (8 page)

Would she recognize the quiet boy who’d left college after such a short time to become a man on his family’s ranch?

Of course not. There was no way she would remember him—not from merely one party when he’d seen her across the room and hadn’t even gone over to introduce himself. If he did show himself to her tonight, she would get a “who are you?” blankness in her eyes.

He felt a pang but brushed it off, telling himself that not being recognized by Leigh didn’t matter. He just didn’t want to destroy what they had going on—something nearly anonymous and definitely temporary.

He wouldn’t even need to touch her to get his fill tonight. His heart couldn’t take it, because after all this time, it still hadn’t healed from Carla. It never would.

He headed straight for the darkened upper floor above the living room then reclined in the chair he’d placed behind the barred railing.

They had disconnected their call after he’d told her to take the stairs to the mansion, but now, as he heard the back door open and shut, he dialed her disposable cell, and she answered, out of breath.

He spoke before she could. “Take the hallway.”

“You realize that if this were a horror movie, I’d be setting myself up as the girl who everyone in the audience yells at because she’s walking into danger.”

Again, her sense of humor. “This isn’t a horror movie, and I’m not dangerous.”

“Seriously? Because my friend Margot compared this whole setup to a scary story yesterday.”

“But you’re not scared.”

“You’re right. Besides, the hallway doesn’t give off much of a sense of danger. It’s dim, not dark.”

The wall sconces were set on low, and he’d known it would be enough to light her way. “Are you at the end yet?”

“Near enough.”

“Turn right.”

He could almost feel her approaching—the ache inside of him got edgier with every thud of his pulse.

“Are you in the living room yet?” he asked.

“The one with the fire, blankets and Cleopatra spread? Yeah, I think so.”

He was near enough that he could have raised his voice and she would’ve heard, but he didn’t want to break the illusion that he wasn’t quite there. It only added to the exhibitionist feel of this game, and she’d already admitted that she enjoyed being watched.

She appeared below him, the phone to her ear as she looked around at the Italian leather–upholstered furniture, the framed Renaissance sketches on the wall, the brass trimmings reflecting the flames from the fire. He swallowed. Hard.

Leigh took his breath away every time he saw her, and for a moment he wished he were a different man. Wished that he could click off the phone and go downstairs to touch her long blond hair or brush his fingers down her face, feeling her skin.

But he was the same old Adam—the guy Beth had accused of being abnormal last night. And that was all he would ever be after Carla.

He leaned his forearms on his thighs, his phone to his ear, watching through the upper-floor rails, totally shrouded in shadow. “Put your phone on speaker and lay it on those blankets.”

“I guess your wish is my command.” Smiling, she bent to a knee, placing the phone on the ground near a big gold-fringed pillow. “What now?”

He could hear his muffled voice coming through the phone on her blanket. “I’ll leave what’s next up to you.”

His words seemed to ring through the air. It was up to her: stay or go. Advance or retreat.

Obviously, she hadn’t expected this. He’d been giving the suggestions, unless you counted the time she’d demanded to know what color his hair was. But that had been a trivial thing, easily given up. A lot of men had dark hair and it wouldn’t reveal much about him.

No fool, she glanced toward the upper floor, and his throat beat with his pulse just as if he’d been discovered. At the same time, she sat down on the blanket, slipping off her baggy white sweater, tossing it aside.

The fire crackled behind her, casting a golden glow over her as she reached for the wine in its bucket.

“A 2009 Riesling. Good pick, Callum.”

“It goes well with the cheeses, especially the Parmigiano-Reggiano.”

She plucked a slice off the silver tray, then fetched the lone wineglass, unstopped the cork and poured. “Are you drinking up there, too?”

“I was getting around to it.” Glancing at the standing silver ice bucket with the same wine sticking out of it, he reached for a glass near his own chair, then poured. He lifted his drink in a toast even though she couldn’t see him. “To fun and games.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

She raised her glass, toasted him, then took a sip. When she was done, she nibbled on the cheese and put it down. Truthfully, she looked a little nervous as she scooted back against a large pillow facing him.

“Leigh,” he said, “you know that this doesn’t have to go any further. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting anything.”

She touched the hem of her dress, her long bare legs stretched out in front of her, tipped by those hot cowgirl boots. “I wouldn’t have come inside this mansion if I...” Her words trailed off until she added, “I’ve never given in to my whims all that much in life.”

And she was determined to change that now?

His heartbeat seemed to be the only sound besides the crackle of flames in the fireplace.

Instead of talking, she held her wineglass in one hand, her other still touching the hem of her skirt. His cock pressed against the fly of his jeans, making him shift in his seat.

She lowered her voice, but he could still hear her loud and clear over the phone.

“What color are your eyes, Callum?” she asked, winding the material of her skirt around a finger, lifting it a touch higher.

So this was how it would go. Her asking questions, him giving in. Smart woman.

But he could play this.

“They’re brown.” He wouldn’t tell her they were almost gold. For some reason it was too much detail, but brown was still close enough to the truth.

She laughed. “Funny. With a name like Callum, I pictured blue eyes.”

“Because it sounds so Irish, huh?” He wouldn’t tell her that he’d assumed his grandpa’s name for this charade.

Instead of pulling up her skirt like last time, she instead reached up and idly rested her fingers at her collarbone, just above the buttons on her bodice. “Good. I can start putting together a real picture of you now that I know a couple of details.”

It wouldn’t be much of an image, and once again he almost wished he could go to her, revealing himself so she could fantasize about him when this night was over, lying in bed, touching herself.

She was toying with the first button, and he waited to see where she was going to go with this. Waited as pressure built in his cock.

Unable to stand it, he said, “Why don’t you just do it, Leigh?”

“Because you didn’t say
please.
” She’d lowered her gaze, looking up at him through her lashes like a temptress.

Damn it all. “Please.”

Clearly noticing the edgy note in his tone, she undid the button. His lungs felt about ready to burn up.

Her smile grew, as if she were imagining him devouring her with his gaze. As if she were getting off on it just as much as he was.

She undid another button. Another.

When she was near the waistline, she stopped, her bodice gaping, showing him a lacy white bra that matched what he’d seen of her panties.

“White lace,” he murmured.

She propped one of her booted feet on the blanket, leaning back on the pillow, giving him the sauciest look he’d seen from her yet while casually waving her knee back and forth. He could see a glimpse of her underwear, and it almost set something loose in him.

He was throbbing hard now, his cock straining from the steam whistling through his veins and gathering down below.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come down here with me?” she asked.

His mouth was dry, and he swallowed again. “I think you know the answer.” Temporary. No name or face. No consequences.

“That’s too bad. I’m having a lot of fun, even all by myself.”

He was, too. More than he’d had since... God, he wasn’t going to think about Carla.

Leigh reached for her wineglass, then lazily drank from it, putting it down again. Every move she made was innocently arousing, as if she had no idea that he was about to shoot through the roof. But from the way she kept slyly peeking up at him, he knew that she knew.

“If I’d had more wine already,” she said, running a hand along the inside of one thigh, “I’d say that I feel a buzz. But I’ve only had a little, and...”

“What?” The word had scratched his throat.

She gave him one of those lowered-lash glances again. “I feel like I can do anything and not go home regretting it.”

Her fingers came dangerously close to the juncture of her thighs, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

She laughed again, as though she was having the time of her life. “I feel even more reckless than last night because I know that what happens in this house...”

“Stays in this house.”

No strings. Mystery dates that would stay mysterious because she didn’t know who he was and never would.

As if wanting to prove what she’d just said, she bit her lip, then let her leg cant to the side, exposing more of her panties. But this time, she slid her hand to them.

He officially couldn’t breathe now, couldn’t move, either, for fear that he would break apart when he should be holding himself together. Yet as she coasted her fingers over herself, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Leigh. The object of his youthful fantasies come to life right before him. But she was a wicked, confident woman now.

“What are you imagining?” he asked, pretending that her fingers were his.

“You.”

He stifled a curse, then said, “Why don’t you close your eyes. Keep picturing me.”

Her long hair spread around her, one arm was crooked above her head in abandon. She was still biting her lip, her head turned to the side as she tentatively stroked herself.

He knew she was feeling shy even now. “I’m there with you, my fingers on you. How do they feel?”

“Nice,” she whispered. “Really good.”

He wanted more than good. “Slide your fingers into your panties, under that white lace. Touch yourself like you want me to touch you.”

For a second he thought he might be rushing things, that she would realize how crazy this all was and put a stop to it. But then he heard a slight moaning sound over the phone as she obeyed, slipping her fingers into her underwear, arching her hips at the contact.

His dream girl, making fantasies into a reality right here, right now. Holding back his own moan, he imagined working her, making her wet.

“Now,” he said, “take your other hand. Slip it inside your bra.”

She did, and as her hips moved with the strokes of her fingers, her lips parted. She rubbed her breast slowly, just as he would’ve done if he’d been down there.

“Do you want me inside you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Without any more instructions, she rocked her hips as she slid her fingers into herself.

He couldn’t say anything else, could only fantasize about having his cock inside her, thrusting, his skin against hers. His mouth against hers, capturing the tiny cries of ecstasy that he was hearing now as she brought herself pleasure.

His cock was hard, demanding some private release, but he wanted to stay here, keep watching her, making himself wait, stretching out the sawing buzz of lust that was starting to pierce him through and through.

With every churn of her hips, every labored breath, he struggled to hold back, even while that steam rose in him, powering through his veins with cutting speed until—

She stifled a cry, then hitched in a quick breath, taking her hand out of her bodice and curling that arm over her face as if...as if she was hiding from him the way he was hidden from her.

He was gripping the armrest with one hand while she came, pressing her face into her arm.

When she was done, she panted, then started laughing. Now she was embarrassed?

“Well,” she said. “Beth told me that our date would be fun. I can’t say I’ve ever had so much fun in this way, though.”

He laughed, too, but the sound was so tight that it barely came out. All he knew was that he’d have to have much more from Leigh than he’d gotten already.

And he had to figure out a way to touch her himself without unmasking “Callum.”

5

A
S
L
EIGH SAT UP
, straightening her dress, her bodice still open, she thought,
Is this a good time to be mortified?

Had this game gone a little too far?

Probably. But the thing was, she wasn’t completely embarrassed about it. At first, maybe, but now it felt as if she’d just gotten off a breathtaking ride and her adrenaline was pumping away, telling her to get back on, to take another turn around the exhilarating track.

As if rebelling against all the deeply ingrained instincts that were trying to get her to use some common sense, she left the top of her dress open. See? She could be a desirable, sexy woman who made no apologies. She could revel in the aftermath of a seriously indulgent moment.

While she looked up at the top floor, her bra pushed up her breasts, making them rounded and sexy. Callum was probably still looking at them.

Freedom. This was truly freedom: knowing that your partner—or whatever he was—was gazing at you and not thinking you were overweight. Freedom was feeling high and ecstatic after that orgasm he’d given her with a bit of fantasy and the dark velvet sound of his voice.

Who’d ever made her feel that way before—and without even
being
here?

She smiled at the darkness where she knew he was sitting, though she could see only the brass railing in the firelight. Her vivid imagination made her think that she could also detect the outline of a man up there, reclining in a chair.

What would he do if she sprinted upstairs? Would he be gone before she got even halfway there?

She grabbed her wineglass, taking a long drink, then reached for the slice of cheese she’d started to eat before. When she was done with it, she said, “So, what’s next on the agenda?”