Past Midnight (30 page)

She laughed for him again as if she didn’t get the gut-wrenching importance of his words. “Why?”

“Because it’s sexy, and it makes me so damn hard I can’t think of anything else but doing you.”

“Sweet talker.”

A garbled announcement sputtered through the loudspeaker. “I think that’s our name,” he said.

“That was quick. But thank God”—she rolled her eyes dramatically—“I thought I was going to faint from hunger.” Rising, she pulled on her jacket, leaving it unbuttoned. Taking her purse from the bag she’d had at her feet, she laid the carryall on her chair. “There’s just a book and some water and the nuts in there. I’ll leave it to save our seats.” Then she pulled out the book and tossed it on his chair.

“That better not be a romance. It’ll wound my manhood.”

She glanced at his jeans. He was semihard. “I don’t think you have any problem with your manhood, sweetie.”

The book, he saw, was a managerial how-to tome and way too dry. No wonder she hadn’t brought it out of the bag. But Erin was still smiling over her comment as they headed down the aisle to the dining car. She gave a slight tip of her head as they passed the young man. At the same moment, he looked up, their gazes meeting briefly. Ah, eye contact. Unspoken signals. Dominic didn’t expect anything to come of it, not on the train anyway, but at least she was flirting. He was hoping the guy would get off in Reno. In more ways than one.

In the dining car, the waiter led them to a table midway through the car. They both took the window seats of the booth, sitting opposite each other, and ordered coffee to start.

“This is a nice setup.” Erin opened the menu. The food already served to the other diners actually looked appetizing and smelled good, too. The snow-laden countryside rushed by, but inside, they were warm, the tablecloth was white, the napkins cloth instead of paper, and by the window, a little vase of daisies danced to the train’s rhythm. The drone of voices blended with the whoosh of the wheels on the tracks, making other conversations virtually impossible to distinguish and isolating them at the same time.

Their waiter was heading their way. “We have another diner who will be joining you, if you have no objection.”

Erin’s young admirer slid into the seat next to her.

ERIN BREATHED DEEPLY OF THE MAN SEATED NEXT TO HER. HE smelled wonderful; not something she could identify in particular, but an expensive, spicy, male-dominant scent.

“Hi. Craig Miller.” He laid his book on the edge of the table, then stuck his hand out first to Dominic.

They shook. “Dominic”—he touched his chest, then extended his hand—“my wife, Erin.” He didn’t provide a last name.

Hmm. Coincidence that Craig made his lunch reservation right after Dominic had gone forward to make theirs? He took her hand, his grip firm, his touch dry. Thank God he didn’t have sweaty-palm syndrome. “Nice to meet you,” she said, dropping her voice, shooting for low and sexy. “Are you going to Reno?”

“No. A little farther.” He didn’t offer additional information, but his smile was as warm as his touch, his eyelashes lush for a man.

Okay. No Reno. Playing with him a little was safe then. Craig Miller was totally hot with those movie-star looks, dark hair, brown eyes, and a deep voice a woman felt on the inside. “I noticed your book out there,” she said, letting him know she’d seen
him
, not just his book. “I love to know what others are reading.”

He blushed. It was kinda cute.

Dominic shot her a look, not quite a smile, more of a smirk because, number one, it wasn’t like her to question people, and number two, she’d openly admitted she’d been watching.

“It’s a biography on Joseph Goebbels,” Craig said.

“Oh, you’re a historian. How interesting.” She smiled brightly, laying it on thick. That would get Dominic going.

Craig’s color deepened. “Not exactly. I write historical fiction, the World War Two period.”

Dominic set down his menu, his attention grabbed, but he let her do the talking.

“That is
very
interesting,” she enthused. “World War Two spy novels?” Being a writer, he’d love talking about what he did.

“Yeah, you could call them spy novels.” He picked up his menu as if he were embarrassed and needed a distraction.

Their waiter arrived with coffees all around and to take their orders. He looked at Erin first. She leaned a little over Craig in order to point around the waiter at a plate on the next table. “What’s that? It looks delicious.”

The waiter stepped back to see. “Goulash, ma’am.”

“Is it good?” she asked the man across, raising her voice so he could hear over the incessant clatter of the train. He nodded, mouth full, surprised someone would interrupt.

Under normal circumstances, Erin wouldn’t have done anything like it. But she was the woman whose husband wanted to watch her have sex with another man, and this Erin had a lot more freedom. This Erin was downright bold. “I’ll have that.”

“It comes with a salad. What kind of dressing would you like?”

She let her eyelashes sink a moment, her lips curving as if she were reviewing each individual taste. “Blue cheese. It’s so tangy, but sweet at the same time.” Like come, she thought.

Craig grinned. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

It reminded her of that movie
When Harry Met Sally
, when the woman ordered the same thing after Sally faked an orgasm in the restaurant.

Under the table, Dominic tapped her leg with the toe of his shoe. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. She felt like a hot little tease. And she didn’t have to do anything either. The train was too crowded, and she was
not
doing it in the john. It was a game. And it was fun.

“I’ll take the burger,” Dominic said when it was his turn.

“You’re so boring, sweetie,” she teased. “You should try something with pizzazz.”

“I’ll let you have all the pizzazz.” The glance he shot Craig was deliberate with subliminal messaging.

“So,” she said when the waiter was gone, “back to your spy novels. Do you use your own name? Would we have seen your books in stores?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I use my name, but it’s no big deal.”

She noticed the blush again and began to suspect he was embarrassed. She didn’t recognize his name from anywhere either. Maybe he felt the prick of not being a household word. Then, without a clue how the idea popped into her mind but knowing it was brilliant, she said, “It’s a total coincidence that you’re a writer because we have something in common.”

He raised a brow. “Don’t tell me. You’ve written a novel, and you’re trying to get it published.” Erin detected a hint of disgust in his tone.

She flapped a hand, laughed at him. “I’ve already had several novels published.”

Dominic choked on his gulp of coffee before catching himself. She got the biggest kick out of leaning closer to Craig and dropping her voice to a sexy note. “Don’t tell anyone, but I write erotica. And I
don’t
use my real name.” She leaned back, making sure her jacket was open wide enough so that her breasts were fully visible—and inviting. She smiled at his gape. Hah, he believed her. She held up her hand. “Don’t ask me what it is. I have to keep my anonymity.”

“Don’t tell me you’re Zane,” he said with an ounce of awe.

Zane? Honestly, she’d never read erotica and didn’t know any of the writers. Was that Billy Zane? No, he was an actor.

“Honey,” Dominic interrupted, “we’re incognito this trip.” He raised one devilish brow.

She glanced from Craig to Dominic and back to Craig. Then she patted his hand. “Dominic’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything. This is just a . . .” She paused for a heartbeat, then puckered up to add, “pleasure trip.”

Craig was young enough to let his eyes widen at the innuendo. And it was definitely an innuendo. “It’s your secret. I’ll just”—he cut off, waited a beat—“fantasize about it.” His eyes traveled from her to Dominic, gauging her husband’s response.

Dominic merely smiled, cool, smug, and knowing.

Her pulse began to buzz. Craig was falling in with the program, flirting back, picking up on the fact that Dominic was fine with it all. Oh yeah, erotica writer was perfect. She didn’t have to wonder how to bring sex into the conversation. She’d put it right out on the table, and he’d taken the bait. “And I absolutely love my job.”

Beneath the table, Craig’s leg brushed hers. A purposeful touch. A flash of heat. Warmth rushed through her body, her clit suddenly pulsing, her breasts tingling. Beneath the thin bra and tight T-shirt, her nipples peaked. Dominic saw.

With the young man’s thigh resting against hers, she smiled wickedly at him across the table.

DOMINIC SHOT HERA LOOK. ERIN BATTED HER EYELASHES AT HIM.

You dirty little slut.
He had no doubt she knew exactly what he was thinking. She was goddamn perfect, opening the door to sexual banter with a stroke of genius. Her jacket framed her breasts, and damn if her nipples weren’t completely suckable right through the T-shirt.

“I bet you love the research.” Craig grinned, fixing Dominic with a direct gaze.

The game was on, and the kid wanted in. “You have no idea,” Dominic said.

He was sure Craig would have asked for specifics if their lunch hadn’t arrived at that moment.

Erin tried the goulash before the salad. “Oh my God.” She let out a sexy moan of pleasure that made him hard as granite.

She was on a roll. He loved it.

“That’s to die for.” She waved at the opposite table. “Thanks for the recommendation.” The guy merely nodded.

Then she bumped Craig’s shoulder with hers. “Try it. I have to know if you adore the taste as much as I do.”

Craig seemed a little stunned, aware of the sensuality in her words, her touch, and the fact that she had no compunction cozying up to him with her husband sitting right across the table. He was starting to realize he’d bitten off more than he could chew, so to speak.

“It’s great,” he said after swallowing a forkful.

Dominic waited. He had no idea what his wife would say or do next, and the uncertainty had his blood hot and his cock throbbing. He was dying for her next word.

Elbow on the table, she leaned her chin on her fist a moment, toying with her fork in the goulash as she gazed at Craig. “How do you do your research?” she asked, eyes wide, innocent. “Reading books and cruising the Internet? Or more . . . hands-on?”

She had the pause just right. Even Dominic felt it in his groin.

Craig matched her look. “Hands-on is the only way.”

“I agree.” She took a bite of goulash, savored it, turned a smile on him. “I’m very tactile,” she purred. “Writing spy novels, do you have to go out and . . . play with your gun?”

Christ. Dominic wanted to kiss her. Or fuck her. Both.

“Occasionally I have to do that. You’ve got to keep it primed, you know.”

She nodded with all sincerity. “Dominic keeps his primed, too.” She smiled sweetly. “A man never knows when he’s going to have to whip it out on the spur of the moment.”

Dominic sputtered, chuckled, then couldn’t help himself. “You are so bad.”

She pouted charmingly, then patted Craig’s arm. “I’m teasing. That’s what we”—she lowered her voice with a quick look at the opposite table—“erotica writers do. Everything is a sexual innuendo.” She laughed sweetly. “We can’t help ourselves. It’s in our genes.”

“Is that your DNA genes?” Craig asked, “or
these
jeans?” He dropped his hand beneath the table, and he had to be touching Erin.

Dominic’s heart kicked into high gear. He was suddenly so goddamn hard, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand straight.

Then Erin’s hand disappeared under the table. “It’s always in these jeans.”

Dominic could swear he heard every single snowflake hit the ground. What were they doing under there? Though the angle of their arms and bodies wasn’t right for it, he had the distinct image of Erin holding Craig’s fingers to her hot pussy.

Then everyone’s hands were back on the table, and Erin leaned forward. “I do believe this young man is capable of a few innuendos himself.”

“I’m sure he is,” Dominic agreed, damn near lightheaded with all the testosterone zipping through his blood. “After all, he’s a big boy.”

Erin gave Craig a sidelong glance. “I have a feeling he’s a
very
big boy.”

Craig smiled but said nothing, filling his mouth with goulash. Erin had said it all for him.

It seemed only moments of cock-hardening sexual tension in which Dominic wasn’t aware how he’d done it, but his burger was gone and so were most of his fries.

The waiter cleared their dishes. “Dessert?” he asked, plates stacked along his arm.

“I couldn’t fit another thing in,” Erin said, then tossed a glance at Craig. “At least not dessert.”

Damn. She was daring, flirting outright in front of their waiter. Dominic didn’t have a chance to feel even a spark of jealousy that he was on the other side of the table. He didn’t have a chance to think. There was just the thrum of his blood, the ache of his erection, and Erin’s heat arcing across to him beneath the table. She was his sex object, the fantasy woman that drove him wild, and the images in his mind were crazy, taboo, exciting, dirty, nasty, and enthralling.