Voyeur (9 page)

hadn't hit last night or she wouldn't have slept at al .

As it was, they propel ed her up and out of bed in a flash, down to the computer. It was just after eight, near the same time they'd chatted the first morning, so hopeful y he would be there. She pul ed up an IM box as fast as her fingers could click and type.

RILEY: Swear to me this is private.

A moment later, his answer arrived.
FLYBOY1: What are you talking about, honey?

She took a deep breath and lectured herself.
Try to sound at least a little bit rational. Don’t act like a total nutcase.

RILEY: Okay, I just woke up with a terrifying thought. That you're the sort of creep who might
... do
something really awful to me.

Yeah, that sounded real y rational. She let out a sigh, her heart stil beating too fast.

FLYBOY1: I still don't know what you're getting at, but before we go on, I have to tell you that you were beautiful and hot and incredible last night,
and I hate that you felt badly afterward.

Laura sighed. Okay, hopeful y this meant he wasn't out sel ing sex tapes of mystery novelist Laura Watkins. It provided enough reassurance to help

her explain her hideous fears.
RILEY: I just had this horrible picture in my head—you sitting and watching me . . . with a roomful of friends.

FLYB0Y1: Are you crazy? I would never do that to you. Why would you even think that?

RILEY: Perhaps this would be an appropriate time for me to remind you that I don't know you. At all.

FLYB0Y1: Aw, come on, snowflake, I think it's safe to say you know me at least a little now. And you can trust me, I swear. This is just
between you and me—completely private. I wish I could be there with you, so you could look in my eyes, and then you'd know I'm telling the

truth. I also wished I could be there last night when you seemed upset at the end.

A true sense of relief rushed through Laura’s body. It was hardly proof, but somehow she
felt
his earnest tone and believed in it.

RILEY: Okay, I feel better now. About it being private, I mean. The other part, though, not so much.

FLYB0Y1 : Why?

Laura sighed in exasperation. She thought this was pretty simple, but he never seemed to grasp it.
RILEY: Let me make this as plain as I can. I

have done things in front of you that I've never done in front of anyone. Extremely INTIMATE things. And I don't know you. A little maybe, but

not much. This is not the kind of person I am.

FLYB0Y1: Don't tell me we're gonna go through that again. Honey, there's nothing wrong with letting your sexual side show a little.

A little?
He thought she'd let it show a
little!
She nearly let out a mad cackle, but stopped, remembering that he was probably watching her right now. Instead of replying in some crazed, raving way—tempting since she currently felt pretty crazed and raving—she decided it would be smarter to

go straight to the heart of the matter.

RILEY: I'm appalled at what I did last night, and I want you to leave me alone for the rest of my time here.

His answer took longer than normal, but when it came, was typical of him.

FLYB0Y1: You didn't seem appalled while you were doing it.

She let out a sigh of disgust and didn't care if he heard her this time.
RILEY: Another bout of drunken insanity, that's all. I was DEEPLY appalled
AFTERWARD, and that counts for a lot.

FLYB0Y1: Did you go to Catholic school or

something?

Despite herself, she let out a short laugh, half-amused, half-hysterical.
RILEY: No. Afraid my conservatism is organic, all me.

FLYB0Y1: If I were there with you right

now, do you know what I'd do?

She drew in her breath and her pussy fluttered, unbidden.

RILEY: No.

FLYB0Y1: I'd fuck the conservatism right out of you, honey.

She didn't type an answer. She had no idea how to respond. Because as much as she real y thought it wise to banish him from her life and forget

any of this had ever happened, she couldn't deny the hard jolt of arousal coursing its way through her conservative body at reading his words.

FLYB0Y1: I'd think you were mad at me . . . except you don't LOOK mad. You look . . . excited. In fact, your cheeks are starting to flush, same as
when you touch yourself.

Again, Laura considered her response. She hated being so easy to read. She hated that he could see her and she stil couldn't see him.
RILEY: It's
so unfair that this stupid camera only works one way. And for your information, I AM mad, at myself. Last night went too far, and it absolutely

won't happen again.

FLYB0Y1: What size shoe do you wear?

She blinked at the screen in utter disbelief. Here they were, discussing shared sexual depravities, and he was taking down sizes?

RILEY: Why on earth do you want to know?

FLYBOY1: Humor me.

RILEY: 7½. But if you do anything stupid like have sexy shoes delivered to me because you want me to walk around naked in them or

something, I will promptly throw them out into the snow.

FLYBOY1: You take the fun out of everything. Bra size?

She sighed.
RILEY: None of your business.

FLYBOY1: 36C?

She let out yet another irritated harrumph.
RILEY: 34, if you must know, but you got the C right.

FLYB0Y1: Guess I'm a good judge of tits. And yours are beautiful, honey. Only problem with the present I sent you yesterday is that I didn't get

to see them.

She rol ed her eyes.
RILEY: Poor planning on your part, I suppose .
Damn it, why was she letting herself be engaged this way? She was supposed to be putting a stop to this.

FLYB0Y1: Show me now.

Laura sucked in her breath as she stared at the screen and tried to keep her expression neutral. No man had ever made her feel so torn between

her real self and her inner bad girl.

To her surprise, part of her wanted to unbutton her pajama top right now, wanted to sit typing to him topless. But if she kept on with this, she feared she'd lose some precious part of herself. She'd come close to that last night, she thought—to giving away something she wasn't sure she wanted to

give. At least not to a man she'd never meet in person.

RILEY: No. And you know what else? I'm done with this, Braden—REALLY done with it. As of right now, I want nothing more to do with you, got

it?

She liked that his next answer took awhile. She liked having surprised him with her anger. And even though she sat in the desk chair, stil aroused,

stil wanting—that anger was real. Last night
had
gone too far. She never should have done something so intimate with a stranger, and it had left her feeling ashamed. This had been mysterious and intriguing, and probably the most truly exciting thing she'd ever done— but the horror she'd felt

last night, coming right on the heels of her orgasm, had made it clear to her that it had to stop.

FLYB0Y1: Won't work, Laura. You won't turn

the camera off.

Arrogant bastard.
RILEY: I don't have to turn it off to ignore you. And I'm going to start ignoring you right this instant. I came here to write a book,
now I'm going to write it.

FLYB0Y1: How it's going, the book?

She didn't answer, instead pul ing up the file she'd been writing in.

FLYBOY: Is your alter ego busy solving some heinous crime?

She swal owed, hard, because she found it difficult to ignore someone directly addressing her, even through the computer—but she stil managed

to. In fact, she started vigorously typing the next scene of the book. The writing was terrible, of course, but she could fix it later. For now, she mainly wanted to look busy and absorbed in her work.

FLYB0Y1: Come on, honey – don't be like this.

I have to. To protect my sanity.
It was tempting to tel him that, to let him persuade her back into conversation—but no, not this time. She had to stand strong. She kept typing—something about Sloane Bennett being hot, the hottest man Riley had ever laid eyes on, let alone kissed.

FLYB0Y1: Talk to me.

Another sentence—this one about Sloane being the sort of man who could tempt Riley to do things she never had before, but how Riley
refused
to be tempted because she had a case to solve and she intended to show Sloane she was a good detective, and that having sex with him probably

wouldn't do much to convince him of her mystery-solving prowess.

FLYB0Y1: Please.

Drat—that almost got her. She felt guilty and mean.

But there was nothing mean about it. He was a big boy—he'd get by just fine without her company, she was sure of it. And for al she knew, he was

dating twenty different women. And would have one of them in his bed tonight. Or maybe he was dating only
one
woman—a special one. And this

was sort of like cheating on her. More than sort of—definitely cheating. She let out a sigh and kept typing, reminding herself that these were just

more good examples of why it was a mistake to get intimately involved with someone she didn't know from Adam.

A few feet away on the desk, an antique black phone rang. She flinched—the phone hadn't rung since her arrival, and she'd thought this particular

device only served as a decoration; she'd never dreamed the thing actual y worked.

She knew almost certainly that it was Braden cal ing—
insisting
she talk to him. If she answered, she could final y hear his voice. She would

definitely feel as if he were a little nearer, even if it was only an il usion. If only she dared.

Of course, it could also be Monica, or her mother, who also knew where she was—but they'd more likely cal her cel .

Staring at the phone, then casting a slow glance back to the computer, she took a deep breath and reached for the phone. "Hel o?"

"Hi, honey. It's me." As she'd suspected, his voice was deep and dark, flowing over her like thick, melted chocolate. Just hearing it made her breasts feel heavy and her inner thighs ache.

"Hi" she replied shortly. She glanced down, away from the screen. She couldn't let him see how just the very sound of him affected her.

"Don't be mad at me, okay?"

She suspected he'd used the persuasive tone on women before—and she also suspected it had always worked. "I never said I was mad." She

swal owed back the nervous lump that had grown in her throat at this unexpected push closer to him. “I’m just … very uncomfortable."

"I don’t want you to feel that way. I want you to love what we've been sharing as much as I do."

"Wel , sure, that would be nice, but... I can't."

"Why do you think sex is wrong?"

She sighed. "I never said that, either. I don't think sex is wrong at al —I think sex is great. But I'm not comfortable doing weird things with a stranger.

It might be different if we were together, in the same room, but we're not even in the same state, so... it's just a bizarre way to be intimate, that's al ."

She heard him breathing on the other end of the line and, despite herself, couldn't help enjoying the continued il usion that he was somehow closer

now. "I'd think most women might like it better this way—I mean, since you keep tel ing me I'm a stranger, I'd think you'd be glad I'm far away. That it would make you feel. . . safer or something."

"I'm not most women. I've told you, I'm conservative and sensible. Nothing about
this
is conservative and sensible."

"And if I asked you to meet me at the computer tonight at ten o'clock?"

"You'd find an empty room this time—I swear it." And she meant it—sexy phone voice or not. Because if there had been any safety through the

anonymity provided by the computer, this kind of changed that, made him even more real than he'd been before. She simply didn't think she could

muster another masturbation scene for him now that she'd heard his voice.

"So you'd real y stand me up?" He sounded disappointed, but his voice also held a hint of teasing. "I hate to hear that, snowflake."

"Why?"

"You get me hotter than anyone has in a long time" No teasing this time. Al serious, al heat.

"Why is that?" she asked frankly. "Why not find a
real
woman—one you can touch yourself ? I hear they have attractive ones in California."

He laughed softly, although it held little humor. "You re real enough for me—trust me on that. More real than most women I know."

"Too much silicone and BOTOX in your world?"

"Maybe something like that. Just suffice it to say you re the woman I want right now."

She blinked slowly, then final y lifted her gaze to the camera, feeling she needed to face him if she were to get her point across. "Then I guess its too bad I'm here and you're there. That's the only way this could go any further. I'm sorry, Braden."

With that, she hung up the phone, then pushed to her feet and walked away.

It took every ounce of strength she had to do that—real y walk away from him, or as close as she could come to walking away given that he was

actual y three states away from her—but she meant it. She'd been reminded this morning of how little she real y knew about him and just how

intimate she'd become with him. It was too much. Too risky. Too strange.

His liquid voice stil reverberated in her ear as she forced herself to cat a little breakfast—a bagel and coffee—then walk upstairs and get dressed.

And when she came back down, she gasped when she nearly tripped over last night's velvet panties and the purple vibrator, stil lying on the floor in

front of the couch.