A Secret Life

“Great.” His full lips curved into a calculating smile.

“What?” she asked.

His voice turned seductive. “You remember what you promised me?”

“No,” she lied, not meeting his eyes, even as her pulse jumped.

“Liar,” he purred in her ear.

Of course she was lying. But the promise had been an impulse born of fear. And he hadn’t died. And, despite the buzz building in her body, she really wasn’t ready for whatever kinky sex thing he had in mind.

She put her foot on the bottom step.

He caught her by the arm. “Not so fast.”

“We need to get into position,” she said.

His chuckle told her how he’d interpreted her words, while his thumb drew little circles on her bare arm. She was suddenly, acutely conscious of her short, cotton skirt and her tight tank top.

“You know what I meant,” she said tartly, attempting to pull away. But a little part of her-okay, a big part of her-wanted him to push a little.

“A promise is a promise,” he mocked, as if reading her mind.

“I thought you were dying at the time.”

“But I lived.”

The silence stretched until she braved a look into his eyes.

Hoo boy.

Those were some sexy eyes. And his thumb was roaming toward her shoulder. Who knew a shoulder could be so arousing?

He didn’t say a word, just stared at her while the debate raged inside her head.

“What did you have in mind?” she finally asked, telling herself there was no harm in hearing him out. Maybe it wasn’t something hugely kinky. Maybe it was something normal. Although, if it was too normal, she’d be disappointed.

What was she saying?

“Take off your panties,” he rumbled.

The butterflies regrouped in her stomach. “Why?”

“Because you promised any kinky perverted thing I could dream up.”

Okay, this wasn’t looking so normal. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Not unless you tell-”

“Take them off.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

There was laughter lurking behind his eyes. He was yanking her chain. He wasn’t going to do anything awful.

Was he?

“Now,” he said.

“Fine.” She held up her index finger. “But this better not hurt.”

“It won’t hurt.”

“You promise?”

“Live a little, Heather.”

She stared at him for another second, trying to decide if she was being incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Then she reached under her skirt and hooked her thumbs around her lacy panties, pulling them down and kicking them off over her sandals.

There. She’d promised, and she was following through. It was the only honorable thing to do. She really had no choice.

He scooped them up and tucked them into his pocket.

She folded her arms over her chest, trying not to let the air currents swirling up against her damp flesh turn her on. “Now what?”

Would he tie her to the railing? Take her up against the attic wall? Had he brought along some kind of sex toy?

“We go upstairs,” he said easily, gesturing for her to precede him.

“We’re going to have kinky sex on the catwalk?”

“Who said anything about kinky sex?”

“But…” Her jaw dropped open as she realized his intent. “You pervert.”

“I think we pretty much established that already.”

She bopped him in the chest with the end of her fist. “You’re going to look up my skirt.”

“Hey, it was your idea in the first place.”

“I-”

“And it was a good one.”

“And you swore you didn’t do that kind of thing.”

“Not without permission.” He moved closer again. “Can I assume I’ve got your permission?”

“You may not.”

This time, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Never took you for a tease.”

“I’m not a tease.”

“You sure make promises you won’t keep.”

“You tricked me.”

“I did,” he nodded. “That was my master plan all along. Get shot, and get you to promise me kinky sex.”

“You’re insufferable.” It might not have been a setup, but it sure felt like a setup.

“Tell me something, Heather.”

“What?”

“Do you want to climb up those stairs in front of me?”

His question sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to tell him no, but his intent gaze told her he’d know she was lying.

Truth was, now that she really thought about it, climbing up those stairs with Samuel behind her would be daring. It would be sexy-like nothing she’d every done before, like nothing she’d ever do again.

“It’s just you and me, babe,” he rumbled, his rough fingertips brushing a tendril of hair back from her face. “None of your Boston boys will ever have to know.”

He had a point.

She lifted her lashes to gaze into his dark, sinful eyes. If she was ever going to go out on a sexual limb, now was the moment to do it. And this moment might never come again. She was more than a little nervous, but she turned away and started up the first steps.

Her skirt swished, and her thighs fanned each other as she walked up one step, then another, then another. She could feel Samuel’s gaze, hot and prickly on the backs of her legs.

The aging wood groaned and the staircase bowed as he mounted the first step. She kept climbing, and he kept pace, the distance remaining constant between them.

By the time she stepped out on the catwalk, she was a heated mass of hormones. Her skin gleamed slickly in the fading light. And it was a fight to keep from throwing herself in his arms.

Samuel moved to a floor-level window, removing the camera from around his neck. “This’ll work,” he said, then eased his big body down to lean back against the wall.

Heather stared at him in disbelief. Where was the kiss? Where was the embrace? Where was the fast, hard sex up again the wall?

“What?” he asked.

She pushed back her damp hair, trying to ignore the throbbing insistence between her legs. “I thought…”

He lifted his brows, his expression deadpan.