Enough was enough. Game over. Definitely over. Except…
A tap sounded on the wall. “Open up.”
She tugged on the “clamshell” and opened the door. Bram’s face peered back at her through the black iron grillwork. Hardly a peephole. The antique rose walls framing his face should have feminized his face but only made him appear more masculine. He rubbed his jaw. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but this place has seriously turned me on.”
He wasn’t one bit embarrassed, and the store’s over-the-top atmosphere had seriously turned her on, too. She twisted her fake wedding ring. Melrose Avenue might be only a few blocks away, but this erotic emporium made her feel as though they’d stepped into another world. An oddly safe world where an untrustworthy man could look but not touch. A world where everything was about sex and where heartache wasn’t a possibility.
“I wish we’d taken a look at that bondage equipment,” he said.
She couldn’t resist playing with fire. “Just out of curiosity…Which one of us did you want tied up?”
“Starting off? You.” His voice took on a low, husky note. “But once you demonstrated proper submission, we could trade off. Now what do you say you try on that black mesh thing for me?”
The lure of romping with the devil in this sexual playground was nearly irresistible. “What do I get in return?”
“What do you want?”
She thought for a moment. “Step back.” When he did, she put her face to the grille and saw that his smaller dressing room had dark gold walls and oversize iron bolts to hold the garments she’d chosen for him. “Those black leather briefs.”
“No way.”
“Too bad.” She shut the door.
“Hey!”
She took her time opening it again. “Have you reconsidered?”
“If you go first.”
“Right. Like I’m going to fall for that.”
They had another stare-down. She kept her eyes steady even though her heart was beating like crazy.
“Come on, Georgie. I’ve had a bad week. Trying on some clothes for me is the least you can do.”
“I’ve had a bad week, too, and these aren’t clothes. They’re sex aids. If you want this so badly, you go first.”
“How about we do it together?”
“Deal.” She shut the door again. Her hands were shaking. She stepped out of her navy and white polka-dot ballet flats.
Several minutes passed before he knocked from the other side. “Are you ready yet?”
“No. I feel stupid.”
“
“I know. I chose it, remember? And I’m the one who should be complaining. These corset straps are arranged so they don’t hide anything.”
“Open the door.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“On the count of three,” he said.
“You have to step back so I can see.”
“All right. I’m stepping back. One…two…
She opened the door and looked through.
Bram looked back.
Both of them were fully clothed.
Bram shook his head. “You have serious trust issues.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “At least I took off my shoes. You didn’t even do that.”
“New deal,” he said. “The door stays open. You take off one thing. I’ll take off one thing. I’ll even go first.” He pulled his shirt over his head.
She already knew he had a great chest. She’d spent enough time sneaking peeks at it. The muscles were defined but not so overdeveloped that he lost I.Q. points, because, really, how sexy could a man be who had nothing better to do all day than work out?
“I’m waiting,” he said.
A quick calculation told her she was wearing more clothes. Was she really going to do this? Having sex with Bram offered no guarantee that he still wouldn’t cheat, but he also wasn’t stupid. He knew the kind of microscope they were under and how difficult it would be for him to get away with anything. Besides, Bram always took the easy way out, and in this case, that would be her.
She slipped her hand behind her neck and removed her silver necklace.
“No fair.”
Her trip to the devil’s playground demanded at least a few swings from the monkey bars. “Drop your jeans. You have a codpiece waiting.”
“I still have my shoes on, remember?” He stepped back so she could watch him kick off a single sneaker.
“That’s cheating.” She pulled away and slipped a small diamond stud from her earlobe.
“Talk about cheats.” Another sneaker came off.
“I’ve never cheated in my life.” She removed the remaining diamond stud.
“I don’t believe you.” One sock.
“Maybe at Pictionary.” Her wedding ring.
As they removed each new item, they took turns stepping back from the grille so the other could see. Up and back…up and back…a sensual dance of reveal and conceal.
His second sock hit the carpet. “Did a man ever dribble honey down your belly and lick it off?”
“Dozens of times.” She toyed with the top button on her blouse, playing for time, still not certain how far she’d go with this private peep show. “How long since your last lover?”
“Too long.” He slipped his thumb inside the snap at the top of his waistband.
“When?” She squeezed the red plastic button between her fingers.
“Could we talk about this another time?” He popped the snap.
“I don’t think so.” Bringing up past lovers should be diminishing her desire, but that wasn’t happening.
“Later. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“If I welsh, you can walk across my bare back in stilettos.”
“If you welsh”-her top button seemed to open of its own accord-“you’ll never see these again.” She unfastened her blouse button by button, then let it slide off her arms. She wore a lacy white La Perla bra with matching panties he didn’t yet know about.
His hand went to his wrist. Slowly, he slipped off his watch-she’d forgotten about his stupid watch-leaving him only in jeans with-what?-beneath. She couldn’t catch a deep breath. She moved back and unfastened her navy slacks. Looking him squarely in the eye, she tugged them down.
Her legs had always been her best feature-long, slender, and strong-a dancer’s legs, and his gaze lingered. Endless seconds ticked by before he stepped back and pulled off his slacks. He wore a pair of gray knit End Zone boxer briefs that molded to a sizable erection. She stared at it.
“Now your panties,” he said, approaching the grille again.
She’d never been so aroused, and they hadn’t exchanged a single touch. She unfastened her bra. The straps slipped down her shoulders, but she curled her hands over the lacy cups to keep them in place and moved back to the grille. “Work for it,” she whispered.
His voice grew husky. “I’m going to have to trust you on this one.”
He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his End Zones, worked them down, and stood in front of her magnificently naked. She grazed him with her eyes, the wide tanned shoulders, the muscular chest, the narrow hips a few shades paler than the rest of him. She barely felt her bra drifting through her fingers.
“Step back,” he said on a gruff whisper.
