All Tied Up Page 14

  “See?” She nuzzled his chest with her cheek, burrowed her nose into the loose folds of black linen. “I knew you were capable of having a good time.”

  He held her where and how she wanted to be held while listening to the strains of the music drifting into the dimly lit foyer from the main room beyond. Mood music. Hot and throbbing and utterly untamed. And Macy’s mouth making wet and wild with that bared section of his skin.

  A deeply drawn groan, primal and raw, rolled from his gut to his throat. He pulled her farther into the shadows. “So getting me all worked up? This is what you consider a good time?”

  “I consider it a start.” Glancing up, she wiggled both brows, her tongue slicking over her lower lip. “It’s not like all that fancy footwork was just for you, you know.”

  When he didn’t, couldn’t, immediately respond, she quit with the nuzzling and burrowing and hit him lightly in the shoulder. “C’mon, Leo. We showered together yesterday morning. It’s not like I came on to you in there out of the blue.”

  He wasn’t going to argue. If anything had been out of the blue it had been Macy stepping into his shower. He was still recovering. Not from the sex, but that she’d taken him up on the dare.

  This wasn’t the time or the place, but he wanted to know why. Why now, but even more so, why then? Had sex been one more tactical move in her game plan? Or had she shed her clothes and her inhibitions because the sex had been with him?

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” she asked as he returned her hands to his waist and put their bodies back into slow motion. “Why did I come on to you?”

  “Yes. And…”

  “Why did I come all over you?”

  He crooked up both corners of his mouth, the smile a private appreciation of her candor, when another woman would’ve gone for coy. He didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed a seduction—or a seductress—more.

  “That one is easy. And obvious,” she said, answering her own question without giving him a chance to start thinking with the head on his shoulders. “I’m easy. And I’m obvious.”

  What she was was clever, quick-witted and quite confident that he wouldn’t think her either easy or obvious. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “What would you say?”

  “‘Take off your clothes,’ for starters,” he said, keeping one hand centered on her back, working the other between their bodies and up under the fabric to her belly.

  “Leo?”

  “Hmm?” Her skin was tender and soft, her curves the perfect fit for a man’s hands.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, and shivered.

  He was learning her shape, the way she wanted to be touched, what he could do to heighten her pleasure. “Getting even for the fancy footwork.”

  “The only skin to skin contact I made was my toe to your shin.” The party lights reached only as far as the edges of her eyes, tinting her irises the intoxicating gold of aged brandy.

  Irises and aged brandy. Leo knew he had to be drunk. “Feel free to grab my ass anytime.”

  And at that, Macy reached behind him…and turned the brass knob on a door he hadn’t noticed.

  A bathroom. A tiny guest bathroom. With nothing but a toilet, a basin and a lock on the door.

  Click!

  He held Macy by the waist and lifted her onto the edge of the countertop of espresso-and-indigo-colored porcelain. Her hands went straight to his backside.

  “Greedy wench,” he managed to mutter before his mouth descended, covering hers, one hand around her back, the other finding its way between her legs and under her skirt. A simple thong, nothing more, easily breached, and he did, his fingers finding her ready, finding her wet and wild.

  She backed away from his touch, pulled her mouth from his and looked down, mining the wallet she’d dug from his slacks pocket. “Not greedy. And not stupid.”

  She waved the condom she’d found, then went to work freeing him from his boxers. He ripped open the foil packet, caught her watching, her lips parted, her tongue pressed to her two front teeth.

  When he offered, she accepted, taking the protective sheath and checking the direction of the roll. At the first touch of her hands he swallowed hard, thrust forward, and she covered him completely.

  He wanted to wait, wanted Macy to go slow, but this wasn’t about taking his time. This was about here and now and tamping down the flames of this particular fire. Macy had braced her heels in the small of his back; her palms straddled the basin for support.

  Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, and Leo was done with taking his time. One hand held the damp thong to the side; one hand held his cock and guided. He was in and she was tight and nothing mattered but the look on her face. A look that said he’d done good.

  It was the reflection of his own face in the mirror that told a different truth.

  THREE DAYS LATER, Lauren finally put the finishing touches on Macy’s new logo. Her eyes aching from hours spent staring at her monitor, her back aching from sitting too long, Lauren now stood at the backyard pool railing, leaning against the custom-made iron grille that separated the covered patio from the pool, where Anton was swimming his scheduled laps.

  She shivered lightly. The night air was cool, the moon high and full. The heated pool would be warm. Her cover-up hung unbuttoned over her suit. Both remained dry. She’d had every intention of joining him in the water when she’d stepped outside ten minutes ago.

  But then she’d stopped to watch him swim.

  The pool’s underwater lights cast his sleek form in shadow—a dark phantom slicing through the water in perfect, long-armed strokes. He never missed a beat. He never faltered or sputtered or tired. His disciplined control never wavered.

  He swam by rote: a certain stroke, a set number of laps. She admired his commitment to his athleticism, his health and his routine. He managed to fit exercise into his daily agenda no matter what else he had going on.

  Lauren sighed. She was kidding herself to think she’d ever live up to his expectations. She wasn’t even sure that his expectations, for himself but especially for her, fit in with the plans she’d made for her life.

  And none of this would she have known if not for the scavenger hunt and her impetuous move into his house.

  She smiled to herself, a rueful private expression of her current unsettled mood. To kiss Macy or to kill Macy. That was the question. One thing was certain. Lauren had a decision to make. Unless what she had was a decision in need of unmaking.

  What would Anton say if she admitted this move in together had been too much too soon? That there was still a lot they needed to explore about their feelings for one another, their feelings about their relationship; what each wanted to give, what each expected to take?

  She’d wanted to be open and honest, candid about her needs and desires. She’d wanted to be free to let go, to hold nothing of herself back. She hadn’t expected Anton to feel he had every right to remake her into what he thought she should be.

  As if he knew her well enough to know what he was changing. At twenty-five years old, she didn’t even know herself—except to be certain the inevitable changes she made in her life would be her changes. Not Anton’s. Not any man’s.

  He made another turn at the near end of the pool. She watched the way he moved. The strength that allowed him to pull his body tirelessly through the water. The same strength he used to hold himself in check long after he’d seen to her intimate pleasure.

  Mind over matter, he said. A battle of inner and outer wills.

  Why didn’t he ever just let go?

  Maybe Macy had the right idea. Maybe Peter Pan was not such a bad role model. Right now Lauren wasn’t sure adulthood was the way to go. Her move toward deepening her relationship with Anton had backfired in a big way.

  She doubted he would agree. According to Anton, their issues were minor. All couples experienced series of ups and downs. Adjustments were to be expected. Anything less would be suspect, cause for worry.

&nb
sp; “Easy for you to say,” she murmured to his shadowed form. It wasn’t his life, his choices under scrutiny. She really had thought the honeymoon would last longer than three weeks. Instead of using the time to grow comfortable with one another, Anton had started in with his man plans, analyzing, fixing…driving Lauren crazy.

  He shot out of the water now, his exit an energetic leap from the shallow end onto the pool’s concrete apron. He shook the water from his skin, then slicked both palms back over his head, dragging loose shanks of long blond hair behind his ears, where Lauren knew it would dry in wild ringlets.

  “I thought you were going to swim with me,” he said, catching sight of her and making his way to the patio.

  She handed him the towel draped over the railing. “I like the view from back here.”

  And now that he was closer she wondered if she had the strength of will to share her feelings. Her doubts and reservations. Her resentments.

  He was so much of a man. Physically, but emotionally and intellectually as well. He was straightforward and self-assured, and his body was broad and lean and built to inspire both her passions and her confidence. Lauren sighed.

  Anton scrubbed the towel over his face, draped it around his neck. His hands gripped the patio railing. He leaned forward and smiled. “I see what you mean. About the view.”

  His gaze roamed boldly over her body, intentionally clad in the scantiest suit she owned. She wanted him to want her. Sex seemed their strongest bond of late. She wanted to hold on to what she could of their relationship, even when it felt like she was grasping at snapping straws.

  She shrugged out of her cover-up. “Are you finished with your laps?”

  “With the right amount of inspiration—” his expression said he was halfway there “—I could manage a few more.”

  “Then give me a ten-second head start.”

  “You’re on.”

  Lauren caught but a fleeting glimpse of the wicked flash of Anton’s grin. She tossed her cover-up into his face and over his head, hoping to gain more than the ten seconds. Even counting on Anton’s quick reflexes, she badly misjudged, and he was on her heels before she reached the edge of the pool.

  “Ten seconds!” she screamed, then made a clean dive into the water. She was on her return lap when he caught her. Or, more accurately, when she reached the point midpool where he’d stopped, waiting, stalking.

  She stayed out of his reach, but just barely, dunked her head and smoothed back her hair, sputtering as she surfaced.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shivered. “You cheated and I’m freezing.”

  “Cheated? How? I gave you your ten seconds.” He didn’t comment on the fact that her teeth were chattering.

  His weren’t, so she decided to grin and bear it. “Ten seconds by whose watch? Anyway, you were supposed to swim with me. Not chase me down.”

  “I am swimming with you.” He treaded water, drew closer, using only the long strokes of his legs to make his move. “But you wanted a head start. That usually means chasing you down. Then you chasing me down…”

  Lauren shook her head, set off in a slow backstroke for the edge of the pool, where she planted her feet on the textured bottom. “I’ve had all the chasing down I care to these past three weeks.”

  Anton joined her in the shallow water. The surface lapped around his rib cage. He held Lauren’s gaze, but made no move to touch her. Or to warm her. “Are you talking about the scavenger hunt?”

  “What else?” She evaded his question when what she really wanted to do was admit the truth and tell him that she had based the most important move of her life on a stupid game.

  She deserved to lose the prize. Deserved to lose any of Anton’s respect she hadn’t lost already with her defensiveness and refusal to consider that his input into her life choices was made out of his concern for her happiness as much as with her potential in mind.

  She’d accused him of butting in where he had no business butting. She’d tried to bury the very real problem of miscommunication under the cover of night, beneath his sheets and his body. This time, sex wasn’t the panacea she’d always found it to be.

  Anton toyed with a lock of her wet hair. “A few days ago you were all gung ho to cheat and win Sydney’s vacation. What gives?”

  With a shiver, Lauren ducked her shoulders beneath the warm water and lifted her face to the sky. “Who needs a vacation, anyway? We have the perfect getaway right here.”

  Anton wasn’t convinced by her flippant comeback. “A getaway from our getaway sounds like a good thing to me.”

  “Then let’s go. We don’t need to win a trip. Let’s take a trip. We can rent our own sailboat.” The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. And the faster she talked.

  “Or we don’t have to go sailing at all, though I know how you are about the water. We can go to New York. Or San Francisco. Ooh. Why don’t we go to Canada? To Banff. Skiing sounds like—”

  “Lauren, hold on a minute.” Anton moved close to her side. Their legs brushed lightly. He used one arm on the lip of the pool edge for balance. His free hand came to rest on her belly beneath the cover of water and night. “What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing really.” Deep breath, Lauren. Keep it together. “I just started thinking about taking a real vacation. You and me. Together. We’ve never done that, you know.”

  “There are a lot of things we’ve never done together. We’ll get around to most of them. Just takes time.”

  “I know. It’s just…”

  She leaned her head back, kicked her legs out in front of her, dislodged Anton’s possessive hand when she moved. She didn’t know how to say what she had on her mind. Or if she wanted to keep silent and work out her own problems in her own time.

  Obviously Anton shared none of her hang-ups. Obviously he had his life and his act together, his head on straight. “It’s just what? What’s going on, Lauren? You’re running from something.”

  Her legs stilled, her eyes closed. “What makes you think I’m running away from anything?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you’re working up to an underwater hundred-yard dash?”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m trying to warm up.” And seemed to be getting colder by the minute.

  “Lauren.” Anton moved in front of her, used the nearness of his big, heated body to lessen her chill. “I’m a guy. You’re going to have to spell this out.”

  She wished finding the warmth she was missing was so simple, so physical. She had to do this. As blissful as the thought of feigning naiveté was, she couldn’t be the child Macy got away with being.

  One hand retained a firm hold on the edge of the pool. The other stroked the stubble on Anton’s cheek and came to rest in the center of his chest. She met his gaze. “Do you ever wonder if we’re rushing things?”

  An eyebrow went up. “You mean do I believe in love at first sight?”

  She shook her head and wistfully smiled. “No. That one is my fantasy. You’re much too practical.”

  “Practical?” He seemed to consider the idea, then shook his head. “Not always. But I do give my best shot to being realistic.”

  “What have you done lately that was impractical?” And please don’t say letting me move in here with you.

  “Agreeing to Macy’s harebrained scavenger hunt.”

  That wasn’t what she’d expected. He hadn’t given any indication of being burned out or drained by the emotional process. But then, him being a guy, the process wouldn’t be about emotions, now would it? Lauren mused. Anton made no secret that thought and logic far outranked feelings.

  She, of course, disagreed and showed him so, running soothing toes up the back of his calf and thigh. “Why is the scavenger hunt impractical? I thought you liked discovering all my deep dark secrets.”

  Anton toyed with one strap on her suit top. “I want to find out all your deep dark secrets on my own time. Not on Macy’s schedule. And not using Macy’s list.”<
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  “You don’t like what you’re discovering?”

  “I love what I’m discovering.” He wedged his knee between her legs and moved intimidatingly closer. “At least I’m loving most of it.”

  What wasn’t he sure about? And then it hit her. “The yearbook.”

  His hand stilled on her shoulder. “Would you have told me?”

  That she’d been voted the girl most of her male classmates wanted to sleep with? “At the time it was perversely flattering. What girl doesn’t want to be considered sexy? Now I realize it was more about being considered easy.”

  “Were you?”

  “Easy?” Her high-school days had not seen any of her finer moments. She hadn’t even shared the complete truth with Macy. But in the name of an honest relationship, Lauren couldn’t lie to Anton. Instead she disguised the facts. “I was a party girl. Not a slut.”

  “A tease.”

  She considered her response in light of her, so far, successful sin of omission and let one hand drift to the drawstring of Anton’s suit. “A selective tease.”

  Only the cutest boys. The most popular boys. The boys who could increase her own hot-stuff reputation. She’d never been shy about using what she had to get what she wanted.

  Surely she’d outgrown such an immature way of pursuing success.

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

  Lauren looked up sharply. “Is that on your list of questions?”

  He shook his head. “I’m just curious.”

  “Why? Is it going to make a difference in our relationship? In how you see me?”

  “No. But I think it might make a difference in how you see yourself. And it might have something to do with the way you are about sex now.” He moved away, moved to stand at her side, his elbows on the pool edge for support and positioned to give her space.

  She didn’t want space; she wanted space. She faced him so at least she’d know where she stood. “What’s wrong with the way I am about sex? Am I oversexed? Do I give it too much importance?”

  Anton bit his tongue except to say, “You’re putting words in my mouth, Lauren.”