Silent Desires Page 10

  “All on the agenda,” he admitted, “but mostly I came here for a deal,” he said. “By the time I get out of here, though, the whole thing will probably have collapsed.”

  She thought about asking what he meant, but the truth was that she didn’t give two hoots about the world of Wall Street, and listening to him explain the details would probably bore her to tears. At the same time, she didn’t want to seem uninterested. They’d slept together—hopefully would again—and she didn’t want him to think that was all that was on her mind.

  “So what is it you do?” she finally asked. “I mean, in a nutshell. For those of us who are corporately challenged.”

  “I started out buying and selling buildings. Now I buy and sell companies.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s cool.”

  “Cool,” he repeated. “Yes, I guess it is.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re an interesting woman, Joan Benetti.”

  She laughed, but her stomach was twisting into knots, the neurons firing again in response to his hand on hers. “I bet you say that to all the women who break into your hotel room.”

  “Not at all,” he countered. “Only the ones who see me naked.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I’m interesting. Because I definitely enjoyed the view.”

  He trailed his hand up and down her leg, the movements slow and sensuous. “Of course, this does put a crimp in my plans for the evening.”

  Joan licked her lips, every bit of energy in her body focused on where his fingertips touched. “Oh?” She had to force the word out.

  “I’d planned to spend hours convincing you to let me touch you.” The hand stroked up, grazing her bare skin under her skirt. “To let me explore all your intimate secrets.” Back down to her knee. “Your most sensitive places.” Up again, but not nearly as high as she wanted.

  Joan closed her eyes, silently willing his fingers higher, wanting him to touch her just a little. To quench the pulsing burn between her thighs. She was like Louisa in Fanny Hill, insatiable. Desperate for a man’s touch. Only for Joan, she lusted after only one man—Bryce. With Bryce, she knew she could be sated. And, oh, how she would enjoy getting there.

  Once again she licked her lips. “And now?” she asked.

  His smile was pure sin. “Now I don’t think you need any more convincing.”

  His hand skimmed higher, and she gasped. “No, I have to say you’ve made your point.” She sounded breathless to her own ears. “Although…”

  Bryce laughed. “Yes?” He trailed off, and at the same time he lifted his fingers from her flesh. Her body mourned the loss of contact, and she opened her eyes, staring at him in accusation. He shrugged.

  “About that book you wanted to buy…” She fought a smile. “Now that you’ve admitted your ulterior motive, tell me the truth. Do you even have a collection?”

  “I’m starting one tonight,” he said, then raised a hand as though in oath. “I swear.”

  “Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look serious.

  “No, it’s true. And I think I’ll be starting my collection with a lovely little title called The Pleasures of a Young Woman.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough. And since we’re being perfectly honest, I suppose I should tell you that I had a bit of an ulterior motive in accepting your dinner reservation.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Information,” she said, stopping her hand just shy of the bulge in his pants. “I was hoping to extract information.”

  He nodded toward her hand. “If that’s the method you intended to use, I predict the utmost success.”

  “Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want the job to be too hard.”

  “Maybe not the job,” he said. “But…”

  She laughed. “Touché. Sometimes harder is better.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Business information.”

  He half frowned, a flicker of interest tamping out the expression of playfulness. “Go on.”

  “The store could be doing better,” she said. “And, uh, I’m trying to convince Ronnie to, um, increase my what-do-you-call-it? Ownership interest.”

  “And you thought I could help?”

  “You seem like the kind of guy who has a handle on the business world.” She shrugged. “And when you offered to buy three volumes, well, I knew you were the kind of guy who could help out the bottom line.”

  “And now? I assume you still want me to buy the three volumes?”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.” She grinned. “But I had also planned to ply you with wine at dinner and ask you lots of questions. You know, about marketing and balance sheets and stuff like that.”

  He nodded, his expression serious. “Basic dinnertime conversation.”

  “Sure. I mean, I’ve just got my little degree in literature. You must have MBAs and all that kind of stuff hanging all over your walls.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s hard to walk through my office I’ve got so many diplomas and certificates.” His grin was back, and she knew that he was making fun of her. She didn’t care. He had information that she wanted. For that, she was happy to come across as a little nïve. Especially when she was nïve.

  “All right,” he continued. “This lesson’s free. We’re in the negotiation phase of the relationship. We each have something the other wants, and the trick is to satisfy us both without putting too much on the table, or giving up too much in the process.”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  “I’ll make this one easy,” he said. “I’ll give you your lessons. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But I want a few lessons of my own in trade.”

  She squinted. “What kind of lessons?”

  “Exactly what I told you at the store.” He reached over, then plucked Pleasures off the coffee table. “I’m intrigued. I’d like to learn more.” His gaze met hers, passion burning in his eyes. “And at the moment, I have the perfect teacher at my beck and call.”

  “Oh.” Joan licked her lips as his words soaked in. “Oh!” She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged her knees. Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. Erotica lessons for a man like Bryce…it was enough to take her breath away.

  Only she didn’t want to just walk him through the literature. Oh no. If she was going to play teacher, she wanted it to be a wholly enriching learning experience.

  For four years now, she’d spent six days a week surrounded by erotic prose and enticing images. When the store was busy, she could turn it off, block it out. But during the slow times…

  Well, her imagination had a tendency to wander. And the meandering path it took often led down scenarios similar to those she’d read about in the break room. Joan was no slouch in the men department, but she’d yet to find a man with whom she wanted to share those erotic fantasies, with whom she really wanted to push the envelope.

  But with Bryce… Oh, with Bryce she wanted to share all that and more.

  “Joan?”

  “All right,” she said, looking up at him. She straightened her legs, resting them across his as she reached for her wine. “I’ll teach you about the erotica,” she agreed, “but we have to use my methods.” She drew in a breath, summoning her courage. “I’ve been reading this stuff for years and it’s…well, titillating. But your imagination can only go so far, you know?”

  “So…” He left the sentence hanging, forcing her to spell it out.

  She lifted her chin. “If you teach me about running a business, I’ll teach you about erotica. But my lessons will be hands-on. Very hands-on.” She cocked her head, hoping she looked self-assured. “Think you can handle those terms?”

  “Sweetheart,” he said with a grin, “I think we have a deal.”

  8

  BRYCE WASN’T CERTAIN why Joan wanted him to believe she had a Ph.D., but he was almost certain that she didn’t have a master’s, much less a doctorate. He could be wrong, of course, but he didn’t thin
k so. He’d spent too many years on the opposite side of the negotiating table with people who wanted him to believe that they held more cards than they did.

  Joan had hesitated over her words, fidgeted with her hands, pulled her legs and arms in so that she was no longer touching him, and—the kicker—instead of meeting his eyes, her gaze had drifted off to the left. A sure sign that she was engaging in some massive fabrication.

  The deception disturbed him, hit just a little too close to home. His mother had spent years living one huge lie. Pretending to have a part-time job, when in reality she had a part-time lover. A lover who later became her husband. She’d lied to Bryce and his father, and Bryce had never forgiven her.

  Even so, he wasn’t inclined to quibble about Joan’s fabrication. Her true educational background was no concern of his. The woman might set his body thrumming and his blood pumping, but that didn’t mean that Bryce anticipated any future beyond the time he had in New York. What Bryce had told Leo was true—he wasn’t looking for a woman. Not a permanent one, anyway.

  So Joan could pretend to be whoever she wanted. And if she wanted to be a Ph.D., then who was he to complain? Especially since he was going to reap such a magnificent benefit from her supposedly hard-earned expertise. Even now, her words seemed to linger in the air—hands-on. Oh yeah. If she wanted to play the teacher, then Bryce was more than willing to play the role of student.

  Willing? Hell, who was he kidding? The word was desperate. They’d been sitting on this damn couch in postcoital bliss for an eternity. The proximity had fired his blood. No curling up in a haze of exhausted sleep for him. No, he was already rock hard and he wanted her again. And again. And again after that.

  Considering her reaction to his touch—not to mention her little teaching proposition—she wanted him, too.

  He reached over to the coffee table for the bottle of wine, then topped off their glasses. “So, tell me, professor. What exactly do you plan to teach me?”

  “Funny you should ask,” she said. “I was just pondering my lesson plan.”

  As he passed her the wineglass, their fingers brushed, even that slight contact shooting straight to his groin. The circumstances, the sex and the woman herself were all working on him, sending a surge of desire through his body that he had no intention of ignoring. He was running on sexual arousal and adrenaline, and it was time to get their school for scandal underway.

  As she took a sip, he apologized. “I should offer you something to eat, but there’s not much here.”

  She arched her neck, peering over the couch toward the kitchenette.

  “Some olives,” he said, answering her unasked question, “a bag of Famous Amos cookies, another bottle of wine—two, actually—a bottle of vodka, a gallon of orange juice, and a box of chocolates I bought for my attorney’s secretary.”

  She laughed. “I knew some millionaires were frugal,” she said. “But that seems like a hell of a way to keep your grocery bill low.”

  “Cute.” He brushed the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “I never bother to have the hotel stock the kitchen when I stay here. I’m usually dining out on business or too busy to care.”

  “Thus the nightly room service.”

  “Exactly. It ensures I get a little nourishment at the end of the day.”

  “I don’t mind the lack of food,” she said, placing her glass back on the coffee table. She licked her lips, the simple gesture unbelievably erotic. “I plan to get my fill of you.”

  Her words washed over him like a caress, bringing him even closer to the edge. With a low groan, he slid his hand over hers, twining their fingers. Then he lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the top of her forefinger. “I’m ready for class to begin.”

  She shivered, a slight tremor that brought him tremendous satisfaction. “Soon,” she said, closing her eyes. He brought the tip of her finger into his mouth, his tongue spiraling around her soft skin. Her breath hitched. “Very soon,” she whispered.

  His teeth grazed lightly over her finger as he slipped the digit free, then pressed a kiss to her palm. “Good,” he said. “Just so you know, I always ace my classes.”

  “Is that a fact?” She let her gaze trail over him, Bryce’s body reacting as if it were her fingers, rather than her eyes, that had danced over his skin. With her gaze trained firmly on his, she picked up her glass. She took a sip, then ran her tongue over her lips, the gesture designed to seduce. “Nice wine,” she said.

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  She finished off the glass, then poured another. She took a sip and then leaned forward, plucking a grape from the tray of fruit and cheese. She pursed her lips, drawing the grape in as Bryce wondered if he would explode right then and there.

  “If you’re trying to drive me crazy,” he said, “you’re succeeding.”

  Her grin was wide and mischievous as she reached for another grape. “Busted.”

  “Hmmm.” He sent her a mock glare. “Better be careful. Good food, good wine. I don’t want you falling asleep on me. It’s already after three. And I don’t appreciate deal-welshers.”

  One delicate eyebrow lifted above the frame of her glasses. “Welshing?” She trailed a fingertip down his arm, leaving a path of heat in its wake. “Can’t have that.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “Never fear. I’ve been doing the New York club scene for years. If I’m in bed before four, it’s an early night.”

  “Either that or you’re not in bed alone.”

  He hid his grin as her cheeks bloomed to that adorable shade of pink once again.

  “I go to bed alone more than you’d think,” she said. She looked him up and down, as if taking measure of his various assets. “I’m extremely discriminating.”

  “I’m honored,” he said.

  “You should be.” He could tell she was trying to keep her expression serious, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Besides,” she added. “Sleep isn’t necessarily a bad thing, even where erotica is concerned. In fact, it’s our first lesson.”

  He frowned. The conversation had definitely turned in an unexpected direction.

  His confusion must have reflected on his face, because she laughed, then brushed a kiss over his lips. The brief kiss was almost chaste, but it made a promise that was anything but pure. “Trust me,” she whispered. “I’m an expert, remember?”

  “How could I forget? I’m counting the minutes until you share your expertise.” Counting the minutes? That was an understatement. His entire body was thrumming with anticipation.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. She leaned back in the cushions, the epitome of a woman who had all the time in the world. “So what about my tat?”

  He blinked, wondering if somehow he’d missed an entirely new euphemism. “What?”

  “Well, assuming this goes as expected, I think it’s fair to say you’re going to get a bit of tit. My tits, to be exact.” She raised her eyebrows. “So when do I get my tat?”

  He laughed. The woman definitely kept him on his toes. “Sweetheart, you can have your tat whenever you want it.”

  She leaned forward, pressing her palm against his crotch with just enough pressure to edge him toward insanity. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, then brushed a kiss across his cheek before retreating to her end of the couch. Bryce shook his head. He’d never been a big fan of boxing, but he knew a technical knockout when he saw one, and Joan had just laid one on him, and good.

  “My tat,” she said, “is in your head, not in your pants.” Her eyes dropped down to the telltale bulge under the gray fleece of his sweatpants. “But don’t worry, we won’t let that go to waste.”

  “I’m so glad to hear it.”

  “Waste not, want not,” she said. “That’s what my grammie always says.”

  “A wise woman, your grammie.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “You’ll get your tat in the morning,” he said. �
��Business theory is more appropriate during the daylight hours. Whereas our current topic—”

  “Sleep,” she said. “Definitely a nighttime activity.”

  “Sleep,” he repeated, feigning disappointment. He didn’t know what she had planned, but he wasn’t really worried.

  “Are you familiar with Havelock Ellis?” she asked.

  He shook his head. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “He studied sex,” she said. “A sexologist, I guess you’d call him. He didn’t actually write erotica, but we have a few volumes of his works in the store because he studied sexual response, and wrote some really interesting stuff on erotic symbolism.” She licked her lips. “That’s part of lesson number one. Symbols.”

  Bryce nodded, watching Joan with fascination. She might not have the degree, but she definitely had the information. She still had the aura of a sultry sex kitten, but there was an intellectual component now, too, and he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she’d reached into her purse and pulled out tortoiseshell glasses to replace the lavender ones, along with a laser pointer and a thick pad of notes.

  “Ellis said there were three kinds of erotic symbols. First, parts of the body—like feet, earlobes and other erogenous zones. Second, there are inanimate objects.” She reached over to the coffee table and plucked his tie up from beside the tray, then draped it over her neck. “Like this,” she said, as she slowly pulled it free, as though in an erotic striptease. “Understand?”

  “I think I’ve got it,” Bryce said, concentrating on the swell of her breasts under the soft purple material.

  “The last one is acts and attitudes.”

  He shook his head, not certain what she meant.

  “Things like spanking or being spanked. Or fooling around in one of those padded swings.” She paused, thoughtfully. “I’ve never tried that….” she added, her voice trailing off.

  “Too bad we don’t have a swing,” he said. “We could fill that gap in your education right now.”