“You’re exquisite,” David murmured

Susan closed her eyes and leaned her head back after another spine-melting kiss.

His warm breath on the tops of her breasts made her sigh, and when his fingers traced lazy circles around her lace-covered nipples, she had to steady herself.

David’s mouth closed over her right nipple, and even through the material she felt his delicate lips, his teasing tongue. She broke out in goose bumps from head to toe.

His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her tight against him. His erection was no gentle tease this time. It was hard with promise…and intent.

“David,” she whispered, opening her eyes.

He mumbled something, not moving an inch.

“Bedroom.”

That got his attention. He stood straight, grinned, kissed her hard on the lips, then took her hand. As they passed the ice bucket, he grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck without breaking his stride.

A moment later it was her, him, champagne and a king-size, four-poster bed.

Exquisite, indeed.

Dear Reader,

If you’re a Temptation Blaze reader (and who isn’t?) you might remember two books from the past couple of years: Hot and Bothered and Ms. Taken. I’ve received so many letters asking if my characters, Susan from Hot and Bothered and David from Ms. Taken, were going to have their own happy endings.

Scent of a Woman is the answer.

This is by far my sexiest book, but it wasn’t my fault—honest! I blame it all on Susan and David, who insisted their inhibitions were off limits. Frankly, I was shocked. And intrigued. Well, you’ll see what I mean as you read!

Maybe there are some things you can learn from Susan and David. I suggest sneaking away with your significant other to a hotel room, and letting your imagination go wild. Don’t forget to wear your sexiest perfume…and nothing else.

I’d love to hear from you. Come visit my Web site at www.joleigh.com. And check out the special Blaze site at www.tryblaze.com.

Happy reading,

Jo Leigh

Scent of a Woman
Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to JJ Medeiros, for the inspiration, the encouragement and mostly, for the friendship. Love you.

And to Jack Galle, for helping me to see what’s what.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

1

SHE KNEW BETTER THAN THIS. Buying new shoes was only a temporary fix. It would lift her spirits for what, an hour? Two? Then she’d be right back in the doldrums.

Susan Carrington shifted her gaze from the display window and forced herself to walk away. She was stronger than shoes, right? Even if they were Jimmy Choos. On sale. And those pink stilettos would be killer with her Dolce & Gabbana duchess satin jacket.

No. She had enough shoes.

The thought made her smile. As if there were ever enough shoes. However, despite the joy they brought, the agony they caused her feet, the jealous looks from complete strangers, shoes could only do so much. They couldn’t stop her from wishing things were different. That somewhere out there, and by out there, she meant Manhattan, not the entire planet, there existed her perfect man. Her soul mate. And if she couldn’t find her soul mate, then she’d settle for someone hot, hard and gifted.

It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and her body wasn’t thrilled about it. She’d felt restless all week. And not just a little reckless. She wanted…something. Lust, danger, excitement. Shoes simply wouldn’t fit the bill. She wanted a man. A nice, juicy, strong guy. Someone with a brain. Someone who knew how to turn her on like a light switch. And wouldn’t it be something if her dangerous guy was also her soul mate? Not likely. But she could dream, right?

As she headed down 5th Avenue, she let her imagination go full tilt. She could almost picture him. The unmet stranger. The gaze across a crowded room. He would be tall. At least six-one to go with her five-nine. Dark. Not that blond men were inherently not as cute, but she liked the contrast. A pair of blonds was too Barbie and Ken for her taste.

He’d be handsome, but not pretty. Rugged, but with a smile that changed everything. He’d have expressive eyes, large hands. Large feet. And even though she knew size didn’t matter, etcetera, etcetera, he’d have himself an impressive package. Why not? He was her dream man, after all, so she could decorate him however she wanted.

She crossed the street, as always amazed at the pedestrian traffic. It was Monday, the holidays were over, thank God, yet the bustle at one-fifteen in the afternoon was almost as bad as rush hour.

Not that she minded. She loved the rhythm of Manhattan. The pulse of the city. Nowhere on earth was more alive, and even when the curb snow was mostly gray and slushy, and the cabbies laid on their horns as if it would accomplish something, she was at home here.

A bookstore display window slowed her pace to a crawl. She eyed the newest bestsellers, frowning when nothing struck her fancy. Which meant she had to go inside. She tried to remember the last time she’d passed a bookstore and hadn’t gone in. No good. She always went in.

The music stopped her just inside the door. Wait, wait. She knew it. Closing her eyes, she listened to the symphony, the name of the work teasing her. “Scheherazade,” she said aloud, inordinately pleased with herself. She’d always liked the music by… Rimsky-Korsakov. That’s right. Ha. Pity one of the gang wasn’t with her. She doubted anyone but Peter would have known the piece, let alone the composer.

She opened her eyes again and caught a young man staring. His face reddened and he looked away. Susan brushed the moment aside like so much lint. It had happened before. And before and before. That stare, that slack-jawed ogle. It had, once upon a time, felt wonderful. But after a time, it became clear that the stares weren’t about her so much as about her parts. Her hair, or her height, or her boobs, or her features. None of which she could take much credit for. She’d gotten lucky in the genetics lottery, but dammit, she wasn’t just her looks. At least, she didn’t want to be.

She headed down the aisle, wondering if she could bypass the self-help books altogether. She wanted fiction, not transformation. Definitely not soul-searching. Fiction. Make-believe. Stories.

The music swelled, and her thoughts turned to Scheherazade. The woman who’d saved her own life by spinning tales of 1,001 Nights. Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Sinbad the Sailor. Aladdin and his magic lamp.

She knew exactly what she’d ask of a genie. Not three wishes, just one. Love. The real thing. The forever kind.

Sadly, it would take a magic lamp to grant her that wish. She and love were on pretty shaky ground. Her one real shot at it had ended abysmally when she’d discovered the man she’d given her heart and soul to hadn’t been interested in her at all. Just her parts. And her money. Mostly, her money.

Sighing, she looked at a few books, but gave that up when she couldn’t focus. This was bad. Normally, she wasn’t such a goose, but dammit, seeing Katy and Lee at breakfast had made her think. They’d bitched about how awful they felt, how they wished the time would come already, how being almost nine months pregnant was anything but a picnic. Susan had laughed and made sympathetic noises, but jealousy swirled inside her, making her food taste like cardboard and her guilt swell with every breath.

She loved Katy and Lee, and their husbands Ben and Trevor. Along with Peter, they were her closest friends in the world. Her family. They’d all met in college, and had never lost touch. The six of them were still thick as thieves, and they’d gone through all the trials and tribulations of work, love and heartbreak together.

But after the other two women had become pregnant, she’d felt distanced. She’d done her best not to show it, but they knew. She was the odd man out, the third wheel. And she hated it.

She wanted a baby growing inside her. She wanted a husband who loved her for her. Instead of buying books, she should be shopping for magic lamps. And praying for a genie. Given her luck with men, her penchant for finding money-hungry jerks, magic was about her only hope.

DR. DAVID LEVINSON STARED at the array of shawls and scarves on the shelves in front of him. He should have thought this through before heading into the small boutique. He knew nothing about women’s clothing. His secretary had sworn he’d earn major bonus points by giving his sister a scarf for her birthday, but perhaps a few CDs or DVDs would be just as good.

He walked further into the shop, and lifted a silky scarf, unfolding it to reveal the intricate pattern. Too fussy for Karen. He checked the price tag and quickly folded the garment, putting it back. Eight hundred dollars? For a scarf? Jeez. He’d had no idea.

Not that his little sister wasn’t worth the money, but man, eight hundred bucks? He went to another display. Pashmina. He’d never even heard of it. The shawls were woven, and looked incredibly soft. On the counter next to them was a similar display of cashmere shawls. There didn’t seem to be much of a difference. Only the pashmina shawls were a lot more expensive.

“Close your eyes.”

David started at the voice, very close, behind his right shoulder. He began to turn, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Go on. Close your eyes.”

The voice sounded as silky as the cashmere. As sensual as silk. But close his eyes?

“It’s all right,” she whispered again, this time so close he felt warm breath on the back of his neck.

He obeyed, and the idea that he obeyed without knowing who she was, or what she intended, was as much of a rush as the scent of the woman behind him. He felt her move, and it was all he could do not to peek. She was tall, that much he knew because her breath—

Something brushed his cheek and he jumped, but again, her hand on his shoulder made him still.

“Don’t think. Don’t analyze. Just let yourself feel,” she whispered.

The material caressed the side of his face, delicate, soft, lush, like the skin on the inside of a woman’s thigh. Then it was gone, and just as he was about to complain something slightly different brushed his right cheek. Cooler. Slightly thicker. A more earthy scent.

As the cloth slid across his face, he became aware of the effect this exercise was having in a completely different part of his body. He was aroused. Nothing life threatening. Not yet. But between the feel of the cashmere and the mystery of the woman, he was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

The material was withdrawn. He hesitated, waiting to see if there was more.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Again, he obeyed. She was directly in front of him, smiling coyly with perfect lips. He’d been correct, she was tall. But his imagination hadn’t been up to the task of picturing the rest of her.

Pale blond hair in a graceful tangle, held by a tortoiseshell clip. Wide blue eyes under arched brows. Stunning.

“Which did you like better?”

He blinked.

“The right cheek or the left?”

“Oh.”

Her smile broadened, revealing even white teeth.

“The left,” he said.

“That’s pashmina. The wool is from Nepal, taken from the Himalayan goat. Finer than cashmere. This one,” she held up a black shawl, “is an eighty-twenty blend.”

“Okay.”

Her laughter made his predicament worsen. He shifted a bit, but that didn’t help. His slacks were getting tighter by the second.

Her gaze darted to his left hand, then back up to his face. “For your wife?”

“Sister.”

“How thoughtful.”

“She’s a good kid.”

The woman nodded slowly, never taking her eyes from his. It was blatantly sexual. There was no misinterpreting her intention. She knew what her gaze was doing to him.

“So, what’s it going to be?”

“Pardon?”

She held up the shawl in her left hand. “Pashmina?” Then she lifted her right hand. “Or cashmere?”

“You’re good at this,” he said.

“At what?”

“Your job. I hope you work on commission.”

“I don’t work here.”

She’d done it again. Surprised him. Nothing much surprised him these days. Being a psychiatrist in New York tended to jade a person. “And yet you know about Himalayan goats.”

She laughed again, turning up the heat. Intentionally? Yes. Oh, yes.

“I’m a virtual font of insignificant data,” she said.

“I am to real knowledge what an onion is to a martini.”

He reached over and took the pashmina shawl from her hand, letting his fingers brush hers. Mistake. The somewhat vague threat in his pants turned dangerous. He couldn’t remember the last time this had happened to him. College? Probably. Not that he didn’t get excited by certain women. But he rarely reacted in such a volatile fashion. He used the shawl to cover his embarrassment. She might know that she was turning him on. She didn’t need to know to what degree.

“I imagine you know quite a bit, Ms….”

She started to answer him, then stopped. She boldly studied him for a long self-conscious moment. Then her smile returned. Only this time there was more than a hint of wickedness in the grin. “Scheherazade.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Your real name is Scheherazade?”

She shrugged, and the movement made him aware of the shawl she had around her shoulders. During the whole conversation, he hadn’t even noticed. It was dark gray, and even without touching it, he knew it was pashmina. She’d never settle for second best.

“And who am I supposed to be? Sinbad? Aladdin?”

She took a step toward him, invading his personal space. Which was fine, except that he had some trouble breathing.

“Who do you want to be?”

“Right now I wouldn’t want to be anyone on earth but me.”

“Excellent answer.”

“So what do people call you? Sher?”

“No. But you may.”

He was about to comment, but a single finger touched his lips. An incredibly intimate gesture, something a lover would do. Not a stranger using a false name. Not a woman so beautiful it hurt.

She leaned over until her lips were close to his ear, close enough for him to feel her breath once more. “Why don’t we talk about this Wednesday night. At the Versailles hotel bar. Eight o’clock.”

Then she did the most remarkable thing. She nipped his earlobe. It didn’t hurt. It only lasted a second. But it was the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to him. By the time he was cogent enough to exhale, she was gone. He spun around, just in time to see her slip out the boutique door.

What in hell? Was that for real? Was she?

Wednesday night he had dinner plans with his friends Charley and Jane. He liked Charley and Jane. His dinners with them were the highlight of his week. He never cancelled.

He rubbed the shawl between his hands.

They’d get over it.

FIVE BLOCKS FROM THE BOUTIQUE, Susan slipped inside a coffee shop and found an empty booth. Her heart rate was in the scary zone, pumping with enough adrenaline to jump-start a dead battery. What the hell had she just done?

Okay, he was very handsome. But handsome men were a dime a dozen in Manhattan. Handsome didn’t explain her outrageous behavior. Well, there was that lower lip. Full in just the right way. Exceedingly kissable. And his eyes. Hazel leaning toward green. Bedroom eyes. Knowing eyes. Not to mention long, beautiful hands.

Which was not the point. Not at all. Wasn’t she just bitching about the fact that all men saw were her looks? That she was more than her parts? Did she just pick up a strange man because he was pretty?

No. That he was gorgeous was a bonus, not the reason. She couldn’t pinpoint her real motivation, not in words. It had been more of a feeling. A compulsion. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d felt…something.

The waitress approached on squeaky shoes and took her order for coffee and a plain bagel, no cream cheese, no butter. When Susan was alone again, she got her cell phone from her purse and hit speed dial two.

“Hello?”

“Lee, it’s me.”

“Hey.”

Susan opened her mouth to tell her girlfriend about what she’d done. Only no words came out.

“Susan?”

Why was she hesitating? She told her friends everything. In detail. So what was the problem? This whole thing was nuts.

“Susan, are you all right?”

The concern in Lee’s voice snapped her out of her mini fugue state. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just distracted for a minute. How are you feeling?”

“Huge.”

“This too shall pass.”

Lee sighed. “Yeah? When?”

“In about two months.”

“Susan, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I walked away from a pair of Jimmy Choo mules. I didn’t even try them on.”

“Ahhh. Now I get it. That was very brave. Very empowering.”

“Empowering, my ass. They were the exact color of my duchess jacket.”

“If you still feel that way, go back.”

“No, no. I can be strong.”

“Good girl.”

The waitress came and filled her cup with coffee.

“My food’s here,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

“’Kay. Bye.”

Susan disconnected, then stared at the phone for a few moments. Mighty peculiar. She’d never made an excuse to get off the line with Lee. Or any of her friends. But the man in the camel coat wouldn’t let her alone.

Tall, lean, broad-shouldered, brown thick hair her fingers ached to touch. She lifted her cup to take a sip, then nearly spit a mouthful all over the table.

She’d bitten his earlobe!

A perfect stranger. Not a lover. Not even a friend. She’d bitten him. He must have thought she was a lunatic. Or a call girl. Either way, she hadn’t come out smelling like a rose.

She’d propositioned him. Teased him. Pretty much offered herself up on a silver platter. Which was ludicrous. She couldn’t possibly go to the Versailles Wednesday night. Sure, she talked a good game, daydreamed with the best of them, but the reality was, sex wasn’t an easy answer for her. She tended to confuse it with love, and then she tended to trust the son of a bitch, and then she tended to get her heart broken. Her dismal track record was reason enough not to pursue this.

He was a stranger. A good-looking stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. He could be a bank robber. A spy. A car salesman.

She smiled, thinking about the name she’d given him. Scheherazade. It had been the scarves, the music from the bookstore. Just a lark. A whim.

But she had to admit, the idea of being someone else held appeal. Would Larry have pursued her so single-mindedly if he hadn’t known she was Susan Carrington, heir to the Carrington fortune? Probably not. Definitely not.

The fact of her inheritance had been the death knell to every relationship she’d had since college. Even when she’d gone out with men wealthy in their own right, the money thing became a problem. It was her personal albatross. She avoided society parties like the plague. In fact, all her friends were just normal folk. Not a multimillionaire in the bunch. But it didn’t matter. As soon as a man found out her name, the jig was up. They tried to impress her. Act as if it didn’t matter, which meant it mattered a whole lot. They stopped seeing her as their brains clouded over with dollar signs.

At least she’d managed to temper some of her bitterness. Not that she wasn’t still cynical. She just didn’t want to neuter the male population any more. It wasn’t all of them that were bad, just the ones she chose.

The worst part was, she couldn’t complain. Not in good conscience. She had it all, the American dream, the brass ring. Except that all it had done was make her feel different, separate. She felt safe with her gang, and that was about the only place she felt safe. Thank goodness for them.

But Ben was married to Katy, Trevor was married to Lee and Peter was gay with a significant other of his own. No hope for a happy-ever-after there. They’d tried setting her up. Over and over, Katy and Ben in particular had played matchmaker. Nothing clicked.

At twenty-seven, she had no prospects. None at all. She could buy Jimmy Choo shoes until she got blue in the face, and it wasn’t going to help. It was all about money. Spending it, having it, worrying about it.

Lee had asked her once why, if the money was such a problem, she didn’t give it all away. Susan had uttered some slick answer then changed the subject. The truth was that the money was her blessing and her curse. She didn’t know who she’d be without it. Frankly, she was scared to be without it.

Her head snapped up and she pulled herself out of the self-pitying hole she’d dug. Of all the problems to have, hers was right up there in the obnoxious range. She was pretty and loaded. Yeah. Boo hoo. Besides, rich people got married every day of the week. They got married, had kids…just like real people.

She thought of all the happy rich couples she knew… There had to be at least one happy couple, right? Her bagel came, and she ate the entire thing, plus another cup of coffee, and still she couldn’t think of one blissful union among her peers. The marriages were more like mergers. And it was almost incestuous, because the people in the inner circle always ended up with other people in the inner circle.

The man in the boutique was an outsider. Which was a very good thing. He had no idea who she was, which was another very good thing.

She smiled. Who says he ever had to know who she was? Why couldn’t she be Scheherazade? At least for a night. And maybe, like the woman from the Arabian Nights, she could spin him a tale, enchant him with the magic of a story.

The bottom line was that she wanted to see him again. She didn’t want to know what he did for a living, who his parents were, how terrific his portfolio was. She wanted what she’d had for those few minutes in the shop.

When he’d touched her finger, she’d felt a jolt run through her. A purely sexual rush.

He might not come. In all likelihood, he probably thought she was a wacko.

But then again, he might come.

She bit her lower lip and shifted on the booth. Who knows? They might both come.

2

“WHO’S ON THE BOOKS today, Phyllis?” David asked cheerfully on Tuesday morning. He put his briefcase under his desk, then turned to his secretary. Phyllis had been with him for four years, and she ran his office with great good sense and a necessary sense of humor. And she was the soul of discretion, which was critical with his clientele.

“Mr. Travolta had to postpone for two weeks. He’s flying to California. You’ve got Mr. Broderick at eleven, lunch with your sister at one, and Mr. Warren at three.”

“Great. Give me a half hour, and then let’s do some dictation, okay?”

“Right. Coffee?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

Phyllis smiled as she walked out of his office, and as soon as she closed the door, he dialed Charley. He had to leave a message, and when he tried Jane, he got the answering machine. Frankly, he was relieved. He had to figure out what to tell them—why he couldn’t make dinner tomorrow night. Not that he wanted to lie, exactly. But he could just see Charley’s face when he told them he was breaking their long-standing engagement to meet a strange woman at a hotel. And that he didn’t even know her name.

Phyllis came back with his coffee, then quietly retreated. The woman was in her fifties, but she appeared much younger. Perhaps it was her red hair, worn loose to her shoulders. Or maybe it was her sense of style. She always looked pulled together, and she was unfailingly serene amid the chaos that went along with having famous patients.

He wasn’t sure even now how he’d ended up with so many celebrity clients. It had started about two and a half years ago with a soap opera actress. She’d recommended a highly acclaimed actor friend, and it had mushroomed from there.

He didn’t mind. It was fascinating to explore the kinds of problems that went along with fame and fortune. The only real problem for him was the paparazzi. They tended to lurk downstairs and question him as he came and went. They bothered Phyllis, too, but not often. She was an expert at chasing them away.

He sipped his coffee, then turned in his chair. His view from the high-rise was spectacular, and he realized that lately, he’d been so busy he hadn’t taken even a few moments to enjoy it.

The park was covered in snow, and it looked like a postcard from Currier & Ives. January was a good month for New York. It made the city appear innocent, which was quite a feat. In March, the magic would be over, when the white gave way to gray, but for now, at this height, it was all magic.

His gaze moved in the direction of the Versailles hotel. He’d never been there, but he’d read about it. It was one of the new boutique hotels, catering mostly to the European trade. Was he really going to meet her there? A complete stranger? What if she was a reporter, and all this was a trick to get some information on a client?

No, that wasn’t possible. No one could have known he’d walk into that store, and she must have been there before he’d arrived.

His hand went to his ear, and he rubbed the lobe where she’d bit him. Talk about leaving a mark. Although there was no sign of her teeth—it had been a gentle nip—the echo of the startling move had stayed with him all night. He closed his eyes, remembering his first impression of the woman.

She was a class act. The shawl wasn’t the only sign. Her makeup was subtle, but perfect. Her skin pampered. The diamonds in her earrings looked like the real McCoy. But more than that, the way she carried herself, her confidence, her audacity, bespoke the kind of rearing and education that came with old money. He’d seen it often enough to recognize the signs.

He had a few patients who were the same type, but he had the feeling none of them were in her league. He wasn’t, either. Not that he was complaining. His practice had flourished, his portfolio had done very well, and he was one of the fortunate who could actually afford to live in Manhattan. To live well, that is.

He realized he was rubbing his ear again, and he tried to catalogue what else he’d noticed about Scheherazade. Ridiculous name, but intriguing, too. Of course he knew the story. The princess Scheherazade had been sentenced to death by a wicked king, but she held the king spellbound with her nightly tales, always stopping before the denouement, so he was compelled to let her live another day.

Is that what his mystery woman was going to do with him? Tell him tales? Keep him in suspense? The idea appealed. He liked the element of surprise. He hadn’t realized what a rut he’d been in until yesterday at that boutique. Sher had shoved him out of his comfort zone. Quite firmly.

Even though his night had been filled with feverish dreams, he felt more alive today than he had in years. Eight o’clock tomorrow night. He couldn’t wait.

SHE WASN’T GOING.

The whole idea was ludicrous.

Besides, he wasn’t going to show.

Susan looked at her reflection in the mirror, although she couldn’t see too much of herself. Not with the mint-green mud mask on. But her eyes were clear, and that’s what she studied. They were the window to the soul, right? So what was her soul trying to tell her? Yes? No?

Dammit. Her eyes weren’t talking. She left the bathroom and climbed onto her bed. The one place on earth she was perfectly at peace.

Yes, she knew she had too many pillows. But she didn’t care. It was her bed, and she could make it any way she pleased.

Her shoulders sagged with the realization that no one cared one whit about her pillows. She’d reacted to a long-ago conversation with a man she couldn’t stand. Larry had hated the pillows. They’d fought. Over and over. Eventually, she’d given in and tossed the pillows. Her gesture hadn’t saved the marriage.

Nothing could have. Not counseling, not acquiescence, not a change in her outlook. The man had wanted to milk her dry. Period. There was no love there. Sadly, there had never been love, at least not from him. Not with Larry or any other man.

She wished she had a Trevor. Lee’s idea a year and a half ago to add sex to their friendship had turned out to be the best move Lee had ever made. Their marriage was a wonder to behold. Friends. Lovers. Mates.

She flipped the TV on, shaking herself out of her reverie. It wasn’t like her to be so morose. So fatalistic. Sarcastic and cynical? Sure. But mopey? Not her style.

Another click of the remote control and she paused at an old black-and-white Bette Davis movie. Now, Voyager. It had been one of her favorite films. She loved the way Bette Davis transformed from the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan. But as she watched the ending, Bette and Paul Henreid talking about their unrequited love, she shook her head. And then, the famous last line:

“Oh, Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

“Hogwash,” Susan said to the screen. “You deserve the moon.” She snuggled against her pillows.

“We all deserve the moon.”

Screw it. She would go. In fact… Her phone was in her hand and she called the hotel. She debated for a moment after the reservation clerk asked if he could help. Then she threw caution to the wind and booked a suite.

Once she hung up, her nerves got busy, illustrating in their own unique way that while her mind had confidently moved forward, heeding the call to adventure, her body was trying like hell to shrink back and stay in the cave. Her life might be dull and ordinary, but it was safe. Too safe.

She was going. Tomorrow night. To a rendezvous with a beautiful stranger. Holy cow.

“WHAT’S WITH SUSAN?”

Lee Templeton dug into her crème brûlée with gusto, even as she bemoaned her current state of hugeness. After savoring her spoonful, she looked up at Katy, who was even larger, given she was eight months along. “What do you mean?”

“Have you talked to her lately? She’s being very odd.”

“How can you tell?”

Katy giggled. “Odd for her. She’s doing something tonight, but she won’t say what.”

“Huh.” Lee put her spoon down and took a big swig of milk. She shuddered a bit, not ever having been a big milk fan. But she’d do anything for her baby. Her hand went protectively to her stomach.

“You think it’s something about Larry?”

“I don’t know.” Katy ate a delicate piece of arugula, splashed with a hint of balsamic vinegar.

Lee frowned with disgust. Pregnant women were supposed to have cravings for weird things. Sweet things. Not arugula, for heaven’s sake. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, remembering about Susan.

“Yeah? When’s the last time she tried to keep a secret from us?”

Lee didn’t have to think long. “That time she was dating that guy. That poet.”

Katy’s right brow rose.

“You think she’s seeing someone?”

“Well…”

“God, remember how awful he was? It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t written such terrible poetry.”

“Or if he hadn’t been so damn proud of his abject poverty.”

“Or if he hadn’t had a face like a fireplug.”

Lee grinned. “We’re horrible.”

“No. We’re gossips. He was horrible.”

“She got over him quickly enough.”

“One date was too many.”

Lee went back to her dessert. “So you think she’s found another one?”

“Maybe. She did promise to give the love thing another try. Although, I’m not convinced she’s completely ready.”

“Think we should press her?”

“Not yet,” Katy said, after a moment. “It may just be a one-time thing—an experiment or something. If that’s the case, there’s no need to worry.”

“Where Susan is concerned there’s always need to worry.”

“I know. Especially lately. She’s been down.”

Lee nodded. “I think she’s feeling left out.”

Katy’s hand went to her tummy. “Yeah.”

“So I don’t want to, you know.”

“Right.” Katy took another bite of salad. “We’ll let it go. See what happens.”

“Keep our ears open.”

“And call her first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lee nodded. Then the crème brûlée captured her attention until the very last bite.

DAVID WALKED DOWN Club Row, 44th Street, in Midtown Manhattan. He knew the street well, mostly because of the Bar Association headquarters, but also from going to the theater. His breath came out in sharp puffs of condensed air, and when he inhaled, it was cold enough to sting. But it wasn’t snowing, and the bitter weather wasn’t severe enough to keep most intrepid New Yorkers at home.

He stopped outside The Versailles. The beautiful old hotel with its green and brown awnings. He tried to remember the name of the hotel that was here before. As soon as he stepped into the lobby the question vanished, replaced by the thoughts that had plagued him most of the day.

What was he doing here? Aside from the fact that he hadn’t made love in an uncomfortably long time. And that the woman in question was stunning and mysterious and bold. And that she’d asked him.

He walked slowly through the inviting lobby with its teakwood paneling, marble floors, and clusters of oversized velvety furniture. The hotel wasn’t big, not near the size of say The Plaza, but it screamed wealth.

It said something about the woman that she’d chosen this place. A certain sophistication. A certain pocketbook. Or not. Oh, for God’s sake, who cared? He wasn’t here to discuss the architecture or the guests. At least he hoped not.

He stopped and glanced at his watch. One minute early. All he had to do was turn left and walk into the bar. She’d either be waiting for him, or she wouldn’t. He wasn’t at all sure which outcome he preferred.

After raking a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulders—he exhaled, then cursed himself for a fool. What had happened to him? Had be become so old that he couldn’t walk into a bar to pursue what might be an extraordinary adventure? In college, he’d been a madman. Yes, he’d studied, but that wasn’t the thing. He’d explored. He’d dared. He’d fallen flat on his face.

But it hadn’t mattered. He’d wanted all life had to offer back then. What did he want now? Safety? Security? Yes. But that was the white bread of life. He also wanted spice. Heat. Daring. Dammit, he wanted Tabasco sauce, and plenty of it.

He turned left and started walking. What the hell. The worst that could happen was… Hmm. He had no idea what the worst was. But he could clearly imagine the best.

SUSAN LIFTED HER MARTINI to her lips, pleased that her hand barely trembled. Inside, she was a mess. Scared wasn’t the half of it. But on the outside, in the tradition of her mother and her grandmother, she was cool, calm, collected. It was a hard-won skill, but she’d had a lot of practice.

Her mother had told her over and over that emotions had no place on the negotiation table. And what was the whole man/woman thing but negotiation?

This was her party. She’d extended the invitation, prepared the room, including the party favors, and now, it was up to her to make certain everything went according to plan. No problem. Except perhaps for one detail: she had no idea what she was going to do with Mr. Gorgeous once she got him upstairs.

He’d expect her to sleep with him, but was that what she wanted? A brief, sweaty interlude on a cold winter’s night?

Maybe.

But something told her that she’d be cheating both of them by jumping right into bed. The man, God, how could she not know his name, had something special about him. Nothing she could pinpoint. Not his looks. Something in his eyes, in the way he smiled. She remembered that smile perfectly—how his teeth were very white, but not perfectly even. The small flaw made him infinitely more appealing, although she wasn’t sure why.

The music from the bookstore spun in her head, and with it came an idea. A way to make tonight perfect. Scheherazade. She was the answer. Susan smiled as the evening unfolded in her mind’s eye. It would be lovely. If he went along with her.

Another sip of the cold drink as she looked around the bar. It was very small as far as hotel bars went. But it was comfortable with its dark oak and wine leather booths. This was her turf. Nothing could go wrong here, not in the serious sense. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She could be stood up. Humiliated.

She ran a hand down her dress and forced herself to steer clear of those thoughts. She should have worn the black Prada. No. This one was better. Simpler. A wave of nervous tension hit her in the stomach. Oh, jeez, what if she threw up all over him? What if her plan was foolish and awkward?

This was a serious mistake. Sure, she’d felt reckless, restless, but this was taking things too far. She’d leave, and forget she’d ever thought of such a crazy—

“Hello.”

Susan jerked up to see Mr. Gorgeous not two feet away. Holy… She had to struggle to keep the expression out of her face. It would blow everything all to hell if he knew that her heart thumped against her chest as if it was trying to get out. “Hello,” she said back, thankful for all the years she’d practiced being a bitch. She had the exact right tone. Low, sexy, in charge.

He smiled, held out his hand. “David.”

“Su—”

“Sue?”

She nodded. “For now.”

“Not Scheherazade?”

She slipped her hand into his, and when he closed his fingers, she felt herself slide another inch down the long treacherous slope of pure insanity. “No. But there are similarities.”

David held on to her hand while his left brow arched. “Is the King of Persia bothering you again? Because I’ve told him time and time again—”

She laughed, but not loudly enough that she missed the slight hitch in his breath. When he swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob, she knew he was just as nervous as she was. My God, he was pretty. Which wasn’t the important part, she knew that. It sure as hell didn’t hurt, though.

“May I?” he asked, finally taking his hand away and sliding onto the stool next to hers.

The bartender came and took his order, a scotch, neat. She shook her head when David offered to refill her martini. This was no time to hide behind an alcoholic haze. Just being near him was a bit intoxicating, and if she threw in the fact that their suite was waiting…

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. Smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be here, either.”

He smiled back, making her want to lick his lower lip. “I’m not sure why I did come,” he said. “I, uh, don’t usually…”

“Go out with women who bite your ear?”

Even in the dim light of the bar, she could see him flush. A man who blushed! What a treat. What a rarity. How delicious.

“I confess, that was a first for me.”

“Me, too.”

“So nibbling on ears isn’t your standard ice-breaker?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Hmm. How did I get so lucky?”

Susan took a slow sip of her drink, stalling for time as she made her decision about the next few minutes. She liked him. The chemistry was undeniable, and he had a sense of humor, too. He wasn’t at all the kind of man she wanted for a one-night stand. But maybe this didn’t have to be. Maybe, if she was a clever girl, this could be a prelude. To what, she wasn’t sure. But, despite the risks, or maybe because of them, she was going to find out.

She put her glass down, then turned to him with her most wicked and enticing smile. “If you think that was lucky…”

3

DAVID FINISHED HIS SCOTCH in one gulp and managed not to choke to death.

Her words still shimmered in the air, their meaning sinking in one vivid image at a time. He struggled for focus, finding it when his gaze met her lips. Full, lush lips. That would look incredible wrapped around his—

“Maybe not that lucky,” she said, her low voice tinged with humor.

He cleared his throat, troubled that his expression had been so unguarded. “Okay,” he said, amazed he sounded somewhat normal. “How lucky?”

“You’ll see.” She caught the bartender’s attention, nodded, then slipped off the bar stool. She picked up her purse and coat from beside her, then turned to him. Her lashes lowered, shyly, then she opened her eyes and met his gaze. The invitation in her gaze told him most of what he needed to know.

He stood, then went for his wallet.

“It’s taken care of,” she said.

“Wait a minute—”

“Don’t worry about it. Tonight’s on me. I invited you, remember?”

“I don’t—”

She put one finger on his lips. “We can talk about money for as long as you like. Or we can go upstairs.”

He took her wrist in his hand, then headed for the elevators, pulling her along after him. Forcing himself not to run.

He was in. Committed. To whatever was going to happen.

Charley would be shocked out of his mind. Jane would understand completely.

This wasn’t his normal modus operandi. When he dated, which wasn’t that often anymore, he always did the right thing. Maybe a kiss on the first date. Flowers. Three, maybe four dates later, if it ever got that far, there would be sex. Safe sex. And not just because he used a condom. It was safe in every way. He never truly let go, too afraid to upset the very nice women he found himself with. Sometimes, they’d get a little wild, like sex in the shower, or on the kitchen table.

But the sex, even when it was very good, had never been enough. Not that the women he’d met weren’t great. They were to a one. But none of them had been right. One was too flighty, one too prissy. Kathy had been close, but the woman hadn’t read a book since high school. Allison never shut up. Kim, no, Kerry, she’d been fine in the bedroom but awful in public. Her laugh had been loud, garish…

Tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, he wasn’t Dr. David Levinson. He was a stranger. Meeting a stranger. Who could be anyone.

The ideas tumbled inside him, one more enticing than the next. He was already hard, and they were still in the lobby. He’d have to slow himself down if he wanted tonight to be everything it promised. He said a silent prayer to whoever was listening. Please.

Susan clutched her coat, each step making her more and more aware of what she was about to do. In very short order she was going to be in a room, which was primarily a bed, with a man she hardly knew. A man whose touch made all sorts of unpredictable things happen inside her.

They were across the lobby in no time, then he pushed the button for the elevator. He hadn’t let her go, and she became terribly aware of his hand circling her wrist. He was long and lean, a runner or a swimmer she’d guess, and strong. She felt his banked energy in the way he held her so carefully. As if he could break her.

Her gaze met his, and her own curiosity was echoed in his eyes.

“Sue,” he said softly, trying her name out.

Unfortunately, she hated being called Sue. It rankled each time she heard it, which wasn’t in the game plan for the night. “Susan.”

He nodded slowly. “Better.”

The elevator arrived, and he led her inside. They were alone, they could have talked, but they didn’t. The only thing that happened was that David rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. No biggie. Just a slight caress. But the ripples it set off were very big, indeed. Straight up her arm to her chest to her tummy to her thighs and every place in between. A tightness, an electricity, a chemical reaction that made it difficult to breathe.

The tension broke as the door opened on the fifteenth floor. It was her turn to lead. They went all the way to the end of the hall. He let her go so she could get the card key from her purse. Her fingers shook as she slipped the card in, and she almost laughed. She’d thought the tension in the elevator had been bad.

He pushed open the door and as soon as she walked inside, he followed, closed the door and locked it. Susan’s gaze went straight to the bedroom.

It was a beautiful suite, an eclectic mix of oriental and European sensibilities with stunning modern art that somehow made the whole thing work. The space was large, for Manhattan, with a nice sitting room, a wet bar, and, of course, the bedroom. She could see the bed from there. Unique for a hotel because of the wrought iron head and baseboards, it was also a California king, big enough for three. Not that she’d ever know that firsthand. Oh, God. Maybe this was a mistake. A colossal error in judgment. There was still time to back out.

She turned to David, and his excitement fairly vibrated. Which made sense. It was exciting. And dangerous. And wicked as all get-out. Well, if she was going to go down in flames, she wanted to do it with this man. He was extraordinarily beautiful, in a completely masculine way. Granted, his jaw was too square, his nose too big, but that added to his attractiveness. If she’d been a painter, she would have done canvas after canvas of his face, from every angle possible. Something told her it would be time well spent.

He took her coat from her arm. “Would you like me to order drinks?”

She nodded. “Champagne?”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Not unless you’re hungry.”

His lips curved into a sort of grin.

“What?”

“This is a most unusual night.”

She grinned back. “I would have to agree.”

“What are your thoughts about actually moving into the room?”

“We’ve come this far,” she said, liking him more by the second. “We might as well go all the way.”

His left brow rose and she realized her double entendre. “Go call room service.”

“I will in a moment,” he said. “But first, there’s something I need to do.” He took her coat and laid it over one of the wing chairs. His own coat followed. Then his suit jacket.

Her eyes widened at the contrast between his shoulders and his hips. And when he turned she got a nice long look at his behind, which was as stunning as anything she’d seen in ages. She wanted to touch it. Run her hand along the curve.

He turned, walked up to her, lifted her chin with the side of his finger until she met his gaze. Then, slowly, he bent and kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt the tenderness of his lips. It was a soft kiss, a brush, barely touching. Puff of breath, and she could taste him, breathe him in, and she leaned in, wanting more.

He obliged, but in his own time. “Susan,” he whispered against her lips. Then a soft, cool kiss that lingered, deepened as the seconds ticked by. As the night changed from question to promise.

Pressing harder, he used his lips to open hers, then his tongue flicked once, twice against the soft inner flesh under her top lip. Her gasp gave him full entrance, and he took advantage of the situation. Now he explored her more fully, not rushing, languid, as if he needed to learn every taste, every nuance.

She put her hand on his neck as she did her own exploration. Teasing heat and a flavor that was completely new. Completely David. Her fingers moved up into his hair, and she could hardly believe how soft, how smooth. She moaned as his arm went around her waist and he pulled her tight against him, and when he shifted his hips, she felt his hard length press her lower belly.

She shivered at the contact, at the heat. He thrust into her mouth, and she captured his tongue, sucking hard. It was his turn to moan.

His arm stayed around her waist, although he loosened his hold. His eyes were half closed, lazy with desire. She could see herself with him, in the bed, naked and touching and doing everything that pleasure would allow.

But that wasn’t her plan. If she didn’t do something about it now, she would be lost. This was her party, and she was going to keep it that way.

As he moved to take her mouth once more, she leaned back and shook her head. “Champagne,” she whispered.

He looked into her eyes, letting her know he wasn’t through.

He let go of her waist and walked to the phone by the couch. The thick outline of his cock pushed against the fine wool of his pants. As he spoke to room service, he turned away, and she felt a flush on her cheeks as she realized he’d watched her checking him out.

Luckily, her desire wasn’t so obvious. It was the only thing that made her plan workable. If he had any idea what he did to her…

She grabbed her purse and made a dash for the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she leaned against the cold wood and exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held.

This was unbelievable. Completely outside of her experience. She’d been with a few other men. Men she wasn’t in love with. A long time ago she’d come to terms with her sexuality. She liked it hard, fast, uncomplicated. But this…

This was thrilling. Seductive. Erotic as all get-out.

Pushing herself off the door, she went to the sink, where she fixed her makeup and brushed her teeth, using the time to calm her racing heart. Although she wasn’t very successful at that, she was able to map out the next few steps.

The champagne would arrive, they’d talk. Not touch. She needed him pliant, obedient. After seeing his erection, she was pretty sure that wouldn’t be a problem.

Then she would begin. She’d make it an evening neither of them would forget.

When she went back into the sitting room, David stood by the window, looking down at the traffic below. He’d loosened his tie, but hadn’t taken it off.

Slowly, he turned from the window, his face pensive, questioning.

“What’s that look?” she asked.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t feel any hesitation about this. Which is odd. I mean, we’re strangers. We don’t even know each others’ names. You could be—”

“Anyone. I know.”

“But not really. We can only be who we are.”

She walked across the room until she was very close to him. “Ah, but that begs the question, who are we, really? Are we the same person with the lights out? With a stranger on the fifteenth floor?”

“I don’t know the answer to that.”

“I don’t either. It’s going to be interesting to find out.”

He studied her face intently, looking at everything—her forehead, her cheeks, her chin. “I think we all have many natures. Some much darker than we’d care to admit.”

Her hand went to his face and she traced a line down his jaw. His skin felt warm and smooth. He must have shaved recently. Her exploration was good, but it wasn’t enough. She found herself wanting to taste him, to lap his face like a grooming cat.

“Why did that make you smile?”

“A rogue thought,” she answered. “Actually, I think it’s true. We do have our darker selves. I don’t mean evil, although I suppose that’s part of it, too. I mean wicked. Desires we’d never admit to another soul for fear they would run away in horror. Or at the very least never invite us to another cocktail party.”

His grin changed his face. Made him all the more accessible, but a moment later, his face grew solemn again. “What if you could tell someone those thoughts? What if you knew, completely and without reservation, that there would be no bad consequences. You wouldn’t be shunned, or made to feel guilty, or wicked. What if it was all okay?”

She took in another deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It might be very exciting.”

He nodded.

“And very fulfilling.”

He nodded again.

“But scary, too.”

His brows arched slyly. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Her response was cut off by a knock. She gave him a “stay put” look and headed for the door, trying to walk as if her whole body wasn’t trembling. The waiter was mercifully efficient, and in short order she was alone with David, each of them holding a crystal glass filled with a very good vintage of Dom Perignon.

“To desire,” David said, touching his glass to hers.

“To desire.” And then she sipped the chilled bubbly, savoring the taste and the moment. It was, as they say on Broadway, show time.

THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY THING about the moment, David realized, was that he was more aroused than any other time in his thirty-two years, and yet he was still able to hold a glass. Smile. Speak in complete sentences.

But his luck wasn’t going to hold out forever. Everything in him wanted to take charge, to make her his. But he also knew she didn’t want that. Not yet, at least. In this tango, she was leading, and that alone had him hot and bothered. He’d never been with a woman quite like Susan. More than ever, he was confident that his first impression of her had been accurate. She came from strength, from wealth. Her confidence was sexy, and the way her eyes fairly danced with possibilities nearly drove him over the edge.

He couldn’t wait to see what she would do. Undress him? Top him? Damn, he’d never done that before. A lot of his clients were into being dominated. The more successful, the more likely they were to want the release of someone else taking control, at least in the bedroom. He’d heard stories, knew the lingo, had had himself a fantasy or two.

There was no doubt if she was into domination, she’d be damn good at it. He pictured her in black leather. With all that blond hair, it was almost too good. Then his fantasy lifted and he saw her as she was. Goddamn, she was gorgeous. Her hair was up in another clip, and his fingers itched to let it loose. Her dress showed off her curves, her legs. He especially loved the high heels.

She slipped the champagne glass from his hand and put it down on the coffee table, then led him to the bedroom. He liked it. The size, the headboard. Oh, yeah.

“Lie down,” she whispered.

He went for his tie, but she stopped him.

“Just as you are.”

He didn’t think to question her. Hell, at this point if she asked him to stand on the bed and recite the National Anthem, he would have.

He chose the side farthest from the bathroom. Women liked being closer. As she clicked off the overhead light, he climbed on the bed, on his back, his hands underneath his neck.

The only illumination was from a lamp on the far side of the room. It was enough. He could see her clearly, read the anticipation in her eyes. Next time, they’d do it his way. With the lights on. But tonight, shades of gray seemed appropriate.

She walked to the foot of the bed and removed his shoes, putting them neatly on the dresser. His penis twitched, wanting very much to be released. The constriction had just gone from slight discomfort to acute distress.

She moved to the other side of the bed, but she didn’t sit down. She didn’t do anything more than look at him for what felt like minutes, but might have been seconds. “Move to the middle of the bed,” she said, finally.

“The middle?”

She nodded. And waited.

He obeyed, positioning himself in the center of the exceptionally large mattress.

She seemed satisfied. Yet she still didn’t make a move to take off her clothes, or his. “Do you know the real story of Scheherazade?” she asked him, her voice as seductive as any siren.

“I know about the thousand and one nights.”

“Ah, that’s the other version. The G-rated version.”

“Okay,” he said, wondering where this was heading. Role-playing? He guessed he could do that. Depending on whom she wanted him to be.

“You see,” she continued, “Scheherazade didn’t really tell stories about magic lamps or cunning sailors. At least, not the stories in all the books. Her tales were far more…erotic.”

Susan leaned over the bed, touched her lips to his in a teasing kiss. He flicked his tongue, but she pulled back. Shaking her head, she said, “Naughty.”

He groaned his frustration, but she didn’t seem to care. She took his lips again with the same feathery touch. He breathed her in, her scent intoxicating, dangerous. When she slipped his tie off, he couldn’t hold still another moment. He touched her hair with one hand, the back of her neck with the other. He wanted her near him, naked, with that mane of blond hair splashed across the pillows.

He wasn’t going to get it. She stepped away, sighed, then went to the dresser. Instead of putting down his tie, she held on to it while she went into her purse. He couldn’t see what it was she held in her hands as she headed back to the bed.

“I can see that you’re going to need a little help,” she said.

He looked down at his pants. The strain was almost too much. The seams could go any second.

She chuckled, a rich, deep sound that made him clench his muscles. “Not with that. At least, not yet.” She took his hand in hers, turned it palm up and placed gentle kisses on the tips of his fingers. It was nice, but—

Her mouth sucked in his index finger, all the way. The hot wet velvet made him squirm. Impossible to lie still and endure this incredible torture.

The next second, her mouth was gone. His hand was drawn up and out, and he realized that she was going to tie him to the bed. His whole body shifted into fourth gear, as if he’d been idling for the past hour, and now he was on the field, ready for the race. Although the idea of being helpless this soon in the game sent off warning signals.

His tie circled his wrist gently. He tested the hold, and found it was insubstantial; he could pull free in a moment. His worry dissipated, at least partly. She wanted the choice to be his. Did he want to pull free? Or did he want to enter her world?

The resounding answer was that he wanted very much to get on with it. And the only reason it felt safe to plunge ahead was because he could escape. Because she had understood that this journey was as much of the mind as the body.

She used something else to tie his left wrist. A scarf. When she was through, he sighed deeply, strangely at peace. At least he understood part of the game. He wasn’t to move. Until she let him.

The bed dipped as she climbed up next to him, on her knees. Then one leg went over his hips, and she straddled him, the juncture of her thighs lying directly on top of his erection.

“Now,” she said. “We can begin.”

His eyes closed as he dragged in a gasping breath. He couldn’t come. Not yet. Not like this.

It took all his will, all his strength to calm himself down as the heat of her seeped inside his pants. An ember, he’d wager, that would turn into a bonfire before the night was through.

4

SO MANY CHOICES. He was her very own buffet, and she could nibble to her heart’s content. Unbutton his shirt? She’d like to see his chest. On the other hand, maybe she should ignore the shirt and go directly to the pants.

While she pondered her delicious decision, she ran her hands over his arms, his chest. His body tensed, but he stayed in position. From his quiet struggle, she could see he wasn’t familiar with this role. He liked to be in charge.

Not tonight. And to reinforce the fact, she moved her hips back and forth, pressing herself against his straining erection. His moan was almost as satisfying as his expression. All that restrained lust made her tremble. Damn, this was fun.

“Shall I tell you what I want?” she asked, knowing he would say yes. In his condition, he would have agreed to anything.

He nodded. Opened his mouth, then closed it again, along with his eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his hands grasped his restraints as if they were lifelines.

She wondered how long it would take for him to lose it. For a moment, she pondered taking pity on the man. Undoing his belt, perhaps. No. The point of this little excursion was to set the tone. To see if her plan would work.

“I want,” she whispered, as she leaned over to touch the hollow of his throat with her fingers, “to play.”

His eyes snapped open and she took the challenge, her gaze and his locked. “I want to be anybody,” she said. “Anybody I’ve ever dreamed of being. I want to take out each one of my wicked desires, one at a time, and see where they take me. Take us.”

“Oh, God.”

She smiled. “I’ll interpret that as interest?”

“Yes.” The word was thick, low. As if his body were doing too many other things to be bothered with speech. Which, she imagined, was the truth.

She moved her hands down his chest again lightly, feeling him quiver beneath her. When she reached his belt, she toyed with the buckle, knowing she was driving him nuts, and loving it. “And I want you to whip out your—”

He inhaled sharply.

“…fantasies. No hesitation. No embarrassment. Tonight, dear David, is a prelude. A summit of sorts. We’ll lay the ground rules. There are lots of things I want to try, but there are certain taboos.”

“For example?”

She hesitated. Her voice had been steady all the way through her little speech. Confident, in fact. As if she did this every night. But now she was about to cross the line. Tell him things she’d never told anyone before. Not even Larry. If it was awful, if she hated it, she would never have to see David again. She hoped it wasn’t awful. “I’m not excited by cross-dressing,” she said.

“Me cross-dressing, or you?”

“Both. I like the differences between us.”

He flexed his shoulders, but he didn’t let go of the ties. “Go on.”

“I don’t like pain. Well, not a lot of pain.”

“What does that mean?”

She leaned down and captured his right nipple between her teeth. It would have been more interesting had he been undressed, but she could still make her point. She held the hard nub gently, flicking her tongue over the silk of his shirt. Then she increased the pressure.

His back arched as she continued to bite him. When he hissed and bucked slightly, she let him go.

He settled back down, squirmed, letting her know her illustration had had far-reaching effects, and met her gaze again. “I see.”

“Good. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re done? Those are the only two things you don’t like?”

“No. But it’s still your turn.”

After exhaling and flexing his hands a few times, he nodded. “I don’t like it too messy. No unexpected bodily fluids.”

“Well said.”

“I try.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t care to enlarge the circle.”

“Hmm. Now that’s unusual.”

“What?”

“Most men would sell a lung to be with two women at the same time.”

“Nope. I like to focus. I don’t want any distractions.”

“So, I should call Tom Cruise and cancel?”

“Hey, no fair. I didn’t know you were going to ask him.”

She laughed. It took an exceptional man to be humorous when the subject was another man.

“I believe it’s your turn again,” he said.

“Right.” She let her hands wander south, and this time when she hit his belt, she kept going. Her touch as light as a feather, she ran her fingers down the straining length. “Safety first. No risking anyone’s life.”

“Good plan.”

“And we’ll always have an out. A safe word. I don’t want any psychological scarring here. This is meant to be freeing. Not twisted.”

His hips pushed up, his desperation mounting. There was more to be said, but first she needed to show a bit of mercy.

“David,” she said softly.

He grunted an attempt at a reply.

“We’re not going to have sex tonight.”

His groan was achingly heartfelt.

“Because we both need to think this through. This is new territory. Risky business. We’re going to be vulnerable. Bare our throats, as it were.”

“Susan,” he said, forcing the word out between clenched teeth. “I appreciate what you’ve said. And I concur. However, you should understand that I’m going to die in about two minutes. And all your hard work will be in vain.”

“Hmm. I suppose you have a point.”

“To say the least.”

She laughed again, but as she did, she lifted herself to her knees, her back straight, her eyes locked on his. Her hands went to the back of her head where she opened the tortoiseshell clip. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back.

David’s mouth opened and his cheeks flushed with color. She knew he’d react this way. The next step was going to be even more fun.

Slowly, knowing he couldn’t have looked away if he was on fire, she shook her head, fanning the last of the kinks from her hair. Only then did she lower her body once more. Controlling her movements with her thighs and her hips, she rode him. Friction, tension and heat were all focused on about eight inches of thick flesh. Her own breath became shaky as she rubbed harder, and she had to shift her position so she got as well as she gave.

“Oh, my God,” he said, thrusting up to meet her.

“I can’t… Please…”

“Please what?”

“I need to touch you.”

“You are touching me.” She squeezed her thighs to remind him of the contact.

“No. It’s not enough. Let me touch you. I need to feel your skin. Your hair.”

“But that would mean untying you.”

He groaned pitifully.

She increased her pace. Even though she wanted to feel his arms, his hands, she wasn’t going to give in. Like Scheherazade, she was going to hold back. Keep an ace in the hole. She wanted this to work. She wanted a playground, and she wanted her anonymity, and she wanted it with him.

His breathing changed, and she knew he was close. She bore down hard and ground herself against him. He wasn’t the only one close. Oh, damn, she was going to come before he did. No, no. Not yet. Not yet…

Her body shuddered violently as she climaxed. Tremors from deep within stole her breath. She arched her back as she continued to ride him. David moaned and thrust his hips up hard, and then every muscle in his body tensed as he passed the point of no return. His head went back, his neck bare and straining as he gritted his teeth. She wanted to stay, to watch him come down, to see the release in his eyes, but that wasn’t for tonight.

She slipped off the bed, grabbed her purse and her coat, and ducked into the bathroom. One coat of lipstick and a surprise for him, then she hurried to the door. Although she shouldn’t have, she looked back. David had gone slack, his chest heaving with his efforts to cool down.

When his head started to turn, she slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Walking on shaky legs to the elevator, she congratulated herself on a job well done. She’d actually pulled it off. No strings, no names, no boundaries. What could be more enticing?

The elevator door opened and she settled next to a nice-looking man in his forties. He tried not to stare, but his gaze kept coming back to her. Was it her hair? Men did love her hair. Or was it the look of smug satisfaction she couldn’t quite tame?

It didn’t matter. She’d done it. She’d gone after what she wanted. Not that it was a replacement for love and marriage and all that. She’d date if someone interesting came along. This was about pleasure. About breaking the rules. About knowing exactly why he was with her.

When the elevator hit the lobby, she gave her staring friend her most dazzling smile, then headed for home. She couldn’t wait to get into bed. What dreams she’d have tonight.

“SUSAN?”

When she still didn’t answer, David sighed. She’d disappeared. Why? It had all gone her way. So why ditch him? Why go to all this trouble and not even have sex? Okay, so they’d had sort-of sex, and he had to admit, he’d come like Old Faithful, but still. He hadn’t touched her once.

The thought reminded him about the ties around his wrists and in short order he’d freed himself. She’d left her scarf. If he knew her name, he would return it to her.

Dammit. Why the tease? How had he been so wrong about her? It made no sense.

He got up, stretched his neck muscles a bit, then headed for the bathroom. As he walked in, he smelled her perfume, the scent as mysterious as the woman. Something in the mirror caught his eye and he looked at the opposite wall. Nothing. He went to the sink, and the explanation was simple. It wasn’t reflected on the mirror. It was on the mirror itself. A message. In scarlet lipstick.

NEXT WEDNESDAY.

He grinned. She hadn’t ditched him. She’d just left in a very unique way. But then, this whole night had been unique. She was something else. Someone he wanted to discover.

God, what would her fantasies be? He felt pretty confident they weren’t going to be run-of-the-mill. He just hoped he was up to the task. A shudder hit him as he remembered the feel of her on top of him, the way she rubbed him so sensuously it was all he could do not to explode in the first two minutes.

How in hell was he going to live through next week?

Getting down to the business at hand didn’t distract him from his thoughts. As he washed up, it occurred to him that he was fifty percent of this duet. He’d have to come up with some ideas of his own.

Her tied up, spread-eagle, on the bed.

Okay, so that wasn’t terribly original. So what. He wasn’t trying to reinvent the wheel.

Him, on his knees, spreading her open before his eager mouth.

He grabbed the towel off the rack and dried his face.

He had seven days to get through. His patients deserved his full attention. Charley and Jane had rescheduled dinner for tomorrow night. His sister, Karen, was coming in for lunch on Monday. It was imperative that his primary focus be his regular life. At night, when he was safely in bed, he could think about…this. Fantasize to his heart’s content.

But not during business hours. He stared at his reflection, making sure he understood that he was serious. Then he dried himself off and headed out.

By the time he got to the elevator, he was hip deep in a scenario that could best be described as sex on wheels. Susan. Him. Back seat of a limo.

Shit.

The elevator arrived. He stepped inside, smiled at the elderly gentleman to his left, and wondered if it was time for him to go back and see his own shrink.

BY THE TIME Susan got to the theater, Peter and Andy were pacing in front of the box office. The play was by Nicky Silver, who was a favorite of hers, and the star was Peter Frechette, one of the best actors she’d ever seen. The night promised to be delightful, complete with après performance with the cast. And yet, Susan wanted to be somewhere else. Home, to be exact. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her friends, after all, Peter had been part of the gang since day one back in college, and he’d always been there for her, but in the two days since her evening with David, she’d barely been able to string two coherent thoughts together.

She felt like a voyager, setting off on an adventure filled with great risks, daring deeds, and possible treasure. Everything about David appealed to her, particularly that she knew virtually nothing about him. No family history, no comparative bank statements, no work baggage. He was elemental man, and he was hers for at least one more night. Wednesday had taken on all sorts of mythic proportions, and she’d giggled more than once at the very appropriate nickname of “hump day.”

“About time,” Peter said, scowling. He hated being late.

“I’m horrible. I don’t know why you love me.”

He rolled his eyes at Andy, his significant other.

“I don’t know why, either.”

She brushed imaginary lint off his coat shoulder, then kissed him softly on the lips. “But you do love me. That’s the point.”

“Only because act one hasn’t started. If you’d been five minutes later…”

“Well then, why are we standing out here? Let’s go.”

Andy laughed, took Peter’s hand and led them inside the theater. It was an off-Broadway house, the Manhattan Theater Club, and they had season tickets.

After they found their seats, Susan got her Playbill and flipped through the pages. Not that she was reading it. She hadn’t read much in the last two days. Or nights.

God, she was obsessed. She wished it was three weeks from now, and that she and David had settled into a routine. Nice, exciting, but not all-consuming. Sex. That’s all. Just sex and fun with a gorgeous guy. Everyone needs a hobby, right?

“Susan.”

She turned to Peter. “Hmm?”

“What is with you?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re being very weird. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Weird? Moi? I don’t think so.”

Peter turned to Andy. Although she couldn’t see him, she knew he’d rolled his eyes again. Peter was quite fond of that gesture. When he turned back to her, his gaze went straight to her, no rolling, no mocking. Maybe a little bit of worry.

“I’m fine. Preoccupied, but fine.”

“Preoccupied about what?”

“Nothing important.”

Peter sat up straighter. “A man. This is about a guy, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said. Perhaps too loudly, as the couple in the seats in front of her turned to give her the evil-theater stare. “No,” she said again, whispering this time. Wondering why she was lying. Peter would understand. All her friends would. Maybe. If she told them.

“I don’t believe you, sweetheart.” Peter took her hand in his. “So I’ll just pretend you said yes. I hope he’s good enough for you. And that he doesn’t give one damn about, you know.”

She nodded. Leaned toward telling him all. Asking his opinion. But then the house lights dimmed and her decision was put off for the next couple of hours.

By the time the play had ended and the three of them headed backstage, she’d changed her mind. For now, at least. David was hers. She didn’t want opinions, or cautions, or even raised eyebrows.

She didn’t even want encouragement, which was confusing but true.

As they waited their turn to congratulate the playwright, she watched Peter and Andy. They’d been together over a year. Peter, who was a marvelous actor himself, had fallen for the man after getting reacquainted at a friend’s wedding. The two of them had first met in college, but things hadn’t worked out then.

Now, they seemed blissful. Truly content with each other. Andy wasn’t glamorous, or the best-looking guy on the block. But he was kind, and funny, and the way he treated Peter made her want—

Yes. Okay. Despite her hedonistic attitude toward the stranger named David, she did want to be part of a couple. And who knows? Maybe, one day, she’d find her other half.

In the meantime, there was no reason she couldn’t have a good time. Many good times.

She closed her eyes and pictured David. Particularly his luscious lower lip. It was only Friday. Many, many days to go before Wednesday. Thank God she had to work on Monday. That would help. Tuesday, however, would be completely focused on wardrobe selection, hair removal, facial and fantasy selection.

A tremor shot down her back as heat filled her cheeks. Luckily for her, Nicky Silver turned to her just then, and she could pretend her flushed demeanor was because of the play.

When she’d finished their brief talk, she found Peter staring at her. “This is someone different,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but even she couldn’t tell that bold a lie. “Yeah.”

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