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Sara could hardly wait for this
deal
to start.

“How about we do the massage table first, then dinner?
And then pool.” She’d caught sight of feathered boa and handcuffs near the
cabana table, her mind set to putting them to good use.

Tepper’s shameless grin widened. He countered her
statement. “How about dinner, since I know the both of us are starving, a
leisurely massage accomplished, and if you have any energy left inside your
muscles when my masterful hands are done with you…we go for that moonlight
swim?”

“Are you trying to bargain out our entire evening?”

He embellished this with a cautiously made grin, his
voice honey-smooth as he asked, “Is it working to my favor?”

Sara could only nod. Of course, it was working.
They’re
alive, are they not?

She would have to be dead for it not to be working on
every atom of her being.

Chapter Eight

S
ara was
lounging poolside with a perfectly made margarita in hand and a contented smile
on her face, while Tepper was doing laps in the pool. He looked so fit and
trimmed slicing his body through the water; Sara could not help the audible
moan coming out of her mouth.

Her eyes followed the path of muscled male, the
exquisite rhythm of a swimmer’s form, the parting of water and its return to
natural state. He looked so at ease and content, there wasn’t a single inch of
her not turned on by what she saw of the man.

Sara was content. They’d had their burgers—world
famously made burgers, and all. He’d mixed the margaritas to appease the fact
she chose burgers instead of Mexican food. Now he was swimming laps to work off
the fattening meat.

Christ! There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on the man.
Sara knew this as fact. She’d been watching him for the better part of a half
hour; daydreaming about what the rest of her evening would entail with a man so
fit and muscular that only good things came to mind.

They’d mutually agreed to leave the massage table and
its goodies alone until more comfortable with each other. Sara did not mind the
wait. The longer it took the man, the more satisfying his comfort would be for
her. Some guys were all talk and no action. Not this guy. His talk to a
minimum, it was his actions doing the most damage to her psyche.

He swam to the far end of the pool, turned, dove down,
and made his way back. As his smooth strokes brought him to her end of the
pool, the muscular arms slowed. Tep changed his determined stroke into the
front crawl. He’d been doing the back crawl with an almost devil grin on his
face. It would seem cold water had no effect on a devilish Frenchman.

Once he got to her end of the pool, he quit swimming
altogether.

Tepper climbed out of the pool and gave Sara a street
level view of incredible masculinity, that it truly astounded her he was mere
mortal. This view contained
all
of his masculinity.

Another devilish, heart-stopping grin had her blushing
as he walked up to her and grabbed the towel she held out for him.

“Thanks,” he offered, drying only his hair, then
wrapping the towel around his nudity. Water droplets slid down his bared torso
and got sucked into the cotton fibers.

Sara nearly growled at his actions. She’d been
thoroughly enjoying the splendid view of primal male and wished the towel to
just disappear—pronto. She could easily lick off that moisture, if only he let
her.

“No problem,” she muttered awkwardly, still willing
the fluffy material to fall.

He must have seen the want in her eyes because he
moved closer to her chaise, bent down and brushed a gentle kiss over her
mouth—so unexpected, yet more than potent, he’d pulled back only to check her
reaction.

“Happy so far?”

The virility she found so alluring caused her to
answer this as truthfully as possible. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Good. Then you will not mind too terribly that I
forgot I’d invited a few friends over tonight for drinks and the usual poker
game that ensues, and they will be here within the hour.” He made it come out
as a statement, more than a question. Yet the look in his eyes said he was
sorry he could not get out of it—sorrier than she could ever imagine.

“This is your home, Tep. You can invite anyone you
like to come and play with you. It’s not my call.”

Actually, she was miffed such a lovely evening was
about to be cut short, especially when she was just getting to the good part of
it, her gaze lowering. With any hope, she hid this fact well enough. A jealous
woman usually ended up as figuratively
dead in the water
when trying to
get her boss into bed.

“But you could make it so,” he ruled, watching the tug
of emotions she tried desperately to hold at bay.

Her voice tight, nearly calm, she said, “Like I
said…it’s not my call.”

Tepper nodded, flared his nostrils, then sat down on
the chaise next to hers, as Sara handed him the glass at her side. A second
made margarita awaited the man.

He took the drink, but before he had any of the
margarita he spoke. “I mean it, Deb. I can cancel Thursday poker night. It
won’t be the end of the world.”

Sara shook her head. “No. I will not be responsible
for any poker night cancelled. I meant it, too. I’m fine with any change of
plans. You don’t need to coddle me, or make excuses…”

“It wasn’t coddling. Nor is it an excuse. What it
is…is total forgetfulness and at the worst possible time. I tried to call the
guys while inside making our drinks, just to cancel, but not one of them would
pick up their lines. They must’ve been too busy—four voicemails, not much
else.”

“Tep, its fine, really. I will be fine. You and I had
a wonderful dinner, a delicious margarita, and now it’s time I go home. I have
a thousand things to do before tomorrow.” She tried to rise from her chaise,
but a firm hand stopped her. That hand clamped onto her upper thigh, searing
through her skin.

“Like hell you’re going to leave! You will stay, meet
the guys. They know all about you and are quite interested in the woman who can
control me, as well as an art gallery. Stay. Please? For me?” His dangerously
raised brow was to provoke the decision he wanted out of her. “I promised you a
massage and moonlight swim, and a few hours spent with the guys will only
benefit us in the long run.”

“You already swam your laps,” she gently reminded him.

“Perhaps, but they were done alone. And not my first
choice, as I recall.”

He’d asked her to join him, but Sara was more the
chaise lounge type of girl than a swimmer. Truth told, no one had ever taught
her how to swim and the fear of drowning preceded all else.

“What am I to do while the guys play poker? Snoop
through your mansion, looking for evidence of a mistress?” she teased.

“You can look wherever you like, Debra. I have nothing
to hide—from anyone. There are nine bedrooms, six bathrooms, and at least five
hundred nooks and crannies worthy of investigation. And not in any one of them
will there be a hidden mistress. I say ‘have at it’.” His tone had turned
serious, even though he’d made a quick glance at his lower half.

Nevertheless, Sara made light of the offer. “I do not
snoop through houses. A good book, another margarita, and the memory of the
past half hour watching you swim laps…I should be fine on my own until your
friends leave and I have you all to myself—with that pair of handcuffs.” Her
head jerked toward the cabana table where the gleaming pair of handcuffs laid,
emphasis on
pair.

She did not want to vacate such an exquisite poolside
or the company of this man, but with Tepper’s friends coming over for a weekly
poker game, fairly soon it would seem, it would probably be best if she went
inside and put her clothes back on. She’d been on the chaise, soaking up the
waning warmth of the afternoon sun—stark naked.

Tepper’s friends might want to meet her, but they
wouldn’t expect her to be in the buff during this first meeting.

And, sweet man that he was, he’d been more than fine
with Sara taking her clothes off. She’d been a little hesitant to ask at first.
That hesitance dissipated when he’d stripped out of his own clothing poolside
just to do laps.

Once she’d witnessed the man unclothed, she figured
what normal red-blooded male, who quite obviously enjoyed the sight of the
female body, purely judged by all the nudes hung on his gallery walls, wouldn’t
be fine with a naturist lounging poolside. If he could be naked, why shouldn’t
she? More at ease unclothed, she nearly forgot she was supposed to be prim and
proper around her boss; as well, that her boss had stated he was interested in
her in a physical way beyond a working relationship.

Sara took another sip of her margarita, swallowed it,
and gave Tepper a reassuring grin.

He accepted her smile at face value. After having
taken the intuitive to get her to his place by open promises, plans might have
altered a bit on the account of forgetfulness, but this did not mean she had to
leave, or he had to give her up before satisfied with his efforts.

“Can you play poker?” he questioned, swallowing his
own mouthful of margarita.

Her brow rose. “I can play. Why, are you asking me
too?”

A crocked grin slid across his lips. “I asked you to
swim with me, and you denied me the pleasure. Should I really hold my breath
for you joining our weekly poker game?”

Sara’s eyes glued to his. “I wouldn’t want you to hold
your breath, Tep. I can play, unless the stakes too high…” She left this open
for confirmation.

“Oh, the stakes couldn’t be any higher, sweetheart,”
he warned with a throaty growl.

When Sara raised her other brow, causing her forehead
to furrow, Tepper added, “But any payment to your winnings will be
after
the
game, my dear, not before. Some things aren’t meant to be shared. Then again,
some winnings will have to be earned.”

The peeling sound of the doorbell pulled both their
heads toward the mansion. Seconds later, there was a loud raucous of male
voices bellowed throughout the rooms in search of Tepper.

Sara bolted off her chaise lounge as Tepper rose from
his. She had no towel or wrap to cover up with, and she was about to be discovered
poolside in the buff by his poker friends.

“Fun’s over,” he reckoned, hovering on the verge of
laughter to her shocked face.

“A warning would have been appreciated, Tep,” she
snarled.

Her hand reached out to grab for his towel. She had
about two more seconds to get it around her body before five individuals came
waltzing through the patio doors, looking for their host.

Tepper now stood in the nude in front of his
friends…and seemed unfazed by this fact. This was more than could be said for
Sara. She barely got the towel tucked into place when she raised her gaze to so
many intruders. That gaze locked onto only one. As it hit his face, the color
drained from hers.

He’d been about to take a swig of beer out of the
bottle in his hand, the last man to come through the doors, when his eyes found
her.

The bottle hovered closely to his lips, while Sara and
Casey Griffen tried to analyze the situation.

At first, confusion narrowed his sky blue eyes into
thin slits. That confusion was replaced swiftly with acute awareness to what
stood in front of his view. A naked man and a nearly naked woman stood side by
side—poolside. It couldn’t be made any clearer than that.

“Mecenna?” Casey asked. He’d punctuated the one word
with the slow start of a smile, before adding, “Or is it back to
Sara
now?”

While the other men jumped into Tepper’s pool, fully
clothed, obviously having partied well before arrival for poker night, Casey
Griffen stood nearer the patio doors, beer in hand, and looked as though he
could barely make his feet move forward even if his life depended on it.

Sara was too stunned to blink.

****

Tepper Le D`oun had known Casey Griffen for years. He
never visited the man’s risqué place of business due to his incredibly high
standing in the art world, and Griffen never bought artwork from Tep’s gallery
because Griffen had no need.

But that did not mean they couldn’t be intellectual
friends.

Tep, however, had never seen such a strange look on
his friend’s face in all the years he’d known the man; or so much obvious
discomfort in the man.

And never before had a single question made Tep
uncomfortable himself. He turned his head to the woman at his side. She had her
eyes glued onto Casey. Those eyes were filled with fear.

“Debra?” he asked, causing the woman to snap out of
her trance and glance his way. “Might I ask who the hell Mecenna is?”

In one brief millisecond, he could see clear as
rainwater what she tried to hide from the world for six long months.
She
was
Mecenna. Moreover, as Mecenna, Casey knew her. This fact did not sit well with
Tepper, at all.

The only time Casey Griffen—playboy entrepreneur—ever
knew
a woman, was intimately; alternatively, as an employee of his.

Debra could not have been one of Griffen’s
strippers…could she? She would’ve shown the signs: the unhidden sexuality, the
shadows from too many late nights, total burnout from going at it too much, too
long.

The Debra he knew came into work every day, chipper,
smiling, ready for a brand new day, and sold million dollar paintings and near
priceless sculptures with little, if any effort. The Debra he knew would not be
a stripper. She never wore flashy or alluring clothing in the gallery. She
never stayed up late. If so, she told him all about it the next day, the reason
as to why she hated it happening, or why it couldn’t be helped.

Debra was very free-forward in sharing aspects of her
life.  Had she lied to him all this time?