Just in Time (11 page)

He wanted it, and he wanted it bad. He wanted to buy that box, tie her to his bed, take off her clothes so slowly, and find out just how much he could make her scream by the time he was done. And he wouldn’t be using any vibrator.

He could see her there. He could very nearly
feel
her there, and he was dying.

But he didn’t get any of it. Instead, they checked out a few minutes later with her red ribbon, a couple pink scarves just to be on the safe side, black and red satin blindfolds, and the worst case of sexual frustration he’d experienced since he was fourteen.

He leaned his head against the seat of her truck with a groan when they were on their way back to the apartment building at last. “Next time you go to the naughty shop?” he told her. “Leave me at home.”

The smile was playing around her pretty mouth, trying to escape. “I can’t say that was the most comfortable experience of my life, either. And we haven’t even gotten to the tying-up scenes yet.”

“Trust me. Holding Gretchen when she’s tied up? That’ll be a doddle compared to what you and I just did. They say the dress rehearsal’s the hardest bit, and I reckon they’re right. If I’m going to be rehearsing with you.”

Hope and Hemi were in Paris, for some reason, and things were heating up. The sexual tension was getting out of control, in fact.

Hemi sighed. “Going to have to do something about you, aren’t I? Where did all this sauciness come from?”

“I can’t imagine.” It actually
was
a surprise. I was keyed up, yes, but in a good way. Feeling reckless and free so far from home, light years away from my real life. I was teetering on the edge, my wings spread, ready to take off and soar, and I was scared, but I couldn’t wait. And teasing Hemi? That, I was discovering, was a pure pleasure. “Maybe you made me feel too powerful, with my suite and all,” I suggested. “Maybe you’re being too nice to me.”

“Hmm. Maybe I am. I can do something about that, too. Eventually.” He gave me another of those looks he specialized in, dark and intense, like he had a secret he wasn’t sharing, and the tingle of awareness went straight down my body. “And meanwhile,” he went on, forcing me to come back to myself with a jerk, “we’re in Paris, so what would you think about the Musee d’Orsay? The Impressionist museum.” He must have seen my eyes light up. “Yeh. Thought that might work for you. We could do the Louvre, of course, but…”

“No!” I burst out, and he smiled a little. “Please,” I added more quietly, even though I had to laugh. “I’d love that.”

“We’ll walk through the Tuileries, shall we?” he asked.

“Oh, let’s.”

Faith lifted her hands from the keyboard, let out a groan, lowered her head to the desk, and banged it a couple times. “Stop,” she told herself. “Stop it now.”

She’d written the Roundup copy, finally, the day before. After her day out with Will, and the next day, when they’d gone into the studio and used the supplies she’d bought. When Will had stood, bare-chested, acres of smooth brown skin on display, and held Gretchen.

Calvin had image after image now of Gretchen’s tiny frame, viewed from the back, in a bra and a pair of the very lowest, tightest, darkest jeans. With her wrists wrapped in red ribbon, Will’s hands all over her, and Will’s dark head bent to hers.

Will, who wasn’t Hemi. Who was Will, funny and sexy and sweet. Will, who
would
take no for an answer, because he wasn’t a ruthless multimillionaire CEO. He was something so much better; a reasonable man living in the real world. And all the same, Faith had stood there in the Adult Megastore with him and battled to keep herself under control, because, like Hope, she had a hard time saying no to him.

Her copy, after all that, had apparently dripped sex, because Steve, her manager at the Roundup, had had a funny look on his face when she’d gone in today for their weekly meeting.

“Excuse me? Faith?” he’d said. “What have you been drinking? And where can I get some of it?”

“Oh,” she’d said, and wished she could cure herself of the habit of blushing. “Inspired, I guess.”

“Well, sprinkle a little more of that pixie dust, then, because you’ve just earned yourself the Ali Baba campaign,” he’d said, referring to one of the company’s sister casinos. “They’ve got a new show, too, featuring belly dancers. You ought to be able to do plenty with that. Think Arabian Nights.”

“Scheherazade.”

“What?”

“The Arabian Nights. That’s who…Never mind,” Faith had said hastily. “Thanks. Great.”

Which was what she was supposed to be doing now. Thinking sexy Middle Eastern thoughts, not Maori millionaire thoughts, because one paid the bills, and one didn’t. She turned back to the computer and closed the document on Hemi even as he walked down the corridor of a luxury hotel in her seriously dirty mind with a couple of red ribbons in the pocket of his suit coat, about to show Hope how he liked his women. Which was restrained. And underneath him.

No. Work.
She began to type something that would actually pay those bills, got a paragraph down at last, and swore when the knock came.

The knuckles banged again.
Hot desert night
, she typed hastily, then got up and went to the door.

Thursday afternoon. Maintenance request, she hoped. Not a medical emergency, please, because she hated those. She got attached to her old people. She couldn’t help it.

It
was
a medical emergency, but only for her heart, because it was Will on the other side of the door. Will in shorts, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, his feet bare.

“Don’t you ever get cold?” she asked him, trying to get some control over herself. “Most people wear pants in the winter.”

“What? Nah, course not. It’s not cold here. Besides, Kiwis wear shorts. Probably because we have such good legs.” He grinned at her snort. “Although not waxed,” he pointed out. “That would be a hill too far.”

“What can I do for you? Besides admire your legs, of course.” Which, all right, she was doing, but then, he had
major
thighs. A person would have had to be blind not to notice, and she wasn’t blind.

“Thought we needed some family-friendly entertainment,” he said. “Something more wholesome than rubbish and bondage.”

“We?”

“Yeh. You and me. We. Us. As we’re friends and all. Because here I am, got nothing to do but think nasty rich-bloke thoughts, and I’ve got to tie Gretchen to the bed tomorrow. Need something to take my mind off that, eh. I’ve got some friends besides you in Las Vegas, if you can believe it, and I’m taking them miniature-golfing on Saturday.”

“Miniature…golfing.” It couldn’t have been further from Hemi in the Hôtel du Louvre with his red ribbon and his powerful stare. She’d lost the battle, and she was laughing.

He grinned and scratched his nose. “Yeh. Well. They’ve got a couple little kids, and they’ve been looking after me a bit while I’ve been here, had me to dinner and such, so I wanted to do something for them, and that’s what they suggested. Thought you could come along, be my date. And it’s a Family Fun Center. Got racecars and bumper boats and pizza and all. Good times. Want to bump my boat?”

“No,” she said, aiming for severe and failing completely. “But I want to beat you through the windmill. Five bucks says I do it.”

Which was why she was wearing a UNLV sweatshirt and holding a golf club two days later while the wind blew through the palms surrounding the Family Fun Center, watching Will crouch beside a four-year-old girl and work his magic.

“You just give it a good whack, sweetheart,” he told Sefina. “Send it straight up that ramp, because our team’s going to win.”

The little girl duly swung, and her club missed the ball entirely, the force of her swing carrying her around in a circle.

Will laughed. “Once more,” he urged her. “You’ve got this.”

She didn’t, of course, and Will ended up putting his hands around hers and helping her, then cheering and doing a little dance when the ball went up and through the hole at the top of the ramp.

“Pound it.” He held out his big fist and bumped it gently against her tiny one. “We are the champions,” he told her solemnly.

“The champions!” she echoed happily.

Lelei sighed beside Faith, one hand on her belly. “Such a good guy. Wish he was staying.” She cast a glance at Faith. “Bet you do, too.”

“Oh, no,” Faith said hurriedly. “We’re just friends. And I’m his…well, my mother’s his landlady.”

“Yeah. We heard.”

Faith didn’t answer, because Will was looking at her, a light in his eyes, a smile on his face that had her looking back.

“Breathe,” Lelei told her helpfully, and Faith jumped and laughed. And breathed.

“So how has this dude been in the clinches?” Solomon asked Faith. He had one big arm around the back of his wife’s chair while they all ate pizza in the cavernous din of the café.

“Oh, you know,” Faith said. “He’s managing, although dark and dangerous doesn’t come easily.” Which wasn’t one bit true. It came through loud and clear.

“You’re glad you didn’t do it, cuz,” Will said. “Don’t think Lelei would’ve gone for the bit we did yesterday. Had that girl tied to the bed in her undies.” He’d lowered his voice out of deference to the kids. “I had to close my eyes and think of England to do it myself. And next time, we’re in the shower.”

“Nightmare,” Solomon said.

“Yeh. That’s what I said.”

“Definitely not,” Lelei said with a shudder. “Definitely, definitely not. Besides, something better is going to come along for you,” she told her husband. “I know it.”

“Well, you know,” he said, “you’re my good-luck charm, so it’s bound to.”

“Mommy!” Sefina announced. “We’re all done! We want to whack-a-mole!”

Lelei began to rise, but Solomon heaved his big frame up from the bench. “Stay there. I’ll go.”

“So what’s the deal with these pictures?” Lelei asked when the kids were safely out of earshot. “I didn’t realize it’d be that graphic.”

“Oh, it really isn’t,” Faith said.

“Here we go,” Will said. “Faith’s specialty, explaining the purely family-friendly nature of the entertainment to you.”