Voyeur (6 page)

And now that she
was
mul ing it over, she simply didn't know the answer.

Too hot from the robe, that fast, she untied the belt and let the terry cloth fal from her shoulders. Extracting her arms, she pul ed at the black ribbon to untie the rather titil ating package.

Inside, atop black tissue paper lay a white card.

For tonight. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late, honey.

Oh God. It wasn't from Monica. It was from
him!

Swal owing her shock, she cautiously folded back the tissue paper, gasping at what she saw inside. A black velvet corset. Black lace-top

stockings. And a purple vibrator shaped like a penis, the likes of which she'd seen only on the one occasion Monica had dragged her into a sex

shop. "Oh, dear God," she murmured.

Without another thought, she set the box aside, shot to her feet, and took the few short steps to the computer. Since he'd told her to change her

screen name, she pul ed up her usual IM identity – which she used mostly with Monica—
Riley.

RILEY: Are you there? This is Laura, your

houseguest.

She wasn't sure yet exactly what she was going to say to him, but it leaned toward letting him know he'd gone too far, and wondering how the hel

he'd gotten the package to her so quickly, and tel ing him she was
not
going to ... to ... use a sexual device while he watched!

FLYB0Y1: Good morning, snowflake.

What?
RILEY: Snowflake?

FLYB0Y1: Just noticed them on your pajamas the other night, that's all. Before you opened them, I mean. Then I quit noticing anything but you.

;) Who's Riley?

RILEY: The main character in my books.

FLYB0Y1: Are you her?

RILEY: No. Not really.
But after a sigh, honesty made her add:
Well, okay, yes, I guess we do have a lot in common.

FLYB0Y1: Then I'm sorry I've never read your books. What are they about? I know you write mysteries, but that's all. What's Riley's story?

Geez, of al the times for him to get inquisitive on a subject other than sex. He'd managed to total y distract her from her purpose.

RILEY: Riley is a part-time secretary at a private investigations firm by day, but an amateur sleuth by night. She wants desperately to hang up

her sensible pumps and be a real detective, but no one in her town takes her seriously or will give her a chance. So she sets about solving

mysteries in order to prove herself, but every time she solves one, someone else gets the credit. Her Aunt Mimsey is the only other person who

realizes how smart she is, but Aunt Mimsey is kind of dotty, so no one believes her when she sings Riley's detecting praises. Riley's only real

satisfaction comes from convincing herself she's a good detective despite what everyone thinks and looking forward to trying to prove it to them

next time.

FLYB0Y1: Wow. So does this mean you're a detective?

RILEY: No, that's not the part we have in common.

FLYB0Y1: Then what DO you have in common?

Laura considered her answer. She'd never actual y examined this before right now.
RILEY: Well, Riley and I are both smart, sensible, and

generally pretty conservative. Which brings me back to why I IMed you. I just got a delivery here.

FLYB0Y1: Ah. That was quick.

She let out a heavy breath. That's al he had to say? Wel , she'd just go with the flow, especial y since that
was
one of her questions.
RILEY: I'll say.

How the hell did you DO that?

FLYB0Y1: Simple, really. An online catalog for a place in Denver, and a phone call. It's called same-day delivery, honey.

RILEY: That usually costs an arm and a leg.

FLYB0Y1: I have a lot of money. What did you think of the gift?

She hesitated. A minute ago she'd been overcome with a sense of urgency, ready to yel at him for this, but now, faced with the opportunity, she

wasn't quite sure what she wanted to say.
RILEY: I was . . . shocked.

FLYB0Y1 : Why?

RILEY: I've never . . .

I’ve never what?
she asked herself. She didn't know how to say this. But she tried again anyway.

RILEY: I've never really done THAT before.

FLYB0Y1: Really? You've never used a vibrator?

RILEY: No.

FLYB0Y1: Damn, honey.

RILEY: What does THAT mean?

FLYB0Y1: That now I'm EXTRA glad I got it

for you.

She let out a sigh. Was she so very odd? Did every other woman on the planet own a wide array of such tools?
RILEY: Why do you consider a

vibrator so vital to my existence?

FLYB0Y1: Because you're a very sexual person.

She blinked at the computer, shocked and annoyed.
RILEY: How do YOU know?

FLYB0Y1: Are you serious?

Another sigh.
RILEY: Okay, okay. But I told you last night . . . I'm not usually like that. I don't do those things.

FLYB0Y1: You do now. And you're beautiful touching yourself, you know. I barely managed to wait until you came before I did. And that's not a

problem I generally have.

Time to get down to business. And she'd just made a decision. She'd said it herself. She was smart, sensible, and conservative. Not a prim goody-

two-shoes who wore turtlenecks and insisted on dating a guy forever before sleeping with him—not anything exorbitant or extreme. But she was

simply an even-keeled, middle-of-the-road woman who didn't go to the
other
extreme, either. And last night had been inexplicably extreme for her. It was time to get back to normal here.
RILEY: I can't keep doing this.

FLYB0Y1: Why not?

RILEY: It's so . . . dirty. And I don't even know you.

FLYB0Y1: You're GETTING to know me.

RILEY: I don't even know your name.

FLYB0Y1: Braden.

RILEY: Is that your first name or your last?

FLYB0Y1: First. Braden Stone.

Laura hesitated. Braden. She liked it. Sounded strong. Rugged. Sexy. But that was hardly a reason to back down on what she was tel ing him.

RILEY: Well . . . I still don't know you.

FLYB0Y1: And yet you want me.

True enough. Her pussy was pulsing again just from IMing with him like this. A guy she couldn't even see, or hear, let alone touch. And damn it,

she'd just thought of that part of her body as her pussy again. If she real y wanted this to end, that would be a good place to start. In fact, maybe she should just quit thinking about that part of herself
period.

When she stil hadn't replied to him a minute later, he sent another message.
FLYB0Y1: I want you, too. I want to see you come again. I want to

see you use the toy I sent you.

Dear God. The very idea of that was . . . unfathomable.

Stil , she didn't answer. Simply because she had no idea how to respond to such a raw, intimate request.

FLYB0Y1: See you tonight, snowflake. Ten o'clock. I know you won't let me down.

What arrogance. He was so sure of himself. So sure of her, too. She couldn’t help rol ing her eyes at the computer.

Wel , he had another thing coming.
RILEY: Are you still there?

She was going to tel him what she'd intended to in the first place, the part about him going too far.

Only no answer came. Drat. She tried again.
RILEY: Hey, are you there? Answer me.

Damn it. He must real y be gone—off to raid yet another corporation or fly an airplane or something.

"I hate you," she whispered to the computer screen, even knowing he could no longer see or hear her. Which was probably why she said it—since she didn’t real y hate him. Far from it. She was
intrigued
by him. Had a strange
crush
on him. Felt bizarrely
lured in
by him. It was the last one that scared her—how did this guy make her want to do these shockingly out-of-character things? Why did she want to please him, excite him, so much?

She glanced over her shoulder to the bookshelves where the photo of him sat. Was it just because he was hot? Admittedly, if he'd been twenty

years older or twenty pounds heavier—or, frankly, just not attractive to her —she knew she wouldn't keep perpetuating this. In fact, she probably

would have packed up and left by now, out of sheer horror over revealing so much of herself to someone she'd never even met. But there was a lot

to be said for chemistry. And if it was possible to feel this much chemistry with someone so far away, that counted for something. Right?

You're just trying to justify this somehow, make yourself feel better about it.

She'd felt weird enough before the corset and vibrator had shown up. But opening that box to find them inside had somehow yanked her private

nighttime sin out into the bright light of day in a whole new way. She eyed the gifts now, the velvet draped over the edge of the box stil on the sofa, the fake purple penis jutting up from the tissue paper, as
wel . Why did it have to be
purple,
for God's sake? And shaped so realistical y like a freaking
penis?
Somehow that made the gift al the more blunt, al the more in-your-face. She couldn't help it—she liked subtlety. So did Riley.

Of course, she thought, turning back to the computer, Riley wasn't getting subtlety anymore than Laura was at the moment, given that searing and

unexpected kiss the dark stranger had just delivered before they'd al been interrupted by the deliveryman—and concentrating on Riley's situation

seemed a lot more productive than continuing to stew over her voyeur and his so-cal ed gift. She could deal with the reality of that later. For now—

she'd come here to write, and she was going to write. Her deadline—and checking account—depended upon it. And besides, she was more than a

little curious to see what happened next with Riley's handsome stranger.

Riley's lips tingled with the power of his kiss. Although, if she was honest, more than just her lips were left tingling—her entire body was

getting into the act. When it ended, the handsome stranger pul ed back and met her gaze. She'd never seen darken more entrancing eyes,

and merely looking into them made her want to melt onto the floor of the Dorchesters' toolshed. "Wha-what was that?" she asked.

One corner of his ful mouth quirked into a hint of a grin. "It's cal ed a kiss, honey."

Even his voice made her insides quiver, but she tried to stand strong." I know what it's cal ed, but who are you and what are you doing in the

Dorchesters' shed?"

This time, a ful -blown but utterly mysterious smile unfurled on the man's face just before he winked at her. "It's a secret" he said, then opened the door and walked out, leaving Riley in the shadowy heat, alone now but for the riding mower and a host of shovels and gardening hoes.

Feeling whol y unsteady, Riley eased back onto the mower's seat, letting her gaze drift toward the dirt floor. Her eyes dropped to an old

broken brick that had fal en from the wal beneath a workbench. In a normal shed, she wouldn't have noticed such a thing, but the

Dorchesters were unusual y tidy, fastidious people, and that extended right down to their outbuildings. A chunk of brick on the floor of the

Dorchesters' toolshed was the equivalent of a kitchen scattered with dirty pots and pans or a bedroom sporting an unmade bed strewn with

hastily stripped off clothes and underwear.

Not that she was thinking about stripping off underwear— hers or anyone else's. She didn't even know the attractive stranger's name or what

he was doing here, so she had zero interest in his underwear. Especial y given that there was now a brand-new mystery to solve—who was

he, and what had he been doing in here?

Riley stooped to look at the brick. Nothing unordinary about it—except that it had left an empty spot in the wal beneath the worktable. And

Riley thought she must be insane to stick her hand into a dark hole that might contain mice or spiders or God only knew what else—
God,

please don't let there be spiders;
she
hated
spiders like she hated nothing else!—but she was on a mission, and she would not be

deterred.

Easing her fingers inside the space, she felt cautiously around—until she touched something that felt suspiciously like lush velvet! Grabbing

on to the fabric, she extracted it to find it was a smal black drawstring bag, so soft to the touch that it made her shiver in spite of the day's

warmth. Hurrying to open the pouch, she spil ed out into her palm—oh my!—Mrs. Dorchester's missing antique broach!

Riley immediately rushed home to share her discovery with Aunt Mimsey.

"Did that man have it?" her aunt asked. "Did you get it from that man I saw lurking about?"

Wel , she'd certainly gotten
something
from "that man," but it hadn't been the missing piece of jewelry. "No, but maybe if we return this to Mrs. Dorchester, we can start putting the pieces together. We'l describe the man and see if Mrs. D. knows him. Surely, he's the culprit!"

"I've always said how much I admire that broach. I'm sure Winifred wil be glad to get it back," Aunt Mimsey said.

Moments later; the two women strol ed up the winding cobblestone walk to the Dorchesters' quaint-but-sprawling English Tudor home. Edna

Barnes, the longtime housekeeper with her curling silver hair and a blue maid's uniform that made her look like a waitress, let them in, then

fetched the lady of the house. "Mimsey and Riley have come for a visit," Edna told Mrs. D. with her usual smile as she led the regal older lady into the room.