Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark
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Dark clouds scudded across the sky, obliterating the bit of light the night sky might have afforded.
“A storm’s coming in,” she said.
“It looks like it. Do you have any candles?”
“No flashlight, but I have lots of candles.”
She released his hand and turned. Her bedside table stood a few feet from the window. She opened the drawer and felt around. She held up a long object. “My flamethrower.”
She flicked a long-nosed, handled lighter and lit a candle by her bed. She crossed the room, lighting two wall sconces. They flanked a painting of a semi-dressed woman reclining on a divan. Very sensual. Like her. Like the room.
A sleigh bed dominated the windowed wall. A comforter in an elegant paisley pattern of bold reds, cinnamon and gold lay atop it. Matching gold-fringed pillows were piled against the headboard invitingly. A mirrored dresser filled the wall space between the bedroom door and wardrobe. Tawny moved over to a large triple-wicked pillar candle on her dresser.
She turned to face him, smiling. “I told you I had plenty of candles.”
She was even more beautiful with candlelight dancing across her face, flickering over her bare shoulders, casting the valley between her breasts into a mysterious shadowy place he longed to explore. Her smile faded and the perfume of the candles wafted around them, exotic scents that conjured images of hot sex, that stripped away his reserve and left him a man who ached for the woman he wanted and couldn’t have. Her lips parted and he could have sworn he glimpsed a reciprocal heat in her eyes.
“You shouldn’t burn them all. We don’t have any idea how long the lights will be out.” Nothing like a little censure to dissipate a mood.
“I have plenty. I’ve got a thing for candles.”
“What else do you have a thing for?” he asked, his tongue moving faster under the circumstances than his internal censor. And he was only human. They were alone in her apartment, in candlelight, her bed was right there and less than five feet separated them.
She wet her lips, as if her mouth was suddenly too dry and he felt another stab of familiar guilt—this time for making her uncomfortable. “That was a joke. My misguided attempt at humor. Do you have a radio with batteries so we can find out what’s going on out there?” Definitely time to introduce the real world. He needed outside stimuli to keep from drifting off into another fantasy of just the two of them.
“My boom box uses batteries.” She opened her closet door and stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor. She knelt down and bent over. He should look away, direct his attention to the painting on the wall, check out the dark New York skyline. Hell, watching paint dry would be better, far more noble, than staring at her on her knees with her amazing, enticing, drool-inspiring bum in the air.
She backed out of the closet, boom box in hand, and stood. She flipped the switch. Nothing happened. “Okay. Batteries that aren’t dead would be a bonus.” She upended the radio on the bed and opened the battery compartment. “Six C-cell batteries. I’ll have us fixed up in no time. I keep extras on hand.”
She rounded the bed to the bedside drawer where he stood. She pulled out two batteries and tossed them onto the bed. She dug a bit more, pulling out a third. “Three isn’t going to do it.”
Her skin glimmered in the soft light, her eyes were soft and luminous, her scent issued a siren’s call. He thrust his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. He’d been mad to agree to be here tonight. “No. I’d say it’s rather obvious we need three more.”
“I’ve got it covered.” Her smile said she was tired of him being a jerk. And he was tired of being a jerk, but it was better than giving in to his impulse to ease her onto the bed, peel her clothes off and become intimately acquainted with every delectable inch of her naked body.
She delved back into the drawer—obviously command central in her bedroom—and pulled out … the biggest vibrator he’d ever seen. Well, actually, he didn’t believe he’d ever seen a vibrator firsthand before. It was quite … large.
“Simon, meet Tiny.” Tiny was pretty intimidating from a man’s point of view. Not that he suddenly felt inadequate or anything. She unscrewed the bottom, dropped two batteries out and replaced the top. She put it back in the drawer and then pulled out a much smaller dildo with a smaller stem on the top of it. “This is Enrico and Bob.” She waved the toy in his general direction.
“Um, I gather the little guy is Bob because he …”
“Yep. You got it. He bobs up and down.”
Simon reminded himself to breathe—but not too heavily. This was going great. He should’ve abandoned her, along with his principles, and gotten the hell out of her apartment when he’d had the opportunity. He’d only thought it was hot before. He was burning up now. “I guess this answers the question as to what else you have a thing for.”
She pulled out a single battery and tossed it onto the bed atop the others. “There you go. Six C-cell batteries, and I promise they’re all in working order. Why don’t you put them in?”
3
MAYBE SHE’D GONE A TAD too far introducing her vibrator boys by name, but she’d had enough of his quiet sarcasm and disapproval. According to Elliott, Simon’s demeanor stemmed from being first-generation American. His father, a Brit, had relocated to New York before Simon was born to curate some museum or another. She didn’t care if his father was next in line for the British throne, she was tired of Simon’s hot-and-cold attitude. And if she was honest with herself, she was none too pleased with herself that he turned her on to the nth degree and annihilated her composure. Around him she couldn’t seem to think of anything beyond sex. With him. She’d nearly made a fool of herself when he’d put his hands on her shoulders. And then when he’d touched her breast … she’d come close to begging him to take her then and there, hard and fast, against the wall, in the hallway. Simon brought out a sensuality in her that she’d never known before and in some aspects frightened her with its intensity.
Silently Simon loaded the batteries into her boom box. His hands weren’t quite steady as he fumbled with the last one. Maybe the close confines were getting to him, too.
The radio blared to life. “… so, it looks like it’s a good old-fashioned blackout brought on by the incredible demand for a little air-conditioned relief from the triple-digit heat. Unfortunately, the lights are out across the Tristate area and authorities tell us they’re not sure when they’ll have the lights back on. It looks like it’s going to be a hot night, so just settle down where you are and stay put. In honor of the blackout, we’re going to open the lines for requests and dedications that have to do with hot and summer. And I guess we’ll be seeing a bunch of newborns nine months from now. Hey, you’ve got to pass the time somehow. Let’s start this set with an oldie, ‘Love The One You’re With’.” Tawny reached over and turned it off.
Trapped in her apartment with Simon for the night? Tawny bit back her panic. Danger signals exploded in her brain—her, Simon, candlelight—and already it felt as if the temperature in her apartment had increased a few degrees.
“Well, we can forget take-out Thai. Are you hungry?” Sure, leave it to the fat girl to bring up food, but dammit, she was starving. And it took her mind off sex. And Simon. And sex with Simon. Well, probably not, but she was still hungry.
He grinned and she was totally disarmed by the flash of his white teeth in the dim lighting. “I’m famished. I could chew nails.”
“I don’t keep much food on hand. There’s a deli a block and a half away. Do you think it would still be open?”
“It should. During the 2003 blackout, food stores were selling out because they didn’t know how long their power would be out. Better to sell it than let it ruin. I’ve even got some cash on me. Let’s give it a go.” He smiled with a touch of self-conscious eagerness. “And I wouldn’t mind burning a roll or two of film.”
Duh. He was a photographer. Of course he’d like to be taking pictures. And it was incredible how his whole demeanor changed when he talked about photography.
“Sure. Food and photographs. Works for me,” she said.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than lightning flashed and thunder boomed overhead. Rain fell in a sudden onslaught. Nothing, it seemed, was subtle or happening in small measure tonight.
“Or not. Okay. That’s it. I’m not planning anything else tonight because everything I plan gets trashed,” she said with a nervous laugh. They were stuck here. She picked up a small votive to lead the way back down the hall. “I’m not a culinary queen, but nails shouldn’t be necessary,” she said.
She didn’t comment when Simon blew out the other candles in the room before he picked up the radio and followed her. She had enough candles in the closet to carry them for a week, but it wasn’t worth arguing the point.
She was more than willing to bury the hatchet between them since they were stuck here together.
She snagged her wineglass on the way into the kitchen. “Good wine is a terrible thing to waste.”
“Ah, something we agree on.” Tawny waited for Simon to exchange the radio for his glass and the wine bottle. Given the minimum square footage of her apartment, they’d have no trouble hearing the radio from the kitchen. He followed her into the other room. Within a few seconds, several candles illuminated her galley kitchen.
“What’s that?” Simon asked. She followed his gaze to the top of the fridge. In the semidarkness, Peaches resembled a blob of prey more than a feline.
“Peaches, my cat. He likes the top of the refrigerator. He’s the one with a bad attitude and selective hearing.”
“Poor fella. You’d have a bad attitude, too, if you were a guy called Peaches.” Simon made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat and surprised Tawny by reaching up to scratch the cat behind the ears. Peaches promptly hissed and swatted.
“He’s not Mister Friendly.”
“Neither am I,” Simon said with a self-deprecating smile as he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well, forget it, I’m not adopting you if you find yourself abandoned,” she said with a teasing smile, despite the flutter in her tummy at the thought of making Simon her own. “You’d probably be as bad-tempered and ungrateful as he is.”
“Duly noted,” he said with another smile that doubled her heart rate. “Why do you keep the wretch?”
“Because it was love at first sight on my part.” She glanced away from him. That almost sounded as if she had declared herself in love with Simon at first sight. A totally ridiculous notion. “He’ll come around sooner or later.”
Simon quirked a sardonic brow in the direction of Peaches. “I believe you’re an eternal optimist.”
“Call me Pollyanna.” She opened the refrigerator door and peered into the black hole, considering their limited food options. “The microwave or the oven won’t work. I’ve got leftover pizza. And I can throw together a fruit salad. How does that sound?”
“Better than nails.”
Tawny laughed, enjoying his quiet teasing and relaxing into his company. She pulled out the food and closed the fridge door. “Are you always so gracious and enthusiastic?”
“Yes, except when I’m in a bad mood.” He sipped his wine, and as if the camaraderie between them was unacceptable, she could almost see him retreating. She wanted him to stay. “It was monumental bad timing that I wasn’t the one delayed and Elliott isn’t here with you instead.”
Elliott. Right. Her fiancé. She twisted her ring with her thumb. Guilt flooded her. She hadn’t spared Elliott a nominal thought since his phone call. She shrugged. “It’s an emergency. We all do the best we can. I’m sure Elliott would rather not be trapped in the gallery with that acrylics guy. And while you might not be thrilled to be here, it’s better than being stuck on the subway.”
She pulled out the chopping board, a knife and a bowl.
“And why would you think I’m not thrilled to be here?” he asked.
She went to work chunking the fresh pineapple. She almost said she wasn’t as dumb as she must look but thought better of it. “Should I believe you’re thrilled to be stuck in this apartment with me?”
“Would you believe me if I told you there was no other place I’d rather be?” Something in the depths of his eyes stole her breath.
She laughed to cover her breathlessness and cored an apple. “No. I think there’s probably a list a mile long of places you’d rather be, but you’re too nice to say so.”
“Quite. I’m such a nice guy.”
“Be honest. Wouldn’t you rather be at your girlfriend’s? Or if the photo shoot had gone a little longer, you’d be with Chloe.” Okay, she admitted it. She was fishing. They’d double dated several times with Simon. Each time it had been a different woman. But after the photo shoot, Simon had always begged off whenever Elliott invited him along.
She added diced apple to the bowl and reached for a banana. His love life intrigued her. Not that it had anything to do with her. But if she was having head-banging sex with him in her dreams, she could at least know about his love life.
“I don’t have a girlfriend and Chloe isn’t my type,” he said, shrugging. A thin, beautiful model wasn’t his type? She looked at him considering the implications. Maybe he was …
“And no, I don’t mean not my type that way. I’m not gay. Chloe’s a nice woman, but she doesn’t do a thing for me.”
Whew! She shouldn’t be so relieved. She sectioned an orange. What kind of woman was his type? Who would appeal to a self-contained man like Simon? And why didn’t he have a girlfriend? In a dark, fiendish way, he was spine-tingling, toe-curling sexy. “So, what kind of woman does something for you?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Sure you have. Everyone has a type they go for,” she said.
“I don’t really have a type.”
He seriously needed to loosen up a bit. She mixed the fruit together. “Sure you do. I bet if you stop and think about it, there’s a certain type of woman that attracts you, that makes your blood run a little hotter.”
“Is this some kind of game, Tawny? Do you want me to say it’s a woman like you?” His voice was low, dangerous in its quiet intensity.
Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? To know that for all the times she’d writhed, screamed his name in the middle of an orgasm, woken up wet and spent, that he wasn’t totally immune to her? Yes and no. The only game she was playing was with herself, and it was a dangerous one. She looked away from his dark-eyed gaze, glad to busy herself with getting two bowls out of her cabinet. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve made it abundantly clear how you regard me. I’m just surprised you’re not still seeing Lenore. You made a nice couple.” Lenore had been Simon’s date the night Elliott had proposed. The tall, willowy blonde had been a perfect complement to Simon’s urbane dark looks.
She divvied out the portions and they sat at the small wrought-iron table she’d tucked in the corner.
Simon shrugged. “Lenore is nice. That’s why I quit seeing her. I’m in a bit of an unrequited love and it didn’t seem fair to date her when my head and heart were otherwise engaged. Delicious, by the way,” he said, indicating the fruit and pizza. “Thank you.”
“Glad you like it.” His other words slammed into her. A dark jealousy coiled through her at the thought of a woman capturing the distant Simon’s heart. This mystery woman must be a paragon. Beautiful, sophisticated, thin, witty, probably a couple of Ph.D.s under her belt. Unwisely, unwittingly, instinctively Tawny hated her. Hated her for capturing his heart and hated her for tossing it aside.
So of course she said, “I’m sorry. That’s a hard place to be. Do you want to talk about it? About her? Sometimes talking it over with someone, things aren’t as hopeless as they seem.” She couldn’t seem to shut up, hell-bent on atoning for her lust. “Maybe I could help you figure out a way to win her over—you know, another woman’s perspective.”
She bit into the pizza, finding something else to do with her mouth other than babble on. Simon regarded her over the rim of his wineglass, his expression indecipherable. “You’re offering aid with my dismal love life?”
It could prove to be just the cure she needed to get over this … thing for him. She nodded and swallowed. “Sure. Why not?”
He placed his empty glass on the table. “That’s generous, but she’s unavailable.”
Ouch. “She’s married?”
“No. But she’s in a serious relationship.”
That merely irritated her. Was Simon truly in love or was it the unavailability factor? People, especially men, always wanted what they couldn’t have. Put a taboo label on it and they had to have it.
“Until she says I do, she’s not unavailable. You’ve got to decide how important she is to you. If you’re willing to forego other relationships, she must matter a lot. Wake up, Simon, and smell the coffee. What’re you gonna do? Sit around in some weird celibate state—”
“I never mentioned celibacy.” Simon tried to pull a haughty look on her.
Tawny rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. If you won’t date a woman because you don’t want to be unfair, then you’re certainly not sleeping with anyone.” Alarming how much that pleased her. So of course she worked even harder to push him. “You’re gonna moon around in a celibate state for a couple of years or even the rest of your life because she’s in a relationship but not married? How bad do you want her?”
“With every fiber of my being.”
His quiet intensity sent a shiver down her spine and pierced her heart. What was wrong with her? Who he wanted and how much he wanted her had nothing to do with Tawny.
“Then it’s time for you to fish or cut bait.”
“THANKS FOR YOUR ADVICE to the lovelorn. I’ll keep the ‘fish or cut bait’ in mind.”
Wasn’t that twisted? The object of his unrequited affection—and hence intense guilt, as she was engaged to his best friend—sat across the table, bathed in candlelight, wearing a sexy halter top and shorts and advising him to put a move on her. At least, that’s what he’d interpreted her charming colloquialism to mean.
Tawny topped off her wineglass and refilled his at the same time. “Well, I think you should go for it. What have you got to lose?”
What did he have to lose if he went for her right now? “Really nothing, other than those small matters of pride and self-esteem.”
“It’s pretty hard to wrap your arms around those and snuggle up to them. Or enjoy a glass of wine or a candlelit bubble bath with them either.”
He struggled to keep his expression one of sardonic amusement while inside her words played out in his head as snapshots of the two of them. The irony of sharing a glass of wine with her in candlelight nearly slayed him. He was an absolute masochist to participate in this conversation. Bugger that, he was a masochist to even be here.
“But a glass of wine sooner or later is gone, eventually the candles burn out, and the water grows cold, so perhaps one has to make the more long-lasting choice.”
“Except that life is fleeting. Tomorrow may not come before the wine stops flowing or the water cools.”
“Am I in the company of a hedonist?” he asked, very clearly recalling his recent introduction to Tiny, Enrico and Bob, her on-demand boyfriends.
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Life is short and it’s a shame to waste opportunities. This woman could be the love of your life and you’re letting her slip away. And who knows? She may feel the same way about you.” He really was a pathetic sod. He was flattered she didn’t consider him so repugnant she couldn’t imagine a woman attracted to him. “Maybe she just doesn’t know it yet. Or she could be shy and afraid to tell you.”
Simon laughed. Neither of those came to mind in a Tawny word-association exercise. Other than her aversion to the dark, she’d never displayed either characteristic. “I don’t think shy or fear are factors when it comes to my lady.”
Tawny leaned her elbow on the table and pursed her lips, tapping one finger against the corner of her mouth as she eyed him consideringly. She had a truly lovely mouth, full but without the collagen bloat so popular these days.
“Well, maybe this is some kind of courtly love.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. You know, chivalry and all. Knights only loved their ladies from afar. Maybe you’re just afraid to declare yourself because you aren’t truly physically attracted to her. Maybe you wouldn’t know what to do with her if she actually reciprocated your attraction,” she said. She crossed her arms as if she’d neatly solved a little puzzle.
His boyhood days of envisioning himself as a bold knight were long gone. There was nothing courtly or chivalrous about the maelstrom of emotion she evoked in him. He absolutely burned for her. And he’d had enough of her speculation. It was time for this conversation to end. He knew one sure way to kill the conversation and prove to her just how far removed he was from her romanticized notions.
He traced his finger along the edge of his glass and smiled at her across the table, offering her a glimpse of the dark passion seething beneath his surface. “I don’t know about courtly love.” He chose his next words very deliberately—crude and base—to make a point. “I do know I would fuck her senseless for a week, given half a chance.”
Her eyes grew huge and she swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away. “Oh. Senseless … a week … well, then.”
Okay. Perhaps he’d gone a bit over the top there. “I apologize if I shocked you.”
She raised her chin. “I’m not shocked at all. I think all that passion is … well, hot. I’m not sure there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t want to know a man was so hot for her he’d like to—” she paused and emphasized the very words he’d uttered “—fuck her senseless for a week. As long as somewhere in the week he wanted to work a little conversation and getting to know her into the sexathon.”
Far from offensive, it sounded sexy and exciting when she threw his words back at him. Especially when she drawled it in that low, honeyed tone with a glint in her eye that spoke more to interest and arousal.
Simon was knee-deep in muck but apparently lacked enough sense to stop wading. “I’ve never operated solely from a state of lust. Her brain and her personality are half the appeal. Otherwise I’d only want her for half a week. And I wouldn’t worry about senseless.”
Her naughty smile wrecked him. “You are wicked, Simon Thackeray.”
Forget muck. This felt like dangerous sexual flirting and he needed to stop. And he would. Soon. He leaned forward, drawn by the heat in her eyes, lured by her smile. “Perhaps my love languishes unrequited because I’m too wicked to love.”
She shifted forward, her knee brushed his and the contact surged through him. A seductive smile curved her lush mouth. “I seriously doubt that. Don’t you know that all that wickedness just drives women to distraction?”
All he truly knew was that she drove him beyond distraction. Beyond caution. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“The last time I checked, I was a woman, so I suppose so.” There was something in her eyes. Something that said she knew how utterly wicked he could be and she liked it, despite herself.
Which was ridiculous because he’d been very careful to limit his exposure to her. He raised his brow in question. As if she suddenly realized what he’d seen in her eyes, she blinked and it vanished. She leaned back into her chair, putting a distance that existed beyond mere space between them. Thank God one of them had some sense. “What do you do with all of that pent-up … energy?”
Egad, the woman was relentlessly curious—no trouble at all believing she got herself locked into a wardrobe—which was yet one more reason he’d taken himself out of her and Elliott’s sphere. For one moment he considered telling her he jerked off often, just to see if it would shock her into no more questions, but that tactic had already failed once. And quite simply he couldn’t bring himself to be so crude. He opted for the truth.