Just 4 Play

4

MITCH PACED IN FRONT of his desk, debating whether to go after Jill, to tell her exactly what he thought of her unsolicited opinions and her attempts to change his mind. This was his business and he could do anything he damn well pleased with it. Why should he care what a salesgirl he’d known less than two days thought of him? He had half a mind to—

“Shit!” Pain shot through his leg as he banged against the corner of the daybed that sat against the back wall of the office/apartment. He frowned at the offending piece of furniture. The bed was covered in a fleece throw decorated with rows of bright yellow smiley faces. Another example of Uncle Grif’s appalling tastes.

He sank down onto the bed, head in his hands. No, in this case, he was the one who’d behaved appallingly. He’d dismissed Grif as a crass playboy who’d devoted his life to golf, women and the sex toy business.

Going through this office this morning, Mitch had discovered another man entirely. He found a whole file drawer devoted to the various charities Grif supported—a mentoring program for adolescent boys, a shelter for abused women, a spay and neuter clinic for indigent pet owners. The thickest file in the drawer sent a pain through his chest.

He looked up, at the folder still sitting on the corner of the desk. From here he could read the hand-lettered label on the tab: Mary Landry Mental Health Education Foundation.

Loud, tasteless, fun-loving Uncle Grif had funded a program to educate the public about mental illness and the mentally ill. He had named it after his sister-in-law, Mitch’s mother, who had spent her last years in and out of institutions, struggling for a normalcy she could never quite attain.

Mitch felt ambushed by grief for a man he’d never really known. A man he’d never have the chance to thank.

Had Uncle Grif left him these things to show how wrong Mitch had been in his judgment? Or as a way of saying he understood?

He stood and opened another folder on the desk. This one held tax forms. Despite his happy-go-lucky reputation, Grif had been a sound businessman. Just 4 Play was on solid financial footing and had increased profits every year in the three years since it had opened.

But money didn’t equal respect. In yet another folder, he’d found paperwork showing the Chamber of Commerce had turned down Grif’s application for membership, with a curt letter stating Just 4 Play did not enhance the family-oriented reputation they wanted to project.

He pushed aside the stack of files and stretched. A glance at his watch showed it was after noon. A good time to go out for a bite to eat. As Jill had pointed out, he had to eat three times a day, though sorry to say, he wasn’t having sex three times a day. Not even three times a week. And from the way Lana had acted last night, he’d be lucky if she ever had sex with him again.

Then again, would that be such a loss?

With this disturbing thought, he emerged into the main part of the store. As Jill had said, lunchtime business was brisk, with people lined up two deep at the register and more browsing in various parts of the store. He spotted Jill in a back corner, rearranging items on a pegboard.

She glanced toward him, then quickly looked away. The deliberate snub annoyed him. Just because they disagreed on how he should run his business didn’t mean they couldn’t be civil. As her boss, it was up to him to set an example. He decided to ask her if she wanted him to bring anything back for her lunch.

She was standing on tiptoe to hang something on one of the pegs when he reached her corner. “Hello, Jill.”

“Hello, Mitch.” She reached into another carton, not looking at him.

“What do you have there?” He nodded to what looked like a ball of fake fur in her hand.

“Fur-lined handcuffs.” She held up what he could see now was two circlets of black fur joined by a silver chain.

“Okay. But why fur?”

“It’s more comfortable. See?”

Before he could react, she snapped one cuff around a pole on the display and another around his right wrist.

“Hey!” He struggled against the restraint. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just showing you how comfortable they are.” Her innocent smile failed to mask the evil gleam in her eye.

He refused to give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d bested him. He studied his cuffed wrist. The fur against his skin was cool and silky. “People actually think this is sexy?”

“It’s not the cuffs themselves that are so sexy. It’s the element of danger.” She moved closer, her voice softer, confiding. “Of risk. Of having to trust your partner completely.”

She was so close now he could see each individual eyelash, and the smattering of freckles beneath the powder on her nose. He held his breath, half-afraid she’d hear the hammering of his heart and know how she’d affected him.

“Here. You look uncomfortable.” She grasped the knot of his tie and tugged it loose, then began to loosen the buttons of his shirt. She moved slowly, focused on the task, her fingers lightly grazing his skin as she parted the starched cotton.

He grabbed her wrist with his free hand. “What are you doing?” His gaze met hers, the blue depths of her eyes pulling him in even as his mind warned him to keep his distance. “Get me out of here before someone comes along and sees us.” His voice was tight and husky, the voice of a stranger.

“Oh, no one’s paying any attention to us.” Her lips curved in a slow smile. “I thought you wanted to understand the appeal.”

She stepped back, just out of his reach, and picked up a small whip, with a fringed leather tassel at the tip. “The cuffs are like this cat-o’-nine-tails. It’s not really designed to harm.” She flicked it across his chest, the tassel barely brushing against him. “You can use it to tickle. Or perhaps more firmly.” She wielded the whip with more force this time, though still barely grazing him. “The idea is to heighten sensation.”

All thought of his surroundings faded as he watched her. His skin felt feverish, his nerves raw, tingling with awareness of her—of the smooth skin of her arms brushing him as she reached for something on a shelf, of the curve of her breast outlined by the clinging knit of her sleeveless top, of the bottomless blue of her eyes as she watched him.

He reminded himself she was doing this on purpose. She was deliberately trying to make him feel vulnerable. Trying to prove some point. He wouldn’t be swayed so easily. He forced a lightness into his voice that he didn’t feel. “Do you always break in new bosses this way?”

“I thought you wanted to understand.” She trailed the whip across his throat, tickling, teasing, stealing breath and coherent thought. “To see what it is that attracts people to these things.”

“Are you into this kind of thing? Bondage?” Heat pooled in his groin and desire lent an edginess to his voice.

She stroked the handle of the whip down her throat, a half smile on her full lips. He bit back a groan, determined to maintain control. “Maybe.” She leaned closer, engulfing him in the scent of jasmine. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? The experience?”

He reminded himself that they were not alone. At any moment now, someone might come down the aisle and wonder what was going on. It was important to keep his cool. Retain his dignity. And to not let Jill know she was getting to him. “I think you’ve made your point,” he said, his voice perfectly even, emotionless.

“No. I’ve only just begun.” She smiled, a secret, seductive look.

“I can see this is getting out of hand.” He struggled once more to free his wrist from the cuff. But underneath the fur was solid steel. He was held fast.

“It’s about so much more than sight. That’s why sometimes people use blindfolds. To heighten the other senses.” She took a black satin blindfold from the shelf and brushed it down his cheek. He glared at her, warning her she was taking this too far.

Still smiling, she laid aside the blindfold and reached for a small red bottle. “The sense of smell is important.” She opened a bottle and held it under his nose. A spicy fragrance replaced the aroma of jasmine.

“Or taste.” She touched her finger to his lips and he tasted cinnamon.

“And hearing.” She swished the whip past his ear. He flinched, even as heat coursed through him.

“Touch.” She trailed the whip down the center of his chest, the fringes dragging across his chest hair, tugging gently.

He fought to control his breathing, even as his body strained toward her. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman more—needing her with an urgency that defied logic. If he wasn’t held fast by the cuffs, he might have pulled her down right there in the aisle. He tried to read the expression in her eyes. Is that what she wanted, too, or was she only teasing him? Getting back at him for wanting to close the store?

“What about you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

She blinked, and stepped back. “Wh…what do you mean?”

“Is sex the main goal for you? The sensual experience? Or do you want something more?”

She turned away, and replaced the whip on its hook. “I don’t see why that should matter to you.”

Her defensive tone told him more than the words themselves. “It does matter, doesn’t it?” he said softly. “There has to be a connection with that other person. If you don’t have that, everything else is just…make-believe.”

“Whoever said there was anything wrong with make-believe?” With one quick movement, she released him. She snatched up the cuffs and replaced them on the pegboard. “Not every encounter is life changing,” she said.

He rubbed his wrists and watched her as she busied herself moving things about on the display. Her head was bent, the hair parted on either side of her neck to reveal a triangle of white flesh. He fought the urge to kiss her there. “I think we’re all looking for the life-changing encounters,” he said. “Even those of us who don’t want to admit it.”

With difficulty, he turned and walked away, shaken by what had just happened, but determined not to show it. What did it mean that a woman he scarcely knew could touch him so? Was it the novelty of the experience, the charged atmosphere of this place? Or something more? Something that threatened to unman him, to destroy the control he’d worked so long to perfect?

“I SAW WHAT YOU DID.” Sid’s disapproving tone stopped Jill as she walked past the front counter after the noon rush had subsided.

“What are you talking about?” She pretended ignorance.

“I saw you and Mitch back there.” He nodded at the security mirror angled toward the corner.

She flushed. She’d forgotten about that mirror. “He wanted to know what the handcuffs were for, so I showed him.” She trailed her hand along the edge of the counter, avoiding Sid’s eyes.

“You did a lot more than that.”

And might have done more if they’d been alone. “So?”

“So, haven’t you ever heard of sexual harassment? He could sue you!”

She laughed. “And tell a whole courtroom that I tied him up and teased him with a whip? I don’t think so.” She smiled, remembering the raw desire in his eyes. “Besides, I think he liked it.”

“Liked it or not, you could end up in big trouble playing games like that.”

“Oh, Sid, you worry too much. It was all in fun.”

“It looked deadly serious from here. In fact, I’d say you’re lucky looks can’t kill, or you’d be laid out in the back room right now.”

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” She leaned back against the counter, edgy with frustrated desire. The problem with a slow seduction was that Mitch wasn’t the only one left aroused and unsatisfied. “Besides, what have I got to lose? If I can convince Mitch to keep this place open, you and I get to keep our jobs. If I don’t, well then I’m out the door anyway, so I might as well try.”

“But seducing the boss—it’s a crazy idea!”

She laughed. “Unconventional maybe. Smart even. But not crazy.”

“It is crazy. And it won’t work. You heard him yesterday—his mind is made up.”

“People can change their minds. Even men.”

“Not men like him.”

“I guess you’re an expert on change, Mr. How-Many-Girlfriends-Is-It-This-Week?”

He stuck out his lower lip. “I have every intention of being faithful, as soon as I find the right woman.”

“So you’re saying the right woman will convince you to change your tomcat ways?”

He nodded. “When I’ve found the right woman, I won’t need anyone else.”

She laughed. “That’s what I love about you, you’re such a romantic.”

His expression relaxed. “Speak for yourself, Miss I-Want-To-Be-Swept-Away-By-A-Knight-In-Shining-Armor.”

“That’s a pirate. I want to be swept away by a pirate.”

“Whatever. I don’t think Mitch Landry has ever been within sight of a sailing ship.”

“Don’t be so sure. My point is, if the right woman can make you mend your ways, then the right woman can make Mitch Landry change his mind about closing Just 4 Play.”

“And you think you’re the right woman?”

“Let’s just say I’m a woman who always gets her man.”

“Hmm. Well, if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on the man getting you. I think you’re in over your head this time, Jilly girl.”

She shook her head and walked away, ignoring the doubts nudging at her. For a moment with Mitch, she’d almost forgotten the rules of the game. Rules she’d established. Fun was the object. A mutually satisfying, sensual experience. A good time had by all. No need for messy complications.

Mitch’s talk of “connections” and “life-changing experiences” had shaken her. Sure, those things were for some people, but not for her. What did Mitch know? Maybe he thought he’d seen some secret longing in her eyes, but he was wrong. She was attracted to his body. To his mind, even. But that was as far it went. Anything else was just his imagination.

5

MITCH SAT IN HIS CAR, trying to calm nerves that felt as if they’d been filed with sandpaper, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so vulnerable and out of control, so exposed while fully clothed, or so incredibly aroused.

It was more than being caught off guard and tied up. More than the props Jill had used in her little “product demonstration,” more even than the admitted excitement of knowing that at any moment, they might be discovered.

No, something about Jill herself made his temperature rise and his mind lose track of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Something in the contrast between her innocent looks and her seductive words fired every synapse and sent common sense running for cover. The way she made him feel was based on instinct, not reason. The thought that anyone could reduce him to that sent a new tremor through him.

“Damn it, this is crazy!” He hit the steering wheel hard with the heel of his hand. He wasn’t some pimply teenager ruled by hormones. He was a businessman—and he had no business getting involved with a woman he scarcely knew. A woman who had the power to distract him so much.

Thwarted desire replaced by a more garden-variety frustration filled him as he started the car and pulled out into traffic. He’d intended to head over to Qdoba for lunch, but he found himself driving up University Hill, toward the only apartment building he still owned, where his sister, Meg, lived with another premed student.

Meg answered the door dressed in scrubs, holding a can of soup in one hand. “Hey, Mitch!” She stood on tiptoe to hug him, then stepped back and held up the can. “You’re just in time for lunch.”

“How about I take you out instead?”

She tossed the can over her shoulder. It landed on the sofa and bounced twice before coming to rest against a pillow. “Let me put my shoes on and you’ve got a date.”

Fifteen minutes later, they sipped iced tea on the patio at Qdoba. “So what’s up?” Meg asked, reaching for a tortilla chip.

“Nothing’s up.” He rearranged the salt and pepper shakers. “I remembered you don’t have classes Tuesday and Thursday mornings and I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

She shook her head. “Since when do you leave work in the middle of the day to socialize? Especially with your sister?”

He pushed the salt and pepper aside and contemplated his hands, palms down in front of him on the table. They were plain, unremarkable hands, no rings, nails clean and neatly filed. No scars or calluses. Hands with no character at all.

“Earth to Mitch.” Meg snapped her fingers under his nose. “C’mon, what’s up? You look like you lost your best friend.”

He sighed and looked up at her. Strands of her dark curly hair fluttered in the breeze from the ceiling fan overhead. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she looked about sixteen. He couldn’t imagine her ever delivering a baby or performing surgery on anyone.

She looked like their mother—a small, helpless woman. Except Meg wasn’t helpless. She pointed a tortilla chip at him. “You might as well tell me, ’cause you know I’m going to worm it out of you, or else I’ll nose around behind your back until I find out everything. You can’t keep secrets from me, big brother.”

“Did you know Uncle Grif funded a foundation to educate the public about mental illness? And he named it after Mother.”

“I think I remember hearing something like that. Why?”

He sat back, shoulders slumped. “I just found out. I never knew that about him. Why would he do something like that?”

“I think he had a soft spot for Mama. And I know she was fond of him. She always looked forward to his visits when she was in the hospital.”

“I always thought he was just a loudmouthed playboy who spent all his money on gin, girls and golf.”

She tilted her head to one side, her expression sympathetic. “And now you’re beating yourself up because you were wrong.” She reached out and touched his arm. “Hey it’s okay. Even you are allowed to screw up sometimes. It proves you’re human, like the rest of us.”

“Great bedside manner, Doc. I feel all better now.”

“You’ll get over it. Grif must not have held it against you, since he left you his business.”

A business Mitch hadn’t even known existed until the will had been read. Maybe this was Grif’s way of having the last word.

Their lunch arrived and conversation stalled as they focused on their burritos. Mitch had found that even big problems looked smaller when considered in the aftermath of any meal that included plenty of hot sauce and melted cheese.

“So how did you find out about the mental health foundation?” Meg asked just as he’d taken a bite of burrito.

He swallowed and reached for his tea. “I was going through his files at…at the business he left me.”

“Oh, yes. The mysterious business.” She speared a forkful of beans. “Just what is this business, anyway?”

“Nothing important.” He ignored the scowl she sent his way and poured hot sauce onto his plate. “I’m going to close it and open a restaurant on the site.”

Meg shrugged. “Sounds like a lot of work to me, but you’re the big businessman.”

He looked away, pretending great interest in his meal. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake with this restaurant. He’d had the idea for over a year now, ever since he first met Chef Ping. When he found out Uncle Grif had left him a prime piece of downtown real estate, it had seemed like a sign he should go ahead with the project. Now he wondered…

“How’s Lana?”

“Lana?” He looked up, startled. “Uh…she’s okay. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I just haven’t heard you say much about her lately. I wondered if you were still seeing each other.”

“We’re still seeing each other.” More or less.

“I’ve heard more enthusiasm for the daily special at the student union. Has some of the bloom worn off the romance?”

“Why would you say that?” He stabbed at a piece of tortilla. “Just because I’m not raving about her every minute doesn’t mean I don’t want to continue dating her. A relationship doesn’t have to have fireworks all the time.” He scowled at her. “There’s more to life than sex, you know.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there.” She put up her hands. “Who said anything about sex?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. “No, if you and Lana are having problems in the bedroom, I don’t want to know.” She dunked a chip in hot sauce. “But you might want to think about seeing other people for a while. I mean, I’ll admit I’m prejudiced, but I think you’ve got a lot to offer a woman, and I’m not sure Lana really appreciates you.”

He was trying to come up with a suitable retort when his phone rang. Still frowning at his sister, he jerked the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hi, uh, Mitch? This is Sid.” The manager’s voice sounded strained. “Uh, sorry to bother you, but you need to get back to the store, right away.”

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Mitch’s stomach clenched. Had they been robbed? Was some fundamentalist group staging a protest?