Bad Boys Down Under (29 page)

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Authors: Nancy Warren

BOOK: Bad Boys Down Under
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Here's a hilarious sneak peek at
“WICKED” WOMEN 101
by Susanna Carr.
Coming in September 2005
from Kensington . . .
 
 
She looked good in his lair.
Marc propped his elbow on the battered rolltop desk and covered his smile with his hand. He knew better than to stretch and relax like a smug tiger. He had just started the hunt, and if Amy knew what he was thinking, she would bolt like frightened prey.
He supported his chin with his hand and studied his quarry. Amy sat primly on the tattered burgundy settee, erasing madly on the questionnaire.
She didn't exactly blend in, he decided as he cast a look around the turmeric-yellow room. The weakening sunlight seeped through the window. Fat leafy plants bumped against the vivid watercolors scattered across the walls and trailed down the glassed-in legal bookcases.
Marc had been acutely aware of every move Amy made since she stepped into his small office half an hour ago. They agreed to meet in the evening after everyone went home, but now they were alone in the building and Marc wished he had a distraction before he did something stupid.
Amy wasn't a disruptive force of nature, but she possessed a quiet power that drew him in. She held his attention while giving his office the peace he had tried hard to achieve in the eclectic design.
Amy leaned back against the soft suede and glared at the survey. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I'm done.”
He reached for the pages that she offered. His fingers grazed hers. Every muscle in his body twanged like the soft sitar music in the background as his large fingers crimped the paper.
Marc drew away with great precision and studiously ignored the tension arcing over them. He swiped his eyeglasses off his desk and jammed them on his nose, hoping the wire rims wouldn't bend under his grip.
“Sit back and relax,” he suggested to Amy, wondering if he could practice what he preached. He leaned back in his wooden office chair, which creaked incessantly. “Once I review this, we'll get started.”
“Wait!” Her eyes bulged as her hand went up like a traffic cop. “You're going to go over that
now
? While I'm sitting here?”
“Yes.” She looked stunned. Horrified. Any minute now she was going to curl up in a ball and hide. If she felt that way after answering questions, he didn't want to know how she was going to handle practical applications. “It will only take a moment,” he promised.
She folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders. “Don't you have a machine to take the score and spit out an analysis?”
“No.” Why would she prefer a machine's opinion over his? He wondered about that as he scanned the questionnaire. Did she still feel that shy around him? He was determined that by the end of this sensuality project, she would find it no longer necessary to be wary of him.
She tapped her foot against the worn Persian carpet. “Nice office you have here. It's very . . . exotic.”
He didn't glance up from the paper. “I spent a lot of time on the subcontinent researching polygamist marriages,” he murmured as he skimmed through the biographical information that he already knew.
“Ah.”
Her voice sounded faint to Marc as he reread the sensory section. Amy enjoyed public displays of affection and indulged in them often? Marc frowned at the box she checked. Since when? In the three years he had known her, he couldn't remember anyone touching her. And that included her ex-boyfriend.
Maybe she didn't know herself. He tugged off his eyeglasses and considered the possibility. Amy might think she indulged in public displays. Although how could someone make a mistake about that?
He glanced at her and watched the hectic color flush her cheeks. Her gaze skittered away. Amy nibbled the corner of her bottom lip.
Hmm . . .
Marc bit the tip of his eyewear.
Curious.
He flipped the page and reviewed the section designed to see how she chose her clothing through style, color and fabric. She checked the “bright eye-catching colors” box.
Marc blinked and read it again. He looked up and noted her gray T-shirt under her jumper.
Uh-huh. Okay. He continued reading.
Fabric?
Slinky
.
His forehead pleated into a deeper frown. Since when was durable cotton slinky?
Style?
Body conscious
.
His eyes flicked to the faded blue jumper that threatened to swallow her small form completely.
The only thing her body was conscious of was his suspicious looks. The pen she tapped at rapid speed was going to snap in half.
His annoyance blossomed as he scanned the remaining questions. “Interesting.”
The pen stopped in midair. “It is?” Amy asked hesitantly.
“Yes.” His clipped tone muzzled his irritation. “I had no idea I had a budding nudist in my midst. According to this”—he gave the paper a crisp snap—“you sleep in the nude year round, skinny-dip if there is so much as a puddle in the vicinity and would rip off your shirt at the first sis boom bah.”
Amy swallowed as her face grew pink. She opened her mouth and closed it again. “I, uh . . .” She shrugged. “I must have misunderstood the questions.”
“Did you also misunderstand the food section? It says here,” he read directly off the survey, “you frequently consume ice cream, cheese and chocolate for its thick, luscious texture.”
“Yes.” She gave a brisk nod. “What about it?”
His eyebrow rose a notch. “You and I both know that you are lactose intolerant.”
Amy's eyelashes fluttered with surprise. “How did you know that?”
“When attendance is required at institute events, you learn a lot about your coworkers.” Now was not the time to mention that he had noticed every little thing about her. “Explain this answer.”
“What can I say?” She splayed her hands at her sides, frantically looking around the room for inspiration. Her face relaxed as she came up with an answer. “One always wants what one can't have.”
Marc straightened in his chair. She wasn't going to fess up, huh? He was going to have to play hardball. “Then can you explain your answers in the sexuality section? Particularly the question in which you were supposed to check the scenarios you've participated in.”
Her blush darkened. “I don't remember it off-hand.”
He looked at the questionnaire. “Some of the choices were anal, bondage, domination, exhibitionism, female-female sex, foot worship, male-male sex, leather, oral, orgy, solo, submission, tickling, threesomes, voyeurism and water sports.”
“Mm-hmm?” The tips of her ears were beet-red.
He held out the paper and pointed at her answer. “You checked ‘all of the above'.”
Amy's complexion turned scarlet but she said nothing. Her eye contact wavered. Her need to break away was almost tangible.
“I'm trying to figure this out,” Marc said in a slow, gentle voice, “so maybe you can explain it to me. How did you manage the male-male sex?”
Her pause hung endlessly. “I checked the wrong box.”
“You think?”
She winced at his biting tone. “Can I have a do-over?”
“No.” He tossed the survey aside. His eyeglasses landed on top of the papers. “What kind of person cheats on a sensuality test?”
“I wasn't cheating! I gave you what I thought were the right answers. And why do you have an ‘all of the above' box if it doesn't make sense?” she added with righteous indignation.
“Amy, don't you understand?” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “There are no right answers.”
“Oh, please.” She scrunched up her face. “That test is going to put me on a scale. I'm either frigid, average or a hedonist. And you know what? In sensuality, if you aren't a hedonist, you're a freak.”
“That is not true.” He rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward. “The only time sensuality should be a concern is when it holds you back from living your life fully. When you can't enjoy the life around you or when you enjoy it too much, then it's a problem.”
“Okay, fine.” She flopped back on the settee. “I get your point.”
Marc knew her easy acquiescence meant she didn't want to discuss it further. “What is the point of taking this survey if you weren't going to answer it truthfully? Why even bother trying to be a part of this research project?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “You wouldn't understand.”
He hesitated, reluctant to make the ultimatum. “You better make me understand, because as of this moment you're off the project.”
Amy gasped with alarm. “You can't do that!”
He didn't want to do it, either, but he had no choice. “I can't have you jeopardizing my research.”
Her shoulders sagged with guilt. “I wasn't trying to. I'm desperate, okay?” She raised her pleading eyes to meet his. “I
need
this sensuality makeover.”
“Back up.” He held up his hand. “This isn't a makeover. It's about reclaiming your sensuality.”
“What if you're not sure you had it in the first place?” Her voice was a mere whisper.
“Come on, everyone has. Remember when you were a kid? Every day was a discovery? Every moment was a chance to get messy as you explored the physical world?”
“Not really.” Her smile was wry. “My upbringing was in a very controlled, very academic environment.”
He saw the concern behind the smile. The fear that maybe she wasn't sensual. That she would fail at this like she had presumably failed at everything sensual.
Marc knew there was no way he could use her as research now. But if he kicked her off the project, it would be a demoralizing blow to Amy. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. He couldn't do that to her. And, if he was being completely honest, he didn't want to destroy this opportunity he had with her.
Unless . . . A glimmer of an idea began to form. Unless he did the makeover and kept it out of the Reclaiming Your Sensuality project. And not let anyone know about it—especially Amy.
Amy would be furious if she found out any of this. But she didn't even know that he had created an experiment just for her and said it was a part of his research project. Of course, that idea was now shelved, but not her participation. The only reason she had the courage to take part in the research was because she was helping out.
If she discovered she was his pro bono case, and one that had nothing to do with the project, he would be dead meat. But there was no way of her finding out. It was the perfect plan.
“I'll let you stay on,” Marc said slowly as his mind searched for any hitch in the plan and found none, “only if you are completely honest from here on out.”
“I will be,” she vowed as she crossed her heart with her hand. “I swear.”
“Good. One more thing before we start. Why are you doing this?” He didn't realize how much he wanted to know the answer until he asked.
“I want a change.” She said it with straightforward simplicity. He could hear the determination behind it.
“I got that, but why now?”
Amy pressed her lips together. Marc waited patiently, knowing she wrestled over how much to reveal. She wanted to tell enough to convince him to keep her on the project, but not too much to use the information against her. He didn't like the idea that she couldn't trust him yet.
“I need to go to an engagement party.”
She was going to have to do better than that. “Go on.”
“My ex-boyfriend will be there.” Her foot began to tap frenetically. “With his new fiancée. It's their engagement party.”
“Mm-hmm.” The old, familiar anger burned his stomach. So Kevin got engaged to someone else and Amy wanted to steal him away. The basic love triangle, only love never had anything to do with it.
“His fiancée is beautiful. No . . . sexy,” she continued grudgingly. “And I need to”—she waved her hands—“to . . .”
“Compete,” Marc finished in a brusque tone. He knew exactly what Amy wanted. It didn't matter who got hurt or what promises and vows were broken.
She thought about it and shook her head. “Well, not really. More like—”
“Win.” She wanted to win back her man and was willing to use every means available. The fiery sensation in his stomach seeped to his chest and abdomen.
Amy frowned. She looked like she wanted to say something. Defend her goal? She changed her mind. “Okay, sure. I want to win. Do you think I can?”

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