Friendly Persuasion (8 page)

“One more,” she called to Tom, holding up her empty melon martini glass. Sickeningly sweet, but she needed something to amuse herself while talking to this dimwit.

“Isn’t that about enough?” Tom asked her gently.

“Hardly,” she said, annoyed at the judgment in his tone. She’d need a gallon of the stuff to get through this conversation. All she really wanted to do was to go home to Comedy Central on cable.
Friday Night Stand-Up
was her favorite. But she’d set herself a goal and she wasn’t about to give up now.

“You like comedy?” she asked Bart.

“I like a joke now and then. Do you know the one about the Jew, the Catholic and the Methodist?”

“Hit me.” She let him tell it—badly—and downed her drink too fast. Tom had watered it. He’d better not charge her full price.

Bart said something to her that she didn’t quite catch.

“Huh?” she asked.

He leaned in. “You want to get out of here?” he repeated, taking the opportunity to let his wet lips touch the edge of her ear.

That was
it.
Enough. “Yeah, I do want to get out of here,” she said, drying her ear with a napkin. “See ya.” She stood up, but felt a little woozy and leaned into Bart.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’ll take you home,” he said, standing with her. He slapped some money on the bar.

“I got it,” she said, pushing his money away and fumbling for her wallet.

He tightened his grip and began leading her away.

Uh-oh. This joker was holding on too tight. She tried to yank away, but the floor swayed and she couldn’t quite get her feet to cooperate. She seemed to be holding on to the doofus for balance. They moved toward the door.

Then someone blocked their exit. “Let go of the lady.” Tom’s voice was low and no-nonsense.

Bart went pale. “I’m helping her home.”

“She said no, pal. I heard her. Now let go.”

“Okay, okay,” Bart said, lifting his hands. He shifted his neck in his collar, then straightened his jacket. “Take it easy on the booze,” he said to her. “Not every guy will put up with a tease.”

“You thought I was teasing you?” she said. “I was barely tolerating you. And you can’t tell a joke worth sh—”

“Tina,” Tom warned.

“I’m not kidding,” she said to Tom, then shouted after Bart. “It was a
Buddhist,
a Jew and a Christian, you dolt. That was the point of the joke.”

She turned back to Tom, then felt her stomach lunge.

Reading her face, Tom helped her run to the ladies’ room, where, to her utter humiliation, she threw up the last two melon martinis, while he held her around the waist.

Finished, she rinsed her mouth at the sink. When she lifted her face, Tom wiped it with a paper towel. “Better?” he asked, looking at her with that above-it-all expression. He pitied her. God.

“Good as new,” she said, pulling away from him. She only drank out of nervousness, and something about this seduce-Tom thing made her anxious. “I was bored and I drank too much, okay? Strategic error to go with a froufrou drink.” She didn’t mean to sound snotty, but she didn’t like being rescued.

“You should be careful about the guys you drink with.”

“I can take care of myself, believe you me,” she said, slurring slightly. “Tha’ guy would have been missin’ a testicle in about a minna ana half.”

“How about if I drive you home?” he said, hiding a smile.

“Just call me a cab. And, for your information, none of this woulda happened if you had just gone out with me like any normal guy.” Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He looked at her for a long minute with his seriously blue, absolutely clear eyes. “Let me make it up to you by driving you home.”

She was too tired to fight, and before she knew it her head was lolling on the seat of Tom’s Volvo sedan—it figured he’d drive the dullest car on the planet—but then she felt queasy again and had to ask him to pull over so she could throw up in an oleander bush. How had she let this happen?

They reached her apartment building, and before she could drag her sorry butt out of the car, he was at the passenger side helping her out and off her feet and up into his arms.

“I can walk,” she said weakly, wagging her legs to get down.

“Just let me do this for you.”

She stopped kicking—it made her stomach roil—and Tom loped effortlessly up the walk with her. It might have been sexy—kind of Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara—if she weren’t annoyed at being helpless and pitiable.

At the door, she managed to find her keys and unlock the door, and Tom carried her down the hall and into her bedroom, where he lowered her onto the bed, then disappeared without a word.

Good riddance. She would put this awful incident right out her mind. Though she should have thanked him. She’d do it next time she was in the bar. She sat up to remove her clothes, and had her blouse and bra off when she was surprised to see Tom in her doorway holding a glass of water and something in the other palm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He had that deer-in-the-headlights look at the sight of her breasts. He put what he was carrying on the bureau and backed out of the room. “Aspirin,” he called to her from outside the door. “Take them now and you’ll feel less awful tomorrow.”

She listened to him leave, heard his car pull away, then flopped back onto the bed. Forget the aspirin, she thought, sliding one foot to the floor to keep the room from spinning. She’d be happy just to
make
it to tomorrow.

The longer he made her wait, the more time she had for doubts about the wisdom of another fantasy date with him. She had to keep this in perspective. This was a learning experience. With a clear goal. A goal she was pretty sure they’d reached. But maybe this one more time to be sure…

Seven-fifteen…seven-eighteen. She decided to give him a call. She headed for the bedroom phone and ran straight into Ross, who yelled, “Jeez!”

“Sorry,” she said. She had time enough to notice he was all in black—tight black T-shirt and tight black jeans—before he whirled her around and grabbed her by the waist from behind and covered her mouth. “You were supposed to be in the kitchen,” he muttered.

“Muhfhmfph.”

He freed her mouth so she could explain. “You were late. I was going to call you.”

“Okay. We’ll start over. You look great, by the way. That dress is perfect.” He slid one hand up her thigh and low, across her belly. “Mmm.” He seemed about to kiss her.

“Ross? You were attacking me, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He slammed his hand over her mouth again and held her tightly around the waist. “Don’t scream and you won’t get hurt.”

“Mfphfmmph.”

“You promise not to scream?”

She nodded, so he released her mouth.

“What do you want with me?” she asked, feeling aroused, excited and a little scared.

“Everything. Your body. Your mind. Your senses. I want full control over everything you feel.” Then a blindfold went across her eyes and he tied it tightly.

“Oh.” A thrill coursed through her. This could be good.

With that, he hefted her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His shoulder jammed her diaphragm, making it hard to breathe or talk.

“What are you doing?” she managed, groaning, her head pounding with blood rushing there.

“What does it look like? I’m kidnapping you,” he said, and walked toward the door.

“What will my neighbors think?”

“Good point.” He stopped.

“How about if I keep my eyes closed and just walk with you?”

“That’ll work,” he said, setting her on her feet, and removing her blindfold. “I only kidnap very smart women. Now shut your eyes.”

She did—well, except for a narrow slit so she could see where he was marching her. They reached what she recognized as Bob’s Xterra. Ross must have borrowed it. Thank God he wasn’t trying to kidnap her on his motorcycle, which she’d refused to ride. Too scary.

“Lie down on your side,” he commanded, helping her onto the back seat.

After she lay down, he pulled her hands behind her back and tied them together with a smooth, cool cloth. She peeked through her lashes and saw it was a colorful necktie and it still bore a price tag. He’d had to buy a tie just for this. That made her smile. She squeezed her eyes tight before he tied the blindfold back on.

Then Ross fumbled with something—her seat belt, she could tell by the click. How responsible, she thought, until he started driving wildly and she began rolling around the seat. With her hands tied and eyes covered, she couldn’t brace herself or see what was going on. That made her feel helpless and a little scared. “What will you do to me when we get there?” She tried not to sound frightened.

“Nothing you won’t enjoy,” he said in his Ross voice, obviously picking up her tension. “Ground rule number three, remember? Nothing you’re not into?”

“Okay.” She relaxed. This was Ross, after all. He’d take care of her. “But I think that was number four.”

“Don’t get technical. You’ll spoil all the fun.”

She smiled, feeling much better.

They drove a little farther, then Ross jerked them into a sharp turn and braked hard. Only her seat belt kept her from tumbling face-first to the floorboard. When he opened the car, she felt a light spring breeze and caught the mossy scent of water. They were near a pond? A lake?

Ross undid her seat belt and helped her climb out. Now she smelled eucalyptus and heard a merry-go-round. The combination of carousel, eucalyptus and water was a dead giveaway. They were at Encanto Park, which had a kiddieland and a lagoon. She remembered that Ross knew people who worked at the golf course there.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned, then grabbed her by the waist and quick-walked her into a building. It was cool and smelled of concrete and, of all things, roses. They must be in the little caretaker’s house beside the rose garden.

He guided her a few steps inside. Then he moved away. He wouldn’t leave her, would he?

“Ross?”

“I’m right here,” he said, startling her by being just inches in front of her face. “And call me the Love Thief.”

The Love Thief.
Intriguing…

“Let’s get you out of this dress,” he said, and slowly began to unbutton the big cloth buttons. This was why he’d requested front opening. “You are my prisoner,” he said, moving slowly from button to button. “All you can do is feel what I want you to feel—what I let you feel.”

He was right. With her hands behind her back, she couldn’t do anything but wait for his next move, his next touch. Air cooled her damp skin as her dress fell more and more open.

The Love Thief ran a finger along the line of her bra and she shivered. “Front clasp,” he said. “Good.” He moved behind her and untied her hands just long enough to slide her dress off her arms. Then he clasped her hands together at the wrist in front of her body.

She felt so exposed in just her bra, panties and high heels. And he was looking at her. She couldn’t see his face or gauge his reaction except through his ragged breathing, which meant he was aroused, and that pleased her.

“Back up,” he commanded.

She took two backward steps and hit something.

“Now lie down on the bed.”

She did what he told her and he stretched out her arms, one at a time, then tied them to something metal—the headboard probably.

Blind, with her arms spread wide and her hands bound, she felt as exposed as if she’d been completely nude, held open for him to do what he would with her. She had that itchy, fearful tickle of helplessness and made a halfhearted attempt to tug her hands free of their restraints.

“There’s no point in struggling,” he said. “I have you. You’re all mine.”

Again she felt the twinge of arousal and powerlessness.

“Do you like this?” The Love Thief asked hoarsely. “Being at my mercy? Not knowing where and how I’ll touch you?” The mattress lifted as he got up and she felt him sit at the foot of the bed. “Only knowing that whatever it is, you’ll want more and more?” He took her foot in his warm hand, tugged off her heel, and gently stroked the sole of her foot with the pad of one finger.

“Ooh,” she moaned, the sensation so good she held really, really still. “Yes. I like that. All that.”

“Good. I want you to trust me with your body. You do trust me, don’t you? You know I won’t hurt you?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered.

“The only thing the Love Thief will steal from you is your pleasure…” he whispered, removing her other shoe to tease its sole, “until you can’t surrender a single moan more.”

She shivered violently at the possibilities.

He ran his finger up her shin, barely skimmed the edge of her panties, then shifted to stroke the line where her leg met the mattress. “Does that sound good to you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, desperate for more contact.

“Good.” He stopped touching her. “So, what should I touch first?” he mused.

She held her breath. What would it be? Her mouth? Her breasts? Her core? The possibilities were riveting and frustrating because she could only wait in the helpless dark for him to decide.

“I think this.” He flicked the clasp and her bra fell open.

She gasped and felt instantly vulnerable. She imagined his eyes on her breasts watching her nipples tighten. The thought made moisture trickle into her panties. She wanted more.
Touch me. Kiss me. Suck, squeeze, nibble, lick, anything, everything. Just do something.
She lifted her body off the bed to try to reach him.

“Uh-uh-uh. I’m in charge here,” he said.

She collapsed onto the mattress in exasperation.

Fabric rustled, cloth brushed her thigh and she realized Ross had taken off his shirt. There was no rattle of buckle or slide of zipper, so his pants were still on.

She felt him move in, felt his heat. Now what?
Please, something.
Her heart battered her chest, she held her breath. Something hot and wet touched the hollow of her neck, electrifying her. His tongue, that sweet muscle.

“Ooh,” she said, fairly gushing into her panties. He’d barely touched his lips to her neck and she was ready to climax.

“Do you like that?” he asked softly.

“What do you think?”

In answer, his tongue moved to her collarbone, then lower to the very top of her breast. “How about this?”

“Y-yes.”

Lazily, with mind-bending stealth, his lips made their way lower on her breasts. She couldn’t help pushing up for more, but each time she did, he pulled away.
The nipple. Please, my nipple, I’m begging you,
she wanted to scream. But she knew he’d deny the request if she made it.

Luckily she held her tongue, because he soon found that precious nub, which fairly pulsed with heat. He circled it with moisture, then pulled it into his mouth with a sucking sound.

Electricity rushed through her, lighting up places all over her body—places aching for Ross’s touch, aching to touch
him,
but her hands were tied. She pushed her breast farther into his mouth. This time he accepted it and groaned. He was getting carried away, too. Thank goodness. She hated being in this frantic, hungry place alone.

He moved to suckle her lonely other breast.
So good.
She pushed up into his mouth, but he released her breast, shifted more fully on the bed, then kissed beneath her breast, then lower to her stomach, then lower, until at last she felt the blessed pressure on her cleft. His tongue pushed against the thin fabric of her panties, wetting her clear through to the tender spot beneath. She thought she might melt from there upward, like so much granulated sugar in water.

She couldn’t let him stop now, no matter what. She lifted her hips and locked his head in place with her knees. She made a helpless, stuttering sound and wiggled against his mouth. She wanted more—more tongue, more direct contact.

Stubbornly he pulled his mouth from dead center and began to lick along the leg edge of her panties, sending her already tightened clitoris into a harder knot. She shifted to try to force his mouth to the hot spot, but he gripped her hips and held her maddeningly in place.

“You keep forgetting who’s in charge,” he murmured. He removed his mouth altogether, so that all she felt were his hands holding her and the cooling moisture he’d left.

“Please,” she cried out, hoarse with need. This was agony.

“Let go,” he commanded. “Give yourself to me.”

“I am. I will…please.”

Thankfully he didn’t wait for her to stop wiggling—she couldn’t have—before easing his tongue under the edge of the thin material of her panties, close to where she wanted him, but not…quite…there.

“Please, please, pleeease,” she moaned, sweat breaking out all over her body, which felt chafed with unmet desire. She yanked at the ties around her wrist, wanting her hands
now.
Wanting to grab his hair and push his mouth right
there. Cool the burn. Put it out. Now.

“I can see you’re suffering,” he said in pretend sympathy. “I guess I’ll have to help you.” He slowly teased her panties downward and off her feet. Then he lifted her knees, opened her legs and finally, finally pressed his mouth where she was frantic for him.

His tongue was on her, strong, but soft, offering glorious relief. She groaned and panted and tried to lunge for him with her restrained hands, now almost raw with the effort of trying to touch, to control, to move. She was in his power, completely unable to guide his lips and mouth, tongue and teeth and hands.

Like it or not, she’d given herself over to him.

And that, she learned, wasn’t half-bad. The Love Thief’s tongue found her again and again, flicking the spot just so. Now his fingers joined the action, moving into her and out, while his mouth applied pressure above in a sweet agony of sensation. He wasn’t teasing her now, he was moving unerringly to her pleasure point.

“Oh…” She almost added
Ross,
but at the last second managed to be conscious enough to say instead, “Oh…good.”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled her in a way that told her he loved being there. She was never sure about men and this most intimate act. Was it a burden? Did they get bored? Dislike the sensation, the taste? Ross seemed at home.

Her hips lifted shamelessly up at his mouth.
More, more, faster,
her body was saying. He obliged, his tongue doing magic things—swirls and swipes and pushes that escalated the sensation to a throbbing clamor for release. She was moving frantically and somehow he managed to stay with her, keeping his mouth in position despite how she writhed and twisted and bounced.