Lynda's Lace (3 page)

“Is it good?” he asked, unable to resist a teasing smile.

“Delicious,” she assured him, and her playful eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He said it anyway. “You have a great mouth.”

She replied by slowly, sensually licking her lips. “It likes you, too.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said on a laugh, and realized he’d hardly touched the appetizer they were sharing—too caught up in staring at her.

Odd, he’d never felt so constantly turned on with a woman before. Oh sure, maybe as a horny teenager—but since then he’d mellowed, matured. He’d always enjoyed sex, but something about Lynda kept it constantly on his mind.

And it wasn’t that he appreciated her only for sex. He loved her personality—she was funny, frank, and genuine, and she made him laugh. She was also just as flirtatious as she was intelligent, a combination he’d at first found surprising, but it had quickly enchanted him.

The only problem with Lynda, he’d decided, was that little bit of herself she was holding back. He couldn’t help thinking she had a secret of some kind, that there was something about herself she didn’t want him to know. It was almost as if she was on guard around him at times, too careful. Despite loving the sex they’d shared, he’d noticed it even in bed.

“Tell me something.” He leaned slightly forward across the candlelit table, reaching to touch her hand where it played with the stem of her wineglass on the pristine white tablecloth. “Tell me…your wildest fantasy.”

She looked taken aback, blinking. “Sexual?”

He gave a short nod. They’d had enough sex, grown intimate enough, that he felt comfortable asking her—now, he only hoped she would answer. Maybe if he could get her to open up, she’d start to trust him more and let him in on whatever it was she kept back.

She stayed quiet for a moment, took a drink of her wine. “I…I’m living it,” she finally said, her tone staid, quiet. “With you. Every time you make love to me.”

Hmm. Nice words. But he didn’t believe them. Just like always, she was holding back.

“That’s quite a compliment, precious. But are you sure there isn’t…anything else? Some wild, crazy thing you’re secretly curious about? You can tell me. Even if it’s something you don’t think you really want to do.”

She blinked again, unerringly pretty, and bit her lip. He thought for a second she was going to give him a real answer, open the door to her heart and mind, let him inside. But then she said, “No. Just you. Between my legs. Touching me. And licking me. And then coming inside me.”

Okay then. He still didn’t think she was being honest, but it was hard to argue when the woman you were nuts about was telling you how masterful you were and making your impossibly hard cock even harder. “Eat up, precious,” he said. “Then I’ll take you home and we’ll get back to living out your fantasy.”

With that, he watched her suck another shrimp between those full lips and forgot all about her secrets for tonight.

* * * * *

Damn it.
Why hadn’t she told him? She’d never get an opportunity that perfect again—and yet, she just hadn’t been able to reveal her darker desires. She kept flashing a sexy smile across the table as the waiter delivered their entrees, but inside she was kicking herself.

Well, you’ve made your bed, so now you can lie in it. And now, if it remains a nice-but-vanilla, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary bed you have no one to blame but yourself.

When Jordan’s cell phone softly trilled, he reached quickly in his pocket to extract it. Glancing at the display, he said, “Excuse me for just a moment, precious. I need to take this.”

Most men would have snatched the call up in a second without apology, and Lynda wouldn’t have minded. But witnessing yet another example of Jordan’s courteous respect made her let out a small, weirdly girlish sigh.

“I’m wining and dining my lady right now,” he said into the phone with a quick wink in her direction, “so I’m afraid it’s not a good time.”

Lynda gave him a smile, then sliced into her lamb chop, still vaguely listening.

“Tonight?” he asked, then shook his handsome head, looking irritated. “No, I can’t do it tonight.”

Setting down her silverware, she reached across the table to touch his sleeve. “Whatever it is, it’s all right—I don’t mind,” she whispered. This might be something business- or family-related, and as anxious as she was to get him naked, she didn’t want to stand in the way of anything important.

He shook his head at the suggestion, but from the way the conversation continued, she could tell the person on the other end was insistent and that Jordan was working to stay polite.

“
Really
,” she said softly, drawing his attention. “If you need to do something, it’s okay.”

Finally, Jordan sighed and said into the phone, “Fine then, in an hour or so. But it’ll have to be brief. See you then.”

When he snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket, Lynda tilted her head inquisitively. “Problem?”

“Just a customer—but a potentially important one. A local P.I. named Steven Waite recommended Spy Games to a friend of his in Baton Rouge. The friend is head of a large investigations firm, which could result in a sizable account—and it just so happens the friend is in town, for tonight only, and wants to meet me before doing business. I appreciate Steven’s recommendation, but I wish I’d had a little warning about the meeting.”

Lynda shook her head to let him know it was all right. “Honey, this isn’t a problem at all. If you like, I’ll just head back to the apartment after dinner and you can meet me there later. I’ll put on my new yellow
nightie
.”
And I won’t even cringe when I look in the mirror. I’ll just remember that it’s going to get me gloriously eaten when you get there.

But Jordan cast her a possessive, authoritative look that she liked. “No, precious—no way I’m sending you home without me. I’m meeting the guys at a bar called Michael’s, so you can come along—and in order to keep it short, I can explain that we’re on our way somewhere. Of course, I’ll refrain from mentioning that the ‘somewhere’ is your bed,” he concluded with a wink, then knit his brow lightly. “Have you heard of the place? He says it’s near Bourbon and Conti, but it doesn’t ring a bell.”

Lynda pursed her lips, thinking. “Not for me, either.” And she knew the French Quarter bar scene like the back of her hand. “Must be someplace new.” The area was only a couple of blocks away, so it would be an easy walk into the Red Light District at night, a sensually charged atmosphere which Lynda always enjoyed.

In fact, as they continued eating, the idea appealed to her even more. She’d resisted the temptation of the club scene since she’d started seeing Jordan, but just strolling through the crowds of partiers that hung out on Bourbon Street at night sounded like enough to get her blood running a little hotter.

* * * * *

“Are you sure you don’t mind this little delay?” Jordan asked, taking her hand as they exited the restaurant an hour and a bottle of wine later.

“Not at all,” she replied, squeezing his fingers as they turned from Royal Street onto St. Louis. “I sometimes find Bourbon Street after dark a bit…invigorating.” She laughed softly as she spoke and felt like a fake, since what she really found Bourbon Street after dark was more like
exciting, electrically charged
and
an invitation to sin
—an invitation which she usually accepted without a hint of hesitation.

Jordan grinned down at her teasingly. “Really now.”

She shrugged playfully, unsure of the right response, but very certain she
shouldn’t
tell him some of the more risqué activities she’d indulged in right on Bourbon Street. She’d lifted her top for beads more times than she could count. She’d once let a guy she was seeing pour wine down her bare breasts and lick it off. And during the debauchery of Mardi Gras a few years back, she’d let
two
hot guys she’d never met do the same with a slushy strawberry daiquiri. And those were just a
few
of the naughty things she’d done out on the street—which paled in comparison to the some of the forbidden fun she’d had behind the doors of bars and dance clubs.

Just remembering such events made her pussy tingle as they moved toward the party district—even as her heart burned with a mixture of worry and guilt over keeping it all from this man who clearly cared for her just as
she
was coming to care for
him
.

But she forgot her concerns when Bourbon Street beckoned. As they grew closer, the sounds of music—
Zydeco
, rock, bits of jazz—grew louder, filling her senses. And as they turned onto the legendary street of sin, neon glowed above doors thrown open to tempt
passersby
inside on a warm April night and people stood in the street drinking
colorful
concoctions or enormous glasses of beer, their necks draped with beads of purple, green and gold. Lynda remembered a time when beads were accessories worn only during Mardi Gras, but that had changed when word got out that it gave girls an excuse to flash their breasts any time of year.

Above the thoroughfare, people partied on wrought iron balconies—drinking, singing, letting out catcalls to the opposite sex. Without staring—normally, of course, Lynda
would have
stared, but Jordan’s presence inhibited her—she caught glimpses of a guy and girl making out, grinding hotly together on one crowded balcony, and of a group of girls on another tossing beads to guys below, who were playfully lifting
their
shirts in a reverse of the racy custom. In return, one of the girls lifted her short skirt to show barely there panties of red that made the guys yip and yell.

Back down on the street, Lynda’s attention was drawn to hawkers inviting people into strip clubs and peep shows. “Most beautiful girls on the strip!” one long-haired guy yelled. Another, across the street beneath a flashing neon promise of
Live Sex,
said, “They do it all in here—anything and everything—come see for yourself!”

Cheers from a group of nearby guys attracted her gaze to two pretty college-aged girls making out with each other, likely on a dare, but they kissed passionately, their necks draped heavily with beads they’d no doubt earned with their breasts.

“Sorry about this, precious,” Jordan said, clearly embarrassed on her behalf.

Oh baby, I wish I could tell you how turned on I am right now, just from watching it all.
Her
cunt
practically sizzled beneath her lilac lace and her own breasts ached to be touched.

Just tell him. Now. Just say it.

“No need to apologize,” she assured him. “Being here…”
Gets me hot. Makes me wet. In fact, I want to rip your clothes off right now. I want to open your pants and suck your cock right here in front of all these people.
She sighed and tried again. “Being here is…kind of interesting.”

Damn it.

Jordan chuckled warmly, smiling down on her. “That’s one way to put it.”

Apparently, it’s the only way I
can
put it. Since I just can’t seem to be honest with you about everything so dirty and hungry inside me.

Just then, a few doors past Conti Street, Michael’s came into view. Only, under the name, red neon sported the words “Gentlemen’s Club”. The sight of a gorgeous redhead standing at the door in nothing but a see-through black bra and panties, along with two nicely-attired-but-scary-looking doormen, drove the point home—it was a new addition to Bourbon Street’s many strip clubs.

Lynda’s nipples rubbed provocatively against the lace cups of her dress as they neared the entrance. “Looks like this is the place.”

“Hell,” Jordan said, clearly disgusted. “I’m so sorry, precious—I had no idea it was a men’s club.”

“Of course not—there’s no way you could have known.”

Jordan hesitated, looking around, then pointed toward the big, bright, open-air souvenir shop next door, where t-shirts and beads hung on racks and feathered masks lined one wall. He sighed, clearly uneasy with the situation. “Maybe you’d like to browse around in there while I’m inside? I’ll make it quick—five minutes tops.”

Was he kidding? As it happened, Lynda had been in more than her fair share of strip joints and this looked like a perfectly nice one. Not that she could tell him that. But she still had no intention of waiting it out in t-shirt land. “No, I’ll just go in with you.”

He flashed a look of doubt. “I don’t think you really want to do that, precious.”

Oh God, now he was trying to protect her from naked women. She decided to—timidly—take a stand. “Why not?”

He tilted his head indulgently. “I just don’t think you’d be comfortable. Things can get pretty wild in these places.”

She took a deep breath and managed a tight, thin smile. “I’m a big girl, Jordan, I can handle it. And like you said, if
I’m
with you, it gives you a reason to leave quickly.”

Not that she was sure she’d
want
to leave quickly. Going to a strip club together would be the kinkiest thing she’d done with Jordan and it sounded fun. But she knew
he’d
want to leave fast. Either way, she didn’t want to end up stranded outside in case he had trouble getting away from his business associates.

He gazed down at her with those dark, sexy eyes, the mere look turning her wetter than she already was. “Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like it in there—but you’re right. If you’re with me, it will make my getaway easier.”