Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

The program flicked over to a commercial. Luke stared unseeingly at the screen and rubbed his chest where a dull ache throbbed just from watching her, listening to her, in a stupid three-minute interview.

“Are you still here?” Dale’s voice broke into his haze of yearning. Then a big, meaty fist hit him in the shoulder. “What the fuck, man? That goddess just offered to get naked for you.”

She’d offered a whole lot more, he hoped, because he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than everything.

…

Quinn swung through the door to her trailer, barely waiting for the slam of metal against metal before her fingers felt for the zipper to the cat suit. An afternoon of standing, running, crouching, leaping, and rolling in front of a green screen for the technical team verified one important fact. Leather didn’t breathe. She tipped her head to work a kink out of her neck, and then stopped, zipper halfway to her crotch, when she realized she wasn’t alone.

“Luke?” She stood stock-still, but inside, her system raced in reaction to seeing him there. She tried to drink in every part of him at once, as he sat with loose-limbed grace on the small sofa in the cramped space. His sun-burnished hair tempted her fingers. His intent eyes sent nervous energy licking along her skin. His white button-down shirt stretched across shoulders she knew firsthand were strong enough to hold her while he used his mouth to send her to heaven.

“Hello, Trouble. Eddie let me in. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” Despite feeling dizzy, she shook her head, and then stepped a little closer and looked around the trailer.

“He’s not here. It’s just me. We’re alone.”

“Oh.” ‘Oh’? For days you’ve been rehearsing what you would say to the man if he ever spoke to you again, and ‘Oh’ is the best you can do?

“Does that door have a lock?”

“Huh?” Holy shit, Quinn, stop with the flowery speeches. “I…yes.”

“Lock it.”

She did as he asked, and then turned back to him.

“Your fingers are shaking. Are you nervous?”

He’d noticed that small detail from all the way over there. He missed nothing. “No. I’m not nervous.”

She was a nervous wreck. She wanted to see him. She’d hoped he’d come. But now that he was here, all her carefully thought-out explanations and apologies fled, and left her with nothing except…want. Need. Love. What if she just threw herself at his feet, and begged him to give her another chance? “You surprised me. That’s all.”

“I caught your interview on that show. I came to take you up on your offer.”

“‘After’ shots?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Now?”

“You said anytime. Strip, Trouble. Down to your underwear.” He sat back, and crossed his arms. “Or don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you, Luke. I do.” Her hand hovered on the zipper. “There’s only one little problem…”

The way his eyes heated when she said she trusted him eased her nerves. Now her hands shook for other reasons.

“As long as you trust me, we’ve got no problems.”

“Okaaaay.” She toed off one of the spike-heeled leather booties, the other, and then slowly lowered the zipper that ran down the front of the costume. It t

ook another couple seconds to peel her arms out of the sleeves, and another still to ease her hands under the leather and prepare to slide it down her hips.

“Christ, Quinn, are you—”

“Uh-huh.” She pushed the outfit down to her knees, and undid the zippers running along the outsides of her ankles. “That’s the problem. I’m not wearing any underwear.” She freed her legs, one at a time, and stepped out of the suit. Slowly, she straightened. “Nothing to ruin the lines of the costume.”

He just stared at her.