Dirty Trick (Perfectly Matched 1)

She tilted her head back to meet his panther-gaze and wet her lips, suddenly starved for that firm mouth. “Do you think it would be okay if I kissed you, at least?”

He nodded and slipped a hand into her hair. “How about I kiss you instead…at least?” He swooped down, and she steeled herself for the onslaught. Victor had always latched on like a sea slug, and her kissing style had naturally morphed into an exercise in defense. Tense up and weather the storm. But when this man’s lips touched her, it was deft and delicious. He flicked the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips, and she parted them. Heat. So much heat when he slipped inside, touching his tongue to hers. The lips she’d been dying to taste felt like heaven, and she melted against him.

Dimly, the pulsing beat of a hip hop song penetrated the fog, and she pulled away to find that her hand had traveled south and was firmly gripping his hip, all but pinning him against her. She released him like he was covered in acid and stepped back. Before she could apologize, he was back in close.

“Don’t run away on me now, Ms. Love.”

Batman was back, with enough labored breathing to remind her how much she affected him and how much she liked that fact.

“Want to go find a quiet place where we can make out some more?” He breathed against her ear. The puff of air sent a shiver through her and she bit her lip. “No pressure. You’re driving, and I’m at your mercy.” His tone dropped even lower. “Just don’t go yet.”

She didn’t know how he’d unlocked the secret place in her with those magic words, but unlock it he did. They could go somewhere, and she could do whatever she wanted to him. With him.

“Yes,” she croaked, when she could trust herself to speak. Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered that it didn’t simply explode from her chest as he pulled away and looked down at her. His costume was awesome, but for the first time, she found herself wishing she could tear it off.

Who was this masked man? Semi-hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat and she swallowed it. Stop it.

This was serious business. A sexy stranger wanted to make out with her. A sexy stranger who hadn’t even given Serena—or any of the other beautiful women at the party—a second glance. She had to keep it together so he wouldn’t realize that it had been nearly two ye—a long time since she’d done any serious making out with a guy.

He led her from the dance floor, toward the far side of the room toward a set of doors. He paused at one of the makeshift bars and talked to the bartender. She couldn’t hear the exchange over the music, but the server smiled and handed him a bottle of red wine which earned him a twenty-spot. She took note, the generous tip reminding her of her Gram’s philosophy on men.

“Wanna know the secret to getting the true measure of a man, girlie? Pay attention to three things: how he acts at a four-way stop sign, how well he tips a waitress, and how he treats his grandmother. You find a guy who hits the mark on all three, hog-tie him and drag his ass back home, because if you don’t want him, I’ll sure as hell take him.”

They were on the move again, but before they reached their destination, from the corner of her eye, Grace caught sight of Serena talking to a group of women and tugged her companion to a halt. “Wait. I’m supposed to be helping my friend…” The whole reason they’d come here was to get some good buzz going for the company. Now she was running off with some guy, which was totally out of character.

Serena caught her eye then and grinned. Grace pointed to herself, gesturing if she should come over, but Serena shooed her away urgently adding an exaggerated wink for good measure. It seemed like she had things under control and was making some headway networking. And she did have the one on one scheduled with Chaz. Maybe it would be okay if she disappeared for a little while? The business had been her whole life for the past year and a half. Would an hour of fun be so terrible?

“You good?”

She turned her attention back to the man standing in front of her, with his broad shoulders and sexy mouth, and the decision made itself.

“Yup.” She nudged him forward, and they made their way through the doors into a quiet alcove. Not quiet enough, though. The couple they found tucked away there in the corner seemed intent on swallowing one another’s faces whole. Her date held up a finger signaling her to keep quiet as they scuttled by, undetected. The two were so engaged, they didn’t even break apart when the door on the opposite side of the room squealed as it opened.

They stepped through and closed it behind them. “Okay, so that was a fail.” They had come out the other side into a long, wide hallway and she peered down to the left and then to the right. “Come on,” he said. “I have a good feeling about this way.”

A part of her—albeit the teeniest, weeniest one—wondered if maybe he was a serial killer leading her to her ultimate demise, but the thought of being alone with him again and finding out what was underneath that leather jacket made mincemeat of her fears.

The part of the house they’d found themselves in wasn’t decked out in party regalia and the music had faded to nothing more than a distant thud. They passed one door and then another before he pulled her to a stop.

“Let’s try this one.” He turned the knob and swung it open. “Holy shit.”

She craned her neck to see around his shoulder and echoed his sentiment. Holy shit was right. They’d come in through the side door of what appeared to be a spa room. The walls were a warm knotty pine with inlays carved throughout to make space for plants so lush, they would’ve looked more at home in a rain forest than in Salem. The lights were off, but the ceiling was entirely made of glass, and the autumn moon glimmered off the small indoor pool, bathing the room in a wash of silver. White stone tiles cut a path through the darker pebble gray ones, leading to a ten-by-ten wooden structure. Sauna, she guessed. In one corner of the room sat three massage tables, lined up in a neat row. For those massage parties that rich people always had? she wondered, half in a daze. Along the back wall was a giant circular lounger. The plush red cushion was stacked high with throw pillows, making it look like the bed of a sultan from an old black and white movie.

She felt like she should say something…do something, but her feet were as frozen as her tongue.

He tilted his head down and shrugged. “Up to you.”

His tone was casual, but she had the distinct feeling a lot was riding on her answer. This was no salon with a love seat or masculine study with a big leather chair to cozy up on. This room wasn’t for making out. This room was for trouble.

Serious trouble.

Naughty trouble.

Delicious, mind-blowing, muscle-straining trouble. The kind she’d only dreamed about. The kind that Victor had almost convinced her was dirty and wrong.

She laid a hand on the deep dip of his spine and shoved him through the door.

Chapter Four

Trick didn’t know what had made him choose that particular room. Maybe instinct. Maybe the supernatural. Hell, maybe it was the Great Pumpkin. But after six months of waiting, he didn’t really give a shit. The stars had lined up, and it was going down. He was finally getting the chance to show Gracie Love what he was made of, and if he played his cards right, maybe she’d want to keep him around.

A sudden, unfamiliar bout of nerves hit him as they walked to the center of the room. “So, uh, you want to dip our feet in the—”

She must have been just as tense because she began talking at the same time. “Did you want me to lay on the be—”

He stared down at her, charmed by the twin flags of red on her cheeks.

She stared up at him with a bemused blink and ran a hand through her curls, knocking her hat off in the process. “Sorry. That was presumptuous. You said make out, and I assumed we could…would…” The rest became a mumble as she bent to retrieve her hat, promptly bashing her forehead against the wine bottle in his hand. “Ow, shit!”

“Are you okay?”

She straightened and rubbed at the offending spot. “Other than my abject humiliation? I’m fine, although I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea. I don’t do this kind of thing and so far, it seems like I’m going to be pretty bad at it.”

For the first time in his life, he wished he could say the same. The first part, at any rate. If he could, he would undo every casual fling he’d ever had if it meant that Grace would’ve viewed him as the kind of guy she could settle down with. Every woman he’d been with until now felt like the minor leagues. Practice for the bigs.

For tonight.

He wasn’t about to let her talk herself out of it now. She stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and a calm settled over him. She still wanted this. She just needed him to take the lead here. He could do that. Hell, he preferred it.

“Hang onto this.” He handed her the wine and crossed the room toward the far wall where he’d noticed a panel next to the light switch, which he ignored. Moonlight was perfect for what he had planned and, even better, the house was wired for XM radio and surround sound, exactly as he’d hoped. He selected a smooth jazz station and turned the volume up loud enough that, if conversation lagged, they could just listen and not feel awkward. Perfect. Grabbing some of the throw pillows from the lounger, he turned back around to find her frantically trying to pry the loosened cork from the bottle with her teeth, and he bit back a chuckle. A drunk Grace wasn’t part of the plan, but if she needed a little liquid courage to get past her nerves, it couldn’t hurt.

He walked toward her and laid the pillows on the ground at their feet. When he took the bottle from her, she didn’t resist. “I didn’t get any wine glasses, so we’ll have to rough it,” he said with a smile. He yanked out the cork and handed it back to her.

“That’s okay. Considering you had your tongue in my mouth a minute ago, and that we’re about to…” The muscles in her throat worked beneath the delicate ivory skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to her. From tracing the spot with the tip of his finger. She shuddered and swallowed again, hard. “Look, I don’t want to scare you away, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I know I’m acting weird, but, frankly, I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Don’t worry about anything. We don’t even have to go there. Let’s just hang out and see what happens, okay? Stars are bright tonight.” He shrugged off his leather jacket, tossed it onto the floor, and held out his hand. “Come on.”

She slipped her fingers into his and sank into a seated position on his coat, fidgeting to make sure her skirt covered as much of her as possible, which wasn’t much. He lowered himself next to her, and then reclined backward until his head was propped on the pillows. Her back stayed ramrod straight for a second before she sucked in a deep breath and took a long swig from the bottle. She swiped a hand over her mouth, setting the bottle onto the stone with a clink, then stretched out next to him. Flat on her back, stiff as a board.

“So, um,” she said, shifting to get comfortable. “What do you do for a living, other than fight crime and hunt gazelles or whatever?”

Her tone was so bright it was almost brittle, so he moved closer until their arms were touching. She’d been soft as butter when he’d held her on the dance floor earlier. Maybe talking was only going to make things worse. He thought of how to frame his answer without lying to her, but she saved him from the effort.

“You know what? Don’t tell me. As long as you’re not a serial killer, I don’t really care.”

“I’m definitely not a serial killer. But I hate to tell you, your interview process is flawed. I would’ve answered the same way even if I was.”

That got the desired chuckle from her and some of the tension seemed to flow out of her. “You were right, the stars are gorgeous tonight,” she murmured. Her fingers twitched against his knuckles, and he took her hand.