Secret Games

Their tongues tangled and teased, as effortless as getting wet in the rain. His warm breath caressed her mouth and that crazy swooping in her tummy rippled like a steamy wave downward, puddling between her legs. The ache, as unbidden as it was unexpected, made Maggie gasp.

Catching the sound with his kiss, Sam apparently considered her reaction an invitation to press on with his lusty assault, because he speared his fingers into her hair and tipped her head slightly, demanding even more.

Another gasp slipped from Maggie’s lips, only this gasp sounded more like a sigh.

Suddenly, she was sliding her arms around his neck, drawing their bodies close, until every muscle and ridge of his body pressed hard against hers. His legs braced wide, drew her into the cradle of his thighs, anchored her there, two bodies melting together, sharing the rhythm of sprinting heartbeats.

His hands traveled her neck in a downward path, unhurried, exploring, so intensely intimate for the way he savored their closeness, secured her against him. The shield of clothing proved a ridiculous barrier as his body heat warmed her, cajoled a responding warmth that weighted her breasts, drew her nipples tight, urged her to press even closer.

Maggie didn’t resist the urge, couldn’t, because each demanding stroke of his tongue chased away all thoughts, focused her on the fact that he was quite enjoying the moment, too. The rock-hard bulge pressed against her tummy only proved it….

When he drew away, his mouth lingering long enough to reveal his reluctance to go, Maggie just stood there, eyes closed and body vibrating, stunned by his kiss and by her own powerful reaction.

Wow.

Blinking open her eyes, she found him smiling down at her, his satisfaction unmistakable.

He’d leveled her with that kiss, and he knew it.

Pointing to an ornament of Cupid hanging from the rafter overhead, he smiled as though the mischievous son of Venus had been responsible for his crazy behavior.

But this was Sam, she grasped at the wispy thread of reason. Nice, safe, reliable Sam. Sam, who was always available with a listening ear and practical advice. Sam, who’d agreed to play her lover because she’d been in a pinch. Sam, the classic nice guy, who should have been safe to come to a romance superclub with.

There’d been nothing safe about his kiss.

This hadn’t been an I’m-doing-you-a-favor type of kiss, but an I’m-hungry-for-you kiss.

Maggie knew the difference.

What she didn’t know was why he’d kissed her that way. She didn’t know this commanding side of him. Nor did she know why the need to press against him, to feel his heat fill the trembling hollows of her body, had grown so insistent.

The biggest puzzle of all was why his kiss had felt so completely…right.

“We do need some ground rules, Mags,” he said, his voice husky and distressingly strong, when Maggie could barely catch a decent breath, let alone manage a sentence. “I’m all for research and observation, but practical application will work here, too. I’m uncomfortable with the fake couple thing. I want to give being a real couple a try.”

A real couple?

No, wait, this wasn’t right. This was her project, and she was supposed to be in control. “But—”

He held a fingertip to her lips. “Think Cupid and Psyche.”

His gaze lifted to that stupid grinning Cupid, and her world canted wildly, though the elevator hadn’t budged. What did he mean? Did he want to slip into her bed late at night and make love to her in the dark? Just the thought scrambled Maggie’s thoughts, and she struggled to focus on his next words.

“You’re looking for ideas about how to put sparks back into long-term relationships and I’m your perfect solution. We’re long-term and I wouldn’t mind sparks.”

“Sparks?” She finally found her voice. “Since when?”

“Fall Harvest.”

Sam didn’t have to say another word. Fall Harvest during Maggie’s freshman year at college had been a weekend filled with events to celebrate a last fling with decent weather, before the snow came and the winter forced everyone indoors.

It had also been the weekend when Sam had tried to turn the corner on their friendship. He’d said he wanted…sparks, but she’d thought it nothing more than a whim.

Fall Harvest had been ten years ago.

“Oh.” Maggie felt weak, suspected that if he hadn’t been crowding her against the elevator wall, she’d have slid into a puddle on the floor.

“No pressure.” He brushed his finger over her bottom lip, and to Maggie’s shock, she trembled in reply. “Let’s just go with it and see what happens.” His smile deepened. “You won’t be sorry.”

One glance into his melting gray eyes revealed the promise of his admission. She supposed on some level she should have known he would still be amenable to sparks. She hadn’t. “But sex will ruin everything, Sam. We’ll never be the same.”

“We can be even better. Trust me.”

Her mouth still tingled with the aftereffects of his kiss, and for the first time since the fourth grade, Maggie questioned whether he was entirely trustworthy.

She’d certainly never seen any indication that such hot blood ran in a man who lived a nice orderly life.

Had she just never looked closely enough?

This was a question to consider…when she didn’t have Sam staring at her with those bedroom eyes, awaiting an answer. Right now she needed to decide whether or not she could hand him the reins. Would he renege on their deal if she didn’t?

She didn’t think so, not because he didn’t get his way. Not Sam. He’d bailed her out too many times to abandon her now.

Trust me.

She did.

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“We’ve weathered worse.”

No arguing that. “But—”

“No pressure, Mags. Let’s just explore what’s between us. There’s something here. Something great.” He traced her bottom lip, a gentle caress that held a world of sensual promise. “For the weekend.”

“Just for the weekend?”

He inclined his head.

“And you swear that you won’t get all weirded out and stop being my friend once we get home?”

A smile tugged at his lips, but he made a valiant effort not to make light of her need for reassurance. “I swear. No matter what happens, we’ll still be best friends.”

She searched his face and those unfamiliar bedroom eyes for some sign that he could be swayed from this reckless plan if she pushed hard enough. He looked disturbingly resolute.

The simple fact was she needed to be at this superclub, and she had to have an escort to be here. What could some practical application hurt?

Maggie couldn’t come up with a single disadvantage. Research was good, but application could be even better.