Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark

She raised her chin. “I’m not shocked at all. I think all that passion is … well, hot. I’m not sure there’s a woman alive who wouldn’t want to know a man was so hot for her he’d like to—” she paused and emphasized the very words he’d uttered “—fuck her senseless for a week. As long as somewhere in the week he wanted to work a little conversation and getting to know her into the sexathon.”

Far from offensive, it sounded sexy and exciting when she threw his words back at him. Especially when she drawled it in that low, honeyed tone with a glint in her eye that spoke more to interest and arousal.

Simon was knee-deep in muck but apparently lacked enough sense to stop wading. “I’ve never operated solely from a state of lust. Her brain and her personality are half the appeal. Otherwise I’d only want her for half a week. And I wouldn’t worry about senseless.”

Her naughty smile wrecked him. “You are wicked, Simon Thackeray.”

Forget muck. This felt like dangerous sexual flirting and he needed to stop. And he would. Soon. He leaned forward, drawn by the heat in her eyes, lured by her smile. “Perhaps my love languishes unrequited because I’m too wicked to love.”

She shifted forward, her knee brushed his and the contact surged through him. A seductive smile curved her lush mouth. “I seriously doubt that. Don’t you know that all that wickedness just drives women to distraction?”

All he truly knew was that she drove him beyond distraction. Beyond caution. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“The last time I checked, I was a woman, so I suppose so.” There was something in her eyes. Something that said she knew how utterly wicked he could be and she liked it, despite herself.

Which was ridiculous because he’d been very careful to limit his exposure to her. He raised his brow in question. As if she suddenly realized what he’d seen in her eyes, she blinked and it vanished. She leaned back into her chair, putting a distance that existed beyond mere space between them. Thank God one of them had some sense. “What do you do with all of that pent-up … energy?”

Egad, the woman was relentlessly curious—no trouble at all believing she got herself locked into a wardrobe—which was yet one more reason he’d taken himself out of her and Elliott’s sphere. For one moment he considered telling her he jerked off often, just to see if it would shock her into no more questions, but that tactic had already failed once. And quite simply he couldn’t bring himself to be so crude. He opted for the truth.

“I run. A lot. At this point, I’m probably hovering in marathon-training range.” He laughed at himself. “And never underestimate the efficiency of the proverbial cold shower.”

As it stood now, a cold shower sounded better and better on more than one count. Sweat slicked him and her skin glistened with a fine sheen of moisture. He was a sick beast when a woman sweating struck him as sexy.

“I didn’t know you were a runner. I’m nowhere close to marathon training, but I run five days a week.”

“Are you sexually frustrated, as well?” He might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

“No. I have a fat ass,” she said with a cheeky grin that held a smidgen of self-consciousness. He bit back the protest that her ass was perfect, enticing and far from fat. She went on, “We should run together some time.”

Somehow running with her to relieve the stress of Tawny-induced lust seemed self-defeating and warped. He liked it. “Maybe we should.”

“How about tomorrow?” she said.

Depending on how long it took to restore the power, he’d definitely need it.

“It’s a date then.” Poor word choice. “I didn’t mean a date as in a date.” Yet another reason he avoided being around her. His brain seemed to become nothing more than rat turds rolling around in his empty head when she was near.

She raised her eyebrows. Amusement at his verbal bumbling danced in her eyes and twitched at her lips. “I knew what you meant.”

From the other room her cell phone rang. She scraped her chair back, excusing herself.

Simon stayed in the kitchen to offer her some privacy. He began to clear the table. Without the hum of the refrigerator, the AC and all the other white noise associated with electricity, he couldn’t help but overhear her conversation, even with the radio on.

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine…. No, he’s not here. He got caught at the gallery…. No. I’m not alone. One of Elliott’s friends stopped by…. Yes. He’s a photographer…. No, they don’t know when they’ll have it back on…. No. No sign of looting or vandalism, but yes, we’re going to stay in.” Her voice lowered. “Mom, improper isn’t the same here as it is at home. And I’d rather not be alone…. Yes, I’ll call you later.”

Elliott had flown down to meet Tawny’s parents after the engagement and given Simon an earful afterward. Very conservative, very Southern, very proper. Rarified members of the genteel Savannah blue-blood set, her father was a surgeon and her mother was a lifetime member of the garden club. They’d lunched at the country club.

It took less than a thimbleful of imagination to figure out Mama Edwards had reprimanded Tawny over the impropriety of being alone in her apartment during a blackout with another man. God help them both if her mother had overheard their conversation. And at least her mum called to check on her. Simon doubted he’d even crossed his parents’ minds. He’d been off their radar screen since he left home. Who was he fooling? He’d never registered on their radar screen.

Tawny walked back into the kitchen just as he finished rinsing and stacking the bowls. “My mother,” she confirmed. “They heard about it on CNN.” She took in the tidied kitchen. “You cleaned up! If I weren’t already taken, I’d keep you for myself.”

Her teasing words were a dagger to his heart.

“Ah, but there is Elliott, isn’t there?” He deliberately chilled his tone.

“Yes, there is Elliott.” She put her cell phone on the counter and turned to him. “But that reminds me, exactly why were you and Elliott coming over this evening?”

4

SIMON HAD GROWN UP IN New York City and had never seen an actual deer caught in headlamps, but he experienced a sudden onset of empathy. Bugger. If he’d been thinking with his whole brain instead of sniffing about after Tawny like some lust-driven horn dog, he would’ve seen this coming, should’ve anticipated the question. Instead she’d figuratively caught him with his trousers down. Simon didn’t feel like a very bright boy.

“It’s a bit of a mystery to me.” He was a terrible liar.

“Uh-huh.”

She clearly didn’t believe him. And he might stretch the truth to protect her from what he perceived to be Elliott’s selfishness, but he couldn’t knowingly lie to her. However, exactly how Elliott planned to handle this impending fiasco was a mystery to him.

She picked up her cell phone. “Let’s call Elliott. It’s not as if he’s busy or anything if he’s locked in the gallery without electricity.”

Simon winced inside. She’d be devastated to know just how busy Elliott might be at the moment.

Tawny speed dialed the number and drummed her fingers on the counter.

“Hi, Elliott. Everything quiet over there? Fine … Nothing. We ate cold pizza and fruit. I asked Simon what it was you wanted to talk about tonight. Apparently he’s as in the dark as I am…. No, I didn’t intend that as a pun…. So let’s talk now…. I know you wanted to be here, but you might as well tell me over the phone, because you’ve aroused my curiosity. Don’t make me wait. You’ve got to satisfy me.”

Aroused … wait any longer … satisfy me. She talked to Elliot this way and he still got off on someone else? That told Simon all he needed to know about his friend. Since Elliott wasn’t dead, he must be gay.

“Yes. He’s right here. Okay.” She huffed out a breath and handed the phone across to Simon. “He wants to talk to you.”

Simon reluctantly took the phone.

Tawny planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. Brilliant. Forget a private conversation. Not that he blamed her. She had to feel jerked around.

Instinct told him he wasn’t going to like where this was headed. “Elliott?”

“Tawny wants to know what I wanted to talk to her about.” Elliott sounded positively panicked.

Simon leaned against the counter and crossed one foot over the other. “Right.”

“I can’t tell her over the phone,” Elliott said as if Simon had demanded he do that very thing.

Simon braved a glance at Tawny’s set features. “I don’t believe there’s a choice.”

“But there is.” He recognized Elliott’s wheedling enthusiastic tone. Whatever it was, Simon’s instincts were already screaming no. “The right choice. You tell her.”

Simon damn near dropped the phone. “No.”

“Yes. The more I think about it, this works out better.”