A Lick and a Promise

“Yep. I was raised there. I have an older sister, Gretchen.”

“No brothers?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. Go on.”

“My father’s an architect.”

“Do you work with him?”

“Nope. I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Usually, if someone asked, he said he’d wanted to make it on his own. No one questioned that. It was an honest answer. But not a complete one. “I don’t get along all that well with my father.”

“Oh, bummer. Isn’t he happy you followed in his footsteps?”

Daniel nodded. “Sure. And don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man. We just don’t…” He shrugged.

“Talk?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your mom?”

“She talks.”

Margot smiled and it was like the sun moving from behind a cloud. She really was an extraordinary-looking woman. Lush, full, rounded. He kept wanting to touch her. Not that he would, but the urge was there. Her hair was incredibly shiny and thick, her skin glowed, and her eyes… When she looked at him it made his throat dry and his thoughts turn to mush. “Does she listen?”

“Who?”

Her soft laugh made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. In a good way. “Your mother.”

“Sometimes. But mostly, she’s concerned with her… With herself.”

“I see.” Margot looked at him for a long moment, then she turned back to the grill. “These are done. Let’s take ’em to Anya’s.”

He got the boards, and she put the pizzas, which smelled incredible, on them. Then she led him through the apartment to the front door. He glanced at his jacket, still crumpled on the floor. There would be time for that later.

HE CHECKED HIS WATCH and frowned at the time. It was almost one in the morning. He had to be up at six for work. At least they’d reached the end of the extended dinner. They were at Rocco’s, whose place was just as unexpected as everything else had been over the long night.

The ex-boxer collected antiques. And he had one hell of an eye. They were seated in his living room, on elegant Louis XIV chaises. Across from Daniel on the smaller couch, Eric rested his head on Devon’s lap. Corrie sat cross-legged on the Persian rug with her back upright, as if she were standing at attention. It would have been impossible for him, but evidently her training as a dancer had been primarily about posture.

Anya was in the kitchen with Rocco making tea. And Margot… Margot sat inches away from Daniel, her back against a silk pillow, her legs up on the chaise, her bare feet nearly touching his thigh. She’d painted her nails a brilliant scarlet, and she had rings, one white, one blue, around two of her toes.

He kept his hands cupped around his brandy snifter but all he could think about was running his fingers down the enticing curve of her foot.

It was nuts. He wasn’t into feet. He knew some men were, but he’d never given them a thought.

He stole a look at Margot and was shocked to meet her very intense gaze. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

“It’s all right, you know,” she said, her voice very soft, meant only for him.

“What’s all right?” he whispered back.

“You can touch them.”

His mouth opened, but, again, nothing. No response. Not a clue what to say.

“They’re pretty rings,” she went on. “I got one of them at a flea market. The blue one was a gift.”

His gaze finally moved from hers only to stare at the exotic toe jewelry. An image flashed in his mind, very vivid. So vivid, he had to shift on the couch.

“What?” she asked, leaning a little forward.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Daniel. We know each other too well to hold back now.”

He looked at her again. At the teasing smile, the coy arch of her eyebrow. “I don’t know you at all.”

“I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

He raised the snifter to his lips and took a big sip. The heat slithered down his throat, expanding as it reached his chest. “Do you have rings anywhere else?” he asked.

She nodded.

He coughed. Turned away. Stared at an eighteenth-century highboy.

“Do you want to know where?”

Her voice snuck beneath his defenses, which weren’t many. He was too full, too drunk and too bewildered by the woman. He’d talked to the others tonight, but cursorily. Even when he wanted to, he couldn’t force his attention far away from Margot. Willing himself to be cool, to not let her know what she was doing to him, he sipped again at the brandy. But it was no use. He wanted to know about her other rings. Badly. He sighed. Then nodded.

Again, that soft, knowing chuckle. “Well, I have these,” she said.

He looked. He was constitutionally incapable of not looking. But all he saw were her hands. Long, beautiful hands with crimson nails. She did have rings. On each hand. One a pearl, the other a diamond. His chest sank with disappointment, which he realized was nuts. It’s just that she was so…exotic, he was expecting more. Different. Erotic.

Then she leaned forward even more. When she had his gaze locked, she licked her lower lip with the tip of her pink tongue. “The others will have to wait until we’re alone.”

“Others?”

She smiled, showing him her white teeth. “Two more. But I’m not going to tell you where. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

“Oh, God.”

Laughing, she leaned back against her pillow.