Conned Page 4

  She was spooked.

  He didn’t blame her. He’d known exactly how attracted he was to her before today, and the intensity of it all had even spooked him. He’d gone into it thinking he was spending a day with the hottest woman he knew while he tortured himself with sexual fantasies. He couldn’t imagine how she felt, since she’d come into it thinking she was in for an interesting day with a pleasant but boring colleague. She’d probably been hoping for a few laughs and some good data. Instead, she’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four.

  Tuck tried to empathize, but couldn’t seem to quash the Cro-Magnon part of him that wanted to beat his chest in victory.

  She wanted him. That was a verifiable, proven fact. He couldn’t have hoped for better results than that.

  Now he had to look deep inside himself and decide whether he wanted to try to close the deal for real. The internal debate didn’t last long. All the usual bullshit reasons he’d stayed away this long rose to the surface: They were colleagues. He didn’t want to ruin their working relationship. He wasn’t in the market for anything serious. And, most importantly, he wasn’t “that” guy anymore, and this could be a foot down the wrong path. A path of being led around by instinct instead of relying on his hard-won self-discipline.

  Then, one thought—Cricket in that picture, naked in the shadows, lips parted, waiting—buried all the rest. At least the gravestone would read, “Here lies Tuck. Died happy.”

  Now that the decision to go for it was made, he had to figure out when. He weighed his options and decided sooner was better, so she didn’t have time to talk herself out of him.

  He mentally ran through all the possible scenarios from every angle before finally settling on a plan of action. He’d call and ask to swing by her house under the guise of dropping off a thank-you gift for all of her help. Wine was a good choice since she’d mentioned it in her food and drink preferences. Then he’d have to hope she asked him in to share.

  Guilt pricked at him. Granted, he wasn’t doing anything any other guy wouldn’t do when he found a woman he was attracted to. But she didn’t know him, the real him. She didn’t know the things he had done and the man he had been. If she did, she would probably be running in the other direction.

  He thought back to that afternoon and realized he felt more alive than he had in years, and wrong or right, he wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.

  By the time he cleaned up the lab and slid into the seat of his truck, he had practiced his speech a half dozen times. He dialed her number and waited for her to pick up.

  “Hey.” Cricket’s soft voice flowed over the line like molasses, and his muscles tensed.

  “Hey, yourself. Listen, are you going to be around for a while?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual despite the fact that his heart was hammering hard enough to rattle his rib cage. “I picked up a little something for you as a thank-you for doing this with me, but I didn’t have a chance to give it to you before—”

  “Sorry about that. I feel like such a jerk. I’m always preaching about sexuality and how natural it is. Then I get a little damp in the panties during an experiment about getting damp in the panties, and I run away like a child.”

  She let out a shaky laugh and continued while Tuck tried to focus on the rest of her words, but he was firmly stuck on the “damp panties” portion of the show.

  When he finally managed to tune back in, she was winding down.

  “…over it now. And yeah, sure. I’m just hanging around anyway, so swing by. I’m at 356 Maple Way, across from the diner.”

  Two minutes later, he was on his way to Cricket’s house. Just a guy stopping by to drop a gift off to a girl. No harm in it.

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you justify a load of bullshit.

  …

  “I have no moral opposition to one-night stands. I just think they’re counterproductive,” Cricket said, then took a deep sip from her glass.

  “How so?”

  When he’d arrived at her house, she had invited him in, cracking open the wine without any prodding at all. They’d been talking for almost two hours, and he was having the time of his life. She was funny, smart, and bawdy. It felt good just being around her.

  Even in the short time they’d spent together, he was already picking up on little things about her. Like how when she was gearing up to make her point, she’d shrug beforehand, as if to say, “Listen, this is how it is,” right before launching into a well-thought-out argument.

  “A woman’s sexuality is not at all like a man’s. A man can literally fuck a watermelon and come. If you put enough friction on his cock, in some semblance of a rhythm, he will orgasm. It’s a no-brainer.” She shrugged again.

  “But women,” she said with a grin, “we’re tricky. Some women need oral sex to climax, some need nipple stimulation. Some need to be on top and some on the bottom. Some like it rough, some like it nice and sweet. The odds that some random guy, in the course of one or two sexual sessions in a night, is going to figure it out are nil. Even if you have a woman comfortable enough with her sexuality to tell him how she likes it right out of the gate, it still takes fine-tuning. Not to mention the guys who are sensitive and take it personally. Then it can be ego-bruising and awkward to take direction.”

  She sat back with a smug smile and gave her closing argument. “Ergo, a woman soliciting a one-night stand because she’s horny is tantamount to throwing a Rubik’s Cube against the wall in order to solve it. Ain’t going to happen. In fact, she’s probably going to end up even worse off, all horned up from the petting. Better off investing the time with a guy who has a long-term interest in getting it right or just taking care of it herself.”

  She gave one final shrug.

  He was torn between admiration and soul-deep desire. His whole body was tense, his cock like a rock. He wanted to respond but couldn’t find his voice. That was probably a good thing, because he was afraid of what he might say. All he could think of at that moment was asking which type of woman she was. How she liked it. Unless he wanted to blow his chance—or worse, his load—he needed to stop picturing her in every one of those scintillating scenarios she’d mentioned.

  Cricket stood and poured herself another glass of wine. “You know what would really help? If men started looking at it like a bank. The more you deposit, the more you can withdraw later. Make a woman come as a rule, she’s going to be more receptive to regular sex and much more open-minded about what’s on the table as far as experimenting. Common sense.”

  Common sense, indeed.

  She looked at him expectantly, waiting to hear his thoughts on the topic. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to tell her what an interesting theory that was. “Bullshit,” he said.

  Ah, Jesus, where did that come from?

  “What?” Her eyes lit with interest and a hint of challenge.

  He bit back his retraction and half-formed apology, allowing himself to think like the old Tuck for a minute.

  “Well,” he started off slowly, still framing his thoughts. “Let me clarify. The second half of your argument about the bank and making a woman orgasm is sound. But, with all due respect to your expertise in the field of human sexuality, that first part about one-night stands and the odds of a woman coming being nil? That sounds like a load of bullshit. Doctor.”

  “Care to back that statement up with an alternate theory, Professor Lamb?”

  “Sure.” He leaned forward on his elbows and looked straight into her eyes. “Your hypothetical woman just hasn’t found the right guy for the job.”

  She tossed her head back and let out a whoop. Her uninhibited reaction brought an answering grin to his face.

  “Oh, just like a man,” she said through her laughter. “Don’t you think most guys go into it with that mentality? That they’re special, so phenomenal in bed, they’re going to be the one to knock her socks off? Listen, I’m not downing your gender. I honestly believe most guys want to make a woman come. I
t’s just that a one-night stand doesn’t give him a sufficient amount of time to figure out how to do that.”

  “It does if he’s paying attention.”

  Her nostrils flared lightly, and the smile slipped from her lips. “I already told you, most guys don’t take well to being tol—”

  “A man who takes a woman’s pleasure seriously doesn’t need to be told anything. It’s all there. In the catch of her breath. The tension in her limbs. The way her back arches to press closer, to take more, her fingers fisting in his hair. The way her thighs tremble, then clench just a little tighter around his face when she…likes what he’s doing.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “When her eyes get dark and she wets her lips.”

  Just. Like. That.

  …

  Blood rushed to her ears and a knot of heat flared low between her hips.

  She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip of wine to moisten her suddenly dry mouth before speaking. “In an ideal world, that’s true,” she acknowledged, pleased that her voice was strong and steady. “But to my mind, being that attuned to another person takes time and a concentrated commitment to the art of lovemaking that isn’t present in the one-night-stand dynamic. After a night of drinking and prowling, you engage in mindless sex. The man is euphoric that he’s getting laid, while typically, the woman is trying to fill an emotional void. He’s focused on getting off, and oftentimes she’s wishing she could rewind or fast-forward.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair.

  Cricket took a steadying breath, at once grateful and disappointed that the tension had abated.

  “Right, that may be true in a lot of cases, especially for people in their early twenties. But what about a woman and a man? Grown-ups who make a conscious decision to have sex for pleasure. Not because they’re drunk or need a void filled. You don’t think that happens?” Tuck met her gaze head-on.

  Things had taken such an interesting and unexpected turn over the past twelve hours, she still felt like she hadn’t caught up. It seemed that Tucker Lamb had a bit of big bad wolf in him. A shiver ran through her as she framed her response. “Yes. That does happen. And if you ask one hundred women over thirty if they’ve had an orgasm with a one-night stand under the conditions you describe, I bet you’re looking at single-digit results.”

  Cricket wondered if it was the man, the wine, or the topic of conversation that was making her so giddy. She talked about sex a lot, so that wasn’t it. She looked at her glass. One and a half glasses of chardonnay wouldn’t faze her. She looked back at the man, and looked hard this time.

  His hazel gaze held hers steadily. His lips quirked in a sexy half smile. He had a confidence about him that was decidedly out of step with the self-effacing, nonthreatening vibe he’d given off in the past. His shirt was pulled tight over wide shoulders, and she found herself wishing she could peek underneath.

  “I accept that assessment,” he said with a nod. “So we agree, then. There is a guy out there who can get the job done. You just haven’t picked the right one yet.”

  “So we’re talking about me now?”

  He tipped his head in answer.

  “Well then, we don’t agree.” She couldn’t help but to try to push him as off-balance as she felt. “I’m a focused and giving lover, but I expect the same in return. It doesn’t happen in a day.”

  He leaned back and grinned. “Okay.”

  “That’s not you giving in, that’s you patronizing me.”

  “We’re at an impasse.”

  “Well, that won’t do at all.” She looked down at the table, at his strong, sure hands, and made her decision. The words just tumbled out. “Prove it.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, his hazel eyes growing dark.

  She took a long sip of wine, then spoke again before her jangling nerves made her backtrack. “Put your money where your mouth is. I’m free for the rest of the night. You?”

  His throat worked, and she bit back a smile. Apparently Professor Lamb wasn’t immune after all. That was good, because somehow, over the course of the day, she had fallen head over heels in lust with him. If he won their little bet, she’d have spent the night with a good-looking, sweet guy and would sleep like a baby afterward. If he lost, she’d be able to put these feelings to rest and could always rely on her trusty pocket pal to take care of her needs. They were both adults. They had nothing to lose.

  He stood quickly, moving faster than she would have thought him capable.

  “I’m in.” His hungry gaze ran the length of her, lingering on her breasts, her throat, her mouth. He held out his hand.

  A quiver of anticipation ran through her and she struggled for composure. “Can you take direction without get—”

  “No direction. If we do this, I’m going to play by my own rules. I postulated that a man who is paying attention to the physiological responses of a woman’s body could and should make her orgasm. I stand by that. So, no verbal directives. That would be cheating.”

  Her nipples peaked. “And you?”

  “And me what?”

  “Do you get to come?”

  “This experiment is about me proving my point. That’s enough for me.”

  Had his mouth always had such a sensual shape to it? She forced a laugh, but it came out sounding hollow.

  “So I just have to sit there while you bend over backward trying to make me come? And I don’t have to do anything at all?”

  “Yup.”

  Her pulse went wild.

  “Well, that seems like an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “Good.” His face was carved out of stone, so intense she wondered how she’d ever thought of him as puppylike. He held out a hand. “Come on.”

  She slipped her hand into his and stood. He didn’t back up, and she found herself flush against him. He smelled delicious as she breathed him in, and her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples pebbling at the contact.

  His eyes narrowed and he shifted closer. He leaned low and for a breathless instant, she thought he would kiss her. His mouth stopped just a whisper from hers.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

  She resisted the urge to close the space between them and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “No, but thank you.”

  He stepped back as if nothing had happened, then pushed her gently from the room. “I love looking at you dressed like that, but I want you to put on a skirt and heels. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  He wanted her to dress up for him? Hell, that was okay with her. She donned her favorite black mini and pumps, then reentered the living room, trying to quell the nerves jumbling her stomach. He still wasn’t back.

  She glanced out the window just in time to see him coming in from his truck, with his sports jacket on and a bouquet of tulips in his hand. As he made his way up the stone path, he smoothed his hair and checked his breath in a cupped palm. She grinned, her insides getting a little gooey.

  He opened the door, flashing her a grin. “For you.” He held out an arm. “Ready to go?”

  “Uh, where? I thought…” They’d struck a bargain, hadn’t they? Her cheeks burned. Had she misunderstood somehow? She frantically replayed their conversation in her head, eyeing her half-full wineglass on the table.

  “What’d you think, I was just going to stretch you out on the bed and go to town?”

  Actually…

  He pinned her with his gaze. “This isn’t amateur hour, Doctor. I’m old and wise enough to know that seduction begins long before you hit the bedroom. Now let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Five

  Half an hour later, they were seated at Zuppa di Mare, the best seafood eatery in town. It was only a few blocks from her house, and the walk had been lovely. He’d held her hand the whole way, using his thumb to caress her wrist.

  Their candlelit table was nestled in a little corner alcove, and smooth jazz played softly in the background. The place definitely catered to couples, and T
uck had scored the best seat in the house. He’d just ordered a bottle of champagne along with two orders of lobster sautéed in butter. While they waited for their food to arrive, they drank the bubbly and chatted. He listened attentively as she talked about her family, his attention never straying from her.

  One more point for Tucker Lamb.

  She took another sip of the icy, crisp champagne, then noticed he was watching her.

  “Can I pull your chair closer?”

  The husky tone in his voice triggered the memory of another question he’d asked in that same tone.

  “Can I put my mouth on you?”

  Even the recording had almost made her knees buckle. She could only imagine what it would be like if he said it face to face in real life.

  “Can I?”

  She nodded dumbly, and he dragged her chair closer to his.

  “Put your foot up.” This time he sounded more commanding, and her heart stuttered before it resumed pounding.

  A thrill coursed through her as she glanced around the room. Surely no one could see them. Besides, there was a long cloth covering the table. She slipped off her heel and laid her foot on the cool leather of the seat across from her.

  A moment later, her foot was encased in his big, warm grasp. At first he just squeezed lightly as they chatted, but as the conversation wore on, he began to trace his finger lightly over her instep up to her sensitive ankle, then back down again. She bit back a sigh of pleasure. He shifted to lay her foot on his thigh before he made his way up her calf, tracing her muscles, making shapes on her skin.

  “Why don’t you come sit next to me?”

  It wasn’t a question. His gaze burned into hers. Her nipples drew tight as she imagined what he would do once more of her was within his reach. She didn’t respond but stood to move beside him. He stood as well, shifting to allow her in.

  She brushed past him and slid into the second large chair on his side of the table.

  He sat beside her, laying his arm over the back of the seat, making small talk while absently caressing her shoulder. She tried to focus on what he was saying, but all she could think of was where he would touch her next. How far would he go here in public?