Secret Invitation: Tempted By Pleasure Part 16

"What about the other half? Is that true?"

"You want full disclosure?"

I nod. My interaction with men is so limited, but I need to know.

"Up until a few months ago, I played the field, baby. I won't lie. I like to f.u.c.k."

I gasp and laugh at the same time. Did he just say what I think I heard? "How romantic."

"I didn't mention relationships, Erin, I meant s.e.x."

Frowning, I glance away. "I know."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Am I judging the boy I used to know?" Our eyes meet.

"Is that fair?"

"From what I see, not much has changed." Except that I'm drooling, and totally miffed that he freely admits to sleeping around.

"Maybe I deserved that one. But my feelings are real, Erin, I don't waste time." One side of his lips tip up as he checks his watch. "If we don't leave, we'll be late."

I don't say anything, but cover the banana bread with a towel, then turn off the lights. I follow him out the front door. He opens the pa.s.senger door for me and I slide inside his car. The leather seat hugs my body like a glove. The differences between my little red Audi and his big black Jaguar remind me of the vast dissimilarities between us. I'm cute and inexperienced, the ex-girlfriend he thinks he's still crazy about. Then there's the shark. I watch him climb into the driver's seat, confidence bleeding out every pore.

"Ready?" he asks.

Am I? "Wait!"

"What is it, baby?"

I lean across the console, offering my mouth. "Kiss me, Foster."

I don't need to ask twice. He cups my face between his hands and slants his hot mouth over mine. G.o.d he tastes good. I touch his chest, and those wicked sensations he conjures ripping through me again. It's a slow, delicious kiss at first. His tongue drifts lazily over mine. My fingers glide up his front, stopping on his shoulders. I love his sculpted arms. I love his mouth. After his tongue moves more forcibly against mine, I moan, completely lost.

He leans back. "More?"

Speechless, I settle in the seat again and pull the visor down in search of a lighted mirror. My lip color is gone. I check his face. There's a streak of purple on his cheek. Should have worn my all-day lipstick. "Wipe your face."

He stares in the rearview and grins. "Let's give Thomas something to think about."

Although I like the idea, a dinner party isn't the appropriate place to torture my make-believe fiance. I open my purse and fish out a tissue and my lipstick. I fuss in the mirror for a few seconds. "Good as new."

"You're f.u.c.king perfect." The tone of his voice makes me uneasy.

My eyes automatically shoot to his face, then his crotch. His slacks can't hide his excitement. I can't think straight if I know he has an erection.

"Blow off dinner." He rests his hand on my lap. "f.u.c.k, Erin." He squeezes his eyes shut.

I reach over him and turn the ignition key. The car purrs to life. "Not this time." It's a weak no that suggests more.

"When?"

Maybe never. And surely not after Halloween, which narrows our window of opportunity down to practically nothing. If I didn't have a history with Foster, he'd be the one. But something inside me can't let go of the past. It's not just fear. It's something deeper, something far more dark and unexplored. Maybe I don't want him to know what kind of woman I truly am. I hardly tolerate my own truth well. I want to be tied up and f.u.c.ked. I want to be spanked. How's that for honesty, Foster?

"What?" He's studying me.

"Excuse me?"

"You just asked me, 'How's that for honesty?'"

"No I didn't." I thought it. I didn't say it out loud.

"Yes you did. Are you falling apart on me, Erin?"

"No."

He doesn't look convinced. "We're going to explore this a little more after dinner." He buckles up and backs out of the driveway.

Chapter 17.

Erin If I said I didn't miss Ocean Drive, I'd be lying. Although my parents live in a modern Mediterranean-style home with white-washed stucco walls and a tile roof, it has landmark curb appeal. The outdoor living s.p.a.ce features a custom-built BBQ area flanked by cascading waterfalls and a wading pool. At sunset, after my father turns on the lights, it reminds me of a starry sky.

To my amazement, only fifteen guests are seated at the outdoor dining table. I'm sandwiched between Thomas and Foster, with Katie and my mom staring at me from across the way. Maybe if I slide the ridiculous centerpiece down a foot, I can hide behind it.

I've already endured a painfully silent first course appetizer of chickpea blini with lemon mousseline and wild salmon caviar. The caterer serves the second course, shrimp quenelles in a bouillon. I sample it delicately, savoring the flavor until Thomas addresses me.

"Meredith told me you expanded the store."

I face him. "Last year."

Foster laughs, and I pinch his thigh under the table.

"It's been that long?"

"You've never visited my shop, Thomas."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Everyone is welcome."

His vacant expression is further testament as to why I can count on two fingers how many meaningful conversations we've shared. Speaking of hands, I s.n.a.t.c.h his left one. "Oh dear." Slim fingers and a small wrist. Not a good sign according to Katie.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," I lie and let go.

"Erin," Katie calls. "Not at the table."

I smirk and taste another spoonful of cold soup. I wish my mother had been more strategic about the seating arrangement. Why didn't she place Thomas near my father who is at the opposite end surrounded by his board of directors and personal attorney?

"So where have you been hiding, Foster?" Mother asks. "We've read about your latest exploits in the energy sector. I seem to recall something about signing contracts with Saudi Aramco and Sinopec to double the capacity at a refinery in Southern China?"

"Yes, ma'am." He sips his wine. "It includes refinery upgrades."

"Don't the Chinese have engineers for that?"

"I'm sure they do." Foster smiles. "But it's a package deal. The refinery will process heavy crude, increasing overall output and boosting the market."

"And your father?"

"He swears the earth is still round and the sky is blue."

Mother gives a feminine laugh, covering her mouth with her linen napkin.

"What does that mean?" Thomas asks.

I shake my head, loathing the sound of his voice.

"Everything is peachy," Foster clarifies.

Once again I move in for an under-table a.s.sault, but he catches my fingers.

"If you pinch me," he growls near my ear, "I'll bite your nipple."

I nearly choke on my water. "Is that a promise?" I smile up at him, praying he'll say yes.

"Guess we'll find out after you tweak me again."

"What are the two of you whispering about?" Mother asks.

"Catching up on things," I say. "Foster and I haven't seen each other in a long time, Mother."

"Well, we're happy he's here."

The meal progresses nicely. Servers bring slow-roasted duck with miniature watermelon cuc.u.mbers, a red grapefruit gastrique, and chickpea crepes. Once I finish eating, Thomas clears his throat and gazes at me.

"Take a walk with me, Erin."

"Now?"

He nods.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I slide my chair back. "How long are we going to be?"

He shrugs. "Long enough to discuss some important issues."

I cringe at the thought, but willingly follow him away from the covered patio and into the garden. I glance over my shoulder twice, afraid Foster will appear.

As shallow as my mother comes off, she's really very talented. Her vast garden is a monument dedicated to my grandmother, who was a master gardener. The oasis is contrived for privacy, with tall shrubbery, ornamental arches, an aviary, a small fish pond, and a ring of rare fruit trees in the center. I run my fingers up a bra.s.s railing that stops underneath a gazebo. Thomas turns around, his dark eyes focused on mine.

"I've missed you, Erin."

How do I respond? "We live twenty minutes apart, Thomas, so pardon me if I don't accept your excuses that logistics prevented you from calling me or visiting my store."

He chuckles. "I admire your spirit."

I hope he appreciates my candor, too. "I don't want to marry you, and I'm certain you care little about me." Honestly, I don't know what he thinks about this arrangement.

"I'm committed, Erin."

"To what?"

"You." He reaches for my face, but I back away. "Are you drunk?" I meet his gaze, embarra.s.sed to discuss marriage with a man I hardly know. "I tolerate my mother and father's a.s.s-backward thinking, but what excuse do you have?"

"Didn't your parents explain?"

"No."

He rakes his fingers through his hair. "I suppose that's my responsibility."

"If you don't start making sense, I'm going back to the party. Alone."

"Not until you hear me out." He blocks my route.

There's only one way in/out of the gazebo, and if I have to use all my weight to go through him, I will. I don't like being cornered. "Get out of my way."

He waves his hands. "Fine."

I take the first step.

"Your father is a pathological gambler."

I freeze. So the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had a plan all along. "What?" I don't bother facing him. If I do, I'm certain I won't be able to keep dinner down.

"Impulse control issues, like a kleptomaniac. But never mind the cause. To be perfectly honest, he spends more time on the rough than he does the fairway, Erin. He's a bad shot and a drinker. Add money into the mix . . ."

"f.u.c.k you, Thomas." I join him in the gazebo again. "Since when did you become an expert on my father? Until recently, I thought you shared a professional relationship, nothing more."

"Maybe if you were an attentive daughter, you would have noticed."

Rage uncoils inside me fast, and before I regain control of my emotions, I slap his face, hard enough for the impact to sting my hand. It doesn't faze him.