Secret Games

He didn’t say a thing. Then again, he didn’t have to. His sparkling eyes conveyed amusement loud and clear.

His eyes.

It wasn’t stress or the cold that was unsettling her. His eyes were the problem. Without his glasses, Sam didn’t seem at all like Sam. The omission had transformed him into a stranger. A very handsome stranger with soft gray bedroom eyes, who was further unraveling her already high-strung self.

Too taken aback to decide if this development would bode well or ill for the weekend ahead, Maggie simply avoided his gaze as she twirled around and let him tug her coat away.

“Thanks.”

Returning her purse with a smile, he flipped her coat over his shoulder and inclined his head toward the shop front she’d been caught peering into. “Want to take a look in there? See something you liked?”

“Nothing especially.” Although she should ask the salesclerk whether younger couples purchased Peterbutter or older couples, who’d had years to learn their partners’ sexual preferences.

And what would Sam think about Peterbutter? Would the espresso flavor have a stimulating effect on him? Would the peanut butter flavor make him stick to the roof of her mouth?

Oh, my!

Maggie swallowed hard. She hadn’t even been inside the romance-themed suite yet and she was already developing a serious case of naughty thoughts.

A fact that became increasingly obvious as they strolled along the promenade in silence. This moment was markedly different from any in memory. Sure, she and Sam had gone shopping together before. But pricing washing machines for the basement that doubled as their laundry room hadn’t prepared her for walking so close beside him, so aware of their arms barely touching, staring into windows with the knowledge that somewhere above them a suite with one bed awaited.

Get a grip, Maggie.

Or she’d never survive this weekend. What she needed here was a firm hold on the reins. She always told her patients if they acted in control, they soon would be. Now it was the counselor’s turn to test the theory behind the advice.

“So, how’s our suite?” she asked.

“Medieval.”

“The Warlord’s Tower?”

“Our other choices were the Wild West Brothel or the Sultan’s Seraglio. As much as I liked the idea of you dressed up as I Dream of Jeannie, I couldn’t get past the fact that those romance novels you read all have knights on the covers.”

He’d thought of her dressed up like a harem girl? Maggie wasn’t sure what to make of this confession, and the only thing that saved the moment was the realization that here was classic Sam, thinking of her before himself. He wasn’t her best friend and the most stabilizing influence in her life for no reason.

She actually managed to make her voice work. “I Dream of Jeannie? Really?”

“Really.” A dimple flashed, and she couldn’t find a shred of anything that even remotely resembled self-consciousness in his face.

Which was probably a good thing, considering she was experiencing enough self-consciousness for the two of them.

“Don’t worry. Maggie, the warrior princess, works just as well.” His finger tapped the bottom of her chin, and the mouth she’d let fall open snapped shut. “Or will I get to meet Maggie, the damsel in distress?”

Love-’em-and-leave-’em Maggie a damsel in distress? That wasn’t how she wanted Sam to think of her, but by the time she’d rallied her thoughts enough to think of a reply, he’d arched a dark brow in a familiar expression that had never before made her stomach swoop.

“Maggie the damsel in distress, I think. You’re the one who needs the favor, which means I’m coming to your rescue. So, Mags, am I your knight in shining armor?”

She stood there gawking at him, one small part of her brain cursing herself for not only letting go of the reins, but allowing them to be dragged beneath the horse.

Who was this man bantering about sex with her? Maggie had no idea. When she’d arrived in Niagara, she’d expected to meet nice, safe Sam. Where was he? And who was this man leading her into a store that looked like the embodiment of a designer lingerie magazine?

Sam’s sexy twin?

He came to a stop so abruptly that Maggie ran into him. Absently, he steadied her with a hand on her shoulder, his gaze fixed above her head. “Now that doesn’t look comfortable.”

Following his gaze to the half mannequin on the wall, Maggie felt her heart stop in midbeat.

Fitted around the half mannequin’s pelvis was a bright-red leather apparatus suggestive of a pair of medieval panties.

“Leather Chastity Belt,” Sam read from the display card propped on the stump of the mannequin’s thigh. “‘Keep your treasures under lock and key. Supple high-quality leather harness with fully adjustable waist strap and T-back for a comfortable fit. Available in Valentine-red, shell-pink, lavender-purple, mint-green and canary-yellow.’” He paused, considering. “Definitely not canary with your hair, but the shell or mint would work. What do you think?”

He glanced down at her, so obviously trying to contain his laughter that Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Damsel in distress, indeed.

“Definitely shell,” she said, and to her amazement, not only did her voice sound almost normal, she actually felt better. “Pink’s one of my better colors.”

Sam gave her hand a quick squeeze, before dragging her onto the next display, and then the next. By the time they reached the men’s undergarments and saw the briefs that proudly proclaimed one double entendre after another, their wisecracks had grown so raucous and loud that they drew the saleswoman’s attention.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked with a knowing smile, as though they weren’t the first couple to come unglued in her establishment.

“We’re just looking, thanks.” Sam edged Maggie toward the door, while whispering, “Candy condoms. Not good for protection—”

“But a very tasty treat,” she finished.

They’d barely made it to the promenade and out of earshot before dissolving into gales of laughter.

The ice was broken. Maggie felt back in control again.

“Thanks,” she said, gulping air and massaging the stitch in her side.

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t even have to ask what she referred to, and that’s how it always was between them, natural, relaxed. That was her strongest reason for asking Sam to come to Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast—who else could make her feel comfortable while she observed sexual interaction between couples?

Only Sam.

“Ready to head upstairs?” he asked.

Her tummy did that crazy swooping thing again, but Maggie ignored it. “Let’s go.”

But once they were sealed inside the elevator and headed toward the fifth floor, their antics in the sex shop became a distant memory in the shadow of Sam’s six-foot-plus presence, swallowing up all the air in the cramped space.

“We really should talk, Sam. Some sort of game plan. Don’t you think? We should have an idea of how to go about everything, and you need to know exactly what I’m looking for.” The words tumbled from her lips in a rush he couldn’t possibly have understood.

But whether Sam understood her words or not seemed moot, because the elevator suddenly ground to a halt, somewhere between the third and fourth floors.

“Ohmigosh, what happened?”

“Looks like elevator trouble,” he said unnecessarily. “Probably just a glitch. This is an old hotel. I’m sure we’ll be moving in a minute, but in the meantime…”

Maggie’s surprise died a swift death as Sam crowded her against the paneled wall.

The elevator’s lights threw misty shadows across his face, made it appear changed, so very different from the man she’d known forever. He had her off center, and her impulse was to laugh and push him away, put things back to normal between them. But there was nothing normal about the boldness in his gray eyes. Her laughter dissolved in her throat.

“Sam, what—what are you doing?” she asked, a feeble attempt to regain control over this crazy moment, to sidestep his unexpected move.

He arched a dark brow, visual confirmation that she should be able to guess what he had planned, even if she chose to deny it. He let her coat drop to the floor with a soft whoosh. It lay at their feet unheeded. Indeed, how could she heed anything but the strong fingers he slipped around her neck?

His touch was so warm, so startling, she could only stand there motionless. As far as touches went, this one should have been innocuous. They were standing in an elevator and he was only touching her neck, after all, but Maggie could feel the warmth of his fingers as though each had been dipped in hot wax.

When he hooked his thumbs beneath her chin and nudged her face upward, Maggie’s breath shuddered audibly. She caught the slight smile curving Sam’s mouth as his face lowered toward hers. Then dark silk hair and faint traces of aftershave kicked her senses into overdrive as his lips grazed her ear.

“I’ve got a good idea how to go about everything, and I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

His voice was husky and sure, and she mouthed a silent, “Oh,” while her knees turned to jelly.

She could only stare, waiting for him to back off now that he’d delivered his powerful message. He didn’t. His breath lingered around her ear, doing crazy things to her insides, urging the breath to remain clamped tightly in her chest.

He traced her lips with his thumbs, deliberately, purposefully, as though he’d wanted to touch them forever and that alone gave him the right.

But that couldn’t be. This was Sam. He may have tried to segue their friendship into romance once upon a time, but Maggie knew he’d only been experiencing a knee-jerk reaction to their closeness. They’d known each other for so long that testing out the romantic waters had seemed the next logical step.

And even if he had wanted to try sparks for a while, he’d been just as content to go back to their friendship. Hadn’t he?

Yes!

He simply hadn’t dated in a while and was caught up in the sensual atmosphere. That was all. She needed a favor, and as always, he’d been willing to help. He was also getting a weekend away in the mix. Though he’d insisted on making the reservation, Maggie fully intended to cover the cost of the suite at checkout. This wasn’t a date; it was a favor.

And this was Sam, she reminded herself desperately. Sam her best friend. Sam who couldn’t possibly know she’d entertained a few fantasies about him through the years. Sam who was suddenly trailing a path along her jaw with his warm velvet mouth. Sam who was suddenly kissing her.

The world as Maggie had known it swerved off-kilter.

His mouth was hot, sweet…intense.

And demanding. He deepened his kiss with a bold stroke of his tongue, and suddenly, without consciously willing it to happen, Maggie was kissing him back.

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.

If Sam wanted control, she’d give it to him. “Okay.”

He smiled. “You won’t be sorry.”

She closed her eyes and whispered a silent plea that she wasn’t making the biggest mistake in her life. Goodness knows she’d made some doozies.

Sam clearly didn’t think this was one of them, though, and he’d been privy to them all. She found that in itself reassuring. When he moved toward the elevator’s control panel, she found herself breathing a little easier.

He popped open the emergency panel and lifted the receiver from the cradle.

“Try 19,” she suggested. This crazy turn of events qualified as trouble, didn’t it?

He punched in the numbers and someone must have picked up on the other end on the first ring, because Sam was suddenly explaining their predicament and hanging up the phone before Maggie’s racing heart had slowed its rhythm.

“Are they coming to rescue us?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual and unaffected.

“That bellhop sounds just like Scotty from the Starship Enterprise. He said he’d have us moving in a minute.”

“Dougray is the maintenance supervisor.”

“I thought he was the bellhop.”

“Jack-of-all-trades, he said.”

Sam glanced askance, a look that clearly revealed his lack of surprise that she knew so much about one of the superclub’s male department heads before she’d even checked in.

Love-’em-and-leave-’em Maggie. Damsel in distress. The relationship counselor who’d had loads of dates, but no long-term experience whatsoever. Except for Sam.

Maggie had some work to do on her image, but she didn’t have time to consider ways to affect the necessary changes, because true to Dougray’s word, the elevator lurched into motion almost immediately. Sam retrieved her coat from the floor and handed it to her, his strong fingers lingering on hers until she lifted her gaze to meet the promise in his.

“You won’t be sorry, Mags.” The lusty assurance in his voice sent a shiver through her.

“So you keep saying.”

Life as Maggie had known it had just taken the most incredible turn. Her friend Sam Masters had vanished, leaving behind this brazen, possessive and very intriguing man to take his place.

4

THE ELEVATOR FLOOR rumbled beneath Sam’s feet, then lurched into motion, lifting them toward the fifth floor and the top of the superclub. He shifted uncomfortably, the seam of his slacks biting in exactly the wrong place as he subdued his firebolt response to kissing Maggie.

Beside him, she tried to look calm and unaffected, but to his eyes, she managed only pale and uncertain. Her chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, and she eyed him askance, as though the Swamp Thing had suddenly materialized by her side.

He resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulders, draw her close, and reassure her that her long-term friend still resided inside the man who’d just kissed her.

But he couldn’t let her in on that secret just yet. He needed her off balance and off guard, otherwise his plan to tear down her defenses would never get off the ground.

And he planned to go for broke this weekend.

Maggie thought she was an authority on relationships, both from her education and personal experience, and while she might be, she didn’t know a thing about romance and intimacy. He’d convinced her to give him chance, because he intended to show her the difference.

Though he possessed no psychology credentials, Sam knew Maggie would never tackle a commitment until she was willing to acknowledge that she spent her life fixing relationships because she didn’t believe they could work. He’d witnessed the events leading to her family’s breakup and wasn’t surprised by her lack of faith, but it was high time she put the past in the past and got on with her future. A future that included him. But for Maggie to look squarely at her own behavior, she needed incentive. Serious incentive.

Sam had an invitation, a bed and a weekend to provide it. He would use seduction to wear down her defenses until she lost herself to passion. And to love.

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