“You said we weren’t college students anymore,” she snapped.
“We’re not. We’re husband and wife. Pretend this is our date. It’s not all that different from some of our early dates,” he added with a flash of humor that disappeared as quickly as it came.
This was true. She’d been young, tempestuous, testing the boundaries of almost every rule she came across. She looked at him, her competitive streak flaring in the dark bedroom air. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, and boxer briefs. She was still dressed for work in a jacket and skirt, blouse, stockings, bra and panties, and the house was huge, with dozens of places to hide. She’d have him naked in a couple of rounds, and then they’d talk.
“I won’t forget what we’re fighting about,” she said.
He shrugged, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. The air in the room thickened, heated, as she remembered the reason for his interest in Medieval history. His family traced their roots to the Viking marauders who’d settled in Normandy a thousand years ago. In the flickering firelight she had no difficulty imagining him perusing the captives the hold of a raiding ship, choosing the woman who would warm his bed on the long voyage home.
Tonight it wouldn’t be her.
“Get your watch,” she said.
From his nightstand he pulled the Timex he wore to time his weekend runs, and set the countdown.
“Hide,” he said, and the word held threat, promise, and a heat that was all Shane.
She slipped out the door and hurried down the stairs to the main floor. The dining room and formal living room were both dark and quiet. She considered the heavy drapes hanging along the west wall, but discarded the idea, holding that place in reserve for later. The main floor office Shane used held a big Hon desk. She crouched in the well and pulled his chair on wheels back into place just as the watch beeped the warning that he was coming for her.
She heard him pad down the stairs and turn into the formal living room. The heavy drapes displaced air as they dropped back into place, then silence. Not even the brush of denim against legs reached her ears, so she shrieked involuntarily when he yanked back the desk chair and dropped to his heels in front of her.
“Gotcha,” he said with satisfaction and gripped her arm to haul her upright.
Her heart was pounding and electric excitement trickled along her nerves, melting channels in her reserve. She’d forgotten how aroused the sensation of being prey made her. Head held high, she shrugged her jacket from her shoulders, but caught it at her elbows when he held up his hand.
“You have to ask me what I want you to take off, remember?”
Now that he’d prompted her, she did remember. The correction coupled with the reminder of how sexual this game used to be sent heat into her cheeks. “What do you want me to take off?” she said ungraciously.
Arms folded across his chest he looked her over, slow and sure. “Keep going,” he said with a nod at her suit coat.
Her white blouse would flash in the dark rooms like a white surrender flag, and she was beginning to question her assumptions that an office job had tamed Shane. Six years on Wall Street may have narrowed his attention to work and sleep, but the robber pirate blazed under the suit and tie. In jeans and a t-shirt he looked like a guy who’d wade into a street fight for the sheer pleasure of slamming fist into flesh and bone.
With a flickering glance at her breasts, nipples erect against her silk blouse, he handed her his watch and disappeared down the hallway leading to the kitchen. She started the countdown and waited while thirty seconds passed. Her heart pounding in her ears, but it wasn’t enough to dampen the click of a door closing. After the beep she started the second stopwatch to count down the two minutes she had to find him, then slipped into the kitchen, and stopped to listen. All her senses aquiver, she hauled open the door to the basement.
“Ha!” she said as she fisted her hand in his t-shirt and yanked.
He let her pull him off the landing to the basement but didn’t slow his momentum, powering her back into the hallway wall. She gasped when the length of his body, hard and hot, pressed against hers.
“What do you want me to take off?” he asked silkily. The words had a hint of menace to them.
She patted his chest, then shoved him back. “Your shirt,” she said.