All Tied Up
Chloe slid up against Eric’s side, gave him a look from beneath sultry lashes. “Speaking of a matrimonial hook, rumor has it, sugar, that Cathy cut you loose.”
Eric blew out a long tolerant sigh and wrapped a brotherly arm around Chloe’s shoulders. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. Seeing as how this is Macy’s party and I’m working to be on my best behavior here, I’m going to let that one slide.”
Macy wished she could slide. All the way into tomorrow, and forget tonight ever happened. “I’m not sure your behavior’s going to make any difference, since it looks like Macy’s party is now Macy’s bust.”
“Actually,” Chloe began, cutting off Macy’s third-person soliloquy, “five couples won’t be a problem. As long as you play, too.”
“Whoa. Wait. You’re not off any hook yet,” Macy said, but Eric had already scooted out of the kitchen. She turned to Chloe. “What do you mean, five couples? Who’s my extra man?”
“Anton’s not alone. He’s got that lawyer with him.”
The floor beneath Macy’s feet became a hungry black hole. “That lawyer?”
“Uh-huh.” Chloe stepped back to follow Eric into the other room. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah.” Macy turned on the kitchen faucet.
Leo Redding. Here.
In her loft.
With her underthings the length of the building away.
Of all times to be without cleavage. “Let me wash my hands. Tell Lauren I’ll be right there. And whatever you do, Chloe, don’t let Eric escape.”
Chloe leaned around a stack of bright, glossy yellow spheres to watch Eric’s retreat. “He does have a cute butt. I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad to play Jane to his Tarzan act.”
“His Tarzan isn’t an act, Chloe. He’s an alpha of the highest order. Head of the pack and all that psychobabble.”
“Such a shame. Swinging from a vine is so uncivilized. Give me a chandelier any day.” Chloe sighed and, when Macy rolled her eyes, gave a quick flutter of her fingers. “I know, I’m going. And I promise no one will get away.”
Macy shook her head and got back to the business of washing her hands. Chloe, the enigma. The bad girl body, the baby doll face. No wonder Eric had gotten all touchy-feely when Chloe walked into the kitchen.
Men. They all had such one-track libidos. Macy could just imagine Leo Redding’s tongue lolling in Chloe’s direction like some expensive…What breed of dog would an uppity attorney own, anyway?
Whatever the pedigree, because he was definitely pedigreed, he’d pant after Chloe’s cute-toy-poodle personality long before he’d share his bone with Macy, the scruffy rat terrier.
She didn’t care. She didn’t care! Why should she care? It wasn’t like he’d ever offered her more than the time of day.
Leo Redding III, Esquire, had first come into Macy’s life a year ago, during changes to the corporate structure of gIRL-gEAR. Having landed the account through Anton’s connection to Sydney via Lauren, Leo had drawn up the required documents for shareholding and ownership. He’d been a total automaton during the group’s corporate dealings.
Sydney, who seemed his perfect female counterpart, declared him unsuitably career obsessed. Neither Kinsey nor Mel had managed to crack his focused composure. Even Chloe’s cotton-candy Chloe magic had only resulted in Leo removing his pewter-colored wire-rimmed glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. She’d declared him to be a big waste of time.
Macy hadn’t known him well enough to disagree. Things hadn’t changed. One thing she did know was that, along with Eric Haydon, Ray Coffey and Jess Morgan—all gorging on fajitas in the loft’s central room—Leo played on the same adult soccer team as Anton. The soccer team meant Macy had a jackpot of single men to draft into service on game nights.
But this was the first time Leo had come to play.
Oh, and then there was his incredibly acute sense of hearing, and matching sarcastic streak, both traits she’d happened to discover when he’d stopped by the loft with Anton one Saturday morning last fall.
The men had been on their way to a soccer game, and Anton had dropped by for Lauren. As much as Lauren loved cheering on her favorite forward, she hated pacing the sidelines alone, and had begged Macy to come along. And Macy had been tempted.
Like any healthy twenty-five-year-old female, she more than enjoyed spectating when it came to a twenty-two-man testosterone tournament. She’d said as much to Lauren. Said as well that she was glad to be a child of the new millennium, where men were equal opportunity sex objects.
And then she’d made the mistake of glancing across the loft in time to catch Leo’s indulgent expression turn to one of annoyance, insult even.
Humph. Leo, obviously, still lived in the past.
But then, after Macy had dodged Lauren’s bullying, walked the three to the freight elevator and reached for the switch to send the car to the ground, Leo had stepped back into the loft and done it for her.
He’d looked at her, studied her, stared down at her, making one-on-one visual contact for the first time in their brief association.
She hadn’t counted on his eyes. He wore wire-rimmed glasses when working, and Macy had to admit they added a je ne sais quoi to his smoothly urbane image.
But he hadn’t been wearing them that morning. He’d been wearing clear contacts, if any at all, because there was no reproducing that shade of pale, translucent, dollar-bill green.
The worry lines at the corners of his eyes had fanned out toward his temples, his expression one of a man enjoying a private, inside joke. He’d never smiled. To this day Macy didn’t think she’d seen him smile.
But he had parted his lips. And she had responded in kind. His effect was like that, his appeal a powerful weapon. She might not like him much in her mind, but her body didn’t share her mental morals.
Using the tip of one finger, he’d lifted her chin, made sure he had her attention, taken her frantic pulse with the stroke of his thumb. “Macy?”
She’d managed a vague, “Hmm?”
“I know about equal opportunity. I’ve handled a lot of cases, and won more than my share. I’m very good at what I do.” His glittering eyes had promised it was no idle boast.
A true believer, she’d swayed forward a telling fraction.
And he’d backed a step away. “But without evidence of a challenge? I’m not about to waste my time.”
The elevator had returned by then and he’d stepped inside. The doors had closed on his mocking expression. He’d taken the easy way out, leaving her breathless and scrambling for a suitable retort.
Well, Macy wasn’t having any of that tonight. Tonight she was forewarned, and no smooth-talking lawyer would get the best of her. Not again, no sir-ree.
Leo wanted a challenge? She’d give him a challenge.
Because when it came to playing games, she was more than very good.
She was the absolute best.
2
ABANDONING THE SANCTUARY of the kitchen, Macy returned to the loft’s main room. She snatched a shred of lettuce from the floor and tossed it on a stack of plates destined for the trash. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
A collective groan went up and threatened to drown out the techno-pop music vibrating the wall-mounted speakers. Walking by the entertainment center, Macy turned down the volume. She hated having to shout over the music, on top of shouting over nine voices engaged in both conversation and complaint.
With the boom-boom faded to a muted thump-thump, the groans became intelligible protests. None she hadn’t heard before.
“It’s too late. Let’s wait till next weekend.”
“Hey, I’m not finished eating.”
“Anyone want to head down to Karma? I think Azrael’s spinning tonight.”
Macy took the objections in stride and overrode each one. First to Jess. “We can’t wait until next weekend. I’m on deadline.” Next to Anton. “You can eat while you play. The two are not mutually exclusive.”
Finally to Ray. “Karma will still be there when we’re finished here for the night, and Azrael never spins before midnight.” Eric she silenced with only a look. No doubt he was still recovering from Chloe.
And then there was the fifth man, the quiet one, the interloper, whom Macy dodged.
She wasn’t sure why Anton had brought Leo along. Or now that he was here, why he stayed. Participation was mandatory for all who set foot inside the loft on game night.
And no matter how hard she tried, or how many times, she could not picture Leo Redding playing her game, her way. Not with all that starch in his collar. Not even on a dare.
He sat sprawled in the huge armchair upholstered in yellow-and-red plaid. But his posture was deceptive, his thoughts clearly focused elsewhere. More than likely on one of his challenging equal-opportunity cases.
Macy enjoyed a private smirk. He had no idea what sort of challenge was about to land in his lap. He’d be leaving here tonight with a new respect for fun and games. If he could actually enjoy himself with a noose around his neck.
It was Saturday night. It was party time. He wore a white dress shirt and, admittedly, a fairly fashionable tie. But it was still a tie. And it was still knotted.
His slacks were dark gray dress wool and neatly pressed, his shoes black tasseled wing tips. Tonight he wore his glasses, the rims serving to emphasize his incredible light-green eyes.
So much for her smirk, she thought, pulling, instead, a grimace. This was not a good start to the evening, noticing his every male detail when she shouldn’t be noticing him as anything but a piece of data by which to measure the success of her game.
“Uh, Macy?” Lauren edged up to Macy’s side, pulling her away from the gathered group, who’d long since quit paying attention. “This bunch is off in the ozone. If you launch your game idea now, you’ll be talking to the wind.”
“So I noticed.” Whatever was in the air tonight could’ve picked a better time to blow. It wasn’t like she was on deadline or anything.
Lauren twisted the cap from her bottle of water, twisted her mouth as she thought. “You’ve got to get their attention. I was thinking maybe…Spin the Webb?”
Macy’s version of Spin the Bottle had never failed to perk up audience interest in the past. Of course, there was the small matter of who to ensnare….
“You know, Lauren, I like the way you think.” Macy pushed her best friend back to the center of the group, all of whom looked more interested in sleeping off the evening’s food and drink than anything she had to say.
Lauren clapped her hands. “Okay, gang. Before Macy tests her newest gIRL gAMES creation on all of us, it’s time for the evening’s first act. Her famous version of Spin the Bottle. Better known as Spin the Webb!”
While Macy attempted a pirouette on the toe of one clunky leather clog, Lauren frowned and patted pockets she didn’t have. “Uh, Mace. I don’t have anything to use for a blindfold.”
Macy twirled to a stop and did a visual search of the room. She gave serious consideration to volunteering Leo Redding’s tie, but decided she might need it later for bondage, uh, leverage.
“No problem. I’ll cover my eyes with my hands.”
That, of course, started another round of mouthy macho maneuvering.
“How fair is that?”
“Yeah. How do we know you won’t peek?”
“Foul! Foul!”
After peering through spread fingers to stare down both Ray and Jess, Macy turned to the last bellyacher, who was sprawled across two of the sofa’s three cushions. “Watch it, Eric. Or Lauren might accidentally spin me into your lap, right on top of your shrimp.”
Eric frowned. “Hey, hey. Watch out who you’re calling a shrimp.”
“I’m talking about the fajitas, you goober.”
“Hey, hey. Watch out who you’re calling a peanut.”
“Pillow, please,” Macy called to Sydney Ford, who’d settled into the heap of mismatched bolsters and cushions cozily stacked against the corner of the entertainment center.
Sydney chose a goldfish-shaped throw pillow, started to pass it over the back of the sofa to Macy, but changed her mind. Instead, she got to her feet and tossed not one, not two, but pillow after cushion after sham in Eric’s direction.
Chloe and Melanie cheered her on, then jumped up and pitched in until all that was left visible of Eric were his feet, his knees and one hand. That hand he used to reach out and grab the rear pocket on Sydney’s long narrow denim skirt. He pulled her over the back of the sofa and down.
With a yelp, she tumbled into his lap. Anton chose that moment to start up the music, a sexy, heavy-breathing number that sent Sydney into a scramble away from Eric, who’d started to bump and grind beneath the heap.
Turning to Macy, Lauren asked, “Who invited him, anyway?” And Macy could only roll her eyes.
“Attention, people.” Lauren clapped her hands again. “The time has arrived for one of you to test your powers of self-preservation while our resident spider weaves her web. For those of you unfamiliar with the rules—Leo—don’t despair. All you have to do is resist her demands.”
“Easy enough,” said the bane of Macy’s evening.
She didn’t even bother acknowledging his insult. She was not about to give him an edge when she had a game to win.
“For any of you thinking of cutting out early, we have a special incentive for you to keep your butts parked exactly where they are.” Lauren’s announcement served its purpose. The gang perked up. “But I’ll let Sydney do the honors.”
Sydney, being the perfectionist she was, checked for misbehaving strands of hair and smoothed both her narrow denim skirt and burgundy silk tank before she spoke.
“A week or so ago, Macy warned me that this month’s game was more involved than previous versions. So I decided to add a participation incentive.”
“Incentive?” Eric stuffed an extra-large red corduroy bolster behind his head and laced his hands together in his lap. “You mean bribe, right?”
“Bribe, bonus, compensation, prize. Whatever. I think it’ll be worth your time to pay attention.”
“That means shut the hell up, Haydon.” Egged on by jeers and wolf whistles, Ray did little more than wink and return the floor to Sydney.
Daring anyone else to interrupt, she took a deep breath. “Here’s my winner-take-all deal. My father, who many of you know, has made me an offer I should refuse. But I won’t.”
Macy waited for reactions as the out-of-left-field comment sank in. She wasn’t disappointed. Those who’d met Nolan Ford were curious, and said so. Those who hadn’t still wanted to hear what the millionaire venture capitalist had to do with the evening’s game.
“Nolan’s going to pay us to play?” Anton made the crack while sorting through Macy’s CDs.
“No,” Sydney answered. “But he’s selling his ketch and giving me the final week to use it. Full crew of sailors included.”
“What I want to do is donate the week to the winner, who is then welcome to choose a destination, within reason, and take along as many guests as the yacht can handle.”
Anton applauded. “All right, Sydney.”
“Oh, my God! Are you kidding?” Melanie’s eyes grew wide.
And at that, Macy leaned over and kissed Sydney’s cheek. When she smiled in response, Macy wrapped an arm around the other woman’s shoulders and whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”
Pressing her forehead to Macy’s, Sydney returned the hug. “Yes. I do. You know how things are with Nolan.”
Macy had more to say, but now wasn’t the time. She left Sydney with another quick peck and addressed the crowd.
“Hey, people. No one is going to be sailing anywhere if I don’t get my way. Anton.” Macy pointed, and he pumped up the volume. “Lauren.” Lauren held Macy by the shoulders and, once Macy had covered her eyes, twirled her to the rhythm of the beat.
Macy barely had time to decide what she was going to ask from Leo before she was pulled to a stop, turned to the right, then back to a stumbling, feet-tangling left.
A deep breath and…it was time.
She lifted her chin, ran her fingers into her hair, her tongue over her lips. Then, with her imagination wearing the underthings she’d failed to wash in time for her body to wear, she looked Leo Redding in the eye.
Big mistake. Big, big mistake.
She’d forgotten about his eyes. How he seemed to see more than a near stranger should see. How what he saw was intimate, private, not at all what she wanted to reveal.
With each step she took toward him, her pulse quickened.
At every bluesy note, her heart beat harder.
From the roots of her hair to the tip of her toes, her blood ran hot, raising a flush on her skin. Leo never looked away, stirring her further. Macy would swear she felt her nostrils flare.
And then she knew what she wanted. To see him smile. To make him smile. As much to prove that she could, that she possessed the stronger will and the necessary feminine wiles, as to add fuel to the fire of her fantasy.
Having drawn even with his widespread knees, she wedged her legs between, leaned forward and planted both hands on the flat arms of the chair. The tips of her fingers brushed the insides of his elbows. His only move was to reach up and remove his glasses.
She angled in closer, lifted one hand and touched a finger to his cheek. “I want you to do something for me.”
Leo raised a brow. In the background, an anonymous hand clapped to Eric’s mouth muffled a smart remark. Macy gathered her wits and her courage and climbed into Leo’s long-legged lap.
“I want you to smile. Can you do that? Can you smile for me, Leo Redding?”
Moving even nearer, she twisted around and settled her seat in the natural dip of his thighs, draped her legs over the arm of the chair, her elbow crooked around his shoulders.
He smelled wonderfully warm and male, and she snuggled up to his body, which felt…oh, he felt like nothing she’d ever known.
His legs beneath her bottom were hard. His belly at her hip was hard. The muscles across his shoulders were solid and hard beneath her forearm. Even the hand, the very large hand resting on her shins, was a study in masculine strength.
Lips parted in seductive invitation, she stroked an index finger over Leo’s cheek and shivered at the prickle of evening beard. She trailed the same finger down a path to his collar, worked loose the knot on his tie.
“C’mon, Leo. I know you can smile. You’ve got all the right muscles.” She toyed with the top button of his shirt, poking the bare tip of her finger beneath the placket to his collarbone.
Still no response. Nada. Nothing. Ignoring the murmurs of the audience, she whispered directly into his ear. “I’ll make it easy on you. A quick grin and we’ll call it a night.”
She pulled back to look at his face, expecting a gradual capitulation. But no, he was stoic to the core. It was time to get down and dirty.
Pouting always worked for Chloe, so Macy gave it a try at the same time she lightly touched her thumb to the edge of Leo’s mouth, drawing the corner upward.
No reaction. Macy held back a scream.
She plied her final weapon, running her fingertips in feathery movements over his tightly drawn lips, begging, with her mouth only inches away, “One smile. Please?”
And then she felt it. A shift. A change. A flare and a flash in Leo’s eyes, and a new sense of his body hardening beneath hers.
A part of her wanted to extricate herself from both his lap and a situation as awkward as any she could recall sharing with a man. A part of her wanted to wiggle, to experience and explore this private intimacy.
She managed, instead, to sit very still and avoid disclosing to the rest of the room what was now so impressively, so solidly pressed to the back of her thighs.
Leo reached for her wrist, removed her motionless fingers from his lips. She blinked slowly and smiled, a smile meant for Leo only, Leo alone. She wanted him to know that, between the two of them, they’d get out of this with no bloodshed, go on to live another day.
And then the man blew the wind from her sails.
He smiled.
Not a humorless grin. Not a slight curl of his lip. Not a sneer or a snarl, but an ear-to-ear, start-my-heart-beating smile. Yet that wasn’t the worst part. The best part. The worst. Because once he’d released her wrist and she’d made ready to hop up from the chair, he cupped the back of her head.
And he kissed her.
Oh, hallelujah, the man could kiss. He tasted like beer and smoky barbecue and a man aroused, and she was starving. She couldn’t get enough when he teased her mouth with the tip of his tongue, rubbed his lips softly, then roughly, over hers.
It was a complicated kiss, meant for show and to prove that he was not relinquishing the win. Mentally, she fought back. Physically, she surrendered.
Desire took full advantage, reaching between her legs to remind her how long it had been, how good it could be. Oh, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
She silently grimaced and broke the kiss—to cheers and applause and ear-piercing whistles. She pulled back far enough to meet Leo’s gaze.
His mouth was slightly reddened and still smiling. But his eyes sparkled with fireworks that were less a celebration and more a signal of an incoming salvo.
Hey, now. She wasn’t the one who’d done all the kissing, much less the one who’d started it. The seduction she’d admit to, and she was willing to be a big girl and swallow her medicine. But she would not take all of the blame.
She shoved a hand back through her hair and kept her voice low when she said, “I’d say that makes me the winner.”
Leo chuckled—a sound deep in his chest that rumbled through his muscles, through his bones and into Macy’s body. “The winner? You’re kidding, right?”
Hmm. That wasn’t what she’d expected. “Why would you think I’m kidding? I got what I wanted, didn’t I? You did smile.”
“No. You got what I let you have.” His smile had totally vanished. “I got what I wanted.”
Is that so, Mr. Hotshot, Esquire? “And what was it that you wanted?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Macy’s subtle shift of weight prompted a convincing surge of pressure beneath her thighs. “Yes. It is. Quite obvious, as a matter of fact.”
Holding his gaze, she waited until the gleam in his own turned smug. She would never let this man have the last word—or the upper hand—again. No matter how strong the physical pull heightening every one of her senses.
With a pat delivered to the center of his chest, Macy hopped off the hot seat. “Unfortunately, Leo, the obvious isn’t…well, much of a challenge, if you know what I mean. Sorry, but I just don’t think I’m interested.”
Watching Leo’s startled disbelief fade into grudging respect, Macy turned quickly, lest the moment be spoiled.
No sense wondering if her fleeting triumph was worth the promise of retribution she’d just seen in his eyes.
THE FAJITAS WERE HISTORY and the conversation had returned to a low drone by the time Leo Redding recovered. He didn’t think he’d given up such an inappropriate hard-on his entire adult life.
And Macy Webb wasn’t even his type. His reaction had to be rooted, so to speak, in that very contradiction. She wasn’t what he was used to, so in effect, he was responding to the mystery of the unknown.
She had this mass of unruly hair, a dark caramel-brown color, streaked to vanilla cream on either side of her face. It was short, hitting her neck between the base of her skull and her shoulders and causing a riot around her heart-shaped face. Last year, when he’d seen her that first time in his office, he’d thought she’d been working on dreadlocks.
But tonight his fingers had slid through the strands without hitting a single snarl. The entire wild-child look was one-hundred-percent natural. He hadn’t expected that, any more than he’d expected her eyes to be so clear, so golden. So compelling and candidly open.
Her weight was as substantial as a miniature marshmallow. But the soft press of her bottom had been plenty enough to get a rise out of his, uh, lap. That and the curve of her mouth. She knew how to kiss, how to use her lips. His primitive side had imagined hearing the slide of his zipper, feeling the slide of her tongue.