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“Exactly. You’re my datefor the evening.” After a long silence, he added, softer, “I wantyou to come home with me tonight.”
“I stay here every night,”I reminded him, only paying half-attention.
“I know.” He seemed to havetrouble finding the right words. “You’re free to do whatever youwant while you’re here.”
“I know.” I rummagedthrough my makeup bag for my eyeliner.
“But tonight…”
“Be with you?” I supplied.“Don’t run off to a lube orgy?”
I thought he might correctme on the schedule of events again, but he gave a relieved sigh.“Exactly.”
“You didn’t think I wasgoing to abandon you at your birthday party, did you?” Of course,maybe I shouldn’t have assumed he would want me clinging to him allnight. “On the other hand, you have all these friendscoming—”
“And you’re the only one Iwant to spend the evening with.”
I slicked a line of blackabove my lashes and tried to ignore the longing that was apparentin his voice. “Your other friends have traveled a long way for youto ignore them.”
He chuckled. “I’m not goingto ignore them. But they don’t need me to have funhere.”
“And you?” I asked,finishing the other eye and turning to face him. “You need me tohave fun here?”
“I think so. I think youmight be a requirement.”
My stomach dropped and Iturned away so he couldn’t see the panic that I knew would show onmy face.This is going too far. Any minutenow, you’re going to disappoint him.
“I’ll wait for you in thebedroom,” he said, backing toward the door. “Take yourtime.”
I did take my time,partially because it was difficult to do one’s makeup with shakinghands, partially because I needed to think. This was supposed to bea fun, sexy time. No strings. But the threads were there, brushingat the edges of whatever we had, trying to close up a seam andstitch us together. I needed scissors.
But what was the harm ingoing to his birthday party as his younger, attractive arm candy? Ididn’t get shown off much and it was flattering to think someonewould want to, even if it felt date-like. It didn’t mean we weredating.
I finished up my face andused a shade of lip gloss close to the color of the ribbon on my“outfit.” Then I pulled my nightgown over my head and stood nakedin front of the mirror, trying not to criticize the new freckles onmy shoulders and chest brought out by the Caribbean sun.
The appropriate hairstyle,I assumed, was a ponytail Matt could grab onto. Not a sloppy, quickone like I’d been wearing; I used my brush and hairspray to make asleek, high ponytail worthy of a music video. I even wrapped apiece of my hair around to hide the elastic band. I surveyed theresults of my efforts, deemed myself worthy of being arm candy, andwent to the bedroom.
Matt was getting dressed; asharp black tuxedo jacket lay across the bed, and he stood with hisback to me, buttoning the sleeves of his white shirt. I cleared mythroat, and he turned, stopped, and looked me up and down without aword. Finally, he grinned and said one word: “Perfect.”
I went to the bed andpicked up the plug, toying with the huge bow attached to it. “Inever thought of these as a fashion accessory before.”
“Fashion accessory,safeguard, same thing,” he said cheerfully, and went to the bedsidetable.
“Safeguard?”
He nodded, taking a bottleof lube from the drawer. “Against accidental penetration. You saidyou weren’t ready for it at the orgy, but someonetried.”
“And was very respectfulwhen I declined,” I made sure to add. “What about non-accidentalpenetration?”
His eyebrows rose.
“Itisyour birthday. And I said I wanted to try it.” I swung theplug by its ribbon. “Will this be enough to get meready?”
“Hardly,” he said, histhroat moving as he swallowed. “But if you really wantedto—”
“Give you my ass for yourbirthday?” A little thrill of horny bravery went through me. “Isn’tthat a good enough present?”
He jerked a thumb over hisshoulder. “We could always cancel—”