The Exposure
Page 22
“You sound sure of yourself, Mr. DeVaan.”
“I like it when you call me Mr. DeVaan.” His hold on her waist grew rougher. “And I—”
“Meagan Bishop, you sly dog. Who do we have here?”
Meagan held back a sigh and turned toward the office flirt. “Robin, this is my old friend Luke DeVaan. Luke, this is—”
“Robin Skye.” The petite woman with curly hair the color of wet sand held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s mine.”
“Not yet, but the night is young.”
Meagan coughed. Robin batted her lashes. Luke looked faintly amused.
Meagan was getting ready to suggest to Luke that they go get a drink when a server came by with a tray of shrimp. Robin picked one up and held it up to Luke’s lips with her other hand cradled underneath. To the casual observer, she would appear to be preventing spills, but in reality, she was probably getting ready to touch him the minute he opened his mouth.
“Want a bite?” she asked in a way that suggested she was offering a whole lot more.
Meagan felt certain if she looked in a mirror, she’d have steam coming out of her ears. Seriously? Was the woman drunk or just immature and stupid? And Luke, what the hell was going through his mind?
“No, thank you.” He turned his head, his voice flat. “Shellfish allergy. Though I would love a glass of wine.” He held out a hand to Meagan. “Come with me?”
She placed her hand in his and heard his sigh of relief as Robin headed for her next victim.
“Damn, Meagan. Who are these people you work with?” he asked as they approached the bar. “First the man with the easy lips and then the woman with the easy everything else.”
“Television’s a weird business.”
“I run multiple kink clubs. Television isn’t weird—it’s borderline harassment.”
“Guy was just being charming. Robin is . . . well, Robin.”
He didn’t say anything else about the guests. He ordered two glasses of wine, passed one to Meagan, and downed his own in three gulps.
And she’d thought the dinner would be stuffy and boring.
“Want another?” Meagan asked him, eyeing the empty wineglass, barely able to keep the laughter from her voice.
“No, I’m good now.”
* * *
Damn, but he had anticipated a much quieter evening. Between the man who obviously had eyes for Meagan to the petite woman who’d made no doubt about how much she wanted him, the night was shaping up to be interesting.
“What time are we actually eating?” he asked.
There were tables set up in the back of the restaurant. From where he stood, it appeared there were name cards at each seat. He never understood why people thought name cards were necessary. Weren’t they all adults? Couldn’t they be trusted to pick out their own seats?
Meagan looked at her watch. “Probably in about thirty minutes.”
“Did you tell anyone I was coming as your guest?”
“No.”
He groaned inwardly. “Great.”
“What?”
“The tables have name cards. If you didn’t tell anyone I was coming, I either don’t have a seat or I’m seated next to her.” He smiled over at Robin, who was watching them. She lifted her hand and waved.
“Truly a fate worse than death,” Meagan said in a deadpan voice.
“Sweetheart, if I didn’t want to sit next to you at dinner, I wouldn’t have agreed to come tonight.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week—don’t pawn me off.”
She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He told himself it was probably the alcohol, though really, she’d had only the one glass.
“I have an idea,” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“Let’s leave.”
“Before dinner?” At her nod, he replied, “Scandalous.”
She opened her eyes. “I’m game if you are.”
“Think anyone will miss us?”
“Robin.”
“Let’s go.”
She giggled and he took her hand as they made their way to pick up her coat.
“You aren’t really allergic to shellfish, are you?” she asked.
They stepped outside and he helped her slip her arms into the sleeves. “No, it just seemed to be the quickest way to get rid of her. Most people aren’t going to argue with a food allergy.”
“Quick thinking on your part.”
“Speaking of quick thinking, we need to eat. Let’s grab something quick and eat it in the park.”
“A picnic in Central Park?” She raised her eyebrow. “Dressed like this?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He knew that’d get her. She threw him an I know what you’re doing look, but replied, “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent. I know just the place. It’s right off West Fifty-seventh, not far from here.”
Tucking her arm against him, they started off. But, of course, she was full of questions.
“Are we going to sit on the ground? I really don’t want to get all dirty. Should we get a blanket? Where can we find one? Maybe we just skip the picnic and go back to your place. You still wanted to fit a session in today, right?”
He pulled her out of the flow of pedestrian traffic and brought them both to a halt. “Meagan. This is supposed to be fun. Stop stressing out about it and leave the details to me. All the details. To me.” She started to say something, but he hushed her by bringing a finger up to her lips. “I mean it. I’ll take you over my knee right here.”
“I like it when you call me Mr. DeVaan.” His hold on her waist grew rougher. “And I—”
“Meagan Bishop, you sly dog. Who do we have here?”
Meagan held back a sigh and turned toward the office flirt. “Robin, this is my old friend Luke DeVaan. Luke, this is—”
“Robin Skye.” The petite woman with curly hair the color of wet sand held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s mine.”
“Not yet, but the night is young.”
Meagan coughed. Robin batted her lashes. Luke looked faintly amused.
Meagan was getting ready to suggest to Luke that they go get a drink when a server came by with a tray of shrimp. Robin picked one up and held it up to Luke’s lips with her other hand cradled underneath. To the casual observer, she would appear to be preventing spills, but in reality, she was probably getting ready to touch him the minute he opened his mouth.
“Want a bite?” she asked in a way that suggested she was offering a whole lot more.
Meagan felt certain if she looked in a mirror, she’d have steam coming out of her ears. Seriously? Was the woman drunk or just immature and stupid? And Luke, what the hell was going through his mind?
“No, thank you.” He turned his head, his voice flat. “Shellfish allergy. Though I would love a glass of wine.” He held out a hand to Meagan. “Come with me?”
She placed her hand in his and heard his sigh of relief as Robin headed for her next victim.
“Damn, Meagan. Who are these people you work with?” he asked as they approached the bar. “First the man with the easy lips and then the woman with the easy everything else.”
“Television’s a weird business.”
“I run multiple kink clubs. Television isn’t weird—it’s borderline harassment.”
“Guy was just being charming. Robin is . . . well, Robin.”
He didn’t say anything else about the guests. He ordered two glasses of wine, passed one to Meagan, and downed his own in three gulps.
And she’d thought the dinner would be stuffy and boring.
“Want another?” Meagan asked him, eyeing the empty wineglass, barely able to keep the laughter from her voice.
“No, I’m good now.”
* * *
Damn, but he had anticipated a much quieter evening. Between the man who obviously had eyes for Meagan to the petite woman who’d made no doubt about how much she wanted him, the night was shaping up to be interesting.
“What time are we actually eating?” he asked.
There were tables set up in the back of the restaurant. From where he stood, it appeared there were name cards at each seat. He never understood why people thought name cards were necessary. Weren’t they all adults? Couldn’t they be trusted to pick out their own seats?
Meagan looked at her watch. “Probably in about thirty minutes.”
“Did you tell anyone I was coming as your guest?”
“No.”
He groaned inwardly. “Great.”
“What?”
“The tables have name cards. If you didn’t tell anyone I was coming, I either don’t have a seat or I’m seated next to her.” He smiled over at Robin, who was watching them. She lifted her hand and waved.
“Truly a fate worse than death,” Meagan said in a deadpan voice.
“Sweetheart, if I didn’t want to sit next to you at dinner, I wouldn’t have agreed to come tonight.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week—don’t pawn me off.”
She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He told himself it was probably the alcohol, though really, she’d had only the one glass.
“I have an idea,” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“Let’s leave.”
“Before dinner?” At her nod, he replied, “Scandalous.”
She opened her eyes. “I’m game if you are.”
“Think anyone will miss us?”
“Robin.”
“Let’s go.”
She giggled and he took her hand as they made their way to pick up her coat.
“You aren’t really allergic to shellfish, are you?” she asked.
They stepped outside and he helped her slip her arms into the sleeves. “No, it just seemed to be the quickest way to get rid of her. Most people aren’t going to argue with a food allergy.”
“Quick thinking on your part.”
“Speaking of quick thinking, we need to eat. Let’s grab something quick and eat it in the park.”
“A picnic in Central Park?” She raised her eyebrow. “Dressed like this?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He knew that’d get her. She threw him an I know what you’re doing look, but replied, “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent. I know just the place. It’s right off West Fifty-seventh, not far from here.”
Tucking her arm against him, they started off. But, of course, she was full of questions.
“Are we going to sit on the ground? I really don’t want to get all dirty. Should we get a blanket? Where can we find one? Maybe we just skip the picnic and go back to your place. You still wanted to fit a session in today, right?”
He pulled her out of the flow of pedestrian traffic and brought them both to a halt. “Meagan. This is supposed to be fun. Stop stressing out about it and leave the details to me. All the details. To me.” She started to say something, but he hushed her by bringing a finger up to her lips. “I mean it. I’ll take you over my knee right here.”
