I don’t think …
I realize the words are only in my head and try again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s an extremely good idea. Hell, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since I put you in that limo. Touching you again. Stroking you. Kissing you.”
I squirm, determined to hold it together. But I am weak and well-liquored, and my determination is fraying around the edges.
“Tell me you haven’t thought of it, too.”
“I haven’t,” I say.
“Don’t lie to me, Nikki. That’s rule number one. Never lie to me.”
Rules?
“Is this a game?” I ask.
“Isn’t everything?”
I don’t answer.
“Simon Says, Nikki. Have you played before?” His soft voice is like a caress.
“Yes.”
“Is the privacy screen in place?”
I glance up. I’m at the very back of a very long limo. I can see the driver in the front, his shoulders in the black jacket, the stark white of his shirt collar. He has reddish hair, mostly hidden by a black cap. It seems to me that he is a million miles away. But he’s not, he’s right there, probably listening to every word we’ve been saying.
“He’s very discreet,” Damien says, as if reading my thoughts. “But why torment the man? The silver button on the console behind you controls the screen. Do you see it?”
I twist around and see a bank of buttons set into the paneling behind me. “Yes.”
“Push it.”
“You didn’t say Simon says.”
His low chuckle delights me.
“Good girl. Are you suggesting you’d rather leave it down? Think before you answer, Nikki. For what I have planned, most women would like some privacy.”
I lick my lips. If I push that button I’m saying yes to so much more than the damn screen.
Do I want that? He’s talking about seeing me naked. About touching me. About kissing me. About running his fingers over my skin.
I rest my finger lightly on the button, remembering the feel of his hand. Remembering how I almost let him get too close, how I almost revealed too much.
But he’s not in the car. I can do this. I can lose myself to the champagne and the night and the allure of Damien Stark.
But am I leading him on? Making him think that fantasy will become reality?
I swallow again, because I don’t care. I want the release. I want this man’s voice in my head and the fantasy of his hands on my body. He’ll deal. He has rules? Screw that. Right now, I’m making my own damn rules.
I press the button.
Slowly, the privacy screen rises, and I’m alone in the luxurious comfort of Damien Stark’s stretch limo. “It’s up,” I say, but my voice is so soft I’m not certain he heard it.
“Take off your panties.”
Apparently he heard it.
“What if I told you I already did?”
“I’m in public, Ms. Fairchild. Don’t torment me.”
“You’re tormenting me,” I retort.
“Good. Now take them off.”
I lift my skirt and slide my panties down. My shoes are already off, so it’s easy. I leave them on the seat beside me.
“They’re off,” I say. And then, because I’m making this into my fantasy, too, “I’m wet.”
His low groan sends a spark of satisfaction running through me. “No talking,” he says. “And no touching. Not unless I tell you to. That’s the game, Nikki. You do what I say, and only what I say. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
“Yes, sir,” he corrects. His voice is gentle, but firm.
Sir?
I say nothing.
“Or I can simply hang up.” His voice is hard, but I think I hear triumph. I frown, because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning this battle, but I also don’t want the game to end. And I’m certain Mr. Nice to Ice means what he says.
I swallow my pride. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. You want me, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”