Page 32 of Ruthless Love

“True. And the most I know about you is that you love baking.” Austin rests his left arm along the frame of the open window while keeping one hand on the wheel.

“You know I love baking? Sounds like you knew that before you dropped by. Stalk much?”

Sheepish for the first time since I’ve met him, he shrugs. “I used to do surveillance work. Old habits die hard. At least a few times a week, you leave with something delicious looking in your hands. Cake, when I suspect it’s someone’s birthday in the office. Muffins. Bread more often than not. Pie every now and again. I assume you’re taking it to work, but perhaps you’re just taking it for breakfast. Devouring it on your way in.”

“Everyone loves bread, no matter how they deny it. Pies are messy,” I say, quashing another giggle. Wondering just how much surveillance this man has done on me, I ask, “What else?”

Austin rattles off facts about me like he’s giving a briefing. As he does, I glance at him, imagining him standing before a roomful of superiors and subordinates, filling them in on his latest report.

“You leave early, and don’t get home until late. At least, the times I’ve noticed. So, you’re not just a ball-busting corporate lawyer, but a true workaholic. And as if that can’t burn out all that spitfire energy your little body generates, you come home and bake past midnight.” His eyes are kind when he glances at me to ask, “Why?”

Now it’s my turn to shrug as I fiddle with the engagement ring in my pocket. “Baking eases my mind. I bring it into the office because I can’t possibly eat it all.”

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short.” He’s kidding, but his hand covers mine for a second and gives it a light squeeze, then returns to the wheel. “Well, are you ready to have some real fun?”

Eagerly, I nod. Failing to hide my incorrigible smile, I ask, “What did you have in mind?”

“Something you’ll enjoy.” A sudden heat rises up my cheeks when he says, “What you need to get your mind off things is a little rope action.”

And just like that, I’m sure he’s in my head, but I have to clarify. In true Austin form, I repeat his words.

“Rope action?” I say, making sure I heard the man right and that it wasn’t my overstimulated imagination running away with one hell of a wish. Now all I can think of is his naked body taking mine with a whole lot of fetish play.

Smirking, he continues. “Yup. Ropes. Knots. Tying things up really, really tight.” He pops the last t and gives me a seductive stare that’s too good to be true. “But you have to guess.”

Suspicious, I rummage through the possibilities of non-dirty things that could involve rope and California, and somehow I’m positive we’re not going mountain climbing. And I think rope is the wrong term for horse-related gear.

Blowing out a breath, I say, “Let me guess. You’re thinking of something long. Something that glides. And the wetter the better.”

When his smile widens, I know I’ve nailed it, but toss out a few more innuendos for the hell of it. “How about I take the bow thruster. You make sure the spreader supports the mast. I’m sure I could work drive shaft and cunt line into a sentence too if you give me a minute.”

“That won’t be necessary, Evie, though I’m impressed you know so many naughty nautical terms. Do you sail or just collect dirty-sounding phrases, ready to unleash them at the right moment?”

“I’ve always wanted to sail,” I say sincerely as I glance at him, but I don’t go into all the details about why, or tell him about my childhood. If I did, it would sound like the ungrateful rantings of a spoiled brat, so I let it go. “And I collect dirty-sounding phrases. They keep the conversation lively.”

“Speaking of dirty, are you down for conning my cousin out of his black card for the evening?”

“Does a Dom have anal beads?”

“Um, yes?” He looks over, accepting my nod before continuing. “I have a feeling Coop wants time at the house with Margot, and will do anything to get us the hell out of there.”

“What gave it away? Coop’s tongue down Margot’s throat between breaths, or Margot’s inability to unvelcro her crotch from the man long enough to pee?”

“All of the above. So I say we make the most of this once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity.”

“Yes,” I shout to the sky. “I’m going sailing!”

“Sounds like you’ve got a check to make on your bucket list.”

“Which means you have to do something you’ve wanted to do, but never got the chance.”

“Does driving a high-end vintage sports car count?”

“Is it something you actually wanted to do, but never got the chance?”

Reluctantly, he rubs that delectable scruff, and his eyes turn a shade brighter as he looks at me. “No.”

“Then it doesn’t count. Keep thinking, because today will be our Bucket List Bonanza.”

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