No time for speculation, though, when she was up against the clock. Fortunately, she’d had lots of practice dressing quickly for a night on the town; a piece of cake for a California girl familiar with putting herself together in a hurry after a day of surfing. Shower in five minutes, dry her hair in five more, dress in less time depending on her outfit. Makeup—another five. Hell, she even had time to check her e-mail tonight.
Some people, as it turned out, were more competitive than others.
Or perhaps the reward for arriving first was more compelling.
Showered, dressed in black linen slacks, a gray T-shirt, and sandals, and looking sleek and powerful, Rafe was downstairs checking his e-mail when Nicole appeared at the top of the staircase. Sliding his phone back in his pocket, he greeted her with an admiring whistle. “Smoking hot dress. What’s underneath it is even hotter. Every guy in the club is going to want to nail you, myself included.”
“Subtle, Contini.” But Nicole was smiling as she moved down the stairs on silver strappy spike heels. “Your idea of flattery?”
“I’ll flatter you later any way you want.” He took a breath. “Right now, I’m sucking it up ’cause I have to.” His smile was supersweet. “You do look hotter than hell though, tiger.”
She wore a clingy silk metallic dress in silver and azure, with a deep V-neck, little ruffly sleeves, and a gathered bodice that cupped her breasts. “This is my traveling dress. It doesn’t wrinkle in a backpack.”
He frowned slightly. “Do you think you should wear a bra?”
“Can’t with this neckline.”
“Then you’d better stay by my side. Your tits are really out there.” He grunted. “Sure you don’t have something else to wear?”
“Let me check.” She tilted her head sideways for a second. “Nope.”
“I’ll take care of that tomorrow.” His voice was equally succinct. “Right now,” he said, holding out his hand as she reached the bottom of the stairs, “just stay close and I won’t have to punch out anyone.” He nodded toward the door. “The car’s outside.”
“Speaking of taking care of things”—she glanced at him as they moved toward the door—“and I mean it ironically—what’s that box of rope with a Japanese address doing in your dressing room?”
“Someone must have brought it over.” She might have asked him if he thought it might rain from the casualness of his tone. “Where was it? I didn’t see it.”
“In one of the wardrobes.”
He smiled and opened the front door. “Snooping?”
“I was looking for a pair of scissors to trim my bangs.”
His look was mildly inquisitive. “Find any? Thanks, Simon.” He nodded at the driver, who was holding the car door open.
“Yup.” She flipped a finger through her long, jagged bangs. “All fixed.” She waved at Simon as Rafe handed her into the car.
Rafe slid in next to her and the door shut behind him. “Sounds like you’re low maintenance.” He grinned. “Except for your sex addiction.”
“I’m only addicted to you. Not that your vanity needs bolstering, but”—she shrugged—“it’s the truth. So tell me about the rope.”
He checked that the privacy glass was up as Simon pulled away from the house; with Nicole a conversation could turn volatile in seconds. “You didn’t notice I wasn’t answering that question?”
“Of course I did. That’s why I asked again.”
“It’s for sex,” he said simply.
“Duh. And?”
“And some guy in Japan makes the best bondage rope in the world.”
“Really, the world,” she said drily. “You’ve tried them all?”
Wondering for the hundredth time since he’d met her why he found this woman who demanded equality so fascinating, he sighed. “No, I haven’t tried them all. My partner at this club we’re going to has a Japanese father. Tomi lives part of the year in Tokyo and knows this Japanese artisan who makes traditional bondage rope. It’s specially treated hemp that’s soft, doesn’t burn the skin, and holds knots.” He gave her a scrupulously neutral glance. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I mostly wanted to know that you’ve never used it before.”
“Then this is where I say that was my first ever shipment of rope,” he said, without missing a beat because no way he was going down memory lane when it came to his sex practices.
“Goddamn,” she muttered, dropping her head back against the cool leather and shutting her eyes. “Not giving a shit is way easier.”