“Amazing. Almost like he’s got a little bit of dog in him just waiting to come out,” Charlotte says, shaking her head in amusement.
I roll my eyes as the women continue their banter.
“But don’t they all? Men, that is,” Nina says.
Charlotte nods. “Good thing I like dogs.”
“Besides, it was either leash him up, or risk this little hellion breaking all the diamond cases. He’s mellowed over the years though. In a good way,” Nina says, patting me on the cheek. “And he’s mellowing in an even better way now, isn’t he?” she says, directing the last words to Charlotte, who gulps and seems to tense. Her eyes widen, and I freeze.
Shit.
This is it.
This is when Charlotte chokes.
“Wouldn’t you say so?” Nina continues, prompting Charlotte, who’s stock still.
Red starts to streak across her cheeks, and she’s about to word-vomit the truth. To blurt it all out in one big, fat confession tied up with a white bow of ridiculous. She might have aced the jewelry selection, but that was easy for her sparkly, jewel-loving heart. This is the hard part, and it shows. Oh crap, does it show in the terror in her eyes.
Her lips start to move, but no sound comes. I squeeze her hand, a reminder that it’s her turn to speak. But if she can’t form words, I’m going to need to step in. Somehow, she manages a nervous smile, then she winks at Nina, and at last speech returns. “Actually, he’s still a hellion. So if you held onto that leash, I might be able to put it to good use.”
Nina tosses her head back and cackles. She drops a hand on Charlotte’s arm and whispers, “Oh, I do so love the naughty energy of the newly engaged.”
She excuses herself to go check on the ring, and Charlotte shoots me a look. “Thought I was going to blow our cover, didn’t you?”
I hold up my thumb and forefinger. “You were this close to giving it up, weren’t you?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Maybe I wanted you to squirm.”
“You evil woman,” I say with narrowed eyes.
She dances her fingers up my arm. “Or perhaps I was just processing the fantastic image of you being on a leash,” she says, looking like the cat who didn’t just eat the canary, but feasted on the bird’s whole damn family. “You do know that was basically the best ammunition ever that she just dropped in my hand. The Spencer on a Leash tale. But it got even better when she called you a Cocker Spaniel,” she says, the corner of her lips quirking up in a “gotcha” grin.
“What can I say? I guess I was a dog even then.” At least I can breathe easily again.
“Do you still like it? Being walked on a leash?” she says, egging me on.
“Is this your way of asking me to participate in kinky, dirty things?”
“No. It’s my way of asking how far this fantastic story extends so that if I want to mention it while we’re at the bar, or out with Nick or Kristen, or your sister, that I get it right,” she says, miming walking a dog.
But that’s not how I see things going. Not at all. Just so she knows how I like these scenarios to play out, I lean in closer, brush her hair away from her shoulder, and whisper, “If anyone’s getting tied up, it’s you. And it won’t be with a leash. It’ll be with a scarf, or stockings, or that black hot-as-fuck thong you put on because I made you so wet you had to change. I’d wrap it around your wrists, nice and tight, then pin them behind your back until you beg me to touch you.”
Her breath catches.
She trembles, and a shiver runs through her body. She grips the front of my shirt, her fingertips curling around a button. And holy fuck… she likes the idea of being tied up. I can feel it in the air. In the way protons and electrons are buzzing. In the sexual energy that’s radiating off her body.
I inhale.
It smells like chemistry.
And I have no clue what to make of it.
I don’t even know why I just said that, since I’m not supposed to be thinking about screwing her, let alone tying her up.
Good thing Nina returns moments later with the ring. “A rush sizing job for my most special customers,” she says with a smile. Charlotte holds out her hand, and I slide the diamond onto her ring finger, meeting her eyes for a second. I try to read them, to see if she thinks this is as surreal as I do—me, the New York City playboy, putting a ring on it.
Even a temporary one.
Maybe this is weird for her too.
As I study her face, I can’t tell at first from her serious expression how she’s feeling to wear an engagement ring for the first time. Then I see it in her big, brown eyes, as a flicker of sadness passes over them. My heart lurches, and I figure she’s remembering that ten months ago she was about to be engaged to a man who wound up breaking her heart.
Good thing I won’t be the one making her look that way ever. I don’t have the power to hurt her like that.
I drop a quick kiss on her cheek, then hand over my platinum card and spend close to ten thousand dollars on a ring. When we go to work that night, she doesn’t wear it.
CHAPTER TEN
The next afternoon, I’m watching as a little white ball soars high in the air, then lands with a plunk on fake grass about fifteen feet away.
“Dude, you suck,” I tell Nick.
“Well aware of that.”
He grabs another ball, sets it down on the tee, and swings his club. When he makes contact, the ball sails so damn high, it nearly hits the top of the black net, then smacks the long path of green that extends below like a dock over the Hudson River. Two white dinner cruise ships are moored next to the driving range, and nothing but blue skies stretch above us. We’re at Chelsea Piers, where he’s working on his golf game.