Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [16]
If only it had felt that way, too, it would be a lot easier to resist the odd temptation.
As it was, well . . . she hadn’t contemplated it yet today. She’d certainly remembered it. She’d certainly felt alive and energetic—and creative!—today. But she hadn’t thought to the future, to what would happen now. Maybe she just hadn’t let herself.
And now that she was mulling it over, she simply didn’t know the answer.
Too hot from the robe, that fast, she untied the belt and let the terry cloth fall from her shoulders. Extracting her arms, she pulled at the black ribbon to untie the rather titillating package.
Inside, atop black tissue paper lay a white card.
For tonight. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late, honey.
Oh God. It wasn’t from Monica. It was from him!
Swallowing her shock, she cautiously folded back the tissue paper, gasping at what she saw inside. A black velvet corset. Black lace-top stockings. And a purple vibrator shaped like a penis, the likes of which she’d seen only on the one occasion Monica had dragged her into a sex shop. “Oh, dear God,” she murmured.
Without another thought, she set the box aside, shot to her feet, and took the few short steps to the computer. Since he’d told her to change her screen name, she pulled up her usual IM identity—which she used mostly with Monica—Riley.
RILEY: Are you there? This is Laura, your houseguest.
She wasn’t sure yet exactly what she was going to say to him, but it leaned toward letting him know he’d gone too far, and wondering how the hell he’d gotten the package to her so quickly, and telling him she was not going to . . . to . . . use a sexual device while he watched!
FLYBOY1: Good morning, snowflake.
What? RILEY: Snowflake?
FLYBOY1: Just noticed them on your pajamas the other night, that’s all. Before you opened them, I mean. Then I quit noticing anything but you. ;) Who’s Riley?
RILEY: The main character in my books. FLYBOY1: Are you her?
RILEY: No. Not really. But after a sigh, honesty made her add: Well, okay, yes, I guess we do have a lot in common.
FLYBOY1: Then I’m sorry I’ve never read your books. What are they about? I know you write mysteries, but that’s all. What’s Riley’s story?
Geez, of all the times for him to get inquisitive on a subject other than sex. He’d managed to totally distract her from her purpose.
RILEY: Riley is a part-time secretary at a private investigations firm by day, but an amateur sleuth by night. She wants desperately to hang up her sensible pumps and be a real detective, but no one in her town takes her seriously or will give her a chance. So she sets about solving mysteries in order to prove herself, but every time she solves one, someone else gets the credit. Her Aunt Mimsey is the only other person who realizes how smart she is, but Aunt Mimsey is kind of dotty, so no one believes her when she sings Riley’s detecting praises. Riley’s only real satisfaction comes from convincing herself she’s a good detective despite what everyone thinks and looking forward to trying to prove it to them next time.
FLYBOY1: Wow. So does this mean you’re a detective?
RILEY: No, that’s not the part we have in common.
FLYBOY1: Then what DO you have in common?
Laura considered her answer. She’d never actually examined this before right now. RILEY: Well, Riley and I are both smart, sensible, and generally pretty conservative. Which brings me back to why I IMed you. I just got a delivery here.
FLYBOY1: Ah. That was quick.
She let out a heavy breath. That’s all he had to say? Well, she’d just go with the flow, especially since that was one of her questions. RILEY: I’ll say. How the hell did you DO that?
FLYBOY1: Simple, really. An online catalog for a place in Denver, and a phone call. It’s called same-day delivery, honey.
RILEY: That usually costs an arm and a leg. FLYBOY1: I have a lot of money. What did you think of the gift?
She hesitated. A minute ago she’d been overcome