“Dare.”
“We’re in a restaurant,” he said, pouring the last of the crackers into his bowl.
Georgia nodded. “Be creative.”
Chapter Seven
ERIC HEARD THOSE words and knew he should walk away. But desire mixed with that one word. Dare. His imagination ran in ten different directions. The things he wanted to do to her, the places he wanted to see his hands move over her body, and hers over his, raced through his mind. It was like watching a highlight reel of his sexual fantasies.
But this wasn’t about him.
Eric leaned across the table, keeping his voice low even though he’d demanded a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, just in case having others around them set off warning bells in her head. “I dare you to tell me your fantasies.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “A dare is supposed to be an action.”
He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Feel free to demonstrate.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she planned to take him up on his offer. If her fantasies were anything like his, a little show-and-tell would draw unwanted attention. And it might get them arrested.
She cocked her head as if debating which path to choose. Part of him screamed demonstrate. He could afford the bail.
“Are you done with your chowder?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Get the check,” she said. “I’ll tell you while we walk along the beach. Your condo isn’t far from here, right?”
“Five minutes on foot.” Eric withdrew his wallet and dropped a pile of bills on the table, more than enough to cover the meal and tip. “Let’s go.”
Watching her slide from the booth and head for the exit, knowing where this was headed when they reached the shore, the last shreds of his self-restraint snapped. It was as if he was waiting for her towel to drop again, unwilling to look away.
Eric followed her out the door and down the old wooden steps to the beach. Silently, they walked side by side. He couldn’t touch her. Not yet. This wasn’t a sweet stroll by the shore, hand in hand. One touch would set him on fire. He had a feeling it would do the same for her.
The sun was inching lower and lower in the sky, but it was still too bright. And even when it fell below the horizon, the lights from the condo buildings and hotels lining the shore would cast a soft glow over the beach, bright enough to illuminate two people stripping down in the sand.
Twenty paces from the Clam Shack, alone on the shore except for a man tossing a tennis ball for his dog, Eric leaned over, careful not to touch his lips to her ear. “Start talking, Georgia.”
“My fantasies?”
He nodded. “Tell me. I dare you.”
She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, and her eyes focused on the sand in front of her, as if she were doing her best not to step on shells or debris. In the dimming light, he couldn’t read her expression.
“You’re my fantasy,” she said.
Eric stopped short, her words hitting him in the gut. He’d been waiting for her to describe something kinky and wild. “Georgia—”
“I don’t mean wedding bells.” She paused beside him and looked up, meeting his gaze.
“When I lie in the dark at night, I dream about watching you strip out of one of your suits,” she continued, her voice barely audible over the rush of the waves.
Eric stepped closer, unwilling to miss a single word. But he kept his hands fisted at his sides.
“I picture you moving toward me as you undo each button, the way your muscles shift when you pull your undershirt over your head. Once you’re naked, I imagine your hands reaching for me, slowly peeling off my clothes,” she said, her voice low and husky. With each word, the sun dipped lower, further cocooning them in darkness. “Pulling away the layers quickly. No hesitation. And then, you’d touch me.”
“Where?” he demanded. “Show me.”
There was just enough light to see her fingers trace a slow path from her collarbone, over the edge of her shirt to between her breasts.
“Here.” Her hand moved to her right breast, his eyes tracking her movements. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, she palmed the flesh he was dying to touch, lifting it as if she were imagining him testing the weight and fullness.
“Would I stop there?” His words were a near whisper.
“No.”
He glanced up at her face, barely visible now in the dim light. “Tell me, Georgia.”
“In my fantasies, you’re very talented with your mouth. I’ve spent years wondering what if would feel like to have your tongue trailing down over my stomach, to have you on your knees, moving lower and lower.”
The crash of a wave punctuated her sentence. Eric closed his eyes, tempted to rush into the water and escape the mental picture of Georgia’s legs spread wide and his mouth teasing the soft folds that he’d watched her explore with her own hands.
“Is that detailed enough for you?” she asked.
“Yes.” He heard the rough edge in his voice. He raised his hands, reaching for her. But she danced away. Hell, maybe she’d realized how wrong this was and planned to hightail it to the water first.
“My turn,” she said.
It took him a second before he realized she was talking about the game. Through his burning need to touch her, he wondered if she required the pretense. If she did, was that a sign she wasn’t ready to move beyond kisses in a field and dirty talk on the beach?
“Truth or dare,” she said.
“Dare.” Right now, thrust up against the limits of his desire, he craved action. And her touch. It was wrong, damn it, but he couldn’t spend another night watching her run her hands over her body. It was his turn.
“Good choice.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Which condo is yours?”
He pointed down the beach to a townhouse divided into two units. “The deck on the left. The one with the hot tub.”
“Perfect.” Excitement lit up her voice. “I dare you to take off your clothes and climb in.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll join me?”
“Yes.”
The image of her naked body pressed against his in the warm water left no room for doubts. He undid the button on his polo and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it at her. “You’re on.”
He turned and strode toward the stairs leading up to his vacation home. Eric reached the wooden gate and punched in the security code to unlock the latch. He heard soft footsteps behind him on the stairs. Georgia. His Georgia.
Eric held open the gate, waiting for her to slip past him. A second later, the floodlights switched on, illuminating the deck. Securing the gate behind her, he moved to the hot tub, releasing the latches that held the top in place. One push and the cover slid to the ground. He withdrew a condom from his wallet, the one he’d slipped in there before leaving the house just in case tonight led them to this moment, and set it on the tub’s edge.
He turned to Georgia, who was staring at his bare chest as if she wanted to devour him but could not decide where to start. That look, hell, it threatened to shut down his common sense. He needed her. Now.
Her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, distracting him. Eric reached for her, his hands covering hers, pulling her shirt off.