The Bottom Line (3 page)

Tell me what you like to do during your free time. I bet we have more in common than you think.

Kinky Lover

Maggie was shaking, quivering. She couldn’t help but wonder what Kinky Lover looked like. Tall, handsome? She started to hit reply, then changed her mind. No. He was probably old and bald with a pot stomach and a desire to turn back the clock by fucking a nubile female.

Pursing her lips, her imagination working overtime, a giggle erupted at the thought. Kinky Lover had a point. Any man she hooked up with should share her interests. They needed compatibility both in and out of the bedroom. Something she and Greg lacked, which was why their relationship had run into problems.

Jeez, who was she kidding? The chances of finding a man were bad enough without adding to the equation. Add kink to the list of necessary traits and she’d end up alone for a long, long time.

Which brought her back to Kinky Lover. He hinted he shared her interests. Did that include spanking?

She started writing a reply and deleted it. No, what did she know about him? He could be a rapist or serial killer.

But what if he was the answer to her spanking dreams?

Before she could change her mind, she wrote him a short email, asking him what he meant about their common interest, added a few basic details, and pressed send before she could change her mind. With her pulse still racing, she powered down her computer and went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Kinky Lover.

Would he answer her email?

And if he did, what would she do? Meet him for a spanking session?

Just thinking about it made her wet. Very wet.

Chapter Two

Dear Kinky Lover,

What do you mean about common interests?

You’re right. I need a man who engages my interest
outside
of the bedroom and enjoys the same things I do. I like walking on the beach, watching rugby (I’m a New Zealander, so a love of rugby goes with the territory, right?), cooking and reading.

For a lover, I want a man who will dominate me, show me his love and understanding by taking control and becoming responsible for my pleasure. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want a bully. I don’t want a man who will traumatize me, although I’m not averse to a little pain. You can’t have spanking without some soreness. I want to feel the sweet tingle after my lover spanks me, and savor the sting when I take a seat and eat at my favorite restaurant. I want to see the rosy blush on my ass when I glance in the mirror. I want that as much as I desire a kiss and the soft stroke of my lover’s fingers across my face.

I’m smiling now, since this is probably more than you wanted to know about me. Thanks for visiting my blog.

Big Bad Ass

Connor couldn’t restrain his smile of victory. Despite his exhaustion, he felt the urge to jump to his feet and boogie. He controlled himself, not wanting to attract attention from his two flatmates.

So Maggie was spreading her wings. About time. Exhilaration pulsed through him, making him feel as if he could leap tall buildings without breaking stride.

He scanned her email again, his smile widening. He needed a plan. He’d have to move slowly, take things easy so he didn’t frighten her away.

Spanking.

Damn
, that was different. Reaction arced through his body, heading straight to his cock. He gripped the arms of the office chair, breathing carefully. Even so, each breath emerged in a harsh gasp, as if he’d indulged in strenuous exercise.

He couldn’t say if the idea of spanking or thinking about having sex with Maggie spiked his arousal. After his childhood experiences and his parents’ subsequent divorce, the idea of striking a woman seemed plain wrong. Maggie. It had to be Maggie.

Lucky for him, he’d given in to his impulse and dragged her to the gym. It was a starting point, a way to keep close contact with her outside of work. Rugby was another way of seeing her on a regular basis. The rest of his plan would come later. The last thing he wanted was to scare her into the arms of another man.

He’d always liked Maggie, enjoyed her shy sense of humor. He couldn’t wait to run his hands through her long, dark brown hair and see it loose, spread across his pillow, her golden brown eyes twinkling up at him. Her curvy figure haunted his dreams. She looked hot and sexy in her exercise gear. He’d noticed other guys at the gym checking her out, which hadn’t pleased him. Yeah, time to make his move, and for once the timing worked fine because he was between girlfriends.

The spanking part he’d deal with later.

Connor picked up his cell phone and called Julia. She lived closest to him.

“This had better be good, Connor Grey. It’s only seven in the morning.” Her words emerged as a tiger-like snarl, the sort that came from pain.

“Headache?”

“No thanks to you,” she muttered. “Have another drink. One more won’t make any difference. You lied!” The outraged mockery brought a grin to his face.

“I prescribe coffee,” Connor said. “Strong and black.”

“Why didn’t you warn me about that hurricane shot?” Julia moaned.

“I didn’t force you to drink another cocktail at the pub,” Connor said, “or the bottle of wine at Susan’s.” He heard her snicker.

“Fair enough,” she said.

He changed the subject. “You guys coming to watch our game this afternoon?”

“With this headache?” The sharp note in her voice made him curse under his breath. The woman was no slouch in the brain department. He’d have to tread carefully. He wasn’t ready for his feelings about Maggie to come out into the open.

“We need all the support we can get,” Connor admitted. “Frankly, our team sucks. We need someone on our side.”

“If there’s coffee involved,” Julia said. “I might be persuaded to round up a team of supporters.”

Connor checked his watch. “Coffee will be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Done,” Julia said. “Oh, while I think of it—don’t tell Maggie we told you about her blog. She threatened to smother us with her breasts if we told anyone.” She paused then added, “Those breasts of hers could do the job. Promise?”

“Her breasts?” Connor chuckled. “Yeah. Okay.” He hung up, smirking. Death by breast smothering. What a hell of a way to go.

“Can you tell me what I’m doing standing on the sideline of a rugby field freezing my ass off?” Maggie tugged her wooly hat over her ears and pulled her knee-length coat tight around her waist. “Greg’s not playing today.”

“Clearing the hangover cobwebs,” Julia said, moaning.

Maggie lifted her chin. “I wasn’t the one who stayed up late drinking a bottle of wine after leaving the pub.” She winked at her friend. Her complaints were only half-hearted.

Play came down the rugby field toward them, and she concentrated on the players, searching for number eight. There he was. Tall. Dark. Broad shoulders. Connor played with both determination and skill, the tight-fitting uniform fueling her fantasies. His slim hips tapered to a tight butt.

Although not traditionally handsome, when he grinned, his entire face lit up and made her want to smile in return. His blue eyes twinkled. And he was a nice person. There weren’t many guys who could hang out with four girls and hold their own in wide-ranging conversations covering the gambit from work to make-up, sex and sport.

And everything in between.

There weren’t many taboos once they’d had a few drinks, including masculine topics, which made Maggie wonder if perhaps they should cut down on the drinking. Nah, they chatted the same way during lunch breaks at work. They were a team. So why couldn’t she stop fanaticizing about Connor? They’d all met Gwen, his girlfriend. A requisite blonde with long, slender legs and loaded with sex-appeal, she seemed pleasant and perfect for Connor.

Why did that fact make her so miserable?

The game passed in a blur. Maggie had difficulty concentrating, still nursing a sense of dread since climbing out of bed this morning. She waited with Julia, Susan and Christina while Connor chatted with his team mates and members of the opposition.

“I wonder where Gwen is,” Maggie said in a matter-of-fact voice, looking for the leggy blonde.

“Didn’t you hear?” Julia asked. “Connor and Gwen broke up last week.”

Christina quit ogling the players and snapped to attention. “What?”

“He never said anything to me.” Surprise skittered through Maggie first, followed by excitement. Then that meant—

Don’t go there
.
A relationship between the two of you wouldn’t work, so there was no point in letting her thoughts drift in that direction. Besides, you made a promise to the others.
Remember?

“Did he say what happened?” Susan asked, curious.

“No, just that the parting was amicable. I asked nosey questions, and he refused to answer,” Julia said. “Shush, he’s heading this way.”

Mud covered Connor’s face when he stalked to them, his eyes sparkling through the grime. “Hey, did you see the way I left the opposition in my dust?”

“Yeah, we saw,” Susan said, trying not to sound impressed.

“Don’t you mean mud?” Maggie said with a grin, striving to keep her voice natural. She couldn’t let her feelings for Connor screw up their friendship.

Connor’s smile burst with sunshine, despite the overcast day. “You girls coming for drinks?”

“Are you kidding?” Christina asked. “I intend to scope out the eligible men.”

“You’ll have to count me out,” Maggie said. “I have to go home and change for dinner. I have a date with Greg.”

Susan’s brows rose. “But didn’t you—” She came to an abrupt halt, shot a swift glance at Connor before offering Maggie a weak smile. “We’ll miss you,” she finished lamely.

“You can tell me about it tomorrow.” With a sigh, Maggie refrained from looking at Connor and turned away.

“Hey, wait—” Connor grabbed her hand and grasped it firmly, spinning her back toward him. Maggie stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t seized her. The musky scent of male sweat, mud and wet clothing filled her nostrils while a shiver rocked her to the core.

“I’m such a klutz.” She froze, tipping back her head to stare him in the face.

His thumb made a slow pass over her cheek. “Sorry about the mud,” he explained in a husky voice. “But I wanted to remind you about our date at the gym tomorrow.”

“I won’t forget,” Maggie promised.

“Don’t drink too much tonight,” he teased. “I’m warning you, I’ll drag you out of bed tomorrow by your…toes.”

“Um…okay.” Maggie pulled away, aware of the hard muscles of his chest, the rush of blood to her cheeks and the lingering tingle from his touch. She contemplated sleeping in late on purpose. Connor had a free ticket into her bedroom any time. He just didn’t know of his incredibly good fortune yet.

“You’re gonna make her go to the gym on a Sunday?” Susan backed away, hands raised in front of her, an expression of horror contorting her face into a comical mask. “I hope this craziness isn’t contagious. No way will you find me anywhere near a gym on the weekend.”

“I’m trying to get fit, Susan,” Maggie said, then turned to the sexy man standing beside her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Have fun tonight, everyone.”

Blowing them a kiss, she turned toward the parking area before temptation zapped from her brain to her limbs. It was all too easy to imagine the reaction if she grabbed Connor. The pact between her and her girlfriends was suddenly in dire danger of smashing wide open.

Temptation played a siren song inside her.

No. No way would she be the one to break the pact.

The second Greg slammed from her apartment, angry and upset, Maggie stomped straight to her laptop. She was still shaking when she put her fingers on the keyboard and logged onto her blog. Without taking a breath, she started typing furiously.

My dinner tonight with Mr. X went from bad to worse. I can still feel the embarrassed glow on my cheeks. He blames
me
for what happened. How was I meant to know he’d invited his friends to dinner with us?

When he came to pick me up, I tried to tell him then I didn’t want to go out with him again—that it was over between us. The man wouldn’t let me get a word in and hustled me from my apartment before I could tell him. I tried to talk about breaking up in the cab on the way to the restaurant. That’s when he informed me we were dining with his business friend and his wife.

During the last six months I’ve met most of his friends. Some are okay. The particular couple we were dining with wasn’t in the
okay
group. The woman stands firmly in the
bitch
camp, while her husband had a different agenda. He belongs to the
wandering hands
club. He wandered his hands over my ass and breasts when his wife and Mr. X weren’t watching.

By the time we arrived at the Italian restaurant on Nelson Street, my temper simmered. This particular restaurant specializes in great food, and for entertainment, they have budding opera singers performing several live segments during the evening. Not only did I have to spend time with Mr. X, I had to put up with his friends and the opera. So shoot me. I like rock and pop. I can even listen to country when the mood takes me. Opera, not so much. It makes my head hurt.

I tried to escape into spanking fantasies. It worked until a hand on my upper thigh jerked me rudely from my steamy dreamscape.

All this, combined with several glasses of wine and my irritation, loosened my tongue and lowered my inhibitions. When I couldn’t take the husband staring at my breasts any longer, I stated my opinion. Loud and clear.

“If I wanted you to look at my breasts, I’d take off my clothes. Give you a good look at them. I’d even supply a tape measure so you could see if they measure up,” I added, my tone nasty.

“M!” Mr. X’s aghast expression suggested I’d stepped out of line. “Apologize to R for that remark.”

“Why should I? Are you saying it’s okay for R to perv at my breasts and pinch my ass every chance he gets? You want me to sit here and take his abuse?”

“Eat your dinner,” Mr. X said.

I reached for my wine, but Mr. X slid the glass toward him before I could grab it.

Do you believe it? He blamed the entire incident on me.

After that, the rest of the night was pretty uncomfortable. The wife glared at her husband. Mr. X glared at me. I can tell you I received more than my fair share of glares. The only reason the husband didn’t glare at me was because he’d land in bigger trouble than he was already.

The minute we were alone in the taxi, Mr. X started telling me off, listing my infractions which, according to him, were many.

“You made a laughingstock out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you didn’t give me a chance to talk to you. You see…I don’t want to go out with you again.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mr. X said, not taking me seriously. “You drank too much. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m not going to hold a little overindulgence against you. I admit I wasn’t happy with your outspoken comments. Next time just ignore the attention. He was only looking. Anyway, you shouldn’t have worn such a low cut top. It encouraged him.”

My fault?
Pompous pig
.

Fuming, I didn’t answer Mr. X. I was afraid of what I’d say next. I could see the taxi driver watching in his rear view mirror. He was listening to everything we said. Instead, I bit my tongue and stared out the window at the lights of the city, the glowing red and green Sky Tower, lit for mid-year winter celebrations, and St. Matthews Church. I remained silent as the cab headed up Hobson Street to the motorway. I could have sliced the silence with a knife and served it on my grandmother’s heirloom china.