disagreed on how he should run his business didn’t mean they couldn’t be civil. As her boss, it was up to him to set an example. He decided to ask her if she wanted him to bring anything back for her lunch.
She was standing on tiptoe to hang something on one of the pegs when he reached her corner. “Hello, Jill.”
“Hello, Mitch.” She reached into another carton, not looking at him.
“What do you have there?” He nodded to what looked like a ball of fake fur in her hand.
“Fur-lined handcuffs.” She held up what he could see now was two circlets of black fur joined by a silver chain.
“Okay. But why fur?”
“It’s more comfortable. See?”
Before he could react, she snapped one cuff around a pole on the display and another around his right wrist.
“Hey!” He struggled against the restraint. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Just showing you how comfortable they are.” Her innocent smile failed to mask the evil gleam in her eye.
He refused to give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d bested him. He studied his cuffed wrist. The fur against his skin was cool and silky. “People actually think this is sexy?”
“It’s not the cuffs themselves that are so sexy. It’s the element of danger.” She moved closer, her voice softer, confiding. “Of risk. Of having to trust your partner completely.”
She was so close now he could see each individual eyelash, and the smattering of freckles beneath the powder on her nose. He held his breath, half-afraid she’d hear the hammering of his heart and know how she’d affected him.
“Here. You look uncomfortable.” She grasped the knot of his tie and tugged it loose, then began to loosen the buttons of his shirt. She moved slowly, focused on the task, her fingers lightly grazing his skin as she parted the starched cotton.
He grabbed her wrist with his free hand. “What are you doing?” His gaze met hers, the blue depths of her eyes pulling him in even as his mind warned him to keep his distance. “Get me out of here before someone comes along and sees us.” His voice was tight and husky, the voice of a stranger.
“Oh, no one’s paying any attention to us.” Her lips curved in a slow smile. “I thought you wanted to understand the appeal.”
She stepped back, just out of his reach, and picked up a small whip, with a fringed leather tassel at the tip. “The cuffs are like this cat-o’-nine-tails. It’s not really designed to harm.” She flicked it across his chest, the tassel barely brushing against him. “You can use it to tickle. Or perhaps more firmly.” She wielded the whip with more force this time, though still barely grazing him. “The idea is to heighten sensation.”
All thought of his surroundings faded as he watched her. His skin felt feverish, his nerves raw, tingling with awareness of her—of the smooth skin of her arms brushing him as she reached for something on a shelf, of the curve of her breast outlined by the clinging knit of her sleeveless top, of the bottomless blue of her eyes as she watched him.
He reminded himself she was doing this on purpose. She was deliberately trying to make him feel vulnerable. Trying to prove some point. He wouldn’t be swayed so easily. He forced a lightness into his voice that he didn’t feel. “Do you always break in new bosses this way?”
“I thought you wanted to understand.” She trailed the whip across his throat, tickling, teasing, stealing breath and coherent thought. “To see what it is that attracts people to these things.”
“Are you into this kind of thing? Bondage?” Heat pooled in his groin and desire lent an edginess to his voice.
She stroked the handle of the whip down her throat, a half smile on her full lips. He bit back a groan, determined to maintain control. “Maybe.” She leaned closer, engulfing him in the scent of jasmine. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? The experience?”
He reminded himself that they were not alone. At any moment now, someone might come down the aisle and wonder what was going on. It was important to keep his cool. Retain his dignity. And to not let Jill know she was getting to him. “I think you’ve made your point,” he said, his voice perfectly even, emotionless.
“No. I’ve only just begun.” She smiled, a secret, seductive look.
“I can see this is getting out of hand.” He struggled once more to free his wrist from the cuff. But underneath the fur was solid steel. He was held fast.
“It’s about so much more than sight. That’s why sometimes people use blindfolds. To heighten the other senses.” She took a black satin blindfold from the shelf and brushed it down his cheek. He glared at her, warning her she was taking this too far.
Still smiling, she laid aside the blindfold and reached for a small red bottle. “The sense of smell is important.” She opened a bottle and held it under his nose. A spicy fragrance replaced the aroma of jasmine.
“Or taste.” She touched her finger to his lips and he tasted cinnamon.
“And hearing.” She swished the whip past his ear. He flinched, even as heat coursed through him.
“Touch.” She trailed the whip down the center of his chest, the fringes dragging across his chest hair, tugging gently.
He fought to control his breathing, even as his body strained toward her. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman more—needing her with an urgency that defied logic. If he wasn’t held fast by the cuffs, he might have pulled her down right there in the aisle. He tried to read the expression in her eyes. Is that what she wanted, too, or was she only teasing him? Getting back at him for wanting to close the store?
“What about you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”
She blinked, and stepped back. “Wh…what do you mean?”
“Is sex the main goal for you? The sensual experience? Or do you want something more?”
She turned away, and replaced the whip on its hook. “I don’t see why that should matter to you.”
Her defensive tone told him more than the words themselves. “It does matter, doesn’t it?” he said softly. “There has to be a connection with that other person. If you don’t have that, everything else is just…make-believe.”
“Whoever said there was anything wrong with make-believe?” With one quick movement, she released him. She snatched up the cuffs and replaced them on the pegboard. “Not every encounter is life changing,” she said.
He rubbed his wrists and watched her as she busied herself moving things about on the display. Her head was bent, the hair parted on either side of her neck to reveal a triangle of white flesh. He fought the urge to kiss her there. “I think we’re all looking for the life-changing encounters,” he said. “Even those of us who don’t want to admit it.”
With difficulty, he turned and walked away, shaken by what had just happened, but determined not to show it. What did it mean that a woman he scarcely knew could touch him so? Was it the novelty of the experience, the charged atmosphere of this place?
