Wilde Thing

Chapter 3

The tension vibrating through Steve was due to a culmination of sexual anticipation and a keen restlessness he couldn't shake-a hindering impatience that had grown with each hour that passed since Liz had left his office building that afternoon.

Exhaling a harsh stream of breath, Steve continued his agitated pacing across his living room floor. Normally, he was a patient, relaxed kind of guy when it came to delays and lengthy downtime on a case. So many aspects of his job had trained him to endure long waits and even longer hours of dull and monotonous surveillance. It was boring, tedious work at times-no unruly hormones or other unwanted emotions involved-and tonight's prolonged wait should have been no different.

Unfortunately, the mind was a powerful stimulant and had the ability to conjure up all kinds of provocative scenarios that could drive a man crazy. Unlike a straight surveillance job, there was nothing to watch or observe in terms of Liz's case. Not yet, at least.

At the moment, and until the clock struck 11:15 P.M., all he could do was imagine her somewhere on the third floor of that building, titillating callers with frank sexual talk and using her feminine wiles to bring men's explicit requests to life over the phone lines. Servicing other men verbally and getting them off on the dark, carnal fantasies she wove for their pleasure. And what about the callers who deigned it their duty to talk dirty to her in return?

"Christ," he muttered, unable to fend off the surge of frustration adding to the other unexplainable feelings that had consumed his thoughts for the past hour and a half. He shoved his fingers through his thick hair, annoyed with his possessive behavior and the unexpected realization that this one certain woman could get to him on such a gut-deep level-and so damn quickly. He was a man used to being in control of every aspect of his life, his sex life and the women he chose to date included, and he didn't like the fact that he couldn't subdue his uncharacteristic reaction to Liz's temporary job.

Rolling his taut shoulders, he soothed his irritable mood by reminding himself that very soon it would be his turn to increase the heat and level of excitement between them, to share some of his most forbidden desires with Liz and find out what she craved, as well.

And then, later tonight, they'd unleash those fantasies and fulfill them. '

Over the arousal settling like molten heat in his belly, his stomach managed a hungry growl-a surprising bid for food in the midst of his turbulent thoughts. Although he'd eaten dinner hours ago, apparently all his keyed-up energy and the circuit training he'd put himself through in his home gym earlier had quickly burned off his meal. Figuring he had time for a late-evening snack before he called Liz, and welcoming the distraction, he headed into the kitchen, rummaged through the refrigerator, and cringed at the lack of sustenance that greeted him. He hated grocery shopping and hated cooking more-those were two aspects of being a bachelor that sucked.

Grabbing the last cold bottle of beer and finding an open bag of chips in the cupboard, he headed upstairs to a secondary bedroom he'd converted into a fully equipped home office. Sitting down at his desk, he booted up his computer. While he waited for the unit to warm up, his mind wandered to the conversation he'd had with Cameron after Liz's departure that afternoon. They'd discussed the nature of Liz's case, The Ultimate Fantasy, and her cousin's disappearance, so that Cam was at least briefed on the case.

Steve didn't bring up his personal relationship with Liz- what happened between them beyond the case was nobody's business but their own. As a good friend and understanding partner, Cam had respected his privacy and hadn't pushed for details.

He tossed a few potato chips into his mouth, took a long drink of his beer, and checked his personal E-mail account. He chuckled through the series of raunchy, ribald jokes that his brother Adrian enjoyed sending to him and Eric, but it was the E-mail from Steffie Wilde that made him smile and his chest expand with affection.

He loved hearing from his sixteen-year-old daughter, especially since she'd moved to Texas with her mother, Janet, and stepfather, Hugh, nearly three years ago. Steve missed Steffie- E-mails, talking on the phone, and seeing her only a handful of weeks out of the year didn't seem like nearly enough time with her during these crucial teenage years.

But he'd take whatever he could get, including the E-mails and digital pictures she sent through the Internet, which kept him updated on her life. Opening the letter, he read the contents, imagining in his mind how her expressive blue eyes would sparkle as she regaled him with her latest tales of school, her involvement in the drama club, and the boy who'd taken her to one of the high school formal dances.

He clicked on the attached files and looked through the collage of photos she'd taken with the digital camera he'd bought for her this past Christmas. There were pictures of Janet and Hugh, happily married and enjoying their life in Texas, along with shots of Steffie posing for the camera with her beloved golden retriever, Buffy.

And then there was his little girl in a long formal gown, looking absolutely stunning and too sophisticated for her tender young age, standing with a sandy-haired boy who had his arms around her waist and held her much too close for Steve's liking. Her hands rested on his chest, their heads were touching, and the look of adoration glimmering in Steffie's eyes made Steve's heart constrict with a startling sense of deja vu.

Steve took another gulp of beer as a jarring realization crashed over him. His daughter, age sixteen, was not only allowed to date, but she was the same age that he and Janet were when they'd started going steady. They'd become high school sweethearts, and after two years of dating exclusively and just a month after graduation, Janet discovered that she was pregnant.

Eight months later, Steve was a married nineteen-year-old, and a daddy to a sweet baby girl who'd wrapped him around her little finger the moment she was born. He'd worked two back-to-back jobs to support his new and unexpected family, until he'd graduated from the police academy and landed a decent-paying job with Chicago's finest.

For ten years, he'd devoted himself to raising Steffie, done his best to keep his marriage together despite the growing tension between him and Janet, and taken his job as a police officer seriously-until he'd taken a bullet to his upper right arm, which had affected some nerve endings in his hand. The injury hadn't caused any paralysis, thank God. The only time he felt any discomfort was when he did a lot of heavy lifting or worked out with his weights too much. But there had been enough damage for the doctors to worry about his reflexes when it came to shooting his weapon. They'd made the recommendation to Steve's lieutenant that he be reduced to modified work duty, which in essence meant sitting behind a desk pushing paperwork, or writing tickets for expired meters. That hadn't been an option for him, since he wasn't one who could handle a desk job, thus his change in careers to a private investigator.

The shooting, and the stress of his job, had brought a lot of things to a head in his marriage that he and Janet had ignored for far too long. When she asked him for a divorce, he didn't protest. He'd known for years that they were only going through the motions of being husband and wife, more for Steffie's sake than anything else. Their split had been amicable, and they were both much happier as a result of going their separate ways.

And now here he was, six years divorced and a confirmed bachelor who enjoyed his lifestyle and career. He just wished that Steffie didn't live so damn far away.

He sent an E-mail back to his daughter and checked a few other messages. Finally, the time arrived for him to call Liz, to establish himself as a regular caller and client. To do his best to unearth some of her secrets and fantasies, and share a few of his own.

Anxious to hear her voice and be the recipient of her attempt at verbal seduction, he finished off his beer, shut down his computer, and headed to his bedroom down the hall. He striped off his clothes and donned a pair of boxer shorts for the sake of comfort, grabbed the cordless phone from the night-stand, and sat down on his king-size bed, which suddenly seemed much too big and empty when all he could think about was having Liz filling the vacant spot next to him.

Punching in the phone number he'd memorized the moment he'd seen it on the business card Liz had given him, he settled himself against the pillows pushed against the headboard, more than prepared to seduce and be seduced.

The phone on the small table jangled, and Liz's gaze automatically shot to the watch on her wrist, to gauge the time, as she'd done with each call since the beginning of her shift over two hours ago. It was 11:15, her designated meeting time with Steve, but that didn't mean another call couldn't slip past the switchboard operator before Steve's and keep her on the line for another ten or twenty minutes of sex talk.

Please, please, please let it be Steve, she silently prayed as another shrill ring echoed in the small confines of the room. She wore a headset, which left her hands free, and all it took to connect the call was a press of a button on the phone unit on the table. She reached out, touched the flashing button with her index finger, and hesitated, her heart drumming hard and fast in her chest-in an odd combination of anticipation and dread, because she had no clue who was on the other end of the line.

God, she didn't think she could handle another anonymous caller desperate for sexual attention, and a down-and-dirty verbal exchange to get him off. She shuddered in disgust, knowing the previous men she'd talked to this evening had climaxed from the requested fantasies she'd fulfilled-or had pretended exceptionally well, just as she'd fabricated loud and robust orgasms on her end just to end the call as quickly as possible. So far, her act had been convincing enough to earn her praise and compliments from her male patrons.

She couldn't even begin to imagine what her cousin found so enticing about being a phone sex operator. Liz was far from being a prude, but she found the job downright creepy in terms of engaging in intimate and very explicit conversation with so many faceless strangers. It had taken monumental effort for her to separate her real personality from the sex kitten the caller expected her to be, and that meant pretending to be a woman who was sophisticated and experienced when it came to lewd, outlandish, and kinky sex acts.

All for the sake of finding her wayward cousin and saving Liz from having to involve her aunt and uncle in another one of Valerie's impossible escapades.

A third loud ring jarred her back to the present, demanding she pick up the line before someone peeked in on her to find out why she wasn't answering. Forcing herself back into the role she'd been playing, she inhaled a calming breath and connected the call.

"Hi, baby," she greeted huskily, using the opening line another operator had suggested she use to immediately break the ice and make the customer feel like he was special.

"Hello yourself," a familiar male voice drawled, the low, sexy timbre making her heart beat even faster.

Steve. Thank God. Relief flooded through her, so strong, she felt light-headed.

"Is this Sindee?" he asked, playing the game like the dedicated nightly caller he would become.

"In the flesh," she replied automatically, her flirtatious comment coming easily with him, and without any pretense.

"Mmm, I like the way that sounds." There was a smile in his tone, one she knew would be all male and pure seduction in person.

Letting the night's tension drain from her limbs, she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and conjured his image in her mind. Thick, silky black hair that was undoubtedly tousled around his head. Sinful blue eyes filled with heat and hunger. And a lean, muscled, aggressive body she couldn't wait to see and feel in action. There was only one thing left she needed to know to complete the picture.

"Where are you?" she asked curiously, and readjusted the earpiece to her headset to make it fit more comfortably.

"In my bedroom, in my bed," he said softly, seductively. "Wearing very little."

Oh, he was very, very bad. Unbidden, more mental images appeared, of Steve stretched out on his mattress in a classic Playgirl centerfold pose-hands behind his head, a come-hither look in his eyes, and a whole lot of sleek, naked skin showing around the silk sheet draped strategically over one thigh and the bulge between his legs. The delicious, arousing fantasy caused her breasts to swell and her nipples to tingle and pucker tight, her first physical response to a man tonight. One she welcomed, because it was Steve.

It was hot and stuffy in the small room, and she was certain he'd just raised her internal temperature into the triple digits. Reaching for her bottle of water, she took a quick drink to quench her suddenly parched throat before responding. "I didn't think eleven-fifteen would ever get here. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear your voice."

"Likewise. I guess it's been a long night, for both of us." He paused, letting the subtle insinuation in his words-that he'd been equally anxious to talk to her-settle between them before he asked, "What's it like there?"

"Claustrophobic," she said, and laughed as her gaze swept the six-by-six area she'd been assigned for the evening. The walls were a dingy beige color, with no extras to bring a little brightness or cheer to the room. "My so-called office is about the size of a janitor's closet. And it's so warm in here, it's almost stifling. But at least it's private." And thank goodness for that, considering all the moaning, groaning, and heavy breathing she'd had to feign.

"Have you been able to talk to any of the other operators?"

"Only briefly before I started my shift and during my ten-minute break." Kicking off her sandals, she propped her feet up on the table and wiggled her toes in front of the small handheld fan she'd set on the table to stir up the air in the room. Another thirty-five minutes of idle chitchat with Steve, and her shift was over, she thought gratefully. "Roxanne wasn't here tonight, but I introduced myself to a few other girls."

"That's a good start." Approval resonated in his tone. "Any mention of Valerie yet?"

"No, and there hasn't been an opportune time to bring her up, either." She sighed, hoping it wouldn't take more than a few evenings for her coworkers to warm up enough to give her the answers she sought, or for her employer to extend an invitation to The Ultimate Fantasy private parties.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. It's only your first night," he said, as if reading her mind. "So, how has it been with the callers?" His question was direct and undeniably curious.

She bit her lower lip, undecided whether or not she wanted to share the sordid details with a man who was the epitome of sexuality. A gorgeous, virile man who was her personal fantasy in every way. "You want the truth?"

"Sweetheart," he drawled smoothly, "I always want the truth."

And no faking anything. He'd made that abundantly clear, too. The man was a stickler for honesty and took a person's integrity very seriously. They were qualities she herself appreciated in return.

Still, she fudged with her response, which wasn't a lie at all. "Well, let me put it this way, being a phone sex operator is definitely not my cuppa tea."

"Maybe it all depends on getting the right caller on the phone," he suggested, a mischievous note lacing his low, mellow baritone.

A caller like me, his voice implied. She silently admitted that he had a very valid point.

"What have your clients requested tonight?" he persisted.

Obviously, he saw through her attempt to evade the issue with her simple and pat comment, and he wasn't about to let her off so easily. The rogue. "You don't want to know the nitty-gritty details."

"Sure I do," he murmured huskily, and she shivered at his assertive and very insistent behavior.

The man was ruthless and shameless, and she was smart enough to know he wouldn't let the subject die until he got whatever he wanted from her. And in this case, he wanted her to spill all the provocative details of her new job.

"You promise to still respect me after I tell you the kind of fantasies I fulfilled for other men?"

He chuckled, low and deep, though the sound was oddly strained. "Of course I will."

Exhaling a slow breath, she recalled the fairly tame and normal fantasies she'd performed, because the others were too crude, perverted, and bizarre for her to repeat out loud. "I had a few straightforward calls from men who were just interested in a quick verbal exchange simulating a common sex act. A few requested blow jobs, and one caller asked me to pretend I was a virgin, which was… different, since it's been a long while since I've been one," she said wryly, and shook her head. "Some callers were downright lewd, and I used words, descriptions, and phrases that would make my parents roll over in their graves."

"I'm sure they forgive you," he said, a definite hint of humor in his voice.

She smiled, and relaxed enough to enjoy their amusing conversation. "Another caller told me that he wanted me to wear something sexy, then do a striptease for him over the phone."

"And what did you wear for him?"

"A slinky, barely-there black dress and high heels. And beneath it, black lace stockings, garters, a skimpy bra, and no panties. Isn't that every man's fantasy?"

"Personally, I prefer red on a woman, but I'm sure you made your caller very happy."

She couldn't stop the silly grin that curved her lips. "Judging by his moans and groans, I think he got his money's worth."

"Undoubtedly." His chuckle warmed her deep inside, as did their fun, playful repartee. "Did any of tonight's calls turn you on?"

His abrupt switch to a more intimate discussion startled her, but she replied without hesitation. "No," she said, and could have sworn she heard him exhale a relieved stream of breath. "I didn't know any of those men, and the exchange was mechanical, detached, and, well, very impersonal." This job and the men she talked to were a means to an end for her, a way of locating information on her cousin, nothing more.

"Then let's see if I can change that and be the one to turn you on tonight."

She suddenly felt hot and anxious with a delicious, undeniable kind of need. Oh, she knew he could accomplish the task of turning her on, far too easily. His silky bedroom voice had already aroused her, making her crave the taste and feel of his mouth on hers, and his slow, knowing hands stroking her bare skin… making her body burn and come alive for him with just a touch.

She crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs together to try and quell the sweet ache of anticipation gathering below. What Steve was proposing didn't include any of that sensual physical contact, just words. Erotic, provocative words and naughty suggestions designed to stimulate and thrill. A fun, illicit mind game that would tantalize and tease both of them. A game she wanted to play with him, because he was ultimately the man she desired and fantasized about.

And unlike her previous callers, the idea of indulging in mental foreplay with Steve excited her.

"Tell me… what are you really wearing tonight?" he asked.

In reality, she was dressed casually, in nothing quite so daring or indecent as what she'd described to her earlier caller to fulfill his request. She debated whether to come up with another risque outfit, something red and racy to rev up Steve's libido, but decided she'd forgo any frills when it came to their first foray into phone sex. Their chemistry and attraction was potent enough without adding any extra props.

She touched her fingers to the base of her throat, where her skin was slick with a light sheen of perspiration and her pulse beat erratically. "I'm wearing a light cotton blouse and a miniskirt. I told you it was hot in here, and I've clipped up my hair so it's off my neck, but it's not helping much to keep me cool," she said, giving him a good dose of visual imagery. "The receptionist is selling small handheld water-misting fans to the employees, and she's making a damn good profit at it, too," she grumbled good-naturedly.

His lazy laughter drifted through the phone lines, the sexy vibrations of that masculine sound touching tender, secret places within her.

"I take it you bought one of those fans?" he asked.

"Yeah." Said battery powered minifan was currently sitting on the table, doing its best to create a breeze her way, albeit a warm, recycled one. "Every so often I'll spritz my face, just to keep my skin cool."

"We'll have to think of a way to put that fan to even better use." His voice was positively wicked, impenitently so, and husky with promise. "Open your blouse for me so that I can see your breasts. For real."

His bold command gave her a jolt of momentary confusion, but there was no mistaking what he was asking. He didn't want her to pretend the action, didn't want her to use just verbal description to create a mental picture for him.

He wanted the real thing.

Her heart beat an unsteady rhythm against her chest. While she had absolutely no qualms about getting into his request, actually stripping off her clothes and openly enacting his fantasy was another thing altogether. Besides, he wouldn't even be there to see and enjoy the show.

She moved her legs off the table to the floor, needing the stability of solid ground beneath her feet. "Steve-"

He cut her off before she could issue a protest, obviously hearing the uncertainty in her voice. "Has anyone come in to check on you tonight?"

"No." She glanced at the door, which had remained firmly shut during her shift. No one had so much as poked his or her head inside to see if she was still alive in the small, hot room they'd assigned her to. "They can monitor everything out on the switchboards," she told him.

"Then they aren't about to disturb you, since they can see you're busy with a caller. A very demanding caller, and one you don't want to displease." His voice was rough around the edges, just like the man himself. "And since I'm paying for this call, I damn well want to get my money's worth. Now, do as I say and unbutton your blouse."

Under normal circumstances, she would have bristled at such a forceful and dominating command, but she knew his suddenly aggressive nature was all part of the fantasy. Feeling self-conscious, she scanned the bare room for anything in the ceiling or walls that might look suspicious-like a spy camera. Finding nothing, she turned her chair so that she faced the wall opposite the door, then worked to unfasten the first five or six buttons on her blouse. As she exposed the taut swells of her breasts, her midriff, and her abdomen, the thrill of the forbidden kicked up her adrenaline a few notches. Despite her initial reservations about performing such a scandalous act in a place where she could get caught at any moment, she couldn't deny that a small, rebellious part of her welcomed Steve's dare and liked the risk she was taking-with him.

She also delighted in the way her flesh quivered where her fingers brushed against her skin as she made her way to the final button. "It's done," she said, hearing the breathless, eager quality of her own voice.

"Pull the front of your bra down so I can see your breasts."

Licking her dry lips, she did as she was told. Peeling the stretchy material down over her voluptuous curves, she released her taut, heavy breasts from the confines of her bra. Her puckered nipples immediately thrust forward, begging to be stroked and fondled. She was tempted to do just that and describe every illicit caress to Steve to enhance the fantasy, but he seemingly had his own sexual agenda in mind.

"Now pull up your skirt so I can see your panties." Once again, his voice demanded obedience.

Standing on unsteady legs, she shimmied her skirt up until the material bunched around her thighs, and her pale pink underwear was in plain sight. She sat back down, grateful that he hadn't asked her to take her panties off, though she felt just as exposed. Unable to resist the lure of Steve's fantasy and the part she was playing, she glanced down at herself, and her face heated at the brazen, wanton display of flesh that greeted her.

He'd turned her into a shameless hussy. And she loved the naughty, uninhibited woman he'd coaxed out of her.

"Are you ready for more?" he asked.

"Yes." Her voice cracked with the truth, and she swallowed in an attempt to clear her throat. "Yes."

"Take the fan you bought and spray water on your breasts, belly, and thighs," he murmured. "Then position the fan so the breeze drifts over your wet skin."

Obeying, she shivered as the first fine droplets of water beaded on her hot, naked skin, both refreshing and arousing her to higher level of need, which she was sure was Steve's intent. She continued to mist her way down her body, then set the fan on the table so that an exhilarating draft of air kissed her bared, moist flesh.

Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes, saturating her mind with the highly electrifying sensations awakening long-dormant desires. "Oh, God, this feels absolutely decadent."

"I wish I were there to see you," he said, his breathing a bit deeper than before. "But since I'm not, I want you to touch yourself and imagine it's my fingers, mouth, and tongue on your skin. Tell me what you feel and how you like to be touched and caressed. Make me a part of your pleasure."

Ignoring the little voice in her head reminding her that she could get caught, she lifted her hand and lightly drifted her fingers along her collarbone and down to the slope of her plump breast, leaving goose bumps in the wake of her slow, insidious touch. "My skin is so hot," she whispered, deliberately using sexually engaging words designed to pull him into the carnal image she was weaving. "Hot and wet and slippery. Can you feel how slick my flesh is?"

"Yeah," he said, his tone low and guttural.

She let her lashes flutter closed again, imagining he was sitting right beside her, his voice in her ear, and his hands on her body instead of her own. "Your long, warm fingers are on my breasts, massaging and squeezing them, and your thumbs are flicking across my rigid nipples, back and forth-"

"My mouth is open and hot on your breasts," he cut in abruptly, reversing their roles and taking over. "My teeth are teasing your nipples, tugging on them, and now my lips are parting, taking you deep, suckling you hard and strong…"

She whimpered, overwhelmed by the heat sizzling through her veins, building higher and hotter and more intense with every erotic word he spoke. She felt the game careening out of her control… and right into his.

"Your thighs are so smooth. I'm licking the moisture from your skin and using my tongue to taste my way all the way up to your sex. I can smell your heady scent, your arousal. You want to come, don't you?"

Her thighs trembled. Hunger unfurled inside her like a sweet, insistent ache. Pulsing. Throbbing. Demanding to be appeased. It was nearly too much to withstand. "Steve…"

"Press your fingers to your panties, Liz," he said, his tone allowing no refusal from her. He made her wait long, agonizing seconds before asking, "Are they damp?"

Beneath the panel of cotton, her sex was swollen and she was positively drenched with desire and need, and she told him so. "They're soaked."

"For me?"

"Yes, for you." No one else.

"God, you make me rock-hard." His voice was low and thick, devastatingly aroused and aggressively unrestrained. "Feel how much I want you."

She put herself there, with him, and worked up the nerve to be just as bold as he'd been. "I've got your cock in my hand," she told him huskily, "and I'm stroking the rigid length in a firm, steady grip."

"Oh, yeah," he encouraged.

"You feel so hard, so hot and throbbing…"

"Yeah, I am. Take me in your mouth," he ordered in a rough, thrilling whisper.

In their private fantasy world, she did, filling his mind with vivid, provocative details of how silky-wet her mouth was as she sucked him… faster, stronger, deeper. She could hear his breathing grow ragged, and her own quickened, too.

"Oh, shit… I'm coming." His gruff oath rolled into a deep grunt and a harsh, hissing exhale of breath. Then, a long, low groan of satisfaction.

Liz had been so wrapped up in the fantasy, it took her a few extra seconds to resurface from their virtual tryst. The sensual haze clouding her mind dissipated bit by bit as her surroundings came back into focus, reminding her that she wasn't in an intimate setting with Steve but in a small, warm, dingy room-half dressed and excruciatingly aroused.

She found herself both fascinated and miffed that he'd actually climaxed. Or had he? "Did you really…?"

"Yeah, I really did," he muttered. "And I can't begin to tell you how badly I needed that, since I've been walking around with an erection ever since you left my office this afternoon."

She knew exactly how he felt, because her body was still in that tense state of discontent, burning as though she were in the throes of a growing fever.

"By the way, your shift is over."

"Oh." She glanced at her watch and realized it was three minutes after midnight. Surely he wasn't going to leave her so… unsatisfied?

"I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Guess so. She blinked, feeling entirely disappointed and disillusioned by his abrupt farewell after what had just happened between them. "Sure."

Disconnecting the call, she took off her headset and straightened her clothes, unable to believe the rogue had slaked his own lust and left her unsatisfied and completely and totally worked up!

Damn him, anyway, she thought irritably. She tingled all over, every part of her quivering with intemperate need. Blowing out an upward stream of breath that ruffled her bangs, she wondered how she was going to be able to make it all the way home without giving her own body the release it was clamoring for.

She had no choice but to wait, she knew, because she had a feeling it would take more than just one quick self-induced orgasm to satiate the fire smoldering inside her.

Forcing a semblance of calm and double-checking her blouse and skirt to make sure everything was back in order, Liz grabbed her spritz fan and purse and stepped outside her office. The outer hallway was filled with echoing sounds of other operators still servicing customers behind their own closed doors as she made her way back toward the front of the establishment, where Doreen, the night manager, told her to check in after her shift was over.

The front reception area was plush and well furnished, with nicely upholstered chairs, and recognizable artwork hanging on the cream-colored walls. No one who strolled inside the office and took a casual glance around would ever guess what really went on down the hall and behind all those closed doors.

Doreen, a pretty forty-something woman with short brunette hair and a slender figure dressed in designer clothes, sat at the main workstation. A large computer system and a flickering screen gathering caller and employee information seemed to be her primary source of tracking the evening's business.

Behind Doreen, in another partitioned corner of the spacious room, four switchboard operators worked steadily and efficiently to connect calls as they came in, and passed on detailed information and reports to the main network system. Judging by the equipment and latest technology they were using, it was easy to surmise that The Ultimate Fantasy was no rinky-dink company operating on a shoestring budget. No, Antonio and his other partners, whoever they were, took their business very seriously.

Liz came up to the counter, the jingling sound of the keys in her hand catching the other woman's attention. "I'm done for the night."

"Give me a sec to sign you out," Doreen said, and executed a few quick keystrokes on the computer, which prompted another piece of equipment to print out sheets of paper. She gathered the copies and scanned the numerous pages as the machine continued to produce more documents. "For a first-timer, you sure did catch on quick. Nice job on that last call. You had him on the line for over forty minutes."

Liz felt compelled to offer an explanation for that excessively long call. "He was very lonely and just needed someone to talk to."

Doreen laughed and rolled her eyes, her expression one of pure cynicism. "Yeah, every once in a while one of those bleeding-heart types gets suckered in, which helps you make those extra bonuses."

Liz continued to play along and act like an enthusiastic employee. "He promised to call back, so if I'm lucky, I can count on him to fatten my paycheck."

"That you can." Doreen slid one of the papers onto the counter and handed her a pen. "Sign this report and you can be on your way."

Glancing at the document, Liz tried to decipher the various columns, numbers, and information on the statement-one she wasn't about to approve with her signature until she knew exactly what the printout meant. "What's this for?"

"It's a log of your hours, time spent on the phone with a customer, and the last four digits of the client's phone number. Just basic tracking information on our end." She opened a file folder with Liz's name and employee number on the tab. "Once you sign the report, it goes into your personnel file, which then goes to Antonio when he gets in tomorrow morning. He reviews all the statements and transcripts of employee calls before approving payment."

"Transcripts?" A chill slithered down Liz's spine when she thought about her conversation with Steve being copied, which had included mention of Valerie, and way too much familiarity between the two of them before they'd gotten to all the sexy stuff.

Doreen nodded. "All calls are monitored and recorded."

That's illegal, Liz wanted to say, but bit back the response, certain that Doreen wouldn't appreciate her being a stickler for constitutional rights and legalities when the company obviously wasn't. "So, all my calls tonight were recorded?"

"Every one of them."

Liz felt her legs go weak. Why hadn't Steve warned her of such a possibility?

The older woman gathered up the last of the pages that had printed out, and absently glanced through them. "I know it seems a bit unnerving at first, but Antonio insists on reading the transcripts. Don't worry; you'll get used to it, and after a while, you won't even think about big brother listening in."

Dread tightened Liz's chest, and with a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, she signed her name to the report and left the building, grateful for the night watchman standing guard outside the building, keeping an eye on the parking lot and watching to make sure she made it to her vehicle without incident.

No sooner had she gotten into her car when her cell phone rang. Frowning, she dug the unit out of her purse, and though she didn't recognize the number on the display, she connected the call, wondering for a hopeful moment if it was Valerie.

"Hello?" she answered anxiously.

"It's me." Steve's deep voice rumbled through the line, infusing her with a combination of disappointment and relief. "I just wanted to make sure you made it to your car safely."

"I'm here now." Sitting in the darkened interior of the vehicle, she stared up to the third floor of the building. The tinting on the windows muted the lighting and gave her brief glimpses of shadowed movements behind the plate glass. "I'm glad you called, because there's something I need to tell you."

"Is everything okay?"

The obvious concern in his tone curled through her and once again made her grateful that she wasn't in on this alone. "I don't know. When my shift was over, Doreen, the night manager, made me sign a statement logging my hours, time spent on the phone with each individual client, and part of their phone number. They also print out transcripts of customer calls, which go to Antonio for him to read and review before approving payment."

"That must be his way of choosing the clients he wants to invite to The Ultimate Fantasy parties."

"I'm sure it is." How could he seem so calm when she felt so frantic? And how could he not understand the implications of their intimate chat tonight? "Steve… we talked about Valerie, and our phone call was recorded." Her voice was threaded with both frustration and fear.

"No, it wasn't," he replied matter-of-factly. "I wasn't sure how this business operated, so I took precautions and put a scrambler on my phone."

She exhaled hard. At least he'd been thinking on his feet, which was all part of his job, but they could no longer use the protection of a scrambler. "You have to take it off. Especially if the time we spend on the phone and the length and content of our conversations is what determines who Antonio extends invitations to."

"I'll take care of it," he assured her.

As relieved as she was, she couldn't help but ask, "Why didn't you tell me that the calls could be recorded?"

"Because I wanted you to be calm and get some real practice the first night on the job, without censoring yourself. By the way, you were great tonight. Amazing, actually."

The switch in topic reminded her that she was still ticked off at him for being so selfish with her pleasure, the cad. "I'm glad you had a good time."

"You didn't?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

Yes, she'd enjoyed their tantalizing conversation, but her body was still buzzing with unquenched need. "Let me put it this way: you came; I didn't."

His low, sexy chuckle only added to her agitation. "Poor baby."

Unable to take any more of his teasing, she decided it was time to end the call. "Good night, Steve," she said sweetly, and not waiting for a reply, she disconnected the line and started her engine.

She drove home with all the windows rolled down, letting the evening breeze tangle through her unclasped hair and help to ease the lust thrumming through her body. Unfortunately, the cool wind on her skin and caressing her bare thighs reminded her too much of her escapade with Steve and the fan he'd turned into an erotic form of foreplay.

She shifted restlessly in her seat, which only served to add an enticing friction to the liquid heat settling between her thighs. Her fingers flexed around the steering wheel-it was apparent she'd have to give herself the orgasms her body craved if she had any intention of getting a good night's sleep tonight.

She turned down her street, and her pulse leaped when she spotted a familiar black Harley-Davidson parked outside her apartment complex. Then she shook her head. No, it couldn't be Steve-she hadn't yet returned the filled-out application with her home address on it.

Yet as she walked toward the apartment she shared with her cousin, she wasn't all that stunned to find a tall, dark, and gorgeous man dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket, leaning impudently by her door, waiting for her. Despite the surge of temptation and, yes, damn him, excitement flowing through her, she approached him slowly, tentatively, refusing to rush eagerly into his arms.

His pose was all arrogant, self-assured male, like he had every right to be there. His thick, midnight hair was mussed from his ride over, dark stubble lined his jaw, and his blue eyes were bright and seductive against all that sinful black he wore. His thumbs were hooked into the belt loops on his jeans, and a booted foot was propped against the wall behind him, giving the impression that he didn't have a care in the world.

She knew better than to underestimate that casual stance of his, or his reasons for being there. He was, after all, a dauntless, overly confident bad boy who took what he wanted, when he wanted it.

Just as he had tonight, on the phone.

As she neared, she could sense the latent power he exuded, could feel the raw eroticism of his hot stare as he watched her close the distance between them. Could feel her own body soften and respond instinctively to that intense awareness sizzling between them. By the time she stood next to him, she was breathless and battling the urge to rip off his clothes and have her way with him.

Summoning a bit a defiance to keep from giving in to that favorite fantasy of hers, she lifted her chin and pinned him with a direct look. "How did you know where I live?"

"Where there's a will, there's most definitely a way." Taunting amusement flickered across his features.

And he was a PI, trained in tracking people and digging up secrets. "What are you doing here?"

A lazy, seductive grin curved his lips. "Sweetheart, I don't think this is a conversation you want to have out here, where your neighbors might overhear."

She ignored the warning note threading his voice, unwilling to make any of this easy on him. "And you're not getting inside until you tell me why you're here."

"I think we both know the answer to that question," he said, and leaned in so close, his warm breath fanned her neck and his lips brushed the lobe of her ear. His damp tongue added to the shivery sensations, and he added in a rough, wicked whisper, "But just in case you have any doubts in that pretty head of yours, I'm here to fuck you."