"Just the time and the address. And if you wouldn't mind sending in my RSVP?"
I imagine there will be a guest list with the doorman. And anyone who RSVPs through Dallas's email account will be added without question.
"Of course," she says. "And it's this Friday at eight in his apartment on Fifth. I'll email you the address so you have it handy."
"You're wonderful," I say, then hang up and look at Brody. "Friday," I announce. "It's countdown time."
Dallas was on edge, and it didn't have a damn thing to do with the fact that he'd just bugged Peter Crowley's office while the man himself stood only five feet away, sipping scotch and ogling the woman on Dallas's arm.
It didn't even have anything to do with the fact that the woman, a sweet girl named Nina who just landed herself a role in Chicago, had noticed his stiff cock, assumed he was thinking naughty things about her, and promised to give him a blow job as soon as they found a quiet corner.
No, Dallas was on edge for one reason and one reason only--his sister had just sent another text message. And he was going out of his mind until he could get to his phone to read it.
He said it again, hard and harsh in his head. Sister. Because if this little game of hers led to its obvious conclusion, then they both needed to understand what they were getting into. All of it. No pretending like it wasn't fucked up. Like law and society and all its stupid taboos didn't exist.
Like their parents would look the other way.
He thought he was on edge now? He was the picture of calm and cool compared to what he would be if the tabloids got wind of the dark and dirty Sykes family secrets.
And the real hell of it was that right then, right there, he didn't fucking care. There wasn't any room in his head to care. It was too full of her. Too full of Jane and her delicious mind fuck.
He was seated in one of the guest chairs in front of Crowley's desk. His date, Nina, was in his lap, her hand lightly stroking his cock. And, just like Jane had predicted, he was imagining that it was her.
He knew he shouldn't look right now. Jane's name would be right there at the top of the text.
But goddammit, he had to see what she said, and so he reached into his jacket pocket,
and then glanced at the phone as discreetly as he could while Peter Crowley continued to talk about the real estate market on the Upper East Side and Nina continued to stroke his cock.
I'm not wearing any underwear.
Oh, holy Christ.
He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried damn hard to gather himself. Then he tapped out a reply.
Prove it.
He'd told her he wasn't going to play, but who was he kidding? He'd never block Jane's texts. And he was anticipating them so much now that he got hard just from the chime that signaled her incoming messages.
She'd sent three yesterday. One had been a selfie of her in the shower, obviously done on a timer. The glass was steamed, so that he could make out nothing more than the outline of a woman's form behind the fog.
He'd known it was her--and he'd jacked off to the image twice, then taken his own shower.
That evening, another text had arrived, this one a picture of the lingerie she was going to sleep in. A tiny babydoll gown and matching panties of the barely there variety. He'd imagined her in his bed wearing both--and then he'd imagined ripping them off her body and teasing her mercilessly, taking her just to the edge, but not letting her come. Not, at least, until he was ready.
The last text had done him in, and he'd gone to bed early simply so that he could fall asleep with his cock in his hand and his mind on Jane.
Changed my mind. Sleeping naked. Fingering myself. Thinking of you.
There'd been no image, but it didn't matter. He could see the picture clear enough in his mind, and he'd thought about calling her and describing everything he wanted to do to her. Every reaction he wanted to elicit. Every pleasure he wanted to see played out on her face.
But that wasn't the game, and he hadn't called.
Now here he was at this party with a lovely and willing young woman who had made it perfectly clear that she would do whatever he wanted. Be whatever he wanted.
Except she couldn't be Jane.
He exhaled and gave Nina's hip a little squeeze, signaling her to stand. Maybe he couldn't get his mind clear of Jane, but he could at least get his damn job done.