She picked up the phone and scanned the images. The last one. She’d send that image to Mr. Ryder along with a message.
Mr. Workaholic,
I’ll match you risk for risk. But I might have to borrow your handcuffs. Mine are pink and fuzzy. They would look out of place on your desk.
Yours truly,
Naughty in Pink
She read through the brazen words. She couldn’t send that to a stranger. First of all, it was a lie. She didn’t own handcuffs. She’d never ventured beyond vanilla sex. But the thought of sending this picture to Mr. Arm Porn?
Simply thrilling.
Her breasts agreed, forming tight peeks beneath her bra. Post break-up Lucy went after what she wanted. And right now, she wanted Philip Ryder—handcuffs and all.
She hit send.
Chapter 9
Jared leaned back in his desk chair. The leather was cold against his skin. This high-back brown chair matched the one in his New York home office. Only this one wasn’t broken in, worn from his long hours at his desk. Back in Manhattan, he spent half the night in his office.
Working
.
But he wasn’t reviewing spreadsheets or crunching numbers tonight.
He spun the handcuffs around with his left hand. The metal felt cold and hard. Nothing like the way he’d defined Lucy Linden up until five minutes ago. He’d thought of her as sweet and innocent, like the character she portrayed at parties. And she was. But she was also so much more than his friend’s heartbroken, off-limits little sister.
He’d never had a thing for Cinderella. He wasn’t one of those assholes who saw Lucy in her gown and wanted a peek underneath—at least not because of her getup. He wanted to look and touch because he wanted the girl beneath the gown. And sweet little Lucy had just given him a glimpse.
He stared at the image filling his desktop screen. The picture she’d sent in the middle of the night matched his dare. She’d replicated his pose, apart from one arm reaching forward to take the shot. Her taunt abdomen, the glimpse of her white, lacey bra, the curve of her hip that left him wanting to see more.
Fuck me, I don’t think this is what Finn had in mind when he said, “Woo her.”
But Jared had started it. He’d set up that first shot. He couldn’t blame the tequila for his last-minute decision to add the handcuffs. The liquor had worn off hours ago. No, he’d wanted Lucy to see him. If he was going all in—and declaring his intentions to her brother sure as hell answered that “if” with a resounding “hell yeah”—he couldn’t hold back. Yes, he was using a fake name. But he still planned to let her in and show her exactly who he was.
I could have saved the handcuffs for the second or third picture. I didn’t need to test her limits on the first shot.
After he’d sent the picture, he’d poured a glass of scotch and analyzed his motives. He’d swirled the amber liquid, barely touching it, wondering if he’d tried to sabotage his own fake dating profile. Did he want Lucy to fall for Philip Ryder, the imaginary prince charming he’d created with her brother’s help?
No.
He wanted to Lucy to fall for him. But he couldn’t fault Finn’s logic. Lucy was fighting the attraction burning between them like a beach bonfire. She wasn’t willing to give Jared Mitchell a shot.
Now Philip Ryder? She might give him a chance. She wouldn’t write him off as a billionaire player or shit, toss him in the “out of her league” column. Judging from this picture, Lucy wanted to play in his league. And with his handcuffs.
Jared studied the screen. He couldn’t see her breasts or her long legs, but the image still left his dick aching. He was tempted to unbutton his jeans. He could tell himself he was taking the edge off the lust before he sent Lucy another message. If he let his dick rule his brain, he’d tell Finn’s sister that one look at her bare stomach and he wanted to take her to bed for a week. He craved filthy, kinky sex with her, and only her.
He closed his eyes and kept his hands on the armrests. He drew the line at jacking off to a picture of Lucy’s abs in the middle of the night.
Right now, he needed to go to bed. Then in the morning, he would respond to Lucy. If he messaged her again tonight . . . hell, he’d never been so damn tempted to send a woman a picture of his dick just to see if she would strip off her panties.
He possessed enough sense to know that was a stupid move. Lucy might be willing to expose her wild side to Philip Ryder, but she would draw the line at a picture of his cock. She’d lump his fake profile persona in with drunken dads and disastrous dates. And she’d be right. She deserved more from him.
“I’m going to deliver, Lucy,” he murmured as he rose and headed for the hall leading to his bedroom. “Trust me.”
Jared let his bare feet sink into the sand. Technically, he owned a strip of the beach. He’d purchased a piece of oceanfront real estate, sand included. Yet, everything below the high water line belonged to the state and was open to the public. By noon, visitors from the neighboring streets would stake their claim with towels and umbrellas. But at six in the morning on a Sunday, there was nothing but sand and seaweed. He spotted a dog running beside his owner in the distance. The yellow lab was barely visible in the pre-dawn light. Still, the pup and his owner would keep him from doing something stupid.