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Josh chuckled and Lauren smiled at the way it took ten years off his serious face. "No," she tossed her hair back. "I want to hear the story about Winslow. "
"Winslow was a wonderful dog who unfortunately had a penchant for chasing cars. "
"That dog's name was not Winslow," Josh shifted his intense gaze off her, allowing Lauren to take a deep, steadying breath without hi
s scrutiny. "No kid names their dog Winslow. "
"All right, if you insist on mundane authenticity, it was Petey. "
"Like the Little Rascals?"
"Of course," Marcus sighed. "I suppose I was as monotonous and tritely cliched as all children. Petey was the best I could do. "
"Does he always play the world-weary urbanite?" Lauren asked.
Josh nodded. "Only in front of guests. Once he gets used to you, you'll see his real personality. Iowa farm boy. "
"No way," Lauren laughed at Marcus's woeful nod. "Your secret's safe with me," she raised her hand in pledge, then fed Josh another mouthful, her attention shifting back to the movement of his jaw, the flex of cords and muscle along his throat as he swallowed. "How did Petey fit into the most wicked thing you did in childhood?"
"Well, loving though woefully misnomered Petey finally caught a car. My father assured me and my cousins that Petey would ascend to the place where dogs may cheerfully chase cars all day long without fear of harm. However, four days after Petey's demise, I came to my father in great distress. Petey had not gone to heaven. "
Marcus put down the wine glass and turned the stem with elegant fingers, the glass and burgundy liquid reflecting the candlelight. "'Of course he has, son,' my father assures me with great confidence, giving me that healthy backslap heterosexual fathers offer to ensure their sons need chiropractic care for the remainder of their lives.
"'No, he hasn't,' I insist. 'Come see. ' For I knew my father had to see proof of what I was saying to understand. I took him to Petey's grave and pointed down at it. 'See? We buried him with his tail sticking up out of the grave so we'd know when he went, and it's still there!'"
Lauren choked on the wine she had raised to her lips for another sip and caught the juice as it tried to escape down her chin. "Marcus, that's terrible," she giggled, unable to help herself. She scrabbled for a napkin to prevent the escaped wine from running down her throat and staining her robe.
"Allow me," Josh leaned forward. Lauren followed the direction of his eyes and felt the wine trickle down into the hollow formed by her collarbone. He paused briefly, his cheek almost brushing hers, and looked sidelong into her eyes. She gave an almost imperceptible jerk of her head, a nod of assent, and his head dipped, his dark hair brushing her jaw line.
His eyes promised revenge for her earlier torture. There was playful mischief in his expression, as well as serious, sensual intent. It was a combination she found as thrilling as her first Ferris wheel ride, which had happened on a crisp fall night filled with sparkling lights, the smell of popcorn and funnel cakes. She teetered on the edge of womanhood that night, made even more ripe and confusing by the knowing, secretive gazes of the male carnies who ran the rides.
His warm lips covered the area, that clever tongue creating a warm, spiraling friction against her heated skin. Lauren sucked in a breath, which brought the top of her breast into contact with his chin. Sensation prickled to the tip and a light shudder ran from breast to thigh, making her toes curl.
Most men did not know what an erogenous zone a woman's neck was. Whether he did or not, Josh was giving it special attention, rubbing his lips up the side of the main artery, and Lauren had to keep her hands clenched at her sides to keep from taking him to the floor and devouring him whole.
Marcus kept his eyes on hers throughout the moment, like a naturalist in a secluded glade, unobtrusive and yet very present, enjoying the experience of watching the interplay of God's creations.
However, when Josh straightened, Marcus's gaze dropped from her face and followed the ridge of the other man's spine.
"Lauren," Marcus said, "I think you were deciding your next wish was that we play Monopoly. "
"What?" She blinked at him hazily, feeling somewhat like a person who has misread an invitation and shown up at a neighborhood barbecue in formal wear.
His gaze slid back to Josh's bare skin. "Well, the high card belongs to you, and you just strike me as an obsessive Monopoly player. I also happen to know Lisette has one in her closet. She plays herself, you know. Actually, four of herselves. A game will stretch on for days, in between her writing sessions. She says when things get too intense, when reality intrudes and locks up her creative mind with fretting about deadlines or editors, or other such drivel, she goes and plays a few rounds. "
"And just how long does the game say I hold the high card?"
"How long did you say you were going to be here?"
Lauren decided that Marcus was altogether the strangest person she had met in quite some time, and that she liked him intensely. "Josh, Marcus," she shifted her attention between them, "I command you to play Monopoly with me. "
Chapter 7
Three hours later, they all had had second helpings of stir-fry, Josh had made cookies, and crumbs were scattered as liberally on the floor as hotels on the board. And most of them were Lauren's. The hotels, that is.
This, despite Marcus's blatant cheating. Josh was not a tremendous threat, having a penchant for landing on the Go To Jail corner mark, and possessing pathetically poor judgment when it came to selling and developing his properties. Lauren had not had so much fun in. . . well; she couldn't remember when life had stopped being fun. Her mind wanted her to start the clock with the break up with Jonathan, but she wasn't sure that was true.
"Well, I guess we don't have to ask what you do for a living," Marcus said darkly, as he landed on Boardwalk, parking his pewter iron next to her three glossy red hotels. "You're a corporate raider. "
