Faking It / Forbidden Sins. Stefanie London

my insides. Is he drawing on his time in New York?

      My mind spins. I don’t have a backstory planned—I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Hell, I have no idea how this role-play thing is supposed to work. Perhaps part of me never thought he’d say yes…

      “I’m in town on business.” I sip my drink. “For one night.”

      “Just one?” There’s that cheeky twinkle.

      “Yes. I’m…” Think, dammit. “A researcher.”

      “And what do you research, Annabel?” The way he says my fake name sounds like sex itself.

      His drink arrives and he brings the heavy glass up to his mouth, tipping his head back. As he swallows, I watch the muscles working in his throat and I find my own totally devoid of moisture.

      “I research the five senses and their effect on the human body.” My creative mind kicks into gear and it’s like slipping a costume over my head. “Such as how the other senses increase in strength to compensate when one is no longer accessible.”

      “That’s an interesting field of research.”

      “It’s very hands on.”

      Our bodies are turned toward one another, my legs crossed so that my knees sit between his open legs. Owen leans one arm on the bar and watches me closely. It’s different to every other time he’s looked at me.

      “How do you test those things?” he asks.

      “It’s pretty simple. I can show you right now, if you like?”

      He nods. “Sure.”

      “Close your eyes.”

      There’s something deeply appealing about having this strong man under my spell. Owen is physically fitter than most men…even most cops. He’s easily over six feet, broad-shouldered and has the kind of sculpted, muscular arms you’d expect of an action hero. But having him here in front of me, eyes closed, while he awaits my instruction makes me feel all kinds of powerful. I usually only get that surge of confidence at work.

      But this is purely personal.

      I take the lemon rind from my cocktail and slowly bring it under his nose. I see the recognition in his facial features, even though he doesn’t open his eyes. “What do you smell?”

      “Lemon.”

      “But a second ago you had no idea it was there.”

      I leave the peel there for a second before placing it on a napkin on the bar. Then I lean closer to him, being sure not to touch him. When my lips are right by his ear, I blow cool air onto his skin and he shudders.

      “With your eyes closed, everything else feels more intense. Your sense of smell and touch compensate for your lack of sight.” I place my hand on his thigh, feeling hard muscle beneath the fine fabric of his trousers. “It’s something that helped our ancestors when they had nothing but the moonlight to guide them.”

      Where the hell is this coming from? I’ve fully embraced the role—Annabel, the sexpot researcher. It’s helping me be less like my typical awkward self, and more like the woman I wish I was.

      “In fact,” I say, pausing to clear my throat. “I’m here recruiting test subjects.”

      Owen’s eyes open and he looks at my hand resting on his thigh. “What are the requirements?”

      “Single men between the ages of thirty and thirty-five. Must be in good health.” I let my gaze roam over his body in a way I’ve never done before.

      I dwell in the details of him—in the blond hairs dusting his arms where his sleeves are rolled back. In the way his Adam’s apple protrudes at his neck. In the sharp cut of his jaw and the hard slash of his cheekbones. In his bluer-than-blue eyes and full, curved lips. He’s so attractive it borders on obnoxious. All the female recruits had a crush on him—charming Owen, who could befriend anyone. Who was always quick with a smile and a joke.

      He was a boy, then. And now he’s filled out into this complex, mysterious man.

      “Anything else?” he asks.

      “Must be free for one night of testing,” I reply. “One whole night because…I like to be thorough.”

      “Sounds like I fit the bill.” He knocks back the rest of his Scotch and I’m so nervous and excited I’m worried my heart is going to bust its way out of my rib cage. “I don’t suppose you have a spot open tonight?”

      “Actually, I do.”

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       Owen

      MOST PEOPLE DON’T know this about me, but I make decisions with care and consideration. No one expects the joker to have much going on upstairs…but I do. I let my head take the lead, instead of other less reliable parts like my heart, or my dick.

      Tonight, however, is a rare exception.

      My head is literally screaming at me to back away from this bad decision. But all the blood in my body is currently supporting another appendage. Hannah—posing as a sexy researcher named Annabel—slides from her bar stool, her eyes never leaving mine, and I’m done for. No amount of worrying about the case—about tomorrow—is going to stop me from taking the delicacy she’s dangling in front of me.

      I follow her from the bar and help her into her coat the second the night air hits us. It’s colder now, spitting with rain, and I tuck her close against my body. “Where does your research take place, Ms. Annabel?”

      She looks up at me and I see the cogs turning. She’s considering whether we should go back to the apartment. That’s not a good idea. A hotel will make it easier to keep sex and the job separate.

      “I’ve got a room we could use,” I say, leaning into my role of anonymous travelling businessman. “If you don’t mind working out of a hotel.”

      “That sounds great,” she says breathlessly.

      We walk along the river’s edge, our heads bowed to the fine, misting rain and our hands entwined until we reach the Crown Entertainment Complex. The hotel here is swanky to the max and has a price tag to match. The only room available is a suite and the nightly rate makes Hannah’s eyes bulge—but I hand over my credit card and within seconds we’re whisked up to heaven. The room boasts an incredible panoramic view of Melbourne, with glistening lights and a luxurious white sectional facing the window.

      I can already see how incredible she’ll look laid out on it—naked, with the moonlight dancing on her skin—while I feast on her. My body is tightly coiled, like a spring. There’s a pressure building inside me that’s been growing for years.

      “Please remove your coat,” Hannah says in a formal voice. She’s already hung hers on a stand by the front door. “If you could also remove your shoes and socks, that would be most helpful.”

      The clipped, efficient tone makes me smile. I bend and untie my dress shoes, toeing them off and removing my socks, as instructed. She hangs my coat next to hers and when she walks back to me, she’s holding a tie in her hands. It looks to be made of the same fluffy white material as a bathrobe.

      “I’m going to blindfold you now, so we can begin.” She waits a moment and I give her a quick nod, letting her know it’s okay to proceed.

      I’ve always known Hannah to be a take-charge kind of woman, and it thrills me to know it transfers to the bedroom. I love being in charge, too, but there’s something insanely hot about a woman who wants to take pleasure into her own hands. Tonight, I am willing to be her test subject—to play this role and revel in whatever that mysterious brain of hers has planned.

      She wraps