Megan Hart - Switch

fifty-dolar bil.

"For watching the kids," he said.

The paper, crisp and sharp edged, rubbed my fingers.

"Dad, I don't need this."

"Jungle Java isn't cheap."

"I wanted to take them."

"Take the money, Paige," my dad said amiably enough.

"I'm sure you can use it."

I straightened my shoulders and folded the bil in half, then

shoved it in my pocket. "You don't have to pay me for

watching the boys. I'm doing al right."

My dad laughed. "I'm sure you are. I'm not paying you for

anything, I'm just being your dad, okay?"

"Wel, then. Thanks." Gratitude stuck in my throat but I

forced it out.

My dad had periodicaly tossed me some money over the

years. Never enough. Never when I needed it. It would

have been better if he'd done right by my mom and given

her child support so I could've had the stylish jeans in

middle school or the warmer winter coat. I'd have

appreciated that more than the occasional twenty or even

fifty dolars, or the sudden flurry of birthday gifts three

weeks late and al in the wrong sizes.

"Do you want to go to lunch with me next week?" He

yawned again, and I started toward the front door.

"Sure, Dad. Cal me."

"I wil," he told me at the door and gave me a hug and a

kiss on the cheek. "Drive safe."

It was so fatherly it felt foreign. Driving home, my phone

vibrated against my leg again, but I didn't pul it out until I

got to the parking garage. Two messages waited for me.

In bed. Not tired. What should I cal you?

And the second, Stil not sleeping.

I hadn't forgotten how I'd looked forward to every note.

I'd imagined the sender, my secret commander, crafting

each word with the intent of forcing me one more step

along a path so curved I couldn't see the end. I'd never

thought about how difficult it would be to come up with

detailed lists every time, or how it felt to hold someone so

firmly in my command.

There were limits. There had to be. I'm sure I'd have found

them had the notes kept coming, pushing me harder, or if

they'd ordered me to do something so foreign to me I

couldn't manage it. I didn't think I'd have committed a

crime or done something against my personal code, like

have bareback sex with a stranger, or taken drugs.

I didn't know Eric's limits, or how far I wanted to push

him, but the thought sifted heat al through me. I thought for

another few moments, then got out of my car. It wasn't

terribly late, not for a Saturday, but the parking garage

was quiet. Across the street I could see a few lights on in

apartments, though many windows were dark. Most of the

Manor residents would be out and about until much later.

By the time I got to the front doors, I was already tapping

out a message. Grinning, I tucked my phone, set to silent,

back in my pocket. It was a risk that might not play out the

way I'd planned, but it was a good risk.

If you're not sleeping, you should put your time to good

use. Go to the lobby. Greet the first person you see. If it's

a man, you wil engage him in whatever conversation you

want. But if it's a woman, you wil find a way to serve her.

Not to please her, and not to please yourself. To please

me.

It was a lot of typing, but the fact it took longer meant he

had to wait longer for it. I was already in the lobby, which

was stil empty. Al I had to do was wait.

I caught sight of my face in the mirror above the fireplace

nobody ever lit. Blond hair slicked back in a high ponytail,

blue eyes smudged with gray liner. The sun had brought

out some freckles and my lips stil could've used some

gloss, but overal, it wasn't a bad picture.

I turned my face from side to side, envisioning heavier

makeup and a leather suit replacing my workout clothes. A

whip in my hand. Spike-heeled boots. None of that

appealed to me any more than being on my knees with my

appealed to me any more than being on my knees with my

hands tied had ever turned me on. I swiped a hand over

my hair to take care of the wisps faling over my face. I

didn't look like a dominatrix. Was that what I was?

It was too soon to be insulted Eric hadn't even asked for

my phone number. We'd had two pseudodates but no

indication he had any sort of sexual attraction to me. So

far, al I knew was that he got off on being ordered around

by someone he didn't know, and that I liked him very

much.

And that I could make him like me.

Chapter 25

"Paige. Hey."

I'd tried to time my "entrance" just right, grateful nobody else was coming in or out of the building so they couldn't

see me lurking by the front door trying to catch a glimpse

of the elevators. I'd managed to linger long enough I was

the only person in the lobby just as Eric came out of the

elevator. He looked around and lit up when he saw me.

Relief, maybe. Gratitude.

I wanted it to be desire.

"Eric. Hi." I'm no actress, so I didn't bother pretending I wasn't happy to see him. "What's up?"

"Oh, just…" He didn't quite stammer, but he did trail off

with a shrug and a smile. "I have the night off. Couldn't

sleep."

I looked at the big clock on the wal opposite the fireplace.

"It's only eleven-thirty. It's stil early."

"Yeah. Wel, I have to work early, so I was trying to be

good."

I'd never been afraid to go after what I wanted, and I'd

decided I wanted him. "Were you?"

I watched his throat convulse as he swalowed, and I

drank in the sudden gleam from his gaze. I knew what he'd

been told to do, but now I was watching it happen and my

body reacted. My nipples went tight and I sighed silently at

the friction of my panties against me.

"I was trying," he said.

Flirting is a dance, even when you're standing stil.

"But not succeeding?"

His smal smile caled my attention to his perfectly ful

lower lip. "I guess not."

"Bad boy." I didn't coo or purr the words. I didn't have to.

Eric's dark eyes flashed. "I guess I am."

The difference in how he looked at me was subtle, but I'd

been watching for it. I knew what he was supposed to do

and wondered how he meant to do it. But just then I also

and wondered how he meant to do it. But just then I also

wished I hadn't pushed him toward it. Me.

"Wel, it's late," I said to tease. "I'd better go upstairs. I'm starving."

Eric dogged my steps toward the elevator. "What are you

hungry for?"

I let his question turn me. "Ice-cream sundaes."

"I have ice cream. And hot fudge. And I even have those

disgusting cherries."

I smiled at the good luck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Eric nodded slowly, his glance going over my

shoulder when the elevator doors opened. "Want to come

up to my place? I'l make you one."

I back-stepped toward the elevator and he folowed as

though I puled him on a string. Or a leash. "Now, why

would I do that?"

"Because ice cream's more fun when eaten in pairs?"

I laughed at his answer. "Al right. Al I have is diet fudge

I laughed at his answer. "Al right. Al I have is diet fudge

bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae."

He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the

button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held

ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood

next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body

heat and the soft sound of his breath.

We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor