Every Girl's Secret Fantasy by Robyn Grady Page A

push and pull that started out as sparks igniting back and forth through her blood and then grew into something far more intoxicating.
    Something clear and bright.
    Listen to the music and let yourself go.
    Her confidence building along with the heat in the room, Phoebe swayed away from the corner, arching and twirling, allowing herself only to feel in the immediate, smouldering present. When barely an arm’s length separated her from Pace she closed her eyes again and absorbed the crisp dry air, as well as the symphony caressing her every move.
    She felt it. Was it.
    Desirable. Powerful.
    Sexy.
    Opening her eyes, she focused on her captive audience. Pace’s nostrils flared like an animal testing the air as he concentrated on her performance.
    Deliciously reckless now, she smiled. “You like to see a woman dance, Pace?”
    A pulse pounded at the side of his throat.
    â€œSome women.”
    Winding around to offer a rear view, she tucked a cheek into her shoulder. “ This woman, Pace?”
    Blue eyes gleamed in the shadows. “Yes, Phoebe. I like to see you dance.”
    Something in the deep focus of his tone stilled her for a beat. She felt locked in the power of his gaze and the message it seemed to convey. My turn’s coming. But then the music swelled and she was lost again, more aware with every chord of how deeply this act was affecting her—and Pace—on every level. It was as if she’d become another person…the person she’d always known she could be in the right situation. With the right man.
    On a whim, she turned her back to him, hugged herself, and manufactured a pitiful attempt to reach her bra’s clasp. “I can’t seem to…” She pretended to stretch. “I can’t seem to reach.”
    But rather than react Pace simply lay there, strangely unmoved.
    Her swaying faltered as her stomach pitched and her heart began to pound a different beat. Why no reaction? Had she done something wrong? Something to turn him off?
    As she edged around to face him Pace grimaced, arched his back, and let out a gut-wrenching oath. A harrowing feeling funnelled through her and Phoebe held her breath. What was happening? Clearly he was in pain. Was he having a heart attack? A stroke?
    When he arched higher, grimaced harder, she rushed over and fell to her knees. His eyes were squeezed tight, his expression tortured.
    She touched his cheek. “Pace, what’s wrong?”
    â€œSomething…cutting into—” he cursed again “—back of neck.”
    Had she left a pair of manicure scissors on the cushions? She’d eaten dinner on this couch many times. Had a knife, lost in the join, stuck into his back?
    She sent a hand in to tunnel behind his neck. He growled out again, louder this time. Desperate, she struggled to see around his mountainous shoulders.
    â€œRight there ,” he let her know, as half her arm disappeared between his back and the couch.
    Panic beating in her ears, she burrowed deeper, felt around. “I—I don’t feel anything.”
    His face was inches from hers. Heartbeat hammering, she searched his eyes for a sign, for some instruction on what to do next. But of course she needed to get a knife, or scissors, hurry back, cut the tie and set him free. She needed to do it now .
    About to bolt to the kitchen, Phoebe hesitated. Pace’s expression had changed. Rather than pinched, his face now seemed strangely at peace. Make that supremely satisfied.
    Her stomach clenched sickly around a dense ball when he smiled and the horrible truth dawned.
    His sudden pain, the grimace, the moans…it had all been a trap. She’d been tricked!
    Growling, she tried to yank her arm free. Stuck fast between the couch and his back, it wouldn’t budge.
    Pace’s smile grew. “What do you intend to do now, Mata Hari?”
    Her mind racing, she stammered, “I—I wasn’t going to keep you tied up all