Going For It, page 9
It didn’t feel like her apartment. It didn’t smell like her apartment, either. The scent of Italian spices made her tummy growl. The scent of the candles made her giddy. The scent of Chase Newman did several other things, none of which she cared to focus on.
Chase stood between the kitchen and the dining room. He’d also found her place mats and silver, and the table looked sinfully elegant. Candles, of course, were the centerpiece.
“Welcome back.”
“You did all this.”
He nodded. “I had some time on my hands.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” He headed toward her, lit by soft, flickering lights. “Are you?”
“Am I?”
“All right?”
“I don’t know,” she said, which wasn’t smart. But she couldn’t help it. Her pep talk in the bathroom was fading like a bad dream.
“My linguini will fix everything,” he said, his voice low and intimate as he held out her wineglass. “But first, you need to relax.”
“I’m fine,” she said, lying through her clenched teeth. She took the wine, thinking it might be a good idea to drink as much as she could as fast as she could.
He had other plans. Starting with a walk around her, a steadying hand keeping her from moving. Once he was behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. She nearly dropped her glass.
His hands covered most of her shoulders, they were so large. The first wave of sensation was all about her own size, her fragility. How it would feel to have those hands caress her body. A shiver raced through her, and then he started massaging her, kneading her neck muscles.
He was surprisingly gentle. His thumbs found her pressure points, and she could feel herself melting. As if his magic fingers weren’t enough, his warm breath whispered against her neck—her name, so soft it was hardly there. Then his lips were behind her ear, nuzzling as he continued working the tension from her body.
This was all new to her. No one had ever touched her exactly like this, or whispered her name in such a way. His shivery kisses made her want to weep for all she’d missed out on.
She’d thought it would be wonderful. Honestly, she’d fantasized about a man like Chase, a moment like this. But her fantasies had been woefully inadequate. No imagining could equal the feel of his hands running down her arms, the erotic web he wove with his breath, his lips, his hips rubbing against her bottom.
He slipped her wineglass from her hand and put it somewhere. She’d forgotten all about it. Her intoxication didn’t need liquor, it seemed. Just Chase nibbling on her earlobe.
It wasn’t fair. All these new sensations, and she couldn’t let herself enjoy them. Well, not as much as if she were really going to make love with him. This was all about a bet, a wager, a game. He wasn’t touching her this way because he wanted her. If it hadn’t been for Darlene Whittaker, Chase wouldn’t have asked her out in the first place. She must remember that…
His hands moved down her arms again, and then they were on her stomach, and she gasped when he didn’t stop there. He moved his hands up just under her breasts, and then his thumbs, those wicked thumbs, rubbed her just below her nipples.
A hiss of breath hit her neck, and she had to squeeze her legs together tightly. She put her hands on his hands, meaning to pull them away, but then she seemed to lose her strength, to say nothing of her determination.
He teased her, but only until she whimpered. Then his thumbs touched the rigid nubs. Rubbed small circles, not too hard, just right. Behind her, he moved his hips, letting her feel his hard length straining against his jeans. That was new, too. She knew so much about men in general, and so little about a man.
He cupped her breasts, so small in his big hands. But his moan let her know he liked what he felt, that she was right for him.
“Jamie,” he whispered. Then he turned her around and his lips came down on hers.
The kiss was different, hungrier. His tongue thrust between her teeth, taking all he wanted, his hands on her back and then lower until he cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against his heat.
She wasn’t equipped to fight a man like Chase. He was too sophisticated, too devilishly handsome. His hands…they could make her do anything. The fact that he didn’t really want her so much as he wanted to win the bet couldn’t compete with the way his taste, his lips, his hands squeezing her flesh made her woozy with desire.
It would be her job. Her career. Unless she could convince him to keep her secret. But either way, she just couldn’t fight him any longer. He’d won on day two. A TKO of the first magnitude.
She broke the kiss, raised her gaze to his.
He didn’t seem surprised. He smiled, making her heart flutter. But then he did something that changed the whole game. He chuckled. It was very soft, and if she hadn’t been watching him so intently, she would have missed it.
He’d known exactly what would happen. That with a touch here, a word there, he could make her melt. He was almost right. Almost.
She still tingled from head to toe. Her nipples were still hard and the throbbing between her legs was enough to make her yearn for release. But there was just enough sanity left in her to see what was happening. To understand that she was in the game—whether as a pawn or a queen was up to her.
The easiest thing in the world would be to surrender. To let go of her ideals and blame biology. But surrendering wasn’t her style. She’d fought hard and long for everything she had in her life. Including her job. Her place in the world.
Was she going to lose it all to this cocky bastard?
“What’s that smile for?” he asked, his voice gruff with the lust she still felt in his hands, in his body.
She moved her hands down his chest, brushing lightly with her fingertips. Come on, girl. You know how to do this. She knew how to exploit a situation for her own benefit. Hadn’t she done that with the radio show? With school? Of course she had. So why couldn’t she do the same thing with Chase. Turn the tables. Be the seductor instead of the seductee. She could hold all the cards, every last one. And Chase wouldn’t know what hit him.
Her fingers moved down to his belt where she lingered for a moment, teasing the buckle as if she were going to undo it. His breath caught. She gave him a suggestively raised brow. Then she purposely stepped away.
Wait for it… Wait… There.
He let out a frustrated moan, chalking one up for her side.
Take that, Chuckles.
HE’D HAD HER. So what the hell just happened? A moment ago she’d been putty in his hands.
“Did you say dinner was ready?”
He nodded. Watched her get her wine, take a sip, smile at him over the rim of the glass as if she knew a secret. Then she walked to the table, running one hand down her backside, showing him the shape of the curves he’d only begun to discover for himself.
The real problem here was physical. It wasn’t the first time he’d been left dangling, so to speak, but it hadn’t happened for years. Women didn’t turn him down. Not women he went after in high gear.
The feel of her hard nipples, the way she fit into his hands…
What the hell—?
“Chase? Would you like me to serve you?”
“Sure.” As long as it was her on a platter. The pasta held no appeal. Nothing did, except finishing what he’d started.
She busied herself with the plates, gave them both generous portions, but she didn’t dig in. Instead, she ran the tip of her finger over the rim of her nearly empty wineglass and looked at him from under her dark lashes.
She was coming on to him, right? The fingers, the glances, the subtle smile, the flush in her cheeks. She wanted him. But if that was the case, why was he over here, and why did she have her clothes on?
“It smells wonderful. I was wrong. You do know how to cook. I should have guessed.”
He needed to move. To go sit down. To pick up where he’d left off. Only, something was screwy.
He understood women, almost as well as he understood cars. They were predictable in their unpredictability. They wanted to succumb, to be swept away. When Jamie had leaned back in his arms it had told him everything he needed to know. Only, he had on his clothes, too.
“I’ll be right back.” He took an uncomfortable walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Once he was alone, he leaned against the wall and willed himself to calm the hell down. The pressure eased a bit, which let him think more clearly.
Okay, so maybe Jamie wasn’t the pushover he’d imagined. Maybe she’d take a little more work. Which made sense. Hell, look what she did for a living. He’d figured she wasn’t very experienced. A hundred small things told him that. The way she blushed, her tentative kisses, the way she trembled in his arms. All signs of a woman who hadn’t had any in a while.
He’d been with women like her before. Shy women who’d had inadequate lovers, who ate up the attention and longed to be set free.
But none of them had stopped midway through the first lap. Certainly not after they’d found his belt. Dammit, that was usually a sure sign.
He splashed some cold water on his face as he tried to assess the situation. There was only one pertinent question—did he honestly believe he could seduce Jamie? Could he shake her down from her intellectual pedestal? Could he make her surrender?
Yes.
Why?
Because of the wager? No. It was a stupid bet, and the only intelligent thing to do was bow out. He knew without a doubt, though, that if he called off the bet, he’d lose his only hope of getting her into bed. She’d run and hide, just the way she used to at the station before all this started. He used to wonder why he frightened her, and the last couple of days had shown him why.
So the bottom line was simple. Screw the bet, and get Jamie Hampton into his bed. That was the game. That was the goal. Like winning at Le Mans.
He looked at his reflection. Why not? What else did he have to do that was anywhere close to this fascinating? Good for her, knocking him off balance. That made things…interesting.
Dammit, he wanted to win.
What was the expression? Live hard, die young, leave a good-looking corpse? Hell of a motto, but then he didn’t have much choice in the matter, did he? After all, he had the Newman curse.
That was his ultimate strength—the knowledge that he’d only be around for a few more years. No one else knew, and he wouldn’t say a word. He’d just go at thirty-five, as had his father and his father before him.
The doctor he’d talked to said it was a coincidence, but the doctor didn’t know about Chase’s great-grandfather. Dead at thirty-four. A heart attack, out of the blue. His mother knew, and in those first years after his father died, she’d warned him not to repeat his father’s mistake. Not ever to leave a wife and child behind.
At least Chase had some warning. And he’d taken it seriously. He did live fast, as fast as he knew how. He’d been all over the world, been with women from Africa to Istanbul. He’d tried everything at least once, daring himself to go farther, deeper, and to risk more. And he’d never let anyone get too close.
His mother had nearly gone insane at the death of his father. No way would Chase leave behind a grieving widow, or a son who would have to face the same destiny.
He lived for the moment, never for the future, never in the past. And, right now, his moment was in the dining room. If she wanted to roll up her sleeves and fight, so be it. In fact, he liked that she wasn’t going to be easy. Too damn much in his life had been.
He had no doubt he’d win. But now, getting there was going to be a lot more fun.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, he wiped his face and hands, then headed back to the dining room. At the far corner of the table sat Dr. Jamie, his worthy opponent. Her dark eyes flashed with a seductive welcome.
But he had her number. Oh, yeah. Baby, the flag is up.
7
JAMIE WATCHED HIM EAT. Of course, he watched right back. It was like staring into a mirror. Well, not quite. But he would take a bite, she would take a bite. He’d sip his wine, she’d do the same. She echoed every gesture, paused with every pause. She was Ginger to his Fred; dancers with no music.
When he didn’t react, she decided to crank it up a notch. Carefully, she put her fork down on the side of her plate, then made the mmm sound of appreciation, only real low and deep and sexy. Then, feeling quite foolish, but daring, too, she licked her upper lip, taking her own sweet time.
Nothing changed. His expression was exactly the same as— Hold on. Oh, my. He’d put his fork in his mouth, only he’d forgotten to pick up any food on it. And yet, he didn’t seem to notice as he proceeded to chew and swallow.
Excellent.
She picked up her wineglass and took a tiny, quick lick of the rim before she sipped the chardonnay. As she’d anticipated, Chase’s gaze was fixed on her mouth, on her tongue. Such a bad boy.
Next, she reached across the table to get the pepper mill, even though she had no desire for pepper. But she knew that when she stretched, her dress molded against her breasts. She didn’t even have to look this time to sense where his gaze had wandered. Heck, this was like shooting fish in a barrel.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze. She’d see about that.
“These candles are really beautiful, aren’t they.”
His grunt sounded sort of like “Yes.”
“I think the flickering light is so soothing. You know what one of my favorite things is?”
“I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.”
She smiled, although she didn’t give him any teeth. “I love slipping into a nice, hot, wet…bubble bath.”
No comment, except for the bobbing Adam’s apple.
She sighed as she ran two fingers lazily up her arm. “I light my private candles and fill the tub with rose-scented bubble bath, then I sink down until my whole body is under the water, and my head rests on my bath pillow.”
She took another sip of wine, giving him time to fine-tune his mental picture. “I close my eyes and let the water and the roses soothe away all my worries. All that’s left to do is wash. I don’t like to use a cloth or anything. I just get my hands all soapy. Of course, I start with my toes—the summer can be so harsh on bare feet. And then I work my way up to my ankles.” She paused, milking the moment. “Then I move my hands to my legs and knees.”
He swallowed again, his eyes slightly glassy.
“I lean back to wash my thighs, of course. Because I need to be comfortable and completely relaxed when I…”
Chase couldn’t help it. He leaned forward, waiting for her to finish the sentence. And waiting. Dammit. What was she doing to him?
She took another sip of wine, then put the glass down. He let out his breath, sure she’d go on, begging her to go on.
She twirled some pasta on her fork and brought it to her mouth. Opening her lips, the food slipped inside, and then her lips closed on the fork—and he had to look away before he started crying.
This wasn’t amusing. She was doing it on purpose. All of it. He’d thought she was innocent. A babe in the woods. What a laugh. She was more like the big, bad wolf.
He took a deep breath and loosened the stranglehold he had on his glass before it shattered. He also wanted to loosen his pants before they burst at the seams, but that was a no-go because he was afraid to touch himself anywhere in the vicinity of his fly. A stiff breeze would probably push him over the edge, and on the list of tricks to impress your date, coming at the dinner table was below everything with the possible exception of choking and turning blue in the face.
There was only one other time in his life when he’d been in this much trouble. He’d been fifteen and, like most guys his age, he’d been a virgin. A hopeful virgin. He’d spent the summer at his friend Jeff’s place, and Jeff had a cousin. Her name was Eve. She liked to tease him and, at seventeen, she was already a master.
One day she left the bathroom door open, just a tad. Just enough for him to peek inside. He hit the mother lode—Eve, who was built like a brick house, was taking off her bathing suit.
Years later, he realized she actually had been putting on a show for him, and that the door wasn’t left open accidentally. At the time, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
Eve was the most gorgeous creature on the planet. Blond, tall, with legs that went on for about a mile, she was the picture of feminine perfection in his eyes, a veritable Miss July, sprung fully formed from the pages of Playboy magazine.
His fifteen-year-old hormones went into overdrive. But before he could move away, Eve yanked open the door. She had somehow put a towel around her good parts, and she was furious.
He begged her not to tell. He didn’t want to be banished to his parents’ incredibly boring apartment back in Manhattan. He wanted to be with Jeff, and the pool and the goddess who had him by the T-shirt.
He’d begged, and she’d finally agreed to keep his secret, but only if he’d submit to being her slave for the rest of his stay.
The torture had been exquisite.
She’d made him rub lotion on her body, fetch drinks, give her massages, make her bed. And he’d had the erection that wouldn’t die. It went on for days. Eve had wanted him to take off his clothes for her, but at that he put his foot down. It was bad enough that he had to wear two pairs of jockey shorts under his bathing suit just so he wouldn’t give Jeff’s mother a stroke, but there was no way he was going to show Eve his predicament in all its glory.
Of course, if he’d been just a bit older, he would have understood that her request wasn’t the cruel trick he’d imagined, but a wicked introduction to the wonders of sex. Damn. He could have had a really great summer. Instead, it was full of pain and anguish and sweet suffering. Like tonight.
He wondered where Eve was now. She was probably a dentist or an island despot.
But because there was a great deal of humor in the universe, he’d found himself another Eve. He was older now. Wiser. He knew perfectly well that Jamie was intentionally torturing him. That every move she made was meant to torment him. He was wise to the woman, no doubt about that. Unfortunately, his penis caught none of the nuances and, frankly, misunderstood the entire scenario.
Chase stood between the kitchen and the dining room. He’d also found her place mats and silver, and the table looked sinfully elegant. Candles, of course, were the centerpiece.
“Welcome back.”
“You did all this.”
He nodded. “I had some time on my hands.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” He headed toward her, lit by soft, flickering lights. “Are you?”
“Am I?”
“All right?”
“I don’t know,” she said, which wasn’t smart. But she couldn’t help it. Her pep talk in the bathroom was fading like a bad dream.
“My linguini will fix everything,” he said, his voice low and intimate as he held out her wineglass. “But first, you need to relax.”
“I’m fine,” she said, lying through her clenched teeth. She took the wine, thinking it might be a good idea to drink as much as she could as fast as she could.
He had other plans. Starting with a walk around her, a steadying hand keeping her from moving. Once he was behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. She nearly dropped her glass.
His hands covered most of her shoulders, they were so large. The first wave of sensation was all about her own size, her fragility. How it would feel to have those hands caress her body. A shiver raced through her, and then he started massaging her, kneading her neck muscles.
He was surprisingly gentle. His thumbs found her pressure points, and she could feel herself melting. As if his magic fingers weren’t enough, his warm breath whispered against her neck—her name, so soft it was hardly there. Then his lips were behind her ear, nuzzling as he continued working the tension from her body.
This was all new to her. No one had ever touched her exactly like this, or whispered her name in such a way. His shivery kisses made her want to weep for all she’d missed out on.
She’d thought it would be wonderful. Honestly, she’d fantasized about a man like Chase, a moment like this. But her fantasies had been woefully inadequate. No imagining could equal the feel of his hands running down her arms, the erotic web he wove with his breath, his lips, his hips rubbing against her bottom.
He slipped her wineglass from her hand and put it somewhere. She’d forgotten all about it. Her intoxication didn’t need liquor, it seemed. Just Chase nibbling on her earlobe.
It wasn’t fair. All these new sensations, and she couldn’t let herself enjoy them. Well, not as much as if she were really going to make love with him. This was all about a bet, a wager, a game. He wasn’t touching her this way because he wanted her. If it hadn’t been for Darlene Whittaker, Chase wouldn’t have asked her out in the first place. She must remember that…
His hands moved down her arms again, and then they were on her stomach, and she gasped when he didn’t stop there. He moved his hands up just under her breasts, and then his thumbs, those wicked thumbs, rubbed her just below her nipples.
A hiss of breath hit her neck, and she had to squeeze her legs together tightly. She put her hands on his hands, meaning to pull them away, but then she seemed to lose her strength, to say nothing of her determination.
He teased her, but only until she whimpered. Then his thumbs touched the rigid nubs. Rubbed small circles, not too hard, just right. Behind her, he moved his hips, letting her feel his hard length straining against his jeans. That was new, too. She knew so much about men in general, and so little about a man.
He cupped her breasts, so small in his big hands. But his moan let her know he liked what he felt, that she was right for him.
“Jamie,” he whispered. Then he turned her around and his lips came down on hers.
The kiss was different, hungrier. His tongue thrust between her teeth, taking all he wanted, his hands on her back and then lower until he cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against his heat.
She wasn’t equipped to fight a man like Chase. He was too sophisticated, too devilishly handsome. His hands…they could make her do anything. The fact that he didn’t really want her so much as he wanted to win the bet couldn’t compete with the way his taste, his lips, his hands squeezing her flesh made her woozy with desire.
It would be her job. Her career. Unless she could convince him to keep her secret. But either way, she just couldn’t fight him any longer. He’d won on day two. A TKO of the first magnitude.
She broke the kiss, raised her gaze to his.
He didn’t seem surprised. He smiled, making her heart flutter. But then he did something that changed the whole game. He chuckled. It was very soft, and if she hadn’t been watching him so intently, she would have missed it.
He’d known exactly what would happen. That with a touch here, a word there, he could make her melt. He was almost right. Almost.
She still tingled from head to toe. Her nipples were still hard and the throbbing between her legs was enough to make her yearn for release. But there was just enough sanity left in her to see what was happening. To understand that she was in the game—whether as a pawn or a queen was up to her.
The easiest thing in the world would be to surrender. To let go of her ideals and blame biology. But surrendering wasn’t her style. She’d fought hard and long for everything she had in her life. Including her job. Her place in the world.
Was she going to lose it all to this cocky bastard?
“What’s that smile for?” he asked, his voice gruff with the lust she still felt in his hands, in his body.
She moved her hands down his chest, brushing lightly with her fingertips. Come on, girl. You know how to do this. She knew how to exploit a situation for her own benefit. Hadn’t she done that with the radio show? With school? Of course she had. So why couldn’t she do the same thing with Chase. Turn the tables. Be the seductor instead of the seductee. She could hold all the cards, every last one. And Chase wouldn’t know what hit him.
Her fingers moved down to his belt where she lingered for a moment, teasing the buckle as if she were going to undo it. His breath caught. She gave him a suggestively raised brow. Then she purposely stepped away.
Wait for it… Wait… There.
He let out a frustrated moan, chalking one up for her side.
Take that, Chuckles.
HE’D HAD HER. So what the hell just happened? A moment ago she’d been putty in his hands.
“Did you say dinner was ready?”
He nodded. Watched her get her wine, take a sip, smile at him over the rim of the glass as if she knew a secret. Then she walked to the table, running one hand down her backside, showing him the shape of the curves he’d only begun to discover for himself.
The real problem here was physical. It wasn’t the first time he’d been left dangling, so to speak, but it hadn’t happened for years. Women didn’t turn him down. Not women he went after in high gear.
The feel of her hard nipples, the way she fit into his hands…
What the hell—?
“Chase? Would you like me to serve you?”
“Sure.” As long as it was her on a platter. The pasta held no appeal. Nothing did, except finishing what he’d started.
She busied herself with the plates, gave them both generous portions, but she didn’t dig in. Instead, she ran the tip of her finger over the rim of her nearly empty wineglass and looked at him from under her dark lashes.
She was coming on to him, right? The fingers, the glances, the subtle smile, the flush in her cheeks. She wanted him. But if that was the case, why was he over here, and why did she have her clothes on?
“It smells wonderful. I was wrong. You do know how to cook. I should have guessed.”
He needed to move. To go sit down. To pick up where he’d left off. Only, something was screwy.
He understood women, almost as well as he understood cars. They were predictable in their unpredictability. They wanted to succumb, to be swept away. When Jamie had leaned back in his arms it had told him everything he needed to know. Only, he had on his clothes, too.
“I’ll be right back.” He took an uncomfortable walk to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Once he was alone, he leaned against the wall and willed himself to calm the hell down. The pressure eased a bit, which let him think more clearly.
Okay, so maybe Jamie wasn’t the pushover he’d imagined. Maybe she’d take a little more work. Which made sense. Hell, look what she did for a living. He’d figured she wasn’t very experienced. A hundred small things told him that. The way she blushed, her tentative kisses, the way she trembled in his arms. All signs of a woman who hadn’t had any in a while.
He’d been with women like her before. Shy women who’d had inadequate lovers, who ate up the attention and longed to be set free.
But none of them had stopped midway through the first lap. Certainly not after they’d found his belt. Dammit, that was usually a sure sign.
He splashed some cold water on his face as he tried to assess the situation. There was only one pertinent question—did he honestly believe he could seduce Jamie? Could he shake her down from her intellectual pedestal? Could he make her surrender?
Yes.
Why?
Because of the wager? No. It was a stupid bet, and the only intelligent thing to do was bow out. He knew without a doubt, though, that if he called off the bet, he’d lose his only hope of getting her into bed. She’d run and hide, just the way she used to at the station before all this started. He used to wonder why he frightened her, and the last couple of days had shown him why.
So the bottom line was simple. Screw the bet, and get Jamie Hampton into his bed. That was the game. That was the goal. Like winning at Le Mans.
He looked at his reflection. Why not? What else did he have to do that was anywhere close to this fascinating? Good for her, knocking him off balance. That made things…interesting.
Dammit, he wanted to win.
What was the expression? Live hard, die young, leave a good-looking corpse? Hell of a motto, but then he didn’t have much choice in the matter, did he? After all, he had the Newman curse.
That was his ultimate strength—the knowledge that he’d only be around for a few more years. No one else knew, and he wouldn’t say a word. He’d just go at thirty-five, as had his father and his father before him.
The doctor he’d talked to said it was a coincidence, but the doctor didn’t know about Chase’s great-grandfather. Dead at thirty-four. A heart attack, out of the blue. His mother knew, and in those first years after his father died, she’d warned him not to repeat his father’s mistake. Not ever to leave a wife and child behind.
At least Chase had some warning. And he’d taken it seriously. He did live fast, as fast as he knew how. He’d been all over the world, been with women from Africa to Istanbul. He’d tried everything at least once, daring himself to go farther, deeper, and to risk more. And he’d never let anyone get too close.
His mother had nearly gone insane at the death of his father. No way would Chase leave behind a grieving widow, or a son who would have to face the same destiny.
He lived for the moment, never for the future, never in the past. And, right now, his moment was in the dining room. If she wanted to roll up her sleeves and fight, so be it. In fact, he liked that she wasn’t going to be easy. Too damn much in his life had been.
He had no doubt he’d win. But now, getting there was going to be a lot more fun.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, he wiped his face and hands, then headed back to the dining room. At the far corner of the table sat Dr. Jamie, his worthy opponent. Her dark eyes flashed with a seductive welcome.
But he had her number. Oh, yeah. Baby, the flag is up.
7
JAMIE WATCHED HIM EAT. Of course, he watched right back. It was like staring into a mirror. Well, not quite. But he would take a bite, she would take a bite. He’d sip his wine, she’d do the same. She echoed every gesture, paused with every pause. She was Ginger to his Fred; dancers with no music.
When he didn’t react, she decided to crank it up a notch. Carefully, she put her fork down on the side of her plate, then made the mmm sound of appreciation, only real low and deep and sexy. Then, feeling quite foolish, but daring, too, she licked her upper lip, taking her own sweet time.
Nothing changed. His expression was exactly the same as— Hold on. Oh, my. He’d put his fork in his mouth, only he’d forgotten to pick up any food on it. And yet, he didn’t seem to notice as he proceeded to chew and swallow.
Excellent.
She picked up her wineglass and took a tiny, quick lick of the rim before she sipped the chardonnay. As she’d anticipated, Chase’s gaze was fixed on her mouth, on her tongue. Such a bad boy.
Next, she reached across the table to get the pepper mill, even though she had no desire for pepper. But she knew that when she stretched, her dress molded against her breasts. She didn’t even have to look this time to sense where his gaze had wandered. Heck, this was like shooting fish in a barrel.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze. She’d see about that.
“These candles are really beautiful, aren’t they.”
His grunt sounded sort of like “Yes.”
“I think the flickering light is so soothing. You know what one of my favorite things is?”
“I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.”
She smiled, although she didn’t give him any teeth. “I love slipping into a nice, hot, wet…bubble bath.”
No comment, except for the bobbing Adam’s apple.
She sighed as she ran two fingers lazily up her arm. “I light my private candles and fill the tub with rose-scented bubble bath, then I sink down until my whole body is under the water, and my head rests on my bath pillow.”
She took another sip of wine, giving him time to fine-tune his mental picture. “I close my eyes and let the water and the roses soothe away all my worries. All that’s left to do is wash. I don’t like to use a cloth or anything. I just get my hands all soapy. Of course, I start with my toes—the summer can be so harsh on bare feet. And then I work my way up to my ankles.” She paused, milking the moment. “Then I move my hands to my legs and knees.”
He swallowed again, his eyes slightly glassy.
“I lean back to wash my thighs, of course. Because I need to be comfortable and completely relaxed when I…”
Chase couldn’t help it. He leaned forward, waiting for her to finish the sentence. And waiting. Dammit. What was she doing to him?
She took another sip of wine, then put the glass down. He let out his breath, sure she’d go on, begging her to go on.
She twirled some pasta on her fork and brought it to her mouth. Opening her lips, the food slipped inside, and then her lips closed on the fork—and he had to look away before he started crying.
This wasn’t amusing. She was doing it on purpose. All of it. He’d thought she was innocent. A babe in the woods. What a laugh. She was more like the big, bad wolf.
He took a deep breath and loosened the stranglehold he had on his glass before it shattered. He also wanted to loosen his pants before they burst at the seams, but that was a no-go because he was afraid to touch himself anywhere in the vicinity of his fly. A stiff breeze would probably push him over the edge, and on the list of tricks to impress your date, coming at the dinner table was below everything with the possible exception of choking and turning blue in the face.
There was only one other time in his life when he’d been in this much trouble. He’d been fifteen and, like most guys his age, he’d been a virgin. A hopeful virgin. He’d spent the summer at his friend Jeff’s place, and Jeff had a cousin. Her name was Eve. She liked to tease him and, at seventeen, she was already a master.
One day she left the bathroom door open, just a tad. Just enough for him to peek inside. He hit the mother lode—Eve, who was built like a brick house, was taking off her bathing suit.
Years later, he realized she actually had been putting on a show for him, and that the door wasn’t left open accidentally. At the time, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
Eve was the most gorgeous creature on the planet. Blond, tall, with legs that went on for about a mile, she was the picture of feminine perfection in his eyes, a veritable Miss July, sprung fully formed from the pages of Playboy magazine.
His fifteen-year-old hormones went into overdrive. But before he could move away, Eve yanked open the door. She had somehow put a towel around her good parts, and she was furious.
He begged her not to tell. He didn’t want to be banished to his parents’ incredibly boring apartment back in Manhattan. He wanted to be with Jeff, and the pool and the goddess who had him by the T-shirt.
He’d begged, and she’d finally agreed to keep his secret, but only if he’d submit to being her slave for the rest of his stay.
The torture had been exquisite.
She’d made him rub lotion on her body, fetch drinks, give her massages, make her bed. And he’d had the erection that wouldn’t die. It went on for days. Eve had wanted him to take off his clothes for her, but at that he put his foot down. It was bad enough that he had to wear two pairs of jockey shorts under his bathing suit just so he wouldn’t give Jeff’s mother a stroke, but there was no way he was going to show Eve his predicament in all its glory.
Of course, if he’d been just a bit older, he would have understood that her request wasn’t the cruel trick he’d imagined, but a wicked introduction to the wonders of sex. Damn. He could have had a really great summer. Instead, it was full of pain and anguish and sweet suffering. Like tonight.
He wondered where Eve was now. She was probably a dentist or an island despot.
But because there was a great deal of humor in the universe, he’d found himself another Eve. He was older now. Wiser. He knew perfectly well that Jamie was intentionally torturing him. That every move she made was meant to torment him. He was wise to the woman, no doubt about that. Unfortunately, his penis caught none of the nuances and, frankly, misunderstood the entire scenario.
