Bad Girl by Night, page 2
How he made his living didn’t really matter, though—it was just a game she played with herself sometimes. What mattered was that he was hot, handsome, and old enough—early to mid-thirties—to know what to do. And that he had a nice smile. Not lecherous, but not prim. She knew, even as quick as their exchange had been, that he’d caught a glimpse of her cleavage and admired it, but he didn’t think she looked lonely. Or desperate. Which was good. Since she wasn’t. But she was feeling more ready by the second.
When the bartender turned to get the beers, she made conversation, pointing over her shoulder. “Is that you and your friends I hear having such a good time back there?” The deep male laughter had continued, like background music to her thoughts. And her easy flirtation had come out as smooth as always. Because she knew how to do this.
He met her gaze, his eyes a vivid blue that drew her attention. Blue like pictures of the Mediterranean—saturated, rich, captivating. He gave her another smile. “Wow, didn’t realize we were being so loud. Sorry.”
She shook her head, knowing she looked pretty and confident to him. “I don’t mind. Just feel like I’m missing out on the party,” she teased.
He shrugged. “You’re welcome to join us.” But then he lowered his chin, as if rethinking the offer. “Although you might feel outnumbered with about a dozen guys, most of them drunk.”
“Are you drunk?” she asked, eyebrows lifting.
He thought it over, then held out his right hand, palm down, teetering it back and forth, as if to say he was wobbling on the edge. She liked his measured honesty, that he hadn’t simply said yes or no. This one held potential.
So she confided, “Me, too.” Yes, she definitely knew how to do this. Sometimes it was so easy it was almost scary.
That was when she cast a surreptitious look toward his left hand. Good—no ring. And no tan line indicating he’d just taken one off. Some things she held sacred. Even here.
“So . . . you meeting somebody? A date?” He wasn’t shy about letting those blue eyes roam her body a little, and it made her feel even warmer, all over. She wondered if her nipples could be seen through her bra and dress.
“I was. But looks like I got stood up.” Like everything else, she said it smoothly, her tone indicating she wasn’t too broken up about it. Even in this particular lie, she knew how to sound above-it-all, still possessing the upper hand. No one would feel sorry for her.
The man gave her another bold perusal from his spot at the bar, one that left her inner thighs literally aching. “Guy must be an idiot.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
And that was when he moved closer, sat down on the stool next to hers. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She tilted her head, flashing her best flattered, flirtatious, but still fully in control expression. She was always, always in control. “Sure. But what about your friends?”
He gave her a look that said, Get real. “Let’s see—I can hang out with a bunch of hammered guys, or I can sit and talk with a beautiful woman. I’m not an idiot—I’ll take what’s behind door number two.”
As soon as the adept bartender set two open beers on the bar, he went about mixing another spritzer.
“What’s your name?” her suitor asked. Or would that be her prey?
“Desiree.”
“I’m Jake,” he said.
Once her empty had been replaced with a fresh drink, her companion lifted his beer bottle. “Should we toast?”
She picked up her glass and said, “To handsome blue-eyed strangers who rescue damsels in distress.”
He grinned, clinking the bottle’s neck lightly against her glass, even as he appeared a little skeptical. “You don’t look very in distress, Desiree.”
She took a sip through her straw and confessed, “You’re right—I’m not a damsel in distress. But you are a handsome blue-eyed stranger. And you’re suddenly making my night look a lot more promising.” Then she glanced toward the room’s rear corner. “Unless you decide you want to get back to your friends, after all.”
“Aw, hell no, honey,” he said, and she decided he was just a little drunk, but that was okay—even good. People lost their inhibitions when they were drunk. And she wanted him. He was just right. Goldilocks knew when she’d hit the mark.
They talked then. About nothing in particular. The warmer than average temperatures for May. The wineries out on Old Mission Peninsula. She was glad he didn’t ask her anything personal; she asked nothing of him, either. And when he inquired, “What brings you to Traverse City?” she kept it simple.
“Here on holiday.” It sounded European, sophisticated—and vague.
“By yourself?”
A simple nod.
He asked no more. He clearly got the message. She wasn’t into sharing.
“Dude, where the hell’s my beer?”
This voice came from her right, and she turned to find a good-looking guy staring past her toward Jake—his tone impatient without being angry. Dirty blond hair, a bit shaggier than Jake’s, along with a few days’ stubble on his chin, gave him the vibe of a surfer. But the clothes—dark jeans, a zip-up sweater over a knit tee—kept him looking well put together.
“This is Colt,” Jake said. “He’s not usually so rude.”
When Colt’s gaze dropped to her face, then traveled a little lower, she got the idea it was the first time he’d actually noticed her. But now he was—in a big way. “Shit. Sorry. Hi.”
She liked his instant repentance. Moreover, she liked the way these guys clearly sensed her confidence, saw her sexuality—yet treated her with respect. Yep, just right.
“Well, now I understand what the holdup is,” Colt said, still eyeing her appreciatively as he leaned to take the dark bottle Jake reached past her to deliver. The move brought both men closer to her, allowed her to take in the slight musky scent each gave off—and to feel that zing of chemistry, that thing that was either there or it wasn’t. And it was there. With . . . both of them, she realized as a strange frisson of heat slowly ascended her spine.
Of course, it was Jake who she’d felt that automatic connection with, Jake she planned to be with tonight. And yet that didn’t stop Colt from helping himself to the stool on the other side of her and proceeding to ask her name, ask her teasingly what she was doing “hanging out with this guy—when you could have me?”
He was drunker than Jake. But he had a winning smile.
So she took the bait. “Could I? Have you?” And she might be flashing a playful grin, but she also knew she’d just taken this to the next level. Colt had made it easy. And she saw little reason to act shy or demure.
Jake’s friend drew back slightly, met her gaze. His eyes were green. The green of marbles. Of the foliage in impressionist paintings. “Are you kidding, darlin’? Of course you could.” Darlin’. It was the first time she’d realized he spoke with a slight drawl—Southern, and bold. A little cocky as well. But not in a bad way.
“Now, wait just a minute here,” Jake said laughingly at her other side. She turned back, reminded that he made her feel warm inside. If her first impression of Colt was one of bold excitement, her first of Jake was warmth, the kind that could cover you like a blanket. “You can have me, too—just in case I haven’t made that clear enough yet. And I was here first,” he added with a wink.
She bit her lip, gave a sexy smile, and moved her glance back and forth between the two men. “Decisions, decisions.”
Then she took a sip of her spritzer, a big one.
Suddenly, she wanted to be a little more intoxicated, a little less in control. That wasn’t her normal way, but this suddenly wasn’t the normal situation for her, either. And it was moving fast, and she thought if she wanted to keep up, the easiest way might actually be to . . . let herself go a little.
Of course, the whole point of coming to Traverse City was to let herself go—but only while maintaining that unwavering sense of being in command of the situation. It was odd how those two factors worked together so closely. They sounded contradictory, but they weren’t. Being in control was the part that made it safe, the part that gave her power. Without that, the letting-herself-go part would be reckless to the point of being impossible.
And yet . . . there was a dark part of her—a darker part than she’d ever even imagined until this very moment—urging her to think the unthinkable. Urging her to let herself go in a whole new way. She couldn’t quite get there, though, couldn’t quite let herself even have the thought wafting about the edge of her consciousness. She couldn’t pull it together, make it concrete—something was blocking it out.
So she took another big drink, and her head swam—just a little. Just enough to begin letting that forbidden idea in. And it made her stomach pinch. But it also made her pussy weep beneath her dress.
Desire. Add an e and you have Desiree. Desire had created her, and it was what drove her. It was the biggest part of her. So she always listened to it—she couldn’t not listen. And what it was telling her right now was a little hard to believe, but suddenly she didn’t quite possess the power to shut it back out, either. Once you let something out of the box, it was out. Just listen. Open your mind to it. Decide if it’s what you want.
Colt was less subtle than Jake in ways—he talked more about himself, trying to impress. In the next few minutes, she found out he was a security expert and highly paid private bodyguard.
“Lot of bodies to guard up here in rural Michigan?” she couldn’t help asking on a laugh.
“I don’t live around here,” he informed her. “I work in Miami.”
“I was guessing someplace different—from the accent.”
“Born and raised in east Texas,” he told her, adding with a grin, “but I get around.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
Unlike the college-boy football star, she liked Colt despite his arrogance, some of which she suspected had been brought out by alcohol. He kept talking, mentioning some of their other friends by name, and as her head began to spin trying to keep track of it all, Jake eventually interrupted him to explain that they were a group of old buddies who met here every summer “to do the fishing-hiking-drinking thing for a few days.”
“Sounds fun,” she said, and she meant it. To have that many friends. To be that carefree.
Next to her, Jake shrugged and said, “This is more fun.” Somewhere along the way, as Colt had regaled her with his guy tales, Jake had begun leaning closer. She took in his masculine scent again, laced with the tang of beer, and her stomach seemed to curl in on itself as his thigh pressed against hers, solid and warm.
When she turned to look at him, his face was nearer than she’d realized. Her gaze drifted from his eyes to his mouth, not more than an inch from hers. And when she spoke, her voice came out lower than usual. “Are you getting fresh with me?”
“Damn straight,” he said in a deep timbre. And then his hand eased onto her knee.
She felt the touch in her panties as well as in her breasts. She’d grown so excited that her tits felt swollen. Tits. Pussy. They weren’t words usually in her vocabulary. Except for when she made her little excursions to Traverse City. They were words she’d picked up from other men over the years—dirty talk while fucking. That was another one—fucking. As a fresh wave of intoxication swept over her, the shock of it all hit her fresh. No one who knew her would ever believe it. That she could be titillated by such words. That she could seduce strangers. But she shut the thought out as soon as it came. That wasn’t who she was tonight—the woman everyone knew. Tonight she was Desiree. Queen of desire. Lust. Sex. Queen of everything hot and nasty.
When Colt’s hand came to rest on her other knee, it was more of an abrupt, attention-getting touch than a sensual one—but she let her eyes linger on how it looked to have two men’s hands on her at the same time, just for a second, before lifting her gaze to his.
“Hey, now,” he said, “does this mean I’m losing? Just ’cause he met you first?”
She blinked. Did it?
She wanted Jake—he was more her style on such outings, and the urge to rub her body against his, to feel that glorious friction, was mounting wildly.
But . . . she was attracted to Colt, too. If Jake had never appeared, she’d have been more than happy to flirt with sexy Colt, more than happy to let him under her skirt before the night was through.
“Losing what exactly?” she asked.
It was rare to find two men she found so . . . acceptable for her needs, at the same time, same place. And it seemed almost a shame to let either of them go to waste. She had the strange sense, in fact, that if she left with Jake, she’d pine for Colt a little even as she let Jake pleasure her. And she couldn’t imagine choosing Colt, either, because Jake turned everything inside her liquid and oozy, like hot fudge melting slowly over a gooey brownie.
Which brought her back to that unfathomable thought. Which she’d finally allowed herself to acknowledge—even if only as something hazy and distant. Now, a little drunker, a little more turned on, she let herself examine it more concretely.
“Losing you.” Colt’s eyes fell half shut as he answered, and the touch on her knee changed—he squeezed lightly, the sensation shooting up her thigh. Suddenly, he appeared as caught in passion as Jake, and it made her look back and forth between them. And consider. The unthinkable.
Two men.
Was it such a far stretch from where she already found herself? In a bar two hours from her small hometown, dressed provocatively, here for sex. Did it make all that much difference whether it was with one guy or two?
Of course it did. She knew that. The real her knew it anyway. But she wasn’t the real her tonight. She was confident Desiree. She could have what she wanted. For Desiree, nothing was forbidden—it was all just pleasure. There was no guilt, none of society’s rules and mores. Her chest went hollow, her throat dry. With the decision she’d just made.
“Does anyone really have to lose?” she asked, her voice coming out huskier than she’d ever heard it.
Neither guy answered right away. And finally, Colt said, “Um . . . what do you mean, darlin’?” Both still curved their hands over her knees, where the silky fabric of her dress had risen slightly higher on her thighs. She parted them now, just a little, on instinct. And her cunt clenched in a longing so intense she’d never experienced anything quite like it.
She swallowed, the stark lust turning her throat thick as she looked to Jake. “Do you have a room here, at the hotel?”
“Yeah,” he said deeply.
“Could we go there now?”
“Um—yeah. God—of course.”
“All three of us,” she said. Not a question this time, but a statement.
It was as if her words had drained all the air from the dimly lit room. The two men stayed still as statues as they absorbed her words. She saw them glance back and forth between each other and her, clearly weighing the proposal, and her heart pounded almost painfully against her rib cage. She’d just done this, started this. And she wanted it. She wanted this experience most women would never have, this forbidden thing. And now that she’d actually suggested it, she harbored no regrets—only a pervasive hunger that echoed through her whole body.
Despite music from speakers somewhere overhead, and more of their friends’ raucous laughter from the back of the bar, the proposition hung heavy in what felt like a startling silence—until Colt finally cleared his throat to say, “Sure, darlin’—why not?”
So she looked to Jake, her eyebrows raised, her cheeks flushed and tingling with excitement.
He let out a breath, appearing almost too aroused to speak. And then he replied, “All right. Let’s go.”
Chapter 2
“Here,” Jake said, stopping in front ofa door on the second floor. They’d taken the steps, too impatient to wait for the elevator.
She watched him jam a key card in the lock, then push his way inside. He flipped on a light as she followed, Colt hot on her heels, his hands playing about her hips. Then Jake turned and peered at her in the lamplight, eyes glassy with lust.
What now?
Simple. You suggested this, you take the lead. Just follow your instincts. They never failed her. At least not here, with strangers, in hotel rooms.
She stepped forward, pressed her palms to Jake’s chest, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. She met his blue gaze, somehow more vibrant in the room’s low lighting, and murmured, “Kiss me.”
A low growl left his throat as he closed sure hands over the curves of her waist and lowered his mouth firmly to hers. His tongue pressed between her lips instantly and she surged with wetness below.
Another hot spasm erupted between her legs when Colt’s hands snaked up under her arms to smoothly cup her breasts, making her moan against Jake’s mouth. Colt groaned, kneaded her flesh ever so boldly, and she found herself thrusting her chest outward, upward, shoving it more deeply against his touch. God, yes. Whatever brief moments of trepidation or doubt she might have experienced up to now—they all vanished. Following her instincts was going to work just fine.
“I want you both to fuck me so hard,” she heard herself whisper hotly. The words had come out unbidden.
“Oh baby, we will—we will,” Jake promised breathlessly. And then his kisses were dropping to her neck, and onto her chest . . . Colt still massaged her tits, and she simply leaned her head back, surrendering herself to them both. She wanted control—but sometimes, when she got to this part, the control came with choosing to give herself over to the experience, the pleasure.
Behind her, the heat of Colt’s body pressed into hers, and then—mmm, God—his hard length nestled against her ass, at the very center. She whimpered at the sensation, yet stayed keenly aware of Jake as he pushed the thin straps of her dress from her shoulders, then tugged lightly—a silent message to his friend to release her breasts so the fabric could fall.
