Hotshot

by Jo Leigh

  Damn, but she’d been cool. She had to hand it to herself, she’d been one savvy babe. He’d panted over her, lusted for her, needed her—and all because she’d taken her own advice.

  This was great. Better than great. She should have done this ages ago. She had so much more to tell her listeners now. Wait till they heard.

  Chase Newman seducing her? Not likely. She was the man! Wait, that wasn’t right. She was the woman! Yes, but what she meant was… She knew what she was. Smart. That’s what. Smart and in control.

  Be that as it may, she still had to deal with the, uh, repercussions. She couldn’t possibly just go to sleep. First, she wasn’t the least bit tired, and second… The way he’d looked at her. She closed her eyes and remembered. His dark, brooding eyes, his chiseled jaw, his perfect lips. He was a man built for sex, created for making love. If the situation were different, she’d be in his bed so fast she’d make the land speed record.

  But it wasn’t different. No matter how much her body wanted him, how much her mind kept imagining all the things they could do, she had to keep her distance. Stay one step ahead of him. Too much was at stake.

  She pushed herself away from the door. The dishes needed washing. She should do it now, get it over with. She wasn’t the kind to leave the place messy. Never had been.

  No. Not tonight. Tonight she would say the hell with the dishes. The hell with everything except her fantasies. She might not be able to have sex with Chase, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t think about him.

  Abandoning the kitchen and the remains of dinner, she headed for the bathroom. As she undressed, she closed her eyes, and he came to her in all his gorgeousness. When he smiled, he looked wicked and boyish at the same time. And his cheekbones! He reminded her of Johnny Depp, who was one of the most stunning creatures on the planet. But Johnny didn’t have Chase’s strong jaw. Or his sexy laugh. Granted, she hadn’t kissed Mr. Depp, but she didn’t think there was any way he could kiss her more sensually.

  Her mind’s eye moved down to Chase’s chest. Perfectly broad, amazingly muscular, with exactly the right amount of hair. He was her dream date, her fantasy man, her dark stranger.

  And he was absolutely, positively not going to be hers.

  She brushed her teeth and washed her face in a fury, angry at what the fates had allowed. By the time she got to her bedroom and slipped on her T-shirt, however, her sense of outrage had diminished, replaced by the prospect of climbing between the sheets.

  She’d always had a rich fantasy life, and although she might be inexperienced when it came to men, she wasn’t a complete sexual novice. She’d learned early that it was perfectly fine to take matters into her own hands, and that, in fact, it was healthy physically and emotionally. More and more studies were touting the virtues of solo sex…

  But her focus was far, far away from scientific theories. In fact, what she was feeling was as basic and un-dignified as it gets. She was going to sleep with Chase, all by herself.

  She opened her nightstand drawer. In it were candles (perfect), aromatherapy oils (yummy), a book by Anaïs Nin, which she wouldn’t need tonight (thank you, Mr. Newman), and her old standby Bob, her battery-operated boyfriend.

  She lit two candles, put lilac scent in the glass diffuser designed to warm the oil, and lit the bottom of that. Then she slipped between her crisp, white sheets and turned the light off.

  Sighing into her pillow, she watched the flickering shadows on her walls, just letting herself relax. As her breathing became more rhythmic and even, her eyes fluttered closed and her imagination kicked into gear.

  Chase. With his hands on her shoulders. His warm breath on her neck. Her hand went to her panties and slipped inside. No Bob for her tonight—too impersonal. She wanted sensuality, erotica. She wanted to let go and allow her fantasies to carry her away.

  She pictured him so clearly, right down to the slightly crooked tooth and the hint of five-o’clock shadow. His hands moved from her shoulders to her breasts, and she imagined with startling clarity his powerful fingers teasing her nipples, making them erect and painfully sensitive.

  It was like watching a movie—but there was no plot, no script, just moving pictures and projected sensations. She let her own fingers work their magic as Chase pulled her dress up and off her, letting it drop where they stood. She was naked—no bra, no panties, just naked—and then so was he, and he took her breath away with his flawless physique. Her gaze moved down his chest, in no rush at all. She pictured his nipples, the chest hair that tapered to a V, his rippled abs and his innie belly button. Slim hips and strong, flat tummy.

  Her breaths grew faster and more shallow as the sensations in her body shifted from pleasant to intense. It would be over too soon, but she couldn’t slow down. The wave had started and there was no turning back.

  She let her gaze move down, but before she could see any more, he pulled her into his arms, into a kiss that made her moan. His lips, his tongue, his breath, his taste…it was so real, so perfect, and—

  Tensing, she held her breath, letting the wave crest as she shuddered in a glorious climax. A moment later, after she’d gotten most of her equilibrium back, her eyes opened. Staring at the ceiling, at the shadows from the candles, she came to a terrible realization.

  He’d ruined this for her. She’d always counted on being able to take care of herself, to exercise her fantasies, to give her sexual side its due. And once she had taken care of business, she could relax and get on with life. Only…tonight she’d climaxed but she didn’t feel fulfilled.

  Her imagination wasn’t enough. She wanted the real thing. She wanted Chase.

  She sat up and blew out the candles. As the darkness swallowed her, she laid back down and buried her face in her pillow.

  He was ruining everything—her career, her future, and now this, the one thing she’d never questioned or worried about.

  It wasn’t fair. In fact, it was downright cruel.

  CHASE STOOD AT HIS WINDOW, watching the late-night traffic on Fifth Avenue. He should go to bed, get some sleep. He wasn’t tired.

  Jamie hadn’t left him alone. Not even for five minutes. He’d finally been able to climb on his bike and drive back to the hotel, but once he’d parked, he didn’t go up. Instead, he walked, block after long block, not seeing the window displays, barely noticing the people he passed, the cars, the sound of the horns.

  She’d thrown him a sucker punch tonight.

  Jamie had been frightened of him. He hadn’t made that up. He distinctly remembered her darting glances, the way she shrank into the walls as he walked by. And when he’d pulled her into that alley, his intent was anything but noble. He liked seeing the shock in her eyes and, more than that, the pounding of her heart as he stood so close. She was frightened, as much of herself as of him. The game had been to awaken her, but now it seemed she’d been awake for years.

  He wasn’t usually wrong about women. Oh, he might miss the finer details but, on the whole, he knew what he was talking about. He’d given the matter of women almost as high a priority as he gave racing.

  Was it the surprise that made him want her this much? She’d certainly pushed the right sexual buttons. He found himself becoming aroused at the very thought of her. The way those big, dark eyes had looked at him so hungrily. Her long, delicate neck. The way her breasts seemed to swell as her dress molded against her chest.

  Dammit, he was doing it again. It was ridiculous. He’d left spontaneous erections back in high school, or so he’d thought.

  He crossed his room and sat down on the edge of the bed. The phone message he’d scrawled was still on the nightstand. His manager wanted him to do an exhibition race in Paris next week. The offer couldn’t have come at a better time. He’d leave New York on Sunday, and forget all about the radio joke and about Dr. Jamie. He loved Paris, and he hadn’t seen Anna in almost eight months. Beautiful, blonde Anna, whose estranged husband didn’t understand her. Who was very good in bed.

  He’d be wi
se to stick with the Annas of the world. Keep clear of the Jamies.

  Not that he was totally giving up. He had till Sunday. Five days to find out if Dr. Jamie’s bite was as bad as her bark.

  He kicked off his boots, then finished undressing. In his boxers, he went to the bathroom, did his thing, and in short order he was in bed, the do-not-disturb sign anchored on the door.

  As his head hit the pillow, an image of Jamie came to him without his permission. In his mind, she looked at him through half-closed eyes, her lips moist and parted, and she was completely naked.

  He hardly knew where to start.

  8

  “THIS IS DR. JAMIE, and we’re talking about sex. Go ahead, Phil.”

  “I know you’ve been asked this before, but I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. My wife isn’t having orgasms—at least, not with me.”

  “How much time are you spending on foreplay, Phil?”

  “I don’t know. Five minutes?”

  “And what does your foreplay consist of?”

  He cleared his throat. “She usually goes down on me, and then I go down on her…”

  “And this all takes place in five minutes?”

  “Sometimes longer.”

  “I’m not sure this is going to solve your wife’s orgasm deficiency, but I bet it helps. I want you to take notes on this, Phil, and study this. There will be a test.”

  “On what?”

  “On the art of cunnilingus.”

  “Great.”

  “First, get comfy. Comfortable enough to hang out a while. Second, use your hands. Tease with your fingertips. Wet your fingers, then touch everything. Remember, lightly here. You’re only revving the engines, not going in for a landing.”

  Phil laughed, but she could tell this was no joke to him.

  “When she moves her hips, you can start with your tongue. Flick the tip of your tongue, or use the flat part like you’re licking an ice cream cone. Try everything, and pay attention to her body language. After several minutes of casual exploration, focus in on the clitoris. And be careful about direct stimulation—she might be too sensitive. Again, pay attention to how she moves and what she says.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “This would be a good time to use your fingers inside her. Find her G-spot, and if she likes that, keep it up as your tongue focuses on her. Increase your speed and pressure slowly. By this time, she’s probably going to be thrashing about, so you’ll have to keep up with her. Don’t back off. Keep up the pressure as she gets close to her orgasm. Then, as soon as she comes, you move, quick like a bunny, and insert your penis. She’s going to be swollen, and she’ll love the feel of you inside her. Go for broke. She doesn’t have to have another orgasm. She’s fine. It’s okay to concentrate on your own.”

  “Whoa. That’s a lot of information.”

  “You sound like a bright guy. I bet you pick it up in two shakes.”

  “Great, I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Please do. And Phil? Go for it. Don’t be shy. You’ll enjoy yourself, too.”

  Marcy signaled that she had another caller on the line. When Jamie looked at her monitor, she felt a thump in her chest. Chase. He was on the phone. Why? Why? What did he want? She wasn’t ready. Oh, damn, no. Not yet. “This is Dr. Jamie, and we’re talking about—” she swallowed, forcing herself to calm down “—sex.”

  She pressed the button for line five. “Hello, Chase.”

  “Hello.” His voice was so sexy, she knew they’d just climbed five points in the ratings.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “You.”

  She blushed, then willed the heat away. “And why is that?”

  “At the moment because I’m staring at your face on the side of a bus. Actually, I’m staring at both our faces.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Step outside on your next break,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

  “So, uh, you saw this bus and it made you think of me?”

  His laugh did something fluttery to her tummy. “That’s not the only reason.”

  “What else?”

  “Last night.”

  “Oh?” Her pulse was now at a steady clip of about a million beats per second. A part of her wanted to toy with him, to get sexy and intimate and just go with the flow. The other part of her was appalled at the knowledge that they were having this conversation with thousands of strangers listening.

  “Did you tell them?”

  “Tell them what?”

  “About what you did?”

  “No. I don’t remember doing anything noteworthy.”

  “That’s disappointing. I thought my linguini was quite noteworthy.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “I apologize. It was outstanding. Perfect.”

  “Then, why did you send me home?”

  “It was late. I was tired.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “You know better than I do when I’m sleepy?”

  “I know quite a few things.”

  “Like?”

  “I know how your nipples tighten when you’re being kissed. I know the scent of you when you’re aroused. I know that you didn’t go right to sleep after I left, although I’ll bet you went to bed.”

  The only reason Jamie didn’t fall off her chair was that her headphones were attached to the console. “Ex—” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”

  “Why don’t you tell them what you did when you got in bed, Jamie.”

  “I went to sleep.”

  “Before that.”

  “That’s personal.”

  “So you don’t talk about that kind of thing on your show, eh?”

  “Of course we do. It’s perfectly natural. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He chuckled in that low, sexy way of his. “Then, you did satisfy yourself.”

  Dammit. He’d tricked her. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did, honey. You said that to me and about a hundred thousand of your closest friends.”

  Jamie fought her panic. Looking at Marcy didn’t help. Her producer was on two phones at once, the phone bank was lit up like a Christmas tree, and Cujo was laughing his head off.

  “So why don’t you tell me what you thought about when you were in bed?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You’re lying, Jamie. And you don’t do it very well.”

  “I think it’s time for a commercial.”

  “The commercial can wait.” His voice lowered. “Talk to me, baby.”

  She moaned as she buried her head in her hands. This was impossible, horrible. She was humiliating herself on the air again. The worst part of it was, she didn’t know how to extricate herself from the situation with any kind of grace or wit. She felt thick and foolish, and if he called her baby one more time she was simply going to crawl under the console and never come out.

  “Jamie?”

  “What?”

  “Look up.”

  She lifted her head. Chase, holding a cell phone to his ear, stood right next to Marcy in the production booth.

  “Surprise.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought your audience might like to know what I thought about last night when I went to bed.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Commercial. We must need a commercial now, right? Cujo? Marcy?”

  Chase walked over to Cujo’s board for a moment. The two men huddled, Cujo nodded, then Chase disappeared for a moment. Fred showed up in the production booth, and then her door swung slowly open. Chase’s smile was victorious. He’d gotten her back for last night, all right. And then some.

  She had to focus, shift the power. Last night had been so great, so intoxicating. She could do it again. She had to. This was her playground, for heaven’s sake. She was never uncomfortable talking about sex. “Come pull up a chair. Put on some headphones. I know my audience would love to hear about your night.”
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  He slid into the chair next to hers, his air cocky, his scent intoxicating. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Why don’t you set the scene for us. How do you sleep? Pajamas? Boxers?”

  He shook his head. “In the raw.”

  “That makes things convenient. Do you use any kind of oil? Vaseline, maybe?”

  He blinked, swallowed. Jamie had to force herself not to grin. The fly had voluntarily walked into her parlor, and now she had him in her web. No way he could embarrass her on the air.

  “Chase?”

  “No. No oils. No tricks, no equipment.”

  “Just your hand?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “We’ve just spent some time giving some oral tips to our male listeners, and now it’s time to switch gears. A lot of our female listeners want to understand how to give a really great hand job. It’s always better to get that information directly from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

  Chase coughed. He turned slightly away, but she’d already seen his blush. This was so great. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect situation.

  His shoulders shifted back and he turned toward her. “I lick my palm,” he said, slowly and distinctly, “then take hold of my penis at the base. Firmly. Then I move my hand up and down the shaft. I take my time, close my eyes and let my imagination go. Last night, you were the star of my private video. You were naked, and those nipples of yours were like thick pencil erasers, hard and sensitive and very, very pink.”

  So he’d decided to fight fire with fire, eh? “And I’m sure you wouldn’t mind sharing the dimensions of your penis? So that our listeners can get a visual.”

  He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, a warning. “A little over eight inches.” “Circumcised?”

  “Yes.”

  “How thick? An inch? Two inches?”

  “Closer to three.”

  “Oh, my. You must be very proud.”

  “I didn’t build it. It came from the manufacturer this way.”

  She laughed, and then she looked at the window. Cujo was waving both hands at her, signaling for a break. Marcy, Fred and the intern were both on phones, and everyone who was still at the station at this late hour had come in to watch. Ted, of course—but also some of the computer techs, the program manager, his secretary and, if she wasn’t mistaken, three of the cleaning staff.