by Jo Leigh
“Talk.”
Jamie hopped up on the counter. Her skirt, a pale blue, gauzy number she’d picked up at a flea market, fanned around her knees. Her sandal-clad feet swung back and forth, making her feel about five. “I get butterflies in my stomach. I forget to breathe. I keep touching my hair and blushing and stammering and doing all the stupid adolescent things a girl does when she has a crush on a boy.”
“And this surprises you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Marcy, it’s me. The one who doesn’t believe in seduction, remember?”
“Oh, come on, Jamie. Did you honestly think you wouldn’t feel anything for Chase? Any red-blooded, heterosexual woman would…” Marcy raised a brow.
“No. I’m not gay.”
“Well, then, what did you expect? He’s stunning. He exudes masculinity. He’s smart, he’s clean, he’s rich. He’s everything you could want in a man, and, if you haven’t noticed yet, he has really big feet.”
“Jeez, Marcy.”
“It’s important.”
“That’s not what I tell my listeners.”
“My point exactly.”
“Now you’re being obscure.”
Marcy jumped up on the counter next to Jamie. “Look, kiddo, I think you’re right to help women, especially young women, learn to accept responsibility for their actions. If they’re not hearing that message from their parents, they’re pretty much SOL. School isn’t teaching them. TV isn’t teaching them. So you’re doing a good and noble thing.”
“But?”
“But he’s Chase Newman, and you’d have to be jughead-stupid not to want him to seduce the hell out of you.” “Jughead-stupid?”
Marcy grinned. “Okay, so I’m exaggerating, but not by much. The man is the hottest thing since French toast. You’ve heard the stories about him. Not only is he hot, but he’s one of the good guys. He may be playing this out, but, in the end, he’ll do the right thing.”
“How do you know?”
“You know what Fred told me?”
“What?”
“Chase found out that Fred’s daughter had a major crush on one of the Backstreet Boys. A week later, it’s her birthday, and who comes to the station?”
“A Backstreet Boy.”
“Exactly. It took Fred weeks to finally figure out it was Chase who’d used his father’s connections to pull it off. Now tell me, is this not a wonderful guy? Honey, he wants you. And the butterflies in your tummy are saying you want him. What’s the problem?”
“Are you suggesting I let him win?”
“It doesn’t have to be anyone’s business but your own.”
“Lie to my listeners? Are you crazy?”
Marcy made a sour face. “Maybe. All I know is, Carly was right. You’re not leaving any room for magic.”
“I can’t have it both ways.”
“Let me ask you something. If you win this bet out of sheer willpower, have you really won?” “What?”
“Seems to me that he has seduced you. You want it. If it weren’t for the wager, I think you’d go for it. So, haven’t you lost already?”
Jamie climbed down. “No. You’re missing the whole point. It’s about our actions, not our thoughts. I can wish a hundred times a day to be a jewel thief, but they can’t arrest me until I take the diamonds.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Thinking about him a hundred times a day. Call me crazy, but I think there’s more than just sex and seduction going on between you two.”
Jamie wanted to deny the allegation. But she was afraid Marcy was right—not that she would let her friend know that.
Marcy shrugged. “Have it your way.”
“I intend to.”
“So are you going to go with him?”
“No.” She went to the door. “Yes.” She pushed it open, then stepped into the hallway. As the door swung shut, she whimpered, “Maybe.”
Marcy’s droll “You go, girl!” made Jamie whimper one more time as she headed toward her office to get her things so that she could meet Chase.
The thought made her body quiver and her head ache. She was completely screwed.
CHASE HELD THE DOOR to his suite so that Jamie could enter. He’d taken a quick glance, and when he saw the dinner set up, he relaxed. The GM of the hotel had taken care of his requests, as always. It’s why he stayed here when he could have picked any hotel in the city. If he wanted a dinner for two from one of the finest chefs in New York at midnight, voilà, it appeared. And they said money couldn’t buy happiness.
“Wow. Look at this place.” Jamie had zeroed in on the view, naturally. The panorama never failed to thrill. The city looked like something out of a dream from this height. A lesson there—anything can look pretty if you’re far enough away.
“Is that dinner? Or breakfast?”
“Dinner. For us.” He tossed his keys on the dresser. “Want some champagne?”
“Champagne gives me a headache.”
“Not this champagne.” “Why not?”
“Trust me.”
“Fine. Pour away.”
He lifted the bottle and checked the label. As requested, it was a 1990 Cristal. Worth every penny of its exorbitant price. He popped the cork, then poured into the flutes. The sound of the bubbles made him sigh. Damn, what a great sound.
He took Jamie her glass and watched her expression as she sipped the chilled liquid. He doubted she realized her forehead was furrowed, probably in anticipation of bitterness. Sure enough, the moment she swallowed, her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my God.”
He nodded. “Welcome to great champagne.”
“Very nice.” She drank again, a bigger sip.
“Don’t chug it. Even if it does taste like heaven it can still make you drunk.”
She smiled. “You love this, don’t you.”
“What?”
“Showing me how sophisticated you are. How worldly.”
He nodded. “I suppose I do.”
“May I make a conjecture?”
“Why not?”
“Okay.” She turned to face him, putting her glass on the coffee table. “I don’t fully understand why you wanted to play this game with me, but I’m beginning to get an idea.”
“Oh?”
“I think if it’s all a game, then it’s safe. You don’t have to worry. There’s an end in sight, and I think that’s all that’s important to you.”
Chase’s stomach clenched. She was right, more dead-on correct than she’d ever know. The end was in sight. The end of it all. The end of hearing her laughter. Of watching her eyes widen in surprise. Of touching that smooth, silky skin behind her knees.
He was going to miss that, and so much more. He put down his own glass as he moved to her side. His hand went to her hair and then to her cheek. The softness killed him. The sweet scent of her. The way she sighed.
He pulled her into his arms, wanting to touch her everywhere. To feel everything. He wanted her naked, open, waiting for him. He wanted the safety of being inside her, the immortality of those moments before his climax. All of the important things in life were right here, in this woman and, God forgive him, he couldn’t let her go.
He kissed her, and when she trembled he knew she understood what he was asking her to do. The taste of her and the slight hint of champagne went right to his head. He stopped thinking, stopped worrying about anything but this moment.
He lifted her, sweeping his arm under her legs, and he carried her past the dinner under the silver domes, past the bar, through the door and to the bed. He put her down on her knees, so he wouldn’t have to stop kissing her. Her tongue darted in his mouth, and when he returned the favor she sucked on him, giving him a sample of what she could do to far more sensitive places on his body.
His hand ran down her back and cupped her buttocks as he climbed on the bed in front of her. Face-to-face, on their knees, he pulled her toward him so she presse
d against his jeans. Her soft gasp let him know she’d felt his erection straining for release. Soon, soon.
But first, he moved his mouth to the hollow of her neck, then to the curve below her ear. He licked, nibbled, kissed—lost in sensation, in the softness of her skin.
The world narrowed to a very small space. To a king-size bed and a small woman with too many clothes on.
His hands went to her blouse, pale blue, and her buttons. He undid three, and then he looked down to see she wasn’t wearing a bra. The sight of her hard little nipples made him moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure too intense for one man to stand.
Dipping his head, he kissed the top of her breast, then slowly, slowly moved down, his tongue drawing a moist line to her bud. He captured her between his lips, ran his tongue in a tight circle, then sucked deeply.
She mewed as her head fell back. Her hands held his upper arms, her fingers digging in as she fought for balance. He wanted to shake her equilibrium, to make her feel as out of control as he did.
He needed her. He needed.
Jamie bit her lip to stop another moan. What he was doing to her! His lips, his tongue—she’d never felt anything like it before. No one had ever… Not even this. Her body was so unschooled, so naive. And under his tender ministrations she was coming alive, blooming as a new flower.
She held on to him as he suckled her right breast, then her left. The sensation was beyond anything she could have predicted. Everything in her was connected. Her nipples and her fingertips and her tummy and, most of all, between her legs. The more he touched her, the more she wanted to be touched. The more she wanted to give herself completely.
He nipped her lightly on the underside of her breast, and then she felt his hand on her leg, his fingers trailing a skittery line up onto her thigh.
She should stop him. She should. And she would, in a minute. In…just a few minutes.
He tickled her inner thigh, and then he moved his mouth from her breast to her lips. His kiss, soul-deep and brazen, ignited another fire inside her. She’d been dry kindling, waiting for a match. And he’d hit her with a blazing torch.
Tongues dueled, fingers grasped, and her heart beat so fast it felt as if she would die from pure pleasure. And then his fingers were on her inner thigh, and while his tongue thrust inside her, his fingers moved to one panty leg, and slipped underneath. She had to stop him. Only, only…
His fingers brushed her sex, just a light, feathery brush that changed everything. But she couldn’t…
She pulled away from his kiss, opened her eyes, tried to focus, to pull herself together, but his finger slipped inside her and he rubbed back and forth before settling on the perfect spot. Her mouth refused to do anything but moan as he rubbed tiny circles, making her whole body tremble and sway.
“Chase—”
“Hush.”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t.”
“You can. We can. I feel how much you want it, Jamie. Did you think I couldn’t tell? You’re wet and hot and swollen and ready, and I’m going to make you scream.”
“No.”
“Say yes, Jamie. Just that one word. Say yes, and I’ll take you straight to heaven.”
“I—”
Just as she was about to push herself away, his finger plunged inside her. Not far, though. Her virginity stopped him short.
She shoved him back so hard that she nearly toppled. Instead, she scrambled to her feet and tried to button her blouse with useless hands.
“Jamie?”
She turned around, her face blazing with humiliation.
“My God, Jamie, tell me what that was.”
“I have to go.”
He was beside her then, and his hands on her shoulders turned her to face him. “Are you a virgin?”
She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t. All she wanted to do was disappear. Why had she let it get this far? She was stupid! Stupid, and foolish, and now it was all over. Everything. Her life, her career. She’d be the laughingstock of New York.
“Jamie?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. If she could have come up with a lie, she would have, but her brain had stopped functioning.
His head tilted to the side as he gazed at her in utter confusion. “But you’re Dr. Jamie, the Sexpert.”
“No. I’m Dr. Jamie, the fraud.”
10
CHASE FOLLOWED HER OUT of the bedroom, his mind still trying to fold around this startling bit of information. A virgin. The thing was, he’d just blurted it out, not really believing he was right. But the look on her face…
Jamie had never had sex.
She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door. He tried to stop her, but she was too quick for him and shut the door in his face. He didn’t let that stop him. A second later, he was in the hallway running after her. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until he got to the bottom of this.
At the elevator, she pressed the down button a half-dozen times, and as he got closer he saw a tear glisten on her cheek. A pang of something—guilt? compassion?—hit him where it counted.
“Please leave me alone,” she said, her voice choked with pregnant sobs.
“I can’t. Come back with me. We can talk about this.”
“No.”
“Jamie, it doesn’t—”
She faced him squarely so he could see the pain distort her face. “Go ahead. Say it. I’m a fraud. I am. It’s true. So now you know. Now everyone will know. I don’t give a damn. I’m tired of pretending. Go call Whittaker. She’ll be thrilled. She’ll probably get a damn Pulitzer for her exposé.”
“I have no intention of calling her.”
The elevator door opened, and Jamie slipped inside. “I don’t care. Do whatever you like.”
He blocked the door with his body. “Just come back.”
“No.”
“Please.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, the anguish made his chest ache. “I can’t talk to you now.”
He nodded. Stepped back. “I’ll call you,” he said as the door closed.
A virgin. He still couldn’t quite get it. The most famous sex therapist since Dr. Ruth had never had sex. No, wait. He couldn’t be sure about that. She’d never had intercourse. She might have done everything else under the sun. She sure as hell talked like she had. But now he wasn’t sure of anything.
As he headed back to his room, he dug his card key out of his pocket. Man, if Darlene got wind of this—
A thought hit him between the eyes. Darlene had suspected. Not necessarily this, but something. Of course she had. That’s why she’d been so determined to see this prank through. Why she’d been so convincing when she’d asked him to seduce Jamie. What he didn’t understand was what had made Darlene suspect there was a secret. Something had tipped her off, he felt sure of that. A man? A scorned lover? What was the woman trying to prove?
He should have thought of all this before he’d agreed to be Darlene’s patsy. He’d never guessed that this might be the outcome, but he should have realized there were ulterior motives at work. He wasn’t some rube. He knew people were selfish. Hell, hadn’t he agreed to this out of selfishness himself? Sure. He wanted to sleep with Jamie. Who cared what she wanted? He had something to prove.
He walked into the suite. Dinner was still warm under the silver domes. Filet mignon with truffles, prepared by one of the best chefs in the country. No need to waste it all, right?
He sat down, removed the dome in front of him and stabbed a baby potato with his fork. Decidedly not hungry, he ate the side dish anyway, then the steak. Despite his lack of enthusiasm about the meal, he had to admit it was incredible. Jamie would have been impressed.
He reached over and grabbed the champagne from the ice bucket, brought the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back.
Not a smart move. He coughed for several minutes and then gasped for breath. Impetuous. That’s what he was. Greedy. Selfish.
Everything wa
s always about him, no one else. The excuse he used to justify his behavior had always felt solid: death at thirty-five was a powerful motivator. But it was an excuse—a way to rationalize his actions, no matter how reprehensible.
He’d put Jamie in a terrible position. She’d never be syndicated now, not after this got out. She probably wouldn’t work in radio again.
All because he’d wanted to prove he was a stud. It wasn’t about boredom, not completely at least. He’d wanted everyone to see he was the man in the bedroom. Dammit, his ego was that big.
He lost his appetite for everything but the champagne. He grabbed the bottle in one hand, the glass in the other, then leaned back.
What was he supposed to do now? He didn’t have any desire to hurt Jamie, although he already had done so. He didn’t want her career to go down the tubes because he was a jerk. Should he lie? Should he just tell Darlene that Jamie had won? That he hadn’t been able to seduce the doctor?
He took a drink, and when he didn’t choke, he finished the glass and poured himself another, all the while thinking about what it would be like on the circuit once he’d admitted defeat. Oh man, the drivers would have a field day. He’d be the butt of jokes for years to come.
Maybe there was a compromise. A way for both Jamie and him to win. He’d have to think this thing through carefully. And he would, as soon as he had another glass of champagne. Or two.
JAMIE HAD NO IDEA where she was. She’d been walking for hours, barely aware of the traffic or the late-night pedestrians or even of the balmy night air. Her tears had finally slowed to a trickle, and she supposed she should be grateful for that. There was nothing else to be grateful for.
She’d blown it—blown it to smithereens. Her career, her future, her reputation, her credibility—all gone because she’d let herself be seduced. The irony burned like a white-hot brand.
A red light stopped her, and while she waited, she forced herself to tell the truth. There was no such thing as seduction. She had walked into Chase’s suite with her eyes wide open. He hadn’t done anything she hadn’t given him permission to do. She hadn’t been hexed or hypnotized or enticed or led astray. Whatever happened—all of what happened—it was her own weakness, her own vulnerability, her own stupidity that had been to blame.