Just for the Night

by Tawny Weber

  “And I’m not?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You implied it.”

  “No.” She shook her head, sending her curls bouncing over her shoulders. “I said I’ve adjusted and worked on perfecting my plans for the future. And since you’re considering totally changing how you operate your business by trying to shoehorn it into a store, you’re obviously willing to adjust.”

  “From the sound of it, you don’t think much of my plan, though.”

  So much for circumspection. But if there was one thing Jason had always hated, it was being judged. It made him feel like he had to prove something. And since whipping it out and showing off his size wasn’t the answer, he’d have to find another way.

  He just wasn’t sure what, since he had plenty of doubts about this crazy scheme. But he wasn’t telling her that. He’d learned early on that life was all about impressions. He kept a confident, assured demeanor, whether he got lost guiding a tour through the Amazon or if he got up in the middle of the night to find the group’s campsite surrounded by hyenas. If he acted like he had his shit together, people believed he did. And sooner or later, the act became reality.

  “I didn’t say what I thought of your ideas, one way or the other,” she protested. “I think your business is just that, yours. You’ve devoted enough of your life to it—you should know what will work or not.”

  “But you’ve devoted a lot of your life to learning business.” He strode over until he was just inches away. She lifted her chin and glared, but didn’t give way. God, he loved it when she got all spunky and brave. “You take classes, read books, made those business plans. Don’t you have an opinion on the wisdom of my plans?”

  He had no idea why he was doing this. It was some twisted form of masochism. Or maybe he just needed her to say something strong enough to piss him off, since he was having rotten luck convincing himself to keep his hands off of her.

  “What difference does it make if I think changing your business is a good idea or not?” she challenged, looking more curious than pissed. “My opinion never mattered to you before.”

  “Of course it did,” he countered. Then he grinned wickedly and gave in to temptation. He reached out to lift one of those soft curls from her shoulder and rubbed the silky length between his fingers.

  She stiffened, like she wanted to pull away but didn’t want him to know he was getting to her. Good. He wanted her edgy. He wanted her to reach the same level of sexual hyper-awareness that he was at. He stared at her lips, remembering their softness and sweet flavor.

  And how long it’d been since he’d had a taste.

  “You don’t really need my thoughts. I’m sure you can see just as well as I can that this space is much better suited to my store than your jungle adventures.”

  “Right,” Jason said agreeably, like he wasn’t irritated. He shifted to the right, trapping her between his body and the counter. “Better suited. Because it’s just about appearances, right? And yet, one of us here has spent the last four years dreaming, planning and talking about a perfect dream. The other of us has been living the dream as a work-in-progress. Which one do you think really counts?”

  6

  “IT’S ABOUT MORE THAN appearances,” Larissa defended. “Not all businesses can be built on the concept of spending each day playing, you know. Some of us want to make sure everything is just right before we commit our energy, reputation and finances.”

  She gave him a pointed look just this side of a smirk. “How’d you start your business again? Wasn’t it by borrowing money from your mom so you could take a couple of drunken frat boys kayaking?”

  “You’re just jealous,” Jason teased, his body so close to hers she could feel the heat radiating off his chest.

  “Aren’t you the jealous one?” she challenged, knowing she was stepping into dangerous territory but willing to risk it if it meant he’d back off.

  The teasing look on his face faded, replaced by an intensity that made her stomach take a nosedive. She winced, waiting for the explosion. But it didn’t come. Instead, right there before her eyes, he seemed to gather control and pull himself together.

  He leaned closer to say, “Sweetheart, the only reason for me to be jealous is if you’ve found some guy who can make you explode in sexual delight the way I did.”

  He paused, as if waiting for her to fill him in on her incredible sex life. When she just pressed her lips together, he grinned.

  “See, no reason to be jealous,” he taunted.

  That he was right made her furious. Pulse racing, she stared into Jason’s blue eyes. His usual cocky amusement was there, yes. But so was desire. Hot and intense, with the promise of all sorts of orgasmic pleasure.

  Oh yeah, he wanted her. She shivered a little and forced herself to pretend her nipples weren’t aching and that her panties hadn’t suddenly become damp. Her fingers trembled with the need to touch him. Just one more time, to slide her fingers over the hard muscles of his chest. To wrap her hands around the thick muscles of his arms. To…

  No! She had to stop this. He gave her a sexy look and she instantly turned into a puddle of lust?

  Why did he always get to be the one in control? Why did she always fall, panting at his feet? When did her dreams come true, the ones where he fell at her feet?

  What she’d do once he was groveling at her toes depended, of course, on which dream she happened to be entertaining at the time.

  There was the power dream, where she left him in a pathetic heap wanting her like crazy while she turned her back and walked away.

  And then there was the sexy dream. Where she made him her love slave and he, following her orders, kissed his way up her leg until things got interesting.

  “Maybe you should move back a little,” she said, squirming and trying to hide her breathlessness. “Without AC, it’s getting pretty hot and stuffy in here.”

  “You think that’s the lack of AC, babe?” He shook his head, a few strands of sun-kissed hair falling across his forehead. “What kind of guy are you seeing that you’d confuse horniness with humidity? Has your love life become that boring?”

  What love life? The only sexual variety she got these days was in choosing between her D-cell powered friend and the shower massage. Not that Jason needed to know that.

  Especially when she was sure his love life was full and varied. Jason was any woman’s perfect man. Gorgeous and sexy with a hard body that promised endless hours of pleasurable exploration. A fun, engaging personality that made good on the charm his smile promised. And then there was that dangerous hint of bad boy that any woman with man-radar could tell meant he knew all the naughty tricks, even if he’d only stick around long enough for one round of show-and-tell.

  “I’m sure it’s the lack of AC. Either that, or your ego has become its own heat source,” she snapped, blinking away the sting of tears. Frustration, she told herself. It had to be that and not some insane form of jealousy. She tried to move around him, but he sidestepped to block her escape.

  “My ego does provide a lot of heat,” he agreed. “But it’s fueled by plenty of references.”

  Larissa rolled her eyes. That was enough. Needing some breathing room, she pressed her hands to his chest to push him away. He didn’t budge.

  He did make a little growly sound of appreciation in the back of his throat though.

  She yanked her hands back.

  “You’d better watch yourself,” he teased, as if he could read her thoughts. “We’re not only fighting the lure of candlelight but we’ve got super-koteka there, giving off all that sexual mojo.”

  “Right, with all that temptation, there’s no way I’ll be able to control myself,” she replied, her mouth getting ahead of her brain again. “Because you’re such a stud and all.”

  She immediately wanted to grab the words back. Not because she was a verbal wimp. Nope, she wanted them back because she was another kind of wimp. The look on Jason’s face, intense, focused and a li
ttle pissed, sent warning sirens off in her mind. That look reminded her, in no uncertain terms, that she was a complete sexual wimp. The kind who couldn’t say no to temptation.

  That was his “dare me” look. The look that he got when he went off to climb death-defying mountains. When he’d jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. When he wanted to make love.

  Eek, she silently squeaked.

  “I don’t suppose you’re considering skydiving,” she asked desperately.

  “Not even close,” he said, stepping closer. Close enough that the heat from his body was probably steaming away any wrinkles in her silk jacket.

  “Mountain climbing? A trip down a crocodile-infested river in a canoe?”

  “I had something a little more exciting in mind,” he confessed, his words husky as took her hand and lifted it to his mouth.

  Her knees nearly buckled. Of course he had something else in mind.

  “Rappelling in the Painted Desert?” she suggested softly, remembering the time he’d convinced her that dropping herself off the side of a mountain would be fun. He’d used sex in that argument, too.

  His grin told her that his memories of that trip were just as hot as hers. Larissa’s stomach gave a slow, twisty dive. She pressed her thighs together to stop the trembling, but the movement only added to the wet need pulsating between her legs.

  “You know what I remember?” he asked quietly.

  How her screams of ecstasy had echoed through the canyon the night they’d camped at the base of the mountain?

  “What?” she whispered, her eyes glued to his lips. Her fingers ached with the need to touch him. To run her hands over his chest and feel the heat of his bare skin beneath her palms.

  “I remember that you babble when you’re nervous.” He shifted, angling his body lower, so his face was level with hers. “So what’s up, Larissa? You nervous about something?”

  “Uncomfortable isn’t the same as nervous,” she said, sidestepping the issue. Because even though they both knew damned well she was nervous, she wasn’t about to admit it.

  “What’s to be uncomfortable about?”

  The distinct possibility of exploding from sexual overload. Probably better to keep that to herself, though.

  “You’re kidding, right? We’re trapped inside an unfinished mall with borrowed food, no air conditioning and no way to tell anyone in the outside world we’re here,” she growled, frustration rising with each word until she hit a dog-calling pitch. Just in case that wasn’t enough, she threw her arms in the air to emphasize her aggravation. “I’m trying to launch a new career and finally find the perfect venue that fits my dream to a tee. And what happens? You show up. You. Of all freaking people.”

  “Were there other freaking people you’d rather be trapped with?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his. Probably to keep their irritated punctuations from poking him in the eye.

  “I’d rather not be trapped at all.” She tried to tug her hands away. He didn’t let go.

  “Well, we are, so we might as well take advantage of the situation, right?”

  Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Shaking her head, Larissa tried to find the words to protest. But his fingers were rubbing over hers in soft, gentle swirls that made her insides go gooey. He lifted her fingers to his mouth and brushed a warm kiss over her knuckles. She almost whimpered as he stared over her hands, his eyes filled with wicked temptation.

  “You never answered my question,” Jason said, his words husky and low.

  “What question?”

  “Are you single?” He pressed her hands to his chest, then curved his along her waist.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his mouth coming closer and closer. “Yeah, it does matter.”

  “Why?” she breathed, her words a whisper against his lips.

  “Because you’re going to feel really bad making time with me if there is some poor schmuck waiting at home for you,” he said just before his mouth took hers.

  She wanted to protest. In a heartbeat, her mind was ready to pitch an entire argument about assumptions and cockiness. But, as always when it came to Jason, her body overruled her brain.

  Besides, given that just the soft press of his lips to hers had her melting, she was pretty sure his cocky assumption was right. The man had always had a special way with the cock.

  His mouth teased. His lips were soft, gently rubbing over hers then slipping away. Tiny little kisses that had her panting. Wanting, needing, more.

  She clutched his arms, her fingers clinging to his rock-hard biceps. Passion she hadn’t felt in years exploded, swirling through her body. Her nipples ached, pressing through the layers of fabric as if pleading for his attention. The tight, hot bud of desire pulsed between her thighs, begging for release. She shifted her hips, trying to press herself to the hard length of his thigh. She tried to slide her right foot along the strong muscles of his calf, but couldn’t lift it more than a half-foot.

  She bit back a frustrated groan. Useless. The tight A-line of her skirt was as good as a chastity belt, keeping her thighs locked together. She didn’t know whether to cry or celebrate. The skirt was probably the only thing keeping her from rubbing against him like a cat in heat.

  But knowing she couldn’t take her pleasure gave her a freedom she wouldn’t have allowed otherwise. Using it like a safety net, she gave herself permission to have as much fun as possible with her thighs closed.

  Still pressed against his chest where he’d left them, her fingers relaxed. For just a second she reveled in the feel of his heart beating beneath her palms. She smoothed her hands over the hard planes of his chest, the soft cotton of his shirt a delicious contrast. Needing to see if the body she’d reveled in memorizing still felt the same, she slipped her hands up to his shoulders, then down the hard, rounded muscles of his biceps. She moaned in the back of her throat.

  His body was a work of art. A tool he’d honed to perfection on his long treks up mountains, over waterfalls and into jungles. A tool, she remembered, that he wielded with precision when it came to lovemaking.

  Their kiss intensified. She sipped at the rich taste of him, sucking his tongue deeper into her mouth. His moan filled her with sensual power.

  Romance was her priority. It was her life.

  But right now, in this moment, she’d be happy with sex. Because Jason’s tool was the best she’d ever had. And she’d love to use it, just one more time.

  OH, GOD, SHE TASTED GOOD. Like strawberries and cream, drizzled in chocolate with just a hint of something alcoholic that would knock him on his ass before he realized it.

  Jason’s entire being was in conflict. His body was loving the feel of Larissa’s sweet little curves pressed against him again. His brain was doing that mocking head shake, clearly not impressed with his inability to stick with the plan. He was just supposed to intimidate her a little, then convince her to back off of this store idea. And some other part of him, he’d call it his heart because his soul sounded so drippy, that part gave a big ole sigh of relief, as if it’d just come home after a long, lonely trek.

  Like he did anything that threatened to get in the way of his pleasure, Jason ignored it.

  Kissing Larissa was much more important. He slipped his hands through the tangled jungle of her curls, loving the silky way her hair grabbed at his fingers. Like she was holding onto him, willing him to get closer. His mouth slanted, taking their kiss deeper. Tongues danced, smooth and sleek, against each other. Shifting his fingers, he pressed them against the back of her head, pulling her tighter against his body.

  Her breasts brushed against his chest softly. His dick hardened like steel, the length of it throbbing painfully against his zipper.

  He told himself to behave. A kiss. He was only giving in to the desire to kiss her. Just one taste, after such a long time of going without.

  Then she gave a soft, purring kind of moan and pressed a little harder, her breasts flattening against his beating heart.
>
  Screw behaving.

  He slipped one hand from her hair and brushed his fingers gently down the length of her neck. He skimmed the soft ruffled fabric of her collar until he reached the top button that held the jacket closed.

  Her breath caught, the action pressing the lush curve of her breast against his fingers. Jason felt the hesitation in her kiss. Before she had time to solidify her doubt and tell him to stop, he brushed his fingers over the tip of her breast. Her nipple pebbled against the back of his fingers. In gentle, barely touching her sweeps, he brushed his knuckles across the peak once. Twice, then again a third time.

  She groaned, nipping at his lower lip in a sharp little bite that sent a shaft of desire all the way to the tip of his dick. Without thinking, Jason pulled his other hand from her hair and slid it down to cup her ass, lifting her tight against his painfully hard length.

  One-handed, he made quick work of the tiny, fabric covered buttons of her jacket until he reached the last one at her waist. He pushed the fabric off one shoulder and pulled his mouth from hers. Her protest was a high-pitched moan.

  He buried his face in the curve of her neck to breathe in her scent—soft floral and a sweetness that was all Larissa. His fingers traced the lacy edge of her camisole, knowing she’d worn the sexy little piece of lingerie for herself since that jacket thing modestly covered all the good stuff.

  He had to see. Had to know if she looked as good as he remembered.

  Jason pulled back a little, taking in the sight with hooded eyes. Lush breasts, surprising given her tiny body, spilled over a frothy concoction of satin and lace. He couldn’t tell the exact color in the candlelight, something between a red and a pink. Like raspberries.

  He swallowed.

  Damned if she didn’t look even better than he remembered.

  “I love that you wear this kind of thing,” he whispered, giving in to the need to press damp, open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

  Her head fell back to give him greater access as she murmured, “What kind of thing? Underwear?”

  “Underwear is plain and cotton. Kind of like vanilla. Useful but not really exciting,” he decided, his teeth snagging one tiny satin strap and tugging it aside so her shoulder was bare. That pulled the pale fabric of the camisole tighter against her breasts, drawing it taut over the pouty points. He swallowed hard.