“You hog the covers, Ladybug.”
Melina's eyes snapped open and, for a moment, her dream and reality vied for supremacy.
Reality: Her vision was just as it should be without her glasses and first thing in the morning, a little fuzzy but not enough to prevent her from seeing that there was a man lying next to her. A big, naked man.
Dream: The man was Rhys, his head propped on his bent arm. A joy she'd never experienced slammed into her, but then disappeared almost immediately when reality took the lead.
She hadn't been going down on Rhys. He hadn't wrapped her hair around his fists. And, thankfully, he certainly hadn't called her a hog.
Little comfort there.
This was Max, she remembered. And as much as she loved and adored Max, he wasn't Rhys and he never would be. She could never feel the same way about—
Her eyes widened in horror just as he reached out and ran a finger down the slope of her bare shoulder. The events of the night before rushed her like a linebacker in the final inning of a playoff game. Or was that hockey? Baseball? She didn't know any more about sports than she did about magic. Still, she knew that last night hadn't gone exactly as she'd planned.
Not her plan, anyway.
She sucked in a breath as Max's hand slipped under the sheet to cover one of her bare breasts. Just as they had last night, her nipples came to immediate attention, tightening as if to reach out for his fingers. Teasingly, he grazed one, then the other, before he lightly began rubbing one in tiny, firm circles. When she gasped, he smiled. “You're sensitive there. I noticed that last night.”
Dumbstruck, she just stared at him. She never would have thought it was true, but he apparently brought something out in her. Maybe one too many solo test runs had triggered some kind of latent chemical reaction in her? Why else would she have been so heated in her response last night? With Max, she reminded herself.
But present circumstances didn't prove her theory. She'd slept through the night—after three screaming orgasms—and she was still raring to go. Apparently, so was he.
Her eyes widened as another thought struck her. He was raring to go because he hadn't come. She hadn't gotten him off. She jerked to a sitting position, barely clutching the sheet before it exposed her bare chest to the world. “Oh, God. I knew it. Brian was right. I do suck in bed. And not,” she held up a hand to forestall his anticipated attempt at humor, “in a good way.”
Drawing up her knees, she buried her face in them and covered her head with her arms. She struggled to block out all stimuli and simply think. Even so, she felt him stiffen next to her. His words, when they came, didn't sound humorous in the least. “The bastard told you that and you believed him? You still do? After last night?”
She jerked her face up to look at him. “Of course after last night,” she hissed, poking him in the chest with her finger. “You proved it.”
“Excuse me?” Grabbing hold of her finger, he leaned in toward her, nose to nose, until she could clearly see his fierce frown. Anger emanated from him in waves. “All we proved last night was you are capable of far more passion than you thought. I've got the claw marks and the ringing ears to prove it.”
Flushing, she jerked her finger away and buried her face in her knees again. Her next words came out muffled and garbled. “Also proofs incisor golden bat.”
“What?”
She lifted her head again and spoke past the hair that had tangled in her mouth. “All that proved is that you're good in bed,” she clarified. “We already knew that. I, on the other hand, am a flop. I just didn't accept it before.”
He shook his head and spat out, “Bullshit.” Despite the fury in his voice, his hand was gentle as he smoothed back the hair from her face. “Melina, what are you talking about? Last night was the best—”
“You didn't get off,” she yelled. “We agreed that you were going to teach me about pleasing a man, and instead you drove me so wild that I…that I—” She shook her head.
“Finish.” His voice had turned quiet, almost icy. He also moved away from her, just a foot or two, but it was enough to make her feel the rejection. Great, now he was angry. But why shouldn't he be? She'd barely touched him last night. Sure, he'd ordered her not to, but maybe that had been some kind of challenge. Some test to see if she was aggressive enough to give him what he really wanted?
“I-I was selfish. I completely forgot about what I should be doing for you, Max. But it was only because you were so…you were so much more—” So much more than she'd expected. Based on that kiss so long ago, she'd thought she'd be safe with Max. It had been nice, but it hadn't overwhelmed her. It hadn't affected her the way just thinking of Rhys did. It hadn't made her tremble, but she was trembling now. When her face was buried in her knees and she consciously remembered who he was, she could control the ripples of desire that were swirling inside her. But as soon as she lifted her head and saw him—as soon as she breathed him in—the drumbeats of a passion so momentous began to clamor in her ears, urging her to reach out to him.
“What was I, Melina?”
Pressing her lips together, she plucked at the bedspread, refusing to look at him.
“You came into my bed,” Rhys said. “Apparently, you arranged all this for one of your idiotic experiments. So you will look at me, damn you.” Gripping her chin, he turned her face toward him, not unkindly, but not gently either. “What was I? Who am I?”
She frowned. “What?”
“Who. Am. I?”
“You—” She squinted, but the picture didn't change. He was Max. Honey-colored hair, slightly shorter than she remembered from two days before, but he could have gotten a haircut. Strong nose and jaw. Broad shoulders and chest, enticingly bare. Automatically, her gaze dropped lower and she saw his bare limbs splayed out from underneath the stark white sheet. She couldn't see the light dusting of hair on them, but she'd felt it last night. When he'd lain on top of her, with her wrists manacled by his hands—
She sucked in a breath and held it. Along with a flash of her favorite fantasy, two memories from last night formed. The first, his seeming surprise when he'd come into the room and found her in his bed. She'd chalked it up to nerves, but had it been more? The second, he'd called her Ladybug. Only Rhys called her Ladybug. But Rhys wasn't here. He didn't even like her anymore. Plus, he wouldn't have known to come to her. Unless…
“Rhys?” she whispered. Already half-expecting his answer, she rose and pulled the sheet up with her. His expression flashed with confirmation.
“Melina,” he said warningly, grabbing for the sheet, but she moved quick and with desperation, winning the tug of war so she could back up toward the door. And do what? Run out naked into the hallway? Prove herself to be an even bigger idiot? She compensated by taking a side-step toward the open bathroom doorway.
He stood, unconcerned with his nudity. “Come here, Ladybug,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “You're Max. Tell me you're Max.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, standing proud and tall. “I'm sorry. I can't do that.”
With her one free hand, she covered her mouth to stifle her moan of horror. She felt her knees about to buckle and put a steadying hand on the wall. She'd needed to steady herself on the bed last night, she remembered. She'd thought it was because she wasn't wearing her glasses, but it had more likely been because of the alcohol. The alcohol that had emboldened her to climb into the bed and masturbate while she fantasized about Rhys while actually thinking that she could go to bed with his brother. All in the interest of science, of course.
And what she'd done instead was throw herself at Rhys. Begged him to please her, she remembered with mortification. What had she said? Please me. Suck me.
“Melina,” he began again.
She shook her head. Now that she knew, it seemed so obvious. His hair was shorter. He spoke more slowly. He touched her differently. More hesitantly.
More and more hesitantly as time went on.
; Except for last night.
A slicing pain tugged at her stomach, and she automatically clutched at it. His surprise last night had been just that. He hadn't been expecting her to throw herself at him. He'd gone along, probably to spare her feelings. It certainly wasn't because he'd been overcome by desire. He hadn't even tried to seek his own release. Maybe he'd already known he couldn't achieve that kind of satisfaction with her. Maybe Max had warned him.
Now a hollow feeling of betrayal burned along with her embarrassment and heartache. “Whose room is this?”
“Mine.”
“Not Max's?”
“Max is on a different floor.”
A different floor. So had the front desk made a mistake? Or had Max chickened out at the last minute and tricked Rhys into filling in for him?
That made the most sense.
Despite her brief suspicion that Max had told Rhys she was waiting for him, the evidence didn't point to him purposefully deceiving her. When she'd said his brother's name, he'd sounded displeased—with her, with his brother, with the entire situation.
“Why…what…what are you doing here?”
“I flew in to give you your birthday present. It's right on the dresser. Didn't you see it?” Holding out his hands as if she was a rabid dog about to bite him, he nevertheless took two steps toward her, skirting the bed much like she had the night before. She moved backward, matching him step for step, suddenly feeling like a tiny rabbit being stalked by a very hungry wolf. “You gave me a present instead. Too bad it wasn't meant for me, but—”
“But nothing,” she said. “You need to leave.”
He swept his hands down his tall, muscular form. “You're going to make me walk out of here naked?”
“You can-you can dress first. While I shower.”
Another step forward by him. Another step back for her. “Let's talk.”
Talk. What was there to talk about other than her wanting to die from humiliation? “You weren't expecting me.”
He froze and seemed to weigh his words carefully before answering. “No, but—”
“You didn't want this.”
“Now, that's not true.”
She laughed even as she swiped at the tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, is that why you've been hounding me with so much attention? Who are you dating now, Rhys? I bet she looks just like me, doesn't she?”
The look that flashed across his face was subtle, but she caught it. She remembered the picture on her bookcase. The one where he posed with a woman Hugh Hefner would've been proud of. She'd had Barbie-like dimensions. Thirty-eight double D’s if she wasn't mistaken. Melina was barely a B-cup, and her hourglass shape was bottom heavy. She probably wouldn't have been allowed to clean the Playboy mansion, let alone live there.
As she came even with the open bathroom doorway, he shook his head. “Melina, please, don't—”
“Just go,” she whispered.
She saw him tense, saw him shift on the balls of his feet and knew he was going to lunge for her. But he was too far away. He'd never make it in time. Which is why he cursed when she propelled herself into the bathroom, shut the door and locked it.
The heavy thump of a fist against the door made her flinch, but he didn't call out to her. He did mutter a slow, steady stream of cuss words that would have amused her if she hadn't been so devastated. Rhys had plenty of surprises up his sleeves, including a kinky side and hot temper. Slowly, she sank to the floor, crawled under the open space of the double sink, and curled into a corner.
No matter what he said, he hadn't wanted her. That open box of condoms hadn't been for her.
And now she was stuck in this bathroom, with her overnight bag still on the floor outside, with no clothes. No pride. And no hope. She wasn't strong enough to risk this kind of hurt again. She wasn't ever going to be able to please a man, and that included Jamie. When Rhys left, she would get dressed and drive home. Then she'd throw herself into her work instead of silly dreams of a family and children.
Right after she killed Max.
* * *
His gaze never leaving the closed bathroom door, Rhys tugged on fresh clothes, cursing the whole time. She'd thought he was Max. When she'd offered to please him. When he'd kissed her. When he'd lain on top of her, played with her nipples, had his fingers and tongue inside her. She'd thought he was his brother.
Hurt and anger fought for supremacy. He wanted to rip his brother apart. Wanted to yell at her for daring to ask his brother for such a stupid, idiotic, lame-brained, ridiculous, personal, intimate favor.
She sucked in bed? She'd believed her asshole of an ex-boyfriend so much that she'd sought out tutoring lessons on how to pleasure a man? From Max?
Raking his hands through his hair, he stopped staring at the door long enough to pace. And his brother had agreed, only to back out in the end. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that, given their conversation at the theater and in the bar last night, he'd thought to pave the way for Rhys. He couldn't decide whether to beat the shit out of Max or kiss his feet in gratitude.
Pausing, he took a deep breath and sat on the bed. He eyed Melina's overnight case and knew she wouldn't come out of the bathroom until she thought he was gone. Grabbing the overnight case, he thought about throwing it down the hallway. Instead, he shoved it under the desk, out of view. He wasn't going to make leaving him easy for her.
Falling back on the bed, he stared at the ceiling and allowed himself to process things. He was upset, yes, but he was also thinking clearheadedly now, something he obviously hadn't been doing when Melina had been standing in her underwear in front of him last night.
His clearheaded thinking was one of the things that made the act with his brother work. Off stage, Max was clearly the more extroverted. His passion and enthusiasm for performing were what pumped up Rhys's genuine but more quiet interest in magic. Unlike his brother, Rhys wasn't impulsive. Ever. He thought things through, whether it was the believability of a magic trick, what position in the room gave him the best advantage when it came to illusion, or whether a woman was hitting on him for his fame rather than a true interest in the man he was.
While there were more of the former than the latter, that didn't necessarily mean he'd turn a woman down just because she liked the limelight. He just liked to know what he was getting into from the beginning. That way, he maintained control from beginning to end, just like with his magic.
He decided what people saw and didn't see.
He made things happen.
But not with Melina. He'd never had that kind of control with her, and that more than anything else was probably what had kept him away from her. If he couldn't even control his feelings for her, what made him think that if he ever had her, he'd be able to leave? And leaving was always what he and his brother did. It was in their blood. He couldn't imagine staying in one place, day after day, month after month, working the same job. Even for Melina.
Or, more precisely, he could imagine it, but he couldn't accept such bliss was actually possible. Not on his part. And not on hers.
The first thing he'd thought when she'd called him Max was, “Not again.” He loved his brother, but sometimes he felt like he lived in his shadow. That no one truly saw him for who he was because they were always a pair.
The only thing that stopped him from freaking out completely was the fact she'd said his name last night, right after he'd undeniably given her the best orgasms of her life. Her defenses had been down, and she clearly hadn't realized Max hadn't shown up.
But she'd still said his name.
That meant a lot. Right now, that meant everything.
His right shoulder itched with intuition just before the phone rang. Rolling over, he reached for the phone and picked it up, knowing immediately who it was. “You are so dead.”
Silence. Then a hesitant, “Where's Melina?”
“Listen, you little—”
“If that's your brother,” Melina yelled from the bathroom, “you can t
ell him he's a dead man when I see him.”
“Already done, Ladybug,” he called through clenched teeth.
“She's still there?” Max sounded so proud of himself that Rhys tightened his hand on the receiver, wishing it was his brother's neck. “So what's the problem, man? I'm assuming you took advantage of the situation?”
“That's the problem, Max. I don't take advantage of women, especially not Melina.”
“So you didn't—” His brother cleared his throat. “You know?”
“No. Why don't you enlighten me? Exactly what did you think was going to happen, Max?”
“Was she wearing something sexy?”
Rhys remembered the little shorts and top she had been wearing, modest and simple by most standards, and currently lying on the floor. “Flannel pajamas.”
“Damn. And her hair?”
Loose and gorgeous. Feeling more relaxed, Rhys stretched out on the bed only to tense when he heard the bathroom door unclick. Feigning disinterest, he stayed on the bed as Melina peeked out from around the corner, her hands clutching her sheet while she searched for the bag he'd moved underneath the desk. “Pinned back in that bun of hers.”
“And the glasses?” Max groaned.
“The glasses? As butt-ugly as ever.” He looked straight at her when he said it, and she wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him. He sat up, and her eyes widened, which, bastard that he was, immediately made him hard. Despite the fact he was fully clothed, he didn't miss the way her gaze moved down then up his body. Unlike similar glances other women gave him, her hesitant assessment made his chest puff out and his heart pound out of control.
“So what the hell did you guys do all night?”
“What do you think we did? We played rummy, watched a girly movie, and I ended up sleeping on the floor.”
Melina covered her mouth to hide her smile of relief, but he saw it anyway. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“No sparks?”
More like Mount St. Helens. “Not a one.”
Max sighed. “Well, hey, I'm sorry, man. I really thought…I don't know. I just thought if I finally pushed the two of you into taking a chance—”
Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set Page 94