Still Hot For You

by Diane Escalera

  She leaned her elbows on the table and wavy tendrils of hair fell forward, framing her sweet face. Slicking her tongue across that full bottom lip, she tormented him with the sexiest I-want-you eyes he'd ever seen. “Would you like to try?”

  He did a double take. Would I like to try? Is that what she'd just said? He reprocessed her words. Holy crap. Shay didn't want to break up. She wanted sex. Yes! He scooped his heart off the tiles. “Baby, I would love to try.”

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  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Break down his defenses. And break out the black leather.

  "Want to get your man talking? Give him booty!"

  Erin's words. Not Shay's. Crazy chick. Then again, maybe she wasn't so crazy. After all, Shay was pretty desperate. She would do anything, anything to get back on stable ground with Dylan. Talk? He didn't want to talk. Not about their problems. Yet he seemed real willing to talk about sex.

  Oh yeah, last night she could've violated him a million different ways. But no. Not so fast. As much as her soul ached for him, she couldn't let go that easily. Too much had been said. Too much had not been said.

  Still, if last night said anything ... Shay had barely done a thing. A little food. A little sex talk. She'd left him wanting more. But then, she'd promised more. He only had to come home at a decent hour. She would do the same. She would do the rest.

  Shay's Rules of Seduction. She'd hatched them overnight. One way or another, she'd get inside his head. No matter how many orgasms it took.

  She found her motorcycle jacket stuffed in the back of the closet. When was the last time she'd worn that thing? Creamy leather. Sexy cut. Funky zippers. Back in the day, she'd never taken it off. They'd ridden Dylan's Harley all over South Florida. Lord, her father had detested that machine. But she had loved it, almost as much as its owner. Wearing the jacket—which she had to admit still fit perfectly—she looked hot, felt hot.

  “Going to a biker bar?” Dylan set his laptop on the kitchen counter. The heated look on his face spoke volumes. His blue gaze practically raped her.

  Shay felt a thrill of satisfaction. She didn't let on, keeping her expression severe, like her outfit. “No. You're taking me for a ride.”

  “Am I?”

  She hooked a finger in the belt loop of her tight, low-riding jeans. “Is that a problem?” Ultra glossy lips pursed as she paused for an answer.

  He seemed unsure. Not unwilling, though. “When's the last time you rode?”

  “Haven't done a lot of things lately.” Her smoky gaze swept him up and down. “So?” She squared her body at him. “You want to answer questions with questions, or do you want to get out of here?”

  Dylan stood silent for a spell. “All right.” His eyes went to the deep V of the black tee she wore under her black jacket. “Guess I won't ask where we're going.” He looked from her boobs to her face to her boobs. “Since that would constitute a question.”

  “Good,” she said, with a deeper laugh than usual. Guys were so easy. A little red lace peeking out. A Miracle bra that plumped her breasts, pushed and squeezed for the miracle effect. Nope. It didn't take much.

  “I'll go put on something more appropriate,” he said.

  They were walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other, but all that would change soon. Real soon. “Wear black.” She scrutinized his strong jaw line, his well-shaped lips. What if she grabbed him and kissed him right here in the kitchen? No. That might freak them both out.

  Dylan's demeanor remained cool, controlled. “Anything else?”

  How about everything else? She contained her bubbling lust. Damn jacket always made her feel so horny. “That was a question!”

  He let out a chuckle. “Oh.” He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his gray dress slacks. “How about if I just go change.” He turned to walk away. “That was a statement, by the way.”

  * * * *

  The fast breeze on Shay's face awakened her dormant parts. She took a long breath, inhaling it all in. Problems? What problems? She and Dylan didn't have any problems. No sir. At the moment, everything felt great.

  Dusk had to be her favorite time of day, because the hectic pace slowed to a crawl. With autumn well underway, cool air offered a welcome relief from a long, sticky summer that seemed to be getting stickier. Then there was the hunky man between her legs.

  She could've wrapped her arms around his frame. Crushed her breasts against his back. Shoved her face into his worn leather jacket until sweet memories seduced her. Memories like this, two lovers zipping along the coastline on Dylan's custom chromed-out bike.

  The proximity of his scent caused enough of a rush. Her thighs anchored her husband, brushed the outsides of his muscled thighs. Friction from the motorcycle and him stormed already steamy thoughts. She kept her hands on his waist, bunching fistfuls of jacket and t-shirt.

  This was what their life had been missing. Freedom. Adventure. She almost threw her hands up in the air. Dylan seemed lost in his own world, leaning back comfortably, his broad body slackened and relaxed. Now he looked like the guy Shay knew, the man she'd fallen in love with and married.

  Married. She loved being married to him. Her eyes misted. Watered. Whatever it took, she'd get back the closeness they'd had. She missed it. Missed him. She only now realized how much.

  “Pull off,” she yelled over the rumbling engine. She hadn't ridden in forever, and after forty-five minutes, her lower extremities ached. Working behind a desk might've contributed to the problem. Maybe her body was out of practice. But a fiery spirit lived on. It just made less frequent appearances. And Shay needed to change that.

  During her sentence in solitary confinement, she'd realized a few things about her marriage. She and Dylan had fallen into a rut. What had happened to the two rebels with a thirst for life? What had happened to spontaneity, that live-for-the-moment philosophy? Now they only lived for work. So what, they were more mature. Did everything have to be serious? Did every move have to be calculated? They focused entirely on the future. What about now?

  Dylan pulled off the road. He made his own parking space and cut the engine. It was a beautiful spot, private and fronting the ocean. Shay hopped off the bike and removed her shiny black helmet. She loosened her braid, shook out her hair. Bending forward, she touched her fingertips to the ground, stretching her stiff leg muscles.

  “You okay?” Dylan set his helmet on the bike seat. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, spiking the tips.

  “My butt's a little numb.” She laughed.

  Let me fix that, the Dylan she'd married would've said to her. Instead, he silently inspected the space, stopping to gaze at the shimmering water.

  Shay heard him take in the salty cool air. She walked up behind him. Wow. Worn leather. Faded denim. Scruffy boots. Five years, and she was still hot for him.

  “Hey,” he said, when she appeared next to him.

  She shot him a sideways glance and smiled. An ocean breeze tousled, feathered her hair. She ran her hands through her locks, fanning them across her shoulders. “This brings back memories.”

  “Of?” He shoved both hands into his back pockets. The unzipped front of his jacket opened, exposing a black tee. Her husband still sported a great body, even though these days he rarely made it to the gym.

  “Remember when I thought you were gay?” Shay twisted a section of hair between her fingers and played with it. She felt like that young girl again, the one who knew how to have fun.

  He shot her a look. “You didn't really think I was gay?”

  “I don't know,” she said. “You didn't kiss me for one whole month.”

  “It's called being respectful. Not gay.”

  “Were you always that respectful?”

  “No.”

  “No?” She kicked sand on his boot.

  “Only with you,” Dylan said, staring at the ground. He shook his steel-toe boot, casting off the powdery sand. Steadying himself on one foot, he swiped
the hard tip across his calf.

  Shay suppressed a grin. Mr. Meticulous. He liked things neat. Clean. No dirt, not even on his Harley, which he hardly rode anymore. Miracle the bike worked tonight, although for a while there, Shay hadn't been sure the thing would turn over. Luckily, she'd attached the battery charger while she'd waited for him to come home, otherwise it wouldn't have started at all.

  She loved riding, especially with him. Despite the danger, which made it all the more thrilling, she knew he would never let anything happen to her. From day one, he'd been overprotective. “Why so respectful with me?” She almost kicked more sand on him, but decided against it.

  “I don't know.”

  She bumped him on the arm. “Yes you do.”

  “Why do you think?”

  She loved playing games with him. Dylan always gave it right back. “I think you were afraid of me.”

  That made him laugh. “I was not afraid of you.”

  “Then why didn't you kiss me?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Like I said, a respect thing.”

  “We didn't kiss for thirty whole days.” She always teased him about it. Truth be told, she loved that he had been a true gentleman, a total contradiction to his bad boy image.

  “Like they say. Good things come to those who wait.”

  Ha! There was the Dylan she loved. “You were always cocky.”

  “Not cocky. Convinced.”

  “Ooh,” she snorted a laugh.

  Dylan bent and picked up a shell. He tossed it across the sandy patch. “I see you're enjoying this.”

  She forced him to look at her. “Aren't you?”

  No response. He stretched his arms above his head and inhaled another deep breath of ocean air. “Feels good out here.”

  Uh-uh. We're not done yet. “I give you a lot of credit. Any other man—”

  “I'm not any other man,” he cut her off.

  Without thinking, she stroked his face. His skin felt warm, a little rough, just how she liked it. God. She couldn't remember the last time she'd touched him. “You're definitely different.”

  “But I'm not gay.”

  She laughed out loud. “I know. But teasing you is so much fun.”

  “Yeah, well, you were always good at that.”

  Dylan stared at the dark, still sea. He picked up another shell and flung it into the air. The water splashed when it hit. He tossed several more shells, aiming them farther out.

  * * * *

  First last night. Now this. Dylan wasn't sure what to think. But Shay was playing nice. And he welcomed it. He'd had enough of being ignored and neglected. She'd punished him hard. He'd held his ground because he really believed they weren't ready for a baby. That conviction had cost him dearly, though.

  What the fuck had come over her? It's not like they hadn't discussed kids. They had. And they'd agreed to wait. Life had been zipping along nicely. Shay had her banking career. His budding contracting firm was making a name for itself. They worked hard. Maybe they didn't play as hard. Still, things were pretty good. Or so he'd thought.

  He wasn't about to question the truce. Looking at her now, he only wanted to think about red lace. Maybe he acted casual, but his stomach still burned for her, a cramp so acute it hurt. He'd only ever loved one woman, one little spitfire who heated his world. Shay. His match, his equal. She went toe-to-toe with him every time. Her fight, that passion she unleashed, drove him mad.

  Right now he didn't care who called the shots. He'd let her play this game her way, at least for a little while. Shit. He'd served enough time in isolation. It felt liberating not to think about guilt.

  How brilliant. The motorcycle ride was medicine for his ills. He should've been riding every night, instead of hiding at work, avoiding his problems, rejecting his wife. No dodging her now. Not that he wanted to. He missed his hardheaded woman, maybe because everything else was so soft. Her heart. Her curves. Her hands and the way she used them.

  He curiously eyed her. Damn, he didn't want to start trouble, but he needed to know. “Why the sudden change?”

  Shay's chin rose. Her forehead crinkled. “Honestly,” she said, toeing her boot in the sand. “I'm tired of being angry.”

  “Good.” He relaxed his face. Maybe he'd still get laid tonight, which he really, really wanted.

  “Besides, we needed a change of scenery.”

  “Amen,” he said. “I'm sick of work.” Not literally, of course.

  “You've been at it day and night.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “All work and no play...”

  Vanilla-scented shampoo teased his nostrils every time the wind blew. Beauty, brains, class and sass, that was his Shay. Her erotic aura summoned his full attention. His fingers itched to tug that shiny mane. He shoved his hands hard into his front pockets. “Makes Dylan a dull boy.” His grin came slow. “Yeah. I know.”

  Shay stood face-to-face with him. Leather to leather, chest to breast, they stared each other down. “Dull is one word I'd never use.” She pressed herself against him.

  “No?” He kept perfectly still. His stiff erection, on the other hand...

  She took in the bulge of his pants and flashed a killer grin. “I can show you how dull you're not.”

  Somebody seemed to be having too much fun at his expense. “Yeah?”

  “Come by my place tomorrow night.” She opened her palm on the soft cotton of his shirt, right over his thumping heart.

  He laughed at his wife. Her place was his place. “Why not tonight?”

  Brown eyes simmered. Her lips parted. She touched her fingers to his jacket, played with a buckle. “Like you said.” She stood on tiptoes and placed a tender kiss near his lips. “Good things come to those who wait.”

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  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Food and Champagne. Wanna slow dance?

  His wife had busted out the heavy artillery. Her red satin dress. Oh, baby. That puppy worked like a charm. It fit Shay like a second skin, shimmering over her lush curves. The open back, cut down to her slender waist accentuated hips and behind, his two favorite body parts. When she turned around, her perky breasts puckered the swathing fabric at her chest.

  “Damn,” Dylan said from the foyer. He strolled into the media room where she posed, and set his laptop on the table. He blinked once. Twice. He couldn't believe how gorgeous his wife looked. Her hair sat neatly piled on top of her head. She wore his favorite red dress with stilettos. Last night had been a surprise. Tonight ... Jesus, Shay was on fire.

  “I left as early as I could. Chris kept blocking my way.” His eyes drank in every inch of her. Blood pumped wild with pent-up heat and frustration. Beautiful Shay. Damn stubborn. Damn sexy. She'd put him through hell. But he still loved her to death. Always would.

  “I'm sure your brother can handle whatever comes up.”

  Only thing coming up was Dylan's erection. He nodded in agreement, though he knew Christian could be a bit of a hothead. “Forget about work,” he said. For months, business had totally consumed him. His brain needed a break. His body needed a good screw. “So where are you taking me tonight?”

  Shay handed him a glass of sparkling champagne. Watching, she took a sip from her own. “Dancing,” she said, and licked a drop from her bottom lip.

  He took the crystal flute from her outstretched hand. Sipping deeply, he stared right back. Lord, he wanted sex. He liked it every day, every way. And since he'd never, ever cheat on his wife—he had too much honor and integrity for that—Shay needed to give up that sweet booty. Tonight. “Did you pick out a place?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice sounded low and throaty. With a cunning grin, she strolled to the living room, leaving him with a full view of bare back and endless feminine curves. She turned to look at him. “The party's over here.”

  Shoving a hand through his hair, he followed her glorious ass. Candles flickered everywhere, dancing across the white marble tiles of his l
iving room. A heavy wrought iron table stood adorned with Japanese delicacies, all displayed on twinkling crystal platters. Wall-to-wall sliding glass doors spread open, framing their wide patio and turquoise in-ground pool. Spotlights illuminated a spurting fountain that overflowed into the spa.

  “There's a nice breeze tonight.” Shay lifted the remote control and clicked on a different tune. Sexy music filtered from surround-sound speakers. “Hungry?”

  Oh, yeah. Dylan closed the space between them. He inhaled her hypnotic scent. Of course, she wore his favorite perfume. “When did you have time to do all this?”

  She let out a laugh that directly affected his groin. “I had some help from Sushi Palace.”

  * * * *

  His face lit up. “I love that place.”

  Like Shay didn't have his number. Baby, she was on a mission to get a little submission, and Dylan was falling right into her hands. Slow and easy. That's how it would be. It'd taken months to erect their wall. It wouldn't tumble with one night of hot sex.

  Dylan played along. Shay could see he was guarded. She knew the feeling. They'd hurt each other. They also loved each other. At least she hoped he still did. No mistaking he still lusted for her. She missed that hungry look, the way his eyes turned dark and sinister when he wanted her.

  Give her the strength to hold back from jumping his hunky bod. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn't. Instead, she helped herself to food and invited Dylan, who'd already prepared himself a huge plate, to sit down on the sofa beside her.

  His eyes skimmed her legs. He sat and his knee lightly brushed against hers. That simple touch sent shockwaves through her system. To her delight, he kept his leg there, kept that electrical current flowing. The tiny spot on her knee ignited to a burn. Heat traveled up her leg and to her...

  She swallowed a piece of California roll. And another, then downed the rest of her champagne, her body hissing inside. “How is it?”

  “Great,” he mumbled around a mouthful. Working his chopsticks like a pro, he plucked sushi and specialty rolls and stuffed his handsome face. “More,” he grumbled like a caveman.