by Shae Ross
“Wait for it…wait for it,” Jett purrs over my ear. I lean an inch back, feeling the warmth of his chest against my back. A menu appears, prompting us to choose our picture theme.
He reads the choices. “Best Friends…not what I’m going for.” His finger moves to the next selection. “Perfect Angels…well, me maybe,” he says in a teasing voice, “but we know that doesn’t apply to you.” He ignores my hip bump against his thigh and moves on. The remaining three choices are, “Flirt,” “Wanted,” or “True Love.” I lean my head back on his chest and look up at him, raising a “now whadda ya gonna do” look.
“Well, you have been flirting with me all night,” he says, “and I know you want me.”
My mouth drops open, and I turn to him with an indignant look, trying to keep a straight face. “Me?” I say. “You’re the one…”
“All right, all right, have it your way, true love.” He swipes the bar and sits on the bench. His fingers close around my waist and he pulls me back. I land half sitting on his lap and drop a stabilizing arm over his shoulder.
A honey smooth voice pipes over us. “Now you are ready to sit for three poses. First pose in five, four, three…” On “one” he brings a hand to the side of my face and pulls me in, kissing my cheek. I widen my eyes and form an O with my mouth, miming an expression of delighted shock. The white light bursts around us and the speaker’s voice cuts through our laughter. “Second pose in five, four, three…“
“My turn, my turn,” I say. I wrap my hands around his head and plaster my lips against his cheek. He raises a suggestive eyebrow, smiling straight on at the camera. Light fills the space, and I blink to clear the white spots from my vision.
“All right now, big finish,” he says as the speaker starts.
“Last pose in five, four…”
I turn in his lap and look at him. “What are we gonna do?” I say in an urgent breath.
A wicked smile curls over his mouth and his eyes darken. “I’m going to kiss you now, Rose.” His voice is low and he’s said it as if he has no doubt it’s going to happen. I swallow, and my mind flashes through my list of excuses, dismissing each one in exchange for the lure of the perfectly shaped mouth descending toward mine. I brace my fingers against the wall as he reaches a hand to the side of my face and pulls me in. Our lips connect, and I see the bright light pulsing over us from behind closed lids.
His tongue flicks over my bottom lip, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He moans and deepens the kiss, moving his hands around my back. Sensations rush through me. Even though I’m sitting perfectly still, my head feels like it’s on a merry-go-round.
I pull away, rest my forehead on the bridge of his nose, and gasp in a breath, trying to slow the carnival ride. I reach back for his hands, gripping my fingers around his big wrists. He lets me pull his long arms up. I lead one hand to the side wall and plaster his fingers flat, doing the same with the other. “No hands,” I say, smiling and still a little breathless.
He raises a quick seductive eyebrow and angles his chin down into a deep nod.
I move to straddle-sit over his lap, and my breasts press into his chest. The rest of my body follows, molding completely against him until I feel the hardness of his thighs against the back of mine. My hands rise to his face, and I part my lips on his.
His mouth opens to mine. I relax my body fully against him. He smells so good, he tastes so good, and the feel of his face so close to mine is like a drug sending waves of warm sensations over my entire body. I move my hands to the back of his neck and into black silkiness just long enough to thread my fingers into. His shoulders under my arms are giving off small jerking movements as if he’s barely able to restrain his hands.
I’m trailing my fingers over his neck to his broad shoulders.
“Ryan,” he says in a ragged whisper against my lips. He wants me to release him from the “no hands” vow.
“Not yet,” I return, biting his lower lip. I inch my touch lower over his sides, tapering to his waist and then across his lower back. I explore the rise and fall of every tight muscle and pull myself closer to his body. The heat from his skin seeps into mine, and I let out a small, shuddering breath.
A low groan rises from the back of his throat, over his lips onto mine. I smile and nod. He stands with a sense of urgency, abandoning all reserve, and my insides are swimming in a pool of hot honey. He lowers me gently to stand in front of him, and my knees feel numb. He’s consuming most of the space around us and looking at me as if he’s going to consume me next. I feel a pulse of nervous anxiety at the thought, but at the same time I want to crawl back into his arms.
His hands capture the sides of my face, and he kisses me again, controlling the pace. One hand weaves into my hair while his other hand begins to explore. I hold in my breath. He trails his thumb under the cut of my cheek. His hand continues a torturously slow descent, straight-lining down my body, across my neck, skimming over my breasts, grazing my rib cage, and locking on my hips.
He moves both hands to my lower back and presses until his palms are low enough to spread over my backside. His grip pulls me in. Hardness presses against my stomach in a bulging knot, searing me with heat. I squeeze my legs together as the sensations explode upward.
His hands tighten on my rib cage, and I feel weightless as he lifts me to sit on the small ledge extending out just below the black screen. Strong fingers move over the sides of my thighs and then to the front of my knees. He presses forward and slowly separates my legs to accommodate his stance. I brace my arms around his neck and cling. My body is trembling, and I’m completely absorbed. From somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a thought bubbles up: This is getting out of hand. I should stop. He should stop. One of us should…
His fingers trail like hot coals over my legs while his teeth tug at my bottom lip. I’m face-to-face with him, and I rest my elbows over his shoulders and tilt my head back to accommodate the feeling of his mouth trailing hot kisses down my neck. His hands massage the outside of my thighs, working their way up. The pressure of his fingers changes, intensifies, and I realize he’s crossed over the lace band of my thigh highs and onto my bare skin. He disengages from our kiss and steps back. I follow his eyes. My dress is bunched up around my hips, my panties clearly visible at the crevice of my legs. His gaze trails lower over the black lace thigh highs, which cut a scroll-like pattern against my pale skin. A low groan rolls from deep in his throat. I watch his fingers thread under the black lace. He brings his forehead to rest on mine, and my vision narrows on his dark eyes, penetrating me with the most sensuous look.
“I want you to know, I really approve of these.” He smiles and grips the outside of my upper thighs, pulling my body against his as if to emphasize his point. The rough feel of his jeans hits the tender skin on my inner thighs, sending a ripple of sensations through me. I moan, and the sound of my own voice shoots an awakening, rational thought through my mind.
I have to stop this ride no matter how good it feels. I arch my back and wrap my arms around his shoulders, intending to jump down. Instead I end up with my legs clinging to his hips as he lifts and holds me against him. I slide my legs down his body, feeling like I’m melting off of him. I push my dress down, watching the most intense, glorious, disappointed look on his face. I know exactly how he feels.
A curved, glossy photo stream hangs from the machine. I reach past him and detatch it. He steadies my hips as we stare at the pictures. The camera has captured the moments between us in which we are completely absorbed in each other. Shielded from the pressure of competing by a bed of roses and a black curtain. We look…happy.
He kisses the side of my head. “I guess that’s what true love looks like,” he says in a low tone. I raise my eyes to his and a bolt shoots through me as if I’ve just seen my future. We stare at each other, breathless, processing the last few minutes. Something tugs my mind, drawing it to sobriety, or maybe it’s the lack of sobriety weighing down my thoughts.
I’m spinning again. I r
eally shouldn’t be doing this with him. I think about Devi and Jade and the million reasons we need to win this competition.
“Ryan.” He’s looking down at me with tenderness. “You okay?”
I shake my head and lie. “Yeah, just a little dizzy. We should probably get out of here before we get caught.” My arm reaches up to pull the curtain off of this fantasy, and I’m hoping he believed my excuse. The silver rings make a low whizzing sound as the black satin opens. I step out and stoop to gather our jackets. When I turn, I see him plucking a rose from the side of the photo booth. He twists and throws a piece of stem aside, reaches out, and tucks the flower behind my ear. The soft smile on his face widens as he steps back and rests his fingers in his pockets.
I stare at the sweet expression on his face. My heart aches for what I cannot be with him right now: involved. Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. No matter how hard I try not to, I know I will dream about Jett Trebuchet tonight.
Chapter Twelve
Jett
Once again, I’ve underestimated Little Miss Michigan State. I’d never have expected kissing her would lead to wanting to spread her legs and press against every inch of her tight body. And I’d certainly never expected her to let me.
Part of me wants to drop to my knees and fist pump, and part of me wants to apologize to her. I can still feel the heat of her skin against my fingertips…and thigh highs. What the fuck? Does she wear those every day? God, I hope so. Now anytime I look at her, I’m going to be envisioning that black lace lining the skin of her upper thighs.
I drag my hand over my face and walk toward the door of my room. There’s no way I’ll be able to climb in bed and fall asleep right now, not after that. I slip into our room, grab my iPad, and head down to the lobby bar.
I take a seat against the back wall and the waitress slides a napkin square in front of me. “What can I get ya, honey?”
“Whatever you have on tap’ll be fine. Thanks.”
I swipe my iPad and scan the headings of my emails. Phil Derringer. My mind jumps, and then I remember I had sent him a quick message Tuesday morning after Vaughn told me he dated Ryan. Part of me wants to ignore the message, but another part wants to know what the deal was between the two of them. Something happened, and I’m not sure I want to know.
I rub my jaw and read.
Hey Jett, I’m in Manhattan this week, too, talking to a couple recruiters. Love to grab a drink with you guys. Where are you staying? Good luck in the competition—shouldn’t be too hard for you guys to beat the State girls. I’d love to see it. When do they announce results? And yes, I know Ryan Rose. Well. That bitch filed a restraining order against me. Hope you crush them.
Restraining order? What the fuck would he have done to her that she needed a restraining order? My stomach growls.
“Hey.”
I look up and see Robert Trott.
“You get stood up, too?” he asks, swirling the ice around in the amber liquid of the glass he’s holding.
“Well, sort of,” I say. Stood up in a photo booth by a beautiful blonde. I open my hand to the seat across from me. He pulls it out and flops down like an empty suit discarded over a chair. Judging by how long it’s taking his vision to focus, he looks like a guy that’s been hitting it pretty hard for a solo night.
“What do you think of your competition so far?” he asks, leaning a forearm against the table.
“The actual competition or the girls we’re competing against?”
He hesitates and smiles at me, as if I should know. “Those State girls are quite the dish. I’d be all over Ryan if I thought my dad wouldn’t kill me for dealin’ on an intern.” He chomps down on an ice cube and talks through it. “Had a problem with that a couple years ago.”
I clench my teeth and pretend like his comments about Ryan don’t grind into me. I haven’t quite decided what Robert Trott’s all about, but I’m beginning to have doubts about his character. By the end of the Met reception, he was half trashed, and from my observations of his bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance in the boardroom, I get the impression he takes his job too casually and his party life too seriously.
“I’m sure with all of your responsibilities at Trott it’s hard to keep up with a social life,” I say.
He smirks at me. “Ha, are you kidding? It’s what I live for. It’s the only thing that makes my job bearable.”
“Really?”
“Trust me. It’s hard to work for your dad.”
“I would agree with you there. We have a family business my dad runs back in Michigan.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s your volume in annual sales?” he asks, but he’s already looked away as if the answer doesn’t really matter to him.
“We’re classified as a big business.”
“So you’re playing for the Trott Ventures contract so you can avoid the trap I’ve fallen into?”
I stare at him as he takes another swallow of his drink and motions the waitress over. He orders a Manhattan, staring at her ass as she walks back to the bar.
“Hey, maybe your dad will hire me when I get fired,” he says, holding one finger up over his glass, joking without smiling.
He wouldn’t last through the second question of an interview with my dad.
“You never know,” I respond.
I don’t feel one bit sorry for him. The only trap he’s fallen into he’s set for himself, baited with bourbon, double Ds, and the apathy of someone who’s used to ordering up a toilet when he needs to piss.
“Hey.” Ben’s voice interrupts us as he slouches into a chair. He looks tired…and frustrated. He runs a hand over the back of his head and looks at me.
“How’d the rest of your night go?”
“Fine,” I say, tipping my beer and looking at Robert, hoping Ben will get the hint that I don’t want to talk about Ryan. He stares at me for a pregnant moment, alcohol enhancing the look in his eyes to brasher than usual. I turn to Robert.
“So, Robert, can you tell us anything else about tomorrow’s challenge?” I ask.
“It’s gonna be good.” He laughs at the look on our faces and stands up. “My cab’s probably waiting. Just tell the waitress to put your drinks on my tab; she knows me.”
“Thanks.” I nod.
“Oh, and Winslow, my sister totally has the hots for you. Watch out for that one. She’s tricky.”
“Jillian?” Ben asks in a surprised tone.
“I only have one sister.”
“I thought she was one of those militant lesbians who hates men,” Ben says under his breath as Robert walks away.
I smile and put my hand on his shoulder. “Your dreams have come true, and you’ve finally converted a lesbian.”
“Crazy lovin’ skills this boy’s got,” Ben says, pointing his thumbs inward toward his chest.
“If only a dwarf in a cheerleading uniform was waiting for you back at the room, your evening would be complete.”
“It’s “little person.” I’ll thank you to not slander my fantasy girl.”
“How’d it go wheelin’ with Dream Girl Number One?”
“Not good. We were totally all over each other but I kept getting text messages. I finally silenced my phone, but when I went to the bathroom she looked at it. Eight messages. She called me a player. I’m gonna kill my sisters. Whenever they get in a fight they light up my phone—like I can solve their problems hundreds of miles away.”
“Did you tell her the messages were from your sisters?”
“I tried but she just rolled her eyes at me and proceeded to go car-keying crazy on me, called me every bad word, including some I’d never heard of. She tore me up and then walked out.”
“That sucks. Maybe she just had too much to drink.”
“Hey,” Vaughn says, pulling out a chair.
Ben gives him a high five. “Hey, little buddy, how was your night?” A mischievous smile spreads over Vaughn’s face. He looks left, then right, and nods at us.
“All right, wha
t gives?” I ask. He leans and moves his hand inches out of his pocket. Clutched in his fingers is a pair of panties.
“You dog!” Ben gasps. “No way.”
“Okay, now you know what the deal was, you have to wear those tomorrow,” I say. This was not part of the deal, but it’s fun to mess with Vaughn when he’s been drinking and I know Ben will play along. I try to hold my poker face while he attempts to read my expression.
“Fuck off,” he shoots back.
“No seriously, dude. He’s right.” Ben confirms and then adds, “You have to wear them in the sushi truck.”
“I am not wearing them. And who says we’re picking the Japanese food truck?”
“Devi let slip that Jade and Ryan used to work in a sushi restaurant. I’m thinking we can’t risk letting them have any advantage. If we get first pick, we’ll be rollin’ rice tomorrow.” He looks at Vaughn and points. “And we’re counting on you to lead us in those itty-bitty kitty panties.”
“I’m Chinese, not Japanese, you ass.”
“Hey, something “eeze” is better than two white boys who got nothing-eeze,” Ben says, flicking his fingers between the two of us.
“Let’s get outta here,” I say. We stand up and head out. I diss Robert’s offer to put our drinks on his tab and throw a twenty on the table. He can flex his cash on someone who’ll be impressed—someone other than me.
Chapter Thirteen
Ryan Rose
It’s Thursday morning, and we’re lined up facing the guys, separated by the conference room table and a single silver coin flipping in the air. My eyes are locked on Jett’s, and the dark blue of his eyes flash a quick shimmering reflection as the quarter passes our sight line. Mr. Trott steps back and points to Jade. “Heads,” she calls. It’s as if Jett’s gaze has some connection with my skin—every time he’s looked at me this morning, I feel his touch from last night…on my waist, sliding over my lower back, gripping my backside.
“Tails,” Mr. Trott announces.
Of course.
“Gentlemen, you have the first pick of trucks.”