Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid)

by Maggie Kelley

  “Junior high champion.”

  “That’s right.” He reached across the table to gather her hands in his own and his thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. His voice was as low and as intimate as his touch. “I’m sure you’ve got one hell of an approach, an approach I will definitely love to…watch.” He leaned in, ready with a challenge. “But you don’t have a chance tonight. Not against me.”

  Her pulse raced ahead of her brain, and she felt the heat building between them in a way that did not bode well for her matrix. “No lofting past the foul line. I want a clean game.”

  “You are so going down.”

  Damn, he knew she never walked away from a challenge. “Think so?”

  “I know it, bella angelo.”

  “Since when do you speak Italian?” Even two words impressed her, not just the sentiment, but the man had failed his prep school language class—twice.

  “Hey, when in Brooklyn…”

  She unraveled their fingers, set her palms flat on the tabletop, and steered the conversation back onto safer ground. “Okay, so Rocky, bowling, cultural compatibility. All excellent additions to your criteria list.” Right? Right. She pulled out her cell and typed the updated criteria.

  Charlie held out his hand. “Turn it over.”

  “Turn what over?”

  “The phone. Give it to me.”

  “No,” she said, pulling away.

  But he was insistent. “Tonight, you promised to let me show you what I need, and part of what I need is you paying attention, so, hand it over.”

  “I didn’t promise.” She rolled her eyes, powered down, and gave him the damn phone.

  “Thank you,” he said, “Oh, and I almost forgot.” He pulled a familiar red and white bag from the pocket of his coat and handed it to her. “Dessert.”

  She peeked inside the bag and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Ray’s Candy Store.”

  “I’ve got a pack of the wild cherry Life Savers in my pocket if you’d rather.”

  “No,” she said, her gaze automatically seeking his. “Ray’s is perfect. I love Ray’s.”

  “And I love dessert.” He slid his chair close and brushed a kiss across her lips. “All kinds of dessert.”

  She looked over at him, all sweet and seductive. “Good to know.”

  Whether or not it was smart, she wanted to spend tonight with Charlie. Add a seventh day to the lovely, memorable six.

  Tomorrow, after her emotions no longer swayed to the rhythm of Brooklyn, after she’d repackaged her feelings and tucked them safely away like the candy in her desk drawer, maybe she’d recalculate. But the thought of returning to her well-ordered, risk-free life caused a stab of pain to twist in her chest.

  She wanted tonight. She wanted the knockout kiss.

  She swallowed hard. “I love dessert, too.”

  A smile creased across his face, and the crinkles broke out in full force. “Let’s bowl.”

  …

  Charlie placed a hand over his heart in as if he’d been pierced by an arrow, which he kind of had been. Cupid’s arrow. “Nothing sexier than a woman wearing bowling shoes.”

  She looked up from her double-knotted rentals, grinning over at him as she finished tying up laces, and before he knew it, he was grinning right back. “The Gutter?” she teased. “I can’t believe bowling falls into your perfect date category. No wonder you’re still a bachelor.”

  Hoping to rekindle her love of the game, he’d rented his friend’s nine-lane bowling alley in the trendy Greenpoint area of Brooklyn for the rest of the night. Not a traditionally romantic choice, maybe, but the place, empty except for the two of them, managed to be intimate. The lanes were open, the lights were low and the area around them was dim, soft and romantic, brightened by the strings of colored lights surrounding the red plastic chairs. Soft disco music drifted in from the speakers.

  More interested in his meant-to-be tender assault on her senses than talking, Charlie came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and eased her against his body. The curve of her sweet backside melted into him as his hands lay gently on the tops of her thighs. He was going to make her see how he felt.

  He whispered in her ear, his voice a low, quiet dare. “Admit it, you love bowling.”

  Jane laid her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes in a small sort of surrender. “I do kind of love bowling.”

  Right now, he loved bowling, too. If it were up to him, he’d take her right there in the middle of the lane. “Up for a challenge?” His hands drifted up to the edges of her hips, hips that knew exactly how to drive a man crazy.

  She turned slowly in his arms to look up at him, her dark eyes flickering with a small amount of mischief and a truckload of suspicion. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A little breaking of the rules?”

  Jane ran her tongue across her lips. “We already agreed on the no-rules-tonight policy. Besides, what rules haven’t we broken already?”

  He bent to kiss the edge of the indentation above her collarbone. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

  Her body moved against his, and suddenly all he could think was, holy hell, the woman turned him on like nobody else.

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “What’s the challenge?”

  “Why?” Old-fashioned desire built up in his body and his cock pressed hard against the zipper of his jeans. “You up for it?”

  She spun in his arms, and with a glance took in his denims. “I don’t know. But you certainly are.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “You’re the one who brought me here.” She ran her hands down the line of buttons on his shirt, spreading her fingers low on his abdomen one-half an inch above his belt buckle. “Where else are you going to take me, Charlie?”

  Anywhere you want to go, angel.

  He buried his hands in his pockets, rolled back on his heels, and glanced over his shoulder. The pool table in the back looked pretty comfy.

  She smiled at his lack of response and her hands fell away from his body to settle on her hips. Too bad, he’d liked them a little closer to the buckle. “What’s the challenge?”

  Now for the hands-on portion of the date. “How do you feel about a little strip bowling?”

  Her hip leaned in an alluring curve against the ball return. “Strip bowling? Really? Your true love needs to be a fan of strip bowling? Is this something I need to put in your matrix?”

  “Might be. If we were talking about my matrix tonight, which we’re not.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “No matrix. Not tonight.”

  He smiled back at her. In his gut, he knew tonight was the right time to strike—and not just at the other end of the alley. He needed to persuade her to let go, to take a chance with him tonight while the Chianti and the romance of Brooklyn co-mingled in her blood to keep her guard down. With the bet drawing to a close, his time to convince her was running out.

  “Strip bowling too much of a challenge for you?” His Janey never walked away from a dare. Her DNA wouldn’t allow it.

  Her brow arched as if to say, are you kidding? “No way.”

  “Then let’s go,” he said, laying down the rules. ”One article of clothing for every strike.”

  “What about surveillance cams?” She looked around, gave the place the once-over. “Wouldn’t want to give anyone a thrill.”

  “Off for the night,” he said. “Part of my rental agreement.”

  “Seems like you’ve thought of everything, big guy.”

  “You are so going down.”

  She gave him a hint of a smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Jesus. “No more talking. Let’s bowl.”

  Jane picked a ball, a red one, which he knew she considered her lucky color, and rolled it straight down the middle of the lane. Ten pins tumbled as she turned toward him with a grin.

  “Was that a strike?” she asked with a pointed look at the electronic scoreboard.

&nb
sp; “Beginner’s luck.” He shifted his hips, unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the floor with the flourish of a guy working at Chippendales.

  “Yeah, right,” she said. But the light in the back of her eyes told him that she’d liked the move. A lot. “Junior high champion. Right here.”

  “Step back there, angel. Watch and learn.” He grabbed his ball, sent it flying down the center of the lane and the resounding crash of a strike filled the bowling alley.

  She smiled. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  Thirty minutes later, with the game a couple of spares shy of being over, Charlie was still clad in his jeans and shirt, socks and shoes. All Jane had left to lose was her dark denim jeans and a pink button-down sweater that Charlie was dying to see lying in a rumpled heap in the middle of the parquet floor. With all the teasing and flirting and touching, neither one of them could focus on the lanes, but now he was motivated. He wanted to find out what was underneath that sweater. “Last chance to back out,” he said, nodding at the score. Seemed right to offer her a chance to call off the challenge, but he knew she’d never take it. Janey was the kind of woman who never backed down.

  “Not on your life, Charlie.”

  He glanced back to see her draped over one of the red plastic chairs. No chance her sexy body would distract him right now. Not with the cardigan on the line.

  Her chin tilted to the right, all come hither and ready, before she raised it in a challenge that told him: she was ready. Ready to kick his ass. “Last chance,” she said.

  Yes, it was.

  Last chance to gamble, to win the game, and his last chance to win the girl—and if winning meant a nice, long look at what was underneath all that pretty, pink cashmere—so much the better. He picked up the ball, aimed, and rolled. The crack of the ball knocking down ten pins reverberated through the empty alley. “Like I said, it ain’t over ’til it’s over.”

  The way her body moved in slow motion was an unconscious lesson in sex appeal. Her fingers moved to the buttons at the top of her sweater. “You win.”

  Charlie swallowed. Hard. Nothing excited him more than watching Janey move, and even though he’d already seen everything underneath those clothes, his mouth went completely dry and his palms itched to touch her. “Let me help you with that.”

  In spite of the sudden friction in his jeans, he crossed the space between them in a few long strides. He moved her hands away gently and unlooped the first button, then another and another. The sweater fell away from her shoulders and Charlie got his first glimpse of the pink lace beneath the fabric. The woman was all direct and focused and ambitious, a Brooklyn girl who had a mouth that wouldn’t quit in more ways than one. Damn it, he loved every single thing about her, but it was the soft pink lace underneath, the hidden vulnerability embodied in the pale, satiny sweetness that drove him to the very end of his wits.

  She grabbed a handful of his shirt and tugged him close. “Need a little help there, big guy?”

  He bit back a groan. Was she trying to kill him? Heart failure by late-night bowling and hot pink lace. “No. I know exactly what to do to thrill you, angel. Ready for me?”

  “Ready.”

  He unbuttoned the rest of the tiny, shell-like buttons and pulled the prim, proper sweater away from the waistband of her jeans. He allowed his palms to move under the soft wool and follow the curve of her hips, past the inlet of her waist to the lush flesh of her breasts. He took his time. He watched her nipples harden. Heard her gentle intake of breath. “And let’s get this straight once and for all. My name is Charlie.”

  “Right. Charlie.” Her back arched toward him, practically begging him to touch her.

  And he couldn’t resist. He ran his fingertips across her nipples—the ones that were standing up, begging for his attention. She stifled a groan.

  “Not Bartender,” he said, “Not Big Guy.” He slipped the sweater off her shoulders, pressed her down into the red plastic chair and fell to his knees onto the floor between her thighs. “And definitely not Buddy. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Her golden eyes were wide and filled with pure liquid heat. Her lips trembled.

  “I’m done flirting.”

  “Me. Too.” Her voice was low, seductive and sweet.

  His hands traveled back to her face. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  He slipped his palms under her ass and coaxed her forward in the chair.

  “Charlie.”

  His gaze drifted to the sight of her gorgeous curves, rising and falling in an alluring rhythm that telegraphed the heated beginnings of her desire. He lowered his mouth to the delicate strap of her bra and pulled it from her shoulder with his teeth. Blazing a wet trail along the edges of the lace, he continued to lower the line of her bra, exposing the tops of her nipples just enough to tempt him. Jane threw her head back with a low, soft moan, and the sound tempted him upwards as she revealed the line of her neck to his desperately seeking mouth.

  Suddenly, he was nipping at the fullness of her bottom lip, loving the sweetness of her, loving her seductive surrender. Right now, there was no list of criteria, no safety net. Right now, there was just Jane arching toward him, wanting him, begging for him. Her lips parted and he took the opportunity to deepen his kiss, to explore the depths of her. He could taste the tang of tomato sauce and Chianti, the taste of Brooklyn mixed with the honeyed flavor that was purely her. He wanted to keep it gentle, to move slowly, but she was a temptation he couldn’t resist. God, he hated to admit it, but he’d dreamt of loving her like this again.

  There was only one man for his Cupid, and he intended to spend all night proving it to her. He wanted more than chemistry. He wanted long nights of lovemaking and secrets, followed by easy Sunday mornings. He wanted a woman who was secure with her sexuality and desires, and he wanted a future and a family. Charlie was ready for the long haul, more than ready.

  He wanted Jane.

  All of her.

  Tonight. Every night.

  “Let’s get out of here.” His fervent whisper fell softly against her swollen mouth.

  “Your place or mine?”

  …

  Ten minutes later, after he’d texted a car service, they were a tangle of limbs and undone clothing in the back of a swanky Lincoln racing toward her apartment. The driver had pocketed the fare, along with a healthy tip, and shut the window that separated the front from the back.

  Charlie held her close and kissed her. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth as it explored the hollows of her throat before lingering along the edge of her bra, sent her senses reeling and she clung to him as the outside world rushed by.

  His broad shoulder pinned her up against the backseat of the speeding car, and he slipped his hand in the waistband of her jeans. Their eyes locked. Without a sound, his fingers moved beneath the soft lace of her dampened panties and he kissed her lips to keep her small involuntary cries of desire between the two of them.

  “Janey, baby.” His tongue flicked across her earlobe and a soft moan escaped her. “I’m going to make you come. Right here. Right now.”

  Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers again, kissing her, coaxing her body into complete submission. As his fingers slipped deeper inside her, she dug her nails in his shoulders, hanging on for the ride of her life as the car careened through the dark streets, making its way from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Bright lights flashed against the windows and the noise of the city melted away as his fingers moved back and forth inside her, his tongue moving in the same rhythm to bring her to the brink before easing away, only to return with an even greater hunger.

  A desperate whimper hitched in the back of her throat. Her body trembled uncontrollably as his finger roamed her center without mercy, daring her to resist until all she wanted to do was scream with wanting him.

  “Come on, Janey, come on,” he whispered. She was so close to the edge.

  “Oh, God.” Her soft gasp echoed in the back of the ca
r. Her body arched in response to the flick of his tongue, reaching toward him, shuddering against the movement of his fingers and the motion of the car racing down the street. “Oh, Charlie!”

  Her heartbeat quickened in response to the excitement, to the chemical reaction between them, the touch of him, the feel of him against her most intimate parts until she could wait no longer. She exploded with sensation beneath him as his mouth continued to kiss her, taking her further than she knew was possible.

  Waves of passion crashed through her body and she gripped the edge of the vinyl seat. Already her breaths were coming quickly, practically panting, begging him for another round. He pulled her toward him, cradling her satisfied body against the long, hard length of him as the taxi traveled the final corners into Chelsea.

  “There’s more where that came from.” His low, deep voice, full of passion and desire, teased her own desperate longing, suggesting that if she wanted more, he could give it to her.

  The car pulled in front of her brownstone. Charlie took her hand to help her from the taxi, tipped their oh-so-discreet driver yet again, and walked her inside the building, where he continued to kiss her. She returned his kiss, reveling in the touch of his mouth on her own, enjoying the rough texture of his five-o’clock shadow against her skin.

  She ran her hands across his chest, loving the way he felt beneath her fingertips, all sinewy muscle and hard, hot man. Every cell of her body tingled as Charlie kissed her mouth into submission. She wanted the feel of him, the perfect fit of his body moving within her in a rhythm all their own. Visions of Charlie taking her in the corner of her building’s half-lit foyer sent a shiver of desire skittering up her spine.

  “Race you upstairs,” she whispered.

  “Oh, angel, you are so on.”

  Charlie grabbed her hand and started up the stairs, taking two at a time. The fourth floor came up fast and soon they were against the door of her co-op. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze and his storm-colored eyes darkened with a combination of passion, desire, and need that practically knocked her panties off.

  “Coming in?” she asked.

  He leaned in and planted his hands against the wall on either side of her. “Angel, if you’ll let me, I am definitely coming in—all the way.”