Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume III

by Tori Carrington

  Her jaw dropped. Her mind went blank. Jordan could only stare and replay his words, trying to figure out if he’d really said what she thought he’d said.

  Then he continued, “Did you already call Daddy to fill him in on the details of our little encounter? Is that how you scored the column? Because he figured you’d finally started toeing the line? His reward for his little princess?”

  Jordan hissed with anger. And she’d thought she could trust this guy? That he actually had emotional depth? She should have stopped at having her way with his body, since that’s all there was to him.

  “Oh, yeah,” she shot back. “I totally used you. Just like you used me to break your curse, hmm?”

  “What—”

  “What’d you do, Lane? A little research and figure out that the curse would lift and you’d get possession of your dick back if you just made some gullible idiot fall for you?”

  “That’s not—”

  “Or was this just a game for you? You made up that whole curse bullshit to see how far you could go. How much of a fool you could play me for.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Am I?” she snapped, finally losing her grip on both her temper and the pain ratcheting out from her heart and ripping her emotions to shreds. “I’m ridiculous?”

  She shoved the food processor with all her strength, sending the heavy metal appliance to the floor with a huge crash and a cloud of flour.

  “I’ve never used you, or anyone, Golden Boy. You think you’re so damned hot, so damned special? Well for your information, the column proposal I sent in had nothing to do with you, Mr. Perfect, or your freaking awesome advice.”

  She stormed across the tile floor, kicking through the gooey flour on her way to the door.

  “Jordan—”

  She didn’t slow down. She continued her rapid stomp out of the kitchen, only taking time to flip him off over her shoulder.

  Five minutes later, goggles protecting her stinging eyes, she was smashing plates to smithereens.

  IT WASN’T UNTIL she blinked the moisture from her eyes that she realized her fiestaware wasn’t shards anymore. It was dust.

  Jordan let out a scream of frustration and sent the hammer flying. Oddly enough the sight of it, embedded satisfactorily in the sheetrock on the other side of the room, calmed her down.Her father was gonna be so pissed that she’d messed up his wall. Which was just another thing that proved Sebastian wrong. She didn’t use people to get Daddy’s approval. Hell, the last thing she wanted was her father approving of her love life. If he did, that’d mean she’d sold out. Settled for one of those warty frog clones he was always pushing off on her.

  But after all those toads with their slack-lipped, sloppy kisses, she’d finally found the one and only guy that she and her father could agree on. Albeit for entirely different reasons. And kissing him? He definitely wasn’t a frog. But dammit, that didn’t make him a prince, either. Not after the things he’d accused her of.

  Jordan stomped across the room and tugged the hammer from the wall. White dust swirled in the air as she freed it.

  Using him, her ass.

  She’d never use anyone to get her father’s approval.

  But, that naggingly honest little voice in the back of her head reminded her, she had used him. For sex. To shore up her confidence. To make her feel as if she was just as much a woman as all the other gals he’d slept with.

  Different motive, but it was using all the same.

  Jordan almost threw the hammer back into the wall.

  Instead, her chest constricting, she sank to the floor and stared at the wood-and-steel tool. She’d used Sebastian. Just as he’d said she had. What did that make her? Desperate? Pathetic?

  Her head fell back against the wall and she stared out through the French doors at the distant lake.

  It made her, she finally admitted, a woman in love. She’d always had a thing for Sebastian. Sure, she’d called it a crush, tried to write it off as sexual curiosity. But it was, it had always been, unrequited love.

  And, she cringed, considering how pissed he was at the idea that she’d used him, unrequited was the key word here.

  Jordan sighed, wondering why she always picked the losing battles. She got to her feet, wincing a little at the pain in her still-bruised knee. Shoulders drooping, she crossed the room. It wasn’t until she’d set the hammer on the pile of dish-dust that she realized what she was doing.

  She was giving up. Just like that, a tiny obstacle and she was ready to call it quits. What a wimp. Sebastian had been right. So busy worrying that he thought she’d used him, she’d already given up.

  She pulled her shoulders back and looked out at the lake again. Jaw clenched, she breathed deeply, then nodded and headed out the door.

  If he was going to label her a user anyway, she might as well use his own advice to get him back. He’d said she gave up too easily, that she let the chip on her shoulder keep her from going after what she wanted.

  Well not this time. What she wanted was Sebastian Lane.

  And damned if she wasn’t going to get him.

  GOD, HE WAS AN ASS. A complete, unmitigated, braying jackass. He hadn’t even had to cool off in the lake before he’d realized there was no way Jordan had sold him out.

  Oh, not because she hadn’t had time to e-mail his little confession to Garret. Although he’d realized that, too. No, she hadn’t sold him out because Jordan didn’t do that.But he—so used to shoving people away from him, to keeping a nice safe distance from anything that might resemble trust—had jumped. Right to the wrong conclusion.

  Just more evidence that she was too good for him. And he’d proven, as he’d known he would, that he was too much of a jerk for her.

  Sebastian shifted and winced. His ass was planted on this damned rock once again and it was still uncomfortable as hell. Maybe the third time would be the charm, though, and he’d finally find some peace of mind here. Or at least escape Jordan, and seeing the pain he’d caused her, until the tow truck he’d called arrived.

  Or not. He sensed rather than heard her making her way down the wooded path.

  “Have you cooled off enough to talk yet?” she asked, stopping next to him.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. You can sit there brooding and listen. I’ll do the talking.”

  Sebastian scowled. She’d always had a snarky mouth, but before her fear of rejection had kept her from pushing too far. Apparently that little issue was a thing of the past. He never should have given her that freaking pep talk.

  “Look, princess, you and me, we’re not the kind who can make it work.” He ignored the hurt that filled her caramel eyes, pretending he wasn’t feeling the same sharp, miserable pain. It didn’t matter. Better to feel the sting now than give in to the hope that they could work.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time dreaming about you. Wishing for you. But us in real life, though? That’s a fairy tale, Jordan. We’re from two different worlds. The princess and the L.A. street rat.”

  Jordan stared at him, sitting there on his rock all stoic and accepting. At least, he hoped he looked stoic and not pathetic like he felt.

  “You know,” she mused, “I always considered you the pinnacle of success. The Golden Boy, with everything you touch turning out perfect.”

  He snorted and shook his head. He couldn’t blame her for the assessment. He’d spent his entire adult life fostering just that image. Yippee, it’d worked.

  “Well now you know better,” he said with a shrug.

  “Yes, indeed. I do.” She reached down and plucked one hardy golden bloom from the base of the rock. Sebastian didn’t know if it was a weed or a flower, just that it was pretty.

  Jordan twirled it between her fingers, then with an inscrutable look, handed it to him.

  “What’s this for?”

  “You were right,” she said.

  “I usually am.”

  She rolled her eyes, then nudged him to scoot over
so she could join him on the rock. Sebastian frowned. She obviously didn’t have the woman-scorned demeanor figured out. But he moved anyway.

  “Not right about me using you for the column. I read his e-mail. Garret was referring to my father as the person who’d be pissed. I did the unthinkable. I told my father I didn’t want special favors, but that I was sick of being penalized for being his daughter.”

  “How’d that go over?”

  “He told me if I couldn’t handle it, I was free to quit.”

  Sebastian winced.

  Before he could decide between cussing or condolences, she gave him a wicked little grin. The kind that made him very grateful the curse was lifted.

  “I told him I could not only handle it, I’d handle it all the way to his competition.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did,” she laughed. “I even sent an email to a gal I met last year at Conde Nast.”

  Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “You blackmailed him?”

  Jordan tilted her head with a considering frown, then gave a rueful nod. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Then her eyes rounded and she gave him a worried look. “I didn’t get the column because of that, though. I checked. Garret swore he’d planned to go over my father’s head on this anyway, that he loved my proposal that much.”

  He was nodding before she’d even finished the last sentence. “I know. He wouldn’t have given it to you, and you wouldn’t have taken it unless it was all legit.”

  Finally, he’d figured out that some people just didn’t use others. The sweet, grateful look on Jordan’s face filled him with joy.

  Then she looked away. “You were right,” she said softly. She didn’t look at him, instead contemplating the lake. “You said I’d been hurt. That I was afraid to try but too stubborn to give up. You were right about that.”

  Then she leaned over and brushed a soft, sweet kiss on his cheek.

  “What’s that—” he gestured with the flower “—and this for?”

  “You’re just as hurt as I am. Who knew?”

  Red alert. Definitely not a door she—or anyone—was allowed to go through. All defenses in place, Sebastian gave her his patented look of amused scorn.

  “You’re the one always trying to get your daddy’s approval,” he pointed out, not proud of stooping so low.

  “And you’re the one always trying to get everyone else’s approval. Top reporter, best journalist. You’re always shooting for number one.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. Sebastian’s dick stirred in interest. “That’s why the curse had to be so rough on you. Your reputation is vital, the admiration of your legion of lovers essential for you.”

  “I’m not a horndog who only cares about sex,” he defended.

  “Oh, I know,” she said quickly. Then she gave him a shy sort of look and admitted, “But you were right. I really did use you. Well, if you call seduction using.”

  “You’re admitting it? After all that ugly crap I spouted, you’re equating seducing me to using me?”

  “The truth is almost as important to you as your reputation,” she said with a shrug that told him she just thought she was stating the obvious.

  Instead of blowing his mind.

  He stared, stunned to his very core. Not once in his entire life had anyone ever understood him, accepted him, like Jordan did.

  “You’re the most amazing woman,” he said slowly. Her eyes went wide as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. He brushed a kiss over the tender flesh of her palm and smiled. “You’re stronger than you ever give yourself credit for. Smarter than anyone I know. You’re savvy, snarky and sexy as hell.”

  A soft wash of color stained her cheeks as she smiled.

  “I love you,” he said quietly.

  Her hand shook in his. This time he knew she’d heard him right. Her eyes filled with tears, but the smile on her face was pure joy.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really, really.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He hadn’t realized how worried he was about her response. Tension fled, happiness taking its place. He pulled her tight, unable to find words to express how incredible he felt. So he showed her instead.

  Finally, she broke away from his kiss to look into his eyes, as if assuring herself he’d spoken the truth. Her smile slowly grew, then rivaled the sun for brightness. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

  “You never did tell me what your column proposal was,” he said, wanting to hear her brag a little. Although he really didn’t care what the topic was that’d beaten him out. Because he sure as hell didn’t feel like a man defeated.

  “Um, maybe we should talk about it later,” she said quickly, as if she was afraid of denting his ego. Sebastian could have told her, though, that between her welcoming him back to sexual nirvana and her actually accepting—and loving—him despite his myriad of issues, his ego was unassailable.

  “What’d you go with?” he prodded.

  She pulled back a little and gave him a nervous little smile, then shrugged.

  “I went with a humorous take on guys comparing dick size,” she said, the words coming out in a rush.

  Ouch. Maybe not so unassailable. Sebastian winced with his entire body.

  “Along the lines of that competitive thing guys do. Always trying to keep up with the Joneses. Comparing sizes, cars, chicks and never seeing the upside to what you’ve already got,” she said, her voice ringing with the same enthusiasm that lit her face. “I called it Nothing To Prove.”

  “Nothing To Prove?” he asked, a grin quirking as he imagined her father’s reaction to not only her excellent idea, but that column title. The old guy would probably have a heart attack. “I like that. It’s got a catchy ring to it and has unlimited topic potential.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Which you might want to keep in mind if you get the notion to go start trying to prove to yourself that the curse is lifted with any other women.”

  Sebastian’s laughter rang out over the lake. He was still chuckling when Jordan pulled his face closer for a long, delicious kiss. As he tugged her down to the soft sand beside the rock, he realized she was right. He didn’t have a single thing left to prove.

  After all, he had Jordan. And what she brought to his life was pure magic.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4607-6BLAZING BEDTIME STORIES, VOLUME III

  Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  THE BODY THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS

  Copyright © 2010 by Lori Karayianni and Tony Karayianni.

  YOU HAVE TO KISS A LOT OF FROGS…

  Copyright © 2010 by Tawny Weber.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.eHarlequin.com