“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, young man.” She wasn’t a day over forty-five, but she referred to every guy on the team as young man, or mister or, if she was really pissed, the dreaded buster.
“What’s shaking, Danielle?”
“My hands, that’s what.” She touched a hand to her throat and ran a finger around her neckline. “They’re trembling thanks to my rising blood pressure. Listen here, buster—”
Uh-oh.
“You’ve singlehandedly made me a nervous wreck. What were you thinking?”
“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you’re upset about my marriage.”
“Give the man a prize!” She clapped before spearing him with a gaze. “Do you know what this is going to do to your image?”
“Make me a totally unacceptable mayoral candidate?”
“I’m talking about your racing image. I couldn’t give a fig what you do in your own time. Since the news, your popularity has taken a major nosedive. Forget the Sexy Singles endorsement we had planned next week. They don’t want you. And that commercial for Diet Coke? Forget it.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Married people don’t drink Diet Coke?”
“Women drink Diet Coke, and it’s been statistically proven that their demographic prefers to see a sexy, good-looking, single man guzzling the product.”
“I look the same as I did six weeks ago when they first approached us about it.”
“But you aren’t the same. Forget the whole bad-boy bachelor thing we had going.” She touched her temples. “Christ, now I’m getting a headache on top of everything. Next, I’ll be ordering Rogaine from the Home Shopping Club because my hair is falling out by the handful, thanks to all this unnecessary stress. Do you know I haven’t slept in days?”
“You’re getting bent out of shape over nothing.”
“Nothing? Do you know that music publicists purposely hide this type of thing from the press because they know it can devastate someone’s career?”
“I’m not a rock star. I’m a driver. All that really matters is winning the Nextel Cup. Everyone loves a winner.”
“But you haven’t won the Cup yet, which makes you a wannabe, which means we need all the help we can get.”
“We’re not really married.”
“Popularity increases merchandise sales, which boost a fledgling driver’s— What did you say?”
“The marriage is a fake. I needed a little insurance to keep me from winning the mayoral race, and Eve needed to get her mother off her back. Come November, it’s over. Which means you don’t have to permanently write me off the Sexy Singles thing. Just do damage control in the meantime. It’ll all be over soon.”
While the news did make Danielle stop calling him buster, she still had a worried frown on her face when she left.
Linc locked the RV door behind her, determined to spend the next few hours completely uninterrupted. Hell, he knew he should be trying to catch some z’s, but falling asleep was about as likely as someone approaching him about being on the next Bachelor. In other words, it wasn’t going to happen.
He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he’d arrived at the track. He’d never realized how loud Cal snored. He’d actually found himself missing the faint wheezing sound that Eve made when she slept. And the way she smelled like sugar and vanilla when she emerged from the shower.
Linc settled back down on the bed and pulled the pillow to his chest. His nostrils flared and the memory of the sweet lingering scent filled his head. He closed his eyes for a long moment and pictured her.
Her lips slightly parted, her eyes glazed with passion, her breaths coming in short pants. He plunged deeper and groaned and the sound galvanized her into action. She closed her eyes and started to moan . . .
His eyes snapped open and he slapped the pillow aside. Grabbing the remote, he punched the PLAY button. He watched Jack and Candace follow step one for sexcess—imaginative sex that encouraged breathing life into your fantasies. The rest of the six steps were
2. Spontaneous sex—surprise is a great aphrodisiac.
3. Flexible sex—new positions equal new sensations.
4. Controlled sex—isolate and assault the senses.
5. Taboo sex—forbidden can be fun.
6. Elemental sex—get naughty with nature.
Linc watched the first step again and again until he formulated a plan of attack. He normally headed home late Sunday night, but this week’s race was scheduled a few hours later than usual and so he intended to stay over at the track and head back to L.A. early Monday morning; he needed a full night’s rest if he intended to be at his best. Eve should be at her office, which would give him the day to set the stage for Monday night.
“Victory Lane, here she comes.”
Monday started out like every other Monday for Eve—hectic. She woke up late, thanks to a night spent tossing and turning and thinking about Linc. And the fact that he was coming home today. And their most recent kiss. And the possibility that their first sexual encounter wasn’t an omen of things to come.
While she’d sworn off sex with him because she’d needed to focus on her project, not having sex with him was proving even more of a distraction. There was no denying they had incredible chemistry.
Maybe they should just do it again. If it turned out not so great, then her lust would surely fade and she could get back to business. If it turned out to be incredible, then she would know firsthand, her curiosity satisfied, and so she could stop fantasizing about it.
“Are you okay?” Trina asked later that morning during the weekly planning meeting. They were expanding the key points for each of their twelve documentary episodes, and Eve had just passed around an outline of her ideas to the main players at Sugar & Spice Sinema: Trina; Dom, the lead cameraman; Portia, the casting coordinator; and DeeDee, the administrative guru.
They all stared back at Eve, concern in their eyes.
“What?” Eve asked, shaking away the image of Linc and redirecting her attention to the people seated around the conference table.
“You don’t look so hot,” Trina said.
“That can’t be.” She was definitely hot.
For Linc, that is.
“Are you getting enough vitamins?” Portia asked as she sipped a Dannon Banana Smoothie. “Nutrition is key to success.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“We’ve barely started the project.” Dom tapped his pencil on his notepad and readjusted his black wire-rimmed glasses. “You can’t go stressing out on us now.”
“That’s right.” DeeDee paused to chew her nicotine gum before adding, “If you stress, we’ll all stress, and it’ll be total anarchy.”
“I’m not stressing. I’m just a little preoccupied. I want this documentary to go according to plan, and speaking of plans”—Eve turned to the outline and tried to ignore Trina’s knowing gaze—“I’ve detailed the specifics for each episode, along with a timeline that we’ll follow throughout the entire project . . .” She spent the next thirty minutes explaining her outline and successfully shifting everyone’s attention to the matter at hand.
Everyone, that is, except Trina.
“You’re not a good liar,” the woman said when they finally broke for lunch and everyone cleared out of the room, giving them some privacy. “My guess is something’s rotten in paradise.”
“There’s no paradise. It’s not a real marriage. We’re just roommates working toward a common goal.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you should be more than roommates. You’re hot for him, aren’t you?” Trina studied her for a long moment before declaring, “Yep, you’re hot for him. And frustrated. That’s why you’re acting so spaced out. You need to get laid.”
“I do not need any such thing.”
“Trust me. If you don’t vent the frustration, you’ll regret it later.”
“I thought the idea of me having sex with Linc bothered you and killed your fantasy.”
/> “It did, but now I’m having erotic thoughts about Donald Trump again. And the bagel guy down on the third floor, who’s really poor, but extremely cute.”
Eve grinned. “You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re horny.” Trina winked. “Do something about it. Just go home and jump Linc before he has a chance to say hello.”
“Don’t you have a lunch date or something?”
Trina glanced at her watch. “Actually, I do have plans.”
“Filet mignon over at Deville’s?” she said, reminding Trina of her favorite restaurant.
The woman wiggled her eyebrows. “Blueberry bagels in the storage closet down on three.”
Jump Linc?
The notion haunted Eve the rest of the day as she interviewed voices for the narrator of Generation seX, dealt with a botched delivery from a local props company—they delivered a twin bed rather than the super-duper king-sized she’d ordered—and fielded her usual amount of phone calls.
She couldn’t just jump him. Not when she’d made such a big deal about them not sleeping together. At the same time, she’d never been one to ignore an impulse.
Especially one so strong.
Okay, so she was jumping him the minute she walked in the door.
That was the plan, but when she walked into her living room, her intentions faded in a wave of shock.
She glanced around and her eyes widened: Her living room had been transformed to look like the inside of a barn. Her red velvet sofa and chair had been pushed back, and hay now covered the floor, complete with several large bales situated here and there. A pitchfork stood in the corner next to an old milk can and a bucket of horseshoes. A trough full of oats sat near the far wall. A saddle draped a large sawhorse just to her right.
Her floor lamp was gone. The only light in the room came from dozens of candles that were situated throughout in old-fashioned mason jars. The sharp smell of freshly cut hay and new leather tickled her nostrils. Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” vibrated from her surround-sound speakers.
Linc stood in the middle of it all, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his blue eyes. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a CMT video, from his white straw Resistol hat to his faded brown cowboy boots. He wore a white T-shirt that read COWBOYS DO IT BETTER and tight, faded jeans that fit his muscular thighs like a second skin.
He stepped toward her and she surprised them both by backing up a step. Eve had never been one to shy away from anything, but he wasn’t some bad boy, and this wasn’t going to be a one-night stand. She knew him now. She lived with him.
“What are you doing?” she blurted out, her sudden rush of nerves getting the best of her.
“About to live out one of my favorite fantasies.” He took another step forward.
She took another step back. “But this is my fantasy.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He reached out and caught her before she could bolt for the door.
“No, I mean my fantasy, as in my fantasy. The one I used to demonstrate imaginative sex in my Six Steps to Sexcess: How to Spice Up a Ho-Hum . . .” He knew.
The truth struck just as he pulled her close.
“Tonight it’s our fantasy, sunshine.” And then he kissed her.
His lips covered hers, his tongue pushing past them to plunge into the warm recess of her mouth. The assault was so sudden, so consuming, that she couldn’t resist.
Resist?
Excitement swamped any lingering doubts and she slid her tongue into his mouth and tasted him—a mix of Sweet Leaf Tea and wildness that stirred her hunger and made her want more. She slid her hands around his neck and threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him closer. He backed her up the few inches to the wall, his body flush with hers. His thick erection pulsed against the cradle of her thighs. The hard wall of his chest pressed into her soft breasts.
She sucked in a breath as his fingers found their way under the hem of her Gucci T-shirt. Calloused skin rasped across her stomach and sensation tingled up her spine. He tore his lips from hers to kiss a path down her neck. When he reached her neckline, he paused just long enough to push her T-shirt up over her breasts, unclasp her bra, and catch a nipple between his teeth.
Pleasure pierced her and made her gasp. He tongued the hard nub for a few delicious moments before sucking her deep into the wet warmth of his mouth. The motion, so deep and intense, stirred a wave of heat between her legs that spread upward. Each breath became more difficult than the last until finally she was panting.
He released her breast to lick his way across and catch her other nipple between his lips. He licked her over and over, his soft tongue a contrast to the hard edge of his teeth.
Her thighs trembled and she slumped against the wall, her hands splaying on either side to keep from sliding to the wall.
He kept licking her, torturing her nipple and the inside of her knee and . . . The inside of her knee?
Her eyes popped open to see Linc bent over at her breast. Killer, tail wagging frantically, was doing her best to hone in on the action.
“It’s time for her to go out,” she breathed. “She always goes out at seven.”
“It’s not seven yet. She can wait.”
“Then what’s wrong—” She started to glance at the dog, but Linc murmured, “Relax.” His breath rushed against her nipple and electricity sizzled up her spine.
He shooed the dog away. Killer, tail still wagging, left the living room and went into the front hallway near the door.
Linc gave Eve a rough kiss, then picked her up and carried her over to a soft, thick blanket spread out on the floor. Kneeling down beside her, he peeled off first one of her thigh-high boots, then the other. His fingertips grazed her bare skin and she actually trembled. Desire speared her and she sat up.
She pulled her T-shirt over her head, along with her unhooked bra, and flung them both to the side. Then she grasped the waistband of her skirt and pushed it down, along with her thong, until she’d shed every article of clothing.
He undressed just as quickly, pausing only to pull a condom from his pocket and slide it onto his hard, thick length, before joining her on the blanket.
Wearing nothing but his cowboy hat, he settled himself between her thighs, looking every bit the man out of her most erotic fantasy. That’s where she’d come up with the whole cowboy scenario in the first place: from her own thoughts. But nothing she’d dreamed of had ever felt this good.
He slid his hands under her bottom and tilted her up and then he plunged deep, deep inside. He held himself still for a few moments, his gaze locked with hers, before sliding back out and starting all over again. With each thrust, he pushed her higher. Closer. Until she knew beyond a doubt that this time it was going to happen of its own accord. A few more thrusts . . . A little deeper. A little harder. A little faster. Yes, this was it.
From far, far away, she thought she heard a knock on the front door and Killer’s frantic barking. But the sensation was too overwhelming for her to pay too much attention.
She was almost there. Almost . . . Almost . . .
“Miss Eve?” Mr. Wilkie’s voice pierced the haze of pleasure that surrounded her. “I’m here to take Killer for her evening walk.”
Linc froze midthrust and Eve clamped her eyes shut.
“Just a sec,” Linc called out. “We’re, um, in the middle of something in the living room.”
“Hey, there, girl,” Mr. Wilkie said to Killer, who’d rushed to meet him at the door. “You folks just go on about your business,” he said, obviously oblivious to what he’d interrupted. “I’ll just grab Killer’s leash and we’ll be off.” Metal clinked as he retrieved the leash from its hook near the door. Hinges creaked and the door thunked shut.
“That was close,” Linc said, relief flooding his face.
Eve blew out an exasperated breath. “You have no idea.”
Her words seemed to dawn on him as he looked first victorious, then angry, then disappointed.
A surge of warmth went through her. He’d gone to so much trouble to give her a real orgasm. Not to mention, he deserved huge kudos for noticing the difference in the first place. Ninety-nine point nine percent of all men wouldn’t recognize a fake orgasm if their lives depended on it. They didn’t want to see the truth because that might mean they weren’t capable of satisfying their partner. Most men preferred living in ignorant bliss.
But not Linc.
“I’m still close.” The words were out before she could stop them. “Just move a little.” He withdrew an inch and pushed back inside and she sucked in a breath. “Keep doing that.”
She stared up into his eyes as he started to move again and tried to will herself back to the edge. If she could just tune in to him and the way that he made her feel then maybe . . .
But ten minutes later, she was still tense. She could hear Killer barking downstairs, and something about the way the animal had tried to get her attention earlier just didn’t sit right.
Just close your eyes and do it, a voice whispered. But she’d promised herself no more faking. At the same time, it wasn’t fair to keep him pumping away and holding off on his own orgasm when it just wasn’t going to happen.
A few more thrusts and she closed her eyes. She opened her mouth and moaned. Once, twice. And then she was screaming.
He groaned, a loud, strangled sound that didn’t quite fit with any of the sounds he’d made before. He collapsed on top of her for a few moments before pulling away.
She caught a glimpse of him, still hard and erect, as he reached for his clothes, and she knew his groan of victory had been just as fake as hers.
“Nice try,” she told him. “A little more high-pitched than the last time, but still close. Really close.”
Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice Page 17