Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Not everyone’s opinion is worth listening to. Besides, since I’m one of the few you let in, I’m biased.”

  Giddiness rippled through her. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered she shouldn’t read too much into this. She knew better than to fall hard and fast, and if she made that mistake with Zane, she’d lose one of the two most important people in her life. Only Kenzie mattered to her as much as he did.

  This wasn’t falling. She wasn’t stupid. This was the same playfulness they’d always had; she simply appreciated it more now.

  And if she concentrated on that assurance, she almost believed it. This was friendship, nothing more.

  Chapter Five

  Zane nudged the plate and last slice of pizza in Riley’s direction, and she held up her hand and pushed it away. Cheers for the series of games running on TVs around the room echoed in the background, dancing with the clank of mugs on tables and coins sliding into slots.

  “Not going to happen,” she said.

  He’d missed this—the less-than-healthy food, the mania of the crowds, all of it.

  His, “Your loss,” was muffled, as he took a large bite and then knocked back the last of his root beer in a single swallow.

  She finished scribbling on the paper napkin and stuffed the pen back into the mini purse attached to her wrist. She slid the sketch across the table. “Something like that.”

  He studied the blue lines that made up the Chinese dragon. She’d only drawn it to give him an idea of something she was trying to explain, but he loved the artwork. God damn, she was incredible. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “Thanks.” Pink tinged her cheeks.

  This wasn’t a bad sight either. “Can I keep it?”

  “Um…” She shrugged. “I guess. I was going to throw it out.”

  That seemed like such a waste. He folded the napkin before placing it in his wallet. “What next?”

  The scents of oregano and beer filled the air with a comforting aroma. The stack of tokens that came with the meal sat on the table between them. They’d agreed food first, games second.

  She swung her feet below the high seat and occasionally hooking them on the rungs before tugging loose again. “Pool?”

  He’d known that was coming. Even if the case sitting next to her oversized purse didn’t have her custom cue in it, he could have guessed she’d pick pool. “Air hockey first,” he said. It was as unfair as her suggestion, but since he’d relent eventually, his masculinity wouldn’t suffer as much if he at least won at one thing before the night was over.

  She screwed up her face, but laughter danced in her eyes. “All right.”

  He pocketed the tokens and led her toward the tables near the far end of the bar. The racket of pucks zooming back and forth clattered off walls and his eardrums. That wouldn’t stop him from trying to carry on a conversation. The compressor under the table rumbled to life, and he grabbed his mallet before it vibrated out of reach. The smooth plastic was cool against his palm.

  “So, six years in the Air Force, talk of going career, and suddenly you’ve been discharged. What happened?” She raised her voice when the puck started flying between them.

  He faltered, and the puck slid into his goal. Of course she was going to ask. If it was an off-the-cuff question, he could give her a generic response and be off the hook. “Things change.”

  “That’s definitive.” She followed the movement of the plastic disc as it slid everywhere. “What kind of things?” The projectile bounced off her fingers, and she jerked her hand away. The puck rocketed around and found its way to her goal before she could recover.

  “I got an offer from the CIA.” Even though it was one of the last things he wanted to do. Memories and guilt assaulted him. He summoned a wall from deep inside and blocked off the emotions associated with that part of his past. Mostly. If he kept his response casual, maybe she’d move to another subject.

  “Wait. What?” Riley watched, as the next six shots slid past her. Her attention wasn’t on the game anymore. The table stopped rumbling with the finality of Zane’s winning goal. She joined him on his side before he could ask for another round. “I thought you were looking for work,” she said.

  He should have known changing the subject wouldn’t be that simple. He shrugged. “I turned them down.” Discomfort churned inside, joined by regret and the phrase not soon enough. Even if part of him still considered going back. Calling Sabrina and telling her he was in after all. He jammed the doubts back down. They wandered the room until they stopped in front of a racing game with two plastic cars side by side.

  She picked the red one. “Because they weren’t going to challenge you enough?”

  Beyond paying the bills, he’d never been concerned about the size of his paycheck. From the time Zane was old enough to understand, Granddad had drilled home that someone only needed enough money for comfort. There was no need to be greedy, but the thought of doing any work that didn’t make him think made Zane’s skin crawl. Which, conveniently enough, meant Riley had given him his way out.

  “Something like that.” He dropped a couple tokens into the machine. The digital racetrack roared to life on screen, and the countdown to the start of the race began. He gripped the wheel in front of him and steered, leaning with each turn. The plastic car moved with him, though it didn’t impact his driving on screen.

  “I get it. You could’ve just said topic off limits.” Riley squealed as her car skidded around a tight turn, and he passed her. She corrected her direction on screen and caught up, managing to pace his silver roadster. “Anyway. How’d the interview go yesterday?”

  While his job hunt wasn’t as unpleasant a topic as his military service, it was pretty high on his list of things he’d rather not dwell on. His car slowed and then stopped, and she left it in the dust, crossing the finish line third. The screen flashed, prompting them to insert another coin to continue.

  He dropped his hands from the wheel. “Pool next?” He couldn’t put off the game forever, and it should get the lighter mood back.

  “I’ll go easy on you.” She pulled a small tube from the purse dangling from her wrist and applied gloss.

  He forced back the pulse that raced through him at the shine on her full lips and the hint of cherry in the air. “I’ll be fine.” His protest was weak as they walked toward the billiard tables. He’d never been able to figure out pool. Drunk off her ass and blindfolded, Riley could still whip him. She’d competed when she was in college. “I’m going to pretend I know what I’m doing and that you’re just more pro than me,” he said.

  “Unless something’s changed, you really can’t.” Her tone was playful, and her smile had returned. She grabbed a couple of different cues, tested their weight, and then handed him one, before pulling hers from its case and piecing it together.

  He fumbled to hold the stick right, but her cringe told him the impossible positions he kinked his fingers into weren’t the right ones. She set her cue aside and covered his hand with hers. A pleasant warmth rushed through him at the contact. She positioned his grip in a more natural way. Her touch lingered, palm soft and inviting against the back of his hand.

  “It was for ethical reasons.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it. “Me turning down the CIA job.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her hand and stepped away. “I think you’ve got it. Want to try taking a shot?”

  “Not really. You show me how.”

  He shouldn’t have said that. It was going to be tough enough to get things back to normal between them. Now a secret that really only needed to haunt him was trying to force its way out. She knew he’d been on the front line overseas, but for the most part, they never talked about the details. He tended to change the subject, and she never pushed.

  She racked up the balls and set the cue ball a few feet back. The way she moved was flawless, as she slid into the correct posture and lined up her angle. She knocked off her shot,
and colored balls scattered across the table to bounce off rubber bumpers. Three of them slid into pockets.

  At least he knew she’d kick his ass. It almost took the edge off. Zane snorted. “That was the equivalent of showing me a scribble next to a Rembrandt, then telling me to just add shading, to make one into the other.” He dropped his stick on the table. “We should go back to the air hockey.”

  “You’re overthinking it.” She maneuvered next to him and put the cue back in his hand. “Relax, and just take your shot.” She grabbed the white ball from where it had landed, inches from a pocket, and set it back in the center of the table.

  She stood close enough he felt her heat and smelled the sharp tang of cherry. He tried to ignore his body’s response, as he bent at the waist. “It’s war, right? Things happen.” Great. She was within pin-her-to-the-wall-and-kiss-her-until-they-couldn’t-breathe proximity, and he was talking about his demons. Rather than dwell on the past, he pushed the stick toward its target. The cue head bounced off the felt and jumped over the ball instead of hitting it.

  “Try again.”

  He sighed and repositioned himself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so picky about the job. I don’t have any actual qualifications to do what I do. Not like real-world experience.” The words tasted foul. What the fuck was his problem?

  “Because what you did doesn’t count as experience? I mean I know you can’t give me specifics, but to keep you interested for so long, it had to be intense.”

  He’d tried to make the same point to the interviewer. Sort of. “That’s the problem. It’s not really the kind of thing I’m able to go into detail about. You know, they say, tell me about a time you solved a really big problem that saved an employer money. I’m not exactly allowed to share those kinds of details, so when I say, I did some stuff with computers, and it was really high-end, I promise, the claim is a bit hard to swallow.”

  He held up the cue in frustration. “Are you going to show me how to do this right, or not?”

  “Fine.” She let out a mock sigh. Moving next to him again, she positioned his left hand properly. She settled her right arm against his and rested her chest against his back. She pressed her cheek against his bicep, helping him line up the cue. “I’d go on about angle and trajectory and all that, but for me it’s instinct.” She pulled back his arm and helped him take the shot.

  The balls scattered again, and three more slid into pockets. He had no idea what he’d just done. All he knew was how incredible she felt pressed against him. He dropped the cue but didn’t pull away.

  “You’ve gotten better,” she said

  “I tried to get a little practice in.” His hand settled under hers.

  He should move. Put some distance between them. Her heat seeped into all his senses, pushing past frustration and demons and awkwardness, and driving straight to his dick. Fuck. Riley had always been touchy-feely, but this pushed buttons he never realized he had.

  In a single motion, he twisted from her touch, spun, and grabbed her wrists before she could pull away. She locked her gaze on his—eyes wide and shocking blue. When she licked her bottom lip, any words he had evaporated, lost in his desire to dip in and taste her.

  “What’s wrong?” Though her question was soft, it stood out among all the background noise. Distinct and tempting.

  The few faint snatches of reason left in his head pointed out he didn’t want to go down this road with Riley. She deserved better than a hard-on-fueled fuck-fest in the back of his truck. She deserved better than him.

  He dragged the reminder to the front of his thoughts and forced his voice to remain firm. “I know we said the other day that what happened while I was gone is done and over—the past is in the past, sex ruins friendships, all that—so this is fair warning. You’re entirely too tempting to ignore, when you do things like press your body against me.”

  That should have been that. He expected her to pull away, maybe refuse to look him in the eye, and then they’d find a new comfortable middle ground.

  Instead, she shifted her weight, rubbing her frame against him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  There was no way she didn’t feel how hard he was, his cock digging into her hip. Impulse surged through him. The need to bend her over the pool table, regardless of how crowded the place was, pin her hands above her head, and drive inside her. “It is, if you meant what you said the other night.”

  She didn’t struggle against his grip, even when it tightened enough for his fingers to dig into her skin. A flush spread over her face, and her pupils dilated. “Do you really think the cyber stuff was a mistake?”

  He swallowed. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? “I never said that.”

  “You implied it.”

  He forced the gears in his brain to unstick—to push past her soft scent, her gentle curves, her skin against his. “Neither one of us wants to get attached,” he said.

  “I never said anything about getting attached.” The corner of her mouth pulled up in a mischievous smile, and she broke one hand away from him. She trailed down the chain around his neck, grasped his dog tags, and tugged lightly.

  “You don’t want to go down this road.”

  “I do. Tell me you’re not interested, and I’ll never mention it again. No hurt feelings.” Her lips hovered centimeters from his, obliterating reason.

  Pinning her down. Running his hands over her body. Experiencing in person the moans that drove him wild over the phone. If she were involved in a no-strings non-relationship with him, maybe she’d think harder about falling for the next doorknob that came along.

  Logic argued that didn’t make sense.

  He gagged logic and shoved it in a mental closet. “What about sex ruining friendship?”

  She hesitated, but her confidence flooded back quickly. “I promise it’s just sex, and so do you. I trust you, so if you say it, I’ll believe you.”

  Seemingly from nowhere, someone collided with Riley, and beer spilled over her top. Zane let go, as she gasped and jerked back, her hands flying up. The booze soaked her pale shirt, suctioning it to her body so it clung to every curve. Zane struggled to pull his gaze from her tight form, full breasts, and rigid nipples, visible through the lace of her bra.

  “Watch where you’re going.” A large man stood next to them. He slammed a mostly empty beer stein on the pool table, dribbles running over his clenched fist.

  Fury nudged Zane’s senses. Loudmouth had run into her, not the other way around.

  Riley flinched away, brow furrowed. “What the hell?” She shook her hands, and drops of beer splattered the floor around her.

  “Watch where you’re going, bitch.”

  Anger spurred Zane forward, powered by protective instinct, and unrequited lust. In an instant, he was nose-to-nose with the loud asshole. “Apologize.”

  “Fuck you.” Loudmouth pushed Zane’s shoulder. The stench of warm beer radiated from him. “Tell your bitch to watch where she’s going.”

  All conversation stopped around them. People turned to stare, and camera phones came out.

  “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.” Riley’s pleading voice was soft amid the growing murmurs.

  Zane didn’t like fighting, but there were some things a person just didn’t back down from. Like seeing his friend blamed by a drunken jackass for something she didn’t do. He grabbed Loudmouth’s wrist and pulled it away from his own shoulder. In a single movement, he twisted and was behind Loudmouth, pulling the other man’s fingers toward the base of his neck. Zane applied enough pressure to convey he could do worse, but not enough to cause injury. “It is a big deal. He owes you a new shirt, but a genuine I’m sorry would be a good starting place.”

  Loudmouth growled and jerked away, breaking Zane’s grip on him. “Fucking asshole. I’m sorry your stupid girlfriend got in the way of my beer.” He tensed his shoulders, spread his feet shoulder-width apart, and brought his fists up in a boxing
stance. He wavered in his stance before steadying himself.

  Zane kept his posture casual, staring back without flinching. If Loudmouth lunged, he’d find himself on the ground with a mouthful of carpet. Zane only partly hoped it would come to that. He made sure the anxiety of his hammering heart didn’t show in his movements. The seconds ticked away, seeming to stretch into eternity.

  “Asshole.” Loudmouth narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then turned toward the exit, grumbling under his breath.

  There was no need for Zane to go after the guy. All he wanted to do was diffuse the situation. As his adrenaline receded, the reassurance repeated in his head until he believed it.

  “Excuse me.” A firm voice jarred Zane from his brief meditation. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Zane eyed the bar employee, adrenaline still coursing through him. The guy was shorter by a couple of inches but bulkier, and the way his shirt stretched over his chest said he was muscular. Zane swallowed the resurge of instinct. He didn't want to start a fight; he’d already dispatched the threat.

  He shook his head, to clear out any residual argument, and wrapped an arm around Riley’s waist. “Right. Sorry about the floor.” He tossed a five on the table before leading her outside.

  Almost every gaze in the room followed their short path. The stench of greasy food and booze threatened to resummon Zane’s dinner. Maybe he shouldn’t have had that last slice of pizza. They pushed outside, and the cool air washed over them.

  Chapter Six

  Riley should have been embarrassed, about what happened inside with the drunken asshole, or upset about being asked to leave or something. Instead, all she could focus on was whether or not she’d made a mistake suggesting no-strings sex with Zane. Her thoughts were still stuck on his cock digging into her, moments earlier. The dampness that pooled between her legs when he grabbed her wrists. Her desperate desire to find out how he kissed.

  Zane opened the passenger door of his truck and reached behind the seat. He grabbed a spare T-shirt and handed it to her. “I should take you home.”