Power Play

by Warren, Nancy

  “Don’t forget your pajamas,” he said curtly. “The maid put them under your pillow.”

  Your pillow? Weren’t they going to be sharing? The way they’d been kissing earlier tonight she’d been so sure.

  What was he doing? Some kind of teasing game? Screw him. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said as she grabbed the ugly flannel and stalked into the bathroom. She showered, scrubbed her face free of makeup and brushed and flossed thoroughly. When she emerged, she found Jonah with a pillow at his back, his eyes glued to a nature show on television, though she had a sense he wasn’t taking any of it in.

  “Your turn.”

  He glanced up and his scowl deepened.

  What?

  She got into bed, not knowing what else to do, and pretended to read a magazine. She flipped a few pages. She wasn’t interested in this season’s fashions right now. Flip.

  A recipe for low-fat guacamole. Yeah, that’s what was missing in her life. Flip.

  Eyeliner tips. She didn’t wear the stuff. Flip. Flip. Flip.

  The pages snapped as she turned them. “Six Secrets to Help You Scorch the Sheets Tonight.” Hah! Not the way this night was going. She tossed the magazine toward the trash but her aim was off and it hit the desk and flopped to the floor, pages fanning out messily.

  Jonah, naturally, chose that moment to come out of the bathroom wearing his athletic shorts and a black T-shirt. More than he usually wore to bed.

  He paused, looking down at the magazine spread out at his feet.

  “‘Scorch the sheets Tonight’? Who comes up with this crap?” He bent down, picked up the mangled magazine and, putting it back together, placed it on the desk.

  Then he stopped. Glared at her one more time. Even longer than when he’d done it when they’d first entered the room. Then with a mumble she couldn’t quite catch but that sounded vaguely like a curse, he stomped to his bed, threw back the covers as though they had personally insulted him and needed to be punished, and shoved himself into his own bed.

  He lay rigid on his back staring at the ceiling. All the casual intimacy of earlier tonight was gone. He was like a different man. A storm cloud with five o’clock shadow.

  “What is your problem?” she finally asked.

  “I’m a damned fool.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that. Why should that put you in such a bad mood all of a sudden?”

  “Because you women are all the same.”

  “What?” It was such a blatantly odd and untrue statement and he seemed so put out that some of her irritation was replaced by simple curiosity.

  He snapped off the nature show, rather the same way she’d flipped pages on her magazine. It occurred to her that he was as sexually frustrated as she was.

  He turned to glare at her. “You want equality, the same pay as men, share the housework and childrearing and God forgive the poor fool who tries to open a door for a woman or pull out her chair.”

  “I like having the door held for me,” she said, wondering what he was talking about.

  His answer was a bitter snort. “And when it comes to the bedroom? You all act like it’s the nineteen-fifties. I don’t see you sharing the workload there. Where’s the equality in that?”

  “I’m not following you. If you’re referring to me, how do you know what I’m like in bed? We don’t seem to be going there.”

  “Whose fault is that?” he bellowed in outrage. “I told you, in this very room, that I wouldn’t make a pass at you. I promised you. And I try to be a man of my word. So we come back to the room, after a night when you threw plenty of encouragement my way, I might add—” here he stabbed a finger in her direction “—but do you follow through on what you started? No.”

  “But—”

  “Do you seduce me? No.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shoved his back once more against the pillow behind him on the wall. “Well, I’ll be damned if I’ m going to spend another night in this room having erotic fantasies about those flannel pajamas of yours.”

  He got out of bed and started for his jeans. “I’ll go to the front desk and see about another room.”

  A gurgle of laughter escaped her. She glanced down at her nightwear. “Are you kidding me? You were having erotic fantasies about these?”

  “I’d appreciate you not laughing at my sex fantasies. They’re my business.”

  She felt suddenly a million times better. This night wasn’t going to be a disaster at all. All she had to do was make the first move.

  He’d paused with his jeans in his hands. Wasn’t exactly making any effort to insert his legs into them.

  “So, what you’re saying is that in order to have sex with you I’m going to have to seduce you?”

  His gaze when he turned her way was smoldering. And slightly less grumpy. “Yeah. Not so much fun when the boot’s on the other foot, is it? When you’re the one who has to do all the work.”

  “Right. I can see that it’s tough being a guy trying to get a woman into bed.” She shook her head at him. “Then you have to face the possibility of rejection.”

  He looked as though he wanted to argue with her about the rejection thing, but he didn’t. He merely said, “Exactly.”

  “And all that performance anxiety,” she added with false sympathy. “It’s tough out there.”

  His gaze squinted like a tough guy in a shoot-out. “I never said I suffer performance anxiety.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He glanced over, a calculating expression in his eyes. “But we still have the basic problem.”

  “And that is?”

  “If you want sex tonight, lady, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

  She sighed. Pulled the covers all the way back so he could get his fill of the flannel pj’s he apparently liked so much.

  “But that’s a problem.”

  “What is?”

  “I’d like to have sex with you.” She swallowed, since merely saying the words gave her a secret thrill. “But the truth is, you’re right.” She leaned back on her arms, knowing the move pressed her breasts tight against the buttons of the pajamas. “I’m usually the one who gets seduced.”

  She could feel his gaze on her, feel his attention on her breasts which was making her as hot as though his hands were on her.

  “Uh-huh.”

  She shifted, letting the fabric ride up so a length of skin appeared between the waistband of her bottoms and the edge of the top. “What I’m probably going to need is a little help.”

  He watched the edge of skin appear. “You’re killing me. You know that, don’t you?”

  His voice was low, the passion contained about as well as an overfilled dam that was getting ready to burst.

  She ignored his comment.

  “Do you think you could do that?”

  “Do what?”

  She glanced at him from under her lashes. “I’m thirty-one years old and I’ve never ever seduced a man. I wouldn’t know the first thing to do.”

  “Sure you would.”

  “Wait. Pass me that magazine. I should read that article.”

  “You don’t need any magazine article and we both know it.”

  It was difficult not to give in to the smile that kept trying to pop out on her mouth. God, he was cute. “Then maybe you could give me a lesson in how to seduce you?”

  11

  “OH, HONEY, I’LL GIVE YOU a lesson in how to seduce me all right. It’s easy. Get your sweet ass out of that bed, take off those pajamas and put yourself in this bed with me.”

  Jonah couldn’t believe how well this night was turning out after it had seemed doomed. But what he hadn’t counted on was that when he explained his problem, Emily would turn it into a sexual game. One he wasn’t sure he could survive.

  He wanted that woman so much it hurt. Especially now she was forcing him to wait. Teasing him with her fake helpless routine when she knew exactly what she was doing.

  She wrinkled her no
se at him now, not even bothering to conceal the laughter in her eyes. “Take off my clothes and get into bed with you? That’s it? That’s your idea of seduction?”

  He nodded strongly.

  “Isn’t that kind of…fast?”

  He nodded again, just as hard. “See, that’s the thing about men. We’re real simple when it comes to getting us into bed. Most of the time all you have to do is show up.”

  She shifted to face him, extending her legs so her feet rested on the edge of his bed. The pants of those ugly pj’s of hers rose above her ankles and he was consumed by a desire to kiss the bumps of bone. Her toes were painted a sassy red and as he regarded the little bit of naked skin she’d allowed into his bed he found himself halfway to a foot fetish.

  “I think, if you don’t mind, for my first effort I’d like to move on to something a little more advanced.”

  Advanced, ha. This woman had been seducing men since she first figured out the difference between boys and girls.

  She was one of those women it came as naturally to as breathing. He doubted she was even conscious of her power.

  He wanted to wrap his hand around her ankle, he could all but feel the shape of her, the silky warmth of her skin. He wanted to trace the shape of her legs slowly up to her thighs. First on the outside of the flannel covering her legs, and then he’d peel them slowly down her legs.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. Not yet. As much as it was killing him to wait, this was her game and she was playing it for all she was worth.

  “Advanced techniques?” He shook his head. “Are you sure you’re ready? You seem like a rank amateur to me. Maybe you’d be best to take my advice and start nice and easy. Trust me. Get naked. It’ll work.”

  Once more she shifted, letting her legs ease apart, leaning on one hip so the buttons of her top strained and he could see the outline of her breasts, a glimpse of cream-colored skin in the gape of the fabric.

  “I’m not sure about this. I won’t even know what to do with my hands.” She held them up for him and the visceral punch of lust suckered him as he imagined those capable massage therapist’s hands on the hottest part of his body.

  “Get over here and I’ll show you,” he said, barely keeping his tone even.

  She licked her lips, slowly, as if they were covered in honey. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  “Take off your top.”

  She looked at him slantwise from under her lashes, her eyes gleaming at him. She raised her hands languidly to the first button. He watched her ease the plastic disk out of the buttonhole, taking a long, long time about it. Every part of him strained to reach across and help her speed up the operation, but they both knew he wouldn’t, which only added to the torture.

  Her fingers moved to the second button. Paused.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “I feel strange taking off my top while yours is still on.”

  “This is your show,” he reminded her, settling back and deciding to enjoy this strangest of seductions.

  “Maybe you could take your shirt off,” she whispered.

  “Okay.”

  He reached for the hem. Prepared to yank the cotton over his head.

  “But not too fast. We had male strippers at Brandy’s earlier tonight. It was fun watching them. Not that I want you to think I expect you to be of that high caliber or anything.”

  He snorted. “That’s a relief.”

  “I want to watch you peel your shirt off nice and slow.” Her voice seduced him, the idea of her watching him strip excited him. He slid the cotton slowly up his belly, feeling incredibly foolish until he noticed her gaze fastened on to his emerging belly.

  “I feel like you might stuff some money in my G-string if you like what you see.”

  She grinned at him. “I might at that.”

  He pulled the shirt all the way over his head, going as slowly as he could, knowing she was having fun, enjoying himself more than he’d have thought possible while waiting so long for some action.

  Once he was naked from the waist up, he looked pointedly at her. “Now you.”

  She unbuttoned the second button. The third. She’d stopped tormenting him, as though realizing he was close to the end of his rope. Maybe she was feeling the same way.

  The air felt increasingly hot around them; the slower paced plops of water behind the curtain added a drumbeat to the slow striptease.

  He’d fantasized about slipping that flannel off her body, but never imagined her doing the job. He liked to watch her doing the peeling just fine.

  “How am I doing?” she asked as she got to the last button.

  “Perfect.”

  She slipped the last button through the hole. Held the two sides of the fabric together.

  “Do you think you could get that top off before the wedding on Saturday?”

  “In a hurry, aren’t you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  And just like that, the game ended. She slipped the pajama jacket off her shoulders, let it slide down her arms in a dowdy heap, leaving her exposed in all her beauty.

  “You’re even prettier than I imagined,” he told her honestly, leaning forward to cup her breasts in his hands.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, pushing forward into his palms, encouraging him to explore, to play.

  He took full advantage of her offer, kneading, tweaking, running his hands down her belly, which was taut with muscle, lean like a runner’s.

  Her eyes were big and glistening with passion.

  “Your bed or mine?”

  “Both,” he promised her, and leaning forward decided it was well past time that he joined in on this seduction. He took her mouth, took it in the way he’d dreamed of since he first tasted her earlier in the evening.

  He took his time, exploring her mouth, teasing her lips, making her sigh. He let his mouth go all the places it wanted to go. Her shoulders, her upper chest, which he discovered was incredibly sensitive, then the swell of her breasts. Her nipples, which looked like tiny raspberries and tasted like heaven.

  When he nuzzled her belly she giggled and squirmed. “You should have shaved.”

  “I did,” he told her. “And that was an act of pure, desperate hope.”

  He felt the quiver of her skin beneath his lips. “I couldn’t believe you didn’t jump me the second we got into the room.”

  “You have no idea how much I wanted to,” he murmured into her belly button. “How much I still do.”

  He hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband and she obligingly lifted her hips so he could slide the fabric down, down, down.

  Her skin was so soft, the springy curls between her legs were soft, he kissed his way down as he drew the pajama pants down and off.

  She lay there, looking up at him expectantly. Knowing neither of them could take much more teasing, he yanked off his shorts, kicking them to the side so they landed in a heap atop her discarded pajamas.

  He found the condoms he’d dropped back into his bag and placed one at the ready.

  The rain increased in intensity and the drumbeat behind the curtain rose in tempo. He grinned down at her. “I have to tell you that every time I hear a raindrop from now on I am going to get horny.”

  “Quit talking and get down here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He rolled into her bed beside her and took her in his arms, letting their bodies touch and meld, skin to skin, heart to heart, mouth to mouth.

  She started to move, undulating against him, exciting them both. He let his hands explore, teasing her until she was panting, then finding her wet center and preparing her.

  Those massage therapist’s hands knew exactly how and where to touch him for maximum effect. Light touches, stronger touches, until he was panting, as well.

  It was she who put the condom on him, then eased herself onto him, taking over the seduction once more. When he entered her body it was as if he was trying something completely new.

  Her eyes were shut
, her body clamping him already as she started to ride him. He wondered if she even realized she was following the beat of the raindrops. He reached for her breasts, grabbed her hips, followed the rhythm she set until she gasped, clutching his shoulders, leaning forward to kiss him as her climax took her.

  What could he do but follow?

  12

  KARAOKE WAS OVER, MOST OF HER friends had gone home and Kirsten was still here. She was a little drunk and very cranky. Tyler hadn’t shown up, after he’d promised her. Not that she should be surprised. Tyler’s promises were more in the “if I feel like it and get around to it” category than actual commitments.

  She wished he’d shown up if only so he could see another guy hitting on her. A gorgeous one at that. But now the evening was coming to an end and on top of being stood up by her boyfriend she was now going to have to blow off Sadhu who was clearly hoping she was going to take him home with her.

  Ramona came by to say goodbye, looking pointedly at Sadhu, her mind already in gossip mode.

  “Do you have a ride home?”

  Both to stop her from gossiping and to let Sadhu know what was up, she said, “Yeah. Tyler’s coming for me.” Even though she doubted he even remembered he’d promised.

  “Okay.” Ramona smiled her fake smile and said, “I never got a chance to meet you. I’m Ramona.”

  “Sadhu.” He shook her hand.

  “You from around these parts?”

  God, she was nosy. Kirsten had no idea why Leanne and the rest of them insisted on being friends with such an annoying person. As if her night wasn’t weird enough, she now had Ramona to deal with at two in the morning.

  “My family is from the Punjab, where the cow is sacred and every man is master in his own home.” A strange choking sound came out of her throat as she heard an East Indian accent come out of Sadhu that he must have copied from The Simpsons. Of course, Ramona had no idea she was being made a fool of. Suddenly, Kirsten wasn’t quite so tired.

  “Well, it’s different over here, of course,” Ramona told him seriously. “We like to eat cows. And my husband sure isn’t the master of me.” She tittered. “But I love Indian food.”