The Consequence of Seduction

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I grabbed the computer and stared at the screen. It was still frozen. And the little line above the video was green.

  As in live.

  The video was live.

  For the world to see.

  “No.” I shook my head and pounded the mouse pad with my thumb. “No. No. No. No.”

  “Everything okay in there?” Max called.

  “YES!” Reid shouted while I went into a catatonic state, my eyes glued to the screen—the screen I no longer had control over.

  Reid very slowly peeled the computer from my death grip and set it on the coffee table. “It could be worse.”

  “That’s our catchphrase—it could be worse.” I started chewing my nail.

  Reid batted my thumb away. “Bad habit.”

  “My parents are going to see you seducing the crap out of me. Oh, crap, the arching! I was arching!”

  “Now she admits it.”

  “And the world is going to think I’m a hussy! Damn it, Reid, let me chew!”

  He sighed and ran his hands through his glossy dark hair. “Look, is it really that bad? Jordan, life isn’t scripted. And honestly, if that’s what you’re looking for, then I think I’m out.”

  “Out?” I seethed. “You can’t be out! It will ruin you! Think of Max.”

  “Woman has a point,” Max yelled.

  “NOT NOW!” I shouted back, my voice vibrating off the high ceiling.

  “Come on.” Reid grinned. “Don’t you ever just . . . let your hair down?”

  A snicker came through the wall.

  I gave the wall—and the man behind it—my middle finger.

  “Last time I let my hair down, I had people calling me Mufasa.”

  Reid choked back a laugh.

  “A Rafiki sticker decorated my locker for two weeks.” Sadly, I hadn’t cared, because it was the one time in high school people actually paid attention to me.

  “Nants ingonyama!” Reid sang.

  My hair chose that inopportune moment to stand erect, Alfalfa style. Always good to know The Lion King did it for my hair—no shame in that sad fact. None at all.

  “Sorry.” He licked his lips. “Tell you what . . . I spent the better part of my day learning how to date from my brother, which, as much as I’d like to say was pointless, actually has me questioning my entire childhood, since I discovered my mother used to lie in order for Max to get chicks.”

  I perked up. “Seriously?”

  “He uses her as a third-party witness.”

  “That’s . . . brilliant.”

  “Shh.” Reid covered my mouth with his hand. “He’ll hear.”

  I nodded.

  Reid didn’t move his hand. My lips liked it way too much. “We’re living together. We kind of skipped the dating part, since you rejected me and thought I was gay.” I smiled against his fingertips. “But why don’t we practice what we preach, hmm? I’ll make some popcorn, liquor you up, and we can have a date night in.”

  My heart pounded.

  “Nod your head if that scary look in your eyes means yes. I’m guessing if it’s a no you’ll just bite my hand.” Or I could do both just to see what he tasted like. I nodded my head.

  “Good.” He rubbed his hands together. “First things first, no checking the Internet, phones, Facebook—nothing! We’re on a date. Deal?” He held out his hand.

  I stared at it, reached out, then paused. “Fine, but this isn’t a real date.”

  “It isn’t?” He winked, then walked off, leaving me confused and breathless, again. My body arched even then. Oh, who was I kidding? Dating Reid Emory in real life was the equivalent of winning the lottery for a girl like me.

  A girl who, by all accounts, he shouldn’t even see.

  But did.

  Possibly more clearly than anyone in my entire life ever had.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  REID

  I wasn’t nervous. Please. The nervous guy was always played by a dude who had no fashion sense, had never kissed a girl, and thought that foreplay was an actual play—in baseball.

  I had killer fashion.

  Had kissed tons of girls—even secured my first by the age of four from a six-year-old riding the bus to school.

  And foreplay was my specialty. I like to think that some men are just gifted in that area—not to boast, but I’m one of them.

  Oh, and I was a hell of a baseball player.

  So that weird, shaky feeling currently residing in my stomach, slithering its way up my chest? Heartburn.

  I popped two Tums.

  “Hey, you okay?” Jordan asked. Her big brown eyes were makeup free—making them look even prettier—more natural. She’d given up on her hair so it was wildly cascading in every direction known to mankind, giving her a sex kitten look I wasn’t at all comfortable her sporting outside my apartment.

  “Yeah.” I coughed. “Heartburn.”

  “Weird. I wonder why you have heartburn after all those shots, five slices of pizza, and three glasses of red wine?”

  I grinned. “Beats me.”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed the remote from my hand.

  “What are you doing?” I asked calmly, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “Changing the channel?” she answered without looking at me. “The movie ended an hour ago and you usually go to bed at eleven, so . . .”

  “But this is date night.”

  “Uh-huh, and now date night is over. I’ll tell you what.” She turned and tucked her legs beneath her. “Since you’re new at this whole dating thing, I’ll give you a free pass and let you in on a little secret.”

  “I’m listening.” Okay, so I was trying to listen while my eyes zeroed in on her low-cut blouse and fringes of the black lacy bra that was peeking from beneath. Focus. Focus. Focus. Did she have pizza sauce on her breast?

  “When girls come home from a date, they don’t take a hot shower and run their hands all over their body moaning and groaning and replaying every touch, every caress, every kiss.”

  Can’t. Look. Away. I leaned forward. Yup, definitely pizza sauce. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “Usually, they pour themselves a glass of wine, toss off their tall heels, turn on the TV, put on their sweats, and read while New Girl plays in the background.”

  How was it possible she wasn’t aware she had food on her chest?

  “Reid, are you listening?”

  “Of course I am!” I nodded. “Wine, heels, TV, books, New Girl.” I know, neat trick, right? Just pull the details out of what they said and repeat them. Works nine times out of ten. Unless you’re Max. If you’re Max, you usually just get punched, because he tends to brag about the fact he remembered in the first place.

  “What?” Jordan looked down. “What are you staring at?”

  “Sauce.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sauce.” I pointed. “Right there.”

  Jordan rolled her eyes. “I’m not falling for that trick where you point and I look down and you hit me in the face. How old are you, ten?”

  “No, seriously.” I moved forward. “You have pizza sauce right here.” I swiped it with my thumb and then licked it off.

  “That should be gross,” she breathed.

  “I know.”

  “But it was kind of sexy.”

  “I know.”

  “Stop saying ‘I know.’”

  I smirked. “Sorry . . . oh, look, you have something right here too.”

  This time she did look down. And my ten-year-old self cheered as I knocked her in the chin and said, “Gotcha.”

  Defeated, her shoulders slumped forward. “I deserved that.”

  “I couldn’t help myself.” I watched in a hypnotic trance as her tongue sneaked out and teased her lower lip. It was the perfect moment for a kiss, but the line had been . . . skewed. I wasn’t sure if it was okay, in the privacy of my apartment, to actually kiss her. I mean, I’d kissed her, but this felt different, more intimate.

  “This
is the part”—Jordan leaned forward and gripped my shirt with both hands—“where you either kiss me or cough awkwardly, make an excuse, scratch your balls, and cower back in your bedroom.”

  “Wow, so many choices,” I mused, meeting her halfway. “Eenie, meenie, minie—” Our mouths met in a frenzy. She tasted like wine and pizza.

  Holy shit, it was hotter than it should have been.

  My hands moved to her hips as I tried to pull her onto my lap. But her skirt was too tight.

  “Damn it.” I tugged harder and heard a split.

  Jordan reared back. “Did you just rip my skirt?”

  “Small tear.”

  “Rip.”

  “No.” I gripped the fabric until it gave with a scratchy tearing sound. “That’s a rip.” With a grin I tossed the discarded remains onto the ground.

  Jordan stared at the skirt for a few seconds before wrapping her legs around my torso and fusing her mouth with mine. “You owe me a skirt.”

  “Can I rip you out of that one too?”

  She laughed against my mouth. I stood, lifting her with me, and walked her backward toward my bedroom.

  We looked good. She was half-naked, sexy, I was carrying her around like a badass, and then things went . . . south.

  And not a good south.

  “Watch out for my shoes—”

  I tripped over two spiked heels, sending Jordan flying into the wall. She slid down said wall and landed on the plant—yes, THE plant, the one she’d kept alive for all those years.

  “My plant!” she yelled. I burst out laughing as remnants of dirt and plant sifted through her hands. “YOU KILLED IT!”

  “Whoa!” I held up my hands and backed up, tripping over the damn shoes again and stumbling to the floor.

  I shit you not, Jordan giddyup crawled toward me, faster than lightning, straddled me, and started fighting.

  “We’ll get you a new plant!” I yelled as she smacked my chest. I gripped her wrists and flipped her onto her back. “Don’t you think—”

  She bucked beneath me.

  “—it was probably time to let the plant go? You know, cut the apron strings!”

  “It’s not my child!” she wheezed, tuckering herself out.

  “Exactly.” I nodded, then released her hand and patted her cheek.

  Her eyes went wild.

  “Shh . . .” I braced myself over her. “This is my favorite part.”

  “Me killing you?” she heaved.

  “No.” I licked the seam of her lips even though she fought me every way. “Foreplay.”

  “Sorry, plant killing wasn’t in the Kama Sutra, Reid!”

  “Yeah it was, right next to spanking. Trust me, I bookmarked the page,” I joked.

  She tried to get me off her again.

  “Won’t work.” I fake yawned then kissed her neck. “Besides, I have you right where I want you. Forget the bedroom. I do my best work in the hallway anyway.”

  “So now I’m work?” she challenged.

  “No, baby . . . this is all play.” With that, I tugged her lower lip with my teeth, released her hands, and ripped open her shirt. Buttons went flying, joining the plant, the shoes, the skirt.

  Her body was all lush skin and curves. I’d never been with anyone who looked as perfect as her—wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to go back to skinny malnourished models when I had a real woman beneath me, one who had breasts that filled my hands, an ass that I could grip, a lip I could bite.

  I moaned.

  Jordan’s body responded to my every single touch and caress.

  “Now I know why you’ve never had to ask a girl on a date.” She hooked her legs around me and wrapped her arms around my neck, her tongue intertwining with mine, sucking, so. Damn. Hard that I couldn’t help but keep moaning. The things that woman could do with her mouth.

  I deepened the kiss, my hands reaching for the clasp of her bra. I flicked it off. Jordan immediately froze. Her hands quickly covered her breasts.

  “What are you doing?” I tried prying her hands free.

  “Too fast.” She nodded, her cheeks staining with color. “You know for our, uh, date night.”

  “Move your hands.”

  “No.”

  “Jordan.”

  “Reid.” She laughed nervously.

  “Fine.” I nodded. “I didn’t want to have to do this.”

  Jordan frowned.

  I raised my hand.

  She frowned harder.

  I flipped her onto her stomach and slapped her ass. Hard.

  “WHAT are you doing?” she yelled.

  “Why, sweetheart . . .” I kissed her ear. “I’m taming.”

  “The hell you are!”

  “You like it.” Another swat. “And I’m barely spanking you, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Cover them up again and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “But—”

  I flipped her back around. “But what?” I honestly wanted to know why a girl that gorgeous would cover up.

  “It’s just that—” Jordan chewed her lower lip. “I’m the lights-off girl.”

  “Lights off?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged a shoulder as more color stained her cheeks. “You know, the girl you don’t really notice right away until you’ve had one too many, then you take her home and have your way with her—in the dark.”

  Horrified, I could only stare in shock. “Please tell me that hasn’t actually happened.”

  “Reid.” She shoved me away and started to get to her feet. “Look, I’m not stupid, okay? And I’m not even that insecure anymore. I know how guys think, all right?”

  “Oh, yeah?” I stood, pulled her flush against my very hard body. “What am I thinking about right now?”

  “ESPN?”

  “Damn.”

  Her shoulders deflated. “See?”

  I burst out laughing. “Honey, we have a pretty big problem if ESPN gets me this excited, don’t you think?”

  “Hey, sometimes baseball just does it for people.” She gave me a sexy-as-hell smile. “It’s not your fault you like balls.”

  “I can’t believe you just challenged my manhood when it’s saluting you like that. Damn, woman, I’m basically giving you the equivalent of a high five and a home run all in one and you’re making jokes?”

  “It’s what I do best. Joke when I’m uncomfortable.”

  “I think out of the two of us,” I said, grabbing her hands and placing them on my shirt, “I’m the one who’s uncomfortable. Wanna know why?”

  Her face fell.

  “Because I’m still dressed and you’re gloriously”—I kissed her mouth, teasing my tongue against its entrance—“naked.”

  “I still have panties on.”

  I gripped the black boy shorts in my hand and gave a hard tug. “A horrible oversight on my part.”

  She gasped.

  “Don’t look so shocked.” I backed her up against the wall. “Now, you have two choices.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I caressed the side of her face with the back of my hand. “You either go pour your wine . . . put on your sweats, turn on New Girl, and read.” I cleared my throat. “Or, you let me take you into my bedroom. Lay you down on my bed. And let me show you what I do best.”

  “Sleep?” She winked.

  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. So as long as I’m living . . . I better make good use of what I’ve been given, right?” I flicked her mouth with my tongue and pressed a series of soft kisses, alternating between teasing her lips and running my mouth up and down her neck. “Say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  JORDAN

  I should have said no.

  But his hands.

  That body.

  Those eyes.

  And even more than that? No man had ever made me feel wanted. I’d spent my life fixing other people’s problems, living in the background, blending in. And for the first time, I didn’t wa
nt to blend.

  I wanted color.

  God help me. I wanted Reid Emory.

  It was a horrible idea. For one thing, we were working together. It wasn’t like I could do the walk of shame a few feet back to my room and drown my sorrows in a pint of ice cream. I still hadn’t found an apartment and I really would be homeless if Reid kicked me out.

  My job was to make him look good.

  Keep him in the limelight.

  And here I was, getting distracted by a six-pack and a movie-star smile. He was an actor. How hard would it be for him to act like he wanted me when he really didn’t? Maybe he was just being horny.

  And I was available.

  My shoulders slumped more as Reid hurried me into his bedroom.

  “I can’t.” I swallowed, once more covering myself up while he came up behind me and kissed my neck. “I can’t do this.”

  “Okay.”

  Seriously? Now he didn’t want me at all? “That’s it? Just okay?”

  He flipped me around and tilted my chin toward him. “I’m not going to force you into having sex with me if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not that guy. Just like you’re not the lights-off girl.” Reid wrapped his arms around my body. “When was the last time you let a man look at you . . . in the light?”

  “Never.”

  “So . . . I’ll tell you what.” Reid’s smile was so gorgeous I had to look away. So tender it made my heart clench. “Even though I’m paying you, you’re still doing me a favor by being my publicist, making sure that my career doesn’t tank on account of my brother being certifiably insane, and you’ve cheerfully gone along with this whole charade.”

  Ugh, my stomach sank. Again, he kissed me because I was available.

  “I’m going to teach you how to love yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not insecure. I’m a realist.”

  “Turn around.”

  “No. Reid. We’ve had a lot to drink, I’m just going to shuffle off to bed and—”

  Reid gripped my arm and dragged me into the bathroom. Flipping on the lights, he turned me toward the mirror. “What do you see?”

  “Boobs.”

  “You aren’t a horny thirteen-year-old boy. What do you really see?”

  Honestly? I saw a lot of what I didn’t want to see. I saw flaws. So many of them, even with his killer lighting. My shame got worse as I realized my hips were wider than his. I mean, I’m a girl. I get that big hips equal childbirth, but still, it made me want to disappear into the floor. I was all curves.