by J. Kenner
She'd parked a few blocks down in one of the all-day lots and was half a block away when she heard someone call her name. She stopped, then turned back to look over her shoulder and found Megan hurrying toward her, pulling a large rolling case.
"Hey, good to see you again," Jenna said. "Where are you off to this early?"
"One of the local magazines is putting together a story about the Capitol staff. I'm doing make-up for the clerks and staffers they picked for the photo shoot."
"Walking?"
Megan waved away the question. "It's just a few blocks, and I'm used to dragging this thing around. It's more make-up than I need, but it makes the clients feel like they're getting their money's worth."
Jenna smiled. She liked Megan, even if she was sleeping with Reece.
The thought came unbidden, and Jenna cringed. Because it was hardly her business who Reece slept with.
"Everything okay?" Megan asked.
"Oh, just something in my shoe."
"Here." She rolled the cart to Jenna. "It's sturdy. Sit and take it out."
"Oh, it's nothing." But Megan already had the cart there, and Jenna already felt foolish. She sat, lifted her foot, and took off her ballet flat. "There," she lied as she stood up again. "I think I got it. Thanks."
"No problem," Megan said, shifting the cart so she could continue rolling it westward down the street.
They fell into step together, silent at first, and then Megan cleared her throat. "Listen, I just want you to know that the thing between Reece and me--it wasn't serious."
Jenna stopped. "It wasn't?"
"No. We just--a good time, you know." Her cheeks flushed, but she looked Jenna in the eye as she spoke.
Jenna frowned. "Um, why are you telling me this?"
"Oh. Well. I thought--aren't you and Reece involved?"
Jenna's eyes widened. "Oh, no. No!" She thought of last night's crazy, foolish kiss, felt her entire body flush, and stressed the last part again. "No, no. We're just good friends."
"Oh!" Megan shook her head. "I'm sorry. He'd told me you weren't. But he'd been so distracted by the fact that he hadn't picked you up, and then when I saw the way he looked at you in the bar, I thought--well, never mind."
"What?"
"Well, obviously it was my imagination."
"Totally," Jenna said emphatically. "Absolutely your imagination." Inside, though, something warm and pleasant and a little disturbing began to flow through her veins. "But how funny that you thought so," she added, her voice sounding odd even to her ears.
They'd reached The Fix, and Jenna enjoyed a wash of relief. She was completely out of ideas as to where to take the conversation next. "This is my stop. Have fun on your shoot."
"Thanks. Maybe I'll come by later."
"Great." Jenna's smile was so broad her cheeks ached. "I'll tell Reece you said hi," she added, then waited until Megan had crossed the street before closing her eyes and mentally kicking her own ass. Honestly, what the hell had she been doing? She had no interest whatsoever in seeing Megan and Reece get together.
Which was ridiculously bitchy and selfish of her, because she had no intention of keeping him for herself, either.
Escaping inside the empty bar was a relief, and soon Jenna was settled behind one of the desks in the office with a pad of paper in front of her, a The Fix on Sixth pen in her hand, and her mind whirring with tasks and plans.
And thoughts of Reece.
An hour later, she'd managed to accomplish exactly nothing, despite a billion things that needed to happen to get the calendar contest underway, a hundred phone calls she needed to make if she was going to pull together a solid marketing plan, and on and on and on.
There were proposals to write, vendors to retain, printers to line up, media to contact. So much that had to be done, and yet all she had to show for her efforts was a notepad covered with doodles.
Fuck.
Tears pricked her eyes as she ripped the page of useless scribbles off her notepad. Nothing was working out. Not the calendar contest she was trying to organize. Not her search for a new job. And definitely not this morning's plan to focus on The Fix and get her mind off Reece.
Damn the man. He'd ruined everything.
Okay, maybe not everything. He did rescue her from a dark parking lot in an unfamiliar section of South Austin. But then he'd kissed her, and now there was this thing between them. And the whole situation was an awkward, horrible mess.
Well, maybe not the whole situation. The kiss had been incredible. But the rest of it was horrible. Confusing and uncomfortable. Because she and Reece and Brent had always been a threesome. A perfect platonic triangle.
At least, that's what she'd been telling herself ever since she moved back to Austin.
Telling herself? Try lying to herself.
She should have put a stop to it right away. If she was any kind of woman--any kind of friend--she should have shoved hard against his chest the moment his lips met hers. She should have pushed him firmly away and told him that there was nothing but friendship between them.
But she hadn't.
God help her, she'd kissed him back. And even now, she could feel the echo of that kiss reverberating through her soul, hot and deep and wild and brutal.
It had burned inside her, melting her will and firing her senses. And it had taken all of her strength to finally break that kiss when what she'd really wanted was to beg him to bend her over the hood of the car, yank down her panties, and take her right there under the light of moon.
"You're an idiot, Jen," she whispered to herself. "A Grade-A, one-hundred-percent, award-winning idiot."
"Maybe," a deep voice said from the doorway. "But you're an adorable one."
Reece.
She kept her head down, certain her cheeks were flushed. God knew the rest of her was. The sound of his voice alone had made her skin go hot and her nipples peak. And there was a dangerous throbbing between her thighs.
Best not to lift her head. She'd just keep working, and he'd go away. He was a smart man, after all. Surely, he'd get the hint.
"Jenna." His voice was firm. Commanding. And it cut through her like an electric current leading to all her most private parts. "Dammit, Jenna, look at me."
She obeyed, tilting her chin as she raised her eyes, then inhaled sharply at the sight of him leaning against the doorjamb. The faded jeans that hung low on his hips. His muscles that strained under a vintage Jethro Tull T-shirt. The shirt hid most of his ink, but the art on his ripped biceps and forearms was on full display. Two vibrant sleeves of intertwined leaves, petals, and waves that not only drew her attention but also reminded her of the way he'd held her last night. The strength as he'd pulled her close. The confidence as he'd kissed her hard.
The memory washed over her once again, sparking a wild, liquid heat that burned through her, making her a little crazy. And very, very needy.
Oh, crap.
She looked down again, took a deep breath to steady herself, then lifted her eyes to his face. "You shouldn't be here."
He stepped all the way into the office, then closed the door behind him. And, she noticed, he locked it. "We need to talk."
She made a scoffing sound as she pushed out of her chair and stalked around the desk. "Talk? Maybe you should have thought of that before you accosted me in the parking lot."
"Accosted?" The corner of his mouth rose just slightly. "Is that what I did? I could have sworn it was a rescue."
"You're smiling?" She heard the edge in her voice and was glad about it. She welcomed irritation, even anger. Anything to stifle the burning need that had begun to pulse between her thighs.
"You think this is funny?" She took another step toward him. "Do you know what you've done? What you've destroyed? You and me and Brent--"
"No." The word lashed out, as hard as steel. "We three are together for a lot of things," he said softly. "But Brent's not any part of this."
He'd moved closer as he spoke, and now he was right i
n front of her, so close she could see the pulse beating in his neck.
"And just what is this?" she snapped.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought he was going to ignore the question. But then his gaze raked over her, the quick inspection somehow more possessive than last night's kiss had been. "I guess that depends on you."
His words surprised her. Considering the nature of that heated glance, she'd almost expected him to take her by the hair and drag her to him caveman style. And it flustered her to realize that part of her truly wanted that. In theory, if not in actual practice.
Confused and frustrated, she shook her head, trying to clear it. "We can't--"
"Why?" He stepped closer, then crooked his finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Does Brent want you, too? I thought you told me that was all in my imagination."
"It was. It is." Her voice was thick. Husky. And right then the only thing she knew in the whole world was the pressure of his finger burning against her skin. "Reece, please. You can't--"
"Or maybe it's Easton? Is he my competition?"
"I--"
He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "If so, then why aren't you still in his bed? Why are you here, alone, thinking of last night with me instead of the rest of the night with him?"
She swallowed. "What makes you so sure I was thinking of you?"
He didn't even bother to answer. Why should he? He knew her well enough to know that he was right. "Tell me," Reece demanded as he trailed his finger along the neckline of the white T-shirt she'd paired with a slim black skirt. "Why aren't you with Easton?"
His fingers brushed the swell of her breast. "Why isn't he touching you? Claiming you?"
She gasped as his fingers gripped the cup of her bra and tugged it down, forcing her breast to pop free of both the bra and her shirt. "Reece!" she cried, but he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, and his name came out strangled, lost inside her breathy gasp of decadent pleasure.
"Why?" The word was as forceful as the way he grasped her waist and pulled her toward him, and the pressure of her body against his sent electric shocks of bone-deep longing racing through her veins.
"Why isn't he kissing you?" Reece growled, his thumb leaving her breast to stroke roughly over her lower lip. He pressed his hips forward, and she could feel the outline of his erection against her belly. "Why isn't he taking what's his?"
"Why aren't you?" The words came out as a strangled whisper, and she knew she was playing with fire. "You're not kissing me." She reached around him and cupped his ass with her palms, increasing the pressure of his cock against her. "You're not fucking me, either. You're not doing anything except teasing me."
She felt more than heard his low groan. It vibrated through him, a potent mix of pleasure and torment that culminated in a violent passion when his mouth closed roughly over hers, claiming her just as he said he would.
Just as she'd wanted him to, damn her.
The kiss was hot and hard, and she opened her mouth to his, losing herself to the taste of him. The sweep of his tongue as he explored her mouth. The nip of his teeth against her lips. This wasn't a kiss, it was a substitute for sex, and every cell in her body knew it. Her skin felt warm, her nipples hard as stones. And the ache between her thighs was so intense that it took a monumental effort to keep from straddling his leg and rubbing herself shamelessly against him simply to relieve the pressure.
He shifted his stance, stepping back and breaking the contact between them. She whimpered in protest, but soon his hands were on her hips, and he was slowly gathering up her skirt. She held her breath as slowly--so deliciously, painfully slowly--he revealed her bare thighs.
"Reece..."
"Hush," he ordered. "Take a step back."
She swallowed, but silently complied, then found herself trapped between the man and the desk.
"Lift your skirt," he demanded as her heart pounded in her chest. "All the way up to your waist. I want to see your panties."
"Maybe I'm not wearing any," she teased.
He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. "That's okay, too. But I hope you are. Plain white cotton. Bikini style. Crisp and bright against the brown of your tan."
"It's April." Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed. "I'm not very tan. And what makes you think that's what I'm wearing?"
"Not thinking," he said. "Hoping." His hands were on her legs, his thumbs positioned to stroke her soft inner thigh. A feather-light touch that was sending an electrical current up her thighs to pool at her core.
"Why?" She whispered the word, her eyes closed as her sex burned, throbbing with a violent need to be touched. To be taken.
"We were in ninth grade, and we were in the courtyard of your apartment complex, and Brent had snuck a bottle of his dad's bourbon into his backpack before he came over. Do you remember?"
She tilted her head, trying to conjure the memory. "We'd just finished final exams before Christmas break, and my mom was working late. So we were celebrating. And I'd never had bourbon before."
"Brent told you that you needed to learn to drink like a guy if you were going to hang with us."
"And I said that I could put away as much bourbon as either of you and still be a girl. Oh, my," she added. "I'd forgotten."
"I'm not surprised. You weighed about half of what Brent or I weighed, but you matched us drink for drink."
"Took me until my last year in college before I could stomach bourbon again."
"Not me," Reece said. "I think I loved it all the more after that night."
A slow warmth rose up Jenna's neck. "I'm scared to ask why," she admitted.
"You seriously don't know?"
She closed her eyes, trying to think back, but she had to shake her head. "I remember the drinking. And I remember telling my mom the next morning that we must have gotten some bad Tex-Mex at the dive at the end of the block. The rest is missing."
"Too bad we didn't have camera phones back then," he said. "I would have cherished those photos."
"Tell me," she demanded, laughing as she gave his shoulder a shove.
"Like I said, you matched us drink for drink. But then you got it into your head that you had to prove that you were a girl. So you stripped off your jeans and T-shirt and dove into the water."
"I got into the pool? In the winter? Why?"
He shook his head, obviously fighting laughter. "I have no idea. But thank God you didn't drown, because Brent and I were so gobsmacked we just stood there laughing our asses off. Or, at least, we laughed until you climbed out."
Her entire body flushed. "White cotton panties and a matching cotton bra. That's about all I wore in high school."
"I could see your nipples--hard and tight from the cold water. And the dark shadow of your pubic hair against the wet panties."
"Oh." Her breath stuttered in her throat. "Did it make you hard?"
"Hell, yes. I told myself you were my best friend. That you were just being a goof. That I couldn't possibly want you."
"But you did." She lifted the skirt a tiny bit higher, revealing more thigh, but not yet showing her panties. "You did want me."
He dropped to his knees in front of her, then tilted his head back to meet her eyes. "Hell, yes," he said. "I pushed it away. Buried it. Ignored it. But I never stopped."
"White cotton," she confirmed, her heart pounding so hard she feared she'd crack a rib. "But you won't see any pubic hair, not even if they're wet. I'm waxed."
"Oh, baby. Show me."
It was an order she couldn't disobey, and she tugged her skirt the rest of the way up, exposing the plain cotton panties that she would never think were boring again.
"That's my girl," he said, his fingertip tracing the elastic of the leg hole, the sensation so deliciously erotic that she had to reach back and grasp the edge of the desk just to keep her knees from buckling.
"And what do you know?" he murmured as his fingertip slipped inside her panties. "You are wet."
&
nbsp; "Very," she said. "Reece, please."
"Please what?"
"You know."
"Do I?" His finger slid over her folds, the tip dipping inside her in slow, methodical thrusts.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "Oh, God."
"Is this what you want?"
"More," she murmured. "Please."
"Tell me," he said. "I want to hear you say it."
She licked her lips. She wanted to beg for his cock. She wanted him inside her so much her pussy was clenching in anticipation. And she knew he wanted it, too. But some ridiculous, unreasonable fear was telling her not to say it out loud. That as soon as she did, all of this would disappear, and she'd be left frustrated and embarrassed because she'd reached for more than she deserved.
"Please," she said. "Don't make me."
He pulled back, and her head snapped down, afraid that he'd stopped for good. She saw his furrowed brow, and she knew he was puzzled by her. She tried to think what to say, but he saved her from the effort when he took the finger he'd been touching her with and lifted it to her mouth. Gently, he stroked her lower lip until she drew the digit in and sucked, her head spinning from her own musky taste mingled with the sweetness of his skin.
"It's okay, baby," he finally said. "There's nothing to be scared of. It's me. It's you, and it's me."
Slowly, he withdrew the finger, then put his hands around her waist and lifted her to the desk. "Spread your legs and let me prove it to you."
She did as ordered, spreading her legs wide, and then putting her hands behind her to balance when he tugged her right to the edge of the desk. He dropped back to his knees, then trailed kisses up her inner thigh until he reached the apex.
Slowly--so wonderfully slowly--he traced the tip of his tongue along the edge of her panties before closing his mouth over her pussy. He sucked and bit through the plain cotton, teasing her so thoroughly that she found herself clutching the table so hard she would surely leave indentations.
Calling on all her strength, she tried to stay still, but her body bucked with pleasure, her muscles spasming in a desperate attempt to draw him in, and all she could do was beg. "Please, more. Reece, I want more."
"Say it," he ordered. "Tell me what you want."