by Aimee Carson
Just like when her parents had split, and her family—her life as she’d known it—had been over. She rubbed her brow, as if to erase the memory of the entire fabric of her existence changing, and being powerless to stop it. The terrible feeling of helplessness.
She blinked and looked up at him. “So I vowed I’d be more careful in the future. That I wouldn’t set myself up for failure again.”
And maintaining a measure of control in a relationship was paramount.
“There’s a fine line between being cautious and living with restrictive rules that suck the enjoyment from life.” He closed a bit of the gap between them. “I think you need to stop analyzing your every move and let go and live a little.”
The expression in his eyes set her blood simmering. And it was the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator door at her back that kept her from collapsing.
The beep of a message came again, and Cutter glanced at the phone in his hand. When he looked up, there was a definite light in his eyes as he held up the screen. “Too Hot to Handle’s reply.”
Requirement is too restrictive a word. Sometimes rules are meant to be broken.
And as Cutter continued to hold her gaze, the look heavy with everything they’d shared and the achy potential for more, Jessica’s body burned.
“Cutter,” she said, trying to sound confident, her resolve slowly slipping away. “Blindly following your libido isn’t a good idea. I’ve heard the stories.” It sounded weak, but she didn’t care. “I lead divorce-support groups where people discuss where they went wrong.”
His tone left no doubt what he thought of her extracurricular activity. “You volunteer to listen to other people bitch and moan?”
She sent him an overly patient look. “Having a safe place to vent your emotions is healthy.”
“Yeah,” he said dryly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be the one to listen to it. That’s what unsuspecting strangers are for.” Cutter’s frank gaze scanned her face. “Jessica, you need to relax. Quit being so...” He lifted a hand and traced her collarbone with a finger, sending delicious messages along her nerves. “Focused.”
She was focused all right. On his scent. On the seductive feel of his finger. After fifteen months of marriage and two sexual relationships, it wasn’t fair that one touch from Cutter lit her up like the neon lights of South Beach at night.
“Or do I have to send you out on another date to get you back in my arms again?” he said.
The sensation of his skin on hers clouded her brain, producing goose bumps and sizzling heat, and understanding rose slowly. Until it toppled over her, and she pressed her back harder against the refrigerator, her voice a squeak. “You were manipulating me?”
“’Course not,” he said. His finger explored the sensitive hollow above her collarbone. “I just encouraged you to compare your options.” And every one of those men had left her wanting.
More specifically, wanting more of Cutter.
“So what’s it going to be?” he said. Cutter’s hand paused on the tie at the back of her neck—the one that held up her bodice—and Jessica’s heart almost slowed to a stop. “Safety and security?” His green eyes grew dark. “Or a little bit more of the unknown?”
CHAPTER NINE
DESPITE her need for comfortable control, the ache inside Jessica demanded she explore more of the unknown with Cutter. It was either that or therapy—perhaps in a detox facility specializing in brainwashing. Or maybe memory-erasing.
Heart revitalized and now thumping boldly, she stared at him, knowing she was losing the battle. But he’d made her work for him in the car, and then she’d bolted like a coward.
Pride demanded she play this round with more cool.
“Our first time was in a backseat,” she said. “And now you’re offering me either a countertop or a kitchen table.” Not that she’d ever experienced either, but that was irrelevant. She lifted her chin. “My decision would be easier if I was presented with something more original.”
Without a word he took hold of her shoulders and turned her around, placing her palms against the refrigerator, like a cop about to frisk her. Her heart rate skyrocketed. Hands covering hers, his hard thighs, chest—and harder erection—pressed against Jessica, enveloping her in steely muscle. Stunned by the wicked sensation, she forgot to breathe.
“Refrigerators are far from standard.” His voice went husky at her ear. “But what turns you on?”
Paralyzed by an uncontrollable desire for a bad boy, she couldn’t reply. And how did one play it cool while oxygen-deficient? Dizzy, she inhaled sharply. “I...”
It was a pathetic effort.
“Come on, Sunshine. For once, apply that honest dialogue to your sex life.” His low, rough voice was electrifying. “What does Jessica Wilson fantasize about?”
Her body throbbed. Since they’d made love, her dark dreams had grown more vivid. Detailed. And decadent, leaving her defenseless in their wake. Cutter’s form, plastered to her back, triggered her answer. But handing over that much power was impossible. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” And with that, he tugged on her tie and pushed her dress and panties to the floor. Her thoughts were still spinning from the sudden turn of events when Cutter shifted her two steps to the right, replanting her hands against the freezer side of the fridge. “Stay here.”
And then he moved away.
Dumbfounded, Jessica blinked, feeling ridiculous wearing nothing but high heels, hands braced against an appliance. Relieved he’d let his question go, she peeked over her shoulder as Cutter returned with a dishtowel, and her eyebrows drew together in question.
He paused behind her, his gaze intense. “Do you trust me?”
Unnerved, struggling for air, she hesitated...and realized the answer was yes. The irreverent rebel was too bold, too blunt and occasionally rude, but he wouldn’t hurt her.
When she nodded, Cutter said, “If we break your need for safety and security, I might get an answer to my question.” He covered her eyes with the makeshift blindfold, tying it behind her head.
Sweat pricked her temples. “Cutter...” The word ended with a nervous laugh. Unable to see, she heard the refrigerator open beside her, bottles being shuffled and then the door closed. What had she signed on for? “Cutter?” her nerves stretched with curiosity and apprehension, feeling exposed. “What are you doing?”
“Starting with my fantasy about you.”
Thick liquid sloshed in a container, and Jessica’s stomach flopped. “That better not be hot sauce.”
A rusty chuckle came from behind. “Nope.” Cutter swept her hair aside. “I’ve thought about this since I tasted your creamy vanilla shoulders at the Aquarium.”
Jessica smelled chocolate before she felt a cool drizzle on a shoulder. His finger smoothed the slick circle, sensitizing her skin, which grew worse when his mouth sampled his creation.
“Definitely the right mix of flavors,” he rumbled against her.
She swallowed hard. “I think chocolate syrup qualifies as a cliché.”
“Yeah.” He removed his mouth from her shoulder. “It’s a good one, too.”
Enclosed in the dark, she wondered what would come next. Her muscles tensed when a wet finger touched her back, tracing syrup between her shoulder blades, and his mouth followed to clean the mess, searing her skin. After a pause, a chocolaty dollop hit the opposing shoulder, lips nibbling next, and Jessica sucked in a breath. A brief lull...and a syrupy finger slicked down the curve of her waist, a tongue licked it clean and perspiration pricked Jessica’s neck.
Desire spiraled higher as, between each of Cutter’s choices, Jessica tensed, vulnerable and sightless—waiting for what would follow. The sweet smell of chocolate, the sound of her harsh breathing and the scrape of Cutter’s teeth filled her heightened senses. As the p
leasure curled tighter, her visionless world condensed to the feel of Cutter, her body’s response and the cool refrigerator beneath her palms.
With each new spot, he moved lower, until her body was singing. When he knelt on the floor behind her, her head spun.
“What do you dream about?” Cutter drew a line of chocolate up one buttock, across the small of her back, and down the other cheek. And then he held her hips, feeding on her flesh with his lips, tongue and teeth. Driving her mad.
Engulfing her in flames.
By the end, Jessica’s need was urgent. Stronger than any reservations. More powerful than her need to maintain a little control. Cutter stood and wrapped his arms around her, his hard body plastered behind hers. One hand on her breast, teasing the tip, the other stroked between her thighs, an agonizing pressure building as hot moisture made his fingers slick.
His tone was sinfully dark. “What qualifies as original to Jessica Wilson?”
Blindfolded, trembling and desperate, the last of her cool slipped, and she gave in to the desire, pressing back against his hard shaft. “This.”
Cutter went still, obviously not following her vague answer. And then understanding filled his tone. “You mean this position.”
A flush heated her face. Embarrassingly enough, it was just that simple. “Yes.”
Without a word, Cutter released his zipper and kneed her thighs apart. Breath frozen, heart bashing her ribs, she tipped her hips back to meet him, and Cutter plunged inside her wet folds.
With a gasp of shocked pleasure, she arched her back, damp palms braced against the chilled stainless steel in front of her. Cutter wrapped his arms back around her, leaning over her, thrusting deep again and again, fingers stroking her between the legs. His free hand captured her jaw, turned her mouth to meet his. Hard, chocolaty lips devoured hers in a moist, open-mouthed kiss.
It was just as delicious as she’d imagined, as decadent as she’d dreamed, smashing her last thoughts of control. Defenseless, caught in his strong embrace, Jessica turned herself over to the wickedly primitive need as Cutter consumed her from behind.
* * *
“Tell me again why I’m here?” Cutter said into his cellular.
Jessica’s chuckle was low in his ear. “The celebrity originally scheduled to appear for the Battle of the Sexes photo op had to cancel.” Her voice sounded amused. “And you volunteered to come in his place.”
“Oh, yeah.” Cutter gripped his phone. “Remind me to be more careful when you’re naked in my bed.” Hoping to spot Jessica, he wove his way through the throng of locals filling the new gymnasium at the Boys and Girls Club, all funded by Jessica’s ex. Bleachers lined two sides, with basketball hoops mounted at either end. On the polished maple floor of the court, round tables had been set up for the grand opening dinner.
“How did the photo op go?” she said.
“I sidestepped the reporter’s questions and smiled for the camera.”
“You smiled?”
Cutter bit back the grin and finally spied Jessica across the crowd. Cellphone pressed against her ear, she was dressed in a denim skirt that ended a tantalizing several inches above the knees and dainty flat sandals. Despite the casual attire, she managed to look as beautiful as she had in her formal wear.
The long expanse of bare legs was definitely a winner in his book.
“Could be smile is an exaggeration,” he said. “But I definitely managed not to be disagreeable. Which is amazing considering the torture this event is turning out to be.” He threaded his way through the people and leaned against the basketball pole, ten feet from Jessica and her gorgeous display of legs. “I wouldn’t have volunteered if I’d known I still had to keep my hands to myself in public.”
Jessica’s eyes found his from across the crowd, and she sent him a sultry smile. Despite the distance, the effect was like a wrecking ball to the gut. “As far as the guests are concerned,” she said. “I’m here with Steve.” She turned to the wall plastered with the simplistic artwork of kids. Hand prints. Stick figures. And the swirls of abstract finger paints. “And we are just friends. So remember,” she went on, her voice low and exquisitely sexy, “no touching.”
In the past three days and two delicious nights, they’d done a lot of touching.
After the interlude at his refrigerator, the online flirting they’d finished with the contestants had been the most stimulating to date. But trying to keep his mind on their task—much less his comments PG-rated—was damn near impossible with her lounging naked in his bed.
He looked at the poster Jessica was pretending to examine. Even from a distance, it was obvious it was by a small child, the features on the face grossly out of proportion. “That one is definitely a Picasso in the making.” The responding chuckle in his ear was low. Her gauzy, off-the-shoulder blouse exposed the creamy shoulders, and the memory of the taste of her skin set his body on fire. “It’s killing me that I can’t touch you.”
“It’ll be good for you.” She targeted him with her wide, brown gaze, her face glowing with humor. “Encourage a little self-discipline.”
A couple strolled between them, and he waited until his line of sight cleared before speaking. “Problem is,” he said. “I have none around you. And that blouse isn’t helping.”
“Cutter,” she said. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“No one knows we’re talking to each other.” He turned to lean his back against the pole, eyes scanning the crowd, but unable to prevent them from returning to the beautiful woman. And even though it was impossible, he swore he smelled her delicate scent. Or maybe after the past three days it was simply seared into his memory. “I figured out your smell.”
She turned her profile to him, examining another poster on the wall. “What are you talking about?”
“Sweet, with a hint of cinnamon,” he said. “It reminds me of apple cider.”
Hell, when had he started sounding so romantic?
“That’s my shampoo,” she said.
He looked at her again, the woman who, if he wasn’t careful, would soon have him spouting compliments and smiling like a moron. He still couldn’t figure out why making love to her was different. “Can’t I at least meet you secretly behind the bleachers? Just a quick kiss and a grope to get me through until dinner?”
She wrinkled her nose in what looked like an amused grimace. “FYI, the word grope is never associated with anything appealing.”
“Is fondle better?”
“Most women would prefer the term caress.”
He gripped his cellular and looked back at the crowd milling about, trying to pretend the beautiful lady didn’t have his total attention. “Caress isn’t in my vocabulary. But I’ll agree to the term if you’ll agree to my offer of a secret meeting.”
“Not going to happen, Mr. Wildcard,” she said. “We’ll sit at Steve’s table for dinner. But that’s it for the contact.”
He pursed his lips and deliberately dropped his voice to a suggestive tone. “Not even if I promise to do something spectacularly original to you?”
There was a pause on the line, and Jessica turned to look at him. Even from ten feet away he could see her gaze was hot. Every cell in his body was blitzed with an energy that left him sizzling, as if he’d been shoved in a microwave set on high.
Her voice was husky. “In that case, I might be open to hearing about your plans.”
A bonfire set up residence in his gut and spread lower, and Cutter could practically see the sparks arcing in the air between them.
“Jess,” a masculine voice called.
Beating his libido into submission, Cutter hit the disconnect button on his cellular and watched Jessica’s ex approach her as she slipped her phone into her purse. Dressed in a sharp navy suit, Steve Brice still looked relaxed enough to blend in with the casual
crowd. The dark-haired man stopped and kissed Jessica on the cheek. When Steve’s gaze caught Cutter’s, he steered Jessica in Cutter’s direction.
“Good to see you again,” Steve said as he stuck out his hand.
“Nice gym.” Cutter returned the handshake.
Steve gave a no-big-deal shrug. “It helps keep the kids out of trouble.”
Cutter’s lips twisted at the irony. “I’m sure the community appreciates your efforts. I would have been better off spending time at my local Boys and Girls Club as a boy.” Would have made his mother happy, too. She’d made it clear she’d never wanted him, and had lived to get her moody teen out of the house, not caring where he was...as long as it was somewhere else. “’Course, by the time I had my driver’s license, proving I had the fastest car in the neighborhood was my only goal.”
Truthfully, getting away from home had been his initial goal. And then he’d hooked up with a crowd of racers, discovering the thrill of high speeds. Beating the competition. Winning. The only worries he’d had were his opponent and the possibility of dying. The first had driven him to go faster.
The second hadn’t scared him at all.
Steve smiled. “The whole point of the club is to keep the kids off the streets.”
“True,” Cutter said. He let out a wry scoff. “But I never was much for conformity.”
The man’s grin grew bigger, and his sidelong glance at his ex was less than subtle. “And how’s that working out for you now?”
Cutter did his best to keep the smile from his face. “So far so good.”
“You haven’t caved under the pressure?” Steve said.
Cutter’s lips twisted in amusement. “Not yet.” Though his thoughts about Jessica’s scent did make his response questionable.
Jessica glanced suspiciously from Cutter and then back to Steve. “What exactly are we discussing here?”
“I’m not sure,” Steve said with a grin.