Fortunately for him, he had exactly the ammunition he needed.
“I have a challenge for you—a counteroffer I’ve been obsessing over ever since you called.” He dug into her protective self-hug and dislodged her hands. Rhythmically, he worked the tension out of her fingers, then twined her hands with his. “I’m through with one-night stands and weekend flings. Especially with you. This attraction is too strong for that. We need to play it out…in a big way.”
“How?” The question popped out quickly, as if she didn’t want to give herself too much time to think.
Jack leaned against the seat of the Harley, encouraged by her willingness to hear him out. He wouldn’t think about her motivation. He refused to care if she accepted his challenge simply to save her business. His plan would allow him the one thing he needed most—time.
Using her hand as a lifeline, he reeled her closer until she stood between his parted legs, her thighs against his and her breasts at eye level. “I called you frigid once. I was dead wrong. That I’ve already learned. But I still don’t think you’ve experienced complete and total passion.” He spied the gentle rise and fall beneath the pearlized silk of her blouse and had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from kissing her there.
“What was Saturday night? Wasn’t that passion?”
“With us, there could be so much more.”
The idea intrigued her, frightened her. She needed his help, but this wasn’t what she’d expected. Or was it?
Instinctively, and despite the proximity between her breasts and his mouth, she assumed the straight-shouldered pose of a practiced negotiator. “Just what kind of challenge do you have in mind?”
His breath skittered across her skin. “When we’re alone, like this—” he smoothed his hands over her hips “—you’ll do whatever I ask, no matter how unique.”
She laughed, but not because his words were funny. The twitter in her voice betrayed her wildly electrified nerves. “Unique? I didn’t know you were into kinky.”
He shook his head and slid his fingers around her waist. “I’m not. Kinky is for perverts.” His body molded to hers like dripping wax to the shaft of a candle. “I simply want to explore every possibility. When we make love again, I want you to be so far over the edge, you’ll never forget what I feel like.”
The thick desire in his voice and the intense look in his eyes made her swallow deeply, seeking the moisture that abandoned her mouth.
“Will that make you some sort of teacher?”
He took her hand again and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist, sending a wave of longing through her body. “If you’ll let me.”
Angela closed her eyes, trying to fight the urge to chew on her bottom lip, trying to ignore the heat rising from his hands along her spine. Her insides dissolved like a poolside Popsicle, the tiny trickles of candy-sweetened juice slithering down her skin, waiting for Jack to lap them with his tongue.
She pushed away, forcing herself to think. His bold offer tugged at her, yet she had to consider his proposal with at least a remnant of logic.
“Don’t think, angel,” he told her, reading her thoughts. “Just for tonight. Let me show you what I mean. What I want. What I know you want.”
He kissed her neck, then disappeared behind a Japanese screen. She heard him rummaging through the rack of lingerie she’d seen there. The quick slide of the metal hanger as he dismissed an outfit reminded her of the measured beat of a snare drum prior to a public hanging.
Don’t be dramatic, she told herself. Jack might be planning to take her to the brink of something unknown and terrifying, but he wasn’t going to kill her. Unless, of course, she died from embarrassment.
Her fears were nearly confirmed when Jack emerged, dangling three tiny outfits hooked on his index finger.
“Let’s see if you’re a woman of your word.” He approached at a deliberate pace. “You said you were an adventurer. Lesson one is about to begin. If you pass the test, I guarantee you’ll win that account.”
She took a deep breath, picked up her glass and tossed back the last swallow of wine. The whole situation should have appalled her. The old Angela would have turned on her sensible one-inch heels, but not before slapping Jack squarely across the cheek for suggesting such an exorbitant price. But the new Angela didn’t. Deep in the center of her belly, a tremor of excitement began, then slowly, like the vibrations of an earthquake, spread to the rest of her. The mild shaking, partially from fear and partially from anticipation, fired her. The new Angela wanted this as much as he did—maybe even more.
She grabbed the hangers from him.
“Before the bell rings, teach, I want you to understand one thing,” she insisted.
“What’s that?”
“This student doesn’t have a fear of authority. I know how to say no, and when I do, I mean it.”
He traced the wispy bangs hanging to her eyebrows, framing her heart-shaped face. Authority sparkled in her hazel eyes, nearly gutting him with need.
“Let’s hope you won’t have to say no to me. Not ever again.”
When she vanished behind the screen, he let out a pent-up breath. If she only knew how much he needed her tutelage, she might run screaming out of his life for good.
The sound of her skirt being unzipped set him to work like a starting pistol. She’d accepted the challenge so brazenly, Jack pulled props from boxes with renewed vigor. He searched the mover’s manifests as if they were treasure maps and fought the urge to forget the whole thing and simply take her to bed.
As he retrieved his tripod and camera from the area near the carousel horse, he considered Angela’s proposal regarding Whispering Palms. She’d disclosed every sordid detail of her associate’s betrayal without attempting to evoke pity. Clearly, she blamed herself for not anticipating the jerk’s intentions, but not an ounce of angst peppered her tone. Her pragmatism and confidence turned him on—probably a result of the two years he’d spent with Lily.
Remembering that fiasco forced Jack to acknowledge that he would have taken Angela’s offer even if she hadn’t accepted his sexual challenge. Working with a woman to whom honesty and integrity were more precious than slender hips and unblemished skin could serve to renew the faith he’d once had in women—faith Lily had almost destroyed.
With Angela, he stood a decent chance of finding the one thing that had eluded him all these years—and all his life. Lily’s lies made Jack realize, as hokey as it sounded to his own jaded ears, that he wanted a life partner, a wife, perhaps even a family. Who better to start one with than his sweet angel?
Angela’s voice from the other side of the screen zapped Lily out of his mind.
“It’s kind of quiet in here. Do you have any music?”
He tried not to hear the gentle rustle of material sliding up her skin.
“Any requests?”
She poked her head around the screen. The sight of her bare shoulder caused a pleasant tightening just below his stomach. Was sweet the word he had used to describe Angela? Sweet as in the richest dark chocolate.
“You claim to know what I’ll like,” she purred.
Not exactly, but I’m about to find out. “Barbieri or Kenny G?” he asked, hoping his memory of her preference for brass and jazz proved accurate.
“Either. Both.”
She disappeared behind the screen, sending him straight to the CD rack. Either. Both. He only hoped she’d hold on to that sentiment once the lights went out and they went to work.
* * *
SHE WATCHED the shiny silver zipper in the mirror as she slid it up her back, enclosing herself in snug black leather from just below her buttocks to the top of her neck. Designed like a cycler’s sleeveless training suit, the outfit hugged every curve, allowing only glimpses of bare flesh through carefully placed slashes in the fabric. A sewn-in bra lifted her breasts to an enticing peak, and the color slimmed her hips beyond her wildest dreams. She accented the look with lace hose and spiked ankle boots. Th
e designer labels in everything didn’t surprise her. Jack Sullivan’s tastes didn’t run cheap.
He’d handed her three choices, but this one drew her interest as much as the Harley. She was taking her walk on the wild side with a relish that made her laugh. She wrapped a thick sterling chain of tiny linked handcuffs around her wrist.
Some good girl you are.
Sitting on a low stool in front of a brightly lit mirror, she poked around in the drawers for a dark shade of lipstick, forbidding herself to acknowledge any reservations. She’d reviewed all her qualms before she arrived. She knew if he accepted her job offer, they’d make love again. It seemed inevitable. And harrowing. And invigorating. Despite her mixed feelings, she blazed forward.
One lonely night away from Jack convinced her he’d been right. What they’d shared at the reunion was wonderful—but incomplete. Like a bite of forbidden fruit, she needed more. She had to satiate herself with Jack until every question, every possibility was explored and laid to rest. Only then could she leave him and his memory behind.
As she heard the opening bars of a Gato Barbieri tune, the studio’s lights dimmed. The lead-in, a string bass humming softly, lured her from the safety of the dressing area. Cocky in her top-notch leather, she pulled on fingerless gloves.
The studio lights pointed directly at her and shielded Jack from clear view. Behind his tripod, he fiddled with his camera until he sensed her presence. With a few strokes of the control board, the harsh light dissolved into a golden glow. Darkness surrounded them, muting the entire studio as if nothing existed beyond the small space they occupied.
“There isn’t film in that camera, is there?” She tried to mask the fearful urgency in her voice. She’d play Jack’s game willingly, but she wasn’t so certain she wanted tangible proof.
“There might be. That isn’t the point.” He spoke from the shadows behind the camera.
She placed her hands on her hips. “It damn well ought to be the point if you decide to pass pictures around at our next reunion.”
Jack emerged from the darkness. He’d untucked his shirt and kicked off his shoes. A small camera was hung around his neck. His expression made her pulse flutter. He’d said he’d push her beyond her limits.
From the look in his eyes, she believed him.
“I would never do anything to humiliate you, angel. At least, not on purpose.”
The poignancy of his words hit her hard. Did he know what she knew? Did he realize how his night with her best friend hurt her? Or did he believe she remained unaware of his betrayal? The flash of residual anger dispersed when he ran his hand up her arm.
“What happens here tonight—or any other night we’re together—is between you and me. Exclusively.”
The last word, spoken when he was close enough for her to smell the tantalizing scent of the sangria they’d shared earlier, erased her reluctance.
“Can you trust me?” he asked.
She searched for signs of deception, but his green irises, his dilated pupils and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes testified to his sincerity.
“I want to, Jack.”
He took her hand in his. “After tonight, you’ll know you can.” He raised her wrist to his lips and tenderly kissed her pulse at the edge of her glove. “I hurt you in the past, angel. I won’t again. That’s a promise I made to me…and now to you. I won’t break it.”
She took in his voice and how his words, edged with sensual promise, brimmed with honesty. She forced herself to acknowledge that none of the pain Jack had caused her had come from lies, but from omissions of truth.
“I want to believe you, Jack.”
“If you don’t,” Jack said, his lips searing her temple with a brief kiss, “this won’t work. You won’t feel what you need to feel—what I know you want to feel.”
She wanted to feel sexy, desired, free—all the things she’d never had the time or desire to experience until two nights ago. She suspected their first nights together were only a sizzling sparkler compared to the fireworks he promised. In her entire life, no man had tempted her to release her iron grip on the unwritten rules of propriety and decorum.
Except Jack Sullivan.
Still holding her hand, he led her to the Harley, braced upright by clamps around the wheels. The strains of the music broke into her mind and soothed her. Without prompting, she swung her leg over the seat, then watched with surprise at the darkening of Jack’s eyes and the slight flushing of his skin.
“I bet you look at all your models like that.” She crossed her arms defiantly. Jealousy suddenly bit at her, giving her cause to cool the molten warmth pooling within her. The feeling unnerved her. And they hadn’t even started.
“You’re unlike any of the models I’ve ever worked with, angel. And I’ve worked with loads of them. But we’re not here to take pictures of a pretty face or create an illusion for some magazine.” He reached under her thigh and guided her leg across the length of the bike, chafing the lace against her skin so her nerve endings flared with sensitivity. “What we’re about to do will be real. This isn’t just a fantasy.”
“The question is, will it be mine, or yours?” She stretched forward to wrap her fingers around the handgrips and turn them, as if revving the engine.
Angela couldn’t deny the fact that though they wanted each other, their ultimate goals were as dissimilar as the leather and lace she wore. She wanted an affair to end all affairs—a fire hot enough to burn Jack right out of her life. He wanted a flame that would brand him right into her soul.
“We’re not so different,” Jack said, as if sensing her thoughts. “By the end of the night, you’re going to see how alike we are. How we both want exactly the same thing.”
She let the words swirl in her mind, hoping, if only for an instant, that Jack would prove himself right.
The music washed over her like a summer storm. Leaning back, she braced her hands beneath her for balance.
“Okay. Now what?”
She had eased onto the machine without reserve, without any of the protest or shock he had expected. She’d tempted him with her sensual talents at the reunion, but Jack had expected her to revert to her virtuous self at the first sight of black leather and a fully loaded hog. But as she lay there, her buttocks shifting against the oiled seat and the leather straining against her full breasts, Jack forgot the Angela he once knew. And his camera. And his plan. All he could think of was the increasing throb in his groin.
He combed his hand through his hair and swallowed before speaking. “Just relax.” He moved to a safer distance. If he stayed close, the temptation to explore the differences between the suppleness of the leather and that of her skin would prove irresistible.
“How does the bike feel?” he asked.
“Cold.” She ran her ankle across the handlebars, as if inviting the frigid metal to chill her through her lacy black stockings.
“Let’s see if we can’t warm it up,” he suggested, already feeling the rise in his temperature.
She turned toward him slowly, seductively, knowing he watched her with the eye of an artist and the desire of a man. Jack obviously intended his experiment in passion to focus solely on her—at least, theoretically. Angela had other ideas.
“Is that what we’re here to do? Heat up a mass of metal?”
He adjusted the lights, moving them closer so their glow gilded her skin.
“We’re here to heat you up,” he crooned, his voice clearly meant to seduce her with its honeyed tone. “And to see what it would feel like to have sex on a bike.”
“Are we going to have sex on this bike?” She lifted her other leg until she lay on the cycle as if it was a cushioned chaise longue. The question, direct though it was, was important. Angela liked to know what to expect. Surprises rattled her. Even pleasant ones.
“Do you want to?” He’d closed the distance between them again. He probably stood only a few steps away. She’d closed her eyes to block out the glare of the studio lights
and she didn’t have the audacity to open them yet.
She concentrated on her precarious balance on the motorcycle, which drew her attention to the sensual feel of the powerful machine beneath her.
How fast would it go? How loud would it be?
“I have to admit, I find the idea…titillating,” she answered, inherently aware of the similarities between the bike and passionate lovemaking.
“Do you?” he asked, the question accompanied by the first whir and click of his camera. “An interesting word, titillating. Turn toward me.”
His first instruction seemed innocent enough, but she tried to prolong the process, attempting to latch onto the brazen seductress she’d discovered within herself for the reunion. With Jack standing so near she could smell the faint fragrance of his cologne, it wasn’t hard. The scent of him, the memory of his rock-hard muscles pressed against her heated skin, were like an incantation transforming her into a sexy, uninhibited siren. And she liked the feeling.
The sound of leather rubbing against leather as she adjusted her position contrasted with the sultry sounds of the jazz purring from the speakers. The music, low so as not to block out their voices, gave rhythm to her motion and tempo to the slide of her hand across the chrome exhaust.
“You didn’t answer my question.” She opened her eyelids slowly. When his flash popped white, she blinked.
“Wouldn’t you rather wonder? What would having sex on the bike be like? What would I do?”
She smiled slyly. “Why don’t you just show me?”
“No.” The word resounded in cacophonic contrast to the velvety jazz.
Her eyes opened wider.
“I’m not going to show you. Not yet,” he promised. “I want you to show me.”
Balanced on her back, her spiked heels on the handlebars, Angela slid forward and ran her hands down her thighs. She bent and raised her knees above her hips, then wiggled her bottom until she achieved a comfortable position. The attendant tingle brought a sigh to her lips.
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