A quick glance over her shoulder and the echo of the camera motor told her he’d gone behind his tiny box. How convenient for him to hide when she lay so exposed, so deliciously available. The lace, slightly rough against her skin, pricked her as she stretched. When she slipped her bottom nearly off the seat onto the gas tank, the lingerie caressed her, enticed her, aroused her. Trickles of sweat, beading between her breasts under the hot lights and snug leather, tickled as they traced a path downward.
“Raise your arms over your head,” Jack said. Then he asked, “What are you thinking?”
She did as he instructed, arching her back so her breasts were thrust forward. “I’m thinking about the hot lights.”
“Is that all?” The camera continued to buzz. The sound grew louder as Jack neared.
She ran her fingers into her hair and shook the tresses until they floated around her in a thick mass of waves.
“No. I’m thinking about how this leather is making me slick and wet.”
“How wet?”
He stood directly over her, his hips level with her head.
“Wet enough to slide right off this bike if I’m not careful.”
Without taking the camera from his eye, he circled her, snapping shots at close range.
“How does the leather feel against your breasts?”
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to be shocked by the question, only to search for the answer. His words alone caused her to pucker taut and round.
“Tight.”
“Feel with your hands. Touch yourself.” Before she could protest, he commanded. “Do it. Show me how I’d touch you.”
He stood across from her, watching her from behind the handlebars. Poised above her knees, he lowered the camera for an instant until she drew her hands to her breasts, at first cupping them, wishing the neckline was low instead of constraining. Then she circled the tips of her nipples, tracing her areolas, exploring the sensation.
Fingers weren’t enough—unless they were Jack’s.
“I want this off.” She reached to undo the zipper, but it caught, refusing to slide down.
A moment of silence passed before Jack recognized the raw need in her expression. He had no intention of making love to her on the cycle, no matter how deeply he burned for her. They were rekindling the flame, producing a few dangerous flashpoints. But making love again so soon could ultimately douse the fire. He had every intention of leaving her tonight with a terrible ache—one only he could soothe.
“Undo the zipper, Jack.”
He let the camera dangle from his neck, the hot lights only partially responsible for the sheen of moisture covering his palms. She’d gone further than he’d imagined, trusting him in this fantasy and playing the part.
“I have a better idea.” He knew he’d chosen this lingerie designer’s work for a good reason. Pressing two fingers into one of the tears in the leather, he pulled down, widening the gap, revealing the swelled curve of her left breast.
She looked at him with wide-eyed intrigue, then hooked her fingers into a tear at the base of her throat. “I hope this wasn’t too expensive.”
“It’s worth the price,” he answered, his throat parched.
She yanked the material slowly, sitting up gradually as her fingers revealed more of her skin. She slipped both hands into a tear at her belly and pulled until he could see the dark curls at the base of her thighs.
He caught her every movement, her every expression on camera.
She took her fingernails to her hose, raising the lace and tearing upward until slashes of pale skin peeked through the black weave. Each rip enraptured her, each movement freed her, urging her toward a naked need that had little to do with the absence of clothing.
Jack whipped the camera off his neck and mounted the bike with her, facing her. He grabbed her hips and pressed them to the swelling beneath his jeans, knowing only that he had to feel her there against him, wanting him.
Angela thrust her fingers into his hair and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss, as hard and hot as the leather seat of the Harley, sapped her breath. She heaved when he pulled back, slipped his hands into the leather and ripped the rest of the top away until her breasts fell free. He grabbed her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting her so his mouth could ravage her.
He sucked thirstily, then bit her hard enough to send explosions of color into her eyes but lightly enough for her to cry out with pleasure.
“Oh, yes, yes.”
He raised his eyes from his feast and caught her stare.
“Jack, I want you.”
The aching between her legs, intensified by Jack’s thick sex against her inner thighs, grew until she writhed against him uncontrollably. She couldn’t stand the wild sensation. She had to have him. Here. Now.
Visibly winded, Jack pulled her forward and kissed her deeply, their tongues crashing and dueling as desire engulfed them. He lifted her, her legs locked around him, off the bike, then loosened her grip until she stood.
Then he pushed her away.
“Enough.”
Dazed, she took two steps back, nearly tripping over the bike.
“What?”
“Please understand. This can’t happen. Not tonight.”
He stalked to the tripod and slammed his fist against the control board, bringing up the studio lights with an explosive flash.
“What more do you want from me, Jack? I played your game. I even enjoyed it.” She grabbed the torn straps of leather and held them across her chest.
He stepped forward but kept his distance.
“But do you want it to end?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re too important to me. If we make love now, if we give in, we’ll finish what we’ve only begun to start. Tonight was hot, angel. If I don’t get into an icy shower in about ten seconds you’re going to find yourself flung to the floor. But this is just the beginning of what we can do together. Just the beginning.”
She struggled to understand. Her body screamed in protest.
“Don’t you want more?” he asked, though his question seemed more like a plea.
No, she didn’t. She didn’t want to. And yet, she did. She wanted him with a desperation she’d never experienced. Thoughts of seduction and removing Jack from her system forever disappeared under the fiery need coursing through her veins.
But she did understand him—somewhat. Despite the discomfort and distress assaulting her, she’d experienced blinding passion only moments before. She craved the sensations again, wanted to ingrain them in her memory so she’d never forget how it felt to be a sexually powerful woman.
Silence surrounded her until she gained the ability to nod.
With that, he turned and headed up the staircase lining the outer wall. He left her standing there, confusion on her face and ragged leather and lace hanging from her body.
7
JACK BRACED HIMSELF against the windowpane, watching Angela climb into her Pathfinder with a slam of her car door and speed out of his parking lot with a squeal of tires. After tearing off his shirt, he shoved off his jeans, groaning as the denim strained over his swollen sex. He couldn’t get in the shower fast enough, though he knew the cold water couldn’t ease his discomfort.
As the water pelted him, he called himself a fool. He’d schemed to bring Angela to the brink of a passion so different and erotic she’d yearn for him with an insuppressible hunger—one that would take more than one night to satisfy. But his plan backfired with the force of a Mack truck. The brunt of the blast had pummeled him senseless.
He’d wanted Angela for ten long years. Only two nights ago, he’d made love to her, though it seemed like a century since he’d felt himself inside her, surrounded by her, penetrating the walls she’d built around her body and soul. He’d kept himself from ravishing her downstairs by focusing on the future—by reminding himself he wanted her for more than a night, a week or even a month. But what a night it would ha
ve been.
He stood in the shower stall for nearly half an hour, wishing he was in England where the tap ran cold as ice, instead of Florida, where the tepid water barely eased the ache between his legs. He almost resorted to other means, but resisted. He’d wait for her. A few more days wouldn’t kill him. He considered hiding his car keys to avoid a late-night visit to her home, then he realized he didn’t know where she lived.
He toweled himself quickly, wrapped the terry cloth around his waist and turned off the downstairs studio lights from the upstairs switch. He didn’t glance over the railing, knowing one glimpse of the Harley would torture him as much as his memory of Angela in torn leather and shredded lace. In the darkness, he went downstairs, locked the door, then returned to the loft with lightning speed.
Coward. He flung off the towel, pulled on the loosest pair of boxers he could find and fell onto his bed, knowing sleep wouldn’t come. Maybe if he focused on her business proposition, he wouldn’t fixate on the way she’d thrust her breasts into his mouth, or the sweet taste of her nipples between his teeth, or the demanding plunge of her tongue against his.
Though he’d been out of the States for a while, he knew the reputation Davenport Homes held in the upscale housing market. Angela mentioned the Whispering Palms development near Orlando, but Davenport operated in nearly every state from his main base in California to the condo market in New York. One of Jack’s sisters lived in a Davenport home, but which sister he wasn’t sure. Thanks to parents who viewed marriage and family as a revolving door, Jack had half a dozen sisters and two brothers scattered around the world. Except for his older sister Jenna, the child who caused his parents to marry in the first place, he had little contact with them. And he only saw Jenna because she’d spent the last five years as a fashion coordinator for a top magazine. If they hadn’t crossed paths doing business, Jack doubted he’d see her at all.
But what did he expect from his bizarre family? He slid under the crisp cotton sheet and stared at the ceiling, remembering when Linda and Sully divorced. Jack had only been six years old, but he still associated a sigh of relief with the moment his mother’s lawyer brought the papers for her signature.
The feeling ended when his mother married the lawyer the next year, only to divorce him before Jack graduated elementary school. After that, he’d witnessed her parade of stepfathers and “uncles” with detached disgust. He resigned himself early on to the belief that he’d turn out the same way—unable to commit to anyone and unwilling to believe in love—until he met Angela.
Drama class brought them together, and the fact that her family operated with similar craziness gave them a common bond. Though her parents remained married and faithful, they traveled extensively with their business, leaving their two daughters to fend for themselves. Remarkably, Angela subscribed to a deep belief in the importance of family. Once or twice, she’d broken through Jack’s teenage cynicism. He’d let himself dream about lasting love—until excessive adolescent testosterone kicked the romantic notion right out of his head.
Now he was older, wiser and more cynical than ever. He yearned to have Angela restore his battered faith in love, marriage and family—ideals he’d tried to find with Lily, though he should have known from the start this pursuit would fail. Lily may have come from a big family reared in a medium-size midwestern city, but the stars of fame sparkled in her eyes like the lights of Paris. Even when he suspected their relationship would fail, he’d never imagined the circumstances.
They’d been doing a location shoot in Dublin when Lily became ill, queasy and pale as if from a mysterious stomach virus that lasted a few weeks. Then, after a discreet trip to the doctor and a quick sojourn to London, she’d returned as beautiful as ever—and twice as cold. And since rumors moved swiftly in the fashion industry, he learned the reason she’d left Ireland so swiftly and returned with such bitterness.
Jack rolled over, groaning, trying to forget how Lily had refused to answer his pointed questions. She told him not to worry about it. He told her to leave. Before she’d finished packing, he’d received his invitation to the reunion. Sweet memories of his Angela and the possibility of a new life propelled him out of the rented flat in less than three days.
Maybe he’d been foolish. Maybe he’d been idealistic and desperate. But seeing Angela again, even with her newfound sensuality, injected him with the impetus he needed. Now he had a chance to extend their time together and make up for his past sins. She hadn’t said as much, but Jack knew that without the Davenport account, Angela might lose Harris and Associates.
The prospect of helping her—really helping her—lightened his brooding mood. She hadn’t asked him to prove anything to her. She seemed to hand over her trust with an ease that amazed him, given the countless reasons he’d given her to doubt him. At barely eighteen, he’d been stupid to toss her aside because she wouldn’t give in to his sexual advances. Of course, what he’d done afterward was worse.
Jack kicked the sheets off and threw his arm over his eyes. The memory of the post-prom party was hazy, at best, yet he distinctly remembered waking up in the back seat of his car at dawn, half-dressed, with Angela’s best friend, Chryssie, draped over his lap. He’d been too drunk to recall in detail what had happened, but he had a damn good idea. If Angela knew how they had betrayed her, breakup or not, he was sure she wouldn’t be speaking to him now, much less asking him to help her on the most important business project of her career.
Jack rolled over, shoved a pillow under his head and tried to get comfortable. Angela didn’t know the whole story, but Jack did have a lot to prove to her—a lot to prove to himself. And he intended to succeed, no matter what it cost.
“HE’S HERE,” Nancy’s disembodied voice announced over Angela’s office intercom.
She slapped the call button, not caring that he’d hear her instructions. “Make him wait. Outside, if you can.”
Before she’d disengaged the system, the door to her office swung open and Jack slipped inside with Nancy on his heels.
“You’ve gotta be quicker than that, Ms. Brennan, if you plan to run effective interference.”
Angela smiled as Nancy shot Jack the nastiest look her fresh face could muster. “I’m an executive assistant, Mr. Sullivan, not an offensive tackle. Though I wouldn’t mind taking up the asinine sport if it gave me the strength to throw you out on your arrogant butt.”
Jack drew his hand to his chest as if he’d been wounded. He looked to Angela for sympathy, but got no more than a shrug and a sardonic smile.
“She’s lethal, angel. It’s no surprise that you hired her.”
“Yes, and I’d like to keep her happy so she’ll stay. You can go, Nan. I’ll be fine. He’s annoying, but he’s relatively harmless.”
Nancy turned on her heel with a defiant spin and gave the door a slam on her way out.
Angela wished what she’d said was true. Jack Sullivan was anything but harmless. She’d learned that the hard way last night. A twinge of heat sparked in the center of her belly at the memory, despite her efforts to stay mad at him and thwart any renewed desire.
“You’re early.” She closed her laptop and slid it into its case.
Jack plopped into the chair across from her desk. The sound of his slacks against the leather sounded uncomfortably familiar.
“I didn’t want to deal with traffic. I-4 is a bear with all the construction.”
His attempt at chitchat drew a twisted smirk.
“Let me get the finished proposal from Nancy and we can go.”
Angela headed for the door, hoping for a moment of refuge prior to being locked up in the car with him for two hours. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d left her, wanting, aching, last night. She’d stood alone in the studio, looking ridiculous and feeling humiliated, until she became angry enough—at him and herself—to rip off what remained of the leather bodysuit and throw on her clothes. Driving home at a legal speed took all her self-control. Only a late-night swim in her pool
calmed her enough to sleep. And damned if her dreams weren’t haunted by glittering chrome Harleys and slick black leather.
“Not so fast, Angela.” Jack shot up and grabbed her wrist before she turned the knob. “We need to talk.”
“We have the entire car ride to fill with chatter.” She strained slightly against the heat of his skin and the fresh ocean scent of his cologne.
“Now.”
He led her to the couch that lined the southern wall of her office.
She sat reluctantly, fighting the urge to reclaim her hand from his. “Look, I understand what happened.”
“I wouldn’t have left you if I didn’t think you understood.”
Actually, she had no idea if her suspicions were true or not. Why would a man who claimed to want her so badly, who encouraged her to be more erotically bold and enticing than she’d ever felt before, suddenly push her away? He’d told her from the beginning he didn’t want just a one-night stand, but his means to draw their relationship out had to be as torturous to him as they were to her. Why would a man put himself through such punishment? Men simply didn’t do that.
Unless they are in love.
Angela shoved the thought out of her mind. Jack Sullivan had had his chance to love her. And he blew it. Besides, he didn’t believe the emotion existed, and she couldn’t afford to entertain the notion that he’d changed his mind—not with Dani in her life.
The more time she spent with him, the more she worried about the condition of her heart. She’d thought he remained in her dreams for all these years simply because she hadn’t slept with him. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“I’ve accepted your challenge, Jack. It wasn’t easy last night. I can’t deny that. But if we’re going to go through with this, then we both have to face hard choices. There’s nothing left to discuss.”
He took her chin in his hand, examining her face closely. “You sound so serious, as if our relationship is just another business deal.”
She jerked her face away. “I’m sorry.” She stood, walked to the door and clutched the knob fiercely. “Look, I’m riding a caffeine high, I’m nervous about this meeting, and the last thing I need to deal with right now is what happened last night. That woman on the Harley can’t pull off this deal.”
Seducing Sullivan Page 10