by Leslie Kelly
Apparently hearing her sincerity, he no longer hesitated. He waved to their waitress, then murmured, “But I do reserve the right to ask you if you’ve read any good books lately on the ride back to the hotel.”
“Books. Okay, I can do that.”
And she could. Books were fine. So were movies and politics and sports and anything else that didn’t really require intimate conversation.
He just couldn’t ask her about her past relationships, her family background or her footloose lifestyle. She wouldn’t share details of her aversion to small towns, home, hearth, wholesome values or anything else resembling the world in which she’d grown up.
And she definitely didn’t want to talk about her slightly hardened heart. Or the fact that some people didn’t even seem to think she had one.
5
Thanksgiving
“SO, I’VE BEEN MEANING to ask you, how’d your folks take you not coming home for the holiday weekend?”
Sprawled back in a comfortable, cushy chair in the rec room of her friend Jazz’s parents’ house, Amanda resisted the urge to unsnap her khakis. After the two full plates of Thanksgiving dinner, plus the pumpkin pie and the teensy sliver of pecan that she’d simply had to taste, she should be glad the snap hadn’t just popped on its own.
“Manda? Were they upset?”
Tryptophan kicking in, she yawned and shook her head. “Actually, I think they were relieved.”
Jazz, who supervised the mechanics who kept Clear-Blue Air flying, curled up in her own chair, her head barely reaching the top of it. She was petite, five-foot-four, but you’d never know that by the way she ran her mechanics’ shop or the magic way she coaxed the best performance out of an airplane.
The two of them were hiding down in the converted basement. They’d finished dinner a few hours ago and Jazz’s big family had just begun saying their goodbyes. Neither of them being the air-kisses type, Amanda and Jazz were waiting out the big huggy scene downstairs. Once the coast was clear, they would go back up and let Jazz’s mother make a big fuss out of loading up plates of leftovers for the “single girls” to take home.
It was becoming a tradition. Somehow, hanging out with Jazz’s big, loud, crazy family on holidays was easier than going home and sticking out like a sore thumb in her own small, quiet, proper one. “Relieved why?”
“You know Abby got engaged?”
Jazz nodded with a big roll of her dark eyes. She’d met Amanda’s younger sister last year when Abby had come to the city for a spring shopping trip.
Abby was okay, at least when their parents weren’t around and she didn’t have to play Miss Perfect. But the stick up her ass only ever came out so far, and Jazz was not the type around whom Abigail Bauer would ever let down her guard.
Jazz was an exotically beautiful, loud-mouthed, crass, wild-child. Abby was a demure, classically beautiful, prodigal one. Oil and water.
Which made Amanda, what…the vinegar to their Good Seasons salad dressing?
Yeah, tart and sour.
She thrust that thought away, preferring to think of herself as flavorful and zesty.
“How do you like her fiancé?”
“He’s a douche.”
Back to tart and sour.
Jazz snorted, sipping from the glass of wine she’d smuggled down from the kitchen. “Figures.”
“He’s as cold as my father and as reserved as my mother. And he comes from a family of people just like him. His parents invited my folks over for a prewedding holiday meal today.”
“Gotcha. No bad girls allowed, huh?”
Amanda lifted a brow, feigning offense. “Look who’s talking.”
Jazz bent her head and smiled into her glass. “I’m not the one flying off tomorrow to have a weekend of illicit sex with a guy I barely know.”
Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Amanda reached for her glass of water. Because damn it, yes, she was doing exactly that.
She’d left Cleveland absolutely certain she’d never see Reese Campbell again. She’d felt sure she’d gotten him out of her system. They’d had a great time, built some incredible memories. Plus they’d done just about everything two people could do together sexually.
Okay, that was a lie. She could think of about another four or five things she’d like to do with the man. Or five dozen.
The point was, they’d had amazing sexual encounters twice now, and twice was once more than the one-night stand she’d intended. So how crazy was she to go for number three?
Third time’s the charm.
She’d been unable to resist. Hearing his voice on her voice mail the other day, she’d gotten shaky and weak all over again. When he’d asked her if she wanted to meet him in Florida to see if they could get kicked out of a theme park for having hot sex in public, she’d been unable to say anything but yes. She hadn’t even insisted that he promise to put on any mouse ears.
She had something else in mind for the fantasy part of their sensual weekend. Something a little more risqué than a theme park.
“Where are you meeting him?”
“Daytona.”
“Warm. Sounds good. So, uh, when are you going to let me meet this guy?” “Never.”
Her friend pulled a hurt look. “Come on, I introduce you to all my boy toys.”
“He’s not my boy toy. He’s…”
“He’s what?” Jazz asked, leaning forward and dropping her elbows onto her knees.
Good question. She couldn’t really call Reese a stranger anymore. They not only knew and had explored every inch of each other’s bodies, they’d also spent time together doing nonsexual things. Damn it, she’d gotten roped into pillow talk that last time.
Even worse, they’d actually chatted about his family the morning after. Mainly because his teenage sister had called him at the butt-crack of dawn to ask him to intervene with their mother for permission to go to some party.
Even adorably tousled and sleepy, Reese had been kind and patient with the girl, whose loud voice Amanda could hear from the other side of the bed. She’d watched him during the conversation, seeing the great guy, the caring brother.
He’d told her a little about his family after the call. That his father had died, that he’d taken over as head of the family business. He hadn’t had to tell her he’d taken on his father’s role in his younger siblings’ lives, too. She’d heard it in the tender—and a little over-whelmed—tone when he talked about them.
Those were about a half-dozen more details than she had ever intended to learn about him. Especially because every one of them just made him that much more appealing.
She absolutely should have steered well clear after that. So how dumb was she to have said yes to this weekend’s get-together? Extremely. And yet, she was already almost breathless with excitement when she thought about the fact that she’d be with him again in under twenty-four hours.
“I guess he’s just a pretty big distraction right at the moment,” she finally admitted.
“I’m glad,” Jazz declared. “It’s about damn time.”
“I know. Now I don’t have to give up my membership card to the sexually alive club.”
“I don’t mean that.” Jazz finished off her wine, then got up and crossed to a well-stocked bar, digging around in a fridge for another bottle. She held it up questioningly, but Amanda shook her head. She’d had one glass with dinner. That was her max, considering she was flying the next day.
“So what did you mean?” Amanda asked, once her friend returned to her seat.
“I mean, it’s about time you stop thinking about what that creepazoid Dale said to you when you dumped his sorry ass. You’re not cold, you’re not ruthless and you’re no heartbreaker.”
Amanda couldn’t help humming a few bars of the Pat Benatar song under her breath.
Jazz ignored her. “He was a tool.”
True.
“And that fake-overdose shit also proved he was one taco short of a combination plate.”
Also true. But he wasn’t the only man she’d ever let down. Something her loyal friend was apparently trying to ignore.
“Face it,” Amanda said, “moss doesn’t grow under my feet. In thirty years, I’m going to be like Uncle Frank. I’ll be the one flying off to the Bahamas to hook up with some hot divorcée for the Thanksgiving holiday.”
Hell, she was already like Uncle Frank. Suddenly, she wished she could have that second glass of wine.
“If you’re swinging that way in thirty years, I might just have to be the hot divorcée.”
Amanda snorted with laughter, as Jazz had obviously intended her to. Because the girl was about as flaming a heterosexual as she’d ever known. Jazz often said her favorite color was purple-veined penis.
“Give yourself a chance,” Jazz murmured, her smile fading and her tone turning earnest. “Don’t decide what this is before you have the opportunity to really find out.”
Amanda opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t quite know what to say. So she said nothing and simply nodded.
They fell silent for a minute or two. Then, from upstairs, they heard the tromping of feet and the slam of the back door, which meant that Jazz’s mother was ushering out the rest of her guests. They’d managed to successfully avoid the big so-great-to-see-you-let’s-do-this-more-often goodbye. The two of them lifted their glasses in a silent toast.
To hiding out when the going gets tough, and avoiding emotional entanglements.
She just had to keep reminding herself of that thought for the next couple of days. And not think about the silent promise she’d just made to her best friend.
AS HE DROVE HIS RENTAL CAR closer to the beachfront hotel where Amanda awaited him, Reese had sex on his mind. Wild sex. Steamy sex. Crazy, never-thought-it-could-be-this-good sex.
That had been on his mind for days. Ever since he’d driven away from that Cleveland hotel room, unsure of whether he would ever again see the beautiful woman who’d slept in his arms the night before.
This time, he’d played it a little smarter. He hadn’t called or e-mailed her right away. Despite how much it killed him, he’d let a full of week go by before he’d tried to contact her.
And it had paid off. Amanda had let her guard down enough to admit she missed him and wanted to see him again. She’d agreed that Thanksgiving weekend in Florida sounded like a perfect holiday.
He should have known it wouldn’t stay entirely perfect. Nothing ever did, right?
“Damn it,” he muttered, seeing a blue light come on behind him, and hearing the brief trill of a siren.
He was a good driver. But when it came to these getaways with the most exciting woman he’d ever known, even his foot got excited and pressed down a bit too hard on the gas pedal.
He could see their hotel, an older place with a sign showing a blue dolphin leaping through the waves. The thought that Amanda was waiting behind the door of one of the rooms, while he was going to have to spend the next fifteen or twenty minutes just a few yards away dealing with a ticket was frustrating in the extreme.
He put the car’s emergency flashers on and pulled into the hotel parking lot, praying the cop was in a good holiday mood. Considering it was Black Friday, however, and he’d probably been chasing credit-card-crazy shoppers clamoring to make it from door-buster to door-buster, Reese somehow doubted he’d be that lucky.
The cop who’d pulled him over spoke from a few feet away as Reese lowered the window. “License and registration?”
Reese started at the female voice, glancing over and seeing the shapely woman standing beside the car door. She was dressed in a formfitting uniform, and wore dark sunglasses even though it was just after sunset. She stared down at him, not taking them off.
“Good evening, Officer,” he said slowly. “Is there some kind of problem?”
“You were doing forty in a twenty-five.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?”
She bent down into the open window. “You saying I’m wrong?”
“Not wrong. Just maybe…mistaken?”
“You have a smart mouth. Maybe I should haul you in.”
He offered her his most charming smile. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. I’ve got a busy night planned.”
She fisted her hands and put them on her shapely hips. “You think your night’s more important than the safety of everyone else on the road?”
He hesitated, giving it some thought.
“Step out of the car,” she snapped.
Reese didn’t argue but did as she ordered. Removing the keys from the ignition, he opened the door and stepped out into the thick Florida night. Despite the fact that it was November, heat assaulted him. Though it was already evening, the air was still heavy and hot, with that not unpleasant smell found only in the south. A mixture of citrus, flowers, paper mills and suntan oil.
And spicy, sultry female cop.
“Don’t you think we could come to some kind of arrangement, Officer? Can’t you get me off…excuse me, I mean, let me off, with a warning or something?”
Her lips tightened. “I don’t think a warning will do.”
He lifted both his hands, palms up. “There must be some kind of arrangement we could reach. Something I could do for you so you’d feel comfortable forgetting about my speeding?”
She rubbed her hand on her slim jaw, her lips pursed. Then, as if she’d come to some decision, she slowly nodded.
“Okay, then. Maybe you can sweet-talk me into not writing you a ticket.”
“Talk?” he asked, moving closer, until the tips of his shoes touched hers and the fabric of their pants brushed. “You sure that’s all you want from me? Conversation?”
She swallowed visibly, her throat moving with the effort. Reese lifted his hand, tracing the tip of his index finger from her full bottom lip, down her chin, then her throat, her neck. All the way to the top button of her blouse.
This time, her hard swallow was preceded by a shaky sigh.
“Which room?” he asked, urgency making his voice weak.
She lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the nearest one, on the end. “Key?”
Tugging it out of her pocket, she handed the key card to him, then put her hand in his and let him lead her across the parking lot. Just before he opened the door, he glanced back at the car, and the motor scooter—obviously a beachside rental—sitting directly behind it.
Smirking, he said, “Not even a real motorcycle? It’s not terribly intimidating.”
“Maybe not,” she said with a wicked smile. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something…something metal. Something that jangled. “But these are definitely real.”
Handcuffs. Oh, yeah. They were real. And they were most definitely intimidating.
He just wondered what his sexy-lover-playing-cop was going to say when he got the upper hand and used them on her. She might think she was in charge this time, but she’d played that role in Cleveland. It was his turn.
“Okay, Officer Bauer. I guess I’m your prisoner.”
At least for a few minutes. As soon as he could gain the upper hand, he’d be the one calling the shots, leaving her vulnerable and helpless against every bit of pleasure he could possibly give her.
AMANDA DIDN’T KNOW WHAT happened. One second, Reese was lying on the bed, his shirt off, pants unfastened, arms upstretched toward the headboard. The next, she was flat on her back and wearing one of the sets of handcuffs.
She sputtered. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer at first, too busy double-checking the cuffs that attached her left hand to the headboard. The other set was lying on the bed, but instead of reaching for it, he hesitated. “We don’t have to use both…if you’re not comfortable.”
She had fully intended to use both sets on him, wanting him totally at her mercy. How wonderful Reese was to take it just far enough, but then pause to make sure she was okay with what he was doing.
Not a lot of men would do that. Of
course, not a lot of women would say ‘to hell with it’ and offer up her other wrist for restraint, either.
But they weren’t exactly your average couple.
“Go for it,” she said with a sultry smile as she twisted on the sheets, suddenly so aroused she could barely stand it.
He reached across the bed, fastening her other hand, then came back to center, brushing his mouth against hers.
“I’ve wanted you since the last time I saw you,” she told him.
“I know.”
He wasn’t being arrogant, she realized. He knew because he felt the same way.
“Okay, you’ve got me, big guy. Now what are you going to do?”
Reese had been almost undressed when she tried to take over, but Amanda hadn’t removed so much as her shoes. Which would probably present a bit of a problem when it came to her top. But she trusted him—he was a very resourceful kind of guy.
And it buttoned up the front. Thankfully.
“I’ll think of something.” He frowned down at her. “So, madam police officer, are you used to trading sexual favors for legal ones?”
“Only in very special circumstances.”
He rose to his knees, reaching for her waistband, and unfastened her pants. Amanda lifted up a little so he could slide them down over her hips and bottom, feeling the slow glide of his fingertips down to her very bones.
“What circumstances would those be?”
“Well, when I haven’t had a man in a very long time.” She licked her lips. “And I stumble across one who looks like he could satisfy me.”
He tsked. “Didn’t we have this conversation in a beer closet once? Is there any doubt that I can satisfy you?”
Giving him an innocent look, she asked, “A beer closet? Why, I don’t know what you mean.”
He reached for her tiny panties, catching the elastic and pulling them off the way he had her pants. This time, she didn’t help. She let him work them down, liking the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her body as he revealed it.
Those blue eyes darkened as he stared at her hips, her pelvis, the curls at the top of her sex. But he didn’t touch, seeming content to drive her mad with just a stare.