by Malone, Nana
Her chuckle held no humor. “Oh really? You’re on a bartender-slash-Guy Friday salary. How are you going to manage that? Like you pointed out this morning, I have a job again, so as soon as I’m clear of the shoe credit-card monster I’ll take care of it.” She sniffed. “And I’ll need to go stay at Micha or Ricca’s.”
And she wasn’t going to stay with him. Fantastic. His day was certainly looking up. Well, at least he’d accepted the job. Until now it had felt like a mistake. But maybe it was the right move after all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jaya's annoyance poured over her like a mudslide down a mountain. “Stupid asshole painted my bedroom.”
Micha and Ricca exchanged looks. Ricca spoke up. “Okay. So weren’t you just saying you’d been trying to paint the place for two years and could never decide? So maybe he thought he was doing you a favor.” She shrugged. “I mean, it was kind of sweet.”
Micha gave a little shake of her head as if warning her that the cobra would strike at any moment.
Jaya was in no mood to hear clear rational arguments.
“So you're fine with Charles just marching in and changing everything about your life. Taking it over?”
Ricca's frown was tight. “No, but is that really what—”
Jaya didn't pay any attention to her friend’s attempts at reason. “He just barged into my life, with his sexy smile and hair to die for, and started changing everything. If he didn't like me and my white walls the way they were, what the hell is he doing painting them? You can’t just change something you don’t like about someone. You have to learn to love it.”
Micha unfolded her long legs from the floor cushion and stood. “Okay, look. Maybe you're right. He shouldn’t try and change you, but how is it changing you if you told him your dream was to have someone magically come in and make the changes for you? So you didn’t have to do any of the work of painting, let alone picking a color. He was trying to be helpful.”
Jaya scowled at her friends. “You’re taking his side.”
Micha quirked a brow. “Before you go all, ‘Alec has pulled them over to the dark side on me,’ might I remind you that you were the one who decided to approach a random stranger and then have sex with him. Even though all you talk about half the time are crazed serial killers.”
“Yes, but—”
“Aren’t you the one who convinced this poor man into helping you break into your old place of employment to go and take software that is technically yours”
“Yes, but—”
“Did he force you to do any of these things?”
“No.”
“Then why are you mad at him?”
Having run out of steam, Jaya leaned against the cushions. “I sort of liked guessing which color. I really wanted to pick it out myself.”
Micha rolled her eyes. “Newsflash, you're being a bitch. And a bratty one at that. You can do anything you want to the whole living room. He tried to do something special for you. And instead of being with him and giving him all kinds of raunchy thank you sex, you're sitting around my living room full of piss and vinegar.”
“What’s really upsetting you, sweetie?” Ricca asked.
Jaya blew out a breath. “Not being in control. He just took it out of my hands and it sucks.”
Micha leaned forward. “Now, for that he’s an asshole—a sweet asshole, but he shouldn’t have taken control from you. You want me to straighten him out?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Could be fun.”
Jaya leaned back in her seat, deflated. They were right. She was being a snotty brat. He’d done something sweet and she’d let her temper rip him a new one. Stupid. “Anyone have any ideas on what a really big apology looks like?”
***
Alec looked up from the bar to see Jaya striding into Synthesis. A small smile hit his lips. That was Jaya. No guile. No sashaying, not strutting, just straight to the point, get to business. He liked that about her.
As she walked toward him, she waved a little white handkerchief and smiled sheepishly. He knew she was here to apologize. And the weight he’d been carrying around since their fight lifted. But his more practical side understood that it would be easier if she’d stayed mad at him and hadn’t seen him again. But easier for who? Why did he put his hands on something that he knew he couldn’t have? “Because I'm a masochist that's why,” he mumbled under his breath.
“What did you say?” she asked as she grabbed a bar stool and plopped a folder and her handkerchief on the counter.
“Nothing.” He smiled. “You look dressed for an interview. Are you already giving up on Adele?”
She glanced down at her outfit. Brow furrowed, she asked, “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”
The light gray pin stripe suit was form fitting and cut to fit her slender curves. And she was wearing those mouthwatering shoes again. All he could think about was her wearing nothing but those shoes as they wrapped around his back and she screamed his name. He cleared his throat in an effort to clear the imagery. “Not a thing.”
She shrugged. “I just left the office. Besides, Tamara called and wanted some help at the wedding site, so I'll go by for an hour. Best to have my armor on.”
Ah, so that was it. “You want to drive her crazy with curiosity as to who you’re working for?”
She shrugged. “A little. Petty maybe, but not even close to what she’s pulled.”
“Good point.” He reached out and touched her hand. The usual rush of emotion and need didn't surprise him this time. But it did make him want do things to her in the bar that probably weren’t legal in fifteen states. “About yesterday—”
She put a hand and interrupted him. “No. Please let me.” She shook her head. “I was a total brat and ungrateful. I realize you were only trying to be nice. Clearly, I have a hard time with relinquishing control.”
Alec folded his arms instead, in the hope he'd keep them to himself. He really wanted to hold her. It had only been a week and a half since they’d started seeing each other, but it was already an automatic thing. “I should have asked you. I don’t ask very often. I just ‘do.’ Sometimes it backfires. I can paint it back the way you had it.”
The smile she gave him half melted his heart. “No. Please don’t. I kind of like it. Something for me to remember you by when you leave.”
Ouch. He winced. That ugly little detail. He would be leaving her in no time. “Next time I’ll ask first,” he promised solemnly, but they both knew that there wouldn’t be a next time. “I've started to like your bossy Type-A style.”
She dipped her head and changed the subject. “So, Mr. Bartender, you feel like giving me a lesson?”
He wasn't sure he heard her correctly. “Exactly what kind of lesson were you looking for?” His libido started to fantasize.
“It’s something on my Thirty List. I had this ridiculous notion after college that I'd find myself and tend bar or something like that to pay the rent. Either that or strip.” She shook her head. “Stupid, right? I was kidding about the stripping part, by the way.”
“Too bad. And no. I'd buy a drink from you any day.”
She grinned at him. “So, how about a lesson?”
His brows drew in. “What? Right now?”
She slipped off her jacket. “Yeah, what’s wrong with now?”
Maybe because he was on edge, because he could still smell her roses shampoo and it was driving him nuts.
She slid back behind the bar with him. “Show me how to make what you gave me the other night. I don’t know what was in that, but it was delicious.”
She brushed against him just enough to have him reciting his favorite childhood baseball players. “Um, that one's pretty easy.” Bending down, he took the ingredients from the fridges under the bar. Setting down the cranberry, orange and pineapple juices, he got a glass and handed it to her. “First, rim the glass.” He winced at the obvious sexual reference. It conjured up all kinds of imagery of the two of them.
She took
it from him, her delicate fingers barely brushing his in the transfer. She dipped the glass in the sugar tray.
He placed his hands on hers. “Like this. You’ll want to rim the glass with lemon first. It'll help the sugar stick to the glass.”
She did as he told her, then grinned up at him. “What next?”
“Now add one part pineapple and one part orange juice.”
She used the little measuring cup and he didn't have the heart to tell her no real bartender worth his or her salt would measure the amount of juice that went into a drink. The alcohol, maybe, if trying to save the bar some cash. But not juice. But she liked things to be precise and that’s why he liked her. “Done. What next.”
The way her smile caught the light, Alec knew he was in trouble. If by chance he made it through the next day or so, his fate would be changed forever. He loved her. It was that simple. He didn’t give a shit about consequences. All he knew was that he wanted her. Lists and all. Clearing his throat, he pulled down a bottle of Grand Marnier. “Add a splash of this.”
She frowned. The bottle hovered just over the mixer.
“What’s the matter?”
She chewed her lip. “How much is a splash? More than the juice or less than the juice? Is it a big splash? Can I just measure it, instead?”
He took the bottle from her and set it on the counter. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, you know. It's just a drink.”
She nodded, but he could see the telltale shimmer in her eyes. “Just a drink,” she mumbled.
He shrugged. “Or maybe it's the epitome of your whole life, and your entire existence hinges on getting this drink just right.” He took her hands. “But I promise you. It doesn’t.” Her lips quirked. He continued, “Everything doesn’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be perfect. But newsflash, you’re already pretty perfect to me.”
“Lists and all?”
He flashed her a grin. “Lists and all. Go on, add as much Grand Marnier as you want.” She poured enough to give any drinker a kick.
Handing her the shaker, he said, “Now shake it up and pour.”
As she poured, he tried not to watch her delicate fingers and wonder where they'd be better served. He had to get a grip.
She handed him the glass. “Did I get it right?”
He didn't take a sip.
“You taste it and tell me.”
Her lips parted and his whole body jerked. As the blissful expression crossed her face as she sipped, he smiled. “Good?”
She nodded. “Yeah, tastes just like it.”
“You’re now officially a bartender. You can cross that off your Thirty list.”
Eyeing the go-go dance platforms next to the booths, she smiled. “I have something better to cross off the list.”
***
Using the back of the booth as balance, Jaya climbed up onto the table. “I’ve always wanted to do this. You got any music for me?”
His gaze burned into hers before going over to the laptop plugged into the sound system. The nerves took hold of her stomach,. She didn’t have to prove anything to him. But she did have to prove it to herself. She wasn’t that woman who was so scared to fail, she never took any chances. Shit, the biggest chance she’d ever taken was with that presentation, and look where it had gotten her.
A brand new job with a woman who could make her career and a fling with a man hot enough to leave scorch marks on her bed. As chances went, she picked a hell of a chance to take. Her family might be a mess, but maybe it was time to leave Trudeaux anyway. Though, she’d have preferred to do it on her terms.
She could do this. Alec was safe. Considering everything they’d already experienced and shared, she knew she was safe.
The jazzy intro of the song had her smiling. En Vogue—“Giving Him Something He Can Feel.” Well, she’d do that, all right. She slipped the stilettos off and set them aside. Maybe she could make them work for her later. Unpinning her hair, she tousled it. Alec watched her from the bar, but he still didn’t say anything or come near her.
As the voices of the En Vogue girls filled the club, she closed her eyes and felt the music, letting the rhythm guide her hips. After a brief trip around the pole, she divested herself of her jacket, deliberately tossing it in Alec’s direction.
His response? Cocking his head.
Fair enough—she could do better than that. She steadied herself on the pole with one hand while the other tousled her hair as En Vogue continued to sing about how a man’s love would send them on and on. Pausing at the opening of her blouse she popped one button, then the others in quick succession. Turning her attention to Alec, she realized he’d stopped drying glasses.
As she rolled her hips in time to the jazz saxophone, she pictured Alec’s hands on her, turning her hips and bracing her hands on the pole. She imagined having him direct her movements and complied. She danced for both of them.
Stroking her hands down her torso, she undid the loop of her pants and let them slide down to the booth exposing her garters and lack of underwear.
From the bar, all she heard was, “Sweet Jesus.” But it was faint as the chorus went on about giving him something he can feel. In time to the music, she turned to face Alec. Touching herself with both hands, pausing to pinch her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Undoing the front clasp, she let them hang full and free. But she didn’t pause to enjoy the pleasured pain, the pinching shot to her core. She let her hands skim over her belly, watching Alec through lowered lashes.
He leaned on the bar, eyes intent. Heat and passion burning in his stare. The need for her apparent in his heavy lidded gaze. Was he thinking about the way Marco had watched them on her balcony?
In the mood to tease, she let her fingers skim over the lips of her pussy. Between the folds, seeking—Ahh. As the tips of her fingers came into contact with her wet heat, she moaned and tossed her head back.
When she opened her eyes again, Alec was standing right in front of her. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Can I get a private lap dance?”
She gave him a slow nod and he lifted her off the table, letting her slide down his form. The farther she slid, the more she realized he’d been touching himself. And that his cock was free from the confines of his jeans. “Alec.”
The kiss he planted on her was all raw heat and lust. The need for obvious, she could feel him throbbing. He pulled them down onto the booth and she turned to face away from him, giving him a view of her ass.
“God, that’s a thing of beauty.”
As she danced, his hands roamed over her back and her breasts, dug into the flesh of her ass.
Standing to join her, his hips kept time with hers as they danced. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” The tone of his voice was so low, it was barely a growl.
“Just returning the favor.” Who was this new woman who held her own with someone like Alec?
He leaned her against the table and steadied her. “Hold on tight.”
He fiddled with his wallet for several seconds.
In the distance, she heard the foil tearing.
The head of his thick, throbbing cock met the well of her core and he swore. Jaya knew how wet she was, knew she was ready for him. He didn’t need to take his time—this was what she wanted, what she needed. He slid into her to the hit and roared.
The pleasure built up in her spine with each thrust. With each forward movement of his hips, he called her name. Loudly. Reverently. With one hand, he steadied her hips even as he slid in easily. With the other he worked a finger around her anus. Teasing it. Adding more bite to the pleasure.
“Yes, Alec. God, yes.”
He pushed his finger past the tight ring of muscle and she bit her bottom lip. Like before, there was a burning sensation, but also one of white hot pleasure.
Jaya felt so full from his cock hitting her G-spot. Behind her, she could hear his moans. She could feel the way he gripped her hips as if he was afraid to let her go.
He loosened his grip on
her hip and moved her to more of a standing position so he could kiss her neck. When she withdrew his cock, she cried out at the loss, begging for more.
“Hush, it’s okay. I’m not leaving you. I’m just changing the angle.” Gently laying her back on the table, he angled her hips lower and she felt the tip of his cock at her entrance of her pussy. The new angle had her moaning immediately. He felt so much bigger this way.
“Oh, God. Alec.”
She tensed, and he immediately tried to withdraw. “No, Alec, just give me a second.”
They stayed that way for what seemed like a lifetime, with only the head of his cock penetrating her. One hand on her breast, the other stroking her clit. The need rolled through her like a tidal wave and she breathed through the initial pain. She could feel the drops of sweat coming off him.
She moved against him and he pressed in farther, still playing with her nipple and stroking her slit. He withdrew until he was almost out and the pain was joined by the most intense pleasure.
“Alec.”
His harsh whisper rang in her ears. “Is it starting to feel good?”
“Please, don’t stop.”
And he didn’t. His strokes were measured, gentle. He took his time, even though clearly, he was holding back. She didn’t want measured. She wanted raw, and fast. She wanted him to lose control.
Reaching between her legs, her fingers found his on her clit and they stroked together. The way he cursed in her ear was her only warning. He picked up the pace by a half measure and she felt every scorching ridge of him as he entered and retracted, aided by her juices. The hand teasing her nipple ceased to be gentle. As they both stroked her wet slit, she felt more of her juices on their joined fingers.
Another orgasm coiled inside her, this one threatening to tear her apart from the inside out. “Alec, please,” was the only plea she was able to muster. She knew what she needed from him. Knew what she’d been craving. The complete and utter release of all her inhibitions.