by Avery Flynn
Because he was paying Lisette to help with his brother’s party. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here with him. And he couldn’t let himself forget that again.
4
Lisette tossed another packet of red balloons into the basket hanging from Kurt’s arm. Then four more packets, because Mardi Gras World was enormous, and you couldn’t ever have too many balloons at a party.
And because riffling through the racks of party supplies kept her from staring at Kurt. From staring at his tan skin and the dark brown stubble covering his jawline. From hungering to reach out and have it rough against her flesh in all its sexy manliness. From staring at the gorgeous, thoughtful hunk of man she’d pushed away in a moment of panic and self-doubt.
It was the dumbest thing she’d ever done.
Besides kissing him in the first place.
He’d shocked her by opening up. Absolutely yanked at her heartstrings with his gut-wrenching honesty about re-evaluating his life. Impulse had driven her to kiss him. Heck, she would’ve jumped off a bridge with just a tiny bungee cord if Kurt had said it would put a smile on his face.
But then, Lisette had balked. Just like the kids who, after waiting an hour, got out of line when faced with the prospect of actually getting onto a roller coaster. When Kurt made that offhand comment about the real deal, she’d remembered that this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The whole reason he was sad was due to the loss of the brother she’d helped nurse through his final days. His career was up in the air because of Jasper. Kurt was paying her to be with him for two weeks because of Jasper.
When he finished pushing through his grief, he certainly wouldn’t want any reminders of it around. They had no hope of a real relationship. No hope of a real anything. The last thing Lisette wanted to do was act like quicksand, miring him in place with sad memories.
So she’d pulled back. Reminded him of the reason, the real reason, they were together.
It was the right thing to do. That didn’t make it any less difficult, though. Knowing it was right didn’t stop her from thinking about him all the time. Thinking about how easily they talked. How powerful his hands felt on her butt. How Kurt’s wall of muscles steadied her as she actually quivered under his touch.
She wanted him. And he probably only wanted, could only handle, a distraction. And there’d come a time when Kurt wouldn’t want to see her at all. When he’d want to put everything sad behind him and just move on with something new.
Damn it.
She’d thought this whole party-planning gig was the answer to her prayers. Easy, fast money, topped off with a little balm to her soul of helping a patient’s family one last time. But right now it felt more like torture. Like putting a triple-chocolate torte in front of her pregnant, always starving sister and then telling her not to eat it.
And Lisette wanted to lick every inch of Kurt clean.
Lisette yanked a handful of beads off a peg and added them to the second brimming basket. She hurried down the aisle to the register line. “I think we’ve got enough decorations for three parties. We should check out.”
“We can’t be finished already. I blocked off the whole rest of the afternoon for this. I thought women treated shopping like a competitive sport. Whoever takes the longest, wins.”
There it was. Kurt might be a sensitive, caring man, but there was also some caveman lurking in there, too. Which would be fine if she got primal, raw sex out of him as a salve. But that sure wasn’t happening.
“Don’t pull that crap.” Lisette brandished a finger at him. “Don’t paint my entire gender with the wide brush of derogatory sexism, as though we aren’t fully functioning, responsible members of society.” Maybe her voice rose a little at the end. Maybe the clerk goggled at them as she handed a receipt to the woman in front of them with the giant piñata. But sometimes, a person had to take a stand.
“Yowch.” Kurt winced and rubbed his cheek. “I think I just got bitch-slapped.”
“Well, you deserved it.”
He set the baskets on the counter. Thrust his credit card at the clerk and then pulled Lisette over toward the impulse bins brimming with plastic crawfish and vampire fangs. “Hey. I was only teasing. Seriously. I’ve got nothing but mad respect for women. But yeah, I can get sucked into flattening my ass on the sofa and losing an entire night to Xbox. Along with every guy on the team. Stupid stereotype that deserves mocking, but is one hundred percent true. I was just throwing down some of that on you. No insult intended.”
Oh. Of course. Of course he’d only been teasing. She’d popped off like a cork out of a champagne bottle because of her frustration with the situation. Like a little kid throwing a tantrum when her mom refused to buy her candy. It was embarrassing. Humiliating. And completely unfair to poor Kurt. Not to mention the last thing she could actually admit to as the reason for being upset. Lisette scrambled to come up with something else.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you, I swear. I’m just having an, um, frustrating, tough day. I was venting at you, not because of you. No other interviews this week since the Rajuns. No callbacks for a second interview. And no shiny new job prospects on the horizon, either.”
“That’s rough. It sucks that you’re having such a hard time getting hired. People who can’t see how awesome you are—they’re idiots.”
“I’d agree, but then I’d be calling your organization idiots.” Talk about an unprofessional thing to do in front of Kurt! After all, it wasn’t as if he, even as a star player, had had any say in the back-office hiring decisions. So Lisette bit back the oh-so-tempting name-calling and just doled out a wistful shake of her head. “I was so sure that interview with the Rage would be a slam dunk for me.”
Kurt sucked in a deep breath. Held it. Probably wondered what he’d done in a previous life to get stuck now with a pathetic whiner. But just as Lisette panicked that she’d gone too far with the woe-is-me admission, he let out all that pent-up air.
Pushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear, he said, “Looks like someone else needs smile practice today.”
“No, I’m fine.” Better than usual even, because being with Kurt was a great distraction. A great way to focus on something besides the lack of follow-up in her in-box. “I’m feeling sorry for what I want and don’t have yet, is all.” There. She’d managed to be honest with him, which felt good.
“Well, you still want me to practice smiling, right? And I’ve gotta have a reason. So come out with me. A night out would be good for both of us. Drinks, oysters at Brennan’s, the whole nine yards.”
Was he…did he…was that supposed to be an invite on a date? After she’d worked so hard to put him back on the off-limits shelf? After she’d remembered—albeit too late—that Kurt was in a totally vulnerable place and wasn’t ready to date? Or was it just that Kurt was a VIP, and the night he’d just suggested was the equivalent of sitting on the couch eating popcorn to him, aka totally normal?
Lisette knew she should say no. But this was Kurt Lundquist. The celebrity she’d crushed on, the brother she’d grown to like and respect while sharing the heart-wrenching death of her patient, and the man she wanted more with every minute she spent by his side. So instead of saying no outright—which she couldn’t imagine saying to him ever—Lisette babbled, “I can’t possibly go there.”
“Why not?”
“It’s far too fancy.” With one hand, she plucked at her mint green tank top. “I live in scrubs and shorts.” Might as well tell him the whole truth. Because Lisette wasn’t embarrassed by her financial turnaround. She was proud that she’d managed to live off her savings and finish school without financial help. “I sold all my nicer stuff, except for a couple of interview outfits, at a consignment shop to help cover my last round of tuition.”
Kurt grabbed the bulging bags and walked her out of the store. “We’re in a mall. I think we can find you something to wear.”
It was a fun idea. Just not a possible reality. “I can’t afford it, Ku
rt. Not until I get another job. What you’re paying me goes straight toward a security deposit on a new apartment.”
“I get that. I’m not so selfish that I’d ask you to pay for the evening I invited you on. I’ll buy the dress.”
First, he asked her on what sounded like a date, and now he wanted to pay for her clothing, too? Kurt Lundquist was her new fairy god…something. Sex god, for sure, but she hadn’t realized sex gods granted wishes outside the bedroom. “You can’t buy me a dress.”
“I sure as hell can. Not just a dress, either.” He steered her past a stone fleur-de-lis spouting water into a too-blue pool and toward a department store. “Dress, shoes, a matching purse too small to hold anything besides lipstick—the whole shebang.” Kurt curved his palm sideways across her mouth to cut off the automatic rebuttal about to burst out. “Consider it your uniform for this assignment. The hospital gives you scrubs, right? This is no different. If you’re hanging with me, you go where I go. I’m dragging you out, so it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable.”
Lisette hadn’t splurged on herself in sooo long. It was beyond tempting. As tempting as the thought of being out with Kurt on something that sounded a whole lot like a real date. Except for the word responsibility. Was this truly him being sweet? Or simply protecting against a paparazzi onslaught?
It didn’t matter. She’d live for the moment. She’d take the goodness guilt-free, thanks to his clever spin on it, and enjoy. “Okay. But if this is all for your benefit, what color dress should I get?”
“Cajun Rage red, of course.”
Of course. Not a nice, safe, good-for-multiple-occasions little black dress. Maybe this really was a date…
Half an hour later, Lisette was sure. She’d picked out more than half a dozen dresses in varying shades and lengths. The only unifying factor had been their very reasonable price tags. Kurt said no to all of them. Except for the sedate sheath, for which he hadn’t even bothered to verbalize his disdain. He just shook his head and pointed for her to head back to the dressing room.
It was fun, sure, but also frustrating. She’d never shopped on someone else’s dime. Kurt had steered her away from the sale racks, but she wouldn’t go near the high-end stuff. What was left wasn’t exactly exciting. The last time he shooed her back in to change, he’d ordered her to stay put. Five minutes later, he tossed a dress over the door for her to try.
This dress.
This screaming-red, figure-hugging piece of absolute fabric magic. Strapless. Short, but not in a skanky way. The lined red lace ended just above her knee, but had a slit that went higher up her thigh. It was classy and drop-dead sexy at the same time. Lisette had been terrified to touch it since glimpsing the price tag hanging from the satin ribbon at the waist. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn.
“Show me,” he ordered from the other side of the door.
“I can’t. I can’t get the zipper all the way up by myself. Will you find a saleswoman to come in and help me?”
“Yeah.” Less than thirty seconds later, Lisette opened the door after a knock. And saw Kurt standing there with his eyes just about bulged out like a cartoon character. With a squeal, she grabbed at the sides of the bodice. Which only made the gap deeper between her breasts.
“You can’t be in here, Kurt.”
“Can’t buy the dress until I see it on, right? Can’t ask you to come out with your back all exposed. This is the simplest solution.” He stepped in, forcing her to retreat into an area that had seemed spacious just a moment ago. It was almost as big as the fancy dressing room where her sister had tried on wedding dresses. It had an overstuffed ottoman in the corner, as well as a little platform to stand on right in front of the mirror.
But now, filled with Kurt’s shoulders and height and overwhelming masculinity, there seemed to be nowhere for Lisette to go. His gaze shot over her shoulder to where her naked back was visible in the full-length mirror. “Turn around,” he ordered in a husky rasp. Then he shot the bolt on the door.
Lisette stepped up onto the platform. She started to turn, but his arm fired out, grabbing her wrist. “Wait. Don’t move.”
The way your fingers burned when pressed into snow? That was the burn Lisette felt when his ice-blue eyes raked across her chest. Instinctively, her arms tightened below her breasts, which pushed the dip in the dress open even wider.
Kurt traced a single finger along the scalloped neckline. When he hit the center, that finger pulled down and out. Lisette held her breath. Because she’d taken off her bra to try on the strapless dress. One finger turned into all five, curling under to lift her left breast above the material. His touch seared. Maybe it was just the contrast to the air conditioning hitting her back…but Lisette really did think it was all Kurt heating her up.
Hand still curved beneath, he brushed his thumb against her nipple. The first time made her jump. The second time weakened her knees. One arm went around her waist in an embrace that steadied her. So when Kurt huffed out a warm breath, she didn’t go anywhere. Well, her nipple did. It tightened to attention.
She didn’t just feel the stiff pull of her skin. No, Lisette couldn’t help but stare down at the man who held her riveted with a single puff of air. The deep tan he’d no doubt gotten from his crazy desert hiking trip looked burnished by the smattering of light brown hair that bridged his hand before cuffing his wrist. It reminded her of the day she’d run into him at the Rage headquarters, and the eyeful of chest hair she’d gotten. It made her crave that soft roughness. Crave it enough that she swayed forward just a little, just to push into his palm a little more.
Instead, Kurt licked. He licked all along the top curve of her breast in short little laps that drove her absolutely wild. Lisette began to hitch in short breaths in a corresponding rhythm. They fell into sync just that quickly.
Kurt plumped her breast from below, moved it, molded it. The ease, the sureness of his touch made Lisette shiver with anticipation about how deftly he’d handle the rest of her. Because now that she was half naked in front of him? Right or wrong or epically stupid, she was pretty darned sure that was where this whole thing was headed.
By the time his mouth made a wet seal around her nipple…her panties were wet, too. By the time her nails scrabbled against his scalp, trying to clutch his head closer, the hand at her waist had splayed down to squeeze her butt again.
With a slight popping noise, his mouth unsealed. “I love this dress,” Kurt said, grinning up at her with an unfettered joy she’d never once seen on his face before.
That did it.
That ended all of Lisette’s flip-flopping. It made her realize how selfish she was for not moving forward just because they had no shot at a real relationship.
One of the things she used to tell her dying patients was to be in the moment. Not to concentrate on what couldn’t be, but on what was. Right this second, Lisette’s moment was a sexy make-out session in a dressing room—a fantasy that literally thousands of female hockey fans would kill to be experiencing.
She’d keep going to make sure that smile on his face stayed put. And the undoubtedly awesome orgasm Lisette expected to receive from Kurt? She’d call it her reward for finishing this second round of schooling. Better than a celebratory night out at a martini bar by a long shot.
Most important, the moment she could tell Kurt was ready to move on, she’d let him.
No matter how hard, no matter how much it hurt.
Starting right now. Because it would be a PR nightmare if he was discovered in here. So Lisette ignored the tingling desire flooding through her body. She pushed aside her want. And used the fingers threaded through his hair to push him gently away.
“You’re looking at me out of the dress, not in it,” she said on a laugh.
With a devilish quirk of his eyebrows, Kurt promised, “I’m getting there.” Then he spun her with quick, strong hands at her waist. He smoothed the red lace back up the front of her body. Watching him do
so now that she faced the mirror, watching those wide-splayed hands slowly caress her, turned Lisette on almost as much as the actual touching.
Kurt caught her watching. It simply turned his grin even more wicked. “You can’t just watch. You have to help.”
“I’m happy to,” she quickly assented, reaching back for his thighs, his side, whatever she could grab first.
But he was faster. Kurt seized her hands before they landed on a single inch of him. “You don’t get to stray from the playbook. We’re getting you dressed, remember? Here”—he guided one hand to hold the dress over her breast—“and here,” and then mirrored the motion with the other. Kurt’s hands squeezed Lisette’s, made her stimulate herself by rubbing in wide circles.
The double layer of heat scorched through the lace.
The eroticism of it scorched her mind.
“Don’t stop,” he ordered. As she kept up the slow, teasing circles, Kurt’s head slipped from view. His hands grasped both sides of the zipper. And his lips and that agile tongue settled on her back just above the zipper’s tab. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he licked and kissed his way up her spine, staying just ahead of the zipper as he brought its two sides together. Once at the top, Kurt kept going. His lips skimmed up the sensitive skin of her nape until she saw him peer around her head into the mirror.
“I was right the first time. I love this dress.”
“Me, too,” she exhaled on a sigh.
5
Arms thrown wide and with an exaggerated French accent—and zero concern for the other people strolling down the hotel hallway—Kurt loudly announced, “Les bon temps roulez!”
Lisette giggled. She also batted one arm back to his side. “Are you trying to say ‘let the good times roll’?”
“Of course.” The giggle threw him a little. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been going for. Not with a grand and sort of embarrassing gesture like that one. “Isn’t that the unofficial motto of partying in the Big Easy?”