He’d been telling himself ever since she’d laid that wet one on him the other day that it hadn’t truly fried every circuit in his brain. But he’d been fooling himself. Because her lips were soft—God, so soft and sweet—and the interior of her mouth was sweeter still, tasting like green tea and hot, willing woman.
It was that last thing, her willingness, that nearly pushed him over the edge and made him want to lay her back on this uncomfortable little love seat and punch that compliance into overdrive until both of them were revving full throttle.
Instead he geared himself down. Deliberately he kept his kiss brief and restrained. And when he came up for air he told himself that the entire performance had merely been for show.
But he knew better. And he could have kicked his own butt around the block. So much for his big claim of professionalism anytime, anyplace.
“Well, that did the trick,” P.J. murmured cheerfully. “It appears the Porn Twins have finally taken the hint.”
He looked over to see that the blondes had indeed moved their attention elsewhere. Then he turned wary eyes back on P.J.
And little by little the tension in his shoulders eased. Thank God she at least seemed to believe he’d kissed her with the sole purpose of getting the blondes off his back.
The Twins had been called back for their appointments by the time Nell came out. Whistling when he got a look at her, Jared rose to his feet. “Wow. You look…fabulous.”
She did. Her dark hair had been cut short to feather around her temples, forehead and nape, and it stuck up on the crown in soft, modish spikes. She had beautiful skin and the highlights around her face not only accentuated it but made her eyes look bluer.
“Muy fabulous,” P.J. agreed. “You look so hip.”
Nell laughed. “Oh my God, I do, don’t I?” In an age-old feminine gesture, she touched her fingers to her hair. “I thought I was going to wet my pants when Rachel chopped off my braid, but I really like it.” She gave her head a shake. “It feels so light.”
“Did you remember it, by the way?” he asked her, noticing that her hands were empty.
“Hmm?”
“Your braid. I saw your beautician—Rachel, is it?—set it on the counter in front of you. Did you forget to grab it?”
“Oh. No.” She smiled up at him. “They’re keeping it for the Locks for Love program.”
He must have looked as blank as he felt, because P.J. said, “Nell donated it to a charity that makes wigs for cancer victims.”
“Whoa.” Leaning down, he kissed the tour manager on the cheek. “You are one classy lady.”
Their next stop was a department store makeup counter and while it was hardly the activity he would have chosen to while away an hour he discovered he didn’t really mind the time spent there. Nell’s quiet delight in her haircut and the changes wrought by some lipstick, blush and mascara were endearing, and he liked the way P.J. was equally delighted for her friend. In fact, the entire day, from what he could tell, seemed to have been designed with Nell in mind.
Not that P.J. didn’t throw herself wholeheartedly into a shopping spree of her own. She, too, bought lipstick, two cosmetic brushes and some eye stuff. Given their hand-to-mouth existence back in the day, he had to admit he got a kick out of seeing her with money to burn and clearly enjoying the hell out of spending it.
He was still in a pretty mellow mood when the women moved their shopping bender up to the second floor. Nell stopped in the misses section but after a quick low-voiced consultation, P.J. kept going.
He followed her to the junior department where he stood out of the way with his hands in his pockets and watched as she shuffled hangers on the round stands boasting markdown signs of fifty to seventy-five percent off. “Country music must not pay as well as I thought if you’re reduced to shopping the clearance rack,” he said wryly.
P.J. barely spared him a glance. “You try finding summer stuff in the summer,” she said and selected a skirt that started out denim but then exploded at the hipline into three short flounces of frothy, lightweight material with bits of lace and lines of ribbon appliquéd all over them. “Their fall lines are already out.”
“Yeah, I’ve never understood that not being able to buy the clothes you need in the season you need it.”
“Me, either.” She gathered an amazing number of separates off the sale racks, shoved them into his arms, then led him to the lingerie department where she selected slinky little camisoles and tank tops in a rainbow of colors. Carrying those herself, she led him back to the misses section in search of Nell.
“Looks like you found a few things,” she said to her friend when they met up, indicating the armload Nell clutched to her breast.
“There’s an advantage to being a size fourteen.”
“Aside from being a nice, warm armful, you mean?” Jared asked and the elated smile she flashed him tugged up the corner of his own mouth.
“Yes, aside from that, you honey-tongued devil.” Cheeks flushed, Nell turned back to P.J. “He makes me feel desirable and totes your stuff. This shopping with a man riff ain’t half bad.” Then her brows furrowed slightly as she indicated the jumble of clothing in her arms. “What do you think of my selections?” she demanded. “Am I headed in the right direction?”
P.J. inspected Nell’s choices one by one. “This one looks too baggy,” she decided of a dark, shapeless dress, and Nell put it back on the rack. “Ooh. I like this jacket and these three tops. And I see you hit the lingerie department, too.”
“Damn few tank tops to be found otherwise,” Nell agreed.
“Tell me about it.” P.J. vetoed one other selection and applauded the rest.
“I’ll give these a try then.” Nell reclaimed the hangers containing the clothes that had survived the cut and nodded at the fragile tops in P.J.’s hands. “What about you? You ready to try some stuff on?”
“Yep.” P.J. headed down the aisle, crooking her finger at Jared over her shoulder. “Come, boy.”
Nell’s head whipped around as if to assess his reaction to her friend’s insolence. He merely tugged a lock of hair falling over his forehead and murmured, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh my,” Nell said. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
A moment later P.J. indicated a nice overstuffed chair situated outside the women’s dressing room. “Have a seat,” she invited. “You might as well get comfortable, because this is gonna take a while.”
He kind of enjoyed himself at first. P.J. insisted they could use a man’s perspective and he liked seeing the flush on Nell’s cheeks and her pleased expression every time she came out to model an outfit that he approved.
P.J. modeled her picks, as well. And for a while he got a charge out of watching her parade out of the dressing room to twirl in front of him, then turn this way and that to assess every angle in the triple mirror situated not far from his chair.
After twenty minutes of being constantly asked to endorse her choices, however, he’d had enough. He’d been trying to ignore his attraction to her ever since he’d signed on for this job, but his determination to hold himself aloof only worked as long as he manned the ramparts, maintained the defenses. And somewhere between the salon and this comfy chair outside the women’s dressing rooms, he’d let his guard down.
Big mistake. Because now P.J. had begun modeling those damn little underwear tops and spandex pants. And he was starting to sweat.
“Do these make my butt look too big?” she asked, twisting to look at her reflection in the mirror. The fingers of her right hand splayed atop the anatomy in question, which pulled her elbow back and thrust her breasts forward.
“You’re kidding, right?” His gaze was all over the full curve challenging the stretch in the little black capris that she eyed so critically. “You’ve got a great ass.” His fingers flexed, tempted almost beyond bearing to reach out and palm a handful.
“That’s what I’m always telling her,” Nell called from inside one of the
dressing rooms. “J-Lo’s got nothing on our girl.”
“You think?” She turned around and looked at him uncertainly. “Then it’s this top. I look like a boy, don’t I? Damn, I’ve been waiting my entire life to grow a decent rack, but some things never change.”
“Jesus, P.J.” But tearing his gaze away from the sweet little cupcakes pressing slight but insistent curves in the cherry-red satin chemise, he looked into her eyes and saw genuine anxiety.
It was crazy. She was a rising star in an impossibly tough industry. She brought fans to their feet every night and this very evening she was to be awarded a prestigious plaque. She was loaded with talent, she was pretty…yet the insecure little girl he’d once known still lurked inside of her.
He rose to his feet, took her by the shoulders and turned her back to face the mirror. The top of her head barely reached the hollow of his throat and she looked dainty and feminine against his more muscular frame. Reaching around, he smoothed her top from just beneath her breasts to the exquisite garment’s hem. “Trust me,” he said in a low voice as the material pulled tight against her tits, “these are sweeter than sugar. There’s not a man on earth is ever gonna mistake you for a boy.” The satin under his hands was slippery smooth, the flesh beneath that warm and alive. He watched his hands in the mirror as if they belonged to someone else as they cupped the slight bottom swells, watched his thumbs as they swept like windshield wiper blades from her outside curves to her nipples. He observed those nipples shoot from soft quiescence to hard little bullets beneath the luxurious red fabric. “Not any man with blood in his veins,” he reiterated, pressing the stiff crests between the sides of his index finger and the pads of his thumbs.
Her head lolled against his chest and her eyes grew sleepy-lazy as they stared in the mirror at the hands on her breasts. He watched her watching.
Then his brain belatedly kicked in. What the hell are you doing?
He jerked his big paws to her upper arms and stepped back, holding her steady when she staggered at the removal of the support that had been propping her up.
He cleared his throat. “So, we just about done here? It’s getting late.” He raised his voice. “How about you, Nell? You almost ready to go?” A couple of women had come and gone while they’d been back in this corner, but had he even checked to see if anyone was around before he’d manhandled her? Hell, no.
Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! God, he was a moron.
He did his best to make up for it, however, acting cool and businesslike as he encouraged the women to speed up the remainder of their try-ons, pay for their purchases and climb in the cab he’d called to take them back to the arena. But he had his doubts that his sudden professionalism fooled anyone. He couldn’t really say about Peej, he supposed, since she was avoiding eye contact with him as assiduously as he was avoiding it with her. But Nell, whom he’d learned over the course of the day might be quiet but was far from meek and sure as hell didn’t lack for intelligence, had a speculative gleam in her eyes whenever she looked at either of them.
Traffic was a nightmare and no one said a word to alleviate the tension inside the taxi as it crawled down the freeway. When they finally pulled up to the tour bus P.J. turned to him and coolly addressed a point beyond his left shoulder. “I’d like you to help take this stuff inside, then come with me to my dressing room.”
He did as she asked but walking by her side toward the arena a short while later, he didn’t hold out much hope for a pleasant conversation once they reached their destination. They were both silent at the moment, but he had no doubt that P.J. would have plenty to say once they hit her dressing room. And he was pretty sure what he was going to hear.
Hit the road, Jack—or whatever the country equivalent was.
Her posture was stiff as she stopped before the door to her room. Opening it, she waved him in like a grande dame. Gut roiling, he complied with her gesture and she closed the door behind them. Certain that this was the end, he abruptly realized that he wasn’t even remotely ready to call this assignment—or whatever was happening between them—quits.
He was even less prepared for her to leap on him, wrap her legs around his waist and rock her mouth over his.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hyperlink, www.JuicyCountry.com
How Faith Hill, Priscilla Jayne and Shania Twain
Stay Slender. And How You Can, Too!
P.J. PLUNGED HER HANDS into Jared’s hair, held him fast and kissed him as if her life depended on it. And maybe it did, because she’d never felt quite this way—all hot blood, pounding pulses and nerve endings that arced and snapped like a downed power line. Ever since that ended-way-too-soon smooch in the salon she’d been primed. Beyond primed, really. And that business in front of the mirror had merely been gasoline on the fire.
In public. Dear God, she’d been ready and willing to get naked and do the hump-de-hump with Jared Hamilton, the star of her girlhood dreams, in the middle of an upscale department store. His sexual experience was clearly lightyears beyond her own.
But, man, oh, man, was she ever prepared to play catch-up!
He ripped his mouth free. “Wait…no…wait,” he panted. “We can’t do this.” But his hands gripping her bottom flexed and kneaded and pulled her in, undulating her against a hard-as-hickory baton that pushed beneath her rucked-up skirt and settled between her legs to tell a different story.
A story that had her body singing the give-it-to-me song. She licked her lips and nodded earnestly. “Uh-huh. We can.”
“God, yes, maybe.” He drew in a deep breath. Blew it out. Then his heavy-lidded eyes, which burned with green fire between dense, tangled lashes, cooled the tiniest bit. “But we do it my way.”
Her own eyes narrowed. “Your way doesn’t include things like whips or chains, does it?”
“Nope.”
“Anything painful?”
A rusty-sounding laugh escaped him. “No pain, baby—only pleasure.”
“Well, alrighty then. But I want more kisses.”
“Oh, I’ll give you kisses.”
Why did that sound almost like a threat?
She didn’t have time to pursue the question because Jared, true to his word, lowered his head and kissed her again. He kissed her with such adroitness, with such skill, that she was barely even cognizant of being carried across the room. All she knew or cared about was that his mouth was hot and his lips exerted an exciting suction and his tongue set a languid, carnal rhythm that drove her to the edge of sanity.
That caused her breath to hitch and her lips to cling helplessly.
That made her arms drop limply to her sides even as her heels dug into his muscular rear to hold him in place.
The dressing room’s acoustical-tile ceiling took a sudden twirling spin when he lowered her onto the day bed in the corner. He came down on top of her and, linking their fingers, pressed the backs of her hands into the thin coverlet on either side of her shoulders. Pushing up onto his forearms, he flung his hair out of his face. Several strands promptly fell forward again and his dark eyebrows snapped together, patently displeased with the insurrection.
P.J. wanted to laugh out loud. Given the slant of his lower lip, the streaky disheveled hair refusing to conform to his command and those broad shoulders in their richly textured heavy-cream-colored cotton, she thought he looked like a sulky fallen angel. She half expected monstrous feathery wings to unfold and rustle with disgruntlement.
Lifting their connected hands, he hunched a shoulder and bent his head to swipe the fallen locks out of his way with his raised forearm. They fell right back out of alignment. His mouth still retaining its sullen cast, he shrugged and resettled their twined hands back onto the spread, staring down at her.
“Frigging hair,” he growled. Then his gaze sharpened on her and it was as if every bit of his concentration suddenly refocused. “God, you’re sweet.”
She grinned up at him. “Aren’t I a peach?” she agreed, wiggling pleasurably beneath him
. “And you’re—oh God, Jared, you’re so hot.”
His mouth finally crooking up, he settled a little deeper atop her. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” It gave her palpitations just thinking about it. “All that’s missing is Josh Turner crooning from the stereo.” At his baffled look, she sang in the lowest register she could manage:
“Baby, lock the door and turn the lights down low. Put some music on that’s soft and slow.”
In her conversational voice she admitted, “’Course, it’s not quite the same when I sing it. He’s got that wonderful deep voice going for him. And okay, it’s a couple of years old. But ever since the first time I heard it playing on the radio I’ve thought of it as the ultimate makeout song.”
“Well then, baby, lock the door and turn the lights down low.”
Laughing, she disentangled her fingers from his grasp to cup the back of his head and pull him back down for another kiss. One touch of his lips, however, and her laughter faded as jangled nerve endings that had temporarily settled down jitter-danced back to life. He’d lowered his head to comply with her unspoken demand for his mouth, but a space of several inches still separated their upper torsos. Finding the distance unacceptable, she moaned and lifted to press her breasts against his chest.
As if someone had kicked the slats out from under him, he collapsed on her, thrusting the hands he’d been using to prop himself up into her hair. His sudden weight drove the breath from her lungs, but she didn’t care. Breathing was overrated. His mouth was savage, passionate, and, loving it, P.J. dove headfirst into the madness.
For several long minutes she burned out of control. Her skin felt hot and tight, her pulse pounded in her throat, her wrists, her nipples and deep between her legs, and her only thought was that she wanted to tear Jared’s clothes off and rub her body all over his. She’d been turned on a few times in her life. Never, however, had she experienced anything close to this level of unrestrained need. She felt as if she’d literally die if she didn’t get naked with the man soon.
Coming Undone Page 13