Playboy Prankster

by Pamela Britton

  “I haven’t? Gee, I’ll have to work on that.”

  “And you’re looking at me funny too.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah, like I’m an ex-boyfriend you just met on the street or something.” He sat down next to her. She didn’t move, even though every instinct was telling her to get out of Dodge, fast, but she’d done that once only to land in the same situation again.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Your bruises hurting?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  Her heart pinged in her chest like gravel on the underside of the truck. “Mad, why would I be mad?”

  He shifted in his seat, sliding closer to her. “For breaking into your room last night.” His voice grew lower, his eyes fixed on her lips.

  “No. Why would that bother me? I tossed you out on your ear. Literally.”

  “You did, didn’t you?” he said softly, placing his hand on her thigh.

  She just about leapt off the couch.

  “But then you opened the door to me again and so I figured you couldn’t be that mad.”

  She was in trouble, deep, deep doo-doo. Just his touch set her heart racing, just the feel of his fingers, gentle, yet with an underlying edge of hardness, had the ability to make her admit something; she was losing control of her willpower.

  “CJ?’

  Man, she was sick of this. She was sick of always being a good girl. Of resisting one-night stands. She was sick of how he could reduce her to a quivering mass of Jell-O by just by saying her name. The ivory polo he wore enhanced the blueness of his eyes, turning them a color reminiscent of peacock feathers. He had such beautiful eyes.

  “Bryce, don’t.”

  He was leaning toward her. “Don’t what?”

  “Do what you’re about to do.”

  “And what’s that?” His breath drifted across her face. He’d been sucking on a breath mint, she could tell.

  She started to breathe hard. Oh, man. There it was again. That smell. Tangy. Masculine. Bryce.

  “You’re going to kiss me.” But the words came out sounding like an order.

  His eyes narrowed. The look in them intensified, almost as if he knew every naughty thought, every nasty idea she had floating in the hormonal cauldron of her mind. Every nerve suddenly went on red alert. Heat shimmered through her body. Run, CJ. Run away now.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I am definitely going to kiss you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Of course she wasn’t going to run. Who was she trying to kid? Instead, she retreated a couple inches.

  He scooted closer to her. She retreated again.

  “Why are you fighting this?” he groaned, his voice a husky timbre that sent mating hormones into overdrive. Not good. Not good at all.

  “Fighting this?” she scoffed. “Who’s fighting anything? I, ahh, I just have an itch on my bu— Ahh, my back.” She demonstrated by rubbing her shoulders back and forth against the black leather couch, trying not to wince when her sore muscles twinged.

  “I have an itch too…for you.” And she could see the truth in his eyes. It made her heart want to sing “I Feel Pretty” or something, because when he looked at her like that, she really did feel pretty. Beautiful, even.

  “God, you’re something,” he said softly, as if reading her mind.

  She was not “something”. She was a nothing. The type of woman men liked to make a pass at, but nothing more. An easy mark. Someone so desperate for attention she’d settle for anything—or so those men had thought, but then she forgot everything as he leaned forward.

  She should have pulled away. She tried to tell herself that, but Self wouldn’t listen.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

  Yes, please.

  She was dreaming again. Bryce couldn’t really be staring down at her like she was the oil in his motor. He moved his head toward her as if he had every intention of placing those wonderful, sensual lips against hers. Her body stretched taut…waiting. His breath wafted across her face. She closed her eyes.

  Soft. His lips were so soft. They were merely nudging hers, seeking, asking that she open to him. His hand touched her shoulder softly, then instantly moved away as if he remembered her bruises, only to move up to stroke her jaw. Then she was kissing him back, giving vent to every wild fantasy she’d had about him. Her mouth opened, his taste flooded her; minty and sweet. A gentle brush of his tongue and her body coiled like a spring.

  He deepened the kiss; she answered his need by tilting her head, giving him all she had to offer, and more. His hand released her chin, traveling down the side of her neck, searing a trail of heat down her collarbone, hovering just for a moment above her breast. Yes, her body said. Oh yes.

  She arched into him wanting him to suckle her, to, good gracious, to bite her, but instead his hands skimmed over her arms, then pulled her closer to him. She moaned in disappointment. He didn’t seem to notice.

  And the kiss went on.

  She lost herself in it, existing in a place somewhere between reality and hot desire. She could feel him hard against her leg. She rubbed into him, knowing it was wanton, uncaring that it was. Her ears began to ring, her heart pounded.

  She moaned, wanting his mouth on her too.

  The shirt she wore slipped out of her waistband like tissue from a box. Cool air from the AC raised goose pimples on her flesh. She leaned back and lay on the couch; Bryce followed her down. His hand touched her stomach and her skin contracted. His fingers worked on the buttons of her jeans. His mouth continued its sensuous assault, his other hand raising her shirt higher. And higher. She helped him by tugging on it too, the blood rushing through her ears as she waited for the feel of his lips against her breast.

  With a savvy that bespoke years of practice, Bryce undid the catch in the front of her bra. It twanged open with a snap. CJ opened her eyes, catching Bryce’s hot, intense glare just before his lips captured her nipple.

  Maybe it was because she hadn’t been with a man since Prohibition, or maybe it was because she turned into a sex-crazed maniac around Bryce, but the sight of him working that nipple, playing with it, teasing it, just about sent her to climax heaven. His lips were cool against her sizzling flesh; his teeth nipped her, made the ache between her legs throb.

  His other hand crept in the open vee of her jeans. She wished she wasn’t wearing panties. She wanted them gone, wanted to feel Bryce’s hand brush against her curls…wanted his finger to trace up her wet, hot valley…wanted whoever it was to stop knocking on the dang door.

  “Go away,” Bryce ordered.

  “Bryce?”

  It was Harry.

  CJ jumped, then hastily pulled down her shirt, nearly clocking Bryce on the nose in the process.

  “What do you want, Harry?” Bryce asked, his hand still exploring the inside of her jeans.

  “Stop it,” she hissed, trying to pull his hand out, hoping, praying Harry didn’t get it in his head to open the door, not that he wouldn’t know what they’d been doing anyway. Her lips felt as big as sturgeon’s and her nipple felt like it’d done battle with a Hoover vacuum and lost.

  “Is CJ in there with you?”

  “I’m right here, Harry.” She leveled Bryce with a glare. “Would you get your hand out of my pants, please?”

  “It’s stuck,” he said with that bad-boy smile.

  “Are you two kids coming?” Harry asked.

  “I was just about to,” Bryce told her.

  CJ ignored him. Coming? What did Harry mean, coming? She glanced at her watch. “Holy moly,” she gasped. “Bryce, we’ve got to be at the starting line in five minutes.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “That’s what I came in here to tell you.”

  “Oh, great!” She grabbed his wrist and jerked his hand out from between her thighs, then pushed on his shoulders, forcing him to sit back up. He l
ooked disappointed. “I haven’t even gotten into my firesuit.”

  “I’d rather see you in your birthday suit.”

  She’d rather see him in his too, but one of them had to be sensible.

  Five minutes later the truck roared to life, fans around the starting line watching them intently, not that CJ noticed. Her hands shook as she double-checked her harness because she honestly couldn’t remember buckling it. Man, what had just happened? She felt as brainless as a blonde. Well, maybe not that brainless.

  “Ready?”

  No, but she nodded anyway. The desert sun was already high above them, sending waves of heat up from the road. It would be another day from hell. The damn seatbelts would dig into her shoulders for hours. Terrific.

  “Do you have your harness on correctly?”

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe you ought to check it one more time.”

  She looked down at the same time he did, though Bryce roared with laughter while she shrieked at the…the thing rising up like a serpent from her safety belt. A plastic penis.

  “Omigosh, how did that get there?”

  They had glued it to her lap belt, she realized. When she’d pulled the racing harness taut, the plastic thing had lifted to attention. Those jerks.

  “It’s Kong Dong.”

  She didn’t care what it was, just as long as it was gone, unfortunately, it was impossible to remove. She tugged on it as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Bryce laughed harder.

  CJ wasn’t laughing. With each successive tug she grew more and more irate. “It…won’t…budge,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she pulled with all her might.

  “That because it’s plastic.”

  She wanted to hit him, she really did. “Tell Kevin to get it out of here.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re leaving.”

  “We’re what—” Her words died in her throat as she was thrown back into her seat, the motor roaring in her ears as Bryce gunned the engine with her hands still clutched around the Kong Dong like a joy stick. The force of their departure ripped it away from the belt. CJ held it before her victoriously, her hand bouncing up and down with the motion of the truck. The thing looked real. She chastised herself for even noting that much. She shoved it between the net and the window sill, darting a look backward just in time to see fans rush forward to see what it was she’d tossed. A smile, her first one in hours, spread across her face as she envisioned their reactions.

  “You didn’t want to keep it?”

  The people dotting the road were reduced to blobs of color as they picked up speed. CJ faced forward again, smile fading. “No.”

  “Probably just as well. You’ve already got more than a handful right here.” He wiggled in his seat.

  The truck lurched over a bump, CJ rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with the sexual innuendoes, Bryce. I’m not in the mood.”

  His smile faded. He nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We need to talk about what just happened.”

  CJ released a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to talk about it. I lost control for a second or two, that was all.”

  “That’s not all, CJ, and you know it. There’s something happening between us.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “Yeah, something that will end the minute this race is over.”

  He shot her a wounded look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not your type.”

  “Yes ,you are.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Everybody with a pulse is your type,” she reasoned. “I tried to tell you this earlier but you, ah, sidetracked me in the transporter.”

  “Look, CJ. You are my type. Why else would I show up at your motel last night?”

  “Because you lost Pink Pumps’s phone number.”

  He shot her an irritated look. “Just who the hell is this Pink Pumps you keep referring to?”

  He sounded so frustrated, and so utterly at his wit’s end, she said, “The one with a size four waist and breast implants. You know, the woman you met the day before the race started.”

  “Who…” And then his head slowly tipped back before he nodded. “You mean Michelle.”

  “Is that her name? I thought it’d be Lola or Babette or something.”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “CJ, I’m not interested in her.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what was all that stuff yesterday about liking someone so much you’re attracted to them, although what’s not to like about that woman is hard to understand?”

  He glanced over at her, his eyes suddenly intent. “CJ, I was talking about you.”

  Words failed her for a long, long second, a second in which two bugs committed insecticide on the front windshield and a little squirrel darted halfway across the road, saw the truck racing toward it, then darted back. Smart squirrel. She swallowed back her pleasure and said, “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ah, man. That was twice in two days he’d said something that took her breath away. Sheesh, her heart couldn’t take much more of this. Never mind that it was sorta a backhanded compliment. Obviously, he wasn’t attracted to her looks, which might actually be a compliment. Man. She didn’t know what to think. But she was still inordinately pleased, right before her sense of logic chose that moment to rear its unwanted head. Trouble, remember?

  Yeah, but she was starting to like Trouble.

  Enough to risk a broken heart? her mind immediately retorted. Sure, he’s being nice to you now, but you just know once the race is over he’ll go back to his usual fare. You’re a novelty right now.

  Gee, thanks, Mind.

  But Mind was right, she just hadn’t wanted to admit it at first. If nothing else, her research had revealed Bryce’s short attention span where the fairer sex was concerned.

  “Look, Bryce, you’ve been really nice, but I—” She jerked in her seat suddenly, the belts causing her to gasp. “Look out,” she screamed. But Bryce had already seen it, was just then slamming on the brakes to avoid the curve in the road.

  The harness dug into her shoulders like her bra on a heavy bloat day. CJ almost lost her breakfast on Bryce’s asbestos tennis shoes it hurt so bad. They slid, screeched and spun around a bend. Her butt puckered so hard it almost stuck to the seat. She closed her eyes, praying God would take pity on her, not that She’d been listening lately. Only when the truck straightened out again did she reluctantly, and very slowly, open her eyes. They were still upright. Amazing.

  “Waah whoooo,” Bryce cried, shifting in his seat like a kid on Christmas day. “Man, that was great. I’m gonna have to get us one of these things.”

  Us, she thought. “Great?” she said instead. “Great? You call instant hemorrhoids fun? You call more bruises fun? You call almost losing my breakfast fun? I don’t think so.”

  “Hey. It’s not my fault,” he said laughingly. “I was so busy staring at the outline of your breasts I forgot to look ahead.”

  Oh great. She was surprised he hadn’t screamed in horror. She shifted in her seat, then reached down to adjust the harness in her lap.

  He looked over at her, and she could hear the leer in his southern drawl. “Need some help?”

  “What I need is for you to keep your dang eyes on the road.”

  “I’d rather keep them on you.”

  “I don’t want them on me. Don’t you get it? I was about to tell you we’re through.”

  “Through? We haven’t even begun.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s over.”

  “But we’ve barely started.”

  “Would you stop it?

  “Who’s on first?”

  “Be serious!”

  “I am Serious and you’re Chicken, What’s on third.”

  “I am not Chicken. And I don’t want to get involved with you, so there.”

  The truck leapt over a bump. CJ braced herself as they landed, a hiss
escaping her lips as the nylon straps dug into her once more.

  His eyes smiled at her, the look in them openly teasing. “Has Harry been telling horror stories about me again?” he drawled in his cute Southern accent.

  She gritted her teeth and clipped out, “No.”

  “Good. I hate it when he does that.”

  That did it. She had officially reached her breaking point. “The reason I don’t want to get involved with you is because I’m sleeping with my editor.”

  “The one who thinks you’re sleeping with the 5th platoon?”

  Man, she was going to strangle him. “All right, so maybe we’re not really lovers, but he wanted to be lovers. I turned him down. Ever since then he’s been looking for an excuse to fire me.”

  “So? Quit.”

  “He told me if I quit he’d spread a rumor that I was plagiarizing stories…to be specific, his stories. So I’ve been sticking it out. Saying the word plagiarize in the journalism industry is like yelling fire in a crowded theater.”

  “He sounds like a real putz. All the more reason to quit.”

  CJ almost screamed. “It took me two years to find that job,” she snapped. “Two years of doing temp work, of living hand to mouth, of putting up with one rotten employer after another. Two years,” she yelled, “and two weeks after I start at DRIVE, two weeks to the day, Miles makes a pass at me. He’s never forgiven me for punching him out, and he never will. I know that.

  “Just as I know that if I mess up on this assignment, make one wrong move—believe me, getting involved with you would be a big wrong move in his book—then I’m out, and you can bet your you-know-what I’ll never find another job in journalism.”

  “So?”

  She gave up. The man was impossible. It was hopeless. She leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the side window in silence. She hoped he asphyxiated on exhaust fumes.

  “Hey. Does this mean we can’t get together tonight?”

  She glared over at him and for the first time in her life felt the nearly uncontrollable urge to reach out, grab a man by the testicles and squeeze.

  Hard.

  Really hard.