Playboy Prankster

by Pamela Britton

  “It is a set up,” said an all too familiar masculine voice.

  CJ stiffened, caught sight of Bryce out of the corner of her eye, yelped like a poodle being stepped on, and tried to slam the door. It didn’t work due to a size twelve foot. CJ was tempted to ram it closed but she was never one to retreat. So she placed her hands on her hips and gave him a look meant to singe the hair off his head.

  He ignored it and sauntered into the room, smiling at her like a fly on a compost heap. She supposed she could tell him to leave, but it would apparently make no difference. The whole situation had gotten out of hand. Kathleen had already skulked away. CJ slammed the door behind her and glared at Bryce.

  “How in the heck did you get my room number?”

  He smiled deviously. “I slipped the guy at the front desk a hundred bucks.”

  “The little creep. I gave him twenty not to give it to you.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you. I’d pay any price to see you.”

  She tried to ignore the little tingles his words evoked, just as she tried to ignore his presence, but that was like trying to stop an avalanche with a butterfly net. He wore the same light-blue button-down as before, a shirt that exactly matched the color of his eyes. His jeans hugged his frame in a way Levi Strauss would give its third quarter profits to duplicate. His skin, tanned from his many hours in the sun, gave off that tangy, foresty aroma she’d become addicted to. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and inhale.

  “I’m here to keep my promise, CJ,” he whispered in a voice so soft it sent another jolt of adrenaline through her. God help her, she knew in that instant that she’d been kidding herself. She’d been hoping he wouldn’t give up. That he’d wait for her to show up. That he’d want to see her so badly, he’d track her down once again.

  He had.

  The look in his eyes intensified, turned a color as deep as sapphires.

  But she couldn’t let this happen. Not tonight. Not ever.

  Bryce took a step toward her, watching as her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She looked so cute in her jeans and pink T-shirt. No makeup covered the slight dusting of freckles on her cheeks and her pert little nose. Her mahogany-colored hair lay loose about her shoulders in rumpled disarray, as if she’d run her fingers through it a time or two, he’d guess in frustration by the look in her eyes. Poor CJ. She had no idea the time for running was over.

  “Would it be too much to ask you to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, then I’m leaving,” she snapped.

  “Not before we talk.”

  “Talk? About what?”

  “About how it’s going to feel when I when I make love to you.”

  She stiffened. So did he, though not his back.

  “Oh no,” she said, raising her hand in the air. “No, no, no. I’m not going to have this conversation.”

  He took a step toward her, growing harder by the second. “Which conversation? The one about how I’m going to strip your clothes off and taste every inch of your body?”

  “Stop it,” she repeated, retreating a step, her back bumping up against the wall.

  “I don’t want to stop, CJ. I want you to admit what there is between us.”

  “I’m not listening,” she plugged her ears and closed her eyes, humming the National Anthem.

  He tried not to laugh. “I know you can hear me.”

  “What?” she yelled. “Did you say something?”

  “And I know you want me. I know you feel what’s between us.” He took the last final step, a step toward the commitment, toward the future. She was so cute the way she kept denying their attraction to each other, but her eyes, her eyes said it all. They burned with heat, sent white-hot electricity leaping through his veins. If he could just de-activate the too-active brain of hers for a second…

  Her hands dropped from her ears. She looked like she was about to bolt so he reached out and gently cupped her chin. Her skin was so smooth, so soft. “Do you really want me to leave?” She smelled like passion and promises.

  He saw her swallow, saw the emotions in her eyes; confusion, fear…want. “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded, but the expression on her face told him the opposite. She looked like a little sex kitten, all hot and feisty. And so he tested her words by bending down and gently kissing her. Her eyes widened just before his lips connected. She was unyielding at first, then suddenly her mouth opened to his. She tasted like toothpaste; minty and sweet.

  She pulled away quickly, as if she couldn’t believe she’d let him kiss her. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaved, her green eyes swimming with tempestuous anger and something else.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” she snapped. And then she grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulled his head down and kissed him back.

  Bryce was too surprised to do much more than stand there, but the feel of her pressed against him, the taste of her flooding his mouth again—the very fact that she was the aggressor—had him begging for more.

  Desire burst between them like steam from a radiator. Her body began to tremble, and he knew she felt the same thing he did. Soft moans rose from her throat. Her skin burned, even through the fabric of her shirt, and suddenly the cotton shirt was a nuisance. His hand fumbled at the waist of her jeans, tugging, jerking, lifting the shirt up high enough to place his fingers against her side. And when his fingers made contact with her breast she stiffened, then retreated against the wall again.

  “Don’t,” she ordered firmly.

  “Don’t stop?” He knew good and well what she meant; but he couldn’t seem to quit touching her.

  “Don’t do this.” And then she pulled his shirt out of his waistband, and this time it was his turn to moan as she touched him, slid her nails up his abdomen, over his ribcage, circling his nipple once before burying her fingers in the hair on his chest.

  “God, CJ.” He cupped her breast in his hand, using his other hand to release the catch on her bra. Magnificent, more than a handful, soft to the touch, her nipple a hard pebble in his palm. He wanted to taste that nipple, wanted to suck it until those soft moans rose in her throat again. He leaned toward her, placing his palm against the wall and tugging her closer with his other hand. She tensed. Then his lips captured a pebbled nub and she melted in his arms.

  “Oh jeez,” she whispered. “Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez.”

  He swirled a circle with his tongue. She arched her back like a cat, offering herself to him, rubbing against him. Damn, he was going to pop, was going to explode inside his pants like some adolescent boy. He couldn’t believe the effect she had on him. It was like driving Harry’s truck off the edge of a cliff; exhilarating, wild, mind-blowing and it was only when she started moaning again that he stopped, drawing away from her reluctantly.

  “Get undressed, honey.”

  She shook her head, her eyes closed. “I…I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “It’s all right,” he reassured, gently stroking the side of her face, and then bending down to trail kisses along the column of her neck.

  “It’s not a pretty sight,” she mumbled.

  “I can take it.” He lightly bit her ear lobe.

  “Oh, man,” she moaned.

  He continued to nibble. “C’mon, honey.”

  “It’s too ugly.”

  He reached between them. “What is?” he asked, hardly aware of what she was saying, far more interested in undoing her jeans.

  “My body.”

  Her words suddenly registered, disbelief making him draw back in surprise. Her eyes were filled with so much uncertainty and anxiety and doubt that his heart lurched against his chest. That CJ, his calm, confident, brave CJ should be so insecure about her body made his heart swell. “Ah, CJ, honey. You have a beautiful body.”

  But the expression on her face told him she didn’t believe him.

  “You do,” he reaffirmed.

  “You don’t need to pretend
with me.”

  He couldn’t believe it. She sounded like a martyr.

  “Look,” he said firmly, lifting her shirt. He almost groaned, instead he forced himself to say, “Do you see this?” cupping a breast and weighing it in his palm. “This,” he went on, ignoring her gasp and the painful throbbing in his groin, “is the most beautiful breast I’ve ever seen.”

  She tried to draw away.

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it’s more than a mouthful,” she muttered, looking up at him dubiously.

  “Perfect,” he clarified, reluctantly letting go. “And your skin is soft and smooth. It’s like the most supple of leather car seats.”

  “Oh great,” she mumbled. “Just what I want. Naugahide breasts.”

  “Do you know how much I want to kiss that skin, to touch you everywhere?” He demonstrated by lightly stroking her abdomen.

  “No,” she moaned.

  “And your butt. God, CJ, it’s amazing. Perfectly formed, heart-shaped. Whenever you walk away from me I can’t stop staring at it. And your legs. I go crazy just thinking about them wrapped around me.” He gently turned her head and forced her to look at him, his voice firm as he said, “I want to bury myself inside of you.”

  “Oh jeez,” she whispered.

  Emotions overtook him as he stared down at her; tenderness, amusement…anger. Who was the bastard who had done this to her, made her so insecure? Whoever he was, the man should be shot.

  “Bryce,” she said his name softly, almost in wonder. “You better not be lying.”

  He chuckled, couldn’t seem to stop himself, then pulled her up against him. “Come, here, you little idiot. Let me prove to you just how much your body pleases me.” He clasped her hand in his and guided it to his erection. “Do you feel that?” And when she nodded, he dipped his head down to nuzzle her ear. “That’s what you do to me.” She pulled her hand away, but he guided it back. “Touch me, CJ. I’m begging.”

  He counted the seconds of her hesitation. After two seconds he closed his eyes.

  By four he felt her hand on his button down fly.

  By six she was stroking the length of him.

  By eight he almost came. All she did was run her hand up his hardness, the fabric of his jeans shielding him from her touch, but it could have been her lips that stroked him, could have been her sweet tongue licking him. His whole body jerked, unfurled like a coiled spring. “Ahh, CJ, honey, do it again.”

  She did.

  He groaned, then dipped his head down to nibble at her ear again. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, wanted to lap up the taste of her for the rest of his life. His lips traveled lower; along the cord of her neck. He lifted her shirt to the top of her breast. She arched into him; he swirled his tongue around her nipple.

  “Bryce. Yes, Bryce, please…” Her hand flexed and tightened against him.

  Her nipple shrunk, became a hardened tip in his mouth. He sucked on it, played with it with his tongue.

  “Yes, Bryce, that’s it.”

  She was going to be the death of him. He just knew it.

  “Let’s move to the bed.” He felt her stiffen, then draw away “CJ?”

  “I have to…I have to,” She panted, her green eyes smoky, her hair in wild disarray. “I have to get the door,” she finished in a rush.

  Door? What door? Ah shit. Someone was knocking on the damn door.

  She was out of his arms before he could stop her, his body left revving like a motor at the starting line with the race canceled.

  “You ordered pizza?” asked a pimply faced youth with a red, white and blue baseball cap on his head, his left hand scratching his left armpit and his right hand carried a pizza box. Extra large.

  “Yeah,” CJ rasped out, her breath as fast as a rabbit fleeing for its life. Dang, what had almost happened?

  You just about peeled Bryce’s banana, that’s what almost happened. Way to keep your distance, Ceej. Next you’ll be pulling off your clothes off, screaming, “Let me be your sex goddess”.

  The kid pulled out a receipt, balancing the cardboard box in his other hand. “Okay. It comes to $16.95.”

  “Huh?” She blinked, then forced herself to concentrate. “Ahh, yeah, right. $16.85.”

  “Ninety-five,” the kid corrected. “Did you want peppers or—holy shit.”

  “Um, I’ll pass on the shit,” CJ mumbled, fumbling in her pocket for the twenty she’d stuffed in her jeans.

  “You’re that kid’s toy store king guy.”

  CJ darted a glance behind her.

  “In the flesh,” Bryce drawled in lazy syllables.

  “Wow!” the kid exclaimed, “I’ve seen your commercials.” He turned toward her. “Are you somebody?” he asked, looking at her excitedly; as if she had to be somebody to be in the presence of such a pseudo-celebrity.

  “She’s my girlfriend,” Bryce answered for her.

  “Your girlfriend?” the kid blurted. “She’s your girlfriend?” He said it like, “This brown haired, overweight, Orca-the-Killer-Whale look-alike is your girlfriend?” CJ wanted to conk him over the head with his pizza box. Okay so she wasn’t much to look at, she could admit that, wasn’t even bothered by it on most days, but she didn’t need to be reminded that she wasn’t Bryce’s usual type by some kid with acne medicine spackled all over his face, especially in light of her and Bryce’s recent conversations. She stuffed the twenty in the brat’s greasy hand.

  “I’m not his girlfriend, I’m a journalist.” She looked back at Bryce with a glare that warned him he best keep his mouth shut. Which he did. Smart man.

  “Oh, I see. He was joking.”

  The little shit pocketed the whole twenty without bothering to make change. CJ put her hand out. The kid gave her the evil eye. She arched a brow. He reached into his pocket, slapping down some ones and her change in her watery palm.

  “Never insult the lady who ordered the pizza,” CJ said sweetly, jamming the notes and coins into her front pocket.

  Ignoring her, the kid turned to Bryce and said, “Hey, can I have your autograph? I was going to go out to the race tomorrow, but it’d be great if you could sign one now.”

  “Well isn’t that neat, Bryce? He wants your autograph,” CJ said, seeing a way to get rid of Bryce, for suddenly it was imperative she do so, imperative because she knew if she let him make love to her it’d be the biggest mistake of her life. Bigger than Ed, even. Any other man who came into her life would pale in comparison to Bryce.

  She deposited her pizza on a nearby table and grabbed Bryce by the arm, forcing him toward the door. “Why don’t you go on down to his car and sign one for him?”

  “Wow, would you?” the kid exclaimed. “That’d be great.”

  She got Bryce as far as the doorway before he put on the brakes. “CJ, I’m sure you’ve got a piece of paper in here I can sign.”

  “In here? Don’t be silly, Bryce. Even Gideon hasn’t been here.” She dragged him forward another step.

  He dug in his heels. “I’m not leaving this room.”

  She pushed harder. “Oh, yes, you are.”

  He leaned into her. “No, I’m not.”

  “Ahh,” the kid said, “I can wait to get the autograph tomorrow.”

  They both turned to look at the boy who was staring at them like they’d suddenly announced they were Gorts from the evil planet Zoltar.

  “No need to do that,” she said, giving him her best fake smile. She turned back to Bryce. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll wait right here for this nice young man to fetch a piece of paper for you to sign.”

  Bryce stared at her suspiciously before saying, “Fine.”

  They looked at the kid. “Go on,” CJ said, shooing him with her hand.

  The boy turned away. CJ waited until he got as far as the stairwell before making her move.

  With all her might she gave Bryce a huge shove.

  “Hey,” he cried, stumbling out the door.

  She clos
ed it in his face.

  “Damn it, CJ, why’d you do that?” he called from the other side.

  Deanna was right, she was a chicken. But she was a chicken with a healthy dose of self-preservation.

  “CJ, I’m not leaving until you and I talk.”

  The kid was right. She wasn’t Bryce’s type. Better to realize that now before he discovered the red dent around her waist where her jeans dug in. But, damn it, it took every ounce of self-control to keep the door closed. She groaned, heading toward the bathroom without a second thought. She needed a shower. A cold one. Now.

  “Damn it,” Bryce muttered from the other side of the door.

  “You want me to try?” the freckle-faced kid asked.

  Bryce stared down at him impatiently. It was hot outside. The motel was the kind with a long balcony, wrought iron railing keeping guests from falling into the parking lot below. But he had a feeling the heat he felt had more to do with the woman on the other side of the door than the waning sunlight.

  “No,” he said morosely, wondering what to do. If he knocked on the door again she’d just ignore him. That he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. And she hadn’t opened the window next to the motel room door. And he refused to drag Kathleen into this again. He already felt bad for involving her the first time around.

  “I have a friend that works here.”

  Bryce’s turned toward the kid quickly. He was nodding, his pimples standing out in stark contrast to his white skin even in the gray light.

  “Do you now?” Bryce asked.

  The teenager nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He cleans rooms here. I bet he could keep an eye out for her. You know, in case she leaves or something.”

  But Bryce was toying with another idea, one that had instantly sprung to mind. “I don’t think she’s going to go anywhere tonight.”

  “No?” the kid asked, obviously disappointed.

  “So we need to do something different. Something a little more inventive.”

  But Bryce didn’t trust that CJ wasn’t listening at the door, so he led the kid away, to the stairwell not more than twenty feet from CJ’s room, and then down the stairs. “A ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ type of thing,” Bryce added.