Playboy Prankster: Extreme Racing, Book 1

by Pamela Britton

  “’Cause I caught a look at the guy at the front desk. The closest that man had come to security is the maximum security kind.”

  He must mean that god-awful man at the registration desk, the one with more ink tattooed on his arms than a printing press. “Well, then I’ll call the police.”

  “You’ll have to come out here to use the phone.”

  “That won’t be a problem since you’re leaving.”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to bite?”

  “I’d need a rabies shot if you did.”

  He groaned. “Ooo, a low blow.”

  She didn’t say anything. Trouble, she reminded herself.

  “And to think, I was going to ask you out to dinner.”

  “Sorry. I have other plans tonight.”

  “What plans?”

  “None of your business.” She heard a rustling sound and stiffened. “Don’t you come near me, Bryce Danvers.”

  Silence.

  “Bryce?” she called warily. Maybe he was leaving. She opened the door another notch.

  Nothing.

  She peeked her head out the door.

  “Boo.”

  She jumped. The brat stood right by the door frame wearing a white polo shirt and tan slacks, looking entirely too good for her peace of mind. “You…You…” She hissed, all the while trying not to gawk. Bryce, without his firesuit, was a sight to behold. The shirt clung to his muscular frame, the white contrasting with his tan and making his eyes stand out even more. She clutched the towel around her more firmly.

  “Are those bruises on your shoulder?”

  She looked down, startled out of her salivating. Bruises? What bruises?

  He walked forward and CJ tensed. Oh gosh, this was bad. This was really, really bad. He smelled like that forest again, and she was in a towel, and he was…oh goodness, he was touching her. Gently, softly touching her shoulder. She closed her eyes, her body thrumming like a guitar string.

  “Did the harness give you those?”

  She nodded, still not trusting herself to look up at him. If she did, she might drop the towel and offer herself to him like Aphrodite on the altar of love.

  “Where else are you bruised?”

  “It feels like everywhere I have skin.”

  “Can I see?”

  She looked up at him, there was a look concern on his face. CJ squelched the stab of disappointment that it wasn’t burning, uncontrollable lust.

  “C’mon, I promise not to hurt you.”

  That was what all men said, but she lowered the towel anyway, not a lot, just so he could check it out, the feel of his eyes on her more erotic than the feel of his fingers.

  “You’re black and blue.”

  Was she? She almost closed her eyes, but the look in his eyes wouldn’t allow her. There was so much tenderness in his gaze, so much genuine concern her heart instantly forgave him for not tossing her over his shoulder, throwing her on the bed, and having his wicked way with her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the belts hurt you?”

  Because she hadn’t cared. Because with him sharing the same airspace as her she was hard pressed to notice much of anything. “Because I didn’t think it mattered.”

  His blue eyes narrowed, such pretty blue eyes, so mesmerizing.

  “Not matter? Of course it matters.”

  Oh, gracious, she didn’t think she could take much more of being near him. Her body had begun to warm. Places that had no business getting excited suddenly cried out for a little action. And when his finger reached out to touch her again, when she noticed that his eyes had never left her own, the realization that he wanted to kiss her hit her with the force of a club.

  “Bryce?” she murmured, unsure, hardly daring to hope that she read his expression correctly.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  But she wasn’t mistaken. He did want to kiss her. She could tell. Never mind that her common sense demanded a reason as to why he was suddenly interested in her.

  Common sense be damned.

  “Bryce,” she said a second time, and was it her imagination, or did she hear a pleading tone to her voice.

  Pleading, definitely pleading, because he’d begun to dip his head. Her ears began to ring.

  “Don’t get it,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t get what?” she whispered, her eyes on his lips, those wonderful, sensual lips. The ringing grew loud.

  Ringing?

  It was the phone. Darn, darn, darn. Miles-the-editor-from-Hell. What rotten luck. Or was it? She stiffened, suddenly admitting what she’d been about to do, and with whom. Reality came crashing down. Obviously, pickings were slim out in the desert. Why else would Bryce Danvers, the man who could have absolutely anybody, show up on her doorstep?

  “CJ—” Bryce begged.

  She clutched the towel around her like it was the jacket to her black interview power suit and looked up at him, and for the first time in her life she knew what it meant to get lost in someone’s eyes. Never again would she scoff at the silly romantic term. She could feel herself drowning in Bryce, but the jangling of the phone was a persistent reminder of what she was here to accomplish…and it wasn’t a night of wild passion.

  “I have to get that. It might be my editor.” She pulled away.

  It was Miles, his voice sounding ridiculously cheerful as he said, “Celia, I thought you might have gone out for the evening.”

  “No, I’m here.” The only thing she wished she was out of was her towel, so she clutched the bedspread around her.

  Bryce came toward her, and CJ didn’t trust the slightly irritated color of his eyes. “Is it him?” he asked.

  She gave him a look that said “none of your business”.

  “Who was that?” Miles asked.

  “Hmm? Oh that was the…ah…the TV.”

  Bryce’s eyes narrowed. CJ shot him a look. Stay back, her eyes warned, but the irritated look had faded, a devilish one replacing it, a look she’d begun to dread.

  “Sounds like you have a man in the room,” Miles said suspiciously.

  “Miles, if I had Nellis Air Force Base’s fifth platoon in here, it would be none of your business.”

  “Oh, yes it is. Or have you forgotten I have the ability to fire you…for whatever reason?”

  He probably would have fired her too, if he wasn’t secretly afraid of a sexual harassment lawsuit. That was the only reason she could think of as to why he hadn’t done so before now. The shmuck. Whacking off his peepee was too nice. Not that it’d be any great loss. No, his current girl-fiend would probably thank her.

  “Celia?”

  “I’m still here, Miles. And I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Good.”

  The jerk. The total and utter jerk. But it suddenly it grew hard to concentrate when she noticed Bryce’s pants bulged like he’d dropped a fire hose down them.

  Jeez, Ceej, talk about lascivious thoughts.

  “What was that?” she asked, when it penetrated that Miles had asked her a question.

  “I said before you go, how’s the article coming?”

  She could hear the impatience in his voice, but almost forgot the question all over again when Bryce began to tug off his shirt.

  “It’s going fine,” she choked as Bryce pulled the cotton polo over his head. He had a tan, she noted, with whorls of thick, black hair spreading out from the center of his chest. The shirt dropped to the floor. She turned her head away.

  He reached out a hand and gently turned it back toward him. Look at me, his eyes said.

  “I can’t,” she answered back.

  “Can’t? Can’t what?”

  CJ clutched the phone, beginning to grow frustrated with the whole situation. “I can’t…ahh…I can’t remember having such a good time.”

  “The best is yet to come,” Bryce whispered.

  “Good time?” Miles sounded both disappointed and disbelieving.

  “Yes, Miles, a really good time.” Oh, man. This wa
s better than a fantasy. This was every naughty dream she’d ever had all rolled into one. And he wasn’t giving up. She almost smiled before she remembered she couldn’t get involved with him.

  He came toward her, promise in his eyes.

  She covered the phone with her hand. “Will you stop it?” she hissed.

  In answer he took another step closer. She shoved him back, her hand sinking into his taut stomach with far more force than necessary. He grunted and stepped back.

  “What was that?”

  “That? It’s the TV again. Some action movie.”

  There was a pause, and when Miles spoke it was with a heavy amount of suspicion. “You know you have a lot riding on this article, Celia.”

  As if that was news to her. “Thanks for the update, Miles.”

  “I’d hate to see you fail.”

  Oh bull, he’d love to see her fail so he could fire her. That was why he’d sent her on this assignment, she suddenly realized. So she could blow it and he could do exactly that.

  “Trust me, Miles. I’m on top of things.”

  She looked up at Bryce, catching the suggestive leer at her words. The man had a mind like a sewer. But he’d stopped unbuttoning those pants of his, thank goodness.

  “Fine. I’ll want your outline faxed to the office by tomorrow morning.”

  “Outline? By tomorrow?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Not if she wanted to get any sleep tonight. “No, no. I’ll fax it first thing.”

  “And one other thing, Celia.”

  CJ tensed.

  “We expect your behavior to be circumspect while on this assignment.”

  CJ stiffened. “Are you implying something, Miles?”

  A pause. “No. Not at all.” She could practically see his smug little smile on his GQ face.

  She wanted, oh how she wanted, to tell him that he was the one who behaved inappropriately. Instead she hung up on him, glaring up at Bryce, and not adverse to taking out a little of her anger. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Picking up where we left off.” He began undoing his pants again.

  She shot off the bed, the cover wrapped around her like Cleopatra’s cape. Do not give into temptation, CJ. Do not. “Stop it, Bryce.”

  “C’mon, CJ. Don’t tell me you can’t feel what’s happening between us.”

  She did, but the question was, was it worth getting hurt over? She was not about to become another inductee in the Bryce Danvers’ Hall of Shameless Hussies. “Bryce, what I feel for you is—”

  “Lust?” he supplied.

  “No, I—”

  “Uncontrollable passion?”

  He was back to plying her with that teasing grin. Damn his parrot blue eyes. Lord help her, some of her anger faded. “No.”

  “Aroused?”

  “Stop it,” she said again. How she could have so completely lost control of the conversation, herself and her brain which suddenly wanted to scream, “Yes! All of the above. Take me I’m yours.” Instead, she said, “I won’t deny I’m attracted to you.”

  He gave her that movie star smile that all but jerked the bedspread right off her body.

  “But,” she hastened to add. “I have a job to do, and getting involved with you is not part of it.”

  “It could be if you wanted it to be.”

  And how she wanted. “I can’t, Bryce.”

  He took a step toward her. The back of her knees hit the bed.

  She held her ground, proudly standing before him, firm in her resolve not to be swayed by his fabulous good looks or that ridiculously sexy smile of his. She was a paragon, a role model for women the world over who were tempted to play with fire.

  Who was she kidding?

  She wanted him. It was carnal. A basic me woman, you man sort of thing. But the reality was, she couldn’t have him. Her financial situation was too awful to risk losing her job. And she would lose it if word ever got out that she and Bryce had slept together. Miles-the-Editor-from-Hell would make sure of that.

  She clutched the bedspread around her and glided as regally as she could to the door. She turned back to him, her hand on the door handle, her meaning obvious.

  He was staring at her incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I wouldn’t open that door if I were you.”

  Her hackles rose. “Why not?”

  His eyes slid lazily up and down her length, his gaze becoming, if possible, even more heated. “Because you lost your towel back there.”

  She stared. She’d what? She followed his gaze.

  The white towel was by the corner of her bed.

  She looked down.

  The bedspread had parted to reveal everything from the breast down. She closed her eyes and groaned.

  “Not that I’m complaining.”

  She’d kicked him out. Bryce still couldn’t believe it. She’d clutched that bedspread around her, raced forward, grabbed him by the ear and shoved him out the door. He stood outside that door, wishing it would open so he could douse the fire burning through his blood. She’d closed it so hard the brass number six had spun around to become a nine. Damn. He hadn’t been this hot for a woman since Gloria Mann in sixth grade. That gave him pause for a second, a pause which he ignored. He liked getting her goat. And she was cute. And tired. And bruised.

  He frowned.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have made her ride along for the day. She’d looked about ready to drop. He caught a whiff of Burg-O-Rama, an idea coming to mind. He’d get her something to eat. Sort of a peace offering, since it was obvious that was all he was getting tonight. But he could wait. He was a patient man. Once he decided on something, he wouldn’t give up until he had it.

  And he wanted CJ.

  Half an hour later he stood before her door again, the sound of tapping on a keyboard came through the open window. The smell of a Burg-O-Rama special wafted up from the red and white bag he carried in one hand. He held a soda in the other, using his knuckles to knock on the door. When she opened it, he was surprised at the burst of tenderness he felt. Must be the oversized T-shirt, he thought. She looked adorable. Like a little kid playing dress up. Unfortunately, the look in her eyes was one-hundred-percent adult. She looked ready to kick him in the you-know-whats.

  He quickly held up the bag, saying, “Peace offering,” before she could slam the door in his face.

  The door stopped mid-swing. “What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Smell.”

  She sniffed experimentally, her expression touchingly full of hunger. “Food,” she breathed almost reverently.

  “A hamburger, Coke and French fries…at least I think they’re fries. They were a little worse for wear when I looked at them. So I ate a few.” He smiled winningly. “Am I forgiven?”

  “No. But I’ll take the food.”

  He laughed, couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Here, take it.”

  She reached out and grabbed the bag, hugging it to her like it was the Last Supper.

  “You got dressed,” he noted, trying not to laugh at the white T-shirt with Save a whale…feed me food on the front. It hung down to her knees.

  “Yeah, well, the bedspread didn’t match my towel.”

  “Too bad,” he said. “Oh. I also bought you this.” He reached into his back pocket and held up a tube of Aspri-gel. “Muscle cream. Guaranteed to cure what ails ya. I was tempted to buy a tube of Harry’s Easy-In lubricant, but I thought that might be pushing matters. No pun intended.”

  “Very funny.” She reached for the box.

  “Ahh, ahh, ahh.” He held it above his head. “Don’t I get to rub it on?”

  “No.”

  “Then how ’bout a kiss?”

  She frowned. “Dream on.”

  He took a step forward and kissed her on the lips anyway. The smell of greasy burgers drifted between them.

  “Sneak,” she grumbled, but Bryce was delighted by the fact that she didn’t seem too upset. She’d opened the door
when she’d seen him outside which, given the window’s proximity to the front door, she must have spotted him. And she hadn’t slammed the door in his face once he’d kissed her.

  “Sure you don’t want me to buy that Easy-In lubricant?”

  “Positive. But feel free to buy it for yourself. I’m sure your hand will thank you.”

  He laughed, not even minding when she smiled at him victoriously, just before slamming the door in his face…at last.

  Chapter Seven

  “Gosh, what am I going to do?” CJ asked Deanna later that night. It was nearing midnight—eleven thirty to be exact—but Deanna’s night appeared to be just getting started. She’d called her on the way to a club. “What do I say to the man when I see him?” She asking, pacing from one end of the hotel room to the next. She pitched her voice low. “Gee, Bryce, thanks for almost boinking me, but I really feel going to bed with you would be a mistake.”

  “That would work,” Deanna agreed. It sound like she had the window down, or she was calling her from inside a vacuum cleaner. Deanna’s hands free unit always sounded that way.

  “No, it wouldn’t work, Deanna. Miles would throw a fit.”

  “Screw Miles.”

  “No thanks. I had a chance to do that once before but the idea still fills me with revulsion.”

  “Then screw Bryce.”

  “Deanna!”

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because I have bills to pay, a car payment, I’m two months behind on rent, and if I miss another payment I’ll be evicted. I can’t afford to risk losing my job. Jeesh, if only that position I interviewed for would call, but until then, I can’t.”

  “What if—”

  “On the other hand,” CJ went on, “if Miles never finds out, what can it hurt?”

  “Nothing, but—”

  “So I should do it, right? That’s what you’re saying.”

  “I think—”

  “Damn I wish he hadn’t kissed me,” CJ muttered, pacing the three steps in the other direction. “Now I can’t get him out of my mind. And afterward, he’d been all set to strip and play bedroom aerobics, and I’d actually been willing to play aerobics instructor. But there’s nothing wrong with that, is there, Deanna? I mean, I haven’t been involved with a man since the turn of the century. Well, maybe not that long. But it feels that long. So if he wants to take it all the way, I should let him, right?”