Playboy Prankster: Extreme Racing, Book 1

by Pamela Britton

  “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 closed 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.

  The kid tipped his head back. He really did have a lot of pimples, especially when his face came out from beneath the shadow of his ball cap. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with doing something too different,” the kid admitted.

  “Yeah, but have you ever wanted to go on a shopping spree?” Bryce asked, throwing out of the bait. “At a store that carries the largest selection of video games in the nation?”

  The boy’s face lit up. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll let you and your friend do exactly that, but here’s what you have to do for me.”

  He was gone. She’d watched him walk down the steps with the pizza kid. CJ jerked the drapes closed, a part of her bitterly and ridiculously disappointed that he wasn’t holding down the fort right outside her door.

  Of course he isn’t going to do that, CJ. That’s called stalking, and he’s already stalked you one too many times today. Jeez. Forget about the man. She tried to, contented herself with working on her article instead which, miraculously enough, didn’t take her all that long to complete. It wasn’t hard to write about Bryce. Not when there was so much to talk about. She shared with readers his sense of humor. Described the way he interacted with children. She even admitted that he wasn’t half-bad of a driver, and that when it came right down to it, she was having the adventure of her life.

  One that would end all too soon.

  She tried not to think about that. Instead, two hours later she pulled back the covers of her bed and gave herself free reign to have some crazy-hot wet dreams about the man.

  That’s exactly what happened too. In her dream, Bryce slipped into bed next to her. But unlike the previous night’s dreams, she didn’t want to play hard to get. So she just laid there—still—every nerve ending in her body zinging to life. But what the hell. This was a dream, right? She could do whatever she damn well pleased. So when Bryce scooted closer to her, when she heard him softly whisper her name, she turned to face him and said the words she’d kept bottled up inside.

  “Take me.”

  And it was such a realistic experience that she thought she heard his breath catch, thought she heard him moan. “Ah, honey. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  He pulled her close to him. She sighed and when, a heartbeat later, he kissed her, she instantly opened her mouth to him. That’s what fantasies were all about: doing something you’d never do in real life. And so she flicked her tongue into his mouth, invited him to delve deeper, to taste her more fully. He did, and suddenly she couldn’t get enough of him. He couldn’t, either, and they were both moaning as he covered her body with his own.

  She almost woke up then.

  It took everything she had not to let that happen. She arched her body into him, hoping to recapture the amazing way it felt to have him up against her. To know that Bryce Danvers was in her bed. Making love to her. Stroking her. Tasting her. She felt his hand move between their bodies.

  And she was lost again.

  His fingers skated beneath her sleep shirt. She never wore underwear to bed and so she knew he’d find bare skin down there. Her woman’s mound tingled in anticipation. Those tingles turned into a heat as his fingers moved closer and closer to her center.

  Yes!

  This was what fantasies were all about. This was what she’d imagined as she’d sat next to him in the race truck. She wanted it. Didn’t hesitate before parting her legs to him.

  He touched her.

  She sighed. His finger slid down her valley at the same time his tongue slipped deeper into her mouth. She pushed against his hand. Opened her mouth even more, wanting all of him. Now.

  He broke the kiss off.

  “No,” she cried. But his lips had found her neck and she settled into the bed again, her body feeling heavy, her limbs splayed in all direction. The only things that moved were her toes. With every kiss, they curled in delight.

  “Bryce, I think I’m going to die.”

  She felt his chest vibrate against her side. He was lifting her shirt now and she knew he would suckle her breast. Her nipples hardened in anticipation. When his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive tips, she moaned again. And when he drew his hand up her suddenly slick center, she truly thought she might die…of pleasure.

  His tongue mimicked the motion of his fingers. She’d begun to writhe beneath him because she really didn’t want his lips on her breast. She wanted his mouth there…where his hand was, her most wicked of all fantasies and something she’d never experienced before. She’d wanted men to do that to her. The closest she’d come was teeth lightly grazing the mound of her jeans. But she wanted the real deal. She wanted his tongue. His lips. His mouth to suckle her and God help her, he seemed willing to comply.

  “Yes,” she hissed again, her stomach twitching when his lips found the sensitive spot above her belly button. He swirled his tongue around it. She cried out in pleasure. And then…and then…oh, dear Lord, he was there. Right there, at her opening.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  She’d already done that. Hadn’t she? But no. Modesty had kept her thighs close together. Only he wanted all of her, demanded unhindered access, took matters in
to his own hands by sliding his arms beneath her thighs and pulling her up against his mouth.

  “Bryce,” she cried out again.

  She almost climaxed right then. He wouldn’t let her. The wretch knew exactly what he was doing with her because he didn’t cup her with his mouth. Oh, no, he teased her with his tongue, flicked the tip of it against the nub of her sensitivity so that her whole body tightened—a near release—only to have him draw back before she could slip over the edge.

  Bastard.

  But it was so damn good. Felt so damn incredible. She wanted the moment to go for eternity. And he was good at it. So damn good at bringing her there—right there—before retreating a bit so that she didn’t fall over the edge.

  “You taste so good,” she heard him mutter.

  Her body spasmed in response. “Do I?” she heard herself ask on a breathless whisper.

  “I want to taste your come.”

  She moaned. Wicked, wicked man. She wanted him to taste her. Wanted to give all of herself to him.

  “Take me, Bryce,” she panted. “Now.”

  “No,” he said.

  But the protest she’d been about to utter was cut off when his tongue slipped inside her. Deep inside her.

  “Oh, God.”

  He wasn’t playing anymore. Oh, no. The time for games appeared to be over because his mouth suckled every inch of her and she knew she would climax in a matter of seconds, but that was okay because this was a dream and she could do whatever she damn well wanted even if she’d never done anything so wanton in her life. And so she lifted herself up on her elbow so she could watch herself come in his mouth.

  Watch herself?

  Yes, watch herself. Because when she opened her eyes she knew this was no dream.

  That was Bryce down there. Bryce who looked up at her, his face clearly illuminated by the clock radio. Bryce’s eyes that stared into her own.

  “Crap.”

  But she didn’t care. If anything knowing it was him, really him, heightened her pleasure.

  “Come,” he ordered.

  She was lifting her hips now. Urging him on. If he wanted her, by God he would have her. All of her. She would flood his mouth with her pleasure. Let him taste all of her.

  She screamed.

  She didn’t mean to, thought at first it must be someone else, recognized her own voice when she cried, “Bryce, oh, God, Bryce. Yessssss.”

  She’d never, not ever, had a climax like Bryce gave her. It was every orgasm she’d ever had all rolled into one, her body tightening and then pulsing, the hairs on her neck seeming to stand on end.

  And still he suckled her.

  “Give me another one,” he heard him say.

  No. Impossible. She couldn’t possibly climax again. The touch of his mouth seemed nearly painful now.

  And yet…

  She still moved her hips, still gave him access. “Another one?” she huffed.

  “Yes.”

  And so she did, and this time she nearly doubled over from the force of her body’s violent release. She screamed again. Ripples of pleasure rocketed through her body. She flopped back on the bed, cried out his name again and again.

  “I knew you’d be like this,” Bryce told her when she came back to earth. Man, he had the biggest hard-on of his life. He couldn’t wait until it was his turn.

  “Like what?” he heard her ask.

  “Hot.” He was leaning back on his elbows now. “The hottest woman I’ve ever been in bed with.”

  He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. If he could have snatched them back, he would have. She scooted up on her elbows again. “Excuse me?” she said.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “No?”

  “I mean, we’re obviously not virgins. We’ve both had sex before. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  He was only making things worse.

  “You broke into my room,” she said, rolling away from him and clicking on the light next to the bed.

  “CJ, wait. Don’t do that.” Damn it. How had it gone so wrong? In so short an amount of time.

  “Just exactly how did you get into my room?” she asked, jerking the covers up around her as if he hadn’t just made her scream in name in pleasure.

  “I bribed the pizza guy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I figured that if you didn’t really want me in your room, you’d boot me out. Like you did yesterday.”

  “I thought it was a dream,” she cried. “All of it. You crawling into bed with me. Your kisses. That thing you did.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  She glared.

  “Come on,” he said, sitting up too. He was still fully clothed and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t bust the crotch out of his jeans. She glanced down as if reading his thoughts, her gaze quickly sliding away from the evidence of his arousal.

  “Come on, CJ. You couldn’t have been asleep for all of it.”

  She didn’t respond, just pressed her lips together before saying, “You should leave.”

  “Now? After what we just did together.”

  “I’m calling security.”

  “CJ, no. Don’t,” he said, scooting off the bed. She glared up at him looking for all the world like a irate princess with a gown of bedspread falling around her. “Look, I’m sorry for breaking into your room.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know that was a brazen thing to do. But I honestly thought after that kiss we shared earlier…”

  “That I’d fall into your arms.”

  He found himself nodding even though he knew it was a dumb idea. “Something like that.”

  “Congratulations. You were right. Now leave.”

  “Damn it, CJ. It doesn’t have to be this way. What’s wrong with having an affair?”

  He saw her chest rise, knew he’d said the wrong thing…again. “Because that’s all it would ever be,” she said, slipping from the bed, the night shirt she wore falling around her waist. “An affair. One that could get me fired.” She crossed to the door. “Thank you for, um, joining me in bed—”

  “And making you come?” he couldn’t resist saying.

  She blushed.

  “But I need you to leave now,” she said, ignoring her words.

  “CJ—”

  “Now,” she added, and he could tell she meant it.

  Damn it.

  He shot up from the bed. CJ opened the door. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

  “Actually,” he heard her say, “this is one of the smartest things I’ve done in my life.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning CJ arrived at the race twenty minutes before it was due to start. It was cutting it close, she admitted, but she didn’t want to risk running into Bryce. She took a deep, fortifying breath of dry, desert air and tried to quell the need to puke. She couldn’t believe what had happened last night. Couldn’t believe Bryce had snuck into her room. Couldn’t believe she’d have to face him again. After he’d done that to her.

  Dear God, would the torture never end?

  She’d made it through two days…and she had the bruises to prove it, but now she’d have to deal with a whole new type of torment. Bryce. And the memory of what he’d done to her.

  It’s only for one more hour.

  But tomorrow it would be all over. Today would be the last day of fending off Mr. Playboy of America; the last day of putting up with his machinations; the last day of fantasizing about what it would be like to make love to him. Check that. She’d already done made love to him. Or he’d made love to her. Damn it. She didn’t want to think about it. “There you are, CJ,” Harry said as she arrived at the transporter.

  The team owner was standing in the middle of the isle, a clipboard in his right hand, a Styrofoam cup in his left and a frown on his face large enough to rival the losing politician on Election Day.

 
“Morning, Harry,” she answered back.

  “Have you seen Bryce?”

  “I just got here.”

  “He’s not with you?”

  “No. Why would you think that?” she asked suddenly, quickly and entirely too guiltily.

  “Well, he’s bangin’ ya, ain’t he?”

  The barometer on CJ’s mood scale went to negative. “No, Mr. Santini, he is not.”

  Almost.

  Shut up, she told herself.

  Harry’s jowls hung beneath his slack jaw like gills on a frog. “No?”

  She set her jaw and shook her head.

  “Humph. I wonder where he is then.”

  “I’ve been in jail.”

  CJ stiffened.

  “Bryce, damn it,” Harry said, looking past her shoulder. “You weren’t D&D, were you? If they’ve pulled your license—”

  “No, Harry. Prior to my arrest, bumping and grinding would be a more adequate description of what I was doing, but that’s not what I was arrested for.”

  CJ choked

  “What the hell happened?” Harry snapped.

  “Why don’t you ask Miss Randall here?”

  Slowly, CJ turned around. “Me?” she said, pointing to her chest. “What’d I have to do with your getting locked up?”

  The glint in Bryce’s eyes was positively glacial. “Did you call the hotel manager after I left your room?”

  “Last night?” she asked, playing dumb.

  He took a small step toward her. “Yes, CJ, last night. Right after you slammed the door in my face. And right after that other thing happened.”

  Retreat, screamed her brain, but she held her ground. The last time she’d retreated it hadn’t done any good. “Um. I might have. I don’t really recall. Last night was such a blur.”

  “Oh, really,” he asking, taking another step toward her. “Well, let me jog your memory. After you called the night manager and told them some weirdo tried to peek into your room, he apparently called the police.”

  Her eyes widened. “I thought they’d ask you to leave.”

  “I was about to do exactly that when the manager waylaid me and asked me what I was doing there. I told him you and I were friends.”