Playboy Prankster: Extreme Racing, Book 1

by Pamela Britton

  He chuckled. CJ balled her hands into fists, her anger gaining momentum in direct opposition to the speed of the truck. “Why the heck do we have to stop?”

  The smile turned to a leer. “What’s the matter, honey? You scared? You should know it’ll be good. Even better than last night.”

  She clenched her hands in her lap. “The only thing I’m scared of is catching the clap from you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said smugly. “I brought lots of condoms. Green ones, yellow ones. Ribbed, un-ribbed. Here.” He reached behind the seat. “Choose.”

  CJ gaped at him in horror as he dumped a smorgasbord of safety on her lap, sunlight catching the foil packages and turning the inside of the truck into bright prisms of speckled color.

  She stared down at them in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed in on a green and white package with the words, “Extra Large” emblazoned on the front. She looked at another one. They were all extra large. “Great,” she muttered sarcastically. “Did you bring sunscreen too?”

  He didn’t hesitate a beat as he answered, “For my rear?”

  “As in you being on top? I don’t think so.”

  “But, I’m always on top.”

  “Not this time, bud. Not now, not ever. You can get rid of the condoms and the sunscreen.” She shoved the foil packages off her lap, hearing them scatter on the sheet metal floor with a sense of satisfaction.

  “You like making love au natural, eh?”

  “The only thing you’re going to make love to is the Joceline in a Box. So you can just drop the Casanova routine.”

  He laughed again as the truck finally came to a dust disturbing stop. CJ’s heart beat even louder. The desert stretched for miles around them, the road was on a slight incline which dissolved ahead into small mountains, blue sky and fuzzy white clouds. CJ unclenched hands when she felt her fingernails digging furrows into her palm, then tensed again as Bryce cut the engine, the absolute quiet of desert so complete it was almost deafening.

  The thump in her ears grew louder, her breath came faster. This is ridiculous, CJ, a little voice warned. Get a hold of yourself.

  I’d rather get a hold of Bryce, the devil inside her answered back.

  Well, you can’t have him. He only wants you because you happen to be more convenient than the blow-up doll stashed behind the seat.

  Who cares? answered that other voice. He’s the sexiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. You’d give up chocolate for a year in order to have him. And if can make you scream like he did by just using his mouth, just imagine—

  “CJ?”

  She jumped, the sound of his voice so near, for a moment she forgot she had a helmet on. But it was the way he put his hand on her leg that suddenly made her palms wet as hand wipes, made her legs tremble like a marathon runner, made her breath catch like a diver entering a pool of freezing water.

  “CJ, it’s time for us to pick up where we left off yesterday.”

  She leaned her head back, closed her eyes and groaned.

  “C’mon, Ceej, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Just herself!

  She heard him undo his harness, opening her eyes a crack to spy him taking off his helmet. Then came the distinct crackle of Velcro as he pulled apart his firesuit. Something about that sound sent her frayed nerves over the edge. Suddenly she wanted out of that truck. Now!

  Her hands became a frenetic burst of energy as she fumbled with the straps on her helmet, undid the myriad of belts and buckles and jerked aside the safety harness.

  “C’mon, honey, it’s not that big,” Bryce called as she hurled herself out the window like a paratrooper.

  Yes, it was. She’d seen the size of it last night.

  She landed on her hands and knees with a dust raising thud. A lizard dashed under a nearby rock. Must be one of Bryce’s cousins.

  She heard Bryce move and looked back. He was leaning out the passenger window, his eyes glinting with delighted humor. “Ohhh. I get it. Oh. So you do want it doggie style, huh?”

  She was going to rip off the front bumper and brain him with it. She turned away, eyeing the rocky, barren terrain around her for any sign of snakes, scorpions or mutant jackrabbits before grimly striding back the way they had come.

  “CJ, hon, keep a sharp ear out for the rattle.”

  She halted, so frustrated she was tempted to kick the rear tire. “Don’t you call me your hon, you…you walking pile of testosterone. They should call you a pubic figure instead of a public figure.”

  Silence greeted her words. She turned on her heel, but she hadn’t even reached the end of the truck before she heard the distinct thud of feet landing behind her. How in the heck he managed to exit the truck so quickly was beyond her, but the next instant his hand closed around her elbow and she forgot everything save the fact that she wanted…no, desperately needed that hand to stroke her.

  That terrified her even more.

  “CJ, what is it?” His voice sounded different. Concerned. Confused.

  She tilted her chin and tried to sound firm. “I’m leaving,” she hissed.

  “What do you mean ‘you’re leaving’?” He looked around him. “We’re in the middle of the desert.”

  “Oh my gosh.” She slapped her forehead with her palm “And I thought we were on the holo deck of the Starship Enterprise.”

  He stared down at her, his black brows slowly rising, the hot desert breeze ruffling his hair. “Very funny, but your sarcasm can’t hide the fact that you’re scared. You aren’t really, are you? I mean after last night…”

  Somehow she managed a look of disdain on her face. “Scared of you…hardly,” with enough sincerity to sound marginally true.

  He saw right through it. “Yes, you are, and now you’re running away.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m not running away. I’m…I’m taking a nature walk.”

  He snorted.

  She glared.

  “You’re scared,” he said with absolute certainty.

  “No, I’m not.” Not of him physically. Didn’t he get that yet? She was afraid of how he made her feel.

  “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “Kiss me.”

  If it meant he’d leave her alone afterward, she’d do anything. “Fine.” And with that she took a step toward him, observing with satisfaction as his eyes widened just before she pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his.

  That was when it happened…and it was all his fault.

  One minute she was CJ Randall, woman-teaching-man-a-lesson and the next she was CJ Randall, pushed-beyond-her-limit-nymphomaniac.

  She lost it, lost complete control of her faculties. Her body seemed to know it was Bryce who was touching her. Bryce who had made her cry out in pleasure only hours before. Bryce who could do that to her again. She wanted him. Not in the way he’d taken her last night. She wanted him inside her. It didn’t matter that they were out in the middle of the desert with an audience of insects and reptiles watching their every move. It didn’t matter that she was lowering herself to the level of Pink Pumps. All that mattered was the here and now.

  And she wanted him.

  Here. Now.

  She kissed him long and hard, feeling his hands clasp her waist. But that wasn’t good enough. She jerked open his firesuit like some sex-crazed heroine in one of Harry’s movies, the Velcro ripping apart with a soul-satisfying riiiiiip and when she found the hair on his chest, she ran her fingers through it, hearing him groan, a deep man-type groan that sent her hyperactive libido into slam bammin’ overdrive. This time she would take the upper hand. This time she would bring him to a climax.

  He was naked beneath that firesuit. Man-oh-man was he ever naked.

  “Damn, CJ,” he hissed against her lips, “I guess you’re not as scared as I thought.”

  He tugged apart her firesuit. She helped him as she shrugged it from her body in a move that would have done a belly-dancer proud. Hot
desert sun stung her shoulders, all that suddenly stood between them was a sleeveless tank top and a pair of very unflattering stretch pants. Oh, and two triangular spots of satin and an even smaller triangle that were her cotton panties. She didn’t care…just flat out didn’t give a dang, all she wanted was his glorious, naked body next to her overweight, almost naked body.

  So when he tugged down her stretch pants, she didn’t protest, was glad that he did. She didn’t care that he jerked the tank top off her next. He made quick work of her undergarments too, until they were both buck naked in the middle of the desert. And when he suddenly pressed her against the tailgate of the truck, she didn’t care about that, either. She wanted it rough, wished he would toss her over his shoulder and drag her off to the nearest cave.

  His lips met hers, kissing her hard, kissing her lean, kissing her mean. Every nerve ending was on fire. Every brush of his skin nearly sent her to orgasm heaven.

  Orgasm? Yet again, what was building inside of her didn’t feel like a simple orgasm. It was like a nuclear explosion, especially with his hand creeping slowly toward her lips, and not the ones on her face.

  “Oh man,” she moaned when he touched her. It all came back. Every glorious thing he’d done to her last night. She wanted that again. Bad. “Yes,” she breathed. It was incredible how all he had to do was touch her and she damn near fell apart—more than incredible—it was…it was…beyond words.

  “CJ,” he groaned.

  “I know,” she moaned back. Bryce shoved her firesuit beneath her butt before she burned, not that she’d have noticed. She was already on fire, what was happening between them unbelievable. Like being twisted and coiled into a knot.

  He could feel it too, she could tell by the way his hand trembled as he touched her, tasted it on his lips which once again covered her own, heard it in the ragged edge of his breathing.

  She clasped her hand around him. He tilted his head back and released a hiss of pure, masculine pleasure. And when she started stroking him in the same way he touched her she could feel his breath waft across her face and mingle with the dusty desert air.

  “CJ, honey,” he murmured, “I’m going to explode if you don’t stop.”

  She paused for a heartbeat, then started raining kisses down his chest. “Go for it,” she murmured back. She would join him. They could explode together. It could make the evening news, “Couple explodes in desert, details at ten o’clock.”

  She clasped her arms around his neck and lifted herself so that her legs wrapped around his waist. He stiffened in surprise. Her back bumped up against the tailgate again, but she was too intent on lowering herself onto him to care.

  “Whoa, CJ,” Bryce groaned. “What about protec—?”

  She impaled herself. Felt him slide inside of her…filling her…stretching her. She moaned, or was that him? She didn’t know, didn’t care. Everything she’d ever fantasized about was happening, everything save one last detail. She opened her eyes. She needed to see him stare down at her as if she was the only woman in the world…pretend for just a moment that she mattered to him as much as he mattered to her.

  Their gazes met. Her breath caught.

  He looked at her like she was the center of his universe.

  “CJ,” he said tenderly. “Oh, CJ.” He leaned down and kissed her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. She forgot everything then, everything save the incredible feel of his tongue mimicking the rhythm of her hips. She rocked up and down on him, wanting it hard and fast, soft and slow, she wanted it all. And she wanted it now.

  Her orgasm hit hard. It made her cry out in shock, in pleasure-pain, in wonder. It was so sudden and consumed her so totally, she barely noted Bryce’s own cry. Her whole body clutched around his, absorbed him, opened to him, the beat of her body bursting into a million, jagged pieces.

  The ground moved.

  The world tilted.

  The universe shattered.

  And when she docked back at Earth, she arrived with a mighty big thump.

  It took a while, but slowly she became aware of her surroundings.

  That’s when it hit her.

  She’d just pumped a man like Annie Oakley on the way to the promise land.

  Worse, she was still hanging onto that same man wearing nothing but her racing shoes and a pair of cotton undies slung around her left ankle. And her bra…her bra had landed on a nearby barrel cactus, the white triangles looking like cartoon eyes peering up at her from above a bra-strap smiley face.

  She closed her eyes and groaned, “Oh, man,” under her breath.

  Bryce stirred against her, his big hands clutching her more firmly against him, one thumb stroking her back in a lazy, circular motion. “I know, babe.” He leaned back enough so that he could stroke a stray wisp of hair out of her face. “Incredible.”

  Babe? Had he just called her babe?

  “If you wait a few minutes, we can do it again.”

  Her eyes snapped open at that, pushing on his shoulder so she could lean back. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “I would.” He gave her that sexy look of his.

  She wiggled in his arms, trying to get him to release her. Not a smart thing to do as it turned out, not given their, er, intimate connection.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I want to get dressed.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m getting sunburned.”

  He bought it, his blue eyes searching her face intently before slowly letting her go. Heat pulsed through her at the feel of him gliding from her body. She ignored it, and when her feet touched the wobbly ground, she unsteadily stepped away and pulled up her undies. Her clothes lay on the bumper, looking as empty and uncomfortable as she felt. She picked them up, shook the dust off and jerked on her pants and tank top. Her firesuit followed.

  “CJ, is something wrong?”

  He sounded concerned, and for some reason that irked her all the more, probably because he was still stark naked, leaning against the truck, his firesuit wadded up around his ankles like one of those flasher dolls she’d seen at a joke store. And that reminded her of who Bryce Danvers was: America’s Playboy Prankster. A man who had more money than the Shah of Iran. Well, maybe not that much, but there was no way he could possibly still be interested in her. He’d want to move onto greener pastures now that he’d had her—just like Ed.

  “If it’s something I’ve done, just tell me.”

  “All right. You want to know? I’ll tell you. I just had sex with a man who’s dipped his wick into more wax pots than a candle maker.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is that why you look so upset?” he asked, hands on his very naked hips. “Are you jealous of my past relationships?”

  “Relationships? Is that what they call one-night stands these days?”

  “No.”

  “How about quickies?”

  “CJ, really.” His expression softened. “Is that all you’re worried about?”

  She didn’t say anything. Let him think what he wanted.

  “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I have myself checked regularly.”

  She snorted. “I’m not surprised. They probably have a Baccarat crystal vial at the hospital with your name permanently etched on it. No doubt you’re on a first name basis with all the nurses too.”

  “Only the good looking ones,” he beamed.

  “So you do have your standards…amazing. I rest my case.”

  “You are jealous.”

  “Only of the fact that those nurses got to poke you with sharp instruments and I don’t.”

  “I don’t get it.” He sounded exasperated, his expression growing more and more confused. “You’re so worked up. What’d I do?”

  She was about to tell him he’d just boinked her for the first and last time when she heard a distant whump—whump—whump. She tilted her head, her eyes searching the horizon for the source of the sound.

  It was a helicopter, heading straight toward them, the blu
e and white logo emblazoned on the front clearly discernible even from this angle.

  “Damn,” Bryce swore.

  She turned toward him. He reached down to pull up his firesuit.

  “Hurry,” she urged, making sure her own firesuit was fastened securely.

  “I’m trying.”

  He wrestled with it some more, but the firesuit was firmly entangled around his ankles. When he looked up at her, CJ knew they were in trouble.

  The helicopter drew close enough to see three figures inside, one of them pointing a TV camera right at them. She stared up at it for a second, the whump-whump-whumps getting louder and louder.

  “Why me?” she moaned when she recognized the situation was hopeless.

  Bryce didn’t help matters any when he calmly said from behind her, “Now this is what I call national exposure.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re not still mad at me, are you, hon?” Bryce asked a half hour later, glancing at CJ as he did so. He was heartily sick of the silence in the truck, silence but for the usual ping of rocks, the roar of the engine, and the clink and clatter of the racing chassis as they rumbled through a small canyon, beams of light flickering in and out of the cabin. He was going to miss this old truck when the race was over.

  “CJ?” He reached out and touched her leg, glancing into the rear view mirror and at the stream of dust trailing behind like a transparent parachute.

  She jumped like a startled jackalope, snapping, “Don’t touch me.”

  Yup. Still mad. Either that or she had a helluva case of PMS. Again. “What’s wrong? Shoulders hurting you some?”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him and for some reason it made him tense.

  “My shoulders aren’t the problem.”

  “Then what is it?” he asked for about the tenth time, although not really expecting an answer. She’d been strangely silent since they’d climbed in the car.

  “I just got caught on national television with a naked man standing next to me and you’re wondering what’s wrong?” She kicked at the foil packets littering the floor.

  He could point out that she was who the one who had undressed him, but he didn’t think that was wise. She looked ready to pop a gasket. “C’mon, Ceej,” he said soothingly instead. “It’s not that bad. I doubt they’ll really use the footage. And if they do, black bars will cover the worst of it.”