by Angel Payne
Chapter Four
‡
“Sam?”
“Hmmm?”
“We promised we’d leave it at the wonderful.”
She stole a glance up at him. His profile was given more definition by the bar’s dim lighting against the ginger stubble along his jaw. His face was open and congenial, even exchanging an approving smile with a guy who’d ordered the same dark Scottish ale as him.
“I remember,” he murmured.
“So squeezing my knee under the table—”
“Isn’t wonderful?”
“Of course it’s wonderful. But now it’s getting to be more than that, and we promised—” Her own sharp gasp cut her short. “We—we promised each other that—”
“Well, I’m not squeezin’ your knee. Not anymore, at least.”
He was right. He sure as hell wasn’t. It was her lower thigh then the middle of her thigh. If he didn’t stop, it’d be her upper thigh and then—
“Sam.”
He set down his beer and laughed softly, as if she’d just told him a private little joke. The gleam in his eyes was brilliant; the focus on his face was indisputable. “Still wonderful?”
She pushed her legs together to keep his hand from sliding higher. He chuckled quietly again, finally withdrawing it—
Only to replace it with the other one, meaning he was now fully turned, nearly blocking her view with his shoulders. Not that she could see much of the room in the first place. Of all the Nyte’s renowned restaurants and bars, he’d picked this one: a place meshed of old Hollywood glam with a Marrakesh brothel, not skimping on the red leather, gold tassels and nuanced dimness.
Sam smiled down into her face, gaze hooded. Jen attempted to glower back, pressing her legs harder. For a moment, he looked adorably nonplussed, as if they were standing in her office and she’d cut him off in the middle of a one-liner, ordering him to sign off on flight assignments. She refused to remember that in most of those moments, she’d yearned to have him in this kind of a moment.
Different times, different circumstances.
Much different.
“Stop. It.” She would’ve attempted to squirm free but where did that take her crotch except closer to his fingers? Her utterly naked pussy…his completely determined hand…
To her shock, he acquiesced. “You win, sweet mouse.” Dutifully, he even tugged her skirt back into place. “For now, at least.” One swig of his drink later, he added, patting his pocket, “But only because I’ve got the bargaining chip.”
She sipped at her wine, a winter Pinot Gris, before returning coyly, “One more fantasy come true? My panties in your pocket?”
“I’ve tried not to dwell too much on my fantasies about you, mouse.” Though he grated it close enough to ruffle her hair, his gaze struck out across the room again. “Mistakin’ one’s cock for the control stick can be a fatal mistake in sixteen tons of speedin’ steel.”
She clutched her wine glass. Gulped hard. “So…your fantasies really did start before tonight?”
His throat vibrated with his own swallow. “Fairly soon after the first moment I met you.” He dipped his head, peering more closely. “That’s fashin’ you fiercely. Why?”
“Why?” She arched both brows. “Seriously? Because I’m a dweeb, Sam. I walk around with my nose in books and my head in the clouds.”
“But I like you that way.”
“I like me that way too—except when I’m yanked out and have to be reminded that I can’t take three steps in dress shoes without falling flat on my face. That I have the social grace of an orangutan. And that I can’t stop babbling stupid shit like this, around someone like you, and—”
He borrowed her move from the room, flattening fingers across her lips. “Slow that roll, darlin’. Someone like me? What the bloody hell does that mean?”
She jerked her mouth free. “You’re a smart man. Don’t you dare try to tell me that you’re unaware of it.” She arced a finger, encompassing the room. “You turned every woman’s head—and half the men’s—just by striding in here.”
“And your point is what? That I inherited great bone structure and have decent hair?”
“It’s a little better than decent.” Much better, actually, but she didn’t push the subject. He’d started to steam about this. “But no, that’s not my point. It’s not what you have here,”—she relished the chance to glide a touch down the side of his face—“it’s what you are in here.” She dipped her caress to the middle of his chest. “You’re something special, Sam. People see it, know it, everywhere you go.”
He lifted a hand to cover hers. “And you’re not?”
His words still sounded like accusation. Beneath their weight, Jen squirmed. “I don’t light up rooms everywhere I go. I don’t fly to the stars then bring them back down for the Earth to revel in.” The glow from a wall sconce was a perfect fixation, invoking a vision of Sam’s jet against a sunset sky. “That’s another fantasy of mine, you know,” she said wistfully. “To know what it’s like to fly with you.”
“Don’t change the subject.” His retort was instant. Too much so. Her confession had touched him a little, and Jen was glad of it. Her confession had been honest. She respected him for what he did in a cockpit, but adored him for the joy he took in doing so. For nine months, the best part of her days at work had been watching his eagerness before heading out for pre-flight checks. Bringing that glimmer back to his gaze was now the best part of her night.
Wrecked the next moment—by his growled challenge.
“How can you not see what I see in you, Jenny?”
He waited, silent and alert—actually expecting an answer. She stared back, just as still, refusing to give him one. “You know what? We’ll have to agree to disagree on this.” When another snarl churned in his throat, she turned their handclasp around, thumping his own knuckles against his sternum. “And no, I won’t consider your arguments otherwise. You’re a good man, Sam—a damn good man—but you can’t change what simply is. Even if we didn’t live halfway around the world from each other, we’d be living in different circles. Different worlds.”
“So you think a woman like Mattie belongs on my arm, then?” He spat it as if considering the idea of sleeping with a snake. Jen grasped his hand between both of hers, an unspoken plea for calm.
“All right,” she acquiesced. “Maybe not her, exactly…but someone like her.”
“Like her?” He leaned away. Yep. Avoiding the snake.
“You know what I’m trying to say,” she snapped. “Why are you making this so hard?”
His eyes bugged. “I’m makin’ this—” He interrupted himself, inhaling sharply. Finished with just as harsh a nod. “All right, then. If I belong with someone like Mattie, who the hell do you belong with?” He swept an arm out. “Go on. Here’s a nice room, full of chaps to choose from. Who among them is like the guy you need to be with?”
Jen flinched. What other choice was there, in reaction to the venom in his voice? Logically, she connected the dots to hurt feelings and a bruised male ego. But a bruised ego over what? The simple idea of her with someone else? Riiiggght. Either he’d been hiding one huge ego over the last nine months, or—
Or he really had feelings for her beyond the friends-with-benefits thing.
As they said where he came from: horse shite.
There had to be some other explanation.
“What the hell’s going on?” she finally mustered the courage to charge.
Sam finished off his ale. Pounded the glass to the table. “That wasn’t an answer to my question.”
Fine. Two could play this game.
Jen scooped up her glass and chugged the rest of her Pinot Gris.
Or maybe not.
The wine crashed into her empty stomach, was instantly picked up by her racing nerves, turning her head into a cyclone. “All of them.” Liquid courage, don’t fail me now. “There’s your answer, Captain. Because every man in this damn room wants to be with
a cute little catch like me, right?” Her throat snagged on the sarcasm, making it possible for her pain to seep through. She pushed on, having no choice if she was to save any kind of face. “Damn. I’m so glad you’re here, because I’d be beating them all off with sticks if that wasn’t the case. Story of my life. Men, men, men. Everywhere I turn, it’s—agghh!”
Her yelp popped out as Sam thrusted to his feet, hauling her right behind. Still with no footwear except the wedding heels, she toppled forward. He caught her easily, despite the dark fury still claiming every inch of his mien. While settling her balance, he beckoned a cocktail waitress. “Captain Mackenna,” she murmured politely. “Will you be transferring the evening to private status now?”
Sam’s smile was perfunctory. “You fuckin’ bet we will.”
“Transferring the—” Jen darted her gape between him to the waitress. “‘Private status’? What the hell does that—”
“Very well, then.” The server, a leggy beauty with trendy cat-eye makeup, spoke like Jen had commented on the weather. “Right this way.”
“This way” turned out to be a hallway, cleverly hidden behind a portion of the wall that swung out at Leggy’s seemingly magical cue. Upon closer look, Jen noticed that the woman’s electronic order pad also included an icon of a lock, with the label VIP beneath it. But Jen didn’t feel very “VIP”. Skittish colt instincts, to the rescue. She backed away until she couldn’t—hitting a roadblock in the form of a six-foot-four fighter pilot with launch rockets blazing in his eyes.
“Room three,” said Leggy.
“Hell no,” Jen retorted.
The roadblock bent his head, fitting his jaw to her neck and his lips to her ear. “She said room three. Now walk.”
Jen jabbed an elbow into his ribs. He barely grunted—before sweeping her hair off her neck and digging his teeth into her nape. “I said walk, Jenny, or I’ll be takin’ you myself with your ass over my shoulder.”
And because she was naked under the dress, a lot more than just her ass would “entertain” everyone in the room. Not that they wouldn’t enjoy the spectacle. Something about the soft laughs from around the bar told her that a lot of guests already knew about the secret panel—and exactly what lay behind it.
That didn’t make things easier as she growled and stalked down the hall. She hated herself for obeying him—and her traitorous body, for its thousand tingles of erotic expectation.
Chapter Five
‡
She couldn’t even ignore what the rooms were there for. After passing room two, the picture was crystal clear. For a second, Jen wondered if the heavy moans were just the outcome of a hard gym session—but then she remembered passing the gym earlier today, when meeting Tess at the wedding coordinator’s office. No way did the Nyte need another workout locale.
And once Sam pushed open the door to room three, no way could she hit the denial button on his intent.
Lighting even dimmer than the main room. A canopied bed fit for a king, all mahogany tapestries and endless pillows. A three-sided mirror in the corner with a multi-level stool in front of it, serving a purpose Jen could only imagine—though right now, her imagination ran pretty damn wild.
“In.”
His voice was harsh, twisting into her like a newly heated poker, needing no embellishment for her compliance. But he’d given no stipulation about doing it meekly.
“Damn it, Sam. This is not acceptable. Shutting me up by dragging me to the shadows and—”
It was impossible to say anything else, with the man’s tongue suddenly in her mouth.
Passionate. Powerful. Consuming.
Ohhhh, damn.
A moan exploded up Jen’s throat. She wanted to—needed to—resist, but couldn’t. Her lungs struggled for air as her stomach battled for the right way up. Her head fought a silvery, lusty fog. Her whole body burst to life, as if this was the first time Sam kissed her. Every sensation was new and brilliant, incredible and illicit—especially as he rammed her against into the thick bed post.
She groaned again, lifting a leg around his waist. To her shock, Sam pushed it back down. When he tore his mouth away, she let her face drop into confusion.
“For the record, it isn’t acceptable that you’ve compared yourself to the scum on my shoe, and then even hinted that—” Whatever he was going to say stunned him into silence. He stabbed a hand through his hair. “Arse and fuckin’ parsley, Jenny. We’ve shared things with each other before tonight. A lot of things! Do you really think that I would be even half attracted to someone like—”
He interrupted himself with another growl. The violence of it curled into Jen’s blood, making her instinctively reach back, clutching the bedpost with one hand.
A lot of good that did.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, grabbing her free wrist. “I’m tired of tryin’ to sweet-talk this into you.”
“That was sweet talk?”
Bad move. The three seconds she took for the sarcasm were all the time he needed to pivot her around, then lift her other hand to clasp the post. In another flash of motion, he pulled on something hidden in the canopy. A pair of padded wrist cuffs dropped from seemingly nowhere. Holy shit. Did every piece of furniture in this place come complete with kinky booby traps?
A needy moan spilled past her self-control as he latched her into the cuffs. She swallowed it down, trying to summon some semblance of self-control. “S-Sam. What the hell? We c-can’t. We promised ourselves. The wonderful…remember?”
“Oh, I’ve no intention of making you feel wonderful.”
Before she could process that, he hiked her skirt up. She was exposed—and completely turned on—from the waist down.
But before she processed that, he landed a sharp spank across her bottom.
“Ahhhhh!”
Then a second.
Holy crap! “Sam. What the—”
He cut her short by kissing her again. Harder than he ever had. Deeper than he ever had. He didn’t relent, compelling her head to twist so he assault her mouth—doing it as brutally as his smacks on her ass. And God help her, Jen let him—not just because he gave her no choice, but because she wanted to. Because somewhere, in her wildest and naughtiest dreams about this man, she’d envisioned him like this. Tearing into her mouth. Razing into her senses. Firing across her skin and nerves…
exactly
like
this.
By the time he pulled away, her chest heaved, her blood throbbed, and her sex clenched tightly enough to make her moan again—
Especially when he delivered another blow to her bottom.
Another, at twice the impact.
A third, intensifying more.
“Shit!” she finally managed past the screams.
“Breathe.” His exhortation was practically a Zen chant in her ear. Calm. Soothing. Infuriating.
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, Jenny Thorne.” Bizarrely, a smile entered his voice. It twisted with his anger, throwing Jen off. Was she supposed to melt for him, or pour molds for new ice daggers?
As he circled in order to look at her directly, though the post was between them, his expression gave her no clues. He was still beautiful, with those dark eyes and ginger waves and jaw like a precipice from his native land.
“Fuck you,” he repeated, “for thinking so little of me, that someone like Mattie Lesange could ever meet my needs. And fuck you for thinking so little of yourself, to presume you wouldn’t.”
Her breath stopped. Well, she knew what to feel now. Giddy astonishment collided with abject remorse, sprinkled with a layer of maybe-this-really-is-all-a-dream. “I’m—sorry.” And she really was—though that didn’t throw a cease-fire onto her confusion. “But men love pretty things on their arms, Sam.”
He glowered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not the insult you’re taking it as.” She shrugged. Remaining covered from the navel up lent her the confidence. “Life is life, friends are friends,
and lovers are something completely different. Sometimes, good sex is just good sex, and making more out of—”
He jerked her chin up using two fingers. Stared like she’d just told him the moon was made of bacon. “Is that all you think of what we shared earlier? ‘Just good sex’?”
Confusion tumbled in again. The answer to that seemed apparent but wasn’t. She decided to go for total honesty. “Look…I just don’t expect anything else, okay? And it’s fine that—”
“I should expect anything else.”
She ignored the darkness in his tone. “How could you? And why would you? Neither of us is a kid. It’s great to think of taking home grand meanings from a one-night thing—when you’re young. But we’re not—”
He stopped her with another kiss. Dug his hand against her scalp, locking her head in place. Stabbed his tongue against hers, as if needing to strip off the words she’d just uttered. When he let her mouth go, he kept his hand in place. Dragged her head back up so he could impale her stare with his. The command in his grip was as compelling as the force in his eyes, once more driving in like that fresh poker, scalding its way onto her psyche, searing its way into her soul.
“I want to spank you again, Jenny.”
She swallowed. “I know.” Ohhh God, how she did. All the silver spikes in his gaze had told her so.
“I still don’t want to be gentle about it.”
“I…I know.”
He dragged in a rocky breath. “Do you?”
“Of—of course. I pissed you off. And you’re a Dominant.” And I want you to punish me. To control me.
Yes, please…
“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “No, you don’t understand. The punishin’…it’s done. But I’m not.” He pushed in, smashing his lips to hers. “God help me, my burners are just starting to fire.” His hand twisted tighter in her hair. “Nothing I feel about you is civilized, woman. It hasn’t been for quite a while.”
Her senses swam in a thick fog. It felt so good. Everything about him felt so good. “You…really mean that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Her lips lifted. Only one glass of wine but everything was limp and carefree, as if she’d had the whole bottle. “I had no idea.”