One-Click Buy: July 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Julie Kenner

  In her imagination, she could feel his eyes on her. The warm water triggered memories of colder Pacific shores, the chill fought off by long nights in a steamy hot tub. And it hadn’t just been the water that had been steaming. Between her and Taylor, they’d generated enough heat to burn down half of Southern California.

  When she’d wiped out for the second time, she realized that she needed to pack it in in case she seriously injured herself before the competition even started.

  So she’d paddled to shore, trudged to the bungalow and sipped a glass of wine as she’d showered and changed. She’d hoped the wine would mellow her, but all it did was make her more melancholy. And needy.

  And, dammit, itchy.

  Seeing Taylor again had brought to a head how much she’d lost when she’d lost him. And damned if she didn’t want to hate him for it.

  More than that, though, she hated the fact that he’d made her lose control. And not just any control, but control on the waves. It was the one place that had always been hers and hers alone—the ocean.

  And to Laci’s way of thinking that was an unforgivable sin.

  She paused on the weathered porch outside the familiar bar. Neither JC nor Drea had noticed her, their heads bent close together as they flipped pages in a catalog. Probably scoping out the latest in sex wax or skin suits.

  She had every intention of stepping inside and joining them. In fact, she wanted their advice and counsel. Wanted them to kick a little sense into her, because the truth was that her anger was fading in the wake of Taylor’s newest departure, and all that was left was that look she’d seen in his eyes as he’d peered down at her on the beach.

  She’d seen it before; she knew what it meant. He wanted her. And so help her, despite every ounce of sanity in her body telling her to run far and fast, she wanted him, too.

  Before she even realized that she’d started walking, she was off the porch and marching across the packed sand leading toward the parking area. Her feet were bare, her flip-flops dangling from her fingers, and she regretted not bringing her car. Because she wasn’t going back to the bungalow. No, she had someplace else in mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, she jogged up the steps to Sloane’s, another local bar with a much harder-core feel. She’d been here only once before, six months before, when she’d come out on vacation with a biker buddy who’d got it in his head that he wanted to learn to surf and had recruited Laci to teach him. Since he’d bought her plane ticket and paid for her hotel room—and was a complete gentleman despite his tattooed, pierced, leathered persona—she’d been happy to come. And by the end of the week, he’d actually conquered a few waves.

  He’d taken one look at Da Kine and had sworn under his breath. Two phone calls later, they’d ended up at Sloane’s. Darker, with the faint scent of illegal substances in the air, the place had a Los Angeles feel, nothing like the lazy, laid-back attitude that the Aloha state was famous for.

  But that was the point.

  She was wired, not laid-back. And she wanted music that grated and people who didn’t know her.

  God forbid anyone should overhear the phone call she was about to make.

  “Tequila,” she said to the bartender when he came over to the seat she’d snagged at the battered bar. “Straight up.”

  He eyed her up and down, as if he couldn’t quite figure her out. Not too surprising. Standing there in her pink shorts and pale green halter, with her flower-laden flip-flops dangling from her fingers and a tiny pink-and-yellow purse holding her money and keys, she really looked nothing like the other denizens of this place.

  She smiled up at him and winked, which turned out to be great fun because the bear of a man actually reddened, his ruddy complexion turning blotchy.

  She smiled again, feeling the pull of feminine power in her groin. Good. Because right then, she was all about power. She’d come here with a plan, after all. And the only way it was going to work was if she had the upper hand—and if she kept it.

  Taylor Dutton had wrenched control from her and she knew what she had to do to steady herself again. She had to take it back.

  With a tight smile, she dug her cell phone from her purse and called the office for the bungalows where she and the girls were staying. She doubted Taylor was there, but she had to start her search somewhere.

  “I’m looking for Taylor Dutton,” she said when the front desk clerk answered. “Can you connect me to his bungalow?” She’d hoped the confidence would work magic in her favor, but magic was sadly lacking, and she learned that Taylor wasn’t registered there. Undaunted, she called information and got the phone numbers of the other three hotels she knew of in the area.

  Nada.

  She shifted in her seat, wondering if this was a sign. Yes, she wanted to prove to Taylor that he couldn’t simply waltz into her life and steal her control. She wanted to surprise him—to seduce him—and then walk away leaving him gasping and frantic and wondering what the heck had just happened.

  She wanted the upper hand—and she wanted it even though her head kept telling her heart that she hadn’t fully thought this thing through. Because the truth was, no matter how much she firmed up her spine, where Taylor was concerned, all her good intentions might go spiraling downward in a whirlpool of lust. And that wouldn’t be good. She wanted him panting for her, not the other way around.

  Probably best to forget the whole thing, march out of the bar, head straight to a cold shower and do whatever utterly solo activities were required to get Taylor Dutton out of her head.

  With that plan firmly in mind, she slammed back the shot of tequila, slapped down a ten-dollar bill since she was in a generous mood, and slid off the stool.

  Then she turned and slammed right into something hard and lean and desperately familiar.

  Taylor’s chest.

  She breathed in, her body tightening from the memory of his scent.

  Don’t go there, Laci. You’ll regret it…

  But she shoved the voice aside. She wanted this. No—she needed this.

  Hadn’t Taylor taken what he’d needed from her? Her skill? Her potential to help him climb through the ranks?

  Hadn’t he freaking used her when he’d pulled her into the San Clemente competition? Shine the media on with a little bit of sex and gossip to generate interest for an up-and-coming competition?

  And now it was her turn to use him—just like she’d planned, just like she’d come here to do.

  “Laci—” he began, but she cut him off, boldly grabbing him by the collar and tugging him toward her. She captured his mouth with hers, thrilled and excited by the heat that spread through her—a heat she not only wanted, but which was matched by the intensity of Taylor’s reaction. A reaction that was pressing hard and thick against her thigh. And just because she could, she got closer still—any closer and she’d be wearing those khakis with him—and wriggled. Not much, but it was enough to make him groan. A low, private groan that shot through her, making her wet not only from the heat and desire arcing between them, but also from the sense of power and control. This was her moment, and she wanted to savor it.

  “Outside,” she whispered, her fingers knotting in his T-shirt as she tugged him toward the door. She didn’t look around; it wasn’t necessary. She could tell by the silence in the room that every eye was on them. And yeah, she kind of liked that, too.

  “What are you doing, Laci?” he asked once she’d pushed him out the door and around the side of the building into deep shadows. “No, don’t answer that. I can tell what. The question is why.”

  “Do you really want to know?” She watched his eyes—those decidedly male eyes—and could see his ego warring with his mind. Part of him did want to know, sure. But another part just wanted to go with it. Wanted the sex and the passion and the lust any way he could get it.

  “Yeah,” he said after a pause long enough to make her insides tremble. “I really want to know.”

  She raised her brow, and made one mental tick mark
to the Taylor’s-not-as-big-a-jerk-as-he-seems side of her brain. Then she shook off the inkling of respect that came with his answer; respect and Taylor simply didn’t go together. Not anymore.

  He was watching her face, his eyes seeing more than they should, and he stepped toward her, forcing her back against the building. “Tell me, Laci. Tell me what you’re up to.”

  She swallowed. She could walk away now—she knew that. Walk away and leave Taylor behind and forget any of this happened. She should.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she tilted her head up, a little smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “You thought about me, you said? Well, I thought about you, too. More than I wanted to, in fact, because I didn’t want someone I hated in my head.”

  He winced at that, but she didn’t even pause. “And this,” she added, reaching down to grab his balls, “is because you screwed me over. You were the one in control, remember? And I had nothing to grab on to.”

  She leaned in and captured his mouth with hers. He was hot and delicious, and tasted of spice and beer and lust. She moved away from the wall to press closer against him. Her hands slid intimately over him, his erection now straining against his pants as she eased shamelessly into him, feeling its thick intensity pressed against her.

  She broke the kiss and leaned toward his ear. “Right now, I’d say I’m the one with the power.” And with a victorious grin, she asked, “Or would you disagree?”

  4

  HELL, NO, he wouldn’t disagree.

  Taylor didn’t know exactly what Laci was up to—except for the sex, which was obvious—but his body had already made the decision that he was going to go with it.

  He wasn’t naive enough to think that sex with him was going to make her forget her anger and heal all their wounds and they’d ride off into the sunset for a happily ever after. But at the very least, sex was going to put them in bed together. And unless she was feeling particularly cruel, there’d be the obligatory post-coital conversation. And then a drink. And a meal.

  And at some point during all of those mating rituals, he’d fall down on his knees again and beg forgiveness.

  Right at the moment, though, forgiveness was the last thing on his mind. Begging, however…

  Oh, yeah, she’d definitely reduced him to begging.

  And before the night was over, Taylor intended to return the favor.

  They’d had some of their best conversations after long nights twisting in the sheets, and he wanted her warm and pliant and seeing things his way by morning.

  “Quit thinking,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “Quit thinking and find us a room.”

  “Sweetheart,” he drawled, “what’s the rush?” He hooked his arms around her waist and eased her closer, needing to feel all of her against him, not just her hand on his cock, no matter how good that might be. She smelled like the ocean, and he imagined her taking the quickest of showers after coming in off the beach, then slipping into the delicious barely there outfit that he desperately wanted off her.

  As if to prove the point, he kept one hand on her bare back and moved the other to her breast. Her pert nipple pressed against the palm of his hand, the thin cotton of her halter doing little more than providing basic modesty. In one flick of a finger, he thrust it aside and slid his hand inside. Her breast fitted perfectly in his palm, and he closed his eyes, fighting the urge to bend down and bring his mouth to her breast. His cock twitched in his pants, ready for action, and every molecule in his body seemed to hum with the memory of her flesh, her scent.

  Dear God, he thought. He’d missed her.

  “Hold up there, ace,” she said, stepping back. “This isn’t your party.”

  “No? ’Cause, sweetheart, it feels like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.”

  He thought he saw the firm, thin line of her mouth twitch in amusement, but in the dark, it was hard to be sure.

  “No way,” she said, her voice sensual yet firm. “I told you you’re not calling the shots here, bud.” She closed her fingers around the waistband of his slacks, then tugged him close. He came without hesitation, aroused, excited and curious to see exactly where she was taking this.

  She leaned in so that he could see her face clearly in the dim light. She smiled, her mouth curving up with possessiveness and purpose. “Kiss me,” she demanded.

  He didn’t hesitate, his body firing as her mouth opened hungrily under his, hot and demanding and oh so insistent. She tasted like the ocean laced with sunshine, and he wanted to drown in her. To sink into her depths and never rise again.

  Poetic, sappy and probably stupid, but he couldn’t help the way he felt. The way she made him feel.

  “No,” she murmured as he tried to snake his hands down to her ass. She broke their kiss only for the single, whispered word, then slid back into him, devouring, tasting and consuming.

  She was making him crazy, and he wanted to touch, to explore, to feel. What he didn’t want was to break her rules. Because he knew damn well what the punishment would be.

  She’d leave.

  And who the hell knew if she’d come back.

  Not that this was exactly punishment, he had to admit, as her tongue danced and teased inside his mouth and her clever fingers slid down under the waistband of his pants. Torture, maybe, but definitely not punishment.

  “Do you like that?” she whispered, sliding her lips over his cheek to nibble on his earlobe. “How about this?” she asked, making him groan as her palm closed around his cock, fully erect and desperate to be free. “Yeah,” she said. “I think you do.”

  “Laci…” That was all he could manage. All the communication that his addled brain could handle.

  “Shhh,” she said, slowly stroking him, her hand gliding over the length of him, her hand so soft and firm. So sweet, so perfect.

  “Should I make you come?” she asked, with such wide-eyed innocence that it was a wonder he didn’t come right then. “No,” she answered herself, and he stifled a groan, his body screaming for a release that she wasn’t yet ready to give. “Good choice. Not yet. Let’s make this last a little longer.”

  “Laci, please,” he managed, his voice ragged.

  “No, no. No ‘please.’ Just thank you. Say ‘thank you,’ Taylor.”

  He met her eyes, saw the delight dancing there. She knew what she was doing to him, and she was reveling in it.

  And instead of irritating him, that tiny fact turned him on that much more.

  Damned if he wasn’t a goner. A frustrated, blue-balled, hopelessly-in-lust goner.

  “Say it,” she insisted, giving his balls a quick squeeze, as if she’d just read his mind.

  “Thank you, Laci,” he replied, and watched the smile bloom across her face.

  “Aren’t you polite? Well, then,” she said, leaning in confidentially. “In that case maybe I’ll give you an extra treat.”

  She stroked him one long, last time, and he shuddered as her hand moved over his tight flesh. Then she slipped her hand out of his pants, leaving his skin aching for the warmth of her touch, and his mind humming with unfulfilled lust. “What…?” he managed, and even that took all of his mental effort.

  She reached into his pockets and plucked out his keys. “Parking lot?”

  He nodded. “Blue cargo van.” He’d wanted to rent a convertible, but he’d gotten stuck with one of XtremeSportNet’s vehicles. A fact that had initially irritated him; now, it seemed like kismet. Convertibles might have a reputation for getting a woman hot, but that wasn’t an issue at the moment. Privacy, however, was. And the windowless van had privacy in spades.

  “I would have pegged you as a Jaguar type,” she said once they reached the lot and stood in front of the van.

  “Hell, no. A Mustang.” He grinned. “We Southern boys don’t cotton to them big-city cars,” he added, laying the accent on thick.

  She laughed—a real laugh, not out of politeness or nervousness and certainly not part of this little sex
capade she had going for his benefit. Or her benefit. To be honest, he wasn’t sure about that. All he knew was that he was enjoying himself. He had an X and a Y chromosome after all.

  He took a step toward the driver’s-side door, but she tugged him back, her hand tight in his. “Not necessary,” she said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  While he gaped, she opened the back of the van, then grunted appreciatively when she saw the carpeted rear compartment. In the morning, it would be filled with surfboards. Right now, it had nothing more than some board wax, a few towels and six boxes of XtremeSportNet flyers advertising Girls Go Banzai. Tomorrow, a crew of eager young college kids would blanket the area with the flyers.

  Tonight, Taylor was grateful for the carpeting. He lifted his foot up to the back bumper, then reached out a hand for her. Her expression shifted, and he could almost see the debate going on in her head. She’d started this, after all, but now he was taking control, inviting her into his domain. Her idea, yeah. But it was his hand extended in invitation.

  A whisper of something washed over his face, and though she said nothing, he could almost hear her philosophical What the hell? as she grabbed his hand and allowed him to haul her up.

  That, however, was where he lost the momentum. Because as soon as she had both feet on the deck and her balance restored, she planted her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back on that automotive carpet, and Laci was straddling him. “Laci—” he began, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips, then followed that with a fingertip to his neck, down to his chest, his crotch.

  “Too many clothes,” she whispered, her fingers going to work on the button on his khakis, then easing the zipper down as he winced, too aroused and too sane not to fear physical damage to highly valued parts of his body.

  “Ah, um, careful there.”

  “Don’t worry. Right now, I’m as much invested in that bit of anatomy as you are.” She grinned up at him, all lust and easy control. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”