by Mari Carr, Red Phoenix, Angel Payne, Sierra Cartwright, Jenna Jacob, Victoria Blue
Thank God she had something else to focus on. His outfit was gorgeous, like a costume created for a Highland book boyfriend. If the vest was replaced by a sash and the kilt secured by a sword belt instead of snap closures, she could even turn that setting into something from hundreds of years ago, where he was the laird of his own clan. If they lived four hundred years ago, could she have been his lady? Lairds were a lot less picky in the 1600’s. Curves, curls and a talent for rocking high heels was a lot less important than leadership, business sense, and the ability to reload a spring-action stapler in less than thirty seconds. Surely a flintlock pistol wasn’t so different.
She pushed the fantasy—make that a few new fantasies—aside, in order to answer his query. “Every event of the night,” she said. “Every step we’ve taken and move we’ve made—all the way up to here.”
“Here?”
“This.” She jabbed a finger at his clothes. “Thank God I’m prepared for it now.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t fancy plaid?”
“Oh, I fancy.” She managed a little laugh. “To the point that if I walked in and saw you in that tomorrow morning, without any notice, Tess would be stepping over my unconscious body on the way to the altar.”
His brows still crunched but his eyes began to tease. “Ooohhh. No unconsciousness. Not for that reason, at least.” His gaze thickened with sultry meaning. “I can think of better ways to make you faint. Or at least try.”
Her breath snatched again, especially as he unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. Sensual intent surrounded him like the glow around a candle flame—only with bulging muscles, burnished hair, and—
Fire that would burn her, if she let it.
Deeply.
She had to think fast. If he touched her again, she’d be toast. Wasn’t that what happened to self-control already as weak as soggy bread?
“All right.” She whipped the clothes off the hook. Shoved them against his chest. “So go ahead and try.”
“Errr…try what?”
“To make me faint.” She dipped a glance at the fabric in his clutch. “Put ’em on, hot stuff. Give me a little advance fashion show.”
And cover up that body, so I don’t keep thinking of every illicit thing I want to do to it.
One side of his mouth twitched, as if that exact line echoed in his brain. Though he pulled the shirt off its hanger then stabbed his arms into the sleeves, his stare didn’t leave her face. He kept watching, lips quirking, as he buttoned it. Didn’t relent as he slipped on the vest, then wrapped the kilt around his lean hips. Once the snaps were locked, he smoothed the whole outfit into place—then swept a gallant bow.
After he rose, he chuckled. Jen didn’t laugh. How could she, when her lungs desperately rationed breath? She attempted to school her features but was certain she looked ridiculous, fighting a suddenly dry throat, blood that had become the River Styx, and a womb clenching so hard she trembled.
She needed to jump at him. On him. To mold every inch of her naked body against his and beg him to slam her to the floor, hike the kilt up, then fuck her like the self-respecting Scot he was.
She swallowed it all back in favor of one sparse rasp. “Damn.”
“Changin’ your mind about the plaid obsession, eh?”
“Ssshhh.” She pushed three fingers against his lips. “With you looking like all my wet dreams, I can’t handle you sounding like them too.”
He twisted his head enough to capture her middle finger between his lips. Then again, so his tongue slid to the crevice at its bottom. As Jen gasped, he whispered, “Did you just mention wet dreams while standing here like that?”
Shit.
She glanced down. She’d been so absorbed in his regal perfection in those clothes, she’d forgotten about her lack of any. Only through sheer force of will did she make her body stiffen as he jerked her close, abrading her thighs with the wool of his kilt, caressing her breasts with the slick luxury of his vest. “Maybe it’s time I got dressed, too.”
“Or maybe it’s just time for me to get in the skuddy again.”
He hadn’t taught her that one yet, but she suspected it involved more nakedness. Couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t. If she got bare and horizontal again with this man, a lot more than sleep and peace of mind would be at stake. Just once in the sack had shown Jen that Sam’s fly-by in her life could take on more meaning than friendship. Where would that leave her life once he was gone? Empty as a used can of Pringles, that was where. And her heart? The pathetic crumbled bits, forgotten at the bottom.
Uh-uh.
Best to leave everything right here. He already looked as perfect as the pages of a book. That was the perfect way to remember everything about tonight. It wasn’t a Happy-ever-after. But it was a hell of a lot better than Pringle’s dregs.
She forced strength into her arms. Reached up to push at both of his massive shoulders, hoping he’d shift back.
He did, thank God.
But not far enough.
She still felt too much of him, so huge and hard and defined. She still smelled him, cedar and spice joined by the starch in his shirt and the musk of his skin.
God, she still wanted him. So damn badly.
“No.” She almost didn’t get it out. “No. You can’t. We can’t.”
He blinked as if she’d slapped him. “Why not?” Then pushed out a hard breath, as well. “Fuck. I did hurt you, and now—”
She smacked the middle of his chest. “Don’t make me hurt you, Mackenna.” She gentled her touch, running fingers down the front of his vest. “I’ll never forget everything we did. Everything. It was…” She let a dreamy sigh slip out. “Wonderful.”
He smiled. Brushed his lips across the tip of her nose. “Yes. It was.”
“So let’s keep it there, okay? At the wonderful. Friends who got to enjoy a damn nice benefit.” She bit her lip, attempting to keep a smile—losing to a wince anyway. “Fate doesn’t like it when you ask for too many benefits. It starts to want payment for the privilege…in other ways.”
Sam jerked out a reluctant nod. He came from a land where fairies, brownies, and spirits for everything from water to horse poop were still considered real. Her talk about fate didn’t freak him by a single syllable. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
“Oh, don’t go takin’ on sass about it, now.” His gaze skated hungrily down her body. “We’re still not at work. And I’d still love an opportunity to turn your gorgeous arse a lovely shade of pink.”
Too late to prevent her face from flushing that exact shade. As Jen battled to maintain the rest of her composure, she snatched her bra from the counter. “Why don’t we step off the path of temptation? I could use some food and a cocktail.” She turned to the mirror and gave his reflection a wink. “Not to mention the chance to fulfill another teeny fantasy.”
He straightened a twisted strap on her shoulder. “And what fantasy would that be?”
“Being seen with the hottest Highlander in the hotel, of course.”
“Jenny.” He chastised it into her ear. “I’m probably the only Highlander in the hotel.”
“Pssshhh.” She threw her dress back on. Thank God for the designer who’d created one-piece sheaths. “Semantics.”
She almost face-palmed herself when spying her panties, still in a lump on the counter—but the moment she grabbed them, Sam clutched her wrist and clucked wickedly. “Not so fast, missie.”
“Sam.” Her turn for the soft rebuke. Hadn’t they just talked about pushing fate’s good mood?
“What? I don’t get to have a fantasy fulfilled?”
She glared via the mirror. “You’ve had a fantasy about me without panties?”
“In a bright red dress,” he filled in.
“This sheath is burgundy.”
“Psssshh. Semantics.”
His hold didn’t dissipate. She bit her lip again, trying not to reveal that if she actually wore the lingerie now, they’d be soak
ed.
“Fine, then.” Surprisingly, he let go. Moved back a few steps. “Let’s call it a show of solidarity. I’ll be a proper Scot and wear everything just like this, but you have to do the same.”
Jen peered at the wad of fabric in her fist. Back up at Sam. She tried a little grin. He squared his shoulders and re-secured his feet.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“And you’re astute. But I already knew that.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
He finally grinned. Just a little. “First times are fun to share with friends.”
“But I’m in a skirt!”
He glanced down at his kilt. “That so?”
Shit, shit, shit.
Jen pulled in a breath and frowned.
Sam drew in a breath and smiled. Then extended a hand. His fingers were long and beautiful and mesmerizing. Jen watched them beckon, curling inward but then straightening again. Expectant…dominant. “Panties, darlin’. Don’t worry. I’ll keep them safe. For now.”
If she had a shred of resistance left, he demolished it with that line. And in that moment, she wondered how it was that the man had ended up a pilot. His ability to push a jet at mach five was nothing compared to his ninja mind trick of disguising a command as conversation. And if that was the case, what would he be like without the camouflage, but in a public setting?
As Jen watched him pocket her panties, a polite smile on his lips but silver fire blazing in his eyes, she had a feeling she was about to find out.
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 sn
ake.
“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?”