Miraculously, at the moment, she simply didn’t care.
10
“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME is taking her so long?” Hank demanded. He heaved a long-suffering sigh and glanced at his watch—again. “She’s got less than ten minutes before the pageant starts.”
Jamie snorted, shrugged. “Hell, you know women. It takes them forever to get ready. They shave, wax and moisturize, paint, curl—” he gestured wearily “—do all sorts of things to themselves. Walking the floor isn’t going to make her get ready any faster. You might as well take a load off.”
Hank shook his head. He was too keyed-up to sit down. Too impatient. After she’d won the fried chicken and iced tea part of the competition—a coup that, to his unending delight, put her that much closer to moving back here—they’d gone back up to the house and he’d put his head between those delectable thighs and she’d tasted better than he’d ever dreamed. Better than anything he’d ever had in his life. Then, he’d had to go and he’d told her about the dress. Though it was sneaky, he’d lingered outside the door. Had peered through the crack and watched her reaction to his gift.
He’d heard that delighted gasp and something about that sound had made his chest simultaneously lighten and contract. She’d fingered the fine slinky material and her lips had curled with unexpected delight. It had occurred to Hank in that instant that she’d probably had very few unexpected pleasures, surprises, and he’d made a mental note to remedy that problem posthaste. Samantha deserved the best of everything, deserved more than what she’d obviously ever gotten. The dress, he decided, would only be the beginning.
Samantha hadn’t come prepared for this pageant like all of the other contestants had, so she’d needed something more formal to wear tonight besides the casual sundress she’d brought along with her. Hank had made a few calls, pulled a few strings and had gotten a boutique in Foley to deliver the kind of dress she needed for this pageant. He’d offered a couple of color suggestions, had given them her size—he’d sneaked a peek at the inside label on a pair of her shorts—then had summed up what he wanted in one word—sexy.
The trendy shop hadn’t disappointed him.
He couldn’t wait to see it on her…then later, off of her.
Just thinking about it sent a rush of heat directly to his groin. Made his blood simmer and his palms itch with the need to touch her, to taste her again and again. With effort, Hank banked the need. He didn’t have time to think about it now—there’d be time for that later. Right now he needed to focus on this contest, to focus on keeping a level head while he waited for her.
He’d spent the remainder of the afternoon tending to details for their date tonight, then discreetly grilling the secret judges about the contestants and, after careful consideration, abandoned his idea of pulling any strings in her favor—she didn’t need them. Samantha was a favored contestant in her own right without his interference.
Still, that hadn’t kept him from dropping a few tidbits about her. How she’d sacrificed part of her vacation to help him out this weekend—she’d worked on his reservation system the rest of the afternoon—her generous, selfless nature, all of her endearing little qualities. He hadn’t had to embellish or fabricate a single quality—she possessed them all without the artifice.
An unbidden fist of anxiety tightened in his chest. Hank sincerely hoped that she liked what he’d planned for her tonight. He’d pulled out all the stops, had combed his memory for every single detail about her likes and dislikes, and had arranged what he hoped would be her ideal seduction. That’s what she’d wanted, after all—to be seduced—what she’d came here for, and he was fully prepared to see that dream to fruition.
If she’d only let him.
With luck tonight’s date would be a celebration of many things. A new beginning to an old relationship as well as a victory for her. Hank wanted her to win this pageant for many reasons, the most pressing of which being to get her back here.
He wanted her here.
In Orange Beach.
With him.
Jamie whistled softly and then muttered a low, barely audible, “My God.”
Hank stilled. He alternately sensed then smelled her. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end and that tantalizing fruity scent of hers swirled into his nostrils, hot-wired his groin. Hank turned slowly and the site that greeted him sucked all of the air from his lungs, from the very room.
Looking more beautiful than he could have ever imagined, Samantha offered up a soft, tentative smile. “It fits.”
Hank couldn’t speak, but merely nodded. She was right. It did fit—like a glove. The soft jade color suited her perfectly, matched her eyes, complemented her strawberry-blond curls and brought out the peachy tones of her smooth skin. Hank didn’t know much about women’s fashion, couldn’t begin to describe the cut of her dress, name the fabric or any other such nonsense.
All he knew was that she looked absolutely gorgeous and absolutely, unequivocally hot.
The dress showed a lot of cleavage, but still left plenty to the imagination, slithered over her curves and pooled around her ankles. A generous slit started at mid thigh and ended at the hem, revealing just enough leg to make his mouth alternately water, then parch.
She’d anchored her curls in a loose pile on top her head, leaving several stands to whisper over her nape. The style was sexy yet elegant, made a man think about nibbling on that neck while slowly removing the pins from her hair, then feeling it tumble over the backs of his hands. Hank’s hands involuntarily fisted.
A pair of rhinestones glittered from her earlobes and a matching necklace circled her neck. The necklace featured a large teardrop stone which lay nestled just above the creamy swell of her breasts. She’d applied her makeup with a dramatic hand, had lined her eyes in dark green, and her lips were painted a luscious raspberry red. When she moved, her skin shimmered with pale golden sparkles. Some sort of body glow, Hank surmised.
Hank finally ended his lengthy perusal and his gaze tangled with hers. He didn’t attempt to hide his reaction, couldn’t if he’d wanted to—he’d gone instantly—noticeably—hard—and he wanted her to know why. He blinked, gave his head a small imperceptible shake and summed it up in one inarticulate yet wholly accurate word. “Wow.”
She let out a small breath and her shoulders wilted with what could only be relief. “Thanks,” she murmured. She submitted him to a similar scrutiny and her lips curled ever so slightly. “You look pretty wow yourself.”
Hank had forgone his typical beach bum uniform and dressed for the evening in a pair of natural linen trousers and a jade silk shirt which he’d purposely chosen because it matched her dress. He lifted his shoulder in a negligent shrug, offered a smile. “I clean up good.”
She inclined her head and her eyes twinkled with humor and something else. Heat, Hank realized with a pleased start. “That you do,” she said softly.
“You should probably head down to the beach,” Jamie said, startling both of them.
Hank had completely forgotten Jamie, a fact his friend had undoubtedly noticed, given the droll tone of his voice.
“Are you ready?” Hank asked her.
Samantha nodded nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
Hank offered her his arm. He shot her a confident smile. “It’s in the bag, baby.”
A shallow sigh slipped past her lips. “So you say.”
“So I know,” Hank told her.
And he did. She was unquestionably the most gorgeous woman in this pageant—in the world, as far as he was concerned—and the judges would have to be blind not to see it.
SAMANTHA ALLOWED HANK to walk her down to the sand and, had she not been positively glowing from the look on his face when he’d first seen her, she’d be nervous. As it was, she couldn’t be nervous—she was too pleased and frankly, too horny, to think about being nervous.
In fact, were it up to her, she’d just as soon forget about this pageant and skip ahead to their date. W
ho cared whether those judges thought she was beautiful or not? Samantha thought. The only person whose opinion mattered had already given her incontrovertible proof that she was beautiful to him.
That mouthwatering bulge in Hank’s pants had been the only confirmation that she needed. A shiver danced up her spine and her nipples tightened against the flimsy fabric of the dress. She couldn’t think about that bulge without thinking about what it meant, what it could do for her and what she’d like to do to it. She couldn’t look at Hank without thinking about having that big hard body of his naked and against her own, inside her own.
With each second her body became more primed, more desperate for the pleasure she knew she would find in his arms tonight. She’d waited an entire lifetime for this night with Hank and she was heartily impatient to have that happen.
Now.
If he so much as brushed his fingers against her, Samantha knew she’d undoubtedly fall to pieces again, would undoubtedly come. A coil of heat tightened in her womb and she instinctively clenched her feminine muscles to stem the flow of desire. She’d been desperate for release before—had been so desperate in fact that she’d planned this vacation and gone on a damned sex diet—but that was nothing—nothing—compared to the way she wanted it now.
Operation Orgasm was in full swing. Her loins had been locked in a fiery pit of hell, her breasts had gone heavy and her poor neglected nipples hadn’t once relaxed. She’d careened past ready months ago and now hovered on the edge of sexually frustrated mental illness. Need was a fever in her blood and nothing short of having Hank firmly lodged between her thighs would put an end to it. The two orgasms he’d treated her to thus far had barely taken the edge off. If anything, she was worse now than what she’d been when she’d gotten here. The knowledge was in the power of knowing how he would make her feel. In knowing that he’d delivered her to climax with his fingers, with his mouth, but the grand finale would involve the impressive staff between his thighs—the ultimate orgasm, she knew. He’d been priming her, Sam realized now, purposely denying himself to make tonight the best sex of her life. Another shiver quaked through her at the mere thought. Impatience danced across her nerves. She wanted to get this over with, to be with him.
Frankly—regardless of what Hank thought—the chances of her winning this contest were slim to none, and she couldn’t help but think it was a waste of time, couldn’t help but wish they could skip it altogether.
Nevertheless, he’d attached a great deal of importance to this pageant, and he’d gone to a lot of trouble to make sure that she had everything she needed for tonight. Samantha couldn’t help but be touched. It had been so long since anyone had gone to any trouble on her behalf. The pageant would only last an hour, possibly an hour and a half at best. She could handle it, would use the anticipation to her advantage somehow.
They’d reached the other contestants. Hank bent down and kissed the shell off her ear, causing a flurry of sensation to zigzag through her belly.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” Hank murmured, his voice a smooth decadent rumble.
Samantha sucked in a shuddering breath and pushed a smile from her lips, then made her way to behind the long curtain that had been erected behind the makeshift stage. She’d never been in a beauty pageant before and didn’t know precisely what was expected of her, other than the fact that she should smile, keep her shoulders drawn back and walk with a modicum of grace. The pageant coordinator had walked them through the ceremony this morning, and she’d explained the program. Basically all Samantha had to remember was to follow the X’s.
The stage had been formed into a giant T. Sam had to enter stage left, proceed to X one, pause and smile, then proceed to X two which was located on at the bottom of the T, pause and smile again, then pivot and head to X three. There she would pause and smile again, then exit stage right. Probably, she should just smile the entire time and pray that she didn’t do anything embarrassing, like trip on her hem and fall flat on her face. Regrettably, given the wobbly state of her knees, that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Mere minutes later, the pageant started. Mayor Flannagin, a portly man with a bad hairpiece but excellent disposition, officiated the festivities.
“Welcome to the first annual Belle of the Beach contest,” he told them. He rocked back on his heels and beamed at the audience. “Boy, are you in for a treat,” he enthused. “When we decided to host this contest, we sat down and asked ourselves just exactly what makes a Belle. We came up with the following: a Belle is a woman who is gracious, who knows how to prepare fried chicken and iced tea, and a woman who loves her southern heritage and can intelligently answer questions about said history—thus the Redneck Jeopardy for our finalists,” he added with a wink. “No generic question about world peace for a Belle,” he laughed. “In addition, a Belle should be able to sing ‘Amazing Grace’ and correctly use the old saying, ‘bless her heart.’ For instance, a Belle might say, ‘Eula Mae is dumber than a box of rocks, bless her heart, but she sure can cook a mean pecan pie.”’
The joke drew a laugh from the crowd, and Samantha’s lips twitched as well. Mayor Flannagin was right. There was no better way to issue a backhanded compliment than with the old tried and true, fondly uttered bless her heart. So long as the heart was duly blessed, the insult wasn’t an insult, just an uncharitable observation.
“All right, then,” Mayor Flannagin said as the laughter pittered out. “How ’bout we get this show on the road? Before we begin, however, I do want to take just a moment and thank all of our sponsors for making this contest possible—Big Bubba’s Ford for donating that shiny new SUV—” he gestured to a black Expedition, which drew the appropriate awe from the crowd “—to the Brothers of the Orange Beach for raising the ten grand in cash and to Mitchell’s Travel for the trip for two to the Bahamas.” Mayor Flannagin bounced on the balls of his feet. “Our crowned Belle this evening will be one lucky girl, indeed.”
She most certainly would, Samantha thought. Would that it could be her. She thought of her ten-year-old car with its slipping transmission and enviously eyed the big sleek SUV. Thought of her modest bank account and imagined adding ten grand to the balance—being able to move back home—then thought of her unstamped passport sitting in the bottom of her purse. She absently chewed her bottom lip.
It really was a tremendous prize package.
Samantha glumly assessed the women around her. And these really were beautiful women. No matter how good Hank thought she looked, those judges hadn’t been around her enough to be affected by the sex diet—by her elevated pheromones—and she knew she didn’t have a prayer of duping them with it the way she had Hank.
Her heart squeezed at the sudden uncharitable insight, causing her to suck in a small breath. She really had duped him, hadn’t she? Samantha thought with a start. When she’d first thought of using this diet to snag a man for the week, Samantha had never considered the duplicity of the act. Had never given much thought to the fact that she was essentially tricking a man into intimacy with her.
But now she did and the idea didn’t sit well with her at all. Granted, she was tricking them into sex—her lips curled wryly—a pastime men unequivocally enjoyed, so really what was the harm?
There hadn’t been, Samantha realized, until she’d miraculously snared Hank with her mantrap pheromones.
Now she felt like a cheat, felt sneaky. She should come clean, Samantha thought abruptly. She should tell Hank about the diet, about the pheromones and just admit the truth. He’d be outraged, of course, would probably try to deny that the pheromones had anything to do with why he’d suddenly admitted to wanting her, but Samantha knew better. He might have felt something for her—might have wanted her—but if she hadn’t gone on this sex diet, he most likely would have never acted on the attraction. After all, he’d kept it hidden for years.
Sam blew out a breath. But she wouldn’t tell him the truth. She was too weak, too far gone and too in love with him to even consider not
taking what he’d offered.
Hank wanted her—truly wanted her—and she didn’t care if her sex diet had made him admit it. Should she care? Probably. But she’d rather have this stolen week, than not have him at all. Pathetic? Yes. But she simply couldn’t help herself. She’d been in love with Hank for as long as she could remember, had dreamed that he’d one day look at her the way he had tonight. Like he’d wanted to eat her up—like he’d done today, Sam thought, going warm again. Like he couldn’t wait to have her.
She might not be doing the right thing for the long term, but she knew she was doing the right thing for the moment.
For this brief little portion of time, Hank Masterson would be hers. She’d deal with the residual effects of her decision later—no doubt that would involve a considerable amount of heartache and tears—but, again, that was a price she’d gladly pay. A small smile quirked her lips. This night with Hank wouldn’t come cheap, she knew—she was essentially charging it on a Heartbreak Visa—but how could she refuse? How could she not go through with it when Hank had offered her everything she’d ever wanted?
Him.
She simply couldn’t resist.
Her gaze was inexplicably drawn to where he sat. Jamie had taken the seat next to him, and though he was a handsome devil, Samantha knew she’d have never been able to go through with her original plan. She only wanted one man—Hank—and no other would ever suffice. Tonight he looked particularly wonderful.
His pale blond hair had been carefully smoothed into place, though the breeze was wreaking havoc with his style. He wore a jade green shirt open at the throat and a pair of natural linen slacks that showcased that narrow-hipped swagger and tight little ass. Honestly, the man had a rear that made a woman fantasize about sinking her teeth into it. Tight and curved just so. A designer watch was fastened around his tanned wrist and he wore a pair of casual leather Dockers on his feet. His teeth flashed white against his tanned skin as he smiled at something Jamie said, sending a rush of sweet emotion into Samantha’s chest.
The Sex Diet Page 12