Too Sexy For Marriage

by Cathie Linz

  Jason tried not to feel guilty. “I meant to, but time got away from me.”

  “And now you’ve got Dad living with you.”

  “Not living,” he hurriedly corrected her, “just staying. Temporarily.”

  “You hope. When are you going to get some furniture in here?” she demanded, plopping down on the S-shaped leather couch that looked better than it felt. “Doesn’t all this chrome and stainless steel give you the chills?”

  “I hired a top designer to do this place.”

  Anastasia was not impressed. “It lacks heart.”

  Jason thought about Heather’s house, cluttered with pieces that each had personal meaning to her. Compared to her home, the loft was a little on the sterile side. But he didn’t like feeling crowded. Not after having his siblings living in his back pockets growing up. He needed lots of elbow room, both physically and emotionally.

  But he wasn’t getting that with his dad staying with him. Whenever he tried to broach the topic of his returning home, his dad changed the subject. Jason didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing, hoping things would work themselves out and that his dad would get tired of sleeping in the guest room. So far that hadn’t happened. Jason planned on giving it until Sunday before taking matters into his own hands.

  “What are you doing home on a Friday night?” Anastasia asked.

  Jason had been asking himself that same question. He’d tried calling Heather and had only gotten her answering machine at home and her voice mail at work for the past two days.

  “I’ve got work to do,” Jason answered.

  “What are you working on?” Anastasia asked, picking up the yellow legal pad he’d left on the couch.

  “Give that back to me.”

  Anastasia leaped out of his reach, just as she had when they were kids.

  “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed after reading his precise writing. “You’ve actually made a step-bystep plan to seduce poor Heather. You’ve even made a list of pros and cons!”

  She didn’t have to tell him that; he already had the list memorized.

  “What’s this about a dessert-cart incident?” Anastasia asked.

  “Give that back to me!” he growled.

  His sister was one of the few women on the face of the planet unimpressed by his glowering expression. “Hey, I know you’re an obsessive list maker, but I can’t believe you’ve actually made up a list like this.”

  “That’s the logical thing to do, not that you’d know anything about that, flying by the emotional seat of your pants as you always do.”

  “I see you’ve already crossed off step one, talking to her face-to-face. And step two, send flowers and chocolate. That’s real original, bro.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that being original isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

  “No. I like original.”

  “That’s obvious.” His sister was dressed in one of her infamous thrift-shop outfits of a man’s tailored shirt tied in a knot over a skirt that went down to her ankles. A pair of combat boots completed the picture, which wasn’t a pretty one in his estimation. But then his sister never listened to him. “I don’t like original.”

  “What about Heather? She’s the one you’re trying to please.”

  That gave him pause for a moment. “She likes original,” he grudgingly admitted. “But she likes flowers and chocolate, too.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “What woman doesn’t like flowers and chocolate? Besides, her friend told me exactly what kind she likes.”

  “Jason, Jason.” Anastasia shook her head in sisterly indulgence. “Anyone can send her flowers or candy. You’ve got a thing or two to learn about women.”

  “I seem to have done pretty damn well by myself all these years.”

  “You’ve had women chase you, but this one doesn’t seem to follow that pattern, bless her heart. I think I like her already.”

  “You’d like anyone and anything that gives me trouble,” Jason grumbled.

  Anastasia grinned. “You’ve got that right. Who is this Heather woman? Does she have a last name?”

  Jason wasn’t about to tell her Heather was that Love on the Rocks woman who had incited their mother to send their father packing. He didn’t trust Anastasia not to side with Heather and their mom. “Isn’t it time for you to leave now?”

  “I’m going. But before I do, let me give you this piece of advice. Women like a man with imagination. A man with some soul. I know you’ve got some hidden deep down inside you someplace because I’ve heard you jamming at the club. Tap into that, Jase. Unless you want to get lost in the crowd of stuffed shirts.”

  “I hate being called Jase.”

  “I know.” She tossed his legal pad at him. “That’s why I do it Call me about those nonprofit papers when you’re through looking at them.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Jason called after her, even though he knew he’d get back to her in a few days. But first he had a woman to seduce. Heather.

  “YOU CAN STOP SQUINTING. She’s not out in the audience, man,” Natron told him Sunday night, after Jason sat in on the early set “I left a message on her machine inviting her to the club tonight.”

  “Wise move. Last time you played for her, she was offering to have sex with you.”

  Natron was a good friend, but Jason couldn’t confess what Heather’s real reason for being at the club that night had been. It only served to prove what an idiot he was, and the fewer people who knew that the better. Meanwhile, he had to come up with a way of snagging Heather the way she’d tried to snag him. He murmured his thoughts aloud. “Maybe I should play for her again.”

  “Maybe you should. You know what they say, man. If Mahomet won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain has to go to Mahomet.”

  AFTER GETTING ONLY four hours of sleep for two nights in a row because of brooding about Jason, Heather had gone to bed by ten. She was exhausted.

  She closed her eyes, only to dream yet again about Jason. She could even hear him playing his sax while she played him, running her fingers over his body, as his music got louder and louder, stronger and stronger.

  She blinked, disoriented and surprised to find herself awake. But the music continued. A quick glance at her bedside table told her that it was nearly two in the morning.

  Was her neighbor, the stockbroker, having a party or something? No, the sound was coming from directly beneath her bedroom window, from her terrace. And it was definitely a saxophone.

  Grabbing a robe to cover her cotton nightie, she tiptoed to the window to peek between the slats of her venetian blinds. It was pitch black outside but she did see the flash of light on metal. Looking closer, she saw the saxophone. She still couldn’t see the man playing it.

  She could have turned on the terrace lights, but for some reason she didn’t want to do that. Too much light might make the dreamlike scene disappear.

  Then the music suddenly stopped. Instead she heard the sound of pebbles hitting her bedroom window.

  She opened the window. There was only one man it could be. “Jason?” Her voice was soft.

  His wasn’t. It was as loud and clear as all get out. “No. It’s the Dark Knight.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting your attention.”

  “It’s two in the morning!” Mr. Jones her elderly neighbor bellowed. “Shut up out there or I’ll call the cops!”

  “Ask for Detective Abromski,” Jason shouted back. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  Heather couldn’t believe it. Her stuffy, uptight prosecutor was actually on her terrace in the middle of the night. Well, actually his alter ego, the Dark Knight, was on her terrace, serenading her with his sexy sax. He was dressed in black jeans and T-shirt, radiating the dauntless audacity of a knight.

  The question was, should she let down the moat bridge and let him in?

  9

  “RAPUNZEL, RAPUNZEL, let down your sweet hair,” Jason shouted
up to her.

  “I’m calling the cops on the count of three,” Mr. Jones yelled. “One…”

  “Don’t do that, I’m letting him in now,” Heather shouted back. To Jason, she said, “Stay there, I’ll be down in a minute to let you in the terrace sliding door. And don’t make any more noise.”

  That last request was made in vain as she heard the crash of him apparently bumping into one of her many potted plants.

  Heather and her cat both met Jason at the terrace door. Jason greeted the cat first. “Maxie, old boy, old friend!” Jason set down his battered, black musicalinstrument case to pet Maxie behind the ears just as he liked. “How’s it going?”

  “Are you drunk?” Heather asked suspiciously.

  “Only with the vision of you,” Jason replied, his eyes gleaming in the semidarkness. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. “I trust those weren’t man-eating Venus’s-flytraps out on your terrace?”

  “You trust correctly.” The problem was that Heather couldn’t trust. Couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t break her heart. But she also couldn’t keep fighting something she wanted so badly. Having been apart from Jason made her miss him more than she thought humanly possible.

  Looking at him, she whispered, “I really thought I could get over you.”

  “I thought the same thing about you. I was wrong.”

  “So was I.”

  A second later, she was in his arms. His lips claimed hers with such commanding persuasion that she was soon lost in the intimacies of his tongue moving against hers. He bound her to him with butterfly-soft caresses and arms wrapped around her so tightly that she never wanted him to let her go. Unless it was to lead him to her bedroom. Because this time she wanted to do this right.

  Murmuring her intentions between nibbling kisses, she tugged the hem of his dark T-shirt from the waistband of his black jeans. Jason contributed to the effort by kicking off first one shoe and then the other as he moved with her across the living room toward the stairs leading up to her bedroom.

  They left a trail of clothing behind, most of it his, as she wasn’t wearing much. They didn’t actually get his T-shirt off until the third step. It was left there, along with her robe.

  By the time they reached her bedroom, Jason was barefoot and bare chested. The top snap on his black jeans was undone and his hair was tousled, falling over his forehead just the way she liked it.

  She could hardly believe he was here, in her bedroom. His dark masculinity was a stark contrast to the light femininity of their surroundings. The walls and drapes were white, the main sense of color coming from the pale pink, cutwork duvet cover on her bed. The double-wedding-ring quilt with its pastel rings on a white background looked great on the wall above the bed, but Heather nearly knocked it onto the floor as Jason tumbled her onto her bed.

  “I haven’t forgotten that you like going slow.” His grin was contagious. “Now that I’ve got you where I want you, I’ll go real slow,” he promised her, his voice husky, his gaze possessive.

  Heather didn’t know what to say so she blurted out, “Did you bring any protection?” and then felt like yanking the covers over her head. She’d offered her listeners a million funny ways to bring up the subject of safe sex, but when it came time for her to talk about it she’d sounded like an awkward, overeager novice.

  Jason didn’t appear to mind, though. Instead, he slowly smiled as he retrieved several latex condoms from his wallet.

  “Did you know I’d let you in tonight?”

  “All I knew was that I couldn’t go another night without seeing you.”

  His words melted her nervousness away. “Come here,” she whispered, holding her arms out to him. As he stood before her, she finished the task of undoing his zipper. The stretchy material of his white Jockey shorts strained against his surging desire. Her knuckles gently brushed against him as she lowered his jeans down around his hips.

  Growling her name, Jason kicked off his jeans and tumbled her back on the bed, his hot body conforming to hers with an exquisite fit. He ran his hands over her, eliminating her nightgown with one economic move. She could feel the rubbing of his bare thighs against hers as she explored his body with wondering fingertips.

  He was such an enigma. A man who loved control, yet had the power to destroy it in her. A man with an aura of calmness and concentration who had the ability to make her soul sing with his music or his smile. The creator of the best and only eye sex she’d ever had. The man she loved.

  His obvious desire for her gave her the confidence she’d lacked. Beauty could indeed be a state of mind, not of body. Which meant she was no longer panicked about him seeing her naked. There was no time for panic, no room for it as she was consumed with need.

  His ragged breathing was audible as she skimmed her hands over his back with slow precision, as if mapping every male inch and needing to record it for posterity. He rewarded her scouting expedition with a series of heated kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth.

  Closing her eyes to further enjoy the temptations of his lips, she now had to rely completely on her sense of touch to give her a picture of him. The provocative pressure of his muscled body provided her with ample material. She had no idea how much time passed before her fingers reached the elastic waistband of his briefs. There she paused to swirl her nails against the small of his back.

  He repaid her by spreading kisses from her jaw to her throat to the top of her breast. There he swirled his tongue in a lazy figure eight that drove her crazy with anticipation.

  “If you want to do this slowly,” he whispered, his voice as raspy as sandpaper, “then we’ve got to—”

  “Do this?” she whispered back, her smile sultry as she removed his underwear, tossing it over her shoulder.

  “Then I suppose you’d like it if I did this.” Jason dispatched her silky panties with equal flair.

  “I’d like it even better if you did this,” she murmured, taking his hand and guiding it to her.

  She was vocal in her pleasure, her increasing pants turning into moans and breathless gasps. Then she shattered in his arms.

  When her eyelids fluttered open, she gazed at him with dazed appreciation. And a look of feminine anticipation. “Now you,” she murmured, her voice running over him like hot satin, just as her fingers and lips trailed over him, bringing him dangerously close to peaking.

  His fingers trembled as he took care of protection, before returning to the cradle of her body. She welcomed him. His entry was smooth and swift, as was his sigh of bliss. With iron control, he kept the rhythm easy, his movements filling her with joy as he prolonged their ultimate satisfaction as long as he could.

  Keeping his eyes on her, he saw the heated flush of passion on her cheeks, tasted the swollen lushness of her mouth as she resumed those breathless pants that drove him wild.

  And still he rocked against her, letting her take all of him as he buried himself in her deepest recesses, until his control finally shattered, as hers had. Shouting her name, he arched his back. Surging into her, he climaxed as never before.

  WHEN THE ALARM went off the next morning, Heather was alone in her bed. Had it all been a dream? Had she only imagined that Jason had made love like no one had ever made love to her before?

  No, she could still feel the warmth on the sheets left from his body, still smell him on her pillowcase. Hugging the pillow, she stretched languidly.

  So much for her plans to stay away from Jason. It had been impossible. She couldn’t even find it in her heart to feel any regret, except for the fact that he hadn’t been here when she’d woken up.

  Why had he left? Had he felt regret? Had he noticed how big her thighs were? Had he leaped out of her bed as if he couldn’t wait to get away? Had she slept with her mouth hanging open?

  Something crinkled as she shifted uneasily. Tugging the pillow away from her face, she saw the note he’d left for her.

  Jason’s handwriting was as contradictory as he was—controlled strokes with bo
ld flourishes. She ran her fingers over the words. He’d had an early court appearance and hadn’t wanted to wake her. He’d be in touch.

  She frowned at that last sentence. It sounded pretty vague. But then she read on. He’d written one word and underlined it twice: Soon!

  JASON WASN’T EXACTLY SURE what he expected to accomplish by coming to see Heather at the radio station during his lunch break on Monday. He wasn’t exactly sure about a lot of things.

  It had seemed so simple when he’d set out on this plan for revenge. His desire to teach her a lesson had gelled with his desire to get her into bed. His strategy had worked. She’d ended up naked in his arms. But having sex with her hadn’t decreased his need for her. It had only strengthened it. Which made him very uneasy.

  He hadn’t tossed the bet in her face this morning. While still furious about the way she’d used him, Jason’s innate sense of honor cringed from hurting her that way. Instead, while she slept, he’d hurriedly gotten dressed and hightailed it out of there after scribbling her a brief note.

  Some revenge-taker he was. When it came down to the crunch he froze. Getting even with her wasn’t supposed to affect him this deeply.

  He was supposed to spend the night and then toss her aside. Not that he had any experience treating women that way. Maybe that was his problem. He was too nice a guy.

  Making love with Heather hadn’t gotten her out of his system. It had only intensified his fascination with her. She continued to rattle him. He honestly didn’t know where they’d go from here. He only knew he had to see her again.

  Acting on a whim, he stopped en route and picked up a bunch of balloons and a single Double Delight rose at the florist shop in the foyer. Was he still seducing her for revenge, or had it turned into the real thing? Jason couldn’t be sure and he refused to examine his motives too closely, because doing so only turned his stomach into knots and struck fear in his heart, neither of which were conditions that appealed to him.