The Hot Line (16 page)

His lips curled. “Yeah?”

“You see, Dean, now that you’ve unleashed my inner vixen, my siren side, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

He circled his arms around her waist. “I can’t wait to find out.” Making no attempt at discretion, he pressed a hungry kiss to her mouth.

Feeling like the bold, seductive woman she really was, she said, “I think you should take me home, strip me naked, and get down on your knees.” She pushed her hips into him. “Then I think you should spend the rest of the night fucking me.”

She felt his whole body shake. “One condition,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I get to fuck you tonight, tomorrow night, and every night after that.”

She inched back and smiled at him. “Dean.” She paused and brushed his hair from his forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I
rritated, Megan snapped her cell phone shut with much more force than necessary and glanced around the kitchen table. “Great,” she blurted out to her friends. “That was Bare Entertainment calling to inform me that our exotic dancer can’t make it.” She gave a heavy sigh and threw her arms up in the air. “Apparently they overbooked the one and only Dick Diamond.”

Jenna groaned and finished her last sip of coffee. “With a name like that, it’s no wonder. Can we find someone else?”

The ever-resourceful Sara grabbed the phone book and began flipping through it. “I’m sure it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” A moment later she said, “Ah, here’s one.” Eyes gleaming, she tapped her index finger on the page. “Naughty Boyz, featuring the much-coveted Naughty Nate.” She grinned. “Hey, he’s no Dick Diamond, but I’m sure we can’t go wrong with a guy called Naughty Nate.” She dialed the number and pressed the phone to her ear. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying.” Phone book in hand, Sara twisted around and stepped into the other room, where it was quieter.

“Keep trying what?” Cassie asked, coming around the corner to join them at her table.

“Our entertainment just canceled,” Megan said. Removing a purring Misty from her pajama-clad lap, Megan pushed to her feet, walked to the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of dill pickles. “I’m afraid we might have to resort to watching Jenna stare off into space while she dreams about Dean.” Megan came back to the table and snapped her fingers in front of Jenna’s eyes, bringing her focus back to them. “Hello, earth to Jenna.”

Grinning, Jenna smacked Megan’s hand away, then glanced at her watch. She nibbled her bottom lip, a familiar habit.

Megan raised an inquisitive brow and handed Jenna the jar. “Going somewhere?”

Jenna twisted the lid off and passed the jar and lid back. “I’m meeting Dean for a late dinner.”

Megan shot her a sidelong glance and fished a pickle from the jar. “Uh-huh, and I’m still waiting for that thank-you.”

“For what?” Jenna tossed her a miffed look. “For nearly killing me by asphyxiation?”

Undaunted, Megan adjusted her pajama pants higher on her hips and reclaimed her chair.
“And,”
she said, dragging out that one word, “you never did share all the juicy details.”

Jenna reached for a strawberry and held it poised over her mouth. “Oh, they were juicy, all right, Megan,” she said before drawing the berry in with her tongue. “But you’ll never know how much.”

Feigning a shiver, Megan grabbed the bowl and wrapped protective arms over it. Around a mouthful of dill pickle, she said, “Jesus, Jenna, have you been abusing this delicious fresh fruit? You know, as a sous chef, it’s my duty to investigate all produce mistreatment. So kindly tell me all the details,” she said in her most authoritative voice, “and I’ll let you know if I have to report you to the food police.”

Jenna chuckled and stole another glance at her watch.

Megan pushed the bowl away. “Go,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Go have dinner with Dean. Enjoy yourself. Sara is taking off shortly to meet with Mitch anyway. Apparently they have to do some ‘research’”—Megan paused to make air quotes around the word—“for her
Entice
article.”

The grateful look in Jenna’s eyes made Megan smile. While Megan herself had no desire or plans to ever walk the matrimonial path again, she was happy that her friends had all recently fallen in love. And truthfully, she wasn’t jealous at all. Okay, okay, so she might be a bit jealous that her friends were all getting laid and she wasn’t.

Even though she’d recently encouraged Jenna to call the Hot Line—heck, the woman had been ready to implode from sexual buildup—deep down Megan really wasn’t into one-night stands, which was probably why she married the first guy she’d slept with. Thanks to the nosy blue-haired bingo buff living in the apartment next to them, everyone in Trenton knew what a disaster that turned out to be.

Her ex had been sweet, sensitive, and oh so wonderful when they met. Until she married him. Then, after the honeymoon period, he became a lazy house hippo who wanted to be catered to day and night. Megan learned the hard way that when something looked too good to be true, it usually was.

Even though she wasn’t into sex with strangers, she somehow suspected that hunky firefighter Brady Wade could have her singing to another tune. Or talking into the microphone, at the very least, she mused. Yup, with just one smoldering look, the man could have her shedding her panties and swinging on his firefighter pole like a burlesque showgirl—and she wasn’t referring to the pole in the firehouse, although that came with its own sexy possibilities….

Jenna made her way to the door. “Are you sure?” she asked, pulling Megan from her carnal stupor.

Megan waved her hand and grabbed another pickle. “Yes, go. We’re quite capable of figuring out the stripper situation without you, chicky,” she assured Jenna with a click of her lips.

“I sure hope so,” Cassie piped in, winking playfully at her friends. “All my other gal pals are expecting great things from you three wild women.”

After Jenna left, Sara came back in the room and plunked herself into a chair. “Not good,” she said.

“No?” Megan crinkled her nose in dismay and held the jar out to Sara, offering her a pickle.

“Nope, not good at all,” Sara repeated, taking the jar from Megan’s hand. “No one can seem to do anything with only two days’ notice.” She rolled one shoulder. “Go figure.”

Megan puckered her lips, planted her elbows on the table, and blew a deflated breath. “I’m sorry, you guys. It was my responsibility to book the exotic dancer. I should have had some sort of backup plan.”

“It’s not your fault, Megan,” her friends said in unison, consoling her.

After a long moment Sara said, “There must be something we can do.”

Megan plopped the rest of her pickle into her mouth, pressed her palms to her eyes, and shook her head. “I cannot believe that in all of Chicago we can’t find one man available and willing to take his clothes off for us.”

“I’m willing.” The deep masculine voice came from behind them. Megan didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. She’d recognize that seductive tenor anywhere. His rich tone moved like lightning through her bloodstream and had her libido sizzling like a fiery flambé.

Twisting in her chair, Megan came face-to-face with Brady Wade, the sexiest firefighter she’d ever had the pleasure of setting her eyes on. Her pulse leapt. Her hands moistened. Her pickle lodged somewhere deep in her throat. Holy. Shit. Was he serious? Because if he was, then not only had she solved her dilemma, God had finally answered her prayer to see that sexy firefighter nekkid!

Cassie angled her head and scoffed. “Forget it, Megan. He’s Nick’s best man. I don’t want to see him naked.”

Without censor, Megan blurted out, “I do.” Oh damn. Had she just said that out loud?

Brady’s knowing grin broadened. Megan’s stomach clenched, her pickle rising to the occasion, attempting to see what all the commotion was about. She swallowed hard before gifting Brady with an unpleasant view.

Brady Wade. Lord, talk about sex appeal. The guy was smoking hot and had her hormones disco dancing in a way they’d never disco danced before. Of course, she could easily attribute the attraction to her lack of sexual activity since her divorce two years previous.

Flames spread through her like a flash fire explosion as she took a moment to register every scrumptious detail of the guy before her. As Brady stood in the doorway, his huge, well-toned body practically blocked the light from the other room. With his soft hazel eyes, a light sprinkling of hair on his face, and his mussed, sun-bleached blond hair, he always looked like he’d just tumbled out of bed. She wanted to tumble right back into it with him.

Megan took a huge fortifying breath and tamped down her lusty thoughts. This was not the time to be indulging in one of her rich sexual fantasies. That would come later, while watching him strip at the bachelorette party. She bit back the maniacal laughter and resisted the urge to rub her hands together, Jekyll-style.

The truth was, if they didn’t take him up on his offer to dance, it could blow the party, except at this moment she had to admit, there really was only one thing she was interested in blowing….

As she continued to take pleasure in his “I can go all night long” athletic physique, his roguish good looks, and his surfer-boy charm, it occurred to her that not only was Brady nipple-hardening sexy, but he was willing and
able
to help her out in a crunch. And dammit, she was willing to let him.

She was a regular humanitarian.

But still, she should have sex with him. Just sex. Wet. Wild. Sloppy. Sex. He looked like a guy who was up for that. She’d just have to make it clear from the git-go that this was a no-strings-attached affair. Not that she expected him to have a problem with that. Not at all. Brady had one-nighter written all over him. He was just the kind of guy who’d indulge in a little good old-fashioned slam-me-up-against-the-wall-and-fuck-me-wild sex.

Jesus, was it getting hotter in here?

Unlike her friends, however, she was not about to fall for a sexy firefighter. Fall
on
him, yes. Ride him hard and put him away wet, yes. But fall for him?

Uh-uh.

No way.

“I think it should be someone outside the bridal party—don’t you agree, Megan?”

Dammit, she’d been so caught up in her dirty little thoughts, she couldn’t comprehend Cassie’s words. She had two choices here: She could agree with Cassie, or she could ask her to repeat the question, letting everyone in the room know that her thoughts had careened off track the second Brady had made an appearance.

Yeah, like they didn’t already know that! Sheesh. Still, there was no need to embarrass herself further.

A third option just popped into her mind. Ignoring Cassie altogether, she grabbed the jar of pickles from the table and hopped out of her chair. “Want one?”

Brady grinned and shook his head. “No, thanks. They have garlic in them.”

Megan glanced at the jar and noted that Sara had tightened the lid back on. “So.”

He cocked his head. “
So
…if I kiss someone, I don’t want to taste like garlic.”

Megan arched a brow and worked to open the lid. Her efforts proved futile. “Well, I just so happen to know that if two people
both
eat garlic, then the tastes cancel each other out. Sort of like two negatives make a positive.”

“So if you eat one”—he pointed his index finger at her—“and I eat one”—he paused to jab his thumb into his chest—“and we kiss”—he wagged his finger back and forth between them—“there’d be no garlic aftertaste?” Hazel eyes glistened playfully as they met hers.

Nope, no garlic aftertaste. Just moist panties and nipples hard enough to cut through glass.

When Brady’s hungry gaze panned over Megan, she became acutely aware that she was dressed in a pair of hip-hugging pajama pants and a thin cotton T-shirt. Passion smoldered in his eyes when his glance settled on her midriff. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin near her navel, where her T-shirt didn’t quite meet her bottoms.

Sex-deprived nymphette that she was, her body responded to the heat in his gaze. She resisted the urge to squirm right into his arms. Instead, she squeezed her thighs together, the action creating heat and friction at the juncture between her legs. Cripes, if she didn’t soon gain control of her raging hormones, she was going to set off the smoke detectors. She swallowed a tortured moan, noting that this was the first time in a long time that she had felt such powerful sexual stirrings.

She gave an edgy laugh. “That’s right,” she managed to get out as the air around them charged with sexual tension. “No aftertaste.”

A moment later Brady said, “Well, when you put it that way, then maybe I will have one.” He moved into the kitchen and, with two easy steps, closed the gap between them.

Easing into her personal space, he took the jar from her hand, opened the lid with ease, and withdrew a pickle. He slipped it between his lips.

Coming unglued, Megan stood there slack-jawed, watching that gorgeous mouth of his draw the elongated pickle inside. Her mind raced and saliva pooled on her tongue, imagining what it would be like to draw a similarly shaped body part of his between her lips. Her body grew tight and needy. Her internal temperature rose.

She gulped for air.

As her sex muscles fluttered, liquid heat dampened her pajama bottoms. Brady took that moment to redirect the conversation. “When and where is this party?” His tongue snaked out to wipe the juice from his lips.

Megan’s brain stalled, making it nearly impossible to comprehend his words. “What party?”

She heard Cassie and Sara chuckling obnoxiously behind her. Dammit, she was going to throttle them both. She marshaled her lascivious mind and got herself a clue.

“Oh, the bachelorette party,” she said with an ease that belied her emotions. Making light of her forgetfulness, she slapped her palm to her forehead and said, “I have so many things on the go, I don’t know where my mind is half the time.”

Like hell she didn’t. Her mind was centered on the rather large package before her. Or, rather, on the large package centered between his legs. She forced her eyes back to his face, tucked a temperamental blond curl behind her ear, and took a moment to compose herself.

She smiled and said, “It’s Thursday night. In a private room at the Hose. Are you free?”

“Forget it, you two,” Cassie piped in.

They ignored her.

Brady’s reckless grin turned wicked. “I’m free.”

Okay, something about the way he said that sent shivers skittering through Megan. She needed to sit. She really, really needed to sit. Megan retreated, taking a distancing step back, but before she could collapse into her chair, Brady grabbed her arm and hauled her toward him.

He caught her off guard, and her body collided with his. Jesus he smelled all warm and woodsy. Strong and virile. Like a real man. An outdoorsy kind of man. The kind of man who’d like to go on long hikes with her and make love in the wilderness instead of sitting at home, demanding she cater to his every whim. Hmmph, like she’d ever do that!