Bad (6 page)

He didn't like mess or complications. Yet the longer Ashlin stared at him with those guileless blue eyes, the more he knew he could be heading for both.

"Second guessing your offer?"

That was another thing. The way she honed in on his thoughts. All the time.

"A little." He drained the brandy, desperately wanting a top up but needing his wits about him. "I'm thinking I may be in over my head."

To his surprise, Ashlin laughed. "God, I love how refreshingly honest you are." She placed her half empty glass on the table. "It makes me like you all the more."

Wyatt could’ve sworn an air bubble had expanded in his chest. "You like me?"

"Yeah. I feel comfortable around you." Her fingertips grazed his hand. "Considering I don't let anyone get too close, that's a pretty big deal for me."

Their similarities startled him. "I'm the same. And I feel the same. With you." Hell, could he sound any goofier?

She smiled and intertwined her fingers with his, which he took as a good sign considering how fast she’d jumped off him ten minutes ago. "I think fate is a crock, but maybe we met for a reason."

"You're right, it's a crock," he said, but he squeezed her hand. "So here's how I see this playing out. You've got that big competition coming up. I've got another two weeks work at Burlesque Bombshells. Why don't we hang out in our spare time? Have some fun." He paused, and traced a slow circle in her palm, enjoying the way her pupils dilated in response. "And take a real shot at making fireworks in the bedroom."

"And I was just hoping for a good, old-fashioned orgasm or ten." She deadpanned, before flinging herself into his arms and hugging him so tight he could barely breathe. "Thanks. For everything."

"I haven't given you an everything or ten yet," he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply, savoring the exotic, spicy scent that he'd already come to associate with her.

She buried her head in the crook of his neck and giggled. "At this point in time, I'd settle for one."

"Then shall we get started?"

She stiffened slightly in his arms as it struck him again, what a colossal idiot he was for thinking he could do this.

"Sure." She wriggled back, but held onto his hands. "What did you have in mind?"

Ignoring the growing sense of doom, he rested their hands on his knees. "Tell me your erogenous zones."

She swallowed, took her time answering. "I'm not sure."

"Then it's my job to find out." He released her hands and slid away from her, patting his lap. "Pop your feet up here."

He swore he glimpsed a flicker of disappointment in her nervous gaze and that vindicated his choice of what he was about to do. It meant she'd expected him to go straight for the good stuff but that wasn't how this would work.

He knew enough about women to know that foreplay was everything. Women orgasmed with their minds, not just their bodies. Luckily, he was good with minds. Facts. Logic.

So logically, he'd build anticipation. Give her the longest, drawn-out foreplay she'd ever had. Make her want an orgasm so bad that she'd be unable to hold it back when he finally did hone in on the spot he'd give anything to be licking right now.

"You've got a naughty look on your face," she said, gasping when he pressed his thumb into the arch of her foot.

"That’s because I’m imagining doing some incredibly naughty things to you," he said, dragging his thumb upward toward her toes. Kneading their bases. Relieved as she moaned and wriggled and sighed.

Her smug little smile indicated they were off to a good start.

He focused on her right foot first. Long, firm strokes. Pulling on her toes. Tracing her arch. Making her squirm. Before lavishing the same on her left foot.

She made the cutest noises, half way between a groan and a grunt. And with her eyes half-closed, the lids heavy with passion, it took every ounce of willpower for Wyatt to stop at touching her feet.

"That feels so good…
ooooh
…" She actually lifted her pelvis off the couch a tad as he squeezed the base of her Achilles tendon and his cock throbbed in response.

"Imagine how my hands will feel all over your body." With that, he released her feet, pushed them off his lap and stood. "Goodnight."

He didn't dare look back, because if he saw a glimpse of her wanting him as badly as he wanted her, he wouldn't be able to stick to his plan of taking things slow.

Damn, logic was a bitch sometimes.

Ashlin hadn't slept.

At all.

Thanks to that bloody Wyatt, who'd left her wanting more.

She knew it was a good thing. Her feeling anything more than disinterest when a guy touched her. But Wyatt's foot massage shouldn't have felt so sexual. Yet it had. Which begged the question, what had changed?

Was it a simple matter of logistics; it had been so long since she'd had an orgasm with a guy that any touch would do?

She doubted it. She'd never been short of offers to scratch that proverbial itch over the years but with those guys they'd never passed first base because she hadn't felt anything.

With Wyatt, she felt
everything
. Too much. Too soon. And it was oh too tempting. She'd wanted to take it further last night. Had wanted him to slide those strong, masterful hands up her calves, along her thighs and higher, assuaging the throb that persisted long into the night.

But she'd been scared. Terrified, in fact, that she'd freeze up like she usually did when anyone other than herself got in the vicinity. She could masturbate to orgasm but if the guys she’d kissed groped the area, nothing. Not that the orgasms she gave herself could be counted as anything less than serviceable. She got off. Barely. Felt a little zing, released tension. Similar to drinking a virgin margarita: quenched thirst without the buzz.

She hadn't got herself off last night because she wanted to savor the feelings Wyatt had elicited. Had wanted to remember them for whenever he took things further. And he would. She had no doubt.

He'd played it just right, leaving her wanting and yearning.

And anticipating what he'd come up with next.

"Good morning." He came up behind her and brushed a soft kiss beneath her ear.

"Is it?" She squealed as he nipped the skin at the base of her neck. "Okay, it is."

"So you're not in a snit after I left you hanging last night?" He perched on the verandah railing, looking incredibly delectable in khaki cargo shorts and a white T. "Because you realize it's for the greater good?"

"I'm not a complete moron," she said, wondering if she should be annoyed by his smugness but deciding it wasn't worth the effort.

She'd come clean about her frigidity last night. She couldn’t hide behind coyness now. Too late for that.

"You enjoyed the foot massage?"

"You know I did." To her surprise, heat flooded her cheeks. Way too late for blushes too.

"Good, because there's more where that came from." He slid off the railing and held out his hand to her. "Fancy a walk along the bayou, followed by beignets and cafe au lait?"

"Now you're really upping the torture." She slid her hand into his, loving how right it felt. "I'd do anything for a beignet."

"Anything?" His low, suggestive tone sent a sizzle of heat through her.

"Try me and find out."

He ducked down to whisper in her ear. "I intend to, and guaranteed I won't need a beignet to do it."

That damn heat zeroed in on the one area that surprisingly responded to him and made her ache with wanting to head back inside and let him try her out for real.

"Come on, I'm starving." She bumped him with her hip and he jostled her back.

And they kept up the playfulness as they strolled along the banks of the bayou bordering his property. A pinch here. A swat on the ass there. And lots of loaded glances that threatened to scorch her clothes off.

By the time they made it to the tiny corner store, Ashlin wanted to forego the beignets in favor of a quickie in the nearby marshland.

"Here, you'll need sustenance." He handed her a beignet warm from the oven and a coffee.

"For?"

"To keep up your strength, of course." He raised his coffee cup to her. "I plan on driving you to the brink repeatedly over the next two weeks."

She swallowed her coffee so fast it burned her throat. "You sure know how to get a girl all hot and bothered."

"That's the idea, sweetheart." His lips grazed hers. Once. Twice. Before his tongue tangled with hers all too briefly. He tasted of sugar and cinnamon and coffee, three of her favorite things.

When he eased away, she practically swooned. Slightly embarrassed by her over the top reaction to him, she took a massive bite out of a beignet. And almost swooned again.

"That good, huh?"

"Heaven," she mumbled, devouring the rest while he looked on with a bemused grin.

"Sweetheart, if I can put the same kind of expression on your face as that pastry just did, I'll be a happy man indeed." He tapped the end of her nose. "Icing sugar right here."

"You've got some on your lip." She hauled him close and ran her tongue along his bottom lip, enjoying his sharp intake of breath. Glad she wasn't the only one affected by their flirting.

"You know you're killing me, right?" He lobbed his coffee cup in the trash and dusted off his hands.

"You're the one who wants to take things real slow."

"For
your
benefit."

"That's right." She snapped her fingers. "There's a flaw in your dastardly plan."

"What?"

"In driving me insane with longing, you're going to do the same to yourself."

With that, she slapped him on the ass and sauntered away, whistling a sultry dance tune and grinning as she heard a frustrated growl behind her.

Ashlin slept the whole way back to Vegas and Wyatt was glad.

Keeping up the banter was exhausting.

Not because he didn't enjoy it. He did. But having Ashlin constantly touch him, albeit playfully, and stare at him, and smile at him…well, he was having a damn hard time focusing on the logic of his dumbass plan.

He wanted her with a ferocity that scared the hell out of him. He fantasized constantly: what she'd look like naked. Would her bush be as red as her hair? Would her nipples be pink or brown? Would she be as flexible as he hoped because of her job? It was driving him frigging nuts.

So he'd been a chicken-shit and dropped her at Burlesque Bombshells when she'd cited some rehearsal issue, and had hightailed it to Zane's hotel. Another dumbass move, considering his half-brother had moved out of his suite and into Chantal's apartment last week.

However, just as he put the hire car back into gear, Steele stepped out of the foyer and waved.

Wyatt hesitated. He barely knew the guy and while Steele had given him some good advice regarding Ashlin, he wasn't up for discussing everything that had gone down over the weekend with a virtual stranger.

But then he glimpsed Steele's crestfallen expression and guilt kicked in. The guy had flown half way around the world, would be gone in a month and it wasn't Steele's fault that his half-brother feared socializing.

Wyatt pulled over and got out. "Hey. What are you up to?"

"Going for a walk." Steele sauntered over, like nothing fazed him. But Wyatt saw the restrained energy in his posture, in the set of his shoulders. Steele would be a go-getter and he admired that.

"Change that to a beer and I'll stick around," Wyatt said.

Steele laughed. "You're on. Besides, you stood me up for that drink yesterday."

"Sorry, had to duck home for a few days," Wyatt said. "Didn't you get my text?"

"Yeah, no worries."

They headed into the hotel bar, ordered drinks, and Wyatt felt the familiar pressure to say something, anything, rather than sit silent like a dork.

If Steele noticed any awkwardness, he didn't show it. "So where's home for you?"

"Small town on the outskirts of New Orleans. It's peaceful."

"You value peace, huh?"

Not sure how to respond, Wyatt nodded.

"You strike me as the quiet type, that's all."

Steele's astuteness impressed him. "When it comes to talking, less is more."

"I'll drink to that." They clinked beer bottles. "Does Kurt subscribe to the same way of thinking?"

Wyatt snorted. "You can't shut the bastard up, especially if he's talking about himself. Why?"

A frown appeared between Steele's brows. "Because he sent me a text. Short and sweet. Suggesting we meet up when he's in town in two weeks."

Wyatt knew Kurt would be intimidated, having his position as eldest son usurped by the Aussie, so Kurt extending the hand of friendship to Steele amazed him. Particularly when Kurt usually never gave a shit about anyone but himself.

"You seem surprised?" Steele said.

"Word of advice. Kurt and Christopher are like this." He intertwined his first and middle fingers. "So Christopher may use him to meet you."

Steele's frown deepened. "I'm not interested in anything the old man has to say and I'll tell him to his face if he ever dared confront me."

"He'll dare," Wyatt said. "Christopher has a hide thick as a rhino. And the curiosity will be killing him, so he'll definitely do something underhanded to get to you."

"Prick," Steele muttered, downing most of his beer in a few gulps.

Not wanting to waste time talking about Christopher, Wyatt changed the subject. "Ashlin came home with me."

Steele's eyebrows shot heavenward. "The redhead?"

Wyatt nodded and Steele whistled low. "Wow. There are no flies on you, mate."

"Did you just insult me?"

Steele sniggered. "It's an Aussie saying, means you're astute. Switched on."

Frigging turned on, more like it, but Wyatt couldn’t share that much with his half-brother.

Steele stared at him with admiration. "So what happened?"

"I did what you said. Called her bluff. Next thing I know I asked her to come home for the weekend and she accepted. We hung out. Got to know each other. It was nice." Could he sound any lamer?