How to Knit a Wild Bikini (13 page)

There was no need of defibrillators with Nikki in the room, Jay decided, his mind spinning. She’d just startled the hell out of him.

And she continued to stare him down. “Well?”

He pushed his hands through his hair. “I thought we were having a tender moment here, God damn it.” So he sounded more aggrieved than understanding, but for pity’s sake, she’d knocked him on his ass.

Again.

“Tender? You’re looking at me with pity. You’re afraid to touch me just because I had a bad moment on the beach to night.”

“Nik—”

“I’m not some victim, you know.”

He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Not like your young friend in the past.”

The eight inches separating them evaporated. “She isn’t a victim any longer either.”

He groaned in frustration. “I thought you were against us having sex!”

“That was before I learned that you’ll lose interest after our one-night stand, Wally Weasel. I figure one bout in your bed and then I’ll be free from your attentions. I can go back to making you delicious meals while wearing my favorite mannish footwear.”

He resisted the urge to search for hidden cameras. MTV’s practical joke series,
Punk’d
, had ended a season or two ago and he didn’t know of one on the current television schedule titled
Single Guy Seared By His Own Stupid Words.
“Look…”

She drew her knees onto the couch and edged even closer. “What’s the holdup? Don’t you want me anymore?”

He’d
never
wanted to want her, damn it! Not only had he sworn off women, but she made him crazy with her abnormal eyes and her abnormal attitude. In his experience, women didn’t want just one night with a man, and even though he’d been looking his whole freakin’ lifetime for someone who’d take just such a casual approach, now that he’d found her…

Now that he’d found her…

“I like it fast,” she said. “And you don’t have to worry about finesse.”

I like it fast.

Don’t worry about finesse.

Now that he’d found the woman his buddies wrote to
Pent house Letters
—all lies—about…

“I want this, Jay.”

Now that he’d found this exasperating, confusing, infuriating, fascinating bundle of contradictions that was blue-eyed and green-eyed Nikki Carmichael, he couldn’t move a muscle. Jay Buchanan, man-about-town, more important, man-who-knew-his-way-around-women, was scared shitless.

The fact was, she’d been betrayed by men—most recently in restaurants and before that at fifteen years old when some butt-ugly, dick-for-brains, cowardly boy had hurt her. Had hurt Jay’s private chef.

Oh, God. He recalled every dumbass thing he’d ever said to her.

Chef with benefits.

She’d been traumatized by sex in the past and from the first he’d placed sex squarely into their business relationship, just because it amused and entertained him. How shallow was that?

Maybe she really
was
a witch because she seemed to be reading his mind again. “Jay Buchanan,” she said. “If you don’t make a move on me right now, I’ll never again make you my barbecued ribs.”

She swept her hair off the side of her neck, holding it away in one fist so he was looking at the fragile shell of ear, the skin so transparent that the firelight shone through it, making the pink flesh glow. The one earring in the rim winked at him, yet another temptation. “Didn’t you say you were going to start here?”

Christ. Suddenly his vision did something like the cameras in a crime show, his focus ch-ch-changing in little bullet sequences, getting closer, tighter, until he swore he could see the blood moving under all the delicate, female, sweet Nikki skin.

Her whole body was quivering, he noticed, moved by just the tiniest of tremors. He could almost smell the bravado rising in the air along with her vanilla-based perfume.

“Baby,” he said, his voice as soft as the touch he placed on her free hand. It was cold. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

She squeezed shut her eyes and yanked her hair farther from her pretty neck. She bent her head to offer him a clearer shot at her smooth skin. Her voice hardened. “You said you wanted to start here.”

His heart stopped beating. Sometimes being a storyteller was a bitch, because it not only made him an observer, but gave him the skills to connect the dots and create a narrative that fit the evidence before him. And now Nikki’s response was killing him, killing him, because the tale this evidence told was that she
was
hell-bent on proving something—but to herself, and she was trusting him to help her accomplish it.

And who was Jay Buchanan for any woman to trust? He’d never stayed with one long enough to buy anything but thanks-for-the-boink gifts. He’d messed with Shanna next door and then messed her up, too.

“Cookie,” he murmured. He didn’t know where to start, what to do, how to approach the situation.
What if I screw this up?

It was a hell of a question for a man who’d always considered himself an expert at this particular game.

But there was all that exposed skin from Nikki’s ear to her collarbone. It called to him, made him hungry to taste it, and he almost smiled, thinking of the
NYFM
article last month that had explored the current wave of vampires in popular entertainment. Maybe he understood, now, what those fictional descendants of Dracula were all about.

He bent to put his mouth on the pulse at her neck. Her skin was cold here, too, and he moved his mouth over it to warm it before tasting with his tongue.

Nikki jerked, and he reassured her by squeezing that cold hand under his. Cold skin, cold hand…God, he wasn’t really going to do this, was he?

Because what if I screw this up?
This time the question screamed at him.

But then she leaned closer, her body language talking, asking for him to touch her again with his tongue, and he did, running it along the rim of her ear, then flattening it against that sweet spot behind it. She gave another little jerk, and then she was leaning even closer, her hand losing its grasp on her hair so she could catch herself on his shoulder.

This hand was warm. The one under his warm now, too.

Nikki was heating up. Despite everything, she was heating up for him and his body tightened, his cock going hard and I-can-do-this ready in two slamming heartbeats. He pulled her across his lap, so that her fabulous ass was cradled against his hips and her mouth was right where it should be—just a breath away from his kiss.

Her lips parted as he lowered to them. He noticed her eyes were still squeezed shut, but then he closed his, too, and slid his tongue into her mouth. Key to lock. Warm to wet. Take to give.

Oh, hell, he thought, groaning to himself even as the kiss went deeper and the plea sure of it rolled down his spine. This wasn’t time for poetry. This was time to give Nikki a safe place and safe partner with which to demonstrate she was no man’s casualty.

His hand splayed against her back, feeling her silky skin in between the strings that held her stretchy shirt together in back. When he slid a finger beneath one of them she sighed, and he took that as a good sign.

More good signs followed: the way she wiggled in his lap as he traced the crisscrossed lacings with a lazy thumb, the way her hand tightened on his shoulder when he pushed up into the cushion of her tush, the way she sucked on his tongue as he tried to back off for air.

Okay, the way she sucked on his tongue eliminated his need for air. He grunted, goaded to grinding his lips against hers like he wanted to grind his hips between her thighs—and then she moaned. For a second it scared him—had he scared
her
?—but quickly he saw she was still warm and flushed and pliant against him.

The sight—that sign of continued trust—struck him some where north of his raging hard-on. Maybe it was perverse of him, but at this moment he could only think how thankful he was for all his many and varied sexual experiences. Because surely he’d learned something along the way that would help him out here. That would help him make this good, very good, for Nikki.

Another moment of wallowing in that wet and luscious kiss, and then he finally managed to lift his head. Drawing in the O
₂
, he watched his hand edge around her side to her breast, where he thumbed the nipple that was peaking against the soft cotton of her shirt. It tightened even more at his touch and he glanced at her face, at her closed eyes and the worry wrinkles between her brows.

Worry?

“Baby, is this good?” He knew it was, because she was arching into his hand, yet still, that concerned expression pricked him. His thumb circled the hard nub, then slid away.

She made a little sound of protest.

“I won’t touch you where you want me most unless you talk to me.”

A gleam of light showed between her lashes and her lower lip slid out in her trademark sulky frown. “
You
talk too much.”

“Some of us can accomplish two things at once.”

“Not your cover bimbos.”

“Damn.” He shook his head. “I’m not doing my job if you’re still thinking of other women.” His hand roved to her sleek back again and to the bow that was at her waist. He yanked it free and started unlacing the corset ties of her top. “How about I loosen things up?”

He pulled the fabric completely from her body. At the sight of her naked breasts, the material slipped from his hand to the floor. Firelight flickered over her creamy skin and warmed the peachy-pink color of her stiff nipples. He had to touch, and as his hand reached for her, he saw it tremble.

Startled by the sight, he stilled, trying to wrap his head around a man shaking so hard just at the idea of such a rudimentary move. But then she gulped a breath, pushing those sweet handfuls closer to him and he went all-guy, giving up the thinking to another part of his anatomy.

And that throbbing part of him was only sending one thought chugging through his bloodstream.
Taste taste taste.
His hand curved beneath one soft breast, plumping it for his mouth. He bent his head and touched the velvet berry in the center with the tip of his tongue.

She gasped, pushing that bud against the rasp of his tongue and he obliged the silent request by closing his lips around her nipple and sucking her into his mouth.

God
. His belly clenched, lust striking a match inside of him. Driven forward by the fire, he sucked harder, pushing her nipple against the roof of his mouth to caress it with the flat of his tongue. Nikki’s hands flew to his hair.

Jay froze, cold caution dousing the sudden blaze of heat that had overtaken him. Did she want him to stop? Had he frightened her?

Instead of letting go though, he merely eased up, holding her gently in his mouth as he breathed in the scent of her skin—vanilla and heat. Her fingers relaxed and he started sucking again, not so wild, but not letting up either. His second hand shifted to her other breast and he indulged, there, too, running his thumb over the hard crest and rolling it between his fingers.

Then he switched places, plucking her wet nipple with his fingertips while taking the other into his mouth. This time he kept his suction slow and steady, but ratcheting up the pressure at intervals until he was sucking as hard as the first time and she was moaning with the plea sure of it.

When he lifted his head, his belly clenched again. Her nipples gleamed in the firelight and she must have licked her lower lip because it was wet, too. God. He kissed that little pillow, running his tongue over it until she opened for him.

Her trust was blowing his mind.

And now he needed to see how much further it would go. With hands on her shoulders, he laid her back on the cushions. Her lashes were dark crescents on the flush-pink of her cheeks. He rubbed at that bothersome worry line on her forehead with his thumb.

She caught his hand, and eyes still closed, brought it to her mouth. She kissed the pad, and something inside him jerked tight, pulling his heart toward his throat. “Cookie, cookie, cookie,” he said, his voice rough. “You have some lethal moves.”

She made a little sound—a laugh? a protest?—but then turned voiceless as he pulled his hand from her mouth to draw his damp thumb along the waistline of her skirt, an inch below her belly button.

Her muscles quivered, and her bottom shifted on the cushions. “I’ve been wanting this since the first moment I met you,” he said.

“No way,” she whispered. “The first moment you met me you wanted to go back to bed.”

“With you.”

“That came later.” Her hips shifted as he traced that line across her belly again. “After I made coffee.”

“You make me sound so easy,” he complained, locating the zipper at the side of her skirt. It made a little hiss as he slid it open.

He saw a sliver of her eyes again between her lashes. “But are you hard, Jay? Are you really hard?”

What she was asking was obvious. He slid her skirt off her legs and tossed it to the floor. Silky green pan ties covered her pussy, and he stared at the magic vee while he yanked off his shirt. Then he insinuated himself between her thighs, loving the feeling of them widening for him. He pressed his jean-covered cock to her sweet spot and rocked.

“What’s that tell you?” he asked.

She sighed, her legs opening more. “That I’m not your pity…you know.”

“The only pitiful one has been me.” He smoothed his palm up the inside of her thigh, pulling it up and out so it rested against the back of the couch. “Thinking for so long you wanted Rosie O’Donnell instead of me.”

A smile flickered over her mouth and he bent his head to taste it. The kiss went hot and deep, one of those day-long things that he didn’t remember giving to or getting from any other woman but Nikki. It made heat roll down his spine and then spiral around his ribs, constricting his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

He tore his mouth from hers and then, laughing at himself, dove for another taste of the same. He palmed the sleek skin of her inner thigh, then snaked his forefinger beneath the elastic leg opening of her pan ties. She was wet.