Jump Start (6 page)

“Are you the maid of honor?” he demanded, fixing Jennifer in a stare.

“Yes,” the crowd replied. “That’s her!”

“You’ll need to report to the dance floor,” he demanded. “Bride’s orders.”

“No way,” Jennifer said. “No way!”

“I’m here to please the bride,” the dancer assured her. “If you don’t come willingly, I’ll have to take you by force.”

“Oh, hell no,” Bobby grumbled at the same moment her fight-or-flight instinct sent Jennifer into flight. Which went horribly. Jennifer tripped over her own feet and reached out to catch herself. Her hands plodded, with a splash, into two large bowls of chocolate mousse. She screamed on impact.

Bobby’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her toward him seconds before her face would have landed in the ranch dip. Her hands came out of the chocolate sauce, dripping, messy. She gasped as Bobby picked her up and started carrying her toward the house, cradling her like a baby. A good thing since she didn’t dare hold on, awkwardly dangling her hands in the air. She glanced at them and then up at Bobby, at the strong, determined set of his jaw. He laughed, a deep, playful sound that resonated through her, turning her all warm and wanting when she should be indignant. And she was.

“Don’t you dare laugh!” she declared, as he maneuvered them past the sliding glass door and headed to the kitchen.

“I can’t help myself,” he said, walking into the forest-green-and-black-tiled kitchen.

“You
can
help yourself.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, “if you dip yourself in chocolate when I’m around, you have two options. I laugh. Or I lick it off.” He set her down in front of the sink, facing him. His voice lowered, his gaze intense, as he raised one of her fingers to his mouth and nibbled. “Or both.”

Her breath lodged in her throat, and she coughed once, twice. Getting her man and her chocolate sauce hadn’t gone exactly as planned. But she wasn’t about to complain, not when he was leaning forward about to kiss her.

Oh, hell. Who cared about a mess? They’d shower later—together. He reached for Jennifer, right when a giant clump of chocolate dropped onto his boot. Jennifer glanced down. Bobby did, as well. Their gazes lifted and collided as they both smiled.

“Hmm, sorry,” she said. “I should probably clean up before I make matters worse.”

His lips twitched. “As appealing as I find licking chocolate off you,” he agreed, “I do prefer a more strategic placement.”

Jennifer smiled. He loved her smile. All Texas sunrise and honey. She blew hair from her eyes and rotated to face the sink. He turned it on for her and she agreed, “Definitely nothing strategic about falling in the party food while being chased by a cop, who’s really a lap dancer, and who isn’t even supposed to be here.”

“Marcie and Mark don’t seem to care,” Bobby said, cleaning off his boot, his gaze sliding over Jennifer’s lush, heart-shaped backside. Tension waved through his body, sexual, hot. Ravishing. Like he wanted to ravish her.

“Marcie isn’t happy,” Jen assured him. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have sent that dancer to drag me to hell with her.” She turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

“Marcie knew I’d never let that dancer anywhere near you,” he said, as he stepped behind her, framing her petite curves with his body, and pressing his hands on the sink beside her. She drew a surprised breath and then grabbed the counter. “Just as I never should have allowed anyone else near you in the first place. I missed you, Jen.” He buried his face in the silky strands of her long blond hair, erotic memories of having it sprayed across his chest shaking him to the core. There was more than want in him for Jennifer. There was need.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I can’t help myself,” he confessed, meaning it. One of his hands slid to her stomach, and Bobby’s gut clenched with the memories of intimacy, of holding her, of burying himself inside her and hearing her call his name. He wanted to hear her call his name again. Over and over.

Her hand pressed down on his. “We agreed no talking,” she reminded him, but her voice lacked conviction.

“Just sex,” he said flatly, but there was a crackle beneath the surface.

“Yes,” she confirmed softly, “just sex.”

He used both hands, a double assault, caressing a path over her slender waist, brushing the curve of her breasts, and then molding them to his palms. “Is this what you want?” he asked.

She made a strangled sound and her head fell back to his shoulder. “Yes,” she whispered.

He inhaled her scent, teasing her nipples through the sheer fabric. “I remember your scent—jasmine,” he said. “Delicious and sweet.” He shoved aside the thin material and tweaked one of her nipples. She shivered in his arms. The nipple knotted to his touch. He remembered well. “You know what else I remember?”

“I don’t want to know,” she said. “No memories.”

“I remember how wet you get when I touch your breasts and lick them. If I tease them just right, you’ll come right here in the kitchen.”

“I will not,” she gasped.

He shoved both sides of her shirt down, bra along with it. Tugged on both stiff peaks. She moaned. “Want to bet on that?” he asked.

“Yes,” she hissed on a soft sound of pleasure that defied her words. “I bet on that.”

A low, desire-laden laugh rumbled in his throat. “Did you forget how much I enjoy a good challenge?” He picked her up, turned her and set her on the counter, spreading her legs in the process. He feasted on the sight of her high, full breasts and then pressed them together to lave on a nipple. “You still think I can’t make you come?”

Jennifer was panting, her hands pressed to the counter behind her, holding her up. She bit her bottom lip. “It’s, no…if I come, it’s because—”

He lapped at her nipple. “Because it’s me?” He framed her face with his hands. “Because it’s us?”

She blinked up at him. “Stop using sex as a weapon,” she whispered.

“Isn’t that what
you
planned to do?” he demanded. “Use sex to keep me at a distance?” And he couldn’t let her do that, not with only two weeks until the biggest decision of his life, since leaving Jennifer seven years ago. Reenlist or stay? “You should have known that wouldn’t work. We were too good together. We still are.”

“You of all people should know,” she hissed, “that sometimes sex is a way to an orgasm. It’s just sex.”

There it was—the gauntlet thrown down, the accusation that she’d meant nothing to him, which cut like a finely sharpened blade. “Is that all you think we were?” he demanded. “Sex?”

Her chin lifted. “Wasn’t it?”

Frustration mixed with urgency inside Bobby as the music shifted to a country song, voices suddenly carrying inside the house. An indicator the show was over and their alone time was ending.

“No matter how we ended, Jennifer,” he told her, his tone guttural, “we were real.” Bobby kissed her, long and hard. “And I’m not going to let you forget that.” He pulled Jennifer’s shirt back into place. And not a moment too soon.

Marcie’s voice bellowed from the near distance. “Jennifer!”

“This isn’t over,” Bobby told her, setting her on the ground. “Not even close.”

“Don’t bet on that one, Bobby,” Jennifer said. “You’ll lose.”

“It’s time to play truth-or-dare,” Marcie said from the doorway, with an intoxicated giggle.

Bobby leaned close to Jennifer. “I dare you to finish what we started,” Bobby said, and he wasn’t talking sex, though sex was fine by him. He was talking everything—the past, the present, the future. Bobby turned to Marcie. “Let the games begin.”

Marcie grabbed Jennifer’s hand and tugged her onward. “Let’s go,” she said. “This is going to be so fun.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Bobby. The game was about to begin, and this other game, the one between Bobby and herself, was clearly well under way. A huge circle of twenty guests sat on a carpet runner circling the dance floor, ready to play truth-or-dare.

Marcie sat next to Mark, and patted the rug on her opposite side. “Come, Jen!”

Jennifer sat down, scanning for Bobby, and silently scolding herself for the disappointment curling in her stomach at his disappearance. Had he left? And why? Why did she care?
Because she wanted that orgasm he’d almost given her,
she declared in her mind, refusing to allow any other answer to be considered.

As if Bobby sensed her feelings, he appeared directly across from her, behind Scott Wright, a neighbor down the road, who was already seated. Jennifer’s heart charged into action as Bobby bent down and whispered to Scott. A second later, Scott got up and Bobby claimed his seat.

Bobby arched a brow at Jennifer, letting her know he was ready for round two of “sex as a weapon.” Jennifer couldn’t move, the sound around her fading, the tension, wholly sexual, snapping between her and Bobby like a rubber band. Everything inside Jennifer melted like chocolate in the hot sun. She was the chocolate and he was the hot sun, when the opposite had been her plan.

Marcie elbowed Jennifer, none too subtly. “It’s Bobby,” she whispered. “Did you see Bobby?”

Jennifer cringed. Bobby looked amused, his eyes twinkling with mischief, the corners of his lips hinting at a smile. His really sexy lips, the ones that had been on hers only a short while back. Her nipples tightened, ached, her breasts growing heavy. Okay, those lips had been on a whole lot more than her mouth.

Marcie rang a bell. Where had she gotten a bell? And a loud one, ringing near Jennifer’s ear. Jennifer reached for it and silently vowed to pour the rest of that chocolate mousse over the head of whoever gave it to her. “Give me that,” Jennifer ordered.

“I need it,” Marcie said. Mark tugged Marcie close to him and took the bell.

“Thank you, Mark,” Jennifer said, feeling relieved until Mark started whistling louder than the bell. Oh, good grief.

The crowd quieted and Marcie waved like a schoolgirl. “Hi, everyone,” Marcie said, laughing as they all stared at her. She draped herself over Jennifer’s shoulders and ran her hand down Jennifer’s hair. “Tell them how the game words, Jen.” Marcie hiccupped. “I mean works.”

Bobby’s stare, brimming with understanding, met Jennifer’s.

Jennifer sighed and gently eased Marcie off her. “This is how the game works,” Jennifer told the crowd. “We have a board, dice and two stacks of cards that we pass around the circle. Odd number draws. One dare card. One truth card. You choose one or the other.”

Marcie held up a finger and called out, “Adding a new rule!” She eyed Jennifer. “It’s the bride’s prerogative.” Then she peered around the circle. “If you don’t want either card, you have to strip off one item of clothing.”

Jennifer gaped, shook her head. This was where she drew the line. She started to get up. Marcie grabbed her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Then to the circle of guests, “The maid of honor is trying to run out on us, you guys.”

Shouts rang out. Demands that Jennifer “be a man” and stay for the game. Like she wanted to “be a man.” Nevertheless, she was hogtied into staying.

Marcie gloated, then announced. “The wedding party will go first! Come on, Jen, loosen up.”

Jennifer had gotten plenty loose in that kitchen with Bobby, and she had no intention of getting loose in the middle of a crowd. She didn’t even consider looking in Bobby’s direction on that one. Instead, she lashed back at Marcie.

“Bride and groom go first!” Jennifer yelled.

Marcie’s eyes lit. “Okay!”

So much for lashing back. Marcie rolled the dice. Even number. No card draw for her. She slid the board to Mark, who quickly rolled the dice. Odd number. He drew two cards.

Marcie giggled in anticipation. “Read the cards to everyone,” she said anxiously.

“Truth card,” Mark said. “Who is the best lover you have ever had?” He grinned and looked at Marcie.

She smiled. “Read the other one.”

“Dare card,” Mark said. “Perform a striptease for the room.” His eyes widened. “I’ll take the truth. Marcie is the best lover I have ever had.”

Everyone booed, yelling that he’d gotten off easy. “I’m the groom,” Mark declared. “That’s how it should work. At least until I walk down the aisle.”

Marcie gaped and he grinned. “Just joking.” He bent down and gave Marcie a quick kiss.

The next person was Sally, who was not only in the wedding, but the one Jennifer was pretty darn sure had ordered the dancers. Sally rolled an odd number. She drew two cards. “Truth. Have you ever used a vibrator?” She crinkled her nose. “Dare. Kiss the person to your right. Must use tongue.” That person was Mark. Holy crap. This was not going well.

Marcie grabbed Jennifer’s arm, digging her fingernails through her bare flesh. “Aye,” Jennifer complained but Marcie didn’t let go.

Everyone stared at Sally, the time ticking by in slow, excruciating seconds. Sally bit her lip and then said, “Truth. Sometimes a good vibrator is better than a man who doesn’t know what he is doing.”

A general sigh of relief fell across the lawn. As if everyone knew how bad the bad would have been if Sally would have kissed Mark.

It was the best man’s turn and he ended up with a dare. He mooned the circle. Another bridesmaid stripped off her shirt, leaving her in her bra. A grooms-man and bridesmaid who Jennifer thought hated each other kissed, with tongue action, and now it was Bobby’s turn.

He rolled the dice. Odd number. His eyes met Jennifer’s from across the circle. Anticipation thrummed through her veins.

“Truth,” he said. “What is the kinkiest thing you ever did with a feather?”

A slow smile spread on his lips, but he didn’t look up. She knew exactly what he was thinking and felt her cheeks redden. Once, years before, he’d tied her facedown on the bed and, well, the feather had driven her insane. Surely he wouldn’t tell that story? Then again, he’d had seven years to use feathers in all kinds of ways she might never even dream possible. Her heart sank.

“Dare,” he said, glancing down at the card. “Drink four shots of tequila.”

He stared at the card and Jennifer’s stomach twisted. He wouldn’t drink four shots of anything stronger than Kool-Aid. The man could nurse one beer all night long and make everyone think it was his third or fourth. At least, the Bobby she’d known seven years ago.

He’d said it was about control, but she’d always suspected it was about his father being a drinker. But he’d never talked about it, and shut down when she’d tried.
He hadn’t talked about it,
she repeated in her mind. He’d never really let her inside. It—they really had been all about sex.

Several women started chanting at Bobby, “Shirt, shirt, shirt. Take off your shirt.”

Slowly, Bobby’s gaze lifted to Jennifer’s, and he reached down and took off his boot. Boos followed. He took off a second boot. “That’s all you get,” he said sternly.

Relief washed over Jennifer. She didn’t have to find out if his feather story would be about her or someone else. She didn’t have to endure sharing a view of that hot, broad chest with the crowd. Her relief, however, was short-lived as the shouts began, “Jennifer is next. Jennifer is next!”

She ground her teeth. The history between Bobby and herself was far from a secret to many of the long-term friends at the party.

Before Jennifer could blink, the board and dice were in front of her. Fine. She wanted this over with. She rolled the dice. Seven. Which used to be her lucky number. But it was an odd number. Of course. Not lucky tonight. She had to draw cards. “Truth,” she said, reading the first one. “When was the last time you…” She all but choked. There was no way she was reading the rest of the card or answering the question.

Marcie grabbed the card and finished for her. “Had an orgasm, and who or what gave it to you?”

If Jennifer admitted she’d given her last orgasm to herself, last night, Bobby was sure to assume it was while fantasizing about him. Which it was, or had been. And most certainly could be again.

“Dare,” she said, snatching another card and reading it out loud. “Straddle the person to your right, male or female, while giving them tongue action.”

“Or strip!” Marcie said. “And no boots like Bobby.” Marcie glared at Bobby. “That was a copout!”

Jennifer’s heart lurched as she stared at that card, feeling the magnetic pull of Bobby’s stare, as he willed her to look at him. And realizing she didn’t even know who was sitting next to her—that was how fixated she’d been on Bobby. She looked to her right. To the guy sitting next to her who had chin-length brown hair, full lips and deep brown eyes. Good-looking.

He extended his hand, as if she needed a formal introduction before cramming her tongue down his throat. “David,” he said. “Mark’s college roommate. Feel free to take advantage of me any way you please.”

Jennifer stared at his hand, realizing she had an opportunity. A way to draw the line in the sand with Bobby. To make it clear she didn’t want, or need, fluffy explanations and conversation. Kissing David would let Bobby know she was over everything between them but the sex. Okay, so maybe, just maybe, a part of her wanted to lash out and hurt Bobby. The way he’d hurt her. Of course, damn him, she doubted she could hurt him. And that hurt her. Jennifer was going to kiss David. She slid her hand into his.