Romance Me (Boxed Set) (56 page)

“I can't wear contacts. I have dry eyes.”

Shaking his head with amusement, he said, “Just do it, babe.” Then he'd leaned forward, kissed her forehead as he'd done so many times in the past, and got up to leave. Before closing the door, however, he'd turned back to her. “You sure about this?”

Of course she wasn't sure, she'd wanted to scream. But he'd already said yes. Plus, she didn't relish the idea of telling fifty undergraduate students that she was a sexual coward. And, finally, she'd forced herself to remember the shame she'd felt at Brian's words. Telling her she wasn't good enough, sexy enough, to inspire a man's passion. She was never going to let another man hurt her that way again, and she trusted Max to teach her things that would put Brian's little vet resident to shame.

“I'm sure,” she'd said. “After all, tomorrow's my birthday. What could be better for me than a little continuing education?”

Education? What a dork, she'd thought. Thankfully, he'd just smiled. “That's right. Remember, no glasses, okay?”

“Are they really that ugly?” she'd asked hesitantly, lifting one hand to touch the wire frames she'd once thought were quite stylish.

All he'd done was close the door, loudly singing
Happy Birthday to You
, as he walked down the walkway to his car.

She'd felt so self-satisfied then. Giddy that he'd agreed to help her. Now, she stared at the single large piece of luggage that had been laid across the luggage rack as if it contained something horrible. Standing, she walked toward it, stopping when she saw a few items that Max had laid on the long surface of the dresser. A black toiletry bag. A bottle of cologne. A comb. And—

Her eyes widened, and she reached out, nudging the cologne bottle aside. There, sticking half-out of a toiletry bag, was a box of condoms. Hand shaking, she picked it up.

It was open. Looking around as if to make sure no one had snuck into the room while she'd been distracted, she read the label more closely. Good thing he'd come prepared because what she'd bought wasn't nearly as interesting. She'd gone for the standard stuff, whereas his tastes ran to Magnum extra large, ribbed, and flavored. She flushed but couldn't resist grabbing one of the foil-wrapped Magnums and studying it.

The men she'd been with had all been of like size, and she knew they'd fit well within the range of average. This condom didn't look unusually big. Really, how much difference was there between Magnum and acceptable? Was it just a marketing device designed to play on a man's insecurities? There was one sure way to tell.

Rifling through her own bag, she took out one of the condoms she'd brought. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she ripped open each foil packet and laid the small latex disks on the coverlet. Dragging her purse closer to her, she extracted the small measuring tape in one of the side pockets. Pursing her lips, she unrolled both condoms then laid them flat.

After some quick measurements, she sat back.

Okay, there was a definite difference. She couldn't accuse the condom makers of false advertisement. The Magnums were indeed about thirty percent larger than the regular-size condoms. Mostly in width, since the condom wasn't designed to fit the entire length of a man's penis anyway.

Feeling light-headed, she tried to envision herself helping Max put one of those things on.

All that did was make her start hyperventilating.

Stop it
, she told herself.
Don't go there.

To distract herself, Melina carefully tucked both unused rubbers into her overnight bag. She couldn't very well leave them in the trash can and risk Max seeing them and guessing what she'd done. He'd tease her about it mercilessly.

He'd probably tease her about this whole situation once the shock wore off.

If he showed up in the first place.

Breath catching, she once again felt dizzy. Frantic.

Desperately, she searched the room, her gaze landing on the minibar. She rushed to it, opened the door, and stared at the little bottles of alcohol.

She'd seen a stocked minibar before, but she'd never actually drank from it. Too expensive. Plus, the little bottles of alcohol had seemed silly somehow. Right now, silly seemed appropriate, and she was desperate to calm her jittery nerves. Taking out the five small bottles, she lined them up on top of the dresser and perused the selection. One finger tapping her pursed lips, she selected one bottle. Unscrewing the cap, she took a swig.

And gasped.

Holy moly, that burned.

The second swig, not so much.

By the time she took her third, she was already starting to feel better.

She set the bottle down then looked at the clock. It was almost eight.

Max would be here soon, and she was still fully dressed, hardly what one would call comfortably.

Rushing into the bathroom, she stripped down to her underwear, simple boy-short panties and a cotton camisole and bra. Face flushed with nerves and alcohol, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror.

What she'd told Max was true. She wasn't beautiful, and she didn't have the world's best body, but she was attractive. Certainly nothing like he and Rhys were used to, but Max must find her at least reasonably attractive, or else he wouldn't have agreed to her little proposal.

Unless he felt sorry for her.

Oh, God. Was she about to be pity fucked?

The idea didn't sit well with her. She was a strong, independent woman who simply wanted to expand her repertoire of tricks. She'd read sex books. She'd watched porn. But besides making her incredibly hot and frustrated, most of the sexual acts and responses she'd viewed still seemed somewhat perplexing to her. The whole thing with the nipples, for example. Nipple stimulation did next to nothing for her, but other women seemed to enjoy it. Did men?

That was the kind of thing she wanted to know. The kind of thing that Brian had ridiculed her for when she'd asked him. She'd ply Max with questions, and she'd try her best to make the experience a good one for him.

It wasn't like he could have very many expectations.

At least she knew she was a better kisser than she'd been at sixteen.

Closing her eyes, she opened herself to the memory of that long-ago night. Rhys had asked her to meet him in her parents’ gazebo the night of her sweet sixteen party. He had something special he wanted to give her, he'd said. And something important to tell her. Imagination going wild and hope soaring, she'd waited in that gazebo for over an hour before Max had come out to find her. When she'd asked about Rhys, Max had stalled. But Melina had kept pushing until Max finally admitted that Rhys was making out with Trisha James, the busty blonde cheerleader who lived next door and the one who Melina's parents had bullied her into inviting. She'd sobbed all over poor Max's shirt, and then, feeling sorry for her, he'd kissed her. Even then, she hadn't been ignorant of his skill. That slow, gentle, open-mouthed kiss still ranked high on her kiss-o-meter. By the time Rhys had shown up outside, Trisha by his side, Melina had been able to control her hurt and make a dignified exit.

She'd always been grateful to Max for his compassion that night. That's why she knew he wouldn't let her down now.

Another quick glance at the clock confirmed she had about twenty more minutes until he showed up.

She climbed on the bed. She tried out several come-hither positions, but only felt exposed and silly. Finally, she settled for getting under the covers, but not before putting the minibar bottles on the end table next to her, lined up like little shot glasses.

Just a little more whiskey courage, she thought.

She was on the last bottle, an enjoyable buzz simmering inside her, when she remembered Max's third request.

Her glasses. She took them off, stared blurrily at the fragile frames, and moved to put them on the nightstand. She hesitated. With a shrug, she tossed the glasses in the direction of the armchair, wincing when she heard them bounce against something hard.

No matter. She had a spare pair in her purse and more at home.

Tonight was supposed to be all about experiencing new things.

New sensations.

She was going to be a good little pupil.

She knew, however, that, like a shot in the arm that was for her own good, sometimes it was better to not see what was coming. Especially if it was of magnum proportions.

***

Rhys got off the elevator and moved wearily toward his hotel room. He was standing in front of his door and fishing his key card from his pocket when he suddenly froze. Head tilted back, he took a deep breath. He smelled lemon, a fresh, clean scent that he always associated with Melina because of the shampoo her mother had customized for her long, curly, brown locks. His gut clenched as he replayed his conversation with Max.

His brother had landed two blows over the course of two days. The first, by exposing his feelings for Melina. The second, by accusing him of hurting her. Both right on the mark.

He didn't want to hurt Melina. That's the last thing he wanted. But after over a decade of having what he wanted just within his reach but knowing he couldn't have it, he needed to move on.

Hell, he and Max were celebrities. Women threw themselves at him. The brunette he'd left at the bar had made it clear she was interested in more than his autograph and had seemed genuinely disappointed when he'd wished her goodnight.

Still, while one or two had managed to catch his attention for more than a night over the years, they'd never been able to make him feel the way he felt when he was with Melina.

As though a part of him had long been chopped off and magically reattached.

Like a deck of cards missing all its aces until someone slipped them back in.

It was a feeling that even the thundering applause of a packed theater in Caesars Palace couldn't compete with.

But it was an illusion. She'd already shown she preferred Max's company by a wide mile. Plus, beyond physical attraction on his part and possibly on hers, they weren't compatible, and he didn't want to spend his life arguing with her or disappointing her just to be proved right.

Shaking his head, he slipped the key card in and entered the hotel room.

Immediately, he tensed, his sharp vision homing in on the woman lying in his bed, her eyes sleepily blinking open as she propped herself up on one elbow. He almost swallowed his tongue when the sheet slipped down her chest, exposing her graceful throat and bare shoulders and arms. Her hair, usually pulled back, tumbled around her face like a cloud of mink.

Like a man under a spell, he walked into the room. Stumbled was probably more like it. He heard the loud click of the door closing behind him.

She smiled. “Hi.”

He trembled at the simple word, spoken in a husky, sleepy tone he'd never heard come from her lips. His hands clenched into fists as an inferno ignited inside him, spreading from his groin into his extremities. His dick filled with blood, hardening so fast that he would have grimaced with the pleasure-pain if he was capable of it.

Instead, he stared at her and struggled to speak.

She scooted to a sitting position and tucked the sheet around her. “I-I must have dozed off.” She glanced at the clock, squinting a bit without her glasses.

When had he last seen her without her glasses?

“Everything okay?” she asked.

His soggy brain struggled to work. Okay? Things were looking fucking fabulous from where he was standing.

“So, did you want to clean up first or—” She cleared her throat. “Or just get started?”

His mouth dropped open. Worked up and down. “Started,” he finally managed to croak. He'd intended the word to be a question, but it came out as a definitive statement.

She shot him another sweet smile, and he instinctively stepped closer. God, she looked amazing. And the way she was staring at him, so warm and at ease, a look she hadn't given him in such a long time. It made his chest ache. It made his heart pound.

It made his dick throb even more.

She held out a hand. “Then come here, big boy, and teach me what you like.”

Chapter Four

Dalton's Magic Rule #5: Get up close and personal.

Part of Melina knew she should be freaking out. She couldn't quite comprehend why she wasn't. Somewhere between getting into bed and Max's arrival, a veil of calm certainty had surrounded her. She felt like Super Sex Goddess Woman. Like she could do anything. Do anyone. Especially now that she'd done herself.

The words echoed in her mind, and she almost giggled. Although she suppressed the urge, she couldn't stop the way her legs shifted guiltily beneath the blankets.

Could Max tell what she'd been up to before he'd walked in? Thank God, the tremors of her self-induced orgasm had already dwindled. And it certainly wasn't a crime. In fact, it had made perfect sense to her as she'd lain staring at the ceiling, her nerves eased but her mind still working a hundred miles a minute.

Max was her friend, true, but there was no doubt that he was also overwhelmingly hot and way out of her league. Despite Brian's comments to the contrary, she got as horny as the next woman. Maybe even more so, for all she knew. That wouldn't serve her well tonight. If she was all aroused and stimulated when Max climbed into bed with her, she wouldn't be able to concentrate on the task at hand. Since she had always been a one-a-day girl if she was lucky, it made sense that giving herself an orgasm would help her remain sufficiently clearheaded throughout the evening.