Seduce Me (10 page)

When he paddled close again, she reached for his hand and pulled him in so that their legs touched. With him near her, she couldn't keep her hands to herself and she ran them over his wet chest and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” he asked a little hoarsely.

“Making sure you're okay.”

His eyes had gone hot. “If I say I'm not, will you keep touching me?”

Laughing, she pushed free, but he snagged her hand and tugged her back to him. “I have an
idea,” he murmured as they rose and fell with the swells beneath them. “You go for a ride, then let me run my hands all over you.” He eyed her wet, clinging black bikini, then without warning hauled her from her board to his lap. “I could really get behind that idea,” he said, just before his mouth came down on hers.

Because he tasted so good and felt so big and warm, she sank into him for a long moment, thrilling to his hands gliding over her wet skin, holding her close.

“Stop,” she said on a breathless laugh when he had her butt in one hand and his other dancing its way up her rib cage.

“You sure?” His thumb took a lazy skim over her breast.

Hell, no, she wasn't sure. Her body was quivering for his; he could see it, could feel it.

She heard the whooping calls of the other surfers from the shore and knew she'd take a razzing for this. “Jack—”

He smiled into her face before dumping her off his lap. “Stop distracting me. Here comes a good one,” and he went, leaving her body still burning from his touch.

It took another couple of hours for him to get it, and she had to hand it to him. He never gave up, even when Red and a couple of his cronies
joined them in the water, offering both helpful hints and lots of jokes. But finally he could ride an entire wave in without making any cartwheels off the board or landing facefirst in the sand. Exhausted, he collapsed on the beach.

Sam left Red and the others still in the water and came up next to Jack, lightly slapping him on the butt. “Not bad.”

His response was nothing more than a grunt.

“So…I'll see you next weekend.”

He cracked open an eye. “Huh?”

“For basketball, remember?”

“Why do we have to wait a week?”

“Because we started out doing the weekend thing, so I figured why ruin a good plan?”

“I need a better reason than that.”

How about because she needed a good seven days between viewings of this man—he was far too potent. “Because I don't see you bouncing up to show me anything right now,” she came up with brilliantly.

“Oh. Yeah.” He closed his eye again. “Right.”

“You really didn't do so bad today.”

“I guess if I can still hear you, that means I'm still alive.” He hadn't moved a muscle.

She ran her gaze down the length of him, more than a little concerned by how much she wanted to throw herself on top of him. Her
wants were usually far more controlled than this. “How's the knee?”

“If I say it's awful, will you take me up to your place and make it all better?”

Lorissa, who'd walked over to them with Cole at her side, shook her head with disgust. “And to think I had such high hopes for you.”

Still on the sand, Jack rolled over, shaded his eyes from the now-piercing sun and looked up at her. “Too cheesy, huh?”

“Waaaay too cheesy.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.” With a groan, he stood up, and took Sam's hand. “How's this, instead? Can I take you out to breakfast?”

“Much better line,” Cole said. He laughed when Lorissa gave him a baleful stare.

“But it's…lunchtime,” Sam said inanely.

“Okay,” Jack said, undeterred. “How about lunch?”

“I have to work.”

“I'll cover for you,” Lorissa offered, but Sam shook her head.

“I'm fine working.”

“'Kay.” Jack blinked at her innocently. “Then how about some of that lotion for my knee before I go?”

She couldn't refuse him that and he knew it. Before she could think better of it, he'd followed her over the bluffs and up the stairs of the café to her
apartment—and into her small bathroom, where his big, tough body crowded her as she reached into her medicine cabinet.

When she turned to hand the lotion to him, he was right there, and putting his hands to her hips, lifted her onto the vanity.

“Jack—”

“Here's the thing,” he murmured, his mouth skimming her jaw. “I can't stop thinking about you, about how you taste. Give me another taste, Sam.”

He wore only his swim trunks, his chest bare and still damp, his shoulders looking impossibly wide, his head bent in concentration as he nibbled at the corner of her mouth. His hands moved slowly, caressingly, up and down her arms, giving her the same undivided, single-minded attention he'd given to surfing.

She skimmed her hands up his back, rough with sand, and offered him what he wanted, another taste. With a rough groan, his mouth opened hungrily on hers. He dropped the lotion in the sink so his hands could cup her bottom, his fingers flexing against her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Mmm,” rumbled from deep in his throat as he pulled her against the rock-hard bulge now in his swim trunks.

The desire to fall back and let him take her right
there was so strong she nearly pulled off her bikini and sank to her knees on the floor, but instead she pushed free. “I've got things I have to do.” She needed some time here, some distance, if for no other reason than to get her breathing back to normal. She'd go make some sandwiches for the café and clear her head. Maybe make herself something extra-fattening for comfort. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the lotion in the sink and put it in his hand. “I'll see you Saturday.”

“Chicken,” he taunted softly, but he let her hop down and lead him to the front door, which told her he was every bit as much a chicken as she.

 

O
VER THE COURSE
of the next week, Sam kept herself busy. She had the café, which was thankfully hopping with late-summer action. She also had her friends, her surfing and any number of things in her life; such as her obsession with making brownies that could be eaten and not used as cement or paint.

But being out in the water only reminded her of the man she dreamed about every night. It didn't help that Lorissa enjoyed asking about him, or that Jack continued to call each evening so they spent long hours on the phone just talking.

By the time Saturday came and she was dressing to meet him, she could hardly stand it.

She was going to sleep with him. Actually, there likely would be no sleeping involved. Just lots of calorie-burning, good sweaty stuff.

Naked stuff.

Oh yeah, naked stuff really worked for her.

And then after that, she'd be over it, over him. She could move on. That's how it always happened, and that's how it would happen here, too. She'd kiss him sweetly and leave.

And never see him again.

It would be mutual, of course; she held no great illusions about herself. She wasn't anything special; in fact, she could be rather difficult, was a natural loner and not at all steady lover material.

Going over all of this in her mind, she drove to Jack's house. He'd called her with directions, and although she'd suggested meeting at a school or a local gym, he'd laughed that off and said he wanted privacy for this.

Privacy. Sounded good to her.

As she neared his place, she wasn't surprised to find herself in an extremely expensive area of Malibu. When she pulled into his driveway and stopped at the gate, she stared at the largest three-story glass-and-concrete beach house she'd ever seen.

She had no idea why it hadn't really occurred to her that Jack Knight was one loaded guy. He
probably had more money than she could dream of and more ways to spend it than she could count. Slightly uncomfortable, she pushed the buzzer and waited.

“Hey,” came his voice from the speaker. “You look good enough to eat.”

She looked into what she'd thought was a mirror next to a number pad but realized it was a camera. She laughed, because she was wearing surfer, not basketball, shorts—she hadn't had any—and two spaghetti-strapped tank tops, one layered over the other. A beat-up old sweatshirt kept her warm in the early morning chill. Not exactly glamorous. She'd found socks at the last moment, and had them tucked into the tennis shoes hanging around her neck. “So do I need a passport to get in or what?”

“Nope, just a smile.”

She had that just from the sound of him.

The gate swung open to let her in. She drove up the ambling, curvy driveway toward the house, beyond which was her beloved ocean. She parked right in front of the steps and took in the sight. The property itself—acres and acres of green grass and naturally landscaped beauty—grabbed her by the throat and held on.

She couldn't imagine having this much land to herself, with a private beach, clean of debris and people.

Heaven on earth.

“I'm way out of my league,” she whispered and, wondering if he had a butler and a maid and a cook and all that, she turned off the engine.

She firmly reminded herself she was here because they had a connection, a sexual one. It hummed and buzzed in her veins at all times, and it begged to be explored.

She wanted to explore him.

Plus, she'd spent too much damn money on basketball lessons, and the cheapskate in her wouldn't let it go to waste. With all its might, her body hoped learning good basketball meant him having his hands all over her.

A lot.

No matter that her brain maintained that was a very bad idea…

J
ACK JOGGED DOWN
his front steps to meet Sam. “Uh-oh,” he said, and tugged on her hand until she got out of the car. “You have a certain look on your face.”

“Look?”

“Like you can't decide whether to run away or not.” He tightened his grip on her fingers. “But I've got you now.” He took her tennis shoes—with the rolled-up socks sticking out of them—from around her neck and tucked them under his arm as they started up the steps.

“This place is huge.”

“Yeah, I like having lots of room.”

“It's the size of a small country.”

“Just about.” He opened the front door and put his hand on the small of her back, mostly because he wanted to touch her, partly because he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than just touch her. “Ready for some hard work?”

“Work? Is that what basketball is to you?”

“Was.” He smiled. “Today, you get to work, and I get to have fun.”

She eyed the foyer, which soared to the second floor. “What do you do in here?” She lifted her gaze, studying the huge, open space with all the window lights and fancy glass that lit the place so beautifully. “Play basketball?”

“Nah, I'd break the windows and then my decorator would kill me.”

She just looked at him, and he let out a little laugh. “I'm kidding. Well, sort of. Heather decorated this place for me, and now that I think about it, she probably would kill me if I broke something. So do me a favor and don't touch anything.”

That made her smile, and he smiled, too. “Much better,” he murmured and pulled her in for a hug. “Can't play basketball unless you're smiling. That's the first rule.”

She hugged him back. “What's the second?”

“If I said you had to take off all your clothes, would you believe me?”

Laughing, she pulled away. “No such luck.”

They walked through a large living room, then the formal dining room he never used and into another open area where there was soft, sink-your-feet carpeting, a big-screen TV, three of the biggest couches on the market and a help-yourself bar. “The great room,” he said. “The hang-out room.”

She nodded, taking in the warm butter-colored walls filled with pictures and collages of his friends and family and the events in his life. “This is nice.”

“Thanks.” He pointed to an envelope of photos lying on the coffee table. “Cole was kind enough to take pictures of me falling all over myself learning to surf, and then even kinder to give them to me.” Opening the envelope, he flipped through the humiliating shots of him tumbling into the water, being tortured by the waves, and pulled out the one he loved. “This one is going on the wall soon as I get it enlarged.”

She stared up at him and then took the picture. “It's of us.”

“Yep.” It'd been taken after surfing, so he wore only his swimming trunks, and Sam was in that black bikini he had an extremely soft—make that hard—spot for. When Cole had lifted the camera, Sam had started to pull away, but he'd slipped his arm around her. Turning back to him, she'd offered such a sweet, beautifully affectionate smile his heart had melted, and he'd offered her one back. Cole had snapped the shot.

“You're going to put us on your wall with all your friends and family?”

“What, you're not my friend?”

Her mouth shut, and with a frown, she stared down at the picture. “I thought…”

“What?”

She handed him back the picture, and turned her back. “Playing. We're playing. I taught you to surf, now we're going to play ball. Where's the hoop? I'm sure you've got a state-of-the-art one somewhere in here.”

So she wanted to go at it like that, like they had nothing going on here, nothing at all. Fine. But suddenly he was far less happy with this no-commitment thing than he'd imagined. “Out here.” Through the kitchen, the laundry room and outside to the backyard, where beyond the Olympic-size pool was a basketball court.

She stared at the asphalt, which had cracked last year and now had a few daisies popping up here and there. Then she looked at the regulation-height hoops draped with baskets, one of which had torn in his last fierce battle with some friends. “This is like…street ball.”

He grinned broadly. “Yeah. Don't you love it?”

“But…where's the expensive wood floor, the custom paint job, the fancy baskets and hoops?”

He stepped close, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and then cupped his fingers around her jaw until she looked at him. “I didn't grow up in a house like this, you know. I grew up in a regular neighborhood, playing basketball in the street. I like to play it that way. This way.”

“Oh.” She smiled, but it slowly faded. “Jack…”

“No.” He shook his head. “You're not changing your mind.”

She closed her eyes. “I don't want this to end. But if I stay, if we play, we're not going to stop there. And then tomorrow, it'll all be over.”

“I'm confused.” He ran a finger over her creamy shoulder. “How will it be over?”

“Because I'll be tired of you. I'm always tired of a guy after sex.”

He grinned, and shook his head. “But you haven't had sex with me.”

“Jack—”

His grin faded. “You're serious. You want to leave now so that we won't have sex and you can keep seeing me.”

She nodded miserably.

“We each have a past,” he said slowly. “A lot of yours is tragic, and I wish I could change it for you, but as far as past relationships, none of them should factor here. This thing between us is different. Original.”

“And scary.”

“And scary,” he agreed. “But I don't care, and I'm surprised you do.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I thought you had guts and determi
nation and grit, from that first night. I looked at you and saw—”

“A beach bum?”

“A woman I wanted to get to know more, and as I did, I learned how strong you were, what a beautiful outlook you had after that crappy hand Fate dealt you. You played anyway, and won.” Stepping close, he put his hands on her arms and ran them slowly up and down as if he could warm her, soften her. Make her see what he saw. “You won. I love that about you, Sam. You live as you are, as you want. Damn, if that isn't one of the hottest things about you. You bid on lessons with me because you wanted it. You wanted me. If you've changed your mind because you've lost your nerve, then I don't know you at all.”

That got a rise out of her. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. Now are you in or not?”

She took a long look around and then met his challenging gaze. An ironic smile touched her lips. “You have a way of putting things.”

“Don't I?”

“Well, it would be stupid to waste all that money.”

He smiled. “Yep.”

“Besides…” Now she stepped away from him, rolling her head on her shoulders, warming up. “I'm going to kick your ass.”

“I thought this was a lesson.”

“How about a game, instead?”

“But…” He had to laugh. “I'm a pro.”

“
Ex
-pro.” She unzipped her sweatshirt, and let it fall. “And not in street ball.”

She wore two tank tops, a light blue one over a white one, both thin enough that her breasts were perfectly outlined. Perfect handfuls.

His palms suddenly itched.

She put on her socks, then took her shoes from him and slipped into them. She stood, her hands on the hips of her surfer shorts, which cracked him up. She lifted a brow. “Bring it on.”

“Some fighting words right there.”

She let out a slow smile that just about did him in. “Yep.”

“Half-court?”

A sound of irritation sounded from her. “Full.”

“Single point baskets to five?”

“Eleven. And we'll call our own fouls.”

Fouls. So this was going to get rough, was it? “Don't you want a handicap?”

“Well, if you're offering.” She shot him a smile that fried his brain cells. “I go to five, you to eleven?”

Her fingers were playing with the tiny little straps on one shoulder, almost nudging them off, and he lost his train of thought.

“Jack?”

“Sure.” How hard would it be to beat her? He grabbed a ball from his ball stand, but she snagged it out of his hands and started dribbling down the court away from him.

And then executed the most out-of-step, awkward layup he'd ever seen…and made the shot.

Twirling around she shot him a cocky grin.

He laughed. “I guess we've started.”

“Yeah. One zip. Want to up the stakes?”

She was hot as hell, standing on the court with that sexy little smile. He'd probably trip over his own tongue playing her, but she couldn't possibly beat him. “Sure.”

“Winner picks their prize.”

He was going to trip over his own tongue right this second. “Anything?”

She batted her lashes, and a groaning laugh escaped him because she was teasing him; she couldn't be serious—

“Anything,”
she said.

“You're on.” Whether it was taking advantage or not, he would win, and he would claim his prize. In his bed.

“Ready?” She dribbled slowly and easily, making a classic rookie mistake by letting the ball get too far away from her body.

An entire night with her…

The steal was easy, and he jogged down the court away from her, making a layup that would have had any basketball fan sighing in pure pleasure.

Then turned to face her as he tossed her the ball. “One all. Your ball.”

 

S
AM TOOK THE BALL
and, being the fast study she was, dribbled closer to her body this time, eyeing her opponent carefully. He looked so fierce standing there blocking her, so intense.

He wanted to win, badly. Hmm, Sam thought, wonder what he has in mind for a prize?

The thought made her want to grin, but she held it in. Because she wanted to win, too. Yes, she'd had a moment when she'd wanted to back out and run like hell, but he'd been right. She needed to see this out, at least for the night. She owed that to both of them.

Feigning right, then left, she had to pull back when he didn't give an inch. Twice he reached out and nearly snagged the ball from in front of her nose. He was right, he was a pro. But she had something he didn't, and she planned to use it. Make that “them.” She supposed the feminist in her would never ever consider using her breasts to win a basketball game, but she really, really wanted to win.

Backing up a step, she shot him the best come-
hither smile she had. Turning in a circle, she ran around him, dropping her left shoulder so that the straps of her tank tops, thin and inconsequential, slipped off.

As Jack passed her and then faced her, blocking her in, she straightened again.

Her breasts, full and unencumbered by a bra, were held in by only the right straps.

Jack didn't miss the show; in fact, he executed an almost comical double take and then tripped over his own two feet. Taking full advantage of that, she took off toward her basket.

And made the shot.

“Foul.”

“Was not,” she said, and tossed the ball at his chest. “Two one. Your ball.”

He eyed her good and long, a sparkle of heat in that gaze that made her want to jump him. He'd begun to sweat, just a little, and he looked like one tall, sinful treat.

She left the two straps hanging down on her biceps.

“So this is how you want to play it,” he said very softly.

She just lifted a brow.

“Well, then, understand this. I could look at you all day, and I will, but you're still going down.” With that statement, he easily got past her,
loped down the court with the confidence of a man not being guarded, and made his shot, a beautifully impressive slam dunk. “Two–two.”

She smiled. “Don't take your victory lap yet.”

“No?”

“Oh, no.” Breasts straining against the thin material of the tank tops, jiggling with her every movement, she dribbled, eyeing him. She could feel the breeze on the exposed skin above the tops, and also below, where she had a good three or four inches of flesh showing between the low slung surfer shorts and the hem of the tanks.

Still dribbling, still smiling, she stopped shifting around and looked right at him. She could tell he was torn between playing the game and lusting after her. He wanted to win, badly, but he wanted to toss the ball away and grab her as well, and it made the amusement drain right out of her as she went into her own lust mode.

When he caught the look in her eyes, he groaned. “You are killing me.”

“I plan to,” she purred, and blew right by him.

But when she tossed up the ball toward the basket, she missed. She heard him coming after her and grabbed the ball again, putting it back up.

She knew he could have deflected it from going in, but instead he caught her around the waist and hauled her close.

The ball sank in the basket.

“Foul!” she cried anyway, laughing, but again the chuckle faded away when she caught the utter intense, serious, almost terrified look in his eyes. “What?” She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her fingers. “Jack? What is it?”

“I don't know. I think it's you.”

She let his mouth close on hers, allowing herself to fall into the kiss for a long, wet, deep, hot moment. Then she pulled back and licked her lips. “Three two. My ball.” She grabbed it and felt it was a testament to the power of the kiss they'd just shared that she made it all the way to her basket and shot before he even blinked and looked in her direction. “Four two,” she said, and smiled. “Game point.”

But she'd unleashed the beast with both her actions and that kiss, and for the next few moments he played like…well, like the former NBA superstar he was, racking up the score until it was at nine four.