Still Hot For You (2 page)

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. Dropping into a tall, cushioned chair, she kept her eyes on him as he strode her way.

Faded jeans hung low on his waist. A white athletic undershirt smothered his hard upper body. Wide arms pressed against a V-shaped torso. Bright eyes contrasted with spiky dark hair. At thirty-two, Dylan was pure hotness. “Going all out tonight?” He checked out the glamorous display.

“Yep.” Her eyes raked over the tribal armband tattoo inked into his upper left arm. God, it was sexy. God,
he
was sexy. Almost as sexy as the first time she'd seen him in her father's living room. He'd come with his own dad, a carpenter who'd been hired to work around her parents’ estate. It'd been an instant, mutual, heated attraction. Tall, dark and proud, he'd made a tool belt look like a sex toy. Blue eyes and a sinister grin—she had fallen hard.

Her father had discouraged ... uh ... forbidden the relationship. Dylan was the son of a carpenter, for Christ's sake. What could he possibly do for her? Despite Daddy's disapproval, she'd pursued Dylan, because in her heart, she'd known something Dad had not. Dylan epitomized the man of her dreams. Money didn't matter because he had the more important things. Character, integrity, heart, compassion, loyalty, respect ... The list had gone on and on.

* * * *

Dylan approached the table. He took in his wife's sweet face, stole another look at her beaded nipples. His last meal. Yep. Shay wanted to soften the blow. She'd feed him and tell him to take a hike.

He eyed his wife intently. Damn, she was hot. How stupid could he be? What a quality lady. What a fool he was for blowing it with her. His heart hammered hard. How long would she drag this out? Not that he was in any hurry. He didn't want to leave. He loved Shay. But he knew things between them had changed. First the wedge. Then the wall. Now they hardly spoke. Not about anything important, like goals or dreams. Or them.

He repressed his feelings, kept everything locked inside. Shay accused him of not caring. Of course, that wasn't it. He just didn't like to show weakness. Weak or not, she was more important than his foolish pride. And he had every intention of fighting her on this, fighting for his marriage.

“Dig in.” Shay grinned at the simple chicken dish.

He helped himself to a spoonful of everything, not that he had much of an appetite. With his stomach knotted and tense, he braced his feet on the floor and waited for the dreaded announcement. Torturing him with silence, Shay happily filled her plate. She didn't look nervous or anxious. If anything, she looked relaxed, almost ... relieved. Relieved?
I'm in deep shit
.

“Do you remember the first time we had sex?”

Dylan dropped his fork. He hadn't expected her to say
that
. Great. She wanted to rub it in his face, make him realize the full extent of his loss. He already knew, dammit! Fine. He'd play her little game. Locking eyes with her, he crossed his arms over his chest, plumping his hard biceps in the process.

“I threw you on the back of my Harley and drove you to the beach. We did it on the sand.” He used a brusque, raw tone.

His wife didn't flinch. Instead, her steady eyes went dark and dreamy. “It was more romantic than that,” she said. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. “The black sky had a zillion stars.”

Their first encounter had replayed so many times in his head. He remembered it in vivid detail. “I wanted you bad.”

She crunched her bottom lip. “Me too.”

“We waited a long time.” A record breaker for him. But he would have waited even longer.

“Maybe too long.” Her eyelids squeezed tighter.

“It was worth it.” That night Dylan fell in love. Not lust. Love. He'd been with enough women to recognize the difference.

“Your heart pounded so hard.” Her words were a willowy whisper.

“Everything was hard.”

“I can't believe I rode your bike in that skimpy outfit.”

“I can.”

“You pressed me up against the palm tree and wedged your knee between my legs.” Her breaths were a little ragged.

“Then what happened?” Like he would ever forget.

“You lifted my skirt.”

“And?”

“You slipped your hand inside my panties.” Shay's eyes popped open. Her hot gaze seared right through him. “And you stroked me.”

“Then I ate you.”

“I don't know which felt better. Your tongue or...”

“The way you cried out, we know.”

“Hey,
you
cried out too.”

He forced a smile. “Maybe I did.”

Shay grinned. Stuffing some food into her mouth, she stared at him for the longest few seconds. “We haven't cried out like that in a long time,” she finally said.

His half grin evaporated.
Uh-oh. Here it comes.
He wanted to shut his eyes and plug his ears. Instead, he looked dead at her. “No, we haven't.”

She leaned her elbows on the table and wavy tendrils of hair fell forward, framing her sweet face. Slicking her tongue across that full bottom lip, she tormented him with the sexiest I-want-you eyes he'd ever seen. “Would you like to try?”

He did a double take.
Would I like to try?
Is that what she'd just said? He reprocessed her words. Holy crap. Shay didn't want to break up. She wanted sex. Yes! He scooped his heart off the tiles. “Baby, I would love to try.”

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Chapter 2

Break down his defenses. And break out the black leather.

"Want to get your man talking? Give him booty!"

Erin's words. Not Shay's. Crazy chick. Then again, maybe she wasn't so crazy. After all, Shay was pretty desperate. She would do anything,
anything
to get back on stable ground with Dylan. Talk? He didn't want to talk. Not about their problems. Yet he seemed real willing to talk about sex.

Oh yeah, last night she could've violated him a million different ways. But no. Not so fast. As much as her soul ached for him, she couldn't let go that easily. Too much had been said. Too much had not been said.

Still, if last night said anything ... Shay had barely done a thing. A little food. A little sex talk. She'd left him wanting more. But then, she'd promised more. He only had to come home at a decent hour. She would do the same. She would do the rest.

Shay's Rules of Seduction
. She'd hatched them overnight. One way or another, she'd get inside his head. No matter how many orgasms it took.

She found her motorcycle jacket stuffed in the back of the closet. When was the last time she'd worn that thing? Creamy leather. Sexy cut. Funky zippers. Back in the day, she'd never taken it off. They'd ridden Dylan's Harley all over South Florida. Lord, her father had detested that machine. But she had loved it, almost as much as its owner. Wearing the jacket—which she had to admit still fit perfectly—she looked hot, felt hot.

“Going to a biker bar?” Dylan set his laptop on the kitchen counter. The heated look on his face spoke volumes. His blue gaze practically raped her.

Shay felt a thrill of satisfaction. She didn't let on, keeping her expression severe, like her outfit. “No. You're taking me for a ride.”

“Am I?”

She hooked a finger in the belt loop of her tight, low-riding jeans. “Is that a problem?” Ultra glossy lips pursed as she paused for an answer.

He seemed unsure. Not unwilling, though. “When's the last time you rode?”

“Haven't done a lot of things lately.” Her smoky gaze swept him up and down. “So?” She squared her body at him. “You want to answer questions with questions, or do you want to get out of here?”

Dylan stood silent for a spell. “All right.” His eyes went to the deep V of the black tee she wore under her black jacket. “Guess I won't ask where we're going.” He looked from her boobs to her face to her boobs. “Since that would constitute a question.”

“Good,” she said, with a deeper laugh than usual. Guys were so easy. A little red lace peeking out. A Miracle bra that plumped her breasts, pushed and squeezed for the miracle effect. Nope. It didn't take much.

“I'll go put on something more appropriate,” he said.

They were walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other, but all that would change soon. Real soon. “Wear black.” She scrutinized his strong jaw line, his well-shaped lips. What if she grabbed him and kissed him right here in the kitchen? No. That might freak them both out.

Dylan's demeanor remained cool, controlled. “Anything else?”

How about
everything
else? She contained her bubbling lust. Damn jacket always made her feel so horny. “That was a question!”

He let out a chuckle. “Oh.” He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his gray dress slacks. “How about if I just go change.” He turned to walk away. “That was a statement, by the way.”

* * * *

The fast breeze on Shay's face awakened her dormant parts. She took a long breath, inhaling it all in. Problems? What problems? She and Dylan didn't have any problems. No sir. At the moment, everything felt great.

Dusk had to be her favorite time of day, because the hectic pace slowed to a crawl. With autumn well underway, cool air offered a welcome relief from a long, sticky summer that seemed to be getting stickier. Then there was the hunky man between her legs.

She could've wrapped her arms around his frame. Crushed her breasts against his back. Shoved her face into his worn leather jacket until sweet memories seduced her. Memories like this, two lovers zipping along the coastline on Dylan's custom chromed-out bike.

The proximity of his scent caused enough of a rush. Her thighs anchored her husband, brushed the outsides of his muscled thighs. Friction from the motorcycle
and
him stormed already steamy thoughts. She kept her hands on his waist, bunching fistfuls of jacket and t-shirt.

This was what their life had been missing. Freedom. Adventure. She almost threw her hands up in the air. Dylan seemed lost in his own world, leaning back comfortably, his broad body slackened and relaxed. Now he looked like the guy Shay knew, the man she'd fallen in love with and married.

Married. She loved being married to him. Her eyes misted. Watered. Whatever it took, she'd get back the closeness they'd had. She missed it. Missed him. She only now realized how much.

“Pull off,” she yelled over the rumbling engine. She hadn't ridden in forever, and after forty-five minutes, her lower extremities ached. Working behind a desk might've contributed to the problem. Maybe her body was out of practice. But a fiery spirit lived on. It just made less frequent appearances. And Shay needed to change that.

During her sentence in solitary confinement, she'd realized a few things about her marriage. She and Dylan had fallen into a rut. What had happened to the two rebels with a thirst for life? What had happened to spontaneity, that live-for-the-moment philosophy? Now they only lived for work. So what, they were
more mature
. Did everything have to be serious? Did every move have to be calculated? They focused entirely on the future. What about
now?

Dylan pulled off the road. He made his own parking space and cut the engine. It was a beautiful spot, private and fronting the ocean. Shay hopped off the bike and removed her shiny black helmet. She loosened her braid, shook out her hair. Bending forward, she touched her fingertips to the ground, stretching her stiff leg muscles.

“You okay?” Dylan set his helmet on the bike seat. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, spiking the tips.

“My butt's a little numb.” She laughed.

Let me fix that,
the Dylan she'd married would've said to her. Instead, he silently inspected the space, stopping to gaze at the shimmering water.

Shay heard him take in the salty cool air. She walked up behind him. Wow. Worn leather. Faded denim. Scruffy boots. Five years, and she was still hot for him.

“Hey,” he said, when she appeared next to him.

She shot him a sideways glance and smiled. An ocean breeze tousled, feathered her hair. She ran her hands through her locks, fanning them across her shoulders. “This brings back memories.”

“Of?” He shoved both hands into his back pockets. The unzipped front of his jacket opened, exposing a black tee. Her husband still sported a great body, even though these days he rarely made it to the gym.

“Remember when I thought you were gay?” Shay twisted a section of hair between her fingers and played with it. She felt like that young girl again, the one who knew how to have fun.

He shot her a look. “You didn't really think I was gay?”

“I don't know,” she said. “You didn't kiss me for one whole month.”

“It's called being respectful. Not gay.”

“Were you always that
respectful
?”

“No.”

“No?” She kicked sand on his boot.

“Only with you,” Dylan said, staring at the ground. He shook his steel-toe boot, casting off the powdery sand. Steadying himself on one foot, he swiped the hard tip across his calf.

Shay suppressed a grin. Mr. Meticulous. He liked things neat. Clean. No dirt, not even on his Harley, which he hardly rode anymore. Miracle the bike worked tonight, although for a while there, Shay hadn't been sure the thing would turn over. Luckily, she'd attached the battery charger while she'd waited for him to come home, otherwise it wouldn't have started at all.

She loved riding, especially with him. Despite the danger, which made it all the more thrilling, she knew he would never let anything happen to her. From day one, he'd been overprotective. “Why so respectful with me?” She almost kicked more sand on him, but decided against it.

“I don't know.”

She bumped him on the arm. “Yes you do.”

“Why do
you
think?”

She loved playing games with him. Dylan always gave it right back. “
I
think you were afraid of me.”

That made him laugh. “I was
not
afraid of you.”

“Then why didn't you kiss me?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Like I said, a respect thing.”

“We didn't kiss for thirty whole days.” She always teased him about it. Truth be told, she loved that he had been a true gentleman, a total contradiction to his bad boy image.