Tempt Me Tonight (9 page)

Joe kissed the ridge of her exposed breast and slowly rose on one elbow to peer down at her. The kiss shuddered through her, almost enough to get her hot all over again. “So,” he said, “you gonna explain this to me now?” He fingered the lace of her bra where it rested below her breasts.

She bit her lip. Weighed her options. Answered quietly. “No.”

Above her, he sighed, but didn’t look upset. “All right, cupcake—have it your way.”

She sucked in her breath a bit. He’d first called her by the pet name in the fifth grade, teasing her because her mother sent cupcakes to school for every conceivable occasion and holiday. She still remembered the very first time.
I’m gonna start callin’ you cupcake—’cause every time I see you, you’re carryin’ a big tray o’ cupcakes down the hall.

She’d been embarrassed, affronted, not sure how to take it.
You don’t have to eat ’em if you don’t like ’em.

I like your cupcakes just fine—cupcake.

“Is it my imagination,” he said, sliding his palm to cup one of her breasts, “or…have these grown?” She tensed inside from the pleasure, still not used to being touched by him so intimately again.

“Bodies change,” she said, realizing his observation was true. “I suppose they grew when I started taking birth control pills, too.”

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Taking them now?”

She nodded in return.

“Good. Since I…didn’t exactly have time for a condom.”

Oh no! What a terrible seductress she was!
She hadn’t even
thought
about protection! “Are you…I mean…” She drew in her breath, not quite knowing how to phrase it.

“No worries, cupcake. I’m usually good about that sort of thing. Just wasn’t expecting what I got when I opened the door.”

“Understandable,” she said, feeling sheepish now and not quite able to meet his eyes.
This is why you should have had a better leaving plan.
Postcoital small talk hadn’t been part of the equation here.

“Damn, Trish, I never dreamed you could be this…this…”

Dear God, what was he getting at? “This what?”

“Hot.
But…way more than hot.” He glanced down at her disheveled underwear. “The lace, the shoes, the dress. That dress blew me away, honey.”

She hardly knew what to say.
This isn’t actually me. I’ve never seduced a man before. And this is the first time I’ve worn a dress that could double for lingerie.
But confiding in him would be a mistake. Even the birth-control-breast-growth issue had felt too…honest, or personal, the moment she’d said it. So instead, she settled on, “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I liked it
all,
” he said, nuzzling her, then dipping to rake his tongue over one still-beaded nipple. She hissed in her breath at the flurry of sensation. “But now,” he went on, sliding his arms behind her to handily unhook her bra, “I want to take it all off you.”

She blinked up at him. “Why?”

His voice came slow, serious. “Because I want you naked.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“It’s been a long time I’ve waited for this,” he rasped. “And your body is beautiful.”

Oh boy. She knew he hadn’t
really
been waiting for her all this time—but the sentiment got to her just the same. Being told she was beautiful didn’t hurt, either. Well, as long as she didn’t count her peace of mind. Since this would soon be over and she’d probably spend years recovering.

But as it was, she didn’t quite have the strength to respond, so she simply lay there, letting him remove her bra, then her shoes, before he carefully undid the garters and rolled the stockings painstakingly down her legs. She bit her lip, watching him, trying not to moan or sigh or do anything to let him know how much she felt it—every touch, every whisper across her skin. He reached behind her to unsnap the garter belt and she tried to ignore the little pinch that came with understanding this wasn’t his first time with such an apparatus. Finally, he peeled her sexy panties down and off, tossing them over the back of the couch.

When she was completely naked, he skimmed one hand slowly across her skin from breast to knee, then dragged it lingeringly back up between her thighs. “Damn, Trish,” he breathed. “I can’t believe you’re lying here with me.”

“Neither can I,” she said, melting in a whole new kind of intimacy—having him study her in the dim lighting, knowing he’d never seen her like this before.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why had she thought this would be easy, meaningless? Why had she thought it would be like sex with any other man?

Suddenly, she suffered the urge to wrap herself around him, press her body against his—so she followed it, twining her arms around his neck, soaking up his masculine warmth, and pulling him close enough that he wouldn’t be able to see the tear she feared was about to roll down her cheek.

He held her, too, just as tight. “Still like pancakes?” he whispered warm in her ear.

God, somehow he made even
that
sound sexual. And the question whisked her back in time, made her remember being at her house, or his, when she would suddenly decide she wanted pancakes—maybe on a Saturday afternoon, or while doing homework on a school night—and they’d stop everything and make them together, exchanging kisses over a bowl of batter.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said against his neck, a small lump in her throat.

“Tomorrow morning,” he murmured, “we’ll make pancakes. And you’ll tell me about your life, cupcake. I want to know you again.”

His warmth, all around her, his voice in her ear—it was like being back in that Trans Am by the lake. But this time he wasn’t asking for sex. He was simply asking to know her, just know her. It made her heart beat faster than she could understand. “All right,” she whispered back softly.

When Trish awoke, she was aware only of the scent and feel of his body draped heavy about her. As she remembered where she was and the insanity of it all, her eyes took in other things: the shadows of trees outside the windows; family pictures hanging on a wall by the front door, their shiny frames gleaming in the dim lighting…the shape and feel and texture of his home.

It was comfortable. Warm. The furniture slightly worn but cozy.

He wasn’t a bad person. Maybe she’d hoped deep down that he was. It would have made this a hell of a lot easier. But then, if she’d really believed he was a jerk, she probably wouldn’t have felt so attracted to him last night, and sleeping with him wouldn’t even have become an issue.

She reviewed the facts. He wasn’t a bad person. She’d finally had sex with him. And she’d let herself believe, during and right after the act, that she was
still in love with him.

Temporary insanity. Had to be. Because as she kept reminding herself, she didn’t even know him anymore. You couldn’t love a guy you didn’t know. So what she’d felt during their heated coupling had been only a resurrection of old memories, old feelings, nothing more.

And as for his offer of pancakes and knowing her…well, he’d clearly been in a sex-induced haze, so she couldn’t buy into that, either. She couldn’t stay anyway. That hadn’t been part of the plan. If she didn’t get up and walk out of here right now, the whole dynamic would flip—she’d lose the sense of control she’d been hanging onto by a mere thread and end up feeling conquered again. Staying could only lead to hurt.

Part of her couldn’t deny the urge to reach between them and touch him—
there.
She yearned to make him hard again. To feel him inside her again. Any other lover in the same situation and that was what she’d do right now. But she’d come here to seduce him, then leave. It hadn’t gone exactly as planned—she’d stayed too long and felt too much—but it was time to get things back on track.

Stay one more minute and you could end up more emotionally involved than you already are, which could only lead to another dose of humiliating heartache.
And Trish had stopped doing humiliating heartache a long time ago.
Get out now and maybe you can forget this and move on with your life.

She very gingerly lifted his arm from her waist and placed it carefully along his side. Then she slowly slid off the couch.

If last night in the bar with him had felt surreal…yeesh—it wasn’t even in the same ballpark as this: standing naked in Joe Ramsey’s living room in the middle of the night wondering where she’d find her corset dress and dominatrix shoes.

She took a deep breath and crept to the end of the couch where she located her stockings—she’d take them with her, but certainly saw no need to waste time putting them back on. She tripped over a shoe and nearly plunged to the floor before catching herself on the wide, soft arm of the couch. Damn it, that was close—but at least she’d found her pumps.

When her bare foot met with a soft pile of fabric, she knew she’d located her dress. She put it on and quickly did up the hooks, then located her panties a few feet away behind the sofa, deciding that putting them on could wait, too. Gathering shoes and lingerie in a heap in her arms, she spotted—thank you, God!—her keys on a table by the door. She padded to quietly snatch them up, then paused to look back at her lover. But only for a second,
because this was only sex, this didn’t matter.
Yeah, right.
That ship has sailed, sister, so you might as well give it up.

She felt like a criminal scurrying to her car under the glow of the moon—and the same porch light that had helped her make her way to the door an hour or two ago. And something caught in her throat as she started the engine—some kind of guilt, just like Debbie had implied she would feel.
Sneaking
was worse than just leaving, of course. But she’d
had
to—she’d had to get the hell out of there before she let herself start thinking she loved the guy again. She shivered at the very thought—but felt that shiver rush all through her, through the breasts he’d recently kissed and the place between her thighs where he’d recently…been.

She released a heavy breath, then backed out of the driveway, her heart pumping nearly as hard as when she’d arrived. Debbie’s words from earlier came back to mind—
Dare I suggest this sounds like revenge?
If this
was
revenge, it wasn’t very sweet.

Well, maybe in a way—but not in a boy-I-showed-him way. More in an oh-God-that-was-heaven way. Which was not at all what she’d had in mind.

Just sex—it was supposed to have been just good, hot sex. Maybe if she kept telling herself that long enough, she’d make herself believe it was true.

Morning sun shone through the living room window, stirring Joe awake. He’d slept like a log. But why was he on the couch?

Then he remembered. The impossible had happened.

Trish had come to him. And they’d…

Oh yeah, had they ever.

He opened his eyes, ready for more.

But his chest constricted when he realized he was alone.

He considered calling for her but didn’t waste his breath. He knew instinctively she wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen. Letting out a sigh, he sat up, scanned the living room. Not a trace of her remained—except for a lacy purple bra he’d managed to toss onto a lampshade.

Shit.

It shouldn’t matter. Two people have sex, sometimes one of them gets up and goes home—it wasn’t a crime. He wasn’t usually real big on “spending the night” himself. So she’d been completely within her rights to leave. But to wake up without her after how unbelievably good it had felt to finally,
finally
be inside her warm, sweet body—hell, it stung.

She’d been…amazing. A fantasy come to life. It hadn’t been
his
fantasy of Trish—he’d had no idea she could be a bad girl. But he’d liked finding out. He’d been confused from the word go, but when a woman you once loved shows up at your door in something tight and black, you don’t ask questions.

Being with her, at long last, had been better than in his imagination. It hadn’t been tender, it hadn’t been sweet—but it didn’t matter what tone the sex had taken. It was the best he’d ever had.

He still didn’t get it. Not any of it.

Not that he knew her anymore. Hell, maybe she was into casual sex, no chitchat required.

But the hot chick who’d seduced him last night had seemed like a different girl than the one he’d met up with at the Last Chance.
That
had been Trish. More grown-up, confident, every bit a woman—but he’d still sensed the girl he’d once known hiding inside.

Of course, when they’d gotten to the actual sex, maybe
then
he’d seen hints of Trish, too. When she’d called his name. When she’d held onto him like there was no tomorrow.

But the wild woman in black, and the woman who’d snuck off in the night…He shook his head. What the hell was she doing? What was she trying to prove?

Pushing up from the couch, he zipped his pants and let out a low growl of frustration. Any other woman on the planet and he wouldn’t have cared. But with Trish…damn, he cared. He knew he’d behaved like a jerk the other night, and he knew he’d completely fucked up their relationship the night before she’d left for college, but hell, when he remembered how close they’d once been—even if it
was
nearly a lifetime ago—sneaking out in the middle of the night was shitty.

Well, one thing was for damn sure. Just like he’d told her at the Last Chance, this wasn’t over. He might have decided yesterday to let it go—but last night changed that. It might have been over then, but it
definitely
wasn’t over now.

Grievance:
a complaint filed against an attorney or judge;
or
resentment against an unjust or unfair act or treatment.

“Well, I guess this means she doesn’t hate you.”

Joe turned on Kenny with a dry look. They sat in Kenny’s Toyota pickup eating lunch at the local drive-in, the Burger Barn, which—other than the occasional new coat of red paint—hadn’t changed much in their lifetime. “Sneaking out in the middle of the night doesn’t exactly say ‘I like you,’ either.”

Kenny shrugged, maneuvering his foot-long hot dog for a bite.