Feeling Hot (16 page)

Cash dug his fingers into her hips, bringing a sting of pain. He tried thrusting upward but she locked his thighs between hers and made a
tsk
ing sound. “Quit being a pain in the ass, McCoy. If you don’t let me do my thing, I’ll climb right off you and make myself come in private.”

He immediately stilled.

Jen grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then she started to move. In earnest. Lifting off that rock-hard cock then slamming down on it. Over and over, fast and furious, until the couch springs protested to the ferocity of her movements. Cash reached up to play with her breasts, pinching her nipples, rolling them between his fingers. His hips came up to meet her. Their breathing became labored, choppy, as she rode him hard.

The throbbing between her legs took a critical turn. “Touch my clit,” she said, surprising herself with the bold order.

His lips formed a sensual smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

He placed his palm on her navel, callused fingers circling her belly button before traveling south.

Jen exploded the second he touched that sensitive nub. As a wave of sheer sensation slammed into her, her mind splintered into a million pieces and black and white dots assaulted her vision. Crying out, she grinded into him, vaguely aware of his hoarse shout as he climaxed.

It took her a while to recover this time. Sagging into Cash’s chest, she just lay there and waited for her heartbeat to regulate and her breathing to steady.

Why hadn’t anyone ever told her that sex could be this good?

And why did she get the feeling that three weeks in Cash’s bed wouldn’t be nearly enough?

She lifted her head and peeked up at him. “Again,” she said with a groan. “We need to do that again.”

His guttural laughter tickled her forehead. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

Chapter Seven

As far as Cash was concerned, Sundays were sacred. Sundays meant watching football, drinking beer and eating junk food. And he never strayed from that routine, not if he could help it.

So why was he finding it impossible to focus on the television screen?

For the hundredth time in the last hour, his gaze moved away from the TV and landed on the blonde across the room. She had a pair of earbuds on and was listening to music on her iPod. She hadn’t voiced a single complaint when he’d laid down the Sunday football law. Instead, she’d spent the past hour transferring photos from a very expensive-looking camera to her laptop.

He had no idea what was up with him, why he felt the strongest urge to pull up the chair next to Jen’s and find out what she was working on. To spend the day sitting and talking. Maybe steal some kisses.

Talking. Stealing
kisses.

What was he, a teenaged girl?

This need to get to know the woman he was sleeping with, to be
friends
with her, was disconcerting as hell.

Curiosity had him grudgingly rising from the couch. Jen’s blue eyes flicked up at his approach and she pulled out her earphones. “What’s up? Did your team lose or something?”

“No.” He rounded the table and flopped down beside her. “I was curious about what you’re working on.”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh. Nothing really. I’m just uploading some pictures.”

Cash inspected the Nikon on the table. “Shit, that camera is hardcore. When you said you liked messing around with photography, I figured you had one of those point-and-shoot cameras.”

“I used to, but there’s no fun in that.” She shrugged. “It’s more satisfying adjusting the settings yourself and capturing something unique.”

“Can I see some of your pictures?”

Now she looked uneasy. “Why?”

“Why not?”

She chewed on her bottom lip as if trying to decide whether or not he was genuinely interested, and Cash suddenly remembered that comment she’d made when they’d first met, about how nobody in her family took her seriously. Maybe she was worried he’d make fun of her work and belittle her hobby.

“Come on,” he pressed. “I’d love to take a look.”

“Um. Okay.” She shifted the laptop so they could both see the screen. “These are some shots I took in January when I went to a resort in Jamaica.”

Cash leaned in, expecting to find postcard-perfect shots of swaying palm trees, sandy white beaches and a calm ocean, but that was not the case. At all.

“What the hell kind of resort did you to go?” he asked suspiciously, his gaze focused on the desolate scene before him.

She offered a sheepish look. “I didn’t spend much time on the resort. But don’t tell my brother,” she added quickly. “Carson and my parents think I take these yearly sun-and-fun vacations for the, well, sun and fun.”

Her fingers traveled over the laptop’s track pad to scroll through the pictures. Cash was blown away. Some of the pictures were in color, others in black and white, but all displayed images he hadn’t expected. Several featured a little boy, not older than five or six, with dirt on his face and crooked teeth bared in a big grin. In one the boy sat on the dirt, playing with marbles. In another, he dashed toward a small hut with a tin roof and made of rotting wood that looked about to collapse. The last shot showed the boy weaving through piles of garbage, while black flies hovered around him.

Cash frowned. “Where was this taken?”

“In a little town outside of Kingston. Poverty is their way of life. But Marcus—that’s the kid in the picture—he was the sweetest kid I’d ever met. Smiling all the time, despite it all.”

“What the hell were you thinking, walking around in places like these? You should’ve stayed at the hotel where it was safe.”

She didn’t even have the decency to look contrite. “There’s only so many times you can
ooh
and
aah
at the ocean. Besides, I’m easily bored. Lying on the beach all day for a week isn’t my thing. I want to see and do things I’ve never experienced before. So if it means stepping out of my comfort zone and visiting a poor village, or checking out the ganja shops in Kingston—”

“What?”

“Or visiting sugar cane fields in Haiti, ancient ruins in Mexico…” She trailed off with a shrug. “And you’ve got to admit, it makes for more interesting pictures.”

She kept scrolling through photos, and Cash couldn’t fight the disapproval bubbling in his gut. When he saw a series of photographs that looked like they’d been taken in the middle of a full-blown riot, he let out an expletive and scowled at Jen.

“So you take these trips, tell your family you’re sun-tanning at a resort, and then you disappear into some of the most dangerous areas in those damn countries?”

“Pretty much.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s beyond foolish, Jen. It’s downright reckless.”

“I’m careful,” she insisted. “I hire a respectable cab driver recommended by the resort staff, I don’t go off into dark alleys alone—I don’t go out after dark at all, in fact. And I’ve been trained in self-defense. I’m not some weak little twit who can’t take care of herself.”

“Then why are you lying to your family about what you really do on these trips?”

“Because unfortunately,
they
think I’m a weak little twit who can’t take care of herself. So rather than try to change their minds, I let them think what they want and do my own thing.” She studied his face. “Disapproval of my tactics aside, what do you think of these pictures? Honestly?”

Cash sighed. “They’re incredible.”

A blush dotted her cheeks. “Are you just saying that?”

“No. If anything, I’m tempted to tell you they suck ass, just so you’d quit putting yourself in potentially dangerous situations,” he grumbled. “But I can’t lie to you. These photographs are…spectacular.”

The joy that flooded her eyes bugged him a little. Was this the first time anyone had complimented her work? If so, that was a damn shame. The pictures on the screen were crisp, stark, unforgiving—she didn’t use any fancy techniques or filters to pretty up her subjects. She simply captured what she saw and forced you to look at it. Really look at it.

“Why aren’t you working for some big-time magazine or newspaper?” he asked in bewilderment.

Jen looked startled. “I do this for fun. I have a blog where I upload pictures, but it’s just a hobby. Other than the people who go on my blog, you’re the first person I’ve ever shown my pictures to.”

“You seriously haven’t shown these to anyone other than me?”

Her brows furrowed. “Why do you look so pissed?”

“I’m not pissed. I’m stunned.” He shook his head. “You should be doing this professionally, sweetheart. Forget blogging, your work needs to be hanging in a gallery. Or on the cover of
National Geographic
or something.”

She stared at him as if he’d just told her she’d won the lottery. “You really think that?”

“Hell yes.”

“I never thought…wow.” Her voice wobbled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His expression clouded over. “But I’m still unhappy about you exploring all those foreign countries without a single concern for safety.”

“Isn’t that your job? Exploring foreign countries without a single concern for safety?”

She had him there.

Before he could point out that he was
trained
for that kind of shit, Jen’s cell phone broke out in an ear-shattering military march, complete with pounding percussion and a lot of horns. The sound was so intense it made the dining room table shake.

She grinned. “That’s my dad’s ringtone. He programmed it in for himself because he thought my other ringtones were too girlie.” Rolling her eyes, she lifted the cell phone to her ear and said, “Hi, Dad.” She paused, and then all the color drained from her face. “Are you serious? Did he…did he hurt her?”

Cash’s shoulders went rigid.

Next to him, Jen breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God… Yes… Dad, I just said yes, okay? I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” She mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. “Yes, Dad, he’ll come with me. Tell Carson he doesn’t have to—oh fine, whatever.” Her jaw tightened. “Yes, sir.”

She hung up and turned to him with a flat, angry expression. “An hour ago Brendan showed up at my parents’ house.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing crazy, which proves he’s not a total moron. You don’t mess with the admiral, and Brendan knows it. But he did yell a little and demand to know where I was. Carson already told our parents that Brendan and I broke up, but he didn’t give them any details. Now they have an idea, seeing as Brendan mentioned the restraining order during his rant.”

She scraped back her chair and stood up with a scowl. “He scared my mom—and trust me, she doesn’t scare easily. And he pissed off my dad, who is now requesting our presence.”

Wariness climbed up Cash’s throat. “
Our
presence?”

“Carson told him I’m staying with you, so he wants you there. Be prepared, because he’ll probably grill you.”

Cash felt shell-shocked as he watched Jen scurry off toward Matt’s bedroom. He had to meet her
parents
? Now?

He ran a hand over the stubble coating his jaw. Normally he had no problem charming a girlfriend’s folks, but if Admiral Scott was anything like both Carson and Jen described, then no amount of charm would work on the man. Shit. And he didn’t even have time to shave, damn it.

Cash sprang to action. In his bedroom, he rummaged through his dresser drawers for some presentable clothing—showing up in sweatpants and a wife beater definitely wouldn’t make a great first impression. He settled on a pair of wrinkled khakis he hardly ever wore, hence the wrinkles, and a blue button-down shirt. Forgoing his trademark shitkickers, he shoved his feet into a pair of brown loafers he found in his closet, which made him take pause because he had no idea how they’d gotten there.

He looked—and felt—like a total tool in the getup.

When he stepped out of his room, he collided with Jen, who took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Are you wearing khakis? And
loafers
?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m trying to look presentable.”

“Why?” It dawned on her. “For my parents? Oh, that’s sweet. But unnecessary—they’ll be too busy lecturing me to notice what you’re wearing.”

He cast a longing look at the television before walking over to turn it off. So much for his sacred Sunday ritual. Instead of football and beer, he was about to spend the afternoon with Jen’s parents.

And Carson.

Shit, he’d forgotten all about Carson.

“By the way—not one word to your brother about what we’ve been doing all weekend,” Cash said as they left the apartment.

Jen was walking ahead of him, and she spared him a pithy look over her shoulder. “Gee, really? I was planning on giving him a play-by-play of every orgasm I had.”

They reached the stairwell door. Before she could walk through it, he grasped her chin with one hand and glared at her. “I’m serious, sweetheart.”

She frowned. “What exactly did Carson threaten you with when he told you to keep your hands off me?”

With a sigh, he dropped his hand from her face. “I’m planning on doing the officer training this year, and I need a recommendation from him. He implied he’d give me a bad one if I got involved with you.”