Girl Gear 4: Striptease (10 page)

Aiden pushed forward in his seat and leaned toward her, taking her coffee and setting it on the table next to her books. Bracing both hands on the arms of her chair, he bent to kiss her again. Pulse fluttering, she looked up and watched his mouth descend.

But this time her hands were free and she couldn’t keep herself from placing her palms on his chest. His heart thudded there where she touched him, and then
all she knew was his mouth. This time he wasn’t the least bit gentle or restrained, but was hungry and wanting her to know it.

He devoured her lips, slanting his hard enough over hers that she felt the abrasion of his late-evening beard. She flexed her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer still. And then she slipped her tongue under his and followed it into his mouth.

He groaned and ground harder, kissing her as if she offered him sustenance. His chest beneath her palms was firm and solid, and she wished they were anywhere but here so she could feel his skin sliding against her own.

Another groan and he pulled away, staring down at her as his breathing settled, as the fire in his eyes abated. She returned her hands to her lap, bunching them into the fabric of her skirt and waiting for the roar in her ears to subside.

Except it didn’t. Because it wasn’t in her ears. It was applause from the small audience who’d witnessed the show. Heat flushed her face as she stared into Aiden’s. But he only sat back in his chair, cocked one ankle over the opposite knee and grinned like a cat with a mouthful of canary.

Finally, Renata gave a small nodding bow to their spectators, who were drifting away. And then she returned her attention to Aiden. “Are you sure you don’t want a cup of your own? A full shot of caffeine might keep you awake.”

“I’d love it. But I’ll wait.”

“For?” she asked, knowing they weren’t talking about coffee now any more than they’d been talking about horses earlier, and loving every minute of the conversation, anyway.

“For the right time.”

“And when will that be?”

“When a sip is no longer enough.” He laced his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Now. Years one through nine. Tell me everything.”

M
ONDAY MORNING FOUND
Melanie back in her office at her desk and unable to walk any better than the day before. She couldn’t imagine how much trouble swimming would’ve been on Saturday if she’d ever made it into the pool.

But she hadn’t even made it into her suit. She’d only made it out of one leg of her shorts and panties and onto Jacob’s lap. At least that’s as far as she’d managed to strip there in Chloe and Eric’s second floor bedroom.

Later, in her own bedroom, she’d let Jacob strip her down to her skin, but only after she’d undressed him first. Except none of the bedroom action had happened until after the pole dance incident and the dinner out at the restaurant.

She didn’t remember having ever screwed away an entire Saturday, from midafternoon to midnight.

Stopping for dinner that evening hadn’t been a date as much as a matter of survival. She’d been starving. If she’d simply ordered in Chinese or whipped up something in the kitchen, she doubted she would’ve ever gotten Jacob back into his clothes. Or wanted to get back into hers.

The man had absolutely no self-consciousness about parading around in the nude. As much as she enjoyed the show, co-ed naked cooking offered as many draw
backs as advantages. The idea of burned body parts had been unappealing enough to force her to dress and encourage him to follow suit.

And the breather had done them both good. They’d actually talked, even though most of what they’d talked about was the sex. It was almost as if that was all they had in common, though she knew they had to have more.

Besides, listening to Jacob’s explanation about finding her sexy had made her feel marginally better. Or would have, if not for the confusion that followed.

She prided herself on remaining calm, competent and professional in every situation. That’s who she was, and that’s the Melanie she wanted men to like and admire.

The fact that apparently Jacob was more attracted to an aberration than to her true personality…well, it just plain sucked. Especially since her bedroom behavior had only solidified his first impression.

What would he do when he learned his fantasy stripper was all smoke, shadows and mirrors?

Run like hell, of course.
They all did, eventually.

Relaxing her grip on the last unbroken pencil in her office, Melanie shook off the disturbing thought of Jacob and, as distasteful as work seemed today—and as angry as that distaste made her—glanced at the open page of the gift catalog she’d abandoned last week.

She had managed to include six more items in her list of possibilities, but doubted she’d end up adding a single one to her product line once she went back through and classified them by price and fun factor.

The fact that she had no head for business today wasn’t increasing her chance of success. Or doing much to boost her confidence that she’d be able to
carry on an affair with Jacob and remain productive at work.

And wasn’t that the whole reason she’d known better than to get involved? What in the world had she been thinking, agreeing to his indecent proposal?

A sharp rap on her door brought her head up in time to see Chloe invite herself into the office, plop down into a visitor’s chair and glare.

Melanie didn’t give her girlfriend the chance to launch into the bitchy tirade she saw coming. “Don’t start. I know what you’re going to say. And I’m sorry for not telling you I was leaving on Saturday.”

Chloe remained unsmiling. Her hands gripped the chair’s black leather arms. Her crossed leg swung. Her eyes, made up in shades of pink, glowered.

Melanie tossed her pencil onto the legal pad, leaned back and sighed. “Fine. Make me suffer. I know this is about me ducking out before the end of the party, so have at it. Just do me a favor. Tell me exactly what you’re thinking, because I’m fed up with hearing people talk in circles. What’s so hard about making a point? Or saying what’s on one’s mind?”

Chloe’s leg stopped swinging and an expression of curious regard crossed her face. “Well, now, sugar. From the way things are sounding, I’m thinking you’re the one who needs to unload first. You seem to be a lot closer to the edge of the proverbial cliff than I am.”

“I
am
on edge.” Melanie pushed up her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. “And it’s making me crazy. I’ve been a basket case now for thirty-six hours.”

And that wasn’t even counting back to the day she’d sent Jacob the tape. Only to the moment she’d decided to follow him upstairs. The moment the full-blown
crazies had taken over her life. “I’m supposed to be calm and rational and totally in control.”

“Says who?” Chloe asked with a frown.

Melanie sputtered out a big fat raspberry. “Me! But it’s like I’ve been in a permanent premenstrual cycle for almost a week now. Piss and moan and bitch and snap. The only thing not on my list is tears. And it’s not even that time of the month.”

“So cry already,” Chloe offered sagely.

“Ha,” Melanie barked, shaking her head briskly and fluffing up her hair with both hands. “That’s the one thing I refuse to do. It’s the last straw between me and insanity. And you know what?” On a roll now, she was! “If I’d stayed at your place and eaten a damn hamburger and taken care of the leftovers like I told you I’d do, I wouldn’t be sitting here fighting off a nervous tic.”

Or sitting here wondering if I’ll ever be able to walk straight again.

One of Chloe’s eyebrows went up as she studied Melanie’s face. “Actually, sugar, you cutting out of the party early is not why I’m here to smack you around.”

Hmm. So it could be a couple of other things, one involving the state of Chloe’s guest bedroom, but Melanie preferred not to go there. At least not with Chloe. “So, you’re mad over something other than the fact that I didn’t help with the cleanup?”

“Well, yes, because you promised, but that’s a small blip on the big screen of my anger.” Chloe pouted. “You could’ve at least told me you were leaving.”

“Uh-huh, right.” Melanie looked the other woman
up and down over her rectangular frames. “And your pissiness isn’t about me not saying goodbye.”

“Exactly.” Chloe leveled an accusing finger. “If you’d said goodbye, I would’ve seen firsthand that you hadn’t left alone. But, no. I had to hear from Rennie that you’d left with Jacob.”

Time to prevaricate. “I didn’t exactly leave with Jacob. Only at the same time.”

“And?” Chloe’s brows went up.

“And what?”

“And, how was he?”

“What kind of question is that?” Melanie countered, feeling the heat of a rising flush while working to keep a straight face. A calm, cool and collected face.

“The kind of question a best friend shouldn’t have to ask.”

Maybe not, but it wasn’t one Melanie was sure she wanted to answer. “So, I could ask you the same about Eric, then?”

“Sugar, I’ve told you everything there is to tell about Eric.”

“You haven’t told me much of anything in well over a year.”

“Well, okay,” Chloe hedged. “But that’s only because we got serious. I spilled all the details when he was still a boy toy.”

“So?”

“So, spill all the details already.” She tilted her head to the side, blinked, pouted and considered. “I know I’m not psychic, but my boy toy radar never fails.”

Melanie sighed again, hating to admit that Chloe might be right. Talking to a much-trusted friend
couldn’t hurt, and might actually relieve the pressure causing a headache of monstrous proportions.

“Fine. If you must know, he’s amazing in bed. And on the sofa, against the wall. Sitting in a chair. But that really doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t mean anything? It means everything!” Chloe gestured expansively with both hands. “Are you kidding? Finding a guy who knows what he’s doing in bed and all those other places? How can you think that doesn’t mean anything?”

“Well, sexually, yes. It means everything.”

“But?”

“C’mon, Chloe. You know there’s more to life than sex.”

“And?”

“And Jacob may make for a perfectly good boy toy, but that’s it. He’s got an attitude that’s half know-it-all, half don’t-give-a-shit.”

Chloe signaled a time-out. “If this is only about his boy toy potential, what does it matter if he’s a bum?”

“I suppose it doesn’t. Except that I know he isn’t. A bum, that is.” She shook her head. “But then this isn’t about who he is. This is about me.”

“You having problems with your id?”

Melanie rolled her eyes. “You’ve been hanging out with Rennie too much, and no. What I’m having a problem with is facing that I’m lusting over a man because of his body. Period. End of story.”

“Just his body. Hmm.”

“And the way he looks at me.” She didn’t even have to close her eyes to relive the feel of the heat. “That panty-melting thing. It’s like his eyes flash and I want to take off my clothes.”

“Well, of course you do.”

Melanie took off her glasses and closed her eyes. God, but her eyes were tired. As tired as she was, she couldn’t remember why she wasn’t supposed to want to spend her life in Jacob Faulkner’s bed.

Groan.
Now she was including him in her future. This was not what she’d expected from a purely sexual affair. She looked back at Chloe. “What happened to being attracted to his intellect? Admiring his ambition?” And him admiring hers, dammit.

Chloe shrugged. “If that’s what floats your boat.”

“Lust does not last.”

“Says who?”

“Okay. It can. You and Eric are proof.” Even though Chloe’s quiet grin indicated her agreement, Melanie couldn’t help but be curious how much of the couple’s emotional involvement fueled that physical attraction. And then she frowned.

Ugh. No. She did not want to fall into the trap that paralyzed so many relationships. She refused to fall in love with the man she was sleeping with just because she was sleeping with him. And, yes. Unfortunately, she spoke from personal experience.

But she was years older now and years wiser and way too levelheaded to let her emotions ruin the best thing that had happened to her in ages. The best thing physically, she rushed to amend. Half a week of working with him, a weekend of sleeping with him and she was already looking forward to more.

As she’d said, how totally un-Melanie Craine.

Still, no matter how much fun she was having with Jacob—even out-of-bed fun—she refused to start attaching anything emotional to their pseudo relation
ship. He might have breached her underwear, but he was not going to breach the walls of her heart.

A
S MUCH AS
M
ELANIE HATED
taking long late lunches, Thursday’s two hours spent at Frankie B’s had been worth the time away from the office—not to mention worth every bite of the fried green tomatoes and Cobb salad.

In addition to wiping out lunch and dinner in one meal, she’d finally managed to pick up several ideas for expanding her gIZMO gIRL line. And the best part…

She hadn’t been stuck doing her individual in-office documentary interview. She’d been late enough getting back to the office that the production crew had called it a day.

It wasn’t the interview she dreaded. After five years in business, she was used to publicity profiles and probing questions. A one-on-one with the show’s host didn’t faze her in the least. Except it wouldn’t be a simple one-on-one.

It would be a ménage a` trois with a voyeuristic cameraman rounding out the party.

And she didn’t know how much of her true self—the self that existed fully clothed and out of bed, the self that the documentary host would be digging deep to reveal—she was ready for Jacob to know.

As much pleasure as he provided—and he did, oh, how he did—she should be listening to the advice of her practical nature rather than relinquishing control to her selfish and greedy physical side. Here she was, waffling again, reversing the conclusion she’d come to earlier in the week.

Because no matter how much
fun
he’d
injected
into
her life, gIRL-gEAR business and Jacob Faulkner did indeed make for a very bad mix.

She was having the absolute worst time keeping her mind on the job. And that just wouldn’t do. Not when she was the one taking up the slack left hanging by the lovebirds surrounding her everywhere she turned.

She supposed it wasn’t just Jacob, that the same would hold true for any man. But, she supposed again, never before had a man gotten under her skin the way Jacob had managed to do.

Putting a stop to the sex had crossed her mind more times than she could count since she’d climbed off his lap in Chloe’s guest bedroom Saturday afternoon. Almost as many times as she’d wondered why she was considering giving up such a guilt-free and no-strings pleasure. It wasn’t as if Jacob was a permanent fixture in her life.

The documentary shoot was scheduled to wrap in another month. Surely she could forget about drive and ambition and do thirty days worth of living for the moment, since the moment would be but a speck in the timeline of her life. She could easily regain her sanity once Jacob was gone.

And, really. She’d always performed best under deadlines, anyway—a thought that brought a wry grin. Wouldn’t that drive Jacob to drink, benefiting from the very obsessive nature he complained about?

Then again, he was a guy, and as long as he was getting laid often and laid well, why should he care about the attitude she had toward her work? Why was it so important to him to show her the fun he claimed she was missing? The selfishly sexual part of his reasoning she totally understood.

But that was all she understood. She didn’t get his
“mission” to spice up her life. What was in it for him, besides the obvious? Unless he got off on the power trip as much as he did on the sex. If that was the case, he’d done himself proud. Look at her, sitting here mooning over him like some sort of lovesick cow!

As much as she hated to admit it and as much as that admission riled her, she needed to get her head out of Jacob’s pants and back into the entrepreneurial game. She pulled up her in-box, scrolled down the queue looking for priority messages, finding only one from Sydney and…wait a minute.