Good Girls Don't (9 page)

Why not?

Because that’s the way Bill thought of her: as Lettie, the girl ready for anything, and afraid of nothing.

The elevator jerked to a halt and the doors rattled open, beckoning for a confident woman to emerge and take what she wanted.

Colette tossed her head, flipped her hair, then ran her hands down her skimpy dress. Her fingertips brushed the top of bare thighs, shaved and lotioned and ready to be caressed. By Bill Brannon. Along with every other part of her anatomy.

Bill Brannon. The man she’d always seen as a friend. But this afternoon, the man who’d reconnected with her emotionally, and had stirred a tornado of desire physically. With his smile. His words. His touch. That pink rose.

The man who wanted her back then. And, from all indications, the man who wanted her even more now.

She moistened her lips, lifted her shoulders. Why shouldn’t she be confident? Wasn’t that what he expected? And wasn’t that the real reason she’d chosen the flaming minidress, thin and backless, making no secret of its silk fabric teasing her nipples?

Colette—correction—Lettie Campbell was a confident, desirable woman, and he knew it. Wanted it.

Anticipated it.

She placed one high heel in front of the other and pranced across the lobby, the same way she’d strutted through Sheldon High’s halls when Bill Brannon, and every other male, watched her pass.

Exiting the building, she paused for a moment to let the cool night air kiss her skin, then flashed an I-want-you-now smile at the sexy hunk of man leaning against the side of his car.

Have mercy, he looked even better than he had this afternoon.

The black Camry spoke volumes about the guy leaning against its shiny frame. For one thing, it wasn’t a tiny sports car. For another, it wasn’t red. And everyone knew the truth about guys who drove tiny red sports cars.

Compensating.

Bill, obviously, had no reason to compensate. Which made her smile even brighter. No problem with confidence now. With one look, Bill Brannon made her feel like she could move mountains. By the way his dark brows flicked and those mocha eyes drank her in, she’d bet she was moving his mountain right now.

Not bad, Lettie.

His eyes performed a thorough perusal, starting with the loose waves on her head to the red heels on her feet, and pausing at several key intervals in between.

Heck, she knew appreciation when she saw it. And right now, Bill Brannon was thoroughly appreciating her.

Lettie sashayed down the concrete path, heels clicking with each step toward his car. Then she stopped, shifted to one side and placed a hand on her hip. “Well?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Well.”

Gathering more courage by the second, she shifted her weight again and watched his eyes focus on her chest, where the silky fabric shifted in direct correlation to her move. The halter of the skimpy dress plunged dramatically, and Lettie knew he could see the entire swell of her right breast, save the nipple. “Well, you saw me in business mode today. Tonight, you see me in play. Have I changed that much in twelve years?”

That firm jaw seemed to clench a little harder. Eyes deepened to match the darkening sky. “Hard to say. Turn around.”

“Turn around?” Her heart plunked a happy rhythm in her chest. The sexual chemistry had been palpable between them this afternoon, but they’d still maintained that friends-meeting-again aura that had enveloped them from the moment she’d hugged him by the train. Right now the chemistry was still there, but it had ignited to near combustion level. Zinging between them, and setting her body on red alert for more.

Lettie could hardly wait.

“Yeah,” Bill said, his voice husky and demanding. “Turn. Around. And do it slowly, Lettie. I don’t want to miss any details.”

Once again, his use of her name sent a shiver down her spine.

Peachtree Industrial, where her apartment was located, was a busy street at any time of day, particularly now, when most of Atlanta was still en route to and from after-work activities. But in spite of the cars idling at the stoplight by the parking lot, Lettie did as he asked.

She turned. Slowly. And let him look his fill.

When her back faced him, she tossed a glance over her shoulder, knowing the combination of backless dress and come-get-me look would have the desired effect. “So, what’s the verdict?”

The thick cords of his neck shifted as he swallowed. “You’re as stunning as ever. Even more than back then.”

She finished her turn, cocked her hip once more, then grinned at his focus on her breasts. “You like the dress.”

“The dress is fine, but what’s inside it—yeah, I like that a lot.”

“Good. Then it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?” he asked.

“To see if you’ve changed.”

“I see.” He took a small step forward, braced his legs apart and, like she had done, let her look her fill.

Lettie gave him a dose of his own medicine. Starting at his gorgeous face, she examined every mesmerizing feature.

Had his lashes always been so thick? Perfectly framing eyes that looked like melted chocolate?

Yeah. They had. But she hadn’t remembered how easy it was to get lost in them, to want to kiss each lid and feel those long wisps against her lips.

Her feminine center quivered.

She cleared her throat and controlled her breathing, which had converted to short, eager gasps as she gaped at this fine male specimen. And imagined him up close and extremely personal.

Following the path from forehead past a straight, determined nose, she stopped when she reached his mouth. Full, totally kissable lips tempted her to stop this inspection and get the show rolling. Especially when that devilish dimple winked at her wickedly. But fair was fair, and she wanted to look.

Lettie continued ogling, down his corded neck, across broad shoulders to biceps that pushed for recognition against a stark white shirt. She envisioned her hands curling to hold on to those big muscles like lifelines as he hovered above her naked body, driving inside her, taking her where she desperately wanted to go.

There was no hiding where her thoughts had headed; she was practically panting. But she wouldn’t stop now. She couldn’t, anyway. He looked too dang hot for her to quit a personal inspection, though she totally planned to investigate later—without the encumbrance of clothing.

The hint of black hair peeking from the V in his shirt, where the first two buttons were undone, beckoned her to follow its path. Her fingers itched to do exactly that. And venture lower.

Much lower.

Lettie studied the way his black pants hugged his hips, caressed strong thighs. She could only imagine what the soft fabric was doing against that luscious behind, the one Amy had christened, “an ass like nobody’s business.”

Rather than laugh out loud at her sister’s comment, she licked her lips. “Turn around.”

He grinned.

“Turn. Around.”

His smile, if possible, grew even more . . . cocky. And dang if it didn’t make her wet. He knew he looked good, from every angle. And, as he turned to verify that fact, there wasn’t a thing she could do but agree.

“Want me to spread ’em so you can frisk me?” he asked, placing his palms on the side of the car as if he were totally up for a game of cops and robbers.

She thought of the furry handcuffs in her apartment. How long would it take to get them? Too damn long. But another time . . .

Oh yeah.

He turned toward her, and another flick of those dark brows made her nipples harden. Reaching out, he placed a warm hand on her waist and pulled their bodies together.

Generally, her five-foot-nine frame put her nearly eye-to-eye with most men. Occasionally, when she wore heels, it put her a tad above them. But Bill Brannon had a couple of inches on her, even with the stilettos, so she tilted her head to look at his gorgeous face. “Back then, I should have—”

He brought one hand to her face, letting his fingertips gently brush her cheek while he traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah. You should have. We should have. But we didn’t. Not then.”

The long fingers at her waist slid to her back, then pressed her body even closer to his. “Bill.” Her mouth tingled, moving against his thumb.

His eyes flashed a hint of warning and he pulled his thumb away, sliding it down her throat until it paused at the base, where Lettie knew her pulse hammered.

“We should’ve done a lot of things differently back then,” he continued.

A horn blasted from the busy street and reminded her they’d yet to step foot in his car. But Lettie’s body was on fire, pressed against his, and she wouldn’t care if all of Atlanta watched.

This was where she wanted to be.

“We should’ve definitely done this, back then.” He brought his mouth to hers with hungry urgency, taking it as though it were his alone to claim.

His tongue swept inside, tangling with hers in a wild, stroking dance, a mating simulation that had her hips undulating in perfect harmony with the fluid thrusts of his tongue.

Whistles and horns, and a couple of encouraging cheers, echoed in the distance, but her blood pumped too feverishly to decipher the interruption.

Bill’s large hand moved against her back, then dipped beneath the pool of fabric at the base of her spine.

She curved instinctively against his masterful touch, her breasts aching, her womanhood burning—hot, wet and ready.

Pulling his mouth from hers, he worked passionate kisses along her jaw, nudging her hair out of the way as he claimed her lobe and sucked it hard.

“What do you think, Lettie?” His voice was so thick, so raspy and so undeniably aroused, she wasn’t sure whether he’d said the words. Or growled them.

“Th-think?”

“Shouldn’t we have done this, back then?” The hand at her spine moved lower still, one finger toying with the top of her thong.

“Oh yeah,” she managed, her head spinning.

Oh yeah. Definitely.

She rose on her toes and pushed her hips forward, pressing her heat against the hard length between his thighs. Twelve years ago, she’d never dreamed of sex with Bill. Now the thought of waiting five minutes to climb on top of him seemed near impossible. “Bill?”

“Yeah.”

“Do we have to go to dinner first?” She was so ready, and the bulge in his pants said he was too.

His laugh rumbled against her neck. “Is your sister home?”

Dang, she should’ve asked Amy to head out early, just in case. But who’d have thought they’d start the date with a grope fest in the parking lot? “Yeah, she’s home.”

“Then we’ll go to my place.”

“How far?”

He shot a glance at the headlights moving down the busy street. “A good half hour’s drive, if we don’t have a lot of traffic,” he admitted. “I’m in Paulding County.”

“I can’t wait that long,” she said, and she meant it. He had her hotter in five minutes than Jeff had managed in six long, boring months. If she didn’t come soon, she’d scream. Heck, if she did come soon, she’d scream.

Either way, she needed to scream.

Soon.

He opened the door, then helped her in. “Trust me, Lettie. I’d never make you wait.”

Bill rounded the car and climbed inside in record time. No small feat since his dick had been in complete agreement with his parking lot X-rated production.

Hell, he’d always taken special care to monitor public displays of affection, never wanting to embarrass a woman by cuddling her in front of a crowd. But tonight, he’d cast aside all thoughts of political correctness and moved right on to
what
he wanted.
Who
he wanted.

Lettie.

In high school, she’d thrived on attention, doing something risky, causing a scene. She’d leaned toward guys who broke the rules. Sure, they’d grown up since Sheldon High. But he suspected that Lettie still enjoyed a bit of rule-breaking, every now and then. And, from the look of her in that business suit this afternoon, he also suspected that perhaps she hadn’t broken any in quite a while. She’d looked very together and very settled. That was fine, for her professional realm.

However, Bill didn’t want her seeing him as a mere professional acquaintance. And he wanted to be the one to rock her steady world and remind her that he understood the sensual side of her too. Given she showed up for this date in a dress that said she was ready for anything, he’d say she wanted something beyond the norm. And what Bill had in mind was anything but normal, particularly for him, a guy who generally stuck to the rules.

Their heated exchange in the parking lot should’ve alerted her that he wasn’t kidding about finding her elusive treasure. Cranking the engine, he couldn’t help but feel exhilarated by what he’d done, starting foreplay in front of a honking, yelling and—if he heard right—cheering audience.

From the way she’d climbed up his body during the scene, Lettie had loved it.

Good. Because he planned to push his nice-guy, best-friend image right out of the picture, at least until he had her attention. Starting with the drive home.

“Are you ready?” he asked, steering out of the parking lot.

“More than you can imagine.”

He entered the line of traffic, then stole another look at Lettie while he waited for the light to change.

In high school, she’d been like the photograph of a pretty girl that a teenage boy snatched out of a calendar and pinned to his wall. A girl he’d look at every day, dream about every night.

Now she’d catapulted from calendar girl to centerfold queen. It’d taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to attack her on the spot when she waltzed out of Amy’s building, looking every bit the sex goddess in that barely there red dress and high heels.

Her hair had been long and silky in high school. Now it was short and wild, with wisps curling out in all directions, caressing her face, brushing her neck and framing those green bedroom eyes. Red gloss accentuated full lips and tasted like strawberries.

Hell, how many women wore flavored lip gloss past high school?

Only the ones who planned on being kissed, he realized. And kissed well. Which he’d done. And would do again.