Playing for Hearts (90 page)

One second she was pressed against the door, and the next she fell through open air. He rushed forward, but not before her ass took the brunt of the fall. Hard.

He squatted, grimacing. “Sorry, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

Crista blinked up at him, lost in the mishap and reaching for him. He stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Just sit there for a second and get your breath.”

Crista nodded, clutching his hand. He inhaled deeply, hoping she was okay. He felt awful. He should've seen what was happening and stopped her from falling.

“Better?” he asked.

She moistened her lips. “Yeah, I think.”

“What are you doing on the floor, Crista?” Janelle stood behind Crista, looming over them both.

The legs he'd admired earlier on Crista's neighbor stretched on forever. He trailed his gaze from her high heels on up to the high hem of her dress at the top of her thighs. He blew his cheeks out, unable to stop staring. Crista slapped his arm, and he stood, helping her off the floor.

She let him pull her up, but wrinkled her nose at the movement. “It's the agony of defeat.”

Bruce frowned. “Sorry. I had no idea the door would open.”

“It's okay.” She rubbed her backside. “My fault. I wasn't watching what I was doing.”

“I'm glad you came over.” Janelle grabbed Crista's arm, tugging her away from Bruce. “I want you to tell me which outfit I should wear tomorrow night.”

“We weren't coming over.” Crista grabbed Bruce's hand and pried herself away from Janelle. “We're on our way to the pool.”

“That's not important. The pool is open around the clock.” Janelle tossed her hair over her bare shoulder.

“Uh.” Crista glanced at the skimpy black cocktail dress hugging Janelle's curves. “You look great.”

Great? Janelle looked fantastic. Mind blowingly sexy, in Bruce's opinion.

“Not this one, silly. I need to change into them.” Janelle stepped back. “Come on, I'll show you.”

“We really need to go.” Crista stepped over to stand beside him. “Another time, maybe?”

Janelle's lower lip came out. “Please?”

Bruce clamped his teeth to keep from grunting at the erotic scene and nudged Crista with his elbow. “Are you sure you're okay, 'cause … ”

She turned her gaze to him and frowned. He widened his eyes and flicked them toward Janelle without turning his head.
Come on, read the signs.

Crista's brows pinched together, and she tilted her head. He nodded slowly, hoping she'd understand that he'd do anything, anything within his power, to get inside that woman's apartment. He inhaled in relief when Crista's mouth formed an O in understanding.

“You know what you need? A man to give you his opinion.” Crista pushed Bruce toward her. “Take my boyfriend. He's great at clothes and not that great at swimming. He'd be happy to help you while I do my laps.”

“Please, tell me he doesn't help you pick out your clothes.” Janelle looked down her rather perfect nose at her. “I require a man who has tastes in fashion.”

“He doesn't,” Crista mumbled. “But he's gone to many fashion shows, dated a gazillion models, and is a world-class bass fisherman. He knows bait.”

“Bait?”

Crystal and Bruce made a good team, and it was time to step in and do his part. He cleared his throat and shrugged nonchalantly. “I know what attracts men to women.”

Great. Now he sounded like Dr. Phil. He leaned against the doorframe. If he played aloof and unresponsive to her charms, she'd have no choice but to invite him to her bed.

Janelle trailed her gaze along Bruce's body, inspecting him. He lifted the corner of his mouth, letting her know he approved of her attention. She must've found him up to par because she turned her back and walked into the apartment without another word, leaving the door open.

Bruce leaned down and kissed Crista's cheek. “Thanks. I owe you, sweetheart. Don't wait up.”

Then he trailed after Janelle, and the door closed extra loudly behind him. His thoughts shifted from what kind of gift he'd buy Crista for helping him bag the supermodel to what he planned to do to the supermodel in bed, or in the living room. His step had an extra jump. Hell, he'd even do her out on the terrace. He wasn't picky.

Inside Janelle's apartment, he couldn't help but compare it to Crista's pad in size, but that's where the likenesses ended. Crista had decorated hers in pastel blue and nautical objects she'd collected on the beach. His lungs constricted and he gazed around in stunned silence. Janelle had styled hers after a Marilyn Monroe movie. Black and white. Nude sculptures. Seductive photos blown into posters. He peered closer at one scantily clad picture of a woman bent over the back of a couch.
Shit.

He knew those legs, those breasts, those hips. The woman in the picture was Janelle herself.

Janelle caught him ogling the picture. “Well?”

He turned. His chest tightened and his balls smiled.

A red shimmery dress hugged her curves. The high neck accented the holes at the sides of her ribs, showing off the indentions to her waist. “It's nice.”

“Nice?” A tiny squeak came from Janelle, and she stomped back into her room.

The shiny material of the dress soaked in a little salmon egg juice would make a perfect trolling lure for trout fishing. He glanced back at the picture on the wall. Now that's a woman who'd please a man in bed. He wouldn't mind having her recreate that exact same pose for him tonight.

Her heels clicked across the wooden floor and she snapped her fingers. “Pay attention.”

“I'm all eyes, baby,” he mumbled, taking her all in.

She stuck her hip to the side and placed her hand on her waist. “Which one is better? The last dress or this lighter dress?”

Now she was talking his language. He slowly strolled around her, taking in the indention of her waist, the slope of her ass, the flat stomach. The sleek white material showed everything, even her braless nipples. Behind her, he bit his tongue.
Damn.

“Well?” she said.

“Definitely this dress.” He moved around her, skimming her arm, and stood in front of her. “Yeah, this one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

He trailed his finger over the thin spaghetti strap. “It shows off your shoulders.”

She nodded in agreement. “I do have great arms.”

“Yes.” He looked lower. The deep dip in the front barely contained her breasts. “It screams sexy.”

Her lips quivered in pleasure and she finally allowed herself to smile. “Yes. That's the reaction I'm going for.”

He moved back and sat down on the couch, making himself at home. She continued smiling, and turned for his enjoyment. He leaned over to watch her swish her ass out of the room.
That's it, baby; go slip into something more comfortable.

She stopped at her bedroom door, looked over her shoulder, and raised her brows in question. He stood, ready to follow her anywhere, when she fluttered her hand toward him. “You're dismissed.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

“You may run back to your little lover. I'm through with needing you.” She pointed in the direction of the door as if he didn't understand English.

He pivoted and walked to the door. Maybe he was losing his touch. Typically, women enjoyed him. They found him attractive. He'd even had more than a few past girlfriends who'd had a hard time understanding they were through and begged him to take them back. But dismissed?

Shit.

He entered Crista's apartment, glad she wasn't back to see his humiliation, and crashed on the couch. At least nothing in her place reminded him of sex every five seconds. Though, now that he thought about it, he had seen sexy black lingerie draped over Crista's bedroom chair when he'd asked her where he should put his luggage. He sat up, cocked his head, and thought about looking again to make sure he hadn't been hallucinating. He exhaled and lay back down. It was probably one of Crista's girlfriends'. She wouldn't wear something like that. She was more the boy shorts and sports bra kinda girl.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Going without sex for four months was fucking with his head. He wasn't supposed to think about what Crista wore under her clothes.

An hour later, he'd concluded that he'd have to become more aggressive if he was going to bag Janelle. Ms. Piranha needed to realize she couldn't toy with him the way she did most men. Hell, he fished for a living, fought bears coming down to the river, swam with sharks, and battled white rapids in a canoe. He even wore a flannel shirt most days. Yet she'd dismissed him as if he was her assistant.
Screw that.

The door opened and Crista walked into the kitchen. He rolled off the couch, strolled over, and stood beside the sink, waiting for her to finish relieving her thirst.

He tapped her on the arm. “Hey.”

She screamed and pressed her hand to her chest. “Shit. Don't do that. Make some noise or something to let me know you're here. You freaked me out. I thought you'd still be at Janelle's apartment.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he rubbed the offending spot. “We need to step up our game plan.”

“Gave you the cold shoulder, huh?” She smirked in enjoyment.

“Yeah.” He shrugged the disappointment off and forged ahead. “This is going to take more work than I thought. Tomorrow night. We'll show her what she's missing out on.”

“How?”

“By showing her how I satisfy you sexually.”

The beach house where the party was located loomed above the ocean in a mix of contemporary galore and extremely high windows. Inside the foyer, Crista discreetly readjusted the top of her dress.
Oh, boy.

The material amounted to little more than a white baby-doll nightie. She clamped her arms to her side. Bruce had surprised Crista with the dress this afternoon. She scooted further behind him in the crowded room and snuck a glance to make sure the bodice still contained her breasts. Any excess movement on her part, and she'd be flashing the crowd faster than a college student on spring break.

Bruce grabbed her hand, bringing her around and in front of him. “Stop fidgeting. You look hot.”

His hands went to her hips and he pulled her back to his chest. She stiffened, afraid his touch would expose her to the crowd. “I can't believe I'm wearing this.”

“It's sexy.”

“Maybe on a mannequin. Did you even stop to think about what the dress would look like on me?” She peered up and over her shoulder at him. “There's not enough material to cover my boobs. I'm larger than you think I am.”

His body moved in silent laughter. “Don't cut yourself short.”

“I'll nail you if you compare my height to Janelle's,” she said on a hiss. “This isn't going to work. Janelle's not even paying us any attention. She hasn't looked our way or even glanced at me.”

“You're right about that part. Let's work our way around the room and stand beside her.” He skimmed his fingers down her arm and grabbed her hand. “Strut if you can.”

“Strut?”

“Yeah.” He glanced down at her. “You know, wiggle your ass.”

She would not. Besides, he walked too fast, and her breasts were building momentum. She'd be lucky to make it safely to their destination without doing a strip tease dance for every single person in the room.

She walked with her chin tilted to keep an eye on her wandering body parts, until she collided with a warm body. She planted her hands on a solid chest and raised her gaze. A man in a black silk shirt blocked her path. “I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going.”

“It's not every day a gorgeous woman stumbles into my path.” His smile was pleasant, but his eyes leered. “Please, tell me you're here alone.”

“No. I came with … ” She glanced beside her for Bruce, but he'd left her side. In the crowd walking out onto the dance floor, she couldn't spot him. “I guess I am.”

“My name's Brady Charden.” He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “It's wonderful to bump into you.”

Oh. My. God.
She tittered, sounding as if she'd never had a man introduce herself before. Which wasn't the case, because there were lots of men she talked to everyday. But she
knew
this guy. Well, knew his name.

He was a famous photographer. Not for models, but he captured wildlife in exotic locations and his work was plastered all over
National Geographic
.

“Crista Johnson.” She carefully extracted her hand from his grasp. “It's nice to meet you, too.”

He tilted his head, leaned in closer, and said, “Would you like to dance with me, seeing as you're here all alone, and I've found myself needing a dance partner?”

“I'd love to.”

What was she doing? Her dress was not made for moving around on the dance floor in front of everyone. She looked around the room one more time, half hoping Bruce would save her, and yet wanting to dance with Brady.

Obviously, she'd lost her pretend date. She followed Brady out to the middle of the floor. Behind his back, she hitched up the top of her dress again and prayed the music wouldn't change. Slow was good.

Brady swept her into his arms. She put her arms around his shoulders, plastered herself against him to keep the material over her breasts in place, and let him take the lead. He knew how to dance.

Not too tall, and rather sexy in a polished, suit and tie kind of way, he smiled at her. “You're very beautiful.”

She practically floated across the floor. “Thank you.”

“I thought for a moment you'd come with a boyfriend, but he seems to have wandered off without you. I know if I had a girlfriend and she looked like you, I wouldn't leave her side.” His hand wandered lower on her back.