Take Me if You Dare (Entangled Brazen) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Ethan scrunched Jasmine’s dress up to her hips, and his fingers traced over the edges of her bikinis. A long, rumbling groan of approval vibrated from his chest. “Lace…I knew it.”

He moved his hands to the middle of her back, and anticipation mixed with self-doubt sapped moisture from her mouth, but resolve nudged her forward. She’d spent her entire engagement politely accepting the bullshit Greg and his family handed out to her, and she’d ended up hating not standing up for herself. No more. This was about fulfilling her desires with Ethan. Not just sex with any man. Him. And she was going to do this without regret.

The zipper that had given her so much trouble earlier in her hotel room yielded easily under his adept fingers, and he peeled the dress away. A small shiver ran through her body from the cool air and the look in his eyes.

He swallowed, and the angles of his jawline sharpened. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Ethan continued to gaze down at her as if he was captivated in a spell. Knowing she possessed him in that moment made her want to show him more. She eased the dress down to let it puddle at her feet, and his chest rose and fell with a ragged breath.

“Jasmine.” The way he said her name was like an actual caress. He stepped forward and smoothed his palms over her hips and into the curves of her waist. “Tell me what you want.”

Everything.
Every little thing that would make her hot and flushed whenever she remembered how they’d spent the night. She struggled to say it, but her internal war was instantly lost in the feel of his hands skimming up past her rib cage. Moaning, she arched her back, so needy for his mouth on her breasts, she almost begged for it.
But you don’t have to…
For once, she just had to ask.

“I want your mouth…on my breasts.”

She’d barely spoken the words and his lips were there laving each breast. The pull of her nipples into his hot mouth made her cry out, and Jasmine gripped his shoulders as she started to tremble. Her knees weakened with each firm suck of his lips and rapid flick of his tongue. If he kept going he’d make her come with his mouth alone, but the throbbing ache between her thighs demanded so much more.

“Take this off.” She clawed at his shirt.

In one swift movement, Ethan stepped back and pulled it over his head. When he tossed it aside, she stared in awe at perfection. Every dip of his deeply muscled chest, every valley in his sculpted abdomen, the silken arrow of hair low on his lean hips, it was all there, just like in her fantasy. Where did she start? Before she could make up her mind, Ethan claimed her mouth.

Jasmine ran her hands over his chest, arms, and back. He was strong, solid, and with each pass of her hands over him, strength rippled underneath her palms. As she glided her hands down his taut stomach, he took in a sharp breath and each tiny muscle grew more pronounced under her fingertips. She moved down to unfasten his jeans and struggled to get the zipper past the bulging fabric.

Ethan released a breath that feathered along her temple. “Easy, baby, that’s all me.”

His impressive cock spilled out from the copper vee of his zipper, and a shudder of anticipation made her shake even more. She closed her hand tightly around him, steel wrapped in satiny skin, and all hers for the night.

Breathing out a low curse, Ethan stepped back and hurriedly pushed down his jeans. No waiting. No demands, just a beautiful man ready to deliver what she asked without question.

He reached out and lifted her effortlessly by the hips. “Hold on to me.”

As he headed for the staircase, she grabbed on to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist. Each step he took grazed her aching clit against the heat of his shaft, and she canted her hips up against him searching for relief. Ethan released a husky groan and stumbled over to the side of the staircase. Pressing her back against the wall, he threaded his fingers through her hair and guided her mouth down for a hard kiss that mimicked the thrusting of his hips.

Holding tightly to his shoulders, she wound her legs further around him and matched his rhythm. Each deep press of his hard, thick length caused her beaded nipples to lightly scrape against his chest and her need intensified. She wanted him inside of her so badly it almost hurt. Momentary panic in losing control so completely and desperately wrenched out a sob that escaped into an openmouthed kiss. Ethan took hold of her hips, covered her lips with his, and consumed her next sobbing breath. Her orgasm teased along her senses just out of reach. If she wanted it, she had to let him take there. She had to let go.

Tingles moved up from the bottom of her feet, her legs trembled, and her hips pitched forward. She held on to him, unable to stop her nails from digging into his back or the keening cry that scorched her throat. Ethan tunneled his fingers past the edge of her panties and glided into her clenching sex. Whimpering into his mouth, she shamelessly rode out her climax on his thrusting fingers. When the erotic storm was over, she sagged in the cradle of his arms.

“Damn,” he breathed out.

After he adjusted her boneless weight against him, he carried her up the stairs to his bedroom. Her body still vibrated with aftershocks as he slid her bikinis down her legs, but the glide of his palms up her thighs jolted her body to full awareness.

Ethan kissed her hard and backed her up until she fell onto the bed. He covered her with his big body, and his fully aroused cock pressed into her lower belly. Thoughts of him spearing into her with the primary goal of delivering pleasure made her squirm under him, but aroused as he was, Ethan didn’t hurry. Instead, he leaned in for a long, slow kiss before trailing his lips down her neck to her breasts.

More kisses brushed along her belly to the tattoo of butterflies intertwined with tribal scrolling just above her hip. He nudged her thighs apart, and she widened her legs. Her deep sigh turned into a moan as his talented fingers found the right spot. She clutched the sheets, ruled by the hand pleasuring her in front but dying in anticipation of what was to come.

“Please,” she panted out.

But he continued to drive her mad, replacing his hand with his lapping tongue. Her core grew slick with liquid heat, and she held on for each coveted flick and stroke. Just when she thought she would splinter apart, he moved away for a brief moment, covered his length with a condom, and then sheathed himself slowly inside her inch by glorious inch. His gaze held hers as he rolled his hips, controlling the pace, bringing her close to her peak, and then easing her down only to take her back up again.

Caught in a spin of erotic sensations, she existed only to meet each thrust. She bowed up underneath him, meeting his powerful surges until she was overcome by an orgasm that shattered her from the inside out; every emotion, every feeling and thought, bonded to that moment.

She hung on as he continued longer and harder, seemingly driven by a single-minded mission to give her more of what she wanted…pleasure. His whole body stiffened, and Jasmine felt a violent shudder shake through him at the same time he released a guttural moan. As the warmth of contentment wrapped around her, she held on to him, wanting to capture the feel of his body connected with hers in her mind.

Long moments later, he lifted up his weight and brushed kisses to her throat. “I like your tat.” He traced his fingers over the design on her hip. “What does it mean?”

It took a few seconds for her brain to hear his compliment and then decipher the question. Greg had criticized her for having a tattoo, and she’d always made an effort to keep it covered when they were together. The memory of the day she’d chosen to ink her body came back, and she smiled softly. It was on her twenty-first birthday as part of a birthday dare. It was a road map for what she’d vowed she wanted to experience more of in her life.

“Truth, love, and transformation.”

As she heard herself say the words, a heady excitement bloomed at the thought of starting that journey once again.

Chapter Five

The next morning, Jasmine awoke to soft kisses along the nape of her neck. She kept her eyes closed as flashes from the past night wove into her consciousness along with the scent of freshly brewed heaven. Her mouth suddenly watered for caffeine and more of the gentle caresses that slowly coaxed her awake.

“I brought you coffee.” Ethan brushed another light kiss along her temple. “I’m going for a run, but I’ll be back in forty-five minutes to make you breakfast.”

Breakfast…

The meaning of the word hit her like a slap of ice water, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She was not
that
woman—the one who stayed too long, assumed too much, and got her feelings hurt after exposing herself to the harsh, unforgiving light of morning-after reality. Another hard lesson she’d learned from Greg. Still keeping her eyes closed, she buried her face into the pillow and inhaled the smell of laundry soap and the lingering musk of sex. Lots of really good, hot, sweaty, eyes-rolling-in-the-back-of-her-head sex.

He stroked over the curves of her butt, and her body automatically arched up for more of his touch. Stifling a moan, she mumbled vague words and pretended to be asleep.

He kissed her on the cheek near her ear. “I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

The mattress lifted with the loss of his weight, and a moment later, the bedroom door clicked shut. Jasmine shoved back the covers, fully awake, and scrambled out of the bed.

As she searched the floor for her bra and bikinis, her eyes strayed over to the steaming cup on the bedside table. She’d read in magazine once about the perfect guy being the one who knew just how to make your coffee. No matter how often she’d told Greg what she’d wanted, he’d never gotten it right.

She stared at the cup. How would it taste—too strong, too weak, too sweet?

Giving herself a mental shake, she focused on finding her underwear. What she and Ethan shared last night was the perfect encounter. Why ruin it by letting him come back to find her with bedhead and clumpy mascara eyes, with her bare butt in the air searching for her clothes?

She found her underwear and worked to untangle the lace that had suddenly turned into a set of intricate puzzles in her hands. She managed to put them on without ripping them to shreds, but panic seized her when she couldn’t find her dress. The memory of Ethan taking it off sped up her heart rate and her exit from the bedroom. Pausing on her way down the staircase, she stopped to listen for Mitch in the house. No soft snores, no squeaky beds, no movement from the kitchen, just the waves crashing in the ocean.

As she hurried down to the living room, a part of her felt like Cinderella’s vampy twin running from the prince’s bed at sunrise. She stumbled over her high-heeled sandals next to the gray couch and saw her dress lain out neatly over the cushioned arm near her purse.

Coffee, an offer of breakfast,
and
he’d taken care of her clothes? He wasn’t making this easy.

Dressing quickly in the dawn light, she grabbed her things, and worked to banish the memories of dinner, chocolate dessert, and ecstasy. She also prayed Ethan, or worse, Mitch, wouldn’t walk through the door.

He did bring you coffee…

As she passed by the stairs, guilt and a healthy dose of curiosity nudged at her conscience. Turning back around, she ran up the stairs into the bedroom and hurried over to the bedside table. She picked up the cup and blew away the steam before taking a careful sip.

Damn it.

It was so perfect, if her purse were waterproof, she’d have tossed out everything and filled it with the rich, creamy brew.

Taking one last lingering sip, she set the cup back down on the bedside table and opened her purse. Riffling through the contents, she found a pen and the only piece of paper she could find—the hotel receipt for the chocolate mousse pie. Using the back of it, she scribbled out a note, and then looked it over. Short, cute, but not annoyingly sweet. Leaving it propped against the cup in plain view, she jogged back down the stairs.

Another completed birthday dare to check off her list.

Where was the rush of excitement? Why wasn’t she eager to call Tab?

As she drove away in her rental car, a pang of guilt made her look in her rearview mirror, but she set it aside. He hadn’t wanted her to stay, not really. It was just one night of fantastic sex, nothing more. Before she turned the corner at the end of the block, Jasmine looked back in her rearview one more time, half expecting to see Ethan’s blue-eyed gaze following her retreat.

…

Ethan barely acknowledged the opening of the front door, focusing instead on the early-morning beach view from the kitchen’s picture window. Sweat cooled as he refueled with a protein shake, body still humming with the energy from his workout and his frustration. He looked over his shoulder at Mitch ambling into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and rumpled, in the same pullover and jeans he’d worn last night.

His friend scrubbed his hand down his face and leaned wearily back against the edge of the counter. “How was the run?”

“Fine.” Ethan flicked his eyes over him. “I’d ask how you are, but from the way you look, it was one hell of a night.”

“And morning.” Mitch grimaced as he cautiously rotated his neck and shoulders. “I barely made it home in one piece. That blonde has moves that could put an Olympic gymnast to shame, not to mention the brunette…” He let out a low whistle. “What about you? I got your text message.” He tilted his head toward the stairs and gave him an inquiring look.

Ethan took a long sip from his cup and swallowed. “She’s not here.”

“Too bad, but I’m not surprised though.” Mitch righted himself from leaning on the counter. “She didn’t seem like your usual type.”

Ethan paused with the cup in midair and frowned. “Exactly what do call my type?”

Mitch went over to the refrigerator. He rummaged around inside of it and came back out with an energy drink and the leftover chocolate mousse pie. “I don’t know, one that doesn’t look so”—he frowned as if he had a sour taste in his mouth—”permanent.”

Ethan filtered the word through his mind.

He hadn’t gone into last night with any long-term expectations, but he’d wanted more when he’d awakened that morning. More time to explore Jasmine’s soft curves. More time to find out what else she was addicted to besides chocolate mousse pie. More time to see how many times he could change that teasing little smile on her face into a laugh.

Get over it.

He let out a derisive snort.
You got one night just like you said you wanted.

“No—really. There are certain things we just have to accept,” Mitch said, obviously interpreting his response as part of the conversation.

“Oh yeah, like what?” Ethan turned to look at Mitch. His friend looked like he was about to spout world philosophy instead of his usual grand theories about women.

“There are women, like the blonde and brunette, who clearly make it known it’s about the moment.” Mitch moved the can from right to left, further emphasizing his point. “There are others, like the one you met last night, who have more of that tomorrow, day after, day after that feel.” He pointed at him. “You, my friend, like me and everyone like us, are a man of the moment, and with the jobs we do, we have more than enough good reasons behind it. Look what happened in South America.”

South America.

Ethan released a grim breath as he thought about his friend Dario Ortiz. The fact that he’d left a wife and kid behind only solidified why they shouldn’t get involved in serious relationships, but he also knew from experience. When his father, a Green Beret, hadn’t returned home from a mission, he’d watched his mom fall apart from the loss. It had taken a long time for her to recover.

More memories about what happened six months ago started to fill up his headspace, but he shut them down.

Whatever shit happens on the mission, ends with the mission.

Mitch lifted his shoulders in a loose shrug and continued with his point. “The blonde and brunette love the mystery, but women like the one you almost hooked up with last night want promises. Trust me, if you would have slept with her, she would still be hanging around here waiting for you to offer her a cup of coffee, or worse, trying to cook you breakfast. Next thing you know, you feel obligated to exchange phone numbers, and then you end up feeling like a dick for the next few weeks when you don’t follow through on your promise to call.”

Ethan huffed out a short laugh. “And you’re completely sure about that?” Mitch wouldn’t know how to handle it if he found out Jasmine went against type.

“Absolutely, so congratulations, you’re lucky.” Mitch toasted him with the can. “You dodged another bullet by keeping your distance from that one. Speaking of distance, what time are we rolling out of here?”

“I want to be on the road by fourteen hundred.”

Mitch glanced over at the digital clock on the microwave. “In five hours, huh? Wake me up at noon.” Yawning, he headed for the stairs, carrying the drink and the pie.

Lucky?

Ethan mulled over the word. Mitch was right. He had to keep things in perspective. His encounter with Jasmine last night easily fit into the life he’d chosen, and no matter how good it was, dragging things out with her would have been a huge mistake. He downed the rest of his protein shake in one long swallow. But if he had dodged the proverbial bullet, why did he feel like he’d taken one instead?