The Fantasy Factor (6 page)

Because he wasn’t trying to deny the attraction between them. He didn’t have to. To everyone he was the same old Houston. Hot, hunky, wild. She was different. She had an image to uphold.

“There was a picture and everything,” she continued. “They had to call an ambulance. Speaking of which, the fire department added three new ambulances. The chamber of commerce had a car wash to help raise money for them. We made more than four hundred dollars. The high school band had a car wash, too, last week. I didn’t have a car, but I went by and gave them five bucks, anyway….”

She rattled on for the next twenty minutes about anything and everything, determined to distract herself and keep from reaching out and kissing him.

She could. But she wouldn’t let herself. And that was the damned trouble of it all. The push-pull. She kept pushing the need away, but it kept coming back. Stronger. More fierce.

By the time they reached the nursery, she was ready to scream. She scrambled out.

“It’s not going to stop.”

“I know it’s not. Thanks to you. You heard Mr. Jenkins. He’s already told all of his friends, and they’ve probably told their friends, and now everyone will be wanting me to deliver their purchases.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

But she already knew that. He was talking about the chemistry between them. The heat.

“I can’t forget and you can’t forget and it’ll never change unless we do something about it.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head, but there was none of the dead certainty that she should have felt.

“I want to sleep at night and I’m sure you do, too. And it’s not happening right now. I keep thinking about you. About us. About the Sexiest Seven.”

“What makes you so sure that I don’t sleep like a baby?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Do you?”

Yes. No. Don’t I wish. The answers rolled through her head, but none of them quite made it to her tongue. She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I really need to go.” She started to shut the door, but he slid over and reached out, his hand holding the door open.

“You need me,” he told her. “And I need you. Admit it and let’s do something about it. Just admit it, Belle. Tell me what you want.”

But she didn’t want to think about what she wanted. She shouldn’t think about it because she shouldn’t do anything about it, because she shouldn’t risk blowing her cover.

Then again, she’d almost blown everything already. With the kiss at the reception. With the kiss yesterday.

Because she couldn’t forget the first three of the Sexiest Seven, and she couldn’t stop wondering about the last four. About what it would feel like to step into the shower with him, or to kiss and touch in a public place, or to stroke him in a darkened movie theater, or to come apart in his arms in the close confines of an elevator with the world only a doorway away.

It was those fantasies that had driven her to kiss him those two times, and those fantasies that would drive her over the edge and possibly ruin everything if she didn’t do something about them.

If she didn’t turn each erotic dream into reality and regain her perspective.

The real thing wouldn’t be as good, as consuming, as powerful. It couldn’t be. It was the whole fantasy factor that was driving her over the edge.

And it wouldn’t stop pushing and tempting until she stopped running and hiding.

Until she finally admitted what she really wanted.

“I
WANT SEX
,” S
ARAH BLURTED
into Houston’s ear.

It was later that evening and he had just rolled over in bed to pick up the receiver after several rings.

“Sarah?”

“Yes. It’s me and I want it.”

“Hold on a second.” He sat upright and threw his legs over the side of the mattress. He’d been stretched out on the small bed in the last available room of Cadillac’s only bed-and-breakfast—there was a quilting convention going on at the local community center. He could have gone to one of the motels up the highway, or stayed at his brother Austin’s place—Austin was single, though currently looking for a wife to satisfy Miss Marshalyn and win her land—but Houston had only intended on spending one night and he hadn’t wanted to impose on Austin. Even more, when he’d decided to stay, he hadn’t figured on spending so much time in his room. Tossing and turning. Fantasizing. Wanting.

He’d anticipated spending his nights, and any other free time, burning up the sheets and sating his lust with Sarah.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been of the same mind.

Until now.

“You want to have sex,” he said, just to make sure he’d heard her correctly and this wasn’t just an extension of the very erotic dream he’d been having.

“Not plain old sex. I want to finish the Sexiest Seven. The shower, the movie theater, the public rest room and the elevator.” Silence followed before she added, “Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“I thought for a second you’d hung up on me.”

“I’m hung up on you, all right, Belle, but the hanging in question has nothing to do with the phone and everything to do with me and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.”

“It’s unfinished business,” she said, and he knew she felt the same heat burning her up from the inside out. “Once we finish, things will get back to normal.”

“Which means we should get started right away.” His body throbbed at the prospect.

“We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll call you and we’ll decide on a time and place.” The phone clicked before he could reply.

Tomorrow.

She’d finally come to her senses. The knowledge sent a swell of relief through him. No more fantasizing about her. He was going to have the real thing again. He smiled at the thought as he stretched back out on the bed and closed his eyes. And remembered.

He could still see the beautiful picture she’d made naked and ready and bathed in moonlight. He could still hear the trickle of water and the buzz of insects and her soft moans as he’d slid deep inside her. He could still smell the intoxicating mix of fresh water and flowery perfume and wild female.

Tomorrow?

The heat burning between them had obviously burned up all of her common sense. There was no way Houston would make it through another hour without her, much less an entire night.

If she wanted to finish the Sexiest Seven with him, he would be more than accommodating. But they weren’t waiting until tomorrow. He wanted her and she wanted him and they’d both admitted as much. As far as he was concerned, there was no better time than the present.

“Number four, here we come.”

S
ARAH BARELY RESISTED
the urge to snatch up the telephone, dial Houston’s number again and beg him to come over right now.

She had neighbors, and the last thing, the very last thing, she needed was for anyone to see Houston Jericho coming over late at night.

If she was going to do this—and she was—she intended to keep everything far removed from the life she’d created over the past twelve years. That meant picking a time and place where she wouldn’t be recognized and there would be no threat to her carefully built image.

That meant starting with a shower in some motel or bed-and-breakfast in a far-off town where no one could possibly know her identity. Then she could start living out the final four, and gaining some perspective on the fantasies that had consumed her since Houston had rolled back into town.

She punched the Play button on her VCR and fast-forwarded to part four of
The Fantasy Factor: Sexiest Seven Places to Do It.

The cheesy background music started, along with a brief narrative on the exciting aspects of showering with your mate.

The man peeled off his slacks and underwear, and Sarah wondered if anyone had ever died of sexual frustration.

She watched the man step into the shower and come up behind his partner. Heat coiled in Sarah’s belly as he reached for the soap and rubbed the bar between his hands.

He lathered the woman’s back, her shoulders, the camera at such a close angle that the only thing visible was the glide of tanned fingertips over pale white flesh.

The video—which she’d ordered from a Naughty Nights catalog she’d come across during a floral convention in Austin—wasn’t the least bit graphic when it came to body parts. The camera revealed nothing below the waist, which was why the classic video had been offered along with the newest line of sexy but tasteful scented lingerie. The manufacturer had set up a booth alongside myriad florists and nursery owners to introduce their new line. They had yellow baby doll nightgowns that smelled like daisies. Purple thongs that smelled like violets. A white lace honeymoon nightie that smelled like lilies. A racy red camisole that smelled like roses.

When Sarah had spotted the blast from her past, she hadn’t been able to resist. She’d ordered a copy and she’d watched it a time or two. And she’d remembered. And fantasized.

Just the way she was doing right now.

Her skin prickled. Heat pulsed through her. She wished more than anything that she had a man’s hands on her, slicking over her skin, soaping and teasing her nipples, slipping between her legs….

Tomorrow night?

She was insane and desperate and seriously doubtful she could survive the rest of the video much less a full twenty-four hours without sating the sexual frustration coiling inside her. She needed a man in the worst way.

But not just any man.

Of all the men she’d known in that short but busy bad-girl period of her life, Houston Jericho was the only one who lingered in her memory.

He was also the only one she’d ever made a pact with, and since Sarah had always been one to finish what she started, it only stood to reason that she would still think about him. Fantasize about him. Want him.

Not for long. Tomorrow night she would start to find her closure and then she could bury the bad girl she’d been once and for all.

Until then…

A woman’s soft moan slid into Sarah’s ears and prickled the hair on the nape of her neck. She watched as the couple kissed, open mouths pressed together, tongues darting in and out…

She needed a shower, all right. A cold shower.

She punched the Stop button on the remote and pushed to her feet. A few seconds later, she reached the bathroom. The quick turn of a knob and a blast of cool relief erupted from the showerhead. After peeling off her clothes, she stepped into the claw foot tub and pulled the curtain back into place.

Water pelted her, running in rivulets over her heated flesh. She turned her face toward the spray and tried to clear her head. She needed to calm down and relax, otherwise she would never get any sleep.

And she had to sleep. She had a full day tomorrow at the nursery, not to mention even more deliveries scheduled, thanks to Houston and his interference.

His name stuck in her head and brought to mind all sorts of lustful thoughts. Of herself naked and panting and on her back, Houston between her legs, plunging into her and driving them both toward wild and crazy orgasms.

She shook away the notion, reached for the bar of soap and concentrated on lathering her hands. The feel of wet, slick soap made her palms tingle as she swirled the bar in her hands and bubbles squeezed between her fingers. She slid the soap back into the tray and ran her soapy hands up and down her throat, over her shoulders. But she didn’t feel her own fingertips, she felt his. Trailing over her skin, circling her nipples, grasping the ripe nubs and twisting until she felt the pull of desire between her legs.

Her hands stilled and she drew a deep, steadying breath.

She wasn’t doing this. She’d promised herself a long time ago that she wouldn’t give in to her impulses, and she wasn’t going to start now.

She reached for the shampoo bottle. It was tall and cool between her fingertips.
Cool,
as in the opposite of hot. If she could just focus on the sensation, she could forget the heat burning her up from the inside out.

She popped the push-up lid and was about to squirt the creamy liquid into her palm when the hard, smooth plastic brushed the ripe tip of her nipple. Electricity spiraled through her body and her nerves hummed.

She wasn’t going to do it.

That’s what she told herself, but her hands seemed to have a mind of their own. Her fingertips slid around the bottle, circling and grasping as she rasped the edge back and forth against her nipple. The cool hardness was a stark contrast to her soft, heated skin, and sensation spiraled through her. She played with the ripe greedy nub a few more heart-pounding seconds before touching the edge to her other nipple. It sprang to life at the contact, as greedy as its twin for a little attention.

She couldn’t help herself. It felt so good and it had been so long. The edge of the bottle slid down, following the underside of her breast, the sensitive skin of her belly. The hard coolness trailed over her belly button and lower until she reached the vee between her legs.

Hunger spurted through her when she felt the edge of the bottle ruffle the soft curls that covered her mound. The sensation moved lower still. The hard, cool edge teased the slick folds and rasped over her clitoris. Her lips parted on a gasp and her knees trembled. She reached for the shower curtain to steady herself, but no sooner had she grasped the fabric than it was tugged from her hands. The rings rattled over the shower bar as the curtain slid to the side.

He looked as if he’d stepped straight out of her most erotic thoughts. He was naked from the waist up, his broad, powerful chest covered with a sprinkling of whiskey-colored hair. Muscles rippled as he reached for the button of his worn jeans. The fastening slid free, the zipper hissed and the material sagged on his hips for a split second before he grasped the edge of his white briefs and slid both the underwear and jeans down and stepped free.

His penis was hard and thick, the base surrounded by a swirl of gold hair that provided a stark contrast against his tanned skin. The same hair sprinkled his hard, muscular legs.