Bad in Bed (13 page)

He wanted to show her, convince her, make her
realise what a special, amazing, sexy woman she was. Maybe she needed to
realize she was
some woman
, too.

And shit, he was getting touchy-feely again.

He punched in her number and hoped to hell this
whole thing wasn’t about to backfire and shoot him in the ass.

* * * *

Several times that day Amber had considered firing
Ethan a text, but each time she looked at his number she couldn’t help but
remember what an idiot she’d made of herself the night before. It was
mortifying enough to hear those women tattling about her, but then to let it
affect her so badly that she’d bypassed the opportunity to have Ethan next to
her when she woke that morning.

Hadn’t he told her, shown her in so many ways
just how sexy and attractive she was to him? Why couldn’t she believe him? Why
couldn’t she accept what she knew to be true and what Ethan had confirmed? That
Trevor was a major dickhead and didn’t know his way around a woman’s body well
enough to give her an orgasm.

She smiled recalling how vehement Ethan looked
when he’d told her that Trevor was the problem, not her. She wanted to believe
it, and at some level she did. She was learning to believe it. With Ethan’s
every touch, every kiss, she was learning to believe it.

Then last night, up until that moment with the
women outside Ethan’s SUV, she’d been having such a fabulous evening. Sitting
between Ethan and Marco, she’d felt as if she were the most desirable woman in
the bar. Until, of course, Ethan had burst her little fantasy by telling her
that Marco was simply trying to irritate him.

Since she was falling for Ethan, she hadn’t
really minded. Yet what had she done at the first opportunity? Shoved Ethan off
home as if what those women had said had been his fault. He hadn’t looked too
happy about it and now she wondered if she’d blown it. Had he even cared that
she hadn’t called him?

If nothing else it was time to stop letting the
past dictate her future. She was not allowing Trevor and his accusations into
her psyche any longer. Ethan mattered to her more than any claims made by a man
not worthy of consideration. The last thing she wanted was to risk losing Ethan
because of her stupid fears and insecurities.

She hoped it wasn’t too late.

Staring down at her cell phone, she pulled up the
screen displaying Ethan’s name and number, then took a deep breath and mentally
rehearsed her words once more. She would invite him to supper at her flat and
ask him to spend the night. During the evening she would throw all her
inhibitions to the wind, show him that she no longer let her insecurities
dominate her actions. She would treat Ethan to a night of such debauched,
no-holds-barred sex, the man would wonder what hit him. She owed him that, owed
him a huge part of her new found confidence, seeing as he’d been pivotal in jump
starting her journey toward it.

She jerked when the phone rang in her hand,
then gave a nervous laugh as she looked down at the caller ID. Ethan. Her heart
tripped. “Hi.”

“You never called.”

She smiled at his lack of preamble, loving how
he always seemed to get right to the point.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” There was no hint of annoyance in his
voice, which gave her confidence to get right to the point herself. “My brood
lasted a bit longer than anticipated, but I’m fine now. I’m sorry I didn’t
call.”

“I want to see you tonight.”

She chuckled. “That was going to be my line.”

The line went silent for a few moments. “How
about Papa Niko’s. It’s cocktail night and Marco’s on duty helping out his
uncle. He makes a mean margarita.”

“Can’t imagine Marco mixing cocktails. He’s too
much of a beer man. Like you.”

“Doesn’t drink what he mixes. He leaves that to
the customers.”

“It sounds like fun.” Ethan remained silent
again, giving Amber the distinct feeling something was amiss. She hoped to
heaven it wasn’t because of the way she’d acted the previous night. That he
wasn’t growing tired of her insecurities and was having second thoughts about the
two of them. “Are you okay, Ethan?”

“Sure. It’s been a long day.”

His tone didn’t exactly allay her fears that
something was wrong. She gathered her courage and drew in a breath. “I’ll get Marco
to fix you a special cocktail, seeing as you’ll be needing your energy for what
I have in mind later.”
 

He didn’t respond to her statement. No witty
response, no groan of approval, no bloody indication at all that he concurred
with her plans. Instead, his tone was flat and circumspect as he said, “I’ll
swing by for you about eight.”

Despite experiencing a bolt of unease, Amber wasn’t
about to start down the road to insecurity again. “I’m calling in on my parents
for tea. I’ll meet you there.”

With little more than a grunt, Ethan disengaged.

Amber rose from her desk and walked to her
office window where she could just about glimpse the sea. Had Ethan lost
interest? She hoped not, she really did. She wanted more—of him, of them. She
wanted that night of debauched, no-holds-barred sex. Damn and blast. She wanted
that more than she wanted her next breath.

She needed it. If only to prove to herself that
she could be the
femme fatal
, the
woman who could drive a man to lose his head, who could give out so much
passion it could make a man lightheaded. She wanted to enjoy her sexuality,
explore it, and shake off forever these ridiculous feelings of inadequacy and
failure.

She wanted it for herself. And she wanted it
for Ethan. It felt like she owed him that. He’d given her so much. She wanted
to give back to him. Even if it was to be their swan song, she wanted it.

It was long past time to break free from the
restraints, perhaps self-imposed, that she’d allowed to encompass her body, her
mind, her heart. Ethan had given her a gift, the chance to explore her own body
and the intense pleasure she was capable of giving and receiving. Through his
eyes, his touch, she had learned to embrace her own sexuality. Now it was her
turn to pick up the baton and run with it.

Chapter Nine

As usual, Papa Niko’s was rocking. The early
evening drinkers had cleared out to make way for the night clientele. A little
early, Amber walked into the bar, her gaze searching out Ethan.

Since she couldn’t see him, she headed to where
Marco mixed cocktails and flirted with a group of women. His accent appeared
thicker as he went through what seemed a perfectly rehearsed spiel regarding
the ingredients of the cocktail.

Amber hiked her thigh-length skirt and hopped
up onto a bar stool, smiling as she lay her bag on the countertop and settled
in to watch Marco in action.

Ridiculously handsome, his chocolate eyes
glinted with mischief and sex as he all but purred at his female audience. One
glance at the women indicated it was more than the cocktail which held their
attention. One toyed with her hair, another slowly stroked her arm, while
another fingered the strap of her dress. Without exception, their gazes fixed
on the gorgeous bartender, eyelids all but fluttering.

Cocktails mixed, he turned and saw Amber. After
an unsettling few seconds, where his eyes seemed to darken as he let his gaze
stroll leisurely over her, he raised his hand in acknowledgement.

Amber returned the gesture, offering him what
she hoped was a friendly smile. Were it not for Ethan, she could be hopelessly
attracted to Marco.

While his adoring fans continued to watch him
as they sipped their cocktails, Marco sauntered across the bar toward her. He
leaned his elbows on the counter until his mouth was mere inches from hers. “
Ciao, bella.
”

“Hi.” She drew back a little, aware the group
of women was probably lining up the poisoned arrows to shoot in her direction.
“Have you seen Ethan?”

Theatrically, he placed his hand on his heart
and looked shattered. “You bring me to my knees and yet your thoughts are of
another man.”

With a wry smile, Amber shook her head. “You
are so full of it. You had every one of those women salivating.”

He took her hand, held her gaze with the
deepest brown eyes framed by a dark slash of eyebrows, and then drew her
fingers to his lips. “Tonight,
bella
.
The only woman for me, is you.”

He looked so intense, so serious that for a
moment Amber actually believed him. But then she remembered Ethan’s warning the
night before and gave him a reproachful smile. “You’re only winding Ethan up,
and he’s supposed to be your friend.”

“More like a brother.” He ran his thumb across
her knuckles, slow and seductive, holding her gaze with his hooded eyes. “A
brother who shares,
bella mia
.”

When Amber tried to draw her hand away, he
tightened his grip. If she wasn’t careful, she’d actually start believing his
flirting had less to do with provoking Ethan and that he really was interested
in her.
A brother who shares
. That
damn threesome again. Was it some sort of needle thing between the two men? Did
they use it to amuse themselves, to goad each other? Well, she wasn’t about to
be dragged into their juvenile games.

She raised her chin and put some steel into her
voice. “How about mixing me one of those cocktails while I wait for Ethan?”

Her stomach fluttered as his eyes turned
flinty, her cheeks reddening beneath his forceful gaze. She tore her attention
from those eyes and settled it on the tiny silver loop in his left earlobe.
Silky dark hair teased the collar of his black shirt, making her fingers itch
to smooth it back.

How would all that dark silk feel sliding
through her hands? Ethan’s hair was short, cut close to his head, and she loved
running her hands over it. But Marco’s?

Hell. She wished Ethan would hurry up and
arrive.

“What would you like?” Marco’s mouth kicked up
at the corners, indicating he wasn’t necessarily referring to the drink.
“Tonight, your wish is my every command.”

“Why don’t you make her a margarita?” Ethan
slipped onto the stool beside her. “And leave out the bullshit.” He gave Marco
a considering look, then turned to face Amber. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She leaned into his kiss, thankful that
he’d arrived. She’d almost fallen for Marco’s ‘bullshit’ again, and since he’d
obviously seen Ethan arrive she realized his silky words were for Ethan’s
benefit not hers.

“Let’s find a table.” Pointedly, Ethan looked
down at the hand Marco still had covering Amber’s, but he didn’t look angry as
he had the night before when Marco had done the same. This time he seemed to
accept it. “Have our drinks brought over.”

“Will do.”

At the look that passed between the men, Amber
had the troubling feeling there was something going on that again she didn’t
have the first clue about.

As Ethan led her across the floor she felt
Marco’s gaze on her. When they found a table she glanced back, but Marco was
busy at the opposite end of the bar.

“He’s acting a little weird tonight.”

Ethan put his arm around her shoulders. “He
acts weird every night.”

Amber shook her head. “No, I mean, he keeps
making cryptic comments, like I should be in on the joke but he knows I’m not.”

“Ignore him.”

A man like Marco could never be ignored. Nor
could a man like Ethan, and as his free hand strayed to her bare knee, she felt
a whip of pleasure right up the inside of her thigh to her groin. She smiled as
she settled into Ethan’s embrace. It seemed he was okay.
They
were okay. Perhaps he really had been tired when he’d called
but had now revived. All her fears, it seemed, had been unfounded.

His fingers brushed over her knee, sending
whorls of erotic anticipation right to her core. She was already wet and he’d
barely touched her. She wanted to squirm in her seat, especially when he looked
at her as if he wanted to lay her across the table in front of them and fuck
the hell out of her right there and then.

Instantly, she realized that such thoughts were
not conducive to keeping her from squirming. The elbow-length sleeved top she
wore suddenly felt too tight, too constricting around her breasts. She wasn’t
wearing a bra, mindful that Ethan liked easy access, and her nipples grazed
against the soft cotton of her top as if it were the roughest material
imaginable.

When Ethan’s hand slipped higher up her thigh,
Amber took a quick survey of the immediate vicinity. Thankfully everyone seemed
oblivious to Ethan’s wandering hand.

Everyone, except her.

She kept her eyes on his, noting how the blue
deepened to almost black as his eyelids grew heavy. His fingers danced along
her mid thigh, moving dangerously in the direction of her miniscule lace thong.

Her own eyes grew heavy as her breathing
started to catch. “I’d hate for you to start something we can’t finish.”