Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (21 page)

“Is it too hot?” he asked.

“What?”

“The tea?” He nodded toward the
mug in her hand.  She’d forgotten he’d given it to her.

You’re in big trouble, girl.

He glanced over her shoulder. “I guess
I could always share your bed.”

That broke the spell. “Yeah, right.”
She pushed past him in search of Madame Bovary, her reinforcement. She’d sense
Sandy’s panic and protect her master.

Instead, Sandy found the Madame on
the couch, curled up on The Stripper’s leather jacket, comfortable, at peace
and shedding herself all over his outerwear. It looked like Sandy would be the
one in danger of having her eyes clawed out if she and The Stripper did more
than chat and drink tea.

“You hungry?” She immediately
regretted the question. She hadn’t meant it as a come on.

“I could use something.”

She knew the feeling.
A bucket
of ice over her head?
She escaped into the kitchen. “What have you got a
taste for?” She cringed. Wasn’t there anything she could say that didn’t sound
like a come on?

“What have you got?” He stood in
the doorway, a smile teasing the corner of his lips. She ripped her gaze from
the sexy man crowding her kitchen and opened the freezer.

“Frozen Boca burgers ... chicken
breasts, but they might be hard.”

“Hard breasts, not soft ones?” He
chuckled.

She slammed the freezer door shut.
“That’s it. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?”

“This whole thing.” She waved her
hand across the space between them. “Too hot, too hard, not hard enough,
sleeping with my cat, sleeping with me—”

“I never said anything about
sleeping with you.”

“Yes, you did!” Did she fantasize
that as well, wanting it so badly she heard it with her own ears?

“I said we could share the bed,”
he said. “Meaning you could sleep in it at night and I’d sleep in it during the
day.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Just trying to be a pleasant guest.
Didn’t want to upset the pussy.”

“See! That’s what I mean. You
can’t say stuff like that.”

“I’m joking around,” he said.

“Yeah, well, stop. You’re making
me nuts.”

“Why’s that?” He took a step
closer.

“Because.”

“Because?” He smiled.

“Yeah, just because.”

“Because you like the idea of us
naked, and you shouldn’t?”

She ground her teeth and didn’t
answer. She wasn’t a very good liar.

He fingered her hair and she
cracked, leaning into his touch. How long had it been since someone had touched
her like this? Forever? Cody never touched her like this, never stroked her
hair like he was stroking a skittish kitten. He never talked sexy to her, or
protected her, or held her like a piece of fine crystal.

“You have such beautiful hair,”
Jason whispered.

At that moment, in her kitchen,
she actually believed that her flyaway, crazy hair was beautiful. His
fingertips weaved through her hair and reduced her to mush. She felt his other
hand slide down to the small of her back, offering tender support.

Sandy closed her eyes and tipped
her head to the side, letting the softness of his lips warm her neck with each
delicate kiss. He started at her jaw and worked his way down, a third kiss, a
fourth. She felt him brush aside the material of her blouse. Was she even
wearing clothes? It didn’t feel like it. It felt like she was naked in his
arms, being stroked and cherished.

“Sandra,” he whispered.

How did he know she loved being
called by her full name? Cody never used it. Cody didn’t do a lot of things. He
surely never touched her like this.

Up until today a part of Sandy
believed her own press: either she was a closet lesbian and didn’t know it, or
she was frigid or broken in some way.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he
whispered into her ear. Then he kissed her.

A sweet, gentle kiss, warm with
promise and hot with need. She felt beautiful and sexy, and she lit up like a
neon sign. They were wrong about her: Cody; the guys at work; Pops, who’d once
joked about Sandy wanting to be a boy.

As passion and desire skittered
across her nerve endings, Sandy knew she was okay. 

A tear trailed down her cheek.

Jason broke the kiss and studied
her, panic coloring his eyes. “Damn.” He brushed a tear off her cheek. “What
have I done?”

“What have you done? Nothing yet,”
she said. “But I wish you would.” She smiled and ran her tongue across her
bottom lip, as if still tasting him there.

Jason never felt dirtier in his
life. His breath caught at the sight of her green eyes, wet with tears, crying
out to him, pleading with him.

“I’m a son of a bitch.” He started
to step back, but she gripped his arms with such force for a little thing.

“No,” she said. “It’s okay. It’s
what I want.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

He wished she would have stabbed
him in the heart. A sick bastard, that’s what he was, using her, manipulating
her so she’d confess her sins. No sin was worse than manipulating someone you
cared about, and he was starting to care about her. More than he should.

Damn, he needed to be reassigned.

“It’s okay.” She squeezed his hand
between hers.

“But you’re crying,” he said, his
gut tied in knots.

“I’m crying because I’m happy.”

He felt like a complete bastard.
He was making her happy by using her?

“Damn it.” He pulled free and
paced into the living room.

“What’s the problem?” she asked,
following him.

“This isn’t right.”

“Is it,” she hesitated, “me?”

Before he could form a coherent
thought, he closed the distance between them and pulled her close. “No, honey,
it’s nothing like that.”

They rocked for a few minutes and
he held her away from him to look into her eyes. “You’re sexy and cute—hotter
than any woman I’ve ever touched.” That hopeful look in her eyes tore him
apart. “I just can’t do this to you.”

“Do what?”

“Hurt you.”

“It’s not like I haven’t had sex
before,” she joked.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Jason—”

“You know nothing about me. You
have no idea what I’ve done or who I’ve hurt.”

“You won’t hurt me,” she said.

“Wanna bet?”

“It’s one night out of a million
nights. You and me and the stars on my bedroom ceiling. This isn’t about
commitment and marriage.” She shuddered, and something broke inside of him.
“Don’t stop now, Jason. Not when I finally feel something.”

Feel something? She wasn’t going
to be able to bear the pain she’d be feeling in another month, pain from being
betrayed by a man who’d violated the most intimate part of her.

“Sweetheart.” He tipped her chin
to look into her eyes.

Look into her eyes when you
tell her you’re going to rip her heart out. Look into her eyes when you tell
her the truth
.

God, was he going to tell her the
truth? Now? And blow it all to hell?

“Sandy, I need to tell you
something.”

She placed her fingers to his
lips—sweet, warm fingers that he wanted to taste, to feel on his body. He closed
his eyes, his body coming alive, while his conscience whipped his back raw.

You selfish bastard. Just like
the old man
.

“Don’t say anything,” she
whispered. “Do this for me.”

She took his hand and led him into
the bedroom, a room in which he was sure no other man had made love to her.
Probably not even Cody Monroe.

“I need you to do this for me. A
freebie, a one-night stand,” she said. “Think of it as me using you, if that
makes you feel better.”

It didn’t. She could say it was
only sex, but that was a lie, especially for a nice girl like Sandy, a nice
girl who was a prime suspect in this case.

You do what you gotta do.
Chauncy’s words. Had he truly forgiven J for leaving him behind?

“Trust me,” Sandy said.

Jason’s least favorite expression
in the English language.

“You’re not doing anything
dishonorable,” she continued. “Let me have this one night.”

She clicked off her bedroom light,
plunging them into darkness except for the twinkle of stars on her ceiling. She
shut the bedroom door. “We don’t want the Madame to get jealous.”

She was trying to keep it light,
but tension arced between them.

“Sit.” She motioned to the bed and
he followed her order.

He’d play along, finish this part
of his nasty assignment to get closer to the woman and expose her secrets. But
making love to her wouldn’t be nasty. On the contrary…

She climbed onto the bed behind
him and massaged his shoulders. His neck muscles uncoiled and his arm muscles
relaxed all the way to his fingertips.

“I’ll take care of you,” she
whispered into his ear. “Then you’ll take care of me.”

She kneaded his shoulders while
kissing his neck, the feeling both erotic and relaxing. Running her fingers
down his spine, then up again, she nuzzled the back of his neck, licking and
kissing, breathing warmth onto his skin. He thought he’d go mad. Then she
pulled his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers grazed his skin
and he ground his teeth against the tender touch.

With her hands splayed against his
skin, she pulled his shirt up and off, tossing it across the room. Her fingers
trailed down, lower, and unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants. She coaxed him
back against the featherbed. Her fingers reached lower, below his waistband,
over his boxers.

And all he could do was lay there,
arms spread across her bed, letting her do whatever she wanted. His conscience
wouldn’t let him do anything else. Only a true bastard would take the lead in
this situation.

Her warm, wet tongue kissed his
neck over and over again, her hand sliding beneath the silk material of his
boxers, touching him, bringing him to life.

“You’re so sexy,” she whispered
into his ear.

He lost it and ripped her shirt
clean off her body. She didn’t look surprised, or scared.  She looked determined.
And so was he. He was determined to get a taste of her sweet breasts, to sheath
himself inside of her, deep, and for as long as possible.

She must have read it in his eyes,
because she snapped off her bra, exposing the most amazing pair of breasts. He
leaned forward, licking the tips like frosting off a cake. But he couldn’t get
enough of them, couldn’t get good access, so he flipped her over, pinning her
beneath him, licking her and enjoying her squeaks and moans.

He kicked off his jeans and
straddled her, sucking on her breast, grunting as he pushed her sweatpants down
and over her hips. Her mound of femininity grew warm and hot at the touch of
his fingers.

“Oh God, Jason.”

He was anything but a god. He was
the devil masquerading as someone who cared, the devil who was about to screw
her brains out.

She slid off his boxers, and with
a squeak she pushed him away from her breasts.

“Damn, I was hurting you?” he
rasped.

“Kiss me on the lips,” she
pleaded.

The most intimate place to kiss a
woman. She demanded a face-to-face, emotional connection she just claimed she
didn’t want. He was a goner.

“You sure?” he asked.

With a nod she pulled him close, the
gentle connection of their lips spiking his blood pressure. Warmth, innocence
and goodness seeped through her mouth into his soul, shaming him for stealing
such a treasure from this girl and using her like this.

But she was using him, right?

Don’t bullshit yourself, McBain
.
He had to be honest with himself even if he couldn’t be honest with the rest of
the world.

Her tongue touched and flirted
with his, and he knew any control he’d been holding on to had dissolved into a
puddle of need.

Suddenly she broke the kiss.
“Wait,” she said, barely breathing.

Hell, he was crushing her. He
pushed away and she grabbed hold of him.

“Don’t even move,” she ordered.

How could he, with her hand
squeezing him like that?

Hard and throbbing, he ached to
release his soul into her, leaving a part of himself, claiming her in a way no
other man could.

Because she was unbelievably hot
and turned on and only Jason could do this for her. She’d said so herself.

Don’t stop now. Not when I
finally feel something
.

He understood. She’d been accused
of being frigid, and somehow he was the one chosen to break the spell.

She grabbed something from the
nightstand, a condom. Shame curled his gut. He should have been prepared.
Instead, he’d nearly had unsafe sex. Hell, like having sex with this woman
could be safe in any way?

Regardless, he’d been caught with
his guard down, almost did the unthinkable by having sex without protection.
How could this have happened?

Simple. He couldn’t think straight
with her body so close to his, naked and wanting.

“Wait,” he said, touching her hand
as she slid the protection in place. “You’re sure?”

She smiled, flipped him onto his
back and arched against him. In that one swift motion he was inside of her, not
because he put himself there, but because she consumed him with her body, her
breasts taunting him, her legs squeezing and pinning him right where she needed
him.

“What…are you,” she breathed,
pushing forward, slowly, “afraid of?”

Afraid? Him?

“You want this?” he asked. He
thrust once, twice.

She moaned and leaned forward
enough for him to grab a nipple between his teeth. He pinched down, she moaned,
and shame coursed through him. He knew no other way of screwing a woman: hard,
fast and frenzied.

Screw her? More like hurt her
because that’s what he was good at.