Secrets of a Shy Socialite (11 page)

“Whoa!” He held up both hands. “Stop with the crazy talk.”
Justin Rangore had never as in N*E*V*E*R*E*V*E*R* been unable to get it up for a
woman.

But this wasn’t only about him. He hadn’t missed the genuine
concern in Jena’s voice. Thankful for the benefit of standing under a large
outdoor lighting fixture, he looked down into the beautiful blue eyes looking up
at him, worried, vulnerable, searching for reassurance.

And he gave it to her. “Honey.” He took her cold hands in his.
“I have been craving you since this morning, fantasizing about you, counting the
minutes until I could be with you. There is no way you could disappoint me.”

“Sometimes,” she turned her head away. “When we want something
so much we dream about it and yearn for it and fantasize what it’ll be like, we
set unrealistically high expectations for how amazing it’ll be. And when it
isn’t, the disappointment is so much worse than never having it at all.”

Pow! A verbal uppercut to the diaphragm. Quite painful,
actually.
He’d
disappointed
her
, had been in too much of a rush. An experienced woman knew how
to find her pleasure. Had the confidence to ask for it and convey her likes and
wants. An inexperienced woman needed to be shown her options, taught the
possibilities, and encouraged to vocalize her desires.

The teacherly aspect turned out to be a pretty big turn on, as
was her honesty and trusting him enough to share her concern. It made him
determined to do better. To prove his attraction to
her
. To give her the spectacular night of loving she deserved. A
night to remember. Always. No matter what happened in the morning.

He pulled her close, lifted her chin, and set his lips to hers.
“Neither one of us will be disappointed tonight.” He kissed her again. “I
promise.”

He stepped back and held out his hand, palm up in invitation.
And waited.

With a small smile she placed her hand in his. Trusting him.
Believing in him. No gesture ever meant more.

In the lobby Brandon, the concierge, waved and called out, “Hi,
Jaci. Hi, Justin.”

Without hesitation Jena smiled and waved. “Hi, Brandon. How’s
your mom feeling?”

“Much better,” he said. “Thanks for asking.”

Justin saw the man every day and had never once discussed his
mother. He doubted Jaci had either. “Why didn’t you correct him?”

Jena pushed the up arrow at the elevators and shrugged. “It’s
easier not to. I’m the shy twin. The quiet twin. The smart and obedient twin.
Jaci’s fun and friendly and popular. I don’t mind people thinking I’m her.” She
glanced up with sad eyes. “Usually.” Then she looked down at her feet. “Anyway,
I’m tired of always being the good twin.”

In the elevator Justin said, “I bet if you’d give people the
chance to get to know you they’d find you’re friendly and they’d like you, too.”
He pushed her up against the metallic coated wall. “Take me for instance.” He
bent to tongue her ear. “I like you.”

She trembled.

“I like you, too,” she said quietly.

He picked her up at the back of her thighs, wrapping her legs
around his hips so he could rub his hardon between her legs, to show her how
much he liked her. “And if you’re looking to let your bad girl out for a little
play time, you have come to the right place.”

He rocked his hips.

She let out a breath and dropped her forehead to his shoulder.
“Lord help me, being bad feels so good.”

“Baby you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

CHAPTER SIX

W
ITH
a ping the elevator doors opened. And rather than put her down, Justin took a step. Like he planned to exit with her wrapped around him like a tree-hugging coconut-picker. With a total disregard for who might see them. “Put me down.” She tried to wiggle free, wasted energy when a man as strong as Justin wasn’t on board with the put-me-down plan. “Seriously,” she said. “My burgeoning bad girl isn’t ready for public displays.” And probably never would be.

He loosened his arms just enough for her to shimmy down over that very prominent, very hard, very male, very dream-worthy part of him. “Behind-closed-doors-bad-girl works for me, too,” he said with a wink. Then he walked out of the elevator, looked back over his shoulder, and flashed her a cocky but oh-so-sexy follow-me-for-a-good-time smile. So handsome and confident.

And follow him she did, but not before the elevator doors started to close. Shoot. She darted in between them and, not wanting to come off overly eager or desperate to feel his hands on her, even though she was, she walked at a moderate pace until she reached his side. He set his heavy arm across her shoulders and pulled her close.

An act of possession? Protection? Preventing escape?

It didn’t matter. She liked it.

Inside his condo, without even taking the time to turn on the lights, he slammed the door closed and gave her More—with a capital M. Again he lifted her feet from the floor. Again he pressed her back to the wall and positioned his hips between her wide open thighs, pressing and rubbing where she wanted pressing and rubbing the most. Only he added a wet, aggressive, breath-stealing, tongue-probing, passion-inducing kiss that had her twisting her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth even closer, and grinding against him like some uninhibited, lust-crazed, sex fiend.

Apparently her inner bad girl didn’t require much coaxing to come out in Justin’s presence.

He pulled back, breathing heavy. “My, God, Jena. You feel so good. I’m having a hard time controlling myself.”

My, God, Jena. You feel so good
. Jena. Not Jaci. Justin admitted having a hard time controlling himself because of Jena. The only thing that could have improved that moment was if she’d had the wherewithal to record his statement for future listening pleasure.

He rested his forehead on hers. “If we don’t slow it down I’m going to take you right here, right now. Just. Like. This.” He punctuated each of his final three words with a delicious thrust of his hips. More promise than threat.

She wanted to yell, “Do it! Let passion take over. Give in to your urgent need to take me hard and fast like you’ll die if you don’t.” Like she’d seen time after time in the romantic movies she watched in the quiet loneliness of her bedroom, wishing to be the recipient of rip-your-clothes-off, got-to-have-you-now, can’t-wait-the-time-it’d-take-to-get-to-the-bedroom desire at least once in her life. And since this particular moment in time might turn out to be her last chance to experience it, Jena quietly said, “That’d be okay.”

He let out a breath. “I am barely holding it together, Jena. Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” She needed him. So bad. Tonight. Now.

He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

“This.”

He chuckled. “In detail. I want to make tonight special for you. Tell me what you want.” He blew out a puff of hot air and tongued the inner rim of her ear, setting off waves of lust throughout her body. At the same time he set his hand on her breast, teasing her nipple into a tight, aroused peak. Between her legs, the entrance to her body throbbed with its yearning to be filled by him.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please, what?” he asked seductively, his lips tickling her ear as he spoke, his hand moving to her other breast.

“Please, don’t make me ask. You know what I want. What I need.” Normally, Jena would have left it at that and whatever happened, happened. However, seemed her bad girl wasn’t taking any chances and Jena found herself turning toward his ear, and, with the same hot puff of breath he gave her, demanding, in the most demure voice she could muster, “Now strip me naked and give it to me.” As if someone else had taken control of her body her hips rocked along his erection in three long slow strokes. “Just. Like. This.”

Through the thin fabric of her scrub pants and lace panties his hard heat warmed and aroused her. Bring her higher. Making her ache. “I need—”

“I know what you need, honey.”

Evidently somewhere between direction and perception some pertinent information got lost because he lowered her to a standing position which was not at all what she needed. Yet her words of protest got sucked down her throat on a gasp of surprise when he tugged off her sweater, lifted her scrub top in one smooth motion, and unhooked her bra with ease before pulling it off and flinging it aside. Then he matched her half-naked by yanking his shirt off.

That’s more like it. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. Bare breasts to naked chest, loving the feel of him, focusing in on every detail, every sensation, making a memory that would have to last a lifetime.

“I’m liking your bad girl,” he said, his hands at work untying her drawstring.

“Me, too.” She kissed his shoulder, licked and sucked his skin into her mouth. “Seems she only comes out for you.”

“Good.” Her pants slid to the floor. “Let’s keep it that way.” Justin followed them down, taking her panties with him. Seconds later she stood naked, except for a pair of socks, darkness the only thing keeping her from total mortification. Her body had changed since their last time together, and not for the better.

Justin stood.

Yes.

The light in the entryway came on.

No.

“Turn it off,” she cried, hunching forward, trying to cover her abdomen with her hands. She didn’t want him to see...

“I don’t want us to be two anonymous people making out in the dark. I want to see you. Watch you—”

No. “Turn it off,” she yelled, trying to swivel away from him. She wanted the dark, the covert encounter, even though her current blemishes were nothing compared to the metamorphosis to come.

“Hey.” He took her by the shoulders and held her in place. Gentle but firm. “What’s wrong?” He lowered his gaze to her hands.

Don’t. “I have to go.” She never should have come, would never measure up to the women Justin favored. Slim. Beautiful. Perfect.

“Talk to me,” he said. So calm. Concerned.

“Only if you turn off the light.”

He looked at her like she was an absolute crazy person, justifiably so. But finally did.

Only she no longer took comfort in the darkness because now she wanted to leave and couldn’t see her clothes.

“The light is off,” he pointed out. “And it occurs to me you gave birth to two babies six weeks ago and I don’t know if you had surgery or delivered them via the regular route. Or if you’re all healed and we should even be doing this.”

“If I wasn’t healed, I wouldn’t be here,” she said.

He stood quietly, offering no response.

“I’m naked and I’m cold and would rather have this conversation with some clothes on.” Or not at all worked.

“Not a chance.” He picked her up, his body warming hers on contact. When she didn’t immediately wrap her legs around his waist—which took quite a bit of restraint, mind you—he took one leg and then the other and did it for her. Then, in the limited light from a cloudy night, he carried her to the couch.

“The doctor told you no heavy lifting.” Which had completely slipped her mind the two times he’d hoisted her up against a wall and held her there. Bad nurse.

“Nice try.”

He sat down with her facing him, her thighs spread across his lap, pulled her chest to his, and covered them both with a knit blanket. “Now talk.”

“I delivered both girls vaginally and my doctor told me I could resume sexual activity at six weeks.”

“Good.” He thrust his hips up.

“I
could
,” she emphasized. “Not I
should
or I
had to
. And upon further consideration I’ve decided to wait.” She tried to slide off of him. No chance of that happening. But in her wide open state, with him still impressively firm, her attempts provided some much welcome stimulation which ramped up her heretofore waning arousal. Yum! She started to rock in earnest. “My goodness, I like this position.”

“Me, too.” He pushed down on her butt while he moved beneath her, skilled at massaging the exact right spot. “Just think. All I have to do is unzip my pants, slip on a condom and I could be inside you. Ten seconds tops.”

Worked for her. End of conversation about her body. A night of fabulous sex with Justin sober and at the top of his game. A night to indulge and be thankful for this last randy rendezvous with all her parts present and in full working order. She fought the urge to shave off precious seconds by telling him to forget the condom she was on birth control—because never again would she leave her protection to someone else. But the condom was the right choice for reasons other than preventing pregnancy and even with her good sense hazy with lust, she knew that. “Do it.” She reached between them to help.

He clasped her hands in his. “After you explain your vampire-like exposed to sunlight routine when I turned on the light.”

Party pooper. “Here I was just starting to enjoy myself again.” And she could tell he was, too. So, taking advantage of his arousal, she rubbed her breasts from side to side across his chest making sure to shift her body over his erection at the same time. “Sex now. Talk later.” Much. And if he happened to fall asleep before the talking, and she happened to slip away in the dead of night to go take care of her babies? Oh well.

“Talk now.” He stayed her hips “Sex every hour on the hour until we’re too exhausted to move, later.”

A tempting offer. A wonderful, stupendous, amazingly excellent offer. Except for the talk now. “You’re so eager to know? You can’t wait until morning? You want to ruin absolutely everything?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

She sat up. “Fine. My body. It’s not the same as the last time we were together.”

He sat in silence. Waiting. Darn stubborn man.

She let out a breath. Might as well get it over with so she could get home and get some sleep before the twins woke up. “I’ve got stretch marks, okay? Ugly red stretch marks from the pregnancy. They’re a total turn off and I had hoped to get through this night without you seeing them.” She pushed off his chest and started to climb off his lap. “You happy now?”

“Wait.” He palmed her hips and held her in place. “I decide what turns me on and what turns me off. Not you.”

“Trust me, you like pretty and they are not pretty. Now let me go.”

He shifted on the couch, leaned to the side, and holy cow—turned on a lamp.

“Are you kidding me?” She wrapped the blanket fully around her. “Is today opposite day? I say one thing you do another? Rather juvenile if you ask me. As is not taking another person’s feelings into account and being plain old mean.”

He looked up at her. Serious. Thoughtful. “I think you giving birth to my daughters is a beautiful thing. I think you are a beautiful woman. And a few marks on your skin aren’t going to change my mind.”

Gonad-guided guy focused on external beauty and women as a recreational activity that he was, she doubted that.

He reached for the edges of the blanket she had clutched tightly in her fists. “Please,” he said in such a way she relaxed her hold and allowed him to open the sides of the blanket, giving him a full view of her torso.

To Jena’s surprise he showed no immediate reaction as he studied her. She knew what he saw, loose skin around her navel and numerous dark pink squiggly lines at the base of her belly spreading out toward her hips. “They look tender,” he said. “Do they hurt?”

“Only my body image,” she replied and for some reason felt the need to explain. “The nurse at the doctor’s office said they’ll fade in time. But I fear my bikini days are over.”

He ran a finger down a particularly large, offensive looking one. “You’ve been through so much, changes to your body and your life, because of me.”

Okay. That was not at all the reaction she’d expected. She studied him back, the strange look on his face. Far from the revulsion she’d expected. More wonder, mixed with concern and was she totally out of her mind to think maybe a bit of caring?

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” Jena said. Meaning it. “I love the girls. I love being a mother.” And she was kind of looking forward to being a wife, cooking for her man, whoever he turned out to be, managing their home and their lives, planning her daughters’ futures.

“I still think you’re beautiful, Jena,” he said, looking up at her, sounding so sincere.

Lying rather convincingly. “Keep talking that blarney and I won’t be able to trust anything that comes out of your mouth.”

“Okay. You’re right,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “They’re hideous. I can’t stand to look at them.” He shielded his eyes.

“Hey.” She slapped his shoulder. “That’s not nice.”

He let out an exaggerated huff of frustration. “I can’t win. I tell you you’re beautiful, you say I’m full of blarney—a word I haven’t heard used in casual conversation since Timmy Oswald and I played pirate back in elementary school, by the way. I tell you you’re hideous and you tell me I’m not nice. And physically assault me.”

“I did not—”

“Is there any pleasing you?” He slid both hands up to her breasts and squeezed her nipples between the V of two fingers while staring down at her sex. He licked his lips and said, “I think I know a way.”

The blood drained from Jena’s upper body, pooling in hot, pulsing need between her legs. “I hope it involves you finally removing your pants.”

He smiled. “Among other things.”

Her teenage fantasy about to play out in real heart-pounding, breath-gasping, pleasure-finding life. Starring Jena and Justin as themselves.

“But first,” he said. “Kiss me, Jena. Then I’m all yours. Tell me what you want. Show me. Ask me. Anything.”

Anything...