The Virgin's Revenge (10 page)

Amanda never got that opportunity.

But maybe… Maybe now she could.

The seed of an idea settled in his mind. A way to turn it all around. It would take some work, of course. And he’d have to get Amanda to agree to it. That would be the biggest stumbling block. Like the other Jackmans, Amanda’s pride often got the better of her. She’d turn down his help without a thought if she believed it stemmed from pity or regret.

After tonight, she wouldn’t believe it could be anything else.

The easy solution was simply not to tell her what he was doing. Which meant he’d have to be a little sneaky to get her to go along with his plans. That had his lips curling. He could do sneaky. She’d said it was a game, after all. One thing he’d learned long ago, Jackmans never played fair. Now, neither would he.

As for the complication of her planned seduction, that would definitely be tricky. The whole thing would fall apart if he ever let her in his pants. Pants that were already on fire to give her whatever she demanded of him, whenever she wanted him to. She’d do him, dump him and never look back.

After listening to that conversation, he couldn’t even blame her for it. She expected him to do exactly that to her.
Her
. How could she ever think he would treat her like any of the women he’d dated? Those women were never people he could take seriously. But she…she was Amanda.

And she had no idea what a distinction that was to him.

He sat in that bench seat, heart thudding and palms sweating, trying to come to grips with that distinction himself. Amanda mattered. She’d always mattered. She’d always cared too. Nausea threatened as he thought about the million and one ways he’d trampled her emotions and never once realized. Years of memories flowed through his mind, his perception changing with each one. The times he’d been so close to doing something stupid morphed into times he’d probably hurt her feelings. Teased her and then ignored her. Even if he confessed to everything when she came back to the table, she’d probably never believe him. She was long past trusting him.

But not past wanting him.

His mind chose that moment to picture peacock feathers licking over the smooth mound between her thighs, her eyes glowing as she reached for him…

“Hey.” Amanda slid back into her seat, startling him into knocking his head on the wooden booth separator.

“Hey,” he answered hoarsely, curling his fingers to keep from rubbing at his skull. He got a few more moments’ reprieve when their food arrived. Looking at it was far preferable to facing her, especially after that kiss he should never have let himself take, but eventually he had to glance at her. On the surface, Amanda looked fine. Her smile was the same as always, her eyes just as lit with mischief as usual. Happy Mandy. Bratty Mandy.

Any other day, that would have been a close enough look for him. He’d never allowed himself to see deeper, because that uncomfortable awareness of her would have caused serious problems. But the problems were here anyway.

She grinned at him as she tossed a popper into her mouth.

That’s when he saw it. The way she dipped her head, rather than wait for him to return her smile. The fact that her dimples only winked. When she forgot herself and truly laughed, those dimples deepened into deep shadows. The sadness in her eyes remained, the faintly reddened rims telling him she’d been crying or at least tearing up. Her insecurities ate at her, no matter how good a front she put up.

He couldn’t fix the years he’d messed up with her, but damn if he was going to ignore what she needed now. He grabbed a fry, glad this Jackman wasn’t interested in stealing those at least. Just a little of her independence back.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said slowly, watching as she took a bite of the oversized burger. At her questioning squeak, he couldn’t help but grin. Sure, he was going to get a murderous case of blue balls while she did everything possible to trick him into her bed, but going through with this might actually be fun.

Game on, sweetheart.

When Cole had mentioned he had an idea, the glint in his eyes making her heartbeat skip, Amanda had naïvely thought his idea might involve skin. Sweat. Some moaning. Maybe even a little swallowing—she could be generous.

She lifted the putter in front of her face in disbelief. “Miniature golf? In
this
dress?”

Cole’s gaze slid from her face, taking his time to visually measure her flirty outfit. She and Susie had stayed up most of the night deciding which outfit would best say “I’m cute” and “I’m easy” with that much-needed “but not a slut” touch. The fuchsia strapless dress was gathered close over her breasts, then flowed down to just under midthigh. At first glance, it was casual, fun. But the fabric was sleek, sensual, especially the way it clung to her body. The idea of bending over a putter was not an enticing one. She could easily fall out of the top, or with a good breeze, make the day of someone behind her. Thank God she’d opted for sandals with leather laces tying halfway up her calves instead of Susie’s stiletto heels. Balancing along the pebbled walkways and rubberized paths would have been murder.

“Trust me, that dress is nothing but an advantage for this game.”

Not half as much of one as his voice. She was going to ask what made this game so special but when his voice dropped down like that, soft and dangerous sounding, the strangest shiver traveled up her spine. If he kept talking like that, saying things like that, she was going to melt all over the plastic grass where they stood.

She looked at him carefully, clinging to that niggling feeling at the back of her mind, but it was hard to sort out what had her antennae twitching while under his pleased perusal. Maybe it was just the surrealism of the whole situation getting to her. After all, any other time she was on a date with Cole Engstrom, she was also basically unconscious, her imagination running away with her. Maybe she was just waiting for a loud noise to wake her up. As there had been plenty of loud noises since Cole had kissed her the night before, either she was in a coma or this was real.

How sad was it that she found it easier to believe she could be the unfortunate victim of a tragic weight-training accident than that Cole Engstrom had asked her out on an honest-to-God date?

He walked up to her, one arm going around her waist casually, his lips only a whisper from hers. “You can stop looking at me like you’re waiting for me to reveal the pod I crawled out from.”

A gurgle of laughter bubbled from her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Every couple of minutes you just stare at me like I’m an alien.”

It probably did seem like that to him. To be honest, finding a pod under his bed would make a lot more sense. “You have to admit, the last three days have been a little out of the ordinary for you.”

“Oh, yeah? In what way?”

She ignored the innocent blinking of his ostrichy eyelashes. “You’re talking to me.”

“I’ve
always
talked to you. In multiple languages, I might add.”

Okay, that wasn’t a lie. Stupid, since two of those multiple languages were fake, but not a lie. He’d always made room for her in any conversation. But not like this. And she wasn’t about to let him pretend he’d ever been interested in her. She slid her hand over his strong forearm, reveling a little in the feel of his other one around her back. “You’re touching me.”

“I’ve always touched you too.”

Sure, her
hands
. Her shoulders, if he ever took her coat. Once, he’d grazed her boob taking a bag of groceries from her, but he hadn’t seemed to notice that one, and now didn’t seem the best time to bring it up. Not when his fingertips toyed absently with the dress fabric at the small of her back, testing the slippery folds against each other. Did he feel the upper edge of her beribboned panties under the gathered material? She’d never been more aware of fabric in her life. Or how much she wished it wasn’t there.

Gathering her courage around her, hoping it came off as confidence, she made herself keep going. “You never kissed me before.”

He stopped breathing, nodding his head very slowly, that steady gaze of his not allowing her to look away. “But I wanted to.”

She pushed at his chest, only slightly discomfited when he didn’t budge. “You did not.”

“Remember that football game when I tackled you?”

Of course she did. A girl didn’t forget the first time a man settled between her thighs. She’d been dropped on a bed of clover, the solid feel of him imprinted from breast to toe, practically. Time had stopped as they’d stared at each other in breathless shock.

Seven seconds in heaven.

She’d replayed that moment at least a million times in her mind. The way his gaze had dropped to her lips for the barest millisecond before Locke had stomped over and demanded the football back. The way he’d felt, his long form sliding down hers before he got to his feet. Even the subtle touch of his hand as he’d helped her up. When she remembered it, alone in her room, she erased the glowering older brother and replaced him with a tree. It made for a much better daydream.

“That wasn’t even the first time,” he murmured, eying her lips until they tingled. Eyed, but he didn’t touch. Shouldn’t he be touching them? With his tongue? “I can’t tell you how rough it can be when your best friends’ little sister is a knockout.”

Okay, now she knew he was yanking her chain. She stepped back, steadily, thank you very much. “What are you up to?”

“Why do I have to be up to something?”

She rolled her eyes.

Cole sighed like a put-upon male. “I was a sixteen-year-old walking hormone when I met you. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but pretty blondes with long legs and soft mouths have a way of making teenage boys embarrass themselves.”

As if he had any idea what it was like to embarrass himself.

“You were strictly off limits too,” he reminded. “Especially to me.”

Another non-lie, she decided. Locke would have pulled Cole’s intestines out through his nose if he’d tried to take advantage of his access to her, to say nothing of what the elder twins might have done to him. But suspicion kept her narrowed gaze on him.

“So what happened in the last seventy-two hours to change my off-limits status?” Let him try to answer that one honestly.

“Two things, actually.” He cleared his throat and leaned against the waiting rail, where opponents were supposed to wait their turn at the tee. “The first one was holding your hand at the dinner table.”

“My hand.” A hand he’d touched any number of times over the years. A hand that had never done a single thing for him before. She was so tempted to believe him, but how could she, knowing Locke was behind every word?

Cole nodded, following her up onto a mound of fake grass, right back into her personal space. Did he know he was making the oxygen thin when he did that? How was she supposed to think with him so close? She edged away.

“I
liked
holding it.” He took another step closer, all but daring her to keep retreating. Was he enjoying his little stalking game?

Just the thought that he’d somehow turned the tables on her had her locking her knees and standing her ground. Let him invade. She wasn’t about to take another step backward. “You
liked
it?”

He nodded. Innocently. Bad sign. Bad. Sign. “A lot.”

Liar.
“And the other thing that has you looking at me so differently?”

He smiled, those white teeth of his definitely predatory. “Something about a woman in her underwear, tossing me around like a Frisbee, gets me every time.”

“Now you’re a closet masochist?”

He leaned down to her ear. “What can I say, I like a woman who can kick my ass.”

She was about to, if he kept this up. Either that or bite it. He always did have the most adorable rear end. Something she was tempted most every week to grab hold of and not let go. She was even ready to tell him so, but he chose that second to graze her cheek with the stubble on his chin.

“How long have you had that belly piercing?”

Just like that, she was back to melting. She closed her eyes at his rough whisper, swallowing despite how dry her mouth had just gone. “A-a while.”

“It’s…nice.” His lips rubbed her temple as he spoke.

Nice?

And crap, when did her fingers curl around the zippered edges of his leather jacket?

“One look at that little gem, and I didn’t care if you had six brothers or twelve.” His breath, warm on her ear, stirred the strands of hair on the side of her face, tickling her skin. “None of them were going to keep me from getting through to you this time.”

“When did you try before?” Was that
her
voice? It couldn’t be, not all breathy and sighing.

“I never did. Which makes me the dumbest idiot on the planet. But not anymore.”

She swayed toward him, following his warmth.

Which probably explained her surprise when she stumbled forward and only found the putter she’d forgotten all about being pressed firmly back between her hands. She looked at him, now several feet away, frowning. “What’s this?”

“A challenge.” He turned and headed back to the first tee. “If you beat me, you’ll get to pick our next date. Anything you want. Any way you want it.”

Her bedroom. Without question.

But she’d been a sister way too long not to ask questions of her own. “And if you win?”

“I pick. You’ll do anything I come up with.”

Her choked laughter this time had way too many virginal fears in it. Especially considering that many of the erotic fantasies she had of him probably weren’t physically possible. Her body was more than willing to do whatever he could come up with. Hell, it wanted to make several suggestions.

Besides, what were the odds that he’d win? Cole might kick her ass at anything electronic or mathematic, but the man was hopeless at physical games. He couldn’t even win Whack-A-Mole.

“You’re on.”

But if he was a gracious loser, she might still consider that swallowing thing again.

Maybe.