If She Dares (Contemporary Romance) (10 page)

“You want anything to drink?” He felt uncharacteristically inept. He preferred action to words. They were both consenting adults; maybe he should just kiss her and let nature take its course.

But he’d grown up watching a string of selfish men never take Cyndi’s feelings into account, and he wouldn’t press Riley until he could assure himself she was okay with his emotional limitations.

He sat next to her. “You asked if I’d been thinking about you? Since Saturday, you’ve been on my mind constantly,” he admitted. “And I’ve been so turned on it’s amazing I can actually function.”

Her breath caught.

“I hope the feeling’s mutual,” he said, “but—”

“Jack?” She leaned so far forward that her full breasts were cushioned against his side, making it easy to forgive the interruption. “I’m not in the right head space to be dating, and I know you don’t want a relationship. But I miss touch. Being touched.” There was a tremulous catch in her voice, but her hand was steady as she curved her fingers around his upper arm, her thumb brushing lightly over his skin in a way that was inexplicably erotic. Until now, he’d never realized biceps could be erogenous zones. “Would it make me a terrible neighbor if I wanted to shamelessly use you for sex?”

Holy hell, he’d met the perfect woman. Cupping the nape of her neck, he hauled her toward him. She met him halfway, her eyes locked on his until the last second, when he took her mouth in a searing kiss. Then his own eyes closed as heat surged through him. Her tongue rubbed against his, and his thoughts dissolved into formless, primitive instincts. He slanted his head, glorying in her taste, trying to kiss her from every possible angle.

Damn, she could kiss. Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his, but assertive, too. Seeking. Claiming. Making him forget why he hadn’t done this days ago.

His body hummed with nearly electric pleasure, but with every slide of his tongue against hers, hunger grew, urgency outpacing contentment. He needed more, craved having her even closer. He gripped her waist, and by unspoken agreement, she swung a leg around him so that she was straddling his lap. As she settled over his erection, she made a low sound in her throat like a wicked purr. He nipped at the vulnerable spot just above her collarbone, and she rewarded him with a roll of her hips.

He kneaded her ass, using his hold on her to rock her against him. It felt incredible, but he wanted to explore her body, touch her everywhere. He cupped her shoulders then trailed his hands downward, palming her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over their hardened peaks. With a moan, she raked her nails down his arms, the slight sting making the pleasure that much more potent in contrast. Wanting to capture her every moan and sigh, he threaded his fingers in her hair and tugged her close for another—

Her hands hit his chest, stiff-armed like a passenger in a car bracing for an accident, and she shoved back, staggering out of his lap.

7

R
ILEY
FELT
AS
if she’d been doused with ice-cold water. She also felt deeply, deeply stupid for her irrational overreaction. What were the chances Jack hadn’t noticed and they could continue like nothing happened?

“Sorry,” she mumbled, with a hand on the arm of the sofa to steady herself. “You, um, pulled my hair. Not hard,” she qualified, wanting to assure him he hadn’t hurt her. It shouldn’t even have registered as mild discomfort, except that...

“Riley?” He was sitting forward, concern erasing the passion from the expression.

She could feel the burn of tears in her eyes “It’s stupid. Really.”

“I doubt that,” he said, his voice low and soothing. It occurred to her that she was probably hearing his professional tone, the one he used to calm witnesses. “Why don’t you tell me, and we can work through it together?”

She paced the living room, not wanting to meet his eyes. All the wonderful lust that had been pouring through her no longer had an outlet; it was making her jittery, like leftover adrenaline or a few too many espressos. God, he must think she was the queen of mixed signals. “Last year, the man who had me at gunpoint? He grabbed me by my hair, and... I have nightmares about it, wake up with my scalp stinging and my stomach in knots. He told me he might come back to kill me.”

To her horror, warm tears were dripping down her cheeks.
Way to permanently kill the mood, Ry
. “This is ridiculous. In big cities, p-people probably get mugged all the time and g-go for drinks afterward, right? Well, maybe not, ’c-cause how would you buy drinks if your wallet was just st-stolen, but—”

“Riley.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around her, his hands carefully positioned on her back, nowhere sexual and definitely not anywhere near her hair. “A man threatened to murder you in your own home, a place you probably felt safer than anywhere else in the world. It should have been your sanctuary. The fact that you walked away from it with a few triggers is completely understandable.”

She sniffed, furious that
this
was the night she’d chosen to put on frigging mascara. What a picture she must make right now. “It just caught me by surprise. Last week, I had—”
erotic dreams about you
“—a breakthrough. I thought I was ready, so when this hit me out of the blue, I freaked.” She wiped her face with her hand, scanning the room in vain for a tissue box. When she saw the makeup streaked on the heel of her palm, she gave a bark of self-deprecating laughter. “Guess my using you for sex is out of the question now. If you decide to avoid me, I—”

“Hey.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Quit talking crazy. You’ve had a lot to process this evening, and I think I should back off for tonight. But that doesn’t change how much I want you. You’re still one of the most alluring women I’ve ever met.”

She made a noise of rude disagreement.

He tipped her chin up with his finger, staring into her eyes until she began to squirm under the scrutiny, worried about what he saw, what he was thinking. Tonight had been her chance to show him they could enjoy each other without any needless drama.
Any more drama, there’d be a director and a camera crew in the corner
. Maybe a boom operator. Key grip—that was a thing, right?

“I’d like to see you tomorrow,” he said. “And I’d like... I’ve been thinking about this all night. I dare you to let me draw you. You are beautiful, inside and out, and I want to try to capture that in a sketch.”

“Not much of a dare,” she said. After he’d convinced her to try on a bright, metallic bustier, letting a professional sketch her face was easy. Had he lowered the stakes because he saw her as fragile now?

His lips curved in a wolfish grin. “So you’d pose in the nude for just anyone?”

Her eyes widened. “I think you forgot to mention that part.”

“How about it?” he challenged softly.

They’d joked about strip poker before, but a nude portrait? She’d be so exposed. In a poker game, even when you lost the shirt off your back, the other player’s concentration was partially on the cards. Every bit of Jack’s attention would be laser-focused on her. It would be...one of the most sensually indulgent experiences of her life.

“All right.” Why the hell not? She was in great shape from her assorted self-defense classes, and if tonight had gone as hoped, he would be seeing her naked by now anyway.

“I knew you’d rise to the challenge.” His smile was tinged with pride. “But this is hardly a binding agreement. If you decide—”

“I won’t change my mind. Do it. Sketch me ‘like one of your French girls.’” When he looked at her blankly, she prompted, “It’s a quote. From
Titanic
?”

“Never saw it.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like I don’t know how it turns out. Why sit through it just so I can be depressed when it ends?”

“It’s my sister Rochelle’s favorite go-to for a good cry.” She pointed at her face. “Me, I manage just fine on my own. I can cry without Hollywood’s help.”

He gave her a crooked smile, but his tone was earnest. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”

She wished Mags was with her. “I’m fine. Just sheepish about the direction this evening went.”

“Now you can look forward to tomorrow evening. I assume you’d be more comfortable if we do this at your place?”

Actually, no. He was right about what he’d said regarding her house, that her sanctuary had been violated. Maybe because of that, she’d been far less likely to invite anyone inside after she moved to the new place—hell, even her sex dreams had been set at his place. The only people who’d set foot in her apartment were her sisters and parents. Perhaps changing that would help her move forward.

“What time should I expect you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away from work. How about I text you tomorrow evening?” At her nod, he gave her a boyishly endearing grin. “Can I walk you home?”

The part of her that was still embarrassed he’d seen her fall apart wanted to make a wry joke that she was capable of crossing the hallway all by herself, but she enjoyed being with Jack. Why cut their time together short for the sake of pride? So he put his arm around her and escorted her across the hall, keeping her company while she unlocked her door and switched on the light inside.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Just do me one favor?” He leaned down, surprising her with a tender but thorough kiss. He traced the shape of her lips, licking and nibbling as if he had all the time in the world. It was completely different from the frenetic way they’d devoured each other on his couch, but every bit as arousing. When he drew back, he ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Have sweet dreams.”

A blush heated her face. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

* * *

A
S
THE
TIME
neared for Jack to come over on Wednesday night—and her nerves escalated to galactic heights—Riley momentarily regretted her decision not to buy wine while she’d been out earlier. She appreciated the occasional glass, but it was a depressant, right? She hadn’t wanted anything that upped the chances of her dissolving into tears two freaking nights in a row. So, no wine. She’d also resisted the smart-ass urge to have Celine Dion’s ballad from
Titanic
playing when Jack arrived.

But she had succumbed to the impulse to buy a couple of pillar candles while she was at Vivien’s Armoire, picking up the robe she’d ordered. Candles lined the bar that divided her kitchen from her living room, and there were more along the decorative mantel over her television. She hoped the soft illumination, combined with a free-standing lamp in the corner, would be sufficient for Jack to draw. Maybe the candlelight was a touch cliché, but with any luck, the ambience would help lead to a far more romantic conclusion than they’d reached last night. She certainly wasn’t wearing a turtleneck and ankle boots this time around.

After a long bubble bath and some primping, including a pedicure and the application of brazen red nail polish, she’d dressed for the occasion. All she had on was the brand-new robe, which was a satiny caress against her naked skin, and her talisman bracelet from Wren. After waffling on what to do about makeup, she’d brushed on a shining layer of flavored lip gloss and left it at that.

She toyed with one of the tiger’s eye beads on her bracelet. “If you’re going to bring me good luck, now would be the time.”

With her senses on full alert, she heard Jack leave his apartment before he made it over to knock on her door. Her heart was pounding in her chest when she answered—and his appearance did nothing to slow her pulse. He was barefoot, in jeans and an unbuttoned white dress shirt. Her gaze dropped immediately to the sculpted planes of his chest and abs, which were even sexier than she’d dreamed.

Oh, Lord, he had a six-pack. Her breath caught. “Hi.” And, also,
damn
.

He held a sketchbook and small box with one hand. With his other, he tapped the collar of his open shirt. “I didn’t know if you felt nervous about being on display, so to speak. I thought it might be calming if you weren’t the only one showing a little skin.”

She raised an eyebrow then reached out to trace a slow line from his collarbone down his chest, all the way to his navel, loving that even that light touch was powerful enough to make his breathing shallow and his muscles contract. “I don’t think
calm
is the word for what I’m feeling, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness.” Pausing, she grinned. “And the view.”

“Back at you. Pretty robe. How long do I have to wait before I ask you to lose it?”

She laughed. “You definitely have to come inside and shut the door first.” Odds were against any of the other tenants being on the fourth floor, but she wasn’t taking any chances. There were limits to her newly resurrected boldness.

He turned to pick up a small, collapsible easel that was leaning against the wall. Distracted as she’d been by his torso, she hadn’t noticed it before. Frankly, with Jack’s shirt unbuttoned, she might not have noticed a tank parked in the hallway. As he crossed the threshold, she didn’t bother mentioning that he was the first nonfamily member who’d been here, but she did silently congratulate herself on reaching a healthy milestone. In anticipation of his coming over, she’d thoroughly cleaned the apartment. Turned out, nervous energy was a blessing in that department. The place was spotless.

All of her work stuff was stowed away out of sight. She didn’t want to be Riley Kendrick, website designer and IT guru tonight. She was a different Riley, the mysterious and unpredictable one who secretly spent her weeknights posing nude for an artist with hot, dark eyes.

Without the whiteboard, client files and computer equipment, her living room seemed oddly naked; she had to stifle a giggle at the word choice. There was a pale leather couch, two generously sized matching ottomans, a coffee table and her TV on a glass and metal stand against the wall. She hesitated, flutters of anticipation in her stomach.

“I’m not sure where I should be,” she said. Reclining on the sofa? Standing in the middle of the room in some classical Greek pose?

He studied the room, taking his time in answering. “Sitting on one of the ottomans, I think. I want you to be comfortable, in a position that’s mostly natural and easily held. But this is a casual portrait—let me know if you need to move. Will you be warm enough once you remove the robe?”

If he was worried about her getting cold, then he severely underestimated the heat he generated just by looking at her. “I’m good,” she promised. “Did I leave you enough light?”

He glanced around at the dozen candles, the corner of his mouth twitching with humor. “A beautiful woman agreed to take her clothes off for me—I’m not going to quibble.” He did, however, slightly rearrange the furniture, sliding the coffee table away from its usual spot so that he could put the ottoman in the center of the room.

“You sit here, angled diagonally,” he instructed. He arranged her hands the way he wanted and asked her to turn her head to the side so that she would be looking back at him. “Perfect. So you’ll be just like that—but without the robe.”

The moment of truth. She got to her feet, gaze lowered as her fingers untied the knotted sash. Once it hung loose, there was only the matter of three snaps. Then she shrugged out of the garment in a whisper of silk and lace, raising her eyes to Jack’s just as the robe hit the carpet.

He was breathing hard, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. It occurred to her that he was going to have a tough time drawing with his fingers curled so tightly. His gaze traveled slowly over her, as if, mentally, he was already sketching an image of her, transfixed by each line and contour. Beneath his attention, her nipples hardened, and her breasts ached with tantalizing fullness. His eyes dipped lower, and by the time he reached the shadowed juncture of her thighs, need had pooled there. She realized now she couldn’t have posed for the portrait standing; another few minutes of such avid appraisal, and she’d be trembling.

“You are stunning.” His voice was raw, and it was gratifying to know he was as affected by the moment as she was.

“I’m going to sit down now.” Before she launched herself at him, drawing be damned.
The drawing was the dare, and you accepted
.

Nodding, he reached out a hand, as if to help her settle back into the correct position, but then dropped it abruptly. Maybe they were having the same thought—that if they didn’t get started, they were about to be far too preoccupied with other activities.

He quickly set up the easel and sketchpad. When he spoke again, his voice was closer to normal. “Pick a focal point. It can be anywhere—gaze lowered, staring off into the distance. But see if you can hold it. You’d be surprised at what a difference it can make.”

“You,” she said, neck craned so that she could watch him. “You’re my focal point.”

He swallowed visibly, and she wanted to kiss the line of his throat, follow it downward. Her breathing quickened as she recalled the hard length of his erection pressed against her yesterday. She remembered how his grasp on her had tightened when she’d moved atop him, the erotic tension etched into his features. How would he react when she touched him there, skin to skin? Or took him in her mouth?