Lipstick on His Collar (2 page)

“Cotton candy it is. Just give me a minute.” Her hand aimed for his mouth but he caught it. “No touching. I can’t walk through the street with a hard-on.”

A fire that did nothing to help his situation singed his skin as her eyes raked from the roots of his hair to his toes. “You’re wearing most of my lipstick. And the pants are nice but they don’t hide a damn thing.”

“No, they don’t,” he agreed, swiping at his mouth. “I should’ve changed. I just dropped my stuff and headed here.”

“And found me. Aren’t I the lucky one?”

Right now, Bram considered himself pretty high up on the lucky scale, and he jumped ahead three notches when she drew a deep breath, her breasts rising. She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing the long dark gold locks and then tugged her dress farther down her thighs. With an impish wrinkle in her nose, she reached under the hem and straightened her panties. Bram jerked his head up, trying to be polite, but he caught a flash of creamy-skinned ass and the lessening in his pants reversed.
Christ, she’s wearing a thong. God, help me now.

A pretty grin widened her swollen lips and he longed to taste them again. Instead, he fixated on radio programs, evacuation policies and tower sites until his body responded. When he could move, he took her hand. She squeezed his before leading him into the fading sunlight.

Crowds gathered by vendors, carnival games and amusement rides. She fed him bits of sticky spun sugar in between giggling kisses, and he won a stuffed fish for her at some ball-pitching game. A sniffling toddler in a stroller snagged her attention and she handed over her prize without hesitation.

“Generous and kind,” he teased, trailing a finger along her collarbone.

A sassy simmer in her eyes challenged him and her hands slid down his chest. “Practical and selfish. Why would I want to carry a plush flounder around when there are so many other…nicer…harder things to occupy my hands?”

“I stand corrected.” Bram palmed her ass and pulled her closer, studying her in the light of the booth. Unharnessed vigor and playfulness vibrated from her. Energy snapped around her, a fervid need to consume life in the moment, to capture it at the peak of the minute. No past, no future. Just now. She fascinated him.

She tugged him into the House of Mirrors. Rooms of wavy glass reflected them a dozen times over. The distorted images stretched them, blurred them, twisted them into a smudge of color. One tall mirror elongated her, and his hands on her breasts loomed larger, accentuating the sexual touch. Her bottom pressed back, cradling his half-hard erection in the cleft of her ass. His hips thrust forward and a purr vibrated in the glass room. A flash of movement was his only warning as she spun and took his mouth.

Silken thighs parted as he slid his hands up her legs, under her dress and cupped her bare ass. She mewled into his mouth. If a group of giggling girls hadn’t barreled in the room, he’d have fucked her right then, watching her come from multiple angles.

Bram gulped the dry air outside, the pulse in his head echoing the one deep in his balls. He hadn’t been this ramped up since high school. From the Ring Toss to the Scrambler, they worked the fair from one end to the other, finding every hidden alcove and shadow for stolen kisses and caresses. The Ferris wheel provided long moments where his tongue danced with hers. They stopped on the top and she looked up to the sky as if she’d never seen it, pointing out more constellations than he’d ever heard the names of. Bram studied her through desire-heavy lids. His nameless goddess was not some stupid hick. So what was her game?

Deliberately, he looked to her left hand. There was no pale line or indentation from a cast-off ring. A grateful sigh blew from his lips. That was one thing he didn’t think he could do. Hot metal and warm vinyl along the back of the bucket seat baked through the skin on his arm, and he ran a slow thumb across her nape. She pressed close to his side. Her hand slid across his thigh, fingers inching closer and closer to his zipper. He rocked the car wildly to prevent another visible erection. She screamed a laugh into the night.

Yellow, pink or blue, the choice of balloons confounded her and she took a long time deciding. He waited, marveling at her joy over the yellow fifty-cent balloon. She fingered the thin string and asked a booth worker for a pen. The carnie handed her a black Sharpie while trying to look down her dress. Bram stepped in front of her, glaring. The old man sniggered.

“Look!” Her excited voice softened his scowl. She’d written his name in a heart on the sunshiny latex.

“What’s that for?”

“Because, for tonight, you’re mine.” She smacked a quick peck on his mouth and let go of the string.

He watched the bright balloon sail high above the artificial lights, taking his heart with it. “Now why’d you do that?”

She kept her gaze locked on the balloon, smile in place but her voice deepened, lowered until he barely heard it. “To remind myself I can’t keep you.”

A lemony fragrance wrapped around her and he inhaled deep. Not perfume, shampoo maybe? Hairspray? Lotion? He couldn’t place it, but it filled his senses with a brisk, alive tingle, a splash of freshness in a drab room. Her stomach growled over the music and his echoed it.

“Come on, lady. Cotton candy isn’t doing the job. Take your pick, corn dog or BBQ sandwich?” A wild light flickered in the sky and they looked up. “Heat lightning.”

“No, it’ll storm before long. Look.” She pointed toward the horizon and he followed her finger. Stars still showed but a darker black oozed across the skyline.

“Pray for rain before lightning. One good bolt and it’ll blaze.”

She shrugged and tucked her hand in his elbow, teasing fingertips sliding underneath his rolled cuff. “Feed me.”

Erotic, wicked thoughts leapt to his mind—trailing honey along her stomach and lapping it with a slow tongue, plump strawberries shared, the sweet juice licked from her chin, fine sparkling sugar shimmering on her lips, begging for his taste.

He ended up feeding her a wide selection of festival food. They commandeered a wooden picnic table with splintering edges on the border of the fair and spread out their bounty. Hot sausages and BBQ, funnel cakes topped with powdered sugar, sodas and fries, pretzels and hot dogs stretched between them. Their stack of paper napkins fluttered in the sudden hot breeze. She bent and plucked a gravel stone to weight them, casting a sultry look at him when she caught his gaze on her legs.

Bram would have assumed any woman who made out with a stranger and made arrangements to spend the night with him would be covert and secretive. But she wasn’t. She flirted like a lover, yet talked like a friend, openly and candidly. He wondered if he’d always been wrong. When the urge hit, he had several friends with benefits in a number of different towns in more than a couple of states. He preferred to know who he slept with. He’d assumed nameless one-night stands were pure sex and little talking. But now, even with a lusty promise dangled before him, he enjoyed her conversation.

She managed to ask questions that made him think and examine his own beliefs on everything from religion to politics while revealing very little about herself. Oh, he figured out she was educated and swayed toward liberalism. Her left eyebrow could shoot higher than her right. There was a tiny freckle on her shoulder that he’d already kissed a half dozen times.

Moss-green eyes centered on him and never left his face as he spoke. A sense of belonging seeped into his chest. He liked her. Bram found himself telling her things even his closest friends didn’t know. The anonymity freed him from coloring his shortcomings or his not-so-politically-correct views. His tongue wagged and she listened, without judgment, without prejudice.

Hours ticked by. Somehow, they polished off most of the food but he didn’t remember eating. She was an only child, she said, and he tucked the fact away. Their silence lasted no more than the time it took to draw breath between words. She teased and charmed him not only with sex, but with good-natured humor. Movies, news, and silly little facts bounced back and forth. She liked sweet pickles where he preferred dill. They had four of the same songs downloaded to their iPods and both liked Piers Anthony books.

Her knowledge of politics stunned him. Computer jargon tripped off her tongue like water over stones. He asked about the stars and her eyes rounded in sorrow. Quietly, she admitted her father passed when she was twelve, but every night he had sat and showed her the stars, naming them. She joked about Bram’s birth date, asking if he was bullheaded since he was a Taurus.

“Stubborn maybe. So when’s your birthday?” he asked, sipping his watery soda.

A sexy little smirk lifted her lip. “I’m a Cancer, July third.”

“Today?” The soda hit his stomach like a brick. “Okay, so I’m what, like your present?”

“Yes. My gift to myself.” She smoothed his hair away from his brow and his heart skipped. “You’re older than I am.”

“Not by much, I’d guess.”

“Four years.”

“Four years, chump change. It’s not like you’re fifteen and jailbait.”

“True.” Those ripened lips bowed into a wide, naughty grin. “At fifteen, I’d never even been truly kissed. Had you?”

“Yeah, Lauren Simmons taught me to French kiss for my fourteenth birthday in her hallway closet.” He laughed. “She said I needed to learn before she’d go out with me.”

“She taught you kissing well. Hope that lesson continued beyond closet games.” A sizzle crackled in the air as the feel of her under his mouth rushed his mind. His zipper pressed too snug and he shifted, trying to avoid the pinch.

Wild tangents were explored. He was never sure how they got on the topic of air pollution. Even more curious, how did she manage to turn that discussion into foreplay? Flirty and outrageously sexual, she licked bright fake-cheese from a bit of pretzel and his gut knotted. Her toes tickled up his leg to graze his crotch. He leaned over and caught her lips, licking a stray bit of orange from the corner of her mouth.

“Tell me your name,” he pleaded against her cheek. The scent of her skin overpowered the sweet powdered sugar and heavily spiced cheese sauce. She’d darkened her eyelashes, he could tell from this close, but she wore no other makeup. His kisses had kept her mouth red enough without the Maybelline tint. The pure, fresh-scrubbed look conflicted with the sexual vixen who purred at his touch. She angled into his mouth, kissing him with an ardor he was sure he’d never tasted. Only the need to breathe forced him back a fraction.

Her fingers reached out to touch his shirt. “I got lipstick on your collar. It might stain.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. I like this shirt. It brings out the blue in your eyes.” She pressed her lips close to his ear, her tongue skimming the edge. “I’m going to like it even better in a ball on the floor while riding you.”

Bram fought a groan, aimed his kiss for her mouth and a loud rumble rolled from overhead. They both looked up. Ominous clouds roiled heavy, dense and dark. The lively festival music and carnival tunes took on an eerie tone in the thickening gloom. People headed toward the parking lots like great bunches of summer-garbed cattle herding into narrow gates. Carnies hurried to close down their stands, flipping hinged shutters over opened booths.

She turned her face, grazing his jaw with those kissed-crimson lips. “We should go.”

His cock jerked. Simmering in her gaze, the promise of the night loomed bold and sensual. Bram nodded. “Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, they strolled away from the crowd. The Sleepytime Motel was only two short blocks east, so he’d walked. Now the journey stretched ten miles long. She filled it with conversation that, while engaging his mind, did little to tamp down the excitement lingering in his blood. Every store window caught her attention. They scanned books and ceramics and children’s toys while the sleeping storefront windows cast their reflections back at them. Dipped in gold, from her honeyed hair to her peach-toned skin, she mesmerized him.

He was lost in his thoughts when she stopped. She cast her eyes sideways and raised her eyebrows. “Need anything?”

Bram turned his head and frowned. Why would he need a twenty-four-hour pharmacy? Mentally, he smacked his forehead then smiled at her. “No, I got it covered…literally.”

“Not yet, I hope,” she teased.

“No, not yet. But don’t worry when the time comes.” She snorted and he groaned. “Okay, bad choice of words.”

One eye narrowed, she scrutinized him. “You’re a nice guy, Bram.”

Such simple words, they shouldn’t have hit him as hard as they did. But because they came from her lips, they meant something. He couldn’t even begin to fathom why.

“Thank you.”

A naughty little tongue licked out, sliding along her upper lip. “And still…somehow, I think underneath all that nice, you’re a little bit bad too.”

If she had any clue how bad he wanted to be with her
… Leaning close, he nuzzled below her ear, sucking in her lemon scent that made him crave a more intimate feminine sugar. “Want to be bad with me?”

Her fingers walked down his stomach, grazed his belt and cupped his half-hard cock. “Bad is going to be good. I can feel it.”

A swift and gnawing appetite grabbed hold of him and sped through his veins. He’d had his fill of flirtations and innuendos. His hand shot into her hair, gripping the long locks in a tight fist and yanked her into him. Her lips met his and thunder boomed.

Bram thought it was his pounding heart until a torrent of stinging rain pelted them. Thankfully, it wasn’t a cold rain. In his embrace, she tilted her head back and laughed up into the spitting sky.

The warm rain continued to gush around them, sending misty gray ricochets into the night. Cool, frothy steam swirled from the pavement, licking around her legs. Her dress clung to her, a second skin he couldn’t wait to help her shed. The neckline hung low, lower than intended, weighted by the rain, and gravity sucked thin tracks of water toward the deep shadow of cleavage. The straps at her shoulders pulled tight, straining to keep the fabric in place. The heavy hem of her waterlogged skirt dripped steadily down her thighs. He’d never been jealous of water until now.