Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin (10 page)

contract?”

She bit her lip and looked cute as hell, even in the shadowy light, and kept her answer low so it would be just between the two of them. “Oh, that was fun, but the truth is…I’m just thinking about the fact that I’m not wearing panties.”

His groin tightened, and he couldn’t hold in a small grin. “You smile when you’re not wearing panties?”

“I’ve never not worn them before,” she confided.

It surprised him a little. Because she’d seemed so carefree about the whole thing. And despite their discussion last night about keeping sex private, tonight she’d seemed like a girl who…well, who might have done it in a closet once or twice before. “Ever?” he asked.

“Ever.”

He tilted his head, still trying to get to the bottom of what he now knew was a naughty smile. “And…?”

She weighed her answer, looking strangely young and girlish and pleased with herself. “It makes me feel…wild. Sexy. Free.”

Damn, there it was—that genuine part of her again. That part of her so real he could almost taste it. And he liked it. A lot. In all his thirty-five years, many of them spent enjoying women, he wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone quite like her.

Without planning it, he leaned over in the cab to kiss her. “Stay in my room tonight,” he said low in her ear.

Pulling back to look at him, she cast a playful smile. “I have to warn you, that drink—on top of the wine I had with dinner—knocked me for a loop. I might fall fast asleep.”

“That’s okay. As long as you’re naked.”

Six

Brenna lay in his bed, eyes falling shut. He stood over her, smiling. She’d been serious about that drink knocking her out.

“Are you awake?”

“Mmm,” she murmured.

“Do you want to sleep in your clothes?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “Or do you

want me to undress you?”

“Mmm-hmm, that.”

Damon much preferred undressing women who were awake and enjoying it, but having her sleep naked next to him still sounded good, and he’d undressed enough women that

this wouldn’t be a challenge.

He started with her boots, unzipping and slipping them off to reveal thin black knee socks underneath, the same as a Catholic schoolgirl might wear. The contrast between the socks and the rest of her outfit brought a smile to his lips. She was no schoolgirl, but even after what they’d shared in the closet, he sensed a certain innocence about her that drew him.

Dropping the boots gently to the carpet at the foot of the king-size bed, he next moved up to her blouse, reaching for the buttons between her breasts and proceeding downward.  He’d barely had a chance to notice the sexy bra underneath—he’d seen it through the animal print and caught a glimpse when he was inside her, but now he took in the scalloped edges of the low-cut cups and the way they pushed her breasts upward, creating firm, round mounds.

Shit. He wanted to kiss them, massage them.

But she was asleep, or close enough to it, so all he could do was look—and suffer the hard-on growing behind his zipper.

Removing her blouse required her help. “Come on, babe, raise up for me,” he whispered as he eased one arm beneath her. Letting out a slightly grumpy-sounding moan, she cooperated, and he soon got the blouse off. And, easing both his hands behind her back, he deftly unhooked the bra and removed it, as well.

Of course, then he had to look at her tits—because he couldn’t undress a woman and not look at her tits.

Not quite as firm-looking without the bra, but still beautiful, ample, her pink nipples taut and elongated. Damn, he wanted to suck them, like he had in the closet. But he wanted to do everything slower this time, explore all these soft curves, her smooth, pale stomach, her silky shoulders, the length of her neck. He got harder with the wanting, especially when his gaze returned to her breasts. C-cups, he’d guess—then he remembered he held her bra in his hand. He checked the tag and, sure enough, found a 34C printed there.

She wore a sexy black beaded choker and long beaded earrings, but he decided to leave those on—out of pure selfishness. He liked the way she looked, mostly undressed but still wearing jewelry.

Laying her blouse and bra over the upholstered bench at the end of the bed, he returned for the last piece of clothing she wore. She was a study in erotic beauty, lying bare but for her skirt, her arms now flung sensually up over her head, that choker circling her slender neck, but he’d have been lying to himself if he denied not wanting to see her completely nude—even if she was asleep.

Gently, he eased the side zipper down, loosening the leather around her hips. “Lift up, honey,” he urged, tugging gently downward on the fabric until her ass rose slightly.

He pulled the skirt to her knees and lower, soon dropping it on the bench, as well—all the while studying her pretty pussy. Shrouded with dark curls, he could still see her slit drawing a line down the center.

The beast in him wanted to spread her legs, watch her open, see the pink flesh where he had been not long ago.

Yet even he had his limits. He didn’t bribe singers to have sex with him, and he didn’t manipulate a woman who was asleep.

But he still thought about it—about parting her thighs, studying her cunt, about licking her, tasting her sweet juices—and had a feeling he was going to be awake for a while, fighting a raging erection.

Why the hell was he so turned on? He’d come less than an hour ago. And the sight of a naked woman in his bed wasn’t exactly unusual.

She trusts you.

The words came out of nowhere, like an answer to his question. He barely knew Brenna, yet along with her genuineness, he felt a certain trust in her openness. A feeling now that maybe she hadn’t ever fucked a guy in a closet before. After all, even suggestive billboards made her uncomfortable. So maybe what she’d been tonight, with him, she’d never been before .

And now, she’d trusted him to undress her and put her to bed. Of course, she was drunk—but still, when he’d offered to take her clothes off and she’d accepted, a sexily-content little smile had played about her lips, almost as if they had known each other for years.

Damon had never been with a woman for years, so he didn’t often feel that sort of blind, open trust.

But wait, that was wrong. Once he had been with a girl for a long while, when he was young, still living in New York, trying to find his way in life. And she’d been sweet and pretty—and trusting, too—and he’d broken her heart.

He came from a family of people who were satisfied with average lives. His father had just retired after forty years as a Brooklyn insurance salesman. His mother had been a housewife, the kind who’d worn pearls and dresses every day when he was little, a holdover from a different era. His oldest sister taught school, another sister managed a  Manhattan pet shop, and the last sister was a stay-at-home mom.

Nothing wrong with any of that, but he’d known early on that such a simple, settled life held little appeal for him. And two weeks before his wedding to Angie, a good Greek girl from the neighborhood whom he’d dated from high school on, he’d gotten a job offer in  L.A. and flown the coop.

His guilt hadn’t outweighed the sense of freedom he’d felt stepping onto that airplane, leaving his existence in Brooklyn behind. And ever since, he’d known he just wasn’t the settling-down type. He wouldn’t have a wife, or kids—or a dog or a minivan or a picket fence. It had been hard for his parents to accept, but as years had passed, they’d finally made peace with it, come to understand that he was different from the rest of the Andros family, that he wanted a different sort of life.

And he’d always been happy with that life, where all the key elements meshed so well.

Work and parties. Music and sex. He lived and breathed them.

And he was happy. Satisfied. A bone-deep satisfaction he couldn’t have found at home, married to Angie.

But it had been a damn long time since he’d been around a woman who seemed so guileless and real as Brenna did. She seemed like a contradiction. One minute begging him to fuck her, the next sheepishly confiding that she’d never gone without panties before.

And then there was that trust he’d just sensed from her, as tangible as the clothes he’d

just removed from her body.

Strangely, for perhaps the first real time since he’d hit the L.A. music scene and come to understand how ruthless the entertainment business could be, it kind of made him want to trust her, too.

THE THIRD NIGHT

“…to sin in secret is no sin at all.”

—Molière

One

Brenna’s first realization when she woke up was that she lay naked, a sheet pulled to her waist. She never slept naked, so it was a shock. And she didn’t exactly remember getting naked, either. Damn drink.

But then she turned her head and saw the gorgeous man whose head rested on the pillow next to hers, and she remembered. It hadn’t been a dream. Her second realization? She’d really had sex in a closet with Damon Andros.

Without the lull of intoxication clouding her head, it seemed all the more amazing. Who had she been last night? New Brenna, definitely. But apparently the new her was willing to go to extremes she’d never even imagined.

She suffered no regrets. Just a hint of sadness when she looked at him.

Because he was like a toy she couldn’t keep. And so she would play with him as much as possible while she had him, but she knew every bit of the play would be tainted with the knowledge that she’d soon have to give him up.

Silly, she chided herself. She was acting like she really knew him, like there were emotions involved here.

But there weren’t—there couldn’t be, because she didn’t know him. Not really. And because she had a feeling Damon Andros didn’t do relationships. And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter once he found out she’d been lying to him.

God, I can’t ever let him know. Whatever happened, however this all came down, she had to keep her involvement in it quiet. Because maybe she didn’t really know him, but she knew him well enough now that she’d die if he found out what an underhanded, conniving lowlife she was being—all to get a glamorous job.

From what she could tell, he was naked, too, wearing nothing but his earrings and the small cross she’d noticed on a chain around his neck last night. Mmm, he looked good.

Even better when he turned to face her, hair mussed, eyes slowly opening. “Hey,” he said, a sleepy smile gracing his face, the lower half of which was covered with a dark, sexy stubble.

She smiled back. “Hey.”

“Come here,” he said, voice low and persuasive. She didn’t hesitate to roll into his cozy  embrace. Odd how easy it was, how normal it felt, to press her naked body against his,

even though they’d never done that before. His warmth kindled in her a fresh desire as he

kissed her good morning.

God, he was perfect—he didn’t even have morning breath.

Which made her fear that she did. She backed slightly away, hoping she was wrong, and hoping he didn’t see her distress. She was so not used to casual sex or waking up with a guy she didn’t know well. “I have a confession to make,” she announced.

He arched one sleepy brow. “Oh?”

“I, uh…don’t exactly remember what happened after we got here last night. I’m…not very

good with hard liquor.”

He cast a naughty look. “Wrong, babe—you were very good.” Then he winked. “But nothing happened after we came back here—unfortunately. We just crawled into bed and went to sleep.”

She lowered her chin slightly, peering at him from her pillow. “Sorry about that.”

His eyes shone as warm and sexual as always—but she’d not yet begun to get used to it.

“Maybe you can make it up to me.”

Suddenly remembering the closet, his hands, and the rough, welcome entry of his cock, her pussy tingled. “I’ll do my best.”

In response, his palm closed over her hip, heating her further—and she forgot all about the possibility of bad breath as she instinctively leaned nearer, nearer, until their mouths collided.

The kiss fueled her desire so much that she found herself wanting to touch his penis, wrap her fingers around it, make it hard. But she was feeling just a little more shy than last night, so instead she only splayed her hand across his muscular chest, liking how hard he feltthere, too.

One hot kiss melted into another until Damon drifted downward, his mouth descending to her neck. And just like last night, the simple affection delivered a pleasure that stretched all through her, even as the stubble on his chin gently chafed her skin, adding still more sensation.

Soon, his tongue raked over one nipple as his hand closed over her other breast. Gasping, she instinctively thrust her chest deeper into his grasp—and his mouth. The swirl of his tongue around the wet tip of her breast made her crazy with lust, and she found herself looping one leg across his to draw him closer. What a few seconds before had been licking now turned to sucking, and he drew the sensitive peak deep, deeper into his mouth, shooting a blast of hot delight straight to her cunt.

Which is when her gaze landed on the digital clock on his side of the bed.