Playing Hooky (Teach Me Tonight) (2 page)

She
distracted.

Jack
hated distractions. His focus was legendary, his work meticulous, and he felt
the pressure of the public eye with every word he published. He didn’t have
time for a lush little middle school teacher with wide blue eyes and tempting curves
hidden under sensible sweaters and skirts that made him wonder how soft the
flesh beneath might be.

Did
she wear garters?
His cock tightened as the image stuck.

Snap
the fuck out of it, Jack,
he ordered himself, knowing he’d never find out firsthand.

Molly
Callahan was off limits.

Jack
made her nervous and he knew it. Molly could barely string two words together
around him, though he’d eavesdropped on enough of her conversations at family
functions to realize that she had a sharp mind and a sweet, generous heart. When
their paths crossed and he had to make small talk, the sexual tension in her
was palpable, and that stirred something primal in him, as though his body
recognized a receptive female eager for his touch. He kept their conversations
bland, to prevent himself from grabbing her and pinning her against the nearest
convenient surface to devour her in succulent bites.

She’d
lick that full lower lip and he’d have to stifle a groan, and when she thought
he wasn’t looking, her eyes would wander over him with barely-disguised
interest. Jack had developed a sixth sense about knowing when she was staring
at his ass.

The
first problem was that she was Bree’s best friend and a
Callahan.
The
second problem was that he seriously doubted she was the kind of girl who would
be happy with a quick fling, the only offer ever on the table. She probably
wanted hearts and flowers and quiet nights by the fire. Jack was gone half the
time, up to his ears in bugs and dirt, and when he was home, he spent most of
his time doing publicity or holed up writing somewhere. He maintained a couple
of casual bed partners, the kind of women who appreciated a weekend fuck to
release tension, but he wasn’t exactly relationship material, despite Bree’s
confidence in him. Jack didn’t like people getting close – it hurt too much
when they left. Fucking and forgetting Molly Callahan would bring the wrath of
her family down on his head, and worse, Bree would never forgive him.

Jack
sipped his champagne and wondered if Molly would miss him at the reunion. Would
she lie awake at night, wondering where he was, maybe running her hands over
her sweet breasts and down to tease the bud of her clit as she thought about
him? Lately, Jack’s fantasies all seemed to revolve around wrapping Molly’s
shining reddish-brown mane around his fist to pull her head back so that he
could feast on her throat while he rocked into her, hot and wet and tight as a
fucking fist. She would shiver and surrender in his arms with his name on her
lips.

Shit,
if I want to get anything
done I’m going to have to jerk off the minute we get there,
thought Jack in
disgust, adjusting his loose shirt to cover the erection straining the zipper
of his khaki shorts.

He
felt unsettled, as if he was being watched, and glanced around. The
honeymooners were practically twittering like the lovebirds they resembled
while the birdwatcher had his attention fixed on the sea birds that swooped
along in the wake of the yacht, but Jack couldn’t shake the sense of eyes on
him. Just like it felt whenever Molly Callahan was staring at his –

“Jack,”
her voice breathed, real and stunned, right behind him.

Fantasies
were one thing, hallucinations were quite another.

With
a horrible sense of foreboding, Jack turned around.

Shit.

“WHAT
THE HELL ARE you doing here?!?” Molly practically screeched as she stomped
over, fingers clenched around a bubbling champagne flute.

“Me?
What are
you
doing here?”

He
had the nerve to look shocked. And pissed.

“What
does it look like? I’m on vacation.”

“You’re
supposed to be at the reunion,” he accused, his eyes sweeping over her in
disbelief.

Suddenly
Molly was very aware of her slightly disheveled appearance, her shirt wrinkled
from the long flight, her hair whipping around her like a tornado. Jack, of
course, looked good enough to eat, in simple khaki shorts and a loose white
shirt rolled up at the sleeves, half-open to reveal a good amount of muscled
chest and dusting of golden hair that looked so touchable, her mouth went dry.

“I
decided to skip it and find a beach,” she fumed, gulping the chilled champagne
and trying to get her knee-jerk arousal under control.

“And
of all the beaches in the world, you picked the one on the island where I’m
researching my next book?” His voice was heavy with suspicion.

“Bree
picked it out.”

They
both fell silent as the pieces clicked into place.

“My
sister strikes again,” Jack finally muttered and lifted his champagne flute in
a wry toast before downing the rest of the glass.

“I
didn’t know,” managed Molly as reality started to set in – she was going to
spend two weeks on a remote paradise island with
Jack Roman.

Oh.
My. God.

He
didn’t look particularly happy with the situation, and she felt a frission of
pique as he continued to look at her like a particularly distasteful form of
bug.

“Well,
it’s a whole island. We’ll manage. I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” he said,
and that frission turned into full-blown irritation.

Can
we say rude?

“I’m
sure your work won’t interfere with my vacation, but thanks for your concern, Jack,”
she said sweetly, and enjoyed the scowl that darkened his face.

He
may have a great ass, but Jack Roman was proving to be something of an ass
himself.

I
don’t know what Bree was thinking,
Molly thought, surly and struggling with a hot stab of disappointment,
Hot
doesn’t make up for jerk.

She
turned to go, planning to introduce herself to the other guests and not waste
one more second on Jack Roman, when the floor shifted out from under her as the
yacht crossed the wake of a passing sailboat and
rocked.

The
honeymooners giggled, clutching each other, while the birdwatcher simply
grabbed the railing and shifted his stance, but Molly was untethered. The flute
slipped from her fingers with a crash, and she got a glimpse of Jack’s
wide-eyed horror as she lost her footing and toppled ungracefully…right into
his arms.

I’M
BEING PUNISHED,
THOUGHT
Jack as Molly’s soft weight crashed into him, sending them tumbling down
together onto the padded bench by the railing. A second jolt hit as she frantically
tried to push away, and suddenly she was pinned beneath his weight, intimately
pressed from thigh to chest, and
holy fuck,
she felt good.

Molly
froze as the intimacy of their position hit her, and Jack marveled that having
her under him was incredible, even though he’d never pictured them like this
fully clothed, on a yacht, with an audience. Anger, frustration, and lust
churned through him. Their confrontation was the longest conversation they’d ever
had, and now her curves molded against him as if they were two pieces of a
puzzle, as if they’d been sleeping together for years. Her breath came fast
with her breasts crushed against his chest, their legs tangled, and her
intimate heat seared him where his thigh rubbed her hot, sweet pussy. His cock
cuddled against her stomach, his thick
dumb
flesh eager to show her how big
and hard she made him.

Molly’s
eyes were wide, and this close he could make out the specks of green and count
every little freckle on her cute little nose. She wasn’t wearing perfume, but
the scent of soap and Molly had Jack holding in a shudder. Then she nervously licked
her lower lip and his cock jerked
hard
. Her eyes widened as she felt it,
and the little gasp she tried to stifle puffed against his chin.

It
would be so easy to kiss her.

Swearing
under his breath, Jack yanked himself away, noting that the staff was rushing
to help them and clean up the broken glass, noting that her hands took a moment
to let him go as he pulled away. It had only been a few seconds, but his unruly
body had taken swift measure of Molly Callahan and decided that she fit him
perfectly.

Too
bad,
he sternly
warned his dick, trying to get his pulse under control,
you can’t have her.

“Stay
out of my way,” he advised her, and turned away.

Without
a backward glance, Jack grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing
steward and walked away from temptation to the other end of the yacht.

IT
WAS BARELY DAWN when Molly woke, languidly stretching as she took a moment to orient
herself. She pushed aside the mosquito netting to watch the sky slowly change
color over the turquoise ocean, the only sounds the lapping of the water
against the stilts that held her bungalow up and the distant shore, and the
occasional early morning call of the sea birds. The resort had a main building,
but she’d shelled out for one of a dozen bungalows that sat directly over the
water, connected by a series of wooden pathways. It was private, it was quiet.

It
was perfect.

Yesterday
was a bit of a blur, and Molly had never been so grateful for jet lag in her
life. After Jack had stomped away, leaving Molly in the hands of the concerned
staff, she’d made it through the rest of the journey, let herself be ushered
through check-in, and escorted to her bungalow, where she’d crashed, hard. Sleep
was a welcome alternative to thinking about how Jack had dismissed her, or
about the mind-blowing reaction of her body against his.

Molly
groaned, rolling to her back.

He’d
been hard against her, all over, and it was humiliating to realize that an
obnoxious man who had no interest in her could still make every nerve ending
sing without effort. It wasn’t like he was the first guy to dismiss her, but
somehow this was worse – he didn’t like her, didn’t want anything to do with
her, but that sinfully perfect body of his seemed to think that a sweaty tumble
was a pretty damn good idea.

Sounds
good to me, too.

But
it wasn’t going to happen. Her fantasy about a casual island fling had been
pretty much that – a fantasy. She didn’t make a habit of sleeping with strange
men, or even familiar ones, though some harmless flirting would be fun.

Sex
with Jack.

Even
the though made her shiver, but her practical brain ran through all the
perfectly good reasons the whole idea was nonsense –
he’s a jerk, he doesn’t
want you, if you fuck him you’re still going to run into him at every family
function until the end of time.

Molly
sighed. It was that last one that was the real bitch.

Why
couldn’t you be some anonymous island hunk, instead of an arrogant, smart,
practically related pussy-tease?
she
grumped.

And
oh,
how he could tease. Without thought. Without effort.

What
woman could resist the press of all that golden muscle? He’d smelled terrific,
too, something spicy and hot, and Molly had wanted nothing more than to nuzzle
the golden stubble along his jaw and then taste the hollow of his throat with
her tongue. It had taken everything in her not to rub her aching clit against
his thigh, not to reach down to explore the huge shaft pressed against her.

Tantalizing.

Dammit.

Feeling
restless and turned on, Molly reached over her bed for her purse and the little
pocket rocket she’d just purchased as an impulse buy. She’d never owned a
vibrator before, but it seemed like the kind of thing a self-confident, rebellious
woman would do. Molly felt a naughty thrill as she turned it on and a discreet
buzz broke the silence. Lying back, she pressed the little device to her
collarbone, feeling the vibration skitter along her skin.

“Mmmm…Jack…”
she murmured.

She
shouldn’t be wasting any more time fantasizing about Jack Roman,
the jerk
,
but he’d played a starring role in her wicked dreams for so long that it was a
little hard to just go cold turkey. Especially now that she knew what he felt
like. All over. This week, she’d work on dreaming up a new fantasy lover, but
for the moment…

Molly
pulled her silky nightgown off and traced the vibrator down to tease her
nipples into tight peaks, moaning softly as she pictured Jack rolling them
between his fingers, eyes filled with heat. She slid the little rocket lower,
her hips arching as she found her clit and Fantasy Jack knelt up to drape her
thighs over him, his voice husky and dark, his body tight with arousal.

“Ready
for me, baby?”
he
would murmur.

“Shhh….”
Molly murmured to her imagination, “Reality Jack is a total douche, so Fantasy
Jack doesn’t get to talk. Got it?”