Seducing the Playboy (A Hot Nights Series Book) (Entangled Brazen) (8 page)

She tasted like wine, and cinnamon from the cookies she had made for dessert, a heady combination. Thought became instinct and he sought ways to bring them closer together. He focused on their connection and everything he could learn from the movement of her mouth on his. She was so responsive, so perfect. He grew hotter, harder, and needier. She was meant to be his. His hips rocked forward, meeting hers, and he realized she’d shifted to straddle him in the water.

“Whoa,” he groaned against her lips. “Slow down.”

“Dry humping is allowed, remember?” Her lips roved over his. Every flash of her tongue set him on fire.

“This isn’t dry humping. This is barely clothed almost-fucking in a backyard hot tub, and we are very wet.” He hoped his raw language would shock her enough to loosen her hold on him because he was about to lose it. No such hope. She wiggled closer, fitting his hard cock into the notch of her thighs, leaving him in no doubt of exactly how well they would fit together.

“I know I’m wet,” she whispered into his mouth.

He groaned, imagining what it would be like to slide inside her body right now. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she held on to his shoulders. It would be so easy to make a few adjustments to their suits and give her what they both wanted. The temptation was brutal, paralyzing, and mind-bending. He felt himself weaken, already shifting, his hands moving toward her waist before a thought struck him like a hammer.

No condom.

The thought didn’t kill his erection, but it did return a measure of his sanity.

“You promised to go at my pace,” he panted, desperately trying to convince himself his pace didn’t include traipsing wet into the house to fish a condom out of his wallet. “It’s late. Barb and Devon will be home soon. Um…”

“You’re not Cinderella, and Barb and Devon will make plenty of noise if they come home, trust me. I’m starting to think you’re stringing me along for cheap labor and a dessert for Las Vegas.”

“And you’re using me for cheap sex and a quick fix for Cooper’s.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes. “That was the deal. I’m holding up
my
end of the bargain.”

Busted.
He’d made a promise, and she thought he was going to keep it. His heart pounded, forcing more blood into his still-hard cock nestled between her thighs. It had been almost a week, and she hadn’t changed her mind. He wasn’t going to get out of this gracefully without doing something
.
If he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to get out of it at all. There would be consequences, but he was tired of denying them both. He lifted her up in the water and twisted her to the side, laying her body across his lap. He glanced around the fenced-in backyard, checking for nosy neighbors.

“We don’t have a condom, but I have an idea you might like.” He caught her gaze as his hand caressed her shoulder, slid over her breast, cupped the slight swell of her belly, then inched beneath the triangle of knitted fabric that covered her crotch.

She made a strangled noise as he slipped his middle finger into her folds. The breath rushed out of her lungs. He moved his fingers, exploring, discovering she was silky smooth. He was dying to see the thin line of pubic hair he could feel against his palm, but his imagination would have to do. She arched her hips toward his hand, beginning to float, so he held her beneath the surface, sliding one finger inside her, finding she was hotter than the water around them.

He watched her eyes glaze and her mouth fall softly open. She licked her lips, and he leaned forward to lick them, too. Their tongues tangled, and he moved his fingers inside her in the same rhythm. She kept time with soft moans in the back of her throat. What sounds would she make with more of him inside her, pushing her harder, faster? He pulled back, watching her eyes as he discovered the secrets of her body.

He curled his finger to rub the pebbled band of flesh just inside her opening, feeling her swell beneath his hand. Her hips pumped, responsive to his touch. “Have you ever imagined us doing something like this?”

“Too many times to count.” Her hoarse whisper made him harder. He thrust against her, feeling her body clench around his fingers. She cried out as his fingers coasted over her clit, and he concentrated on the bundle of nerves, circling then flicking, seeking a rhythm to drive her wild. She tensed, arms tight bands around his shoulders, thighs hard against his as she strained, reaching for her peak. He moved his fingers faster, harder, and she broke with a soft cry.

Her abandoned response urged him on. He wanted to give her this—to please her.

He thrust two fingers inside her to keep her going, riding the path to her G-spot while his thumb coasted over her clit, wanting to do the same thing with his cock. She thrashed back and forth in the water as she cried out again, and he had a split second of fear that her frenzied response would drive him over the edge with her. He tried to think of something other than Jenna and couldn’t. Her cheeks were pink, and her hair had fallen out of its twist. Every time she took a breath, her body pulsed around his fingers.

Suddenly, she sat up, closing her thighs, trapping his hand. “Turnabout’s fair play. Your turn.” She reached between them.

He grabbed her hand and held it.
Don’t do this.
The voice inside him was insistent, and he groaned. Jenna shifted closer, and he knew he was either going to have to let her continue or explain why he wanted her to stop. He was saved by the sound of crunching gravel and loud voices on the other side of the fence. Barb and Devon had returned in the nick of time.

“Rain check.” His voice was thick.

“I can’t in good conscience leave you in this condition.”

His body agreed, throbbing against her. “This isn’t about me. I may be a hedonist, but I can control myself with enough incentive.”

“And your incentive is…”

“Making it good for you. Fulfilling your fantasies. Anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac. Plus, this is the best kind of torture. Good, clean, dirty fun.” Would she believe him?

She didn’t look convinced. “You want to fulfill my fantasy? Meet me in my room in ten minutes.”

He lifted her off his lap and set her down on the bench beside him just as he heard the front door slam and the sound of a car leaving the driveway. “I told you the other night. My timetable or no deal.”

Her brow furrowed, and he could tell she was trying to think of another angle.

He raised an eyebrow, amused and a little desperate. “I haven’t seen you pout since yesterday, so you’re due for a temper tantrum. C’mon, let’s see that lower lip. Give it to me.” He hoped teasing would dispel the tension between them, but her eyes darkened and her chin came up, signaling trouble.

“I would love to give you my lower lip, both of my lips in fact.” She paused to give him a searing look. “Anywhere you want them.”

“I want them.”
I do, God help me.
He took a deep breath, and squeezed her hand. “I want
you
, but I need to do this my way. I want you to remember me with fondness when you go back to New Jersey. And sometime in the future, I’d like to have dinner with your family again without you hating my guts. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I’d like to stay friends.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “I’m pretty sure friends can give friends blow jobs these days, but whatever.” She was teasing him, yet they both knew she meant it.

“No doubt, and if you feel that way tomorrow, maybe I’ll say yes. But I don’t want you feeling obligated to offer quid pro quo just because I stole third base in a hot tub.”

Her steady gaze rocked him to the core. “There was no stealing. I gave it to you.”

“I know.”
And I don’t feel nearly as guilty as I thought I would.
He brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss.

“We are going to become lovers, aren’t we, Roman?”

He understood her confusion. They were consenting adults, boundaries clear, risks minimized, and there was enough heat between them to boil the water in the hot tub. He was worried about what Cole would say if he found out, but his worries weren’t going to win out against his lust the next time he found himself half-naked with Jenna—and there would be a next time.

He nodded slowly, coming to a decision. “Las Vegas.” As he said the words, he knew it had been his plan all along. A decadent night of pleasure in Sin City, and then they’d go their separate ways. It was what was best. After all, he’d only booked one room.

Her grin was as bright as the lights on the Vegas Strip.

He swallowed hard. “For the next few days, we’re going to be too busy for anything but work anyway…at least I hope so.” Another kind of anxiety flashed through him. They’d only be busy if the Beach House opening was a success. He’d reassured Jenna, but there was no guarantee.

“It’s going to be awesome, Ro. Have some faith.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he felt humbled and grateful. Hadn’t she come to Venice Beach to seek his help? He closed his arms around her, pulling her close, holding on to the moment. She was biased, dismissive of the challenges they faced, but God, her unwavering support felt good.

Down, boy. You can’t keep her.

As if to underscore his thoughts, Jenna slid out of his arms. She stood, steam rising from her skin as she stepped carefully out of the tub. “Speaking of work, I think we should do individual croquembouches for the Vegas event. What do you think?”

He made a face, remembering the soggy pile of cream puffs stuck together with caramelized sugar he and Alex had made in culinary school. “No way. Nightmare.”

“No so fast. Keep an open mind,” she said as he followed her out of the tub.

He grabbed a towel, quickly running it over his body before he wrapped it around his waist. She wanted to do a classical French dessert for a crowd of rowdy celebrities? He pictured Alex laughing him out of the kitchen. His mother hovering over the plates making panicked suggestions. The guests sneering. There was no way he was putting his name on a dessert that had disaster written all over it. His career would be over. Seriously, why not just go the whole nine yards and make the stupid puff pastry swans he had never been able to master?

“I know what you’re thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“But I think swans would be overkill.” She giggled and reached over to nudge his mouth shut with the tip of a finger.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” he demanded.

“We went to the same culinary school, silly—I took a guess. Now hear me out. I bake the cream puffs and make the mousses at the Beach House. We pack them up and take them to Vegas. I e-mailed the chef and he said I can use part of the kitchen—”

“Wait,” Roman broke in. “Hang on a sec.”

“No—you listen to
me
. I fill the puffs on the day of the event so they won’t get soggy. We use ganache to hold them together—sugar would be too complicated and no one wants to eat it anyway—but we make spun sugar for a garnish and put bright sauces on the plate, maybe use some gold foil or gold dust for accent. It will look like a million bucks, perfect for Vegas.”

“So you say. Your name isn’t going on that menu—mine is.” Until she’d cut him off, he’d fully intended to correct her misapprehension and tell her Alex was a woman, but now he was glad he hadn’t. The last thing he needed was those two ganging up on him. No doubt Alex remembered exactly how flat his cream puffs had been when they were in school. She’d be all for the idea. “I’ve got a lot riding on this, and I haven’t seen the new event menu yet. What if it’s sushi? Or Pacific Rim? Not classical at all?”

“Then we use Asian or Latin flavors in the mousses. The croquembouche is a classic for a reason. It has universal appeal, but it’s also adaptable. I guarantee the diners won’t be able to resist popping at least one cream puff into their mouths…especially if we make chocolate pâte à choux. A cute little individual chocolate croquembouche would look awesome on a white plate, especially with the spun sugar.”

Her enthusiasm was persuasive, but…cream puffs? “I was thinking something modern, like chocolate bombes.”

“Of course you were.” She snorted. “How many molds do you have? Even if you have twenty I’d have to make at least a dozen separate batches and wait for them to set. Or you’d have to buy more molds. Then there’s transportation. If we make them here, we’d have to keep them frozen during the trip, then ganache them in Vegas. Talk about a nightmare.” She shuddered and headed for the house.

He followed. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“Constantly. I don’t want to let you down, Roman. Trust me, I’m right about this. Croquembouches are the way to go. Practical, delicious, and I promise to make them stunning. The plate-up will be a breeze, too. Are you seeing my genius yet?”

He wouldn’t call it genius, but he didn’t have a better idea. “Do you have recipes for all these things? You don’t have much time to experiment.”

“I’m all set. Just get me that menu, so I can figure out the fillings.”

“I was expecting it two days ago. I’ll make sure we get it tomorrow.” He swatted her ass as she reached the door.

Heat flared in her eyes. “I’m going to change your mind about cream puffs.”

“I hope so.” He held the door for her and followed her into the house. Upstairs, he could hear Barb calling to Devon that it was past her bedtime.

“Leave the suit in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it.” Jenna left him at the door and walked down the hall.

When he came out of the bathroom, she was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of wine. She had changed into another soft-looking T-shirt and a pair of loose pants. She set her wine aside and walked him to the door.

“Thanks for coming.” She held out her arms.

He stepped forward, bracing himself. He wasn’t used to wanting but not having, and every time he got to the edge with her, it was harder to pull back, especially when she was so ready to move forward. As always, she fit him perfectly, but this time she didn’t push for more. Their bodies settled together, and he held her, enjoying her softness and the faint chlorine-and-flowers smell of her hair. It wasn’t a platonic hug, but it was comfortable. Comforting? Did he need to be comforted? Something felt different, and the strangest mix of anxiety and peace washed over him, as if something inside him was screaming
yes
at the same time something else was howling
no
.