Someone to Love (3 page)

She blushes a severe shade of pomegranate,
and a sharp bite of heat cuts through me. I can’t remember the last
time I made a girl blush. Hell I didn’t know they could blush, at
least not the man-eaters I associate myself with.

“Thank you, I think.” She averts her gaze out
the blackened window.

I take in her pale skin, her perfect full
lips and my heart pounds against my chest, telling me to knock this
shit off or I might accidentally break it again.

The food comes through the window, so I hand
Kenny the bags and drinks before heading to the overlook across the
way. We can eat in peace on the cliff side with nothing but the
Atlantic to distract us from ourselves.

“Where we going?” Her voice spikes as if she
suddenly fears for her limbs.

“Just across the street.” I pull into the lot
and land square in front of the wooden fence that separates us from
a two hundred foot drop. “You can see the beach from here.” I take
a quick swig of my soda. “So, where you from?”

“California. I love the beach. I practically
grew up on one.” She plays with the thin gold chain around her neck
while stretching her gaze over the waterline. “I’ve never been to
Massachusetts before. It looks nice from what I can see of it.” She
nods toward the windshield. “My mom really wanted me to get into
Garrison.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and dips into the bag,
handing me a burger. “You know”—she averts her eyes—“work on that
M-R-S. Degree.” She gives a sexy gurgle when she says it. “At least
that’s what she wants.”

“M-R-S, huh?” A tremble of laughter rattles
through me. “Good luck with that.” I take a giant bite of the
artery buster in my hand and wash it down with my drink. “Standing
at the altar is the last place you’ll find me. I’m pretty sure I’m
not getting married.” A knot twists in my gut as if maybe I
shouldn’t have been so quick to shoot down any false matrimonial
fantasies she might be entertaining—especially not if they involve
me. I’m pretty sure I’d be happy to star in any damn fantasy she’s
willing to put me in.

She plucks out the fries and offers me one,
so I accept. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t accept from Kenny
at the moment.

“No altar for you, huh? That’s because you’re
a player.” She says it as fact.

I tick my head back a notch. “Who says I’m a
player?”

I’m a player? Shit
. I stare
dumbfounded out the window a moment. That’s what I’ve become. I
guess bedding my way through the Greek alphabet, by way of sorority
girls, will do that to a person.

“
Yes
, you’re a player.” She looks up
at me from under those I-double-dog-dare you-to-get-me-in-bed
lashes as she sips from her shake.

My gaze dips for a moment, taking in her
fully formed, round, incredibly soft-looking cleavage, and my dick
perks to attention. I shift and place the bag over my lap in the
event things decide to get viral in my Levis.

“I don’t need a roadmap.” She purrs it out
low—all vixen and hell on heels. “You had ten girls hanging all
over you tonight. I think one of them digested your left ear.”

I catch a glimpse of my slightly singed
earlobe in the rearview mirror. “I think her name was Gina, and in
her defense, she was offering a demonstration of what she could do
with her mouth.” I tuck a smile in the side of my cheek, enjoying
the color as it blooms over her face and makes her skin glow. “How
about you? You play the game?” I ask mostly to see if I can get her
to blush ten shades deeper, see if the color would bleed down her
neck and light up her boobs like a pair of Christmas ornaments.
Getting Kenny to emit an afterglow has become my mission in life.
Besides, I already know that Kenny Jordon is far from a player, and
unfortunately for me, that pretty much takes her out of the running
for playmate. Too bad I’m not in the market for a girlfriend, if I
were, I’d battle to the death to make sure it was her. “On second
thought, don’t answer. There’s no way in hell you’d even know what
to play with.” This time I bury the smile and go for the
cardinal-coated gold. My body ignites with heat just watching her
light up a deep velvet crimson.

Her mouth falls open. “No, I’m not a player.”
She says it drawn out, incredulous at my taunt. “But I could be.”
She crimps a smile, and a tiny dimple implodes in her left cheek.
“If I wanted to.”

Hot fucking damn.

Her cleavage magically enlarges as she leans
in, and suddenly I’m finding the need to readjust the bag over my
lap.

“Although”—she touches her lower lip with her
finger, sending my penis in full scale erotic assault mode—“I
haven’t really even kissed anybody except for the time I was drunk
at my senior graduation.”

“Really?” What the hell is wrong with the
guys in California?

“Yeah, really.” She traces the outline of her
lips with her finger.

I’d like to do that for her—with my
tongue.

“So I guess that means you’re a virgin.”
Shit. Did I just go there? Looks like it’s all systems go to make
sure Kenny stays the hell away from me. Nothing like a little
self-sabotage coupled with a jab at her virginity to make sure
she’s safe from my “road show.” Kenny needs some nice kid to sweep
her off her feet, not me. I’ve got chains dangling from my bedposts
for God’s sake. Nope. There’s not one nice thing about me these
days.

“It’s not a death sentence,” she scolds.
“Besides, maybe I will take my mother’s unconventional advice. I
could hang out with Pennington and see what happens.” She makes a
face as if it’s the last thing on the planet she wants to do.

I swallow a laugh. “I’m pretty sure
Pennington isn’t the one for you.”

She postures seductively as her hips grind
into the seat. “Well, I have to start somewhere if I’m going to
become the female version of you, don’t I?” She bites down on the
smile waiting to take over as if she’s taunting me.

“Female version of me?” Intriguing concept,
but I’m not buying it. I doubt she is either.

“Maybe I should turn things around for
myself”—she gives an impish grin—“start taking advantage of all the
fresh meat Garrison has to offer. You know, a social
experiment.”

“Social experiment?” I hold back a laugh. If
I didn’t know better I’d think she read my thesis. Has she read my
thesis?

“Yeah, I can document my findings on what it
feels like to become a female predator. They do exist, you know.
The male species doesn’t own exclusive rights to sexual
domination.”

“You want to sexually dominate.” I find this
doubtful. Although if she’s hell-bent on diving into a cesspool of
STDs, who am I to stop her? In fact, I might even introduce her to
the chains a little sooner than anticipated. “And, by all means, I
volunteer to do the documentation around here.” I’ll be published
by fall.

“I could be the next big player at Garrison.”
She says it, stunned by her own admission. “I bet I can give you a
run for your money.”

“No you can’t.” I take a quick swig of my
soda. No use in placating her with false ideals. A kitten like her
would be eaten alive in the most extravagant sexual fashion if left
to the rabid bears on campus.

“Well then, I’ll just have to prove you
wrong.” Her neck arches in a seductive manner, paper-white and long
like a pillar.

She accepts the challenge as if I just issued
a dare. I should set her straight, release her from the bondage of
ever becoming anything like me, but my mouth takes a U-turn.

“So, I guess you’ll need some pointers.” I
start up the car and back out of the lot without giving my
conscious a chance to weigh in on the matter.

She leans as the car moves and her chest
swells out of her T-shirt, making me hungry for far more than
food.

“Where we going?” she whispers, worried by my
sudden interests to offer assistance, I’m sure.

“To my place.” I’ll have her running for the
nearest convent by the time I’m through with her. “It’s time to get
to bed.”

Kendall

The Experiment

Bed?

I watch as the moon lies over the water like
a lover, the waves lapping the shore with their strange luminescent
glow. Cruise weaves us down a deserted black highway with curtains
of evergreens erect on either side. He’s driving me to a yet
undisclosed location to which he gleefully confessed happens to
house his mattress. And, I’m pretty sure after he has his way with
me, there’s a good chance he’ll dismember my body.

I can’t believe how stupid I am to get in the
car with a stranger. They say never let an abductor take you to a
second location—not that I’ve technically been abducted since I
willfully entered the vehicle. Although in my defense, plenty of
abductees have crawled into the passenger’s side under the pretense
of a burger and fries.

We drive out of civilization, just as I
suspected, and into a black hole that eventually leads to a sign
that reads, Carrington County, then another less prominent sign
reading,
Elton House, Bed and Breakfast
.

“My mom runs the place,” he volunteers as we
pull in. “It was passed down from my grandfather.” The muscles in
his jaw tighten as he inspects the tall yellow structure. We turn
down an offshoot and land in front of a small brick house tucked
behind the B&B. “I have an extra room. The bathroom doesn’t
have a lock, but I promise, I’ll knock up a storm before barging
in—maybe.” He gives a devilish grin before killing the engine. “The
room is yours if you want it, for as long as you need it.”

“Thank you.” I think. “But I don’t have any
money for rent,” I confess. And I’m pretty sure my scholarship
doesn’t cover shacking up with abnormally good-looking boys. But, I
guess one night won’t hurt. He seems mostly sane. Although, I’m not
sure I could take him if he decides to attack. I’ll have to sleep
with a stiletto at the ready should the need arise to put out an
eye.

“That’s all right. I’ll let you cook me
breakfast in exchange for room and board.” He gravels it out as if
he’s the meal in question. “We’ll call it even.”

I follow him to the tiny porch as he lugs my
suitcase. The air is icy as an Arctic breeze, causing a cloud to
form around our heads from the simple act of breathing.

Cruise glows with the powder-white halo
surrounding him, and I give an impish grin at what might happen
tonight.

He opens the door and flicks on the lights
before taking a step back onto the porch.

“Ladies first.” He waves me in.

It’s clean inside. A large living room opens
up to a kitchen filled with stainless appliances and dark hardwood
floors. Truthfully, I expected to find a colossal bong centered on
the table like a vase, or possibly a meth lab sprouting from the
sink. But to my surprise there’s no evidence of criminal
activity.

“Nice,” I say, making my way toward the
U-shaped sofa. “Thanks for letting me crash on your couch.”

“You won’t have to. I have a bed with your
name on it.” His brows arch with an air of seduction as he leads me
to a small room with an oversized bed. A maple dresser is set in
the corner. It looks harmless enough. Nothing to imply deviant
behavior—no sign of rope or duct tape, so already I feel
better.

“I’m in this one.” He turns on the lights
next door, revealing an unmade bed with a river of socks migrating
onto the floor. There’s an abandoned pizza box on the nightstand
with a bevy of candy wrappers strewn over it.

I see his nightly conquests leave him
famished, and his need for handy snacks outweigh any concerns he
might have for nutrition.

A pair of chains dangle from his bedpost, and
my stomach lurches with an unnatural level of excitement—or
fear—maybe both.

“Bathroom.” He nods behind me. “I’ll get a
fire going and warm the place up. Heater’s out of commission, but
I’ll fix it.” Cruise leans into the doorframe and examines me with
a proficient thoroughness. His eyes lock over mine, and the hint of
a corrupt smile plays on his lips.

God, he’s gorgeous. I’m pretty sure a face
like that and a bed less than ten feet away is a dangerous
combination.

“So what do you think?” He smolders.

“Um…” I’m concerned I’ve missed a boatload of
clues that would have afforded a more experienced one-night stand
aficionado the right to be testing out those mattress springs by
now. “I think it’s nice of you to let me spend the night.” Really?
Nice of you to let me spend the night?
I’m pretty sure those
words have never been uttered under this roof before. In fact, I’m
betting niceties such as
please
and
thank you
have
only been screamed under sexual duress in his deviant den, laden
with chains and stale pizza.

He leads us back to the living room, and I
take a seat on the sheepskin rug just shy of the hearth. I’m no
detective, but I can deduce that the furry carcass I’ve planted
myself on has seen some serious mileage in the soiled-with-sin
department. Although, right about now, I’m so freezing I don’t
really care about the questionably-defiled status of said dead
creature. I’m so cold I might actually jump in the fire just to
thaw out.