Читать книгу Juicy - Noelle Mack - Страница 5

Bliss Johnson checked her things-to-be happy-about calendar. Today’s page listed beach roses and sailboats and velvety black skies filled with stars. Lovely. But not part of summer in New York. Almost everyone found a way to escape the hot sidewalks and gritty air sooner or later and her office building seemed oddly empty. Except for a few newcomers, recent college grads whose evil parents were forcing them to seek gainful employment.

Like her assistant—oh, make that her former assistant. Bliss ripped the page off the pad and crumpled it into a ball, attempting a tough diagonal throw into her wastebasket. She missed.

Okay, she would pick it up later, when her energy returned. When she finished flipping through the calendar to see if it said anywhere that going to Pittsburgh was something to be happy about.

Kayla wouldn’t think so. The baby-faced intern, three credits away from a BA in media studies, had been Bliss’s assistant at Lentone Fitch & Garibaldi for only a week. Viola Lentone had hired her. Kayla was so enthusiastic at first, eager to learn all there was to know about advertising. She was so young, so fresh, so new…and she seemed to think the office was an extension of her dorm. Kayla kept her laptop open on her desk to check her Facebook site, posting despairing messages. Sav me!! Ths jobb sux!!!

Unfortunately, Vi’d been looking over Kayla’s shoulder when the intern wrote that one. Bliss saw Vi flick the laptop closed with one red-lacquered fingernail and stare at Kayla without speaking.

“Well, the job does suck,” the intern said at last.

“And why is that, sweetie?” Vi asked calmly.

“I thought I was going to have more to do.”

Fatal words. Kayla, the underachieving daughter of Violet’s best friend, was assigned to filing contracts and disappeared into a room filled with high metal cabinets. The occasional sound of clanging drawers was all that was left of her.

Which was why Bliss had to do all her own prep work for the Hot Treats account presentation. She was booked on a flight tomorrow to do a search-and-recon mission on the company, which was smack in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania. Bliss reviewed her game plan: Visit the factory. Flatter the execs. Come up with brilliant ideas for selling their new line of fruit pies to skittish, carb-conscious consumers. The flight was short, but she would have to travel in a rattletrap taxi all the way from Pittsburgh to tiny Leonardville, where the factory was. One hour on the plane, another hour in the taxi…there was no cure for the summertime blues.

Crowded into a coach seat, Bliss looked through the HT press kit, making notes in the margins and wondering who wrote their copy.

The friendly folks at HT are called food scientists—and millions of busy moms sing their praises for inventing the toaster pastry and other delicious extruded snacks!

She winced and drew a line through the word extruded. Bliss wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded awful.

A photo of a group of nerdy people in white lab coats caught her eye. They were brandishing long wooden spoons and wearing checked chef’s hats. Cute. Too cute for words, in fact. The HT marketing campaign was in need of a major overhaul.

She reviewed the photos of the board members and execs, amused by the way their kind smiles didn’t match their cold stares. They looked more like hired killers than friendly pie people. They needed Lentone Fitch & Garibaldi, fast, and she needed to land this account even faster. Bliss would have to come up with an innovative concept to do it. Traditional media approaches didn’t cut it these days.

Maybe it was time to explore a new career path, she thought glumly, and look for work that was less venal and soul-destroying than advertising. Like designing stuffed animals or something like that. But stuffed-animal designers were probably no less miserable than anyone else. Maybe more so. All those button noses and beady eyes would get her down sooner or later.

Bliss turned to the back of the press kit, reserved for a message from Alf Sargent, the retiring CEO and son of the company’s founder. In a few brief paragraphs, Alf shared the highlights of his years at HT and introduced his replacement, Jasper Claybourn, whose photo—a lot smaller—was off to one side, along with a brief bio. He didn’t look like a corporate stuffed shirt and he didn’t look like a killer. He looked hot. Bliss studied the photo and sat up straight. That smile was real.

Easy as pie. In its industrial application, the phrase took on a whole new meaning. Bliss Johnson was on the official tour of the HT factory, observing the process from start to finish. She peered down from a walkway into huge vats that held hot fillings, noting the bubbles rising sluggishly from the depths. Ploop. Plurp. Ploop.

Bliss tried to think of something to say, feeling a little queasy. The fruity smell was overwhelming. But she managed a faint wow. The head pie guy, a giant in white coveralls and an incongruous hairnet, beamed at her. Bliss adjusted her own hairnet, tucking an escaped strand of dark brown hair back under its elastic edge and smiled back, even though she knew she probably looked like a cafeteria server in the damn thing.

Her loaner coveralls were rolled up at the wrists and ankles, and the seat drooped unglamorously. So much for her short skirt and sleeveless red sweater. Bliss looked down at the toes of her high heels and sighed inwardly. Underneath it all, she looked fine. Her body was firm and her breasts were bouncy and her legs were toned and she looked better at thirty than she had at twenty. Underneath it all.

Her escort didn’t seem to care what she looked like, because he was too busy talking. He made a joke about genetically modified fruit that could hop from vine to pie, and explained the software code that produced the perfect squiggles on cupcake icing, and couldn’t be stopped on the top-secret subject of Nutty Balls, a product name from hell if anyone was interested in her opinion.

Apparently Alf Sargent was convinced that Nutty Balls were going to be bigger than cupcakes, bigger than pies, bigger than anything in the history of extruded snacks, and no one argued with Alf. The retiring CEO wanted to honor the memory of his recently deceased mother, who’d invented the recipe.

He’d shown Bliss all the framed news clippings about his mom, a legend in her home state of Iowa. Back in the 1950s, Mrs. Sargent, a young widow, won first prize in a nationwide bake-off, her Nutty Balls beating out Miss Mimi Abarbanel’s heavily favored Camel Humps and Mrs. Elwood Clip’s Secret Spice Snaps in a thrilling upset victory for the rookie from Des Moines. With tears in his eyes, Alf had pointed out the black-and-white photo of his mom in cat-eye glasses and a teeny flowered hat, clutching a check for $25,000 and being hugged around the shoulders by the emcee.

Just looking at the photo inspired him to give Bliss a hug too. Around the shoulders…but even so. She eased out of his grip as soon as she could.

The prize money had been the beginning of Hot Treats, which Mrs. Sargent built into a food-industry powerhouse over the next four decades, amassing a multi-million-dollar personal fortune while she was at it. Bliss, who had a weakness for supermarket tabloids, vaguely remembered a few articles about her. Mrs. Sargent had handed the company over to her son and moved to Paris to collect gigolos, which didn’t keep Alf from referring to her as “my sainted mother.”

But hey, the old lady had worked hard all her life and it had been her money. There was plenty left over to build this gleaming new HT factory, which provided jobs for a whole lot of people. Bliss wasn’t going to judge the late Mrs. Sargent, not for one minute.

She took a last look down into the immense vats and stepped gingerly on the walkway to where the giant in coveralls was waiting for her. He waved her through a door that opened into a cavernous hall. The noise was deafening, and the giant offered her a tiny, airline-style package of earplugs from a receptacle mounted on the wall. Following his example, she hastily unwrapped them and stuck them in her ears. They skipped the extrusion unit at her request and came out on a high, grated walkway near the ceiling. She looked down at a wide conveyor belt carrying filled, baked fruit pies that chugged past in endless rows, moving under nozzles spraying a sugar glaze as uniform and thick as car paint.

Bliss could feel her eyelashes sticking together, even though they were thirty feet above the belt. She nodded to the giant and they walked on, coming to another door and entering a corridor that led to the executive office suites.

A man was walking toward them. Make that six-foot-four of gorgeous man, Bliss thought. With a cocky, confident walk. She liked a man who swaggered a little.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t going to pay much attention to her, not dressed like this. He was wearing Armani himself, unless she missed her guess. She edged back behind the giant and got the earplugs out, sticking them into a pocket.

The man reached them in a few swift strides, glancing at the giant but making eye contact with Bliss. His voice was deep and warm. “You must be Bliss Johnson. I’m Jaz Claybourn.”

She forced her lashes to unstick. No wonder she hadn’t recognized this godlike being as the new CEO of Hot Treats right away. Jaz thrust out his hand and she took it, enjoying the feel of his strong fingers clasping hers despite her embarrassment.

What a smile. It was even more effective in person. Bliss squirmed and sweated inside her coveralls, wishing she could rip them open and kick them aside, whipping off her hairnet while she was at it and letting her hair tumble free.

“Aren’t you hot?” he asked, looking straight into Bliss’s eyes.

“Melting.” She met his gaze. His eyes were an intelligent shade of green, and fringed with lashes as black and straight as the hair that fell in a shock across his forehead. His features weren’t perfect but they sure as hell were bold and sexy, something she’d noticed in the press kit photo. Bonus points for reality: he was at least a head taller than she was in heels.

“Well, take that thing off and come into my office,” he said genially. “I’d like to talk to you about the new campaign.”

Bliss got to work on the Velcro tabs immediately. The ripping sound was definitely unsexy, like little-kid sneakers or nursing home restraints. But Jaz wasn’t looking her way, so it didn’t matter. He clapped the giant on the shoulder. “Thanks for showing her around, Earl.”

“No problem, boss,” the giant said, too loudly. He still had his earplugs in. Earl nodded to Bliss and ambled away down the corridor. She clutched the bunched-up coveralls around her waist, not sure if she should just let them fall down and step out or what. She would probably trip if she did.

“Need a shoulder to lean on?” Jaz asked in a friendly way.

Of course she did. One to lean on and one to cry on would do it for her. “No, thanks,” she said, reaching out a hand and bracing herself against the wall. She let go of the coveralls and they collapsed around her ankles. Bliss struggled to get a foot free, and lost her shoe. She stepped out of the coveralls on that foot and kicked the other foot free, but the folds of fabric swallowed the second shoe too.

Jaz reached down and plucked them out with his left hand as she steadied herself, as if he had a lot of practice returning high heels to women who’d kicked them off.

Bliss gulped. An instant vision of his bedroom came to mind, strewn with satin-doll dresses and fuck-me shoes. Smiling down at her the way he was, it was easy to imagine him—big, built, and buck naked—sprawled out on a king-size bed with his head resting on his crossed arms, a lazy grin on his face as he watched his date get dressed to go home.

Date. Not a girlfriend. Not a wife. Taken wasn’t the word that popped into her mind when it came to Jaz Claybourn. But maybe that was just wishful thinking. She looked at the hand that still held her high heels—he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, for what that was worth. Bliss blushed and accepted the shoes, still bracing herself against the wall as she slipped them on. She straightened her skirt and pulled down her red sweater.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly.

Jaz nodded again, then reached out one finger and gently pulled off the hairnet she’d forgotten about. “That’s much better,” he said with a smile. He tucked the net in his jacket pocket.

“Oh, geez. I must be a mess.” Bliss quickly finger-combed her thick, tousled hair.

“You look fine. In fact, you look great. Ready for the second part of the tour? My assistant picked up your things from the changing area after you left with Earl. She put them in my office.”

“Oh. I don’t think I met her but—sure. Lead on.”

He turned and headed back down the corridor the way he’d come. “Fair warning. My office is a train wreck.” He held the door open for her, and Bliss entered a spacious, mahogany-paneled executive suite with an immense, gleaming desk in its center. A leather chair with studded trim was behind that, and a long sofa in the same studded leather took up the space beneath a billboard-size plate glass window. There wasn’t a piece of paper in sight, or a computer, for that matter.

“This isn’t where I work,” he said. “Right this way.” He pushed on a section of panel that swung open into a much smaller space with four flat-screen monitors displaying different things: spreadsheets, commodities trading reports, agricultural weather reports, and international news. The floor-to-ceiling shelves held reams of printed-out reports, organized and labeled by factory department.

Bliss silently noted his framed MBA from Dartmouth. It hung next to a Young Executive of the Year award from some other company, near a shelved tennis trophy topped by a silver guy executing an overhead smash.

There were personal photos, too, placed here and there. Several of Jaz—broad-shouldered and bare-chested and gloriously buff, wearing frayed chino shorts far enough down on his hips to reveal the muscle in his groin—on the beach somewhere with a pack of happy-looking people around his age. Friends? Siblings? Hard to tell from where she was standing. One great big guy did resemble him, but his hair was blond and long.

She noted Jaz and his mom, who looked very much alike, in a formal studio shot that nonetheless glowed with feeling. Bliss looked around discreetly for a matching photo of him with his dad, but didn’t see one. Mama’s boy? Child of a broken home? Orphan wolf boy raised by random grandma, resemblance coincidental? Could be issues there. She wanted to stop but she couldn’t.

Jaz waved at the cluttered room with obvious pride. “This is it. Operation Strawberry Pie. Our latest and greatest hot treat.”

Bliss looked around. “Alf seemed to think that, uh, Nutty Balls were going to be your next big thing.”

Jaz shook his head and pulled out a small swivel chair for her. “They might catch on in limited distribution. Sometimes you can get away with a product name like that in Southern markets. But not nationwide.”

She smiled. “I agree.”

“Can’t change the name,” Jaz said resignedly. “That was his sainted mother’s recipe. I guess he showed you the picture. Alf shows everybody that picture.”

“He sure did.”

He spun the swivel chair around with a laugh. “Sit down. I’ll explain the business side and then we can do creative brainstorming on the product launch. Want coffee?”

“Okay.”

Jaz sat down right next to her in a much bigger chair, and pressed a button on a small intercom console. “Dora. We need some coffee in here. How do you take yours, Bliss?”

“Black, please.”

“You got it. Two black coffees, Dora. Thanks.”

For no particular reason, Bliss imagined Dora as a motherly, efficient type in sensible shoes. Two minutes later, she was not thrilled to find out that Jaz’s assistant was a leggy blonde with ice-blue eyes. Perfectly poised, Dora brought in an ebony tray that matched her close-fitting suit, and positioned it low enough for Bliss and Jaz to help themselves to the two china cups on it.

“Thanks,” Jaz said politely, taking his cup and studying the spreadsheet he’d just pulled up. Bliss murmured her thanks as she took the remaining cup, momentarily unnerved by the look of cool appraisal that Dora gave her.

“You’re welcome,” Dora said.

“Did you two meet?” Jaz asked absently, glancing from one woman to the other. “Bliss, this is Dora. Dora, this is Bliss.”

“I figured that out,” Dora said, a faint note of affectionate mockery in her voice. She turned the empty tray sideways against her well-toned thigh and walked out. Bliss didn’t quite get the subtext. Jaz’s nonchalance could very well mean that he was fooling around with his assistant. Or not.

Bliss sipped her coffee, which was very good and freshly made, and focused on the columns of figures. She tried not to glance down at Jaz’s thighs so close to hers, spread wide to accommodate athletic-looking muscle and the intriguing bulge between his legs. He was hung. Totally hung. Not that he had an erection, of course. Yet. All she would have to do was run her hand along one solid quad and touch him there…no, no, no, she told herself. This is a client. Hot Treats is a big account. You want to land him, not lay him.

I want both, said a wicked, womanly voice in her head. He has to be the hottest treat of all. Her inner she-devil was reacting to Jaz’s nearness in a big way. Bliss pressed her knees together, feeling a sensation of pleasure fire up between her legs.

A few hours later—she had no idea how many, the reports piled on his desk covered the time display on his main computer—they had covered a lot of ground without ever leaving his sanctuary. He was fascinated by the viral web-marketing campaign she outlined for him, even if he wasn’t sure that YouTube-obsessed teens and blogging moms would send quirky videos about strawberry pies to everyone they knew.

But he did agree that the company needed to develop more flavorful fillings to gain competitive edge and sell a snack-to-the-max experience. They didn’t see eye to eye on the packaging: Jaz wanted to update the label but what he had in mind was too subdued for a grab-and-go treat. Warming to her subject, Bliss explained that appealing colors and trendy graphics stimulated impulse buying. He agreed that the gingham wrapper had to go, ditto the chubby cook on the label. Even the Pillsbury Doughboy had lost his gut, Bliss pointed out.

She was feeling a whole lot better. Intense verbal back-and-forth with a very interested and brainy guy did wonders for her ego. The combination of intelligent business discussion, creative concept talk, and, hell yes, hot and heavy flirtation had pretty much dissolved her own brains, though. Just squirming in a swivel chair right next to a powerful, turbocharged male body made for sex was all the foreplay Bliss needed.

But she couldn’t act on impulse, couldn’t just jump in his lap, despite the fantastic chemistry, despite the fact that she liked Jaz—a lot. Goddamn it.

Dora was a big question mark but since Bliss was resolved to sidestep a potentially problematic affair, whatever was going on between him and his assistant wasn’t her problem. Because Bliss and Jaz were going to be friends. Friendly friends. Not very friendly friends.

“Whew. That was an amazing session,” she finally said. “But I have to go. I’m on the last flight out of Pittsburgh.”

He tapped a key and the flight schedule for Allegheny Air appeared on one of the monitors. “It just left. It’s later than you think.”

“Shit.”

“Stay over. We can go out to dinner. I’ll ask Dora to book a room for you at a local B&B. Great place. You’ll like it. I’ve stayed there myself.”

“Don’t you live around here?” Bliss couldn’t help asking.

“Nope. I live in Manhattan, same as you. So does Dora. She goes back and forth when I do. But I won’t be staying at the B&B tonight.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t forthcoming about where else he stayed in Pennsylvania or who with and she couldn’t exactly ask. New York was a safer topic. “So…East Side? West Side?”

He named an address at Columbus Circle. Bliss had seen the building. It was new, sheathed in shimmering blue glass, with wraparound views of Central Park and the Hudson River from the upper floors.

Not the same as her Chelsea studio, a sublet. Bliss told herself often enough that she should be able to buy her own place at the age of thirty but she couldn’t. New York was just too expensive, that was all there was to it, and you didn’t get much for the money. The studio had a microscopic terrace that served as extra storage space. And a stop for pigeons, which promenaded on the terrace rail, cooing madly to each other. So much for the al fresco barbecues she’d imagined having.

But her friend Anna, whose name was on the lease—and who had joined the Peace Corps and was still somewhere south of the equator digging holes for latrines—had pointed out the rusty hibachi behind the bicycle with the flat tire. Just in case Bliss wanted to buy a steak small enough for its tiny grill and four charcoal briquets to cook it with.

“Sit tight. I’ll go talk to Dora.” Jaz got up and headed out to wherever it was that his cool, ice-eyed assistant sat. Probably on an ice floe, Bliss thought unhappily. Was there any reason he couldn’t just talk to Dora on the intercom? Did he have to make excuses for taking Bliss out to dinner?

She reached down into her bag and flipped open her laptop, wondering if wi-fi worked this far from civilization. Wonder of wonders, it did. Fully booted up, she accessed her office e-mail and found a message from Vi.

Did you nail him? I know Jaz Claybourn is a dish.

Bliss frowned and rested her fingers on the edge of the keyboard. How did Vi know that? The answer drifted to the surface of her preoccupied mind. Her boss had probably leafed through the extra copy of the press kit on Bliss’s desk. Viola Lentone didn’t miss a thing.

I think I got the account, Vi, if that’s what you mean.

She could just see her boss’s long red fingernails poised to reply. In less than half a minute, Vi did.

Good work, Bliss. Take a day off tomorrow. Enjoy Pennsylvania. I understand that some people do.

Bliss replied with a smiley face and signed off. At least Vi valued her employees. She wasn’t easy to work for, but Bliss knew how to get on her good side after seven years at Lentone Fitch & Garibaldi. Bliss had signed on when it was still a boutique firm with a reputation for original work and bare-knuckles aggression.

Bliss didn’t know what had happened to Fitch or Garibaldi. Vi had always run the company pretty much by herself. But she was billing millions of dollars a year now and proud of her take-no-prisoners nickname: The Violent One. Of course, a lot of the money went back into the business, especially their office space, which took up an entire floor in a posh building. In advertising, image was all.

She sighed and closed her laptop as Jaz came back through the office door.

“You’re all set. Your overnight stay is on HT, by the way. Sorry you didn’t make your flight. I should have paid more attention to the time. We can get great burgers or a decent steak at the restaurant in town. What do you say?”

The big, bold, mighty CEO actually looked eager to take her out. Bliss could not think of a single reason to say no. “Okay,” she said at last.

She gathered up her things and let Jaz lead her out of the building through a maze of corridors that he seemed to know by heart. The factory never shut down and she could hear the machinery humming in the quiet evening air. They walked past the security guard glued to a small TV, who gave Jaz a wave without looking up from World Wide Wrestling.

“Female division,” Jaz whispered to her. “He loves a good cat fight.”

“Sweet. So I guess he’s not going to tattle about you and me, huh?”

Jaz grinned broadly. “Guess not. We haven’t been doing anything to tattle about.” He used the key remote to pop the trunk and stow her carry-on bag and laptop before he opened her door for her.

She settled in, providing him with a peek at her upper thighs as she shifted in the seat. Might as well make the most of the magic. It wasn’t likely to last. “Thanks. You’re a gentleman.”

“My mama raised me right.”

Even though she was teasing him, she still loved the attention and his old-fashioned courtesy. Bliss had dated one too many loudmouthed rejects from the Planet of the Frat Boys not to appreciate it.

The restaurant in town served exactly what she expected: plain but tasty home cooking. On Jaz’s recommendation, she ordered steak, like him, but the side dishes came first. She put a pat of butter at the top of her mashed-potato volcano and watched it melt and trickle down the sides, then ate the whole damn thing in big bites, which made him smile.

“Good, huh?”

“Mashed potatoes are the best.”

“How about a bottle of wine?”

“Sure.”

He ordered one for them to share and there was a rosy glow on her face by the end of the excellent meal.

“So where are you from?” he asked, not looking at the check the waitress brought. “You never did say.”

Evidently he didn’t want their time together to end. Bliss was pleased.

“I grew up in a small town in upstate New York. Thurbeck. You probably never heard of it.”

“Is it famous for anything?”

She thought for a few seconds. “Strawberry pie, come to think of it. Mary Donovan ran the diner and made them every summer but only when strawberries were in season. Three dollars a slice, which was big money in Thurbeck. But people were happy to pay it. It was amazing pie.”

Jaz nodded thoughtfully and folded his arms on the cleared table. “What was the secret?”

“Really good strawberries. She grew her own.”

He shrugged. “Lots of people do. She had to have a secret ingredient. Maybe something we could add to HT pies.”

Bliss only laughed. “Love. Those strawberries knew they were special.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Mary’s husband fenced in the patch and slept on the porch with a shotgun to keep the raccoons away. He fired it off into the sky a few times a night.”

“Hmm. Maybe the strawberries were just afraid. But love is good. And the FDA doesn’t make you add it to the nutrition breakdown on the package.”

The waitress came over with a coffeepot and two mugs in the other hand, and gave Jaz an inquiring look. He shook his head and pulled out his wallet, leaving two twenties and rising when Bliss did. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. “After you, Miss Bliss.”

“Thanks for dinner.” She picked up a mint from the bowl by the cash register and tucked it into her cheek. “That was fun.”

“I enjoyed myself too. And oh—one more question. How did you get that name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My real name is Melissa. My baby brother couldn’t pronounce it and so after a while everybody called me Bliss, just like he did.”

She sauntered ahead, going out the double doors and savoring the last blast of air-conditioning. Rural Pennsylvania was cooler than New York but it was still muggy outside.

Jaz handled everything involved with checking in at the B&B, while Bliss did a little exploring. She would be staying in a tiny cottage apart from the main house but identical to it in every architectural detail. She stepped carefully on the mossy bricks of the path that led to the front door, under an arbor draped in June roses in full bloom, and heard Jaz’s quick footsteps behind her.

“Hey, this is great.”

“Told you.” He handed her the key. Bliss slid it in the lock and swung the door open, instantly charmed by the simplicity of the décor and its airy color scheme.

Jaz set her carry-on bag and laptop on an armchair and put his hands on his hips, looking a little awkward.

Make that big and strong and sexy and a little awkward, she thought happily. He looked like he was waiting for her to make the next move. His gaze was fixed on her as she drifted around the room, making small talk, fiddling with the drapes, knowing that she had changed her mind about fooling around with him. Might be the wine. Maybe it was him. But she could. Just for one night.

Bliss turned and walked boldly up to him and his arms went around her waist in an instant. He opened his mouth in surprise, then leaned down and kissed her eagerly.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmured when he stopped.

“Why not?” he asked, and kissed her again.

She broke it off. “What if my boss finds out? There will be consequences.” Even though Vi had practically egged her on.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Bliss knew he meant Vi, but she thought again of Dora’s appraising look. What did it mean and did she care? Hell no. Not right now. Bliss wriggled against Jaz, and skipped the rest of the question-and-answer for a hot five minutes of luxurious rubbing up against him and being kissed some more. He stroked her back and her hips, pulling her closer until she could feel the awesome erection swelling inside his pants.

Let the rationalizations begin, she thought. “This is just for tonight, Jaz. Only once. Over and out.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

Bliss smiled. As if a man with a huge hard-on and sexually hungry eyes was going to argue with her. She reached for his tie, pushing the expensive silk up through the Windsor knot and working it loose with one finger. He slid the unfastened tie through his collar and flung it aside.

She moved on to the first three buttons of his shirt. Bliss planted a kiss on the bare skin just under his collarbone, inhaling his warmly male scent with a slight but happy sigh.

She undid the remaining buttons one by one, stroking the light fur on his chest and the tapering trail that disappeared beneath his belt buckle.

His belly was tense and flat, as muscular as the rest of him, but she could feel him tremble ever so slightly at her touch. Then Jaz yanked the shirt tails out of his pants with Superman speed and bared his chest to her exploring hands. She traced a finger over one taut nipple and then the other, and he shuddered with pleasure.

He kissed the top of her head, running his hand through her dark brown hair with sensual abandon. “Ready to get messed up, Bliss?”

“I’m ready.” But she tipped her face up to his, craving another kiss before they went any further.

He obliged. Then he raised her skirt, put his big hands under her butt cheeks, and lifted her up, holding her with ease. Bliss let out a little yelp and clung to him, clasping him around the waist with her thighs. Her short skirt provided no coverage—and neither did her thong underwear—but there was nothing she could do about it now. Anyway, she didn’t want to.

Being shameless felt good. Amazingly good. She wasn’t drunk and she wasn’t desperate—she just really wanted this man. And he wanted her.

Holding her carefully, he walked her over to the mirror to admire the treasure he had in his hands, even spreading her cheeks apart a little more. Not that easy when she had pantyhose on, but he managed.

Bliss clutched his shoulders and gripped harder with her thighs, arching her lower back to give him a better view of her pussy from the back.

“Uh-huh,” he said in a low voice. “Show it off. That thong is already wet. I want to get it even wetter. I want to suck your sweet juice right through it.”

He let her slide down and Bliss heard her skirt rip. She didn’t care. Her breasts rubbed against his hard, bare chest, the soft knit of her sweater providing sensual stimulation to the aching nipples inside her sheer bra.

She took a step away from him and unfastened the zipper, letting the ripped skirt fall to her ankles and standing in front of him in just her pantyhose, thong, and top. And her high heels.

Jaz didn’t wait. He pulled her sweater up over her breasts, taking both her nipples between his fingertips and rolling them tightly, using the sheer material of the bra for extra-sexy friction. But he was strong. The bra was going to suffer the same fate as the skirt if she didn’t stop him and take it off.

Bliss reached behind her back for the clasp, a move that thrust her tits into his cupping hands. Jaz groaned and bent his head down to tease one nipple with his tongue. She got the clasp undone and he pushed the bra up and away, suckling hungrily on the nipple, which perked up between his lips. The intense sensation went right to her pussy. Bliss slid a finger down inside her thong. He was right. She was soaking wet.

He must have looked down to see what she was doing to herself, because he let her nipple pop out of his mouth, glossy and red. “Don’t stop,” she said weakly. He barely nodded, then suckled the other one just as hard, making her sway on her high heels.

“Half dressed and hotter that way,” he murmured when he raised his head. “But I am going to get your clothes off. Inch by inch.” He patted her on the ass.

“What about your clothes?”

“Oh yeah. Gotta get those off too.” He winked at her. “We need a level playing surface. What do you say we move to the bedroom?”

Bliss didn’t bother pulling down her sweater, which was all tangled up with her unfastened bra anyway. “Okay with me.”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “I want you to walk in front of me. Make your hips sway just like you did when we left the restaurant.”

She cast him a look over her shoulder and grinned. “And I thought you were such a gentleman for letting me go ahead.”

He grinned back. “Now you know. I’m not. Do you know how good you look from the rear? Not that there’s anything wrong with the front view of you either.” He patted her ass again. “Walk that way.”

Bliss made it last, taking small steps, her hands on her hips. She could almost feel his eyes burn into her flesh and the thought that he was looking, just looking, with such lustful intensity, made her even more aroused.

She paused at the door. Make him wait for it. What the hell. Bliss took a stance with her legs apart and her hands braced on the doorjamb, hoping that he would keep on coming if she stopped—and push the big cock straining inside his pants against her. He didn’t disappoint her. In fact, he had unzipped his fly while she walked in front of him and pushed down his briefs, letting his cock out.

She still hadn’t seen it or touched it, but she could sure as hell feel it. He was super-long and thick too. Jaz pinned her wrists with his hands. Tall as he was, he had to press his throbbing shaft against the small of her back. She could feel his heavy balls, tight and ready to burst, bouncing between her cheeks.

“I should pull down those pantyhose right now,” he growled softly in her ear. “Bare your ass and have you bend over. Or you could get on all fours on the bed.”

“You’ll have to let me go.”

“But I like you like this. All spread open…with your back to me. You’re not sure what I’m going to do next, are you?”

Bliss gave in to a sensual shudder that went through her entire body. “Make it good,” she whispered.

Jaz let go of her wrists and used both his hands to pull down her pantyhose in one swift move. The thong stayed where it was. Startled, Bliss gave a little cry, even though she knew he was playing a game with her. She kept her hands where they were, as if he had tied her in place, letting him caress her bare buttocks with sensual skill.

She tossed her hair, aware that he had kneeled behind her to stroke and kiss her legs, rolling down the pantyhose—inch by inch, as he had promised—and touching the skin he uncovered with tender brushes of his lips and hands.

Bliss stepped her feet apart. The thong still contained the damp ringlets of her pubic hair, but she wanted him to see it all and have the best view possible of her juicy pussy if he was going to take his sweet time.

Again, he didn’t disappoint her. Two thick male fingers slid over the cleft, staying on the panty side and barely—just barely—brushing the tip of her clit. The subtle stimulation made her dizzy and Bliss clung to the doorway. He clasped her waist, nuzzling her ass playfully before he crouched down to slip her shoes off and remove the pantyhose completely.

Bliss stood on the carpet, poised to enter the bedroom at last, barefoot. But Jaz stood up and got one big, muscular arm around her waist and the other between her legs, lifting her up and tossing her gently on the bed. Bliss laughed as she landed, and rolled around, removing her bra and sweater while he shucked his pants and briefs.

His crisp shirt was gone, probably lying in the hall. Bliss feasted on the sight of the huge cock jutting almost straight up to his bellybutton.

“Like what you see?” he asked softly. He took his shaft in one hand and began to stroke it slowly from base to the plumlike head, increasing its girth.

Her eyes widened. “Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?”

“I like it when women watch. I’m not going to come, don’t worry. Just want you to really look at what you’re going to get.”

The man knew the power of a good visual. And his very male pride in his body was understandable. He was packing something to be proud of. Bliss sat up and scooched to the end of the bed. “Then give me a better view. You’re too far away.”

He grasped himself firmly right under the head, making it turn a deeper color as more blood rushed into his erection, stiffening the flesh he held so tightly. Then he came closer.

He really did like it when women watched. He kept his eyes on her face, aroused by her focus on his cock. Bliss touched soft fingertips to his balls and Jaz drew in his breath. “Ahh. Go ahead.” He changed his stance, keeping his muscular legs well apart so she could treat him to caresses on the sensitive skin between his thighs.

Bliss stroked his balls, which tightened up, as if he were about to shoot his load. A drop of cum pulsed uncontrollably from the hole in his cock head, then another. Jaz let go of himself and pushed her away gently. “Condom time. Unless you want me to eat you all up.”

“Please do,” she said softly. She grabbed the thin elastic straps of her thong panties and wriggled them partway down her hips before he stopped her.

“Leave those on. I want to suck your clit through that fine material. But go ahead. Play with your panties.”

She kneeled in front of him, entwining her fingers in the straps and pulling the wet material between her labia. Bliss pulled slowly, back and forth, up and down enjoying the scorching-hot desire that flamed in his eyes when he watched her masturbate with her delicate panties.

“Go, Bliss. Get good and wet. That little clit of yours is going to get hard. And you’re going to come in my mouth.”

“I want to,” she breathed.

“Then lie back,” Jaz said.

She did as she was told, spreading her legs wide open. He reached down to grab her ankles and pulled them together again, dragging her down so that her butt was at the bottom of the bed. He set her feet far apart and kneeled at the end of the bed, as if he were waiting to see what she would do next.

Bliss, more shameless than ever, reached down inside her thong panties and spread her pussy lips wide apart, just as if she was home alone and about to put her favorite big dildo in and give herself a good solo fucking, using her underwear to hold it in while she rode a pillow. Knowing that his cock was even bigger than that cherished sex toy was making her wild for him.

He was smoothing the front part of her thong over her pussy. “There it is,” he said, using a fingertip to spank her clit. “Hot and up.”

Jaz brought his mouth down on her, swirling his warm tongue around and around very gently. He slid his hands under her buttocks, squeezing and releasing in the same rhythm as his incredibly sensual oral sexing.

Bliss lost all awareness of the room around her, lost in the feeling, knowing only that her one-night-only lover was capable of giving her the ultimate in pleasure in whatever way she chose to be pleasured.

A wave of erotic sensation seized her body, and Bliss writhed. Jaz slid his hands out from under her ass and reached up to pinch her nipples, bringing her to an intense climax without stopping what he was doing with his mouth.

Uncontrollably, she pushed her hips into his face, coming for him hard, bouncing her ass on the edge of the bed until the waves of pleasure died away. He wiped his wet mouth on the inside of her thigh, leaving her there, panting with satisfaction, her eyes half-closed.

She heard him pick up his pants and get a condom out of his wallet. Bliss couldn’t resist watching him roll it on. She heard the foil rip and opened her eyes, watching the thin latex roll down and sheathe his huge penis. True to form, he watched her watching him—and got even bigger.

Bliss got rid of her soaked thong panties and scooted up on the bed not a second before he pounced, on all fours above her, ready to rock. He kissed her neck, her cheeks, her tumbled hair with ardent eagerness, reaching a hand down to position his cock at her still throbbing pussy.

“You’re so wet, Bliss. And so swollen. This is going to feel like heaven to me. I almost came when you did, baby.”

“No,” she whispered. “I want you inside me. I want to come again. Give it to me. All the way.”

He did. Inch by inch.

Pinned by his powerful body above her and a shaft that throbbed like a jet engine, Bliss reached her second climax in a minute or two, hanging on to his muscular ass, stroking his back, kissing him like a wild woman. But Jaz’s excellent control kept him stiff and sure, pounding and thrusting into her tight, slick flesh for all he was worth…and not much later, they hit that high together at last.