Читать книгу Making Him Want It - Renee Luke - Страница 8

Kat stared at the email to her agent—her finger hovering over the send button—narrowing her eyes at the five attached files. Grit blurred her vision; her butt was numb from sitting so long in her office chair. The five completed articles were the result of her thirty–six hour, uninterrupted writing spree. Well, broken only by her T&P, her code for brewing hot tea and trips to the potty.

Five? Wow, she couldn’t believe she’d done it. Drawing bits and pieces from her night out on the prowl at The Night Kitty, she’d managed separate and unique works, each purely inspired by Mr. Gorgeous and her own shocking behavior.

It wasn’t the speed of her typing that had stunned her the most—but the incident. How irresponsible. How careless. How dangerous. How stupid.

And the best damn orgasm she’d ever had—no batteries required.

Taking a deep breath, Kat was hit by the lingering scent of sex, of sweat, of him, that not even her scented soap had been able to vanquish.

Him? She knew nothing about him. The hunk could be married, a father of two. Guilt sliced through her. This wasn’t what she was about, not her style, not her moral code, and yet she’d been so caught up in lust, she’d not used her head. She shouldn’t have done this. Shouldn’t have cheaply offered her body to an unknown man just for pleasure, just to assure a writing deadline to a career she wasn’t all that proud of.

No matter how fine. No matter how horny.

Biting back a moan of dismay, Kat closed her tired eyes, the sting of shame burning at the back of her throat. The sassy–meow Kat knew deep down, if she crossed paths with that chocolate–skinned lover again, she’d melt right into his arms. A shiver shimmied down her spine.

Focusing her eyes on the pale computer screen, she read over her brief note to her agent, assuring all the needed info was included, then refusing to acknowledge her attachments as anything but pure fiction, she jammed her finger into the send key. She watched as the confirmation page slid slowly into place.

Spinning away from the desk, she slumped in her chair, feeling a weight settle onto her shoulders. No turning back now. Through the curtains covering her bedroom windows, sunshine filtered across the room. Dust fairies danced and floated in the air. From some place outside, Kat heard distant children playing, the joyful yells, followed by mumbled laughter.

Sunday, midday, and she was tired. Barely able to push herself from her seat, Kat moved across her room, headed for the shower. Intent on scrubbing clean the scent of her escapade, she stripped off her clothing, tossing it toward the hamper. She was no Jordan, most landed on the floor.

The cold spray shocked her body, sending a frisson across her skin, but the water soon warmed, soothing away the strain. Steam arose, swirling about her feet. As the heated water slid over her naked flesh, memories flooded her senses. Remembering dark eyes flared with passion, exploring fingertips, the hard length of cock, the soul–deep ache of wanting him. Of desiring a stranger, a man in all likelihood, she’d never see again.

Warm droplets of water landed on her cheeks, more salty than the shower. Kat swiped them away. What good did tears do her now, she wondered as sobs broke free. Overtired, focus lingered on his full lips and the brief moment he’d been about to kiss her. “You ho, why’d you stop him?” she berated herself, wondering what his kiss would have been like. How his breath would have tasted.

But kisses were dangerous. They opened up hearts, revealed old hurts, threatened her self–imposed exile of existence. A back alley fuck was not a relationship, and solid relationships didn’t begin with her back against the bricks.

Leaning back into plush leather, Jamal tapped his fingertips against the curve of his steering wheel in beat with the bounce pumping from his stereo. The sun crept up over the horizon too damned early as far as he was concerned, and Monday morning traffic had been worse than usual, thanks to a four car pile–up on the freeway.

Putting his SUV into park, he closed eyes against the brightness of the mid–August morning, too exhausted to be at work. Should’ve called in sick, but it was too late for shoulda, woulda, coulda’s he thought, opening his eyes to glance up at his office building.

Lack of sleep made him irritable. It’s not that he hadn’t had the chance to rest. Hell, he’d spent all day Saturday lounging around his apartment, but his mind kept returning to the little honey he’d met Friday night and the way they’d screwed in the back alley.

He’d thought his bow–wow days were behind him, but just like a dog with a bone, he’d buried it home without pausing to think of the repercussions.

And who the hell was she?

Even in the wild days of fraternities and college parties, he’d never met another woman quite like her, with looks enough to stir any warm–blooded creature, and an oh–so–hot body. Even now, an erection wouldn’t be out of the question with a little more thought of how she’d knelt before him. How her tongue had worked his flesh.

Refusing to get caught back into the web of desire that had tormented him all weekend, he slid from his Escalade, pulling out his briefcase with him. Taking a deep breath, he headed inside. At least he had something to look forward to, his hopeful submission from Kat Mason. It should have arrived by now. Perhaps the return of his fantasy lover would ease his mind from memories of the real one–night–back–alley–fling thing.

And just like that he was hard.

Kent was the first to greet him. The ass came charging over as soon as Jamal had slipped in the building.

“Hey man, what happened to you?” he asked, taking a swig of OJ from a small plastic bottle.

“You take a cab home?” Jamal asked, ignoring Kent’s question. He kept walking to his office, having no wish to disclose the true facts of his Night Kitty trip.

“Yeah. Well, you should have let me know you were ready.” Kent didn’t slow even though Jamal was trying to give him the brush–off.

“You looked busy.”

A wide grin spread across Kent’s face. “Oh, yeah, and did I ever get busy. That pigeon let me go home with her. Now, don’t be such a prude, JJ, sexing don’t hurt no one.”

“As long as she knows nothing’s coming out of it, Kent. That’s your problem.”

“What you mean by that?” Kent asked. A brow arched and a forced innocent smirk marred his face.

“I mean, it’s why you end up with crazy–chick stalkers thinking you’re their man. You’ve had more than your share of ’em, too. If you’re just hittin’ it for the night, the girl should know ahead of time, not after.” Jamal opened his office door, glancing at his computer. He couldn’t wait to check his email and see if Kat had sent him anything.

“Like you know anything about getting lucky. Ha, how long has it been?” With the barbs renewed and laughter filtering down the hall, Kent sauntered away.

A good thing too, because Jamal had no desire to enlighten him. Flicking on the computer, he slipped into his chair and waited for it to warm up, his mind returning to the advice he’d just given. Damn, he felt like a fool, getting lured into sex by a fine chick who refused to give her name. What was she hiding?

At least they’d both known what they were after and there was no need for guilt when there’d been no follow–up phone call. Shit, the truth was, had she given him her name and number, he’d have used it by now. Her little cries of delight were pure torture on his memory, and though her scent had been washed away, he could swear her fragrance lingered just to play tricks on him.

Opening his email, Jamal scanned through more than six dozen incoming before his gaze settled on the one he was looking for. A double click and it was open, just a short hello note, and five attached files.

“Damn. You’ve been busy,” he muttered to the screen. He was grinning like a boy looking at a lollipop. He opened the first, and quickly read through it.

“What the hell?” His smile fell. His brows plunged forward. He read it a second time; flashes of a weekend memory scattered the page. Brick walls, neon signs, cries of passion.

“Get a grip, Jamal,” he said, opening the second and third file. His eyes scanned the stories, his pulse drumming in his ears. Tall leather boots, throbbing music, desire.

His hands were shaking as he clicked open the last two files, and read them over quickly. A stranger, a shot of booze, a kiss that didn’t happen.

“Holy shit!”

Jamal could hardly breathe as he leaned away from the computer and shut his eyes, bringing to life the Fly–Girl from The Night Kitty. She was a perfect woman, a perfect fuck. And then there was Kat, his perfect fantasy, his perfect wet dream.

The similarities between the submissions on his screen and the tell–all memories of lust were a bit too real, or was he imagining things? Maybe Kat just knew how to tap into the wanna–screw market. He’d always known she was great at creating fiction.

The other possibility freaked him the fuck out! Could he have just banged his best client? His super–star. Sucking breaths between his teeth, Jamal stared at the ceiling. Oh, yeah, bow–wow was right. He was a dog that deserved to be neutered. Good time, no string, public fucks had definite consequences.

He could only hope now that things didn’t get screwed!