Читать книгу Just Toying Around... - Rhonda Nelson - Страница 10

ASTOUNDED, NICK BLINKED as the door closed in his face. Blinked again. It took a moment to realize that Desiree wasn’t going to open the door and offer any other explanation for the bizarre episode in the hall. Numb with shock, Nick entered his own room, crossed to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress. His breath left him in a whoosh.

What in God’s name had just happened? Since he’d agreed to this maniacal plan of Ron’s, Nick’s predictable, uncluttered life—which he, for the most part, enjoyed—had made a left turn at Strange and exited onto Bizarre.

If he’d heard and interpreted Desiree’s hurried soliloquy correctly, that man in the hall was laboring under the incorrect assumption that his name was Antonio, he and Desiree were lovers—had been lovers for several months—and that, he, Nick Devereau, enjoyed kinky sex and had used something called a penis jelly ring to prolong his erection.

A band of tension tightened around Nick’s skull. The hard-on he’d enjoyed as a result of that mind-blowing kiss promptly wilted.

How had this happened? Nick wondered. How had his plan gone so totally awry? Admittedly, it had never been the best plan. Nick knew that. But, in the end, what choice had he had? Guilt had gotten the better of Nick and had propelled him into action once again on his brother’s behalf.

He’d had to help Ron.

And while his “charm her” strategy wasn’t exactly the noblest cause of action, the woman in question was an adult. She could refuse to be charmed, he’d reasoned when his conscience had howled its disapproval. She didn’t have to even give him the time of day.

But all of that had been when the woman had simply been a target—not a person.

Not her.

Unbidden, an image of Desiree rose in his mind. That smooth heart-shaped face surrounded by all that silky, dark-brown hair. Those compelling, mossy-green eyes which alternately glittered with humor and darkened with desire. They were a kaleidoscope of emotion, a mantrap.

But her mouth…

Nick closed his eyes. Astonishingly, the pleasure of kissing her had to be one of the single most erotic things he’d ever experienced. That plump, plum-soft bottom lip, the rasp of her tongue against his as he plundered the silky recesses of her mouth. Nick swallowed.

He’d been so caught up in the kiss—so caught up in feeling those full, ripe lips tasting his—that he’d come within a gnat’s ass of backing her against the wall and taking her right there.

In the damned hall.

Which was ridiculous because he firmly intended not to stage an all-out seduction. He would not take her to bed. He’d only come here to get close to her, to see if she was indeed the fraud Ron thought her to be. Sleeping with her—no matter how badly he might want to—was simply out of the question. Nick had compromised his honor enough. He would not destroy it completely by seducing a woman on purpose under false pretenses.

Still, he’d never been so turned on, so desperate to plant himself between a woman’s thighs.

Undoubtedly, if Marcus Kent hadn’t come along, that’s exactly where he’d be right now. Between her thighs, pumping in and out, deep and hard until they both were wrung dry and sated with relief.

Naked limbs and tangled sheets, the musky tang of sex in the air.

Then, she’d kiss him again with those unbelievably carnal lips, he’d harden—without the aid of a penis jelly ring, he thought darkly—and they’d start all over again.

No! No, they wouldn’t, dammit! He wouldn’t allow it.

Visions of those previous thoughts rebelliously arose in Nick’s tortured mind and he winced as he once again stiffened to the point of pain. Disgusted, he laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling, mentally willing the futile erection away. Short of taking matters into his own hands, so to speak, there was nothing left to do.

Nick gritted his teeth and flatly refused to even entertain the thought. He hadn’t had to resort to masturbation for relief since he’d ditched the orthodontic headgear and gotten his first car.

He certainly didn’t have any intention of doing it now.

He could handle the frustration. Really. Any minute now, this raging erection would wither and he could quit thinking about what it would be like to sheath himself in Desiree’s heat. To feel those small capable hands of hers gliding over his skin. Clutching his ass, urging him on as he pistoned in and out of her hot, velvety channel.

To Nick’s supreme irritation, a low-buzzing hum suddenly broke the tense silence. A grim, humorless smile turned his lips and a bark of laughter erupted from his throat.

Another fantasy took hold. He closed his eyes and groaned. Swore. Groaned again.

Imagined her flushed skin. All that glorious hair fanned out on a stark white pillow. Long, bare limbs writhing on top of crisp sheets. Her small even teeth sunk into that amazingly full bottom lip. Naked, puckered breasts. A tangle of moistened chocolate curls at the junction of her creamy thighs…

Buzzzzzzzzzzzz.

…her clever fingers massaging the secret bud nestled like a treasure in her wet, feminine folds. Arched neck, a moan of pleasure…

A bead of sweat broke out on Nick’s brow. Frustration welled, peaked. He resisted the urge to gnash his teeth. To scream.

Buzzzzzzzzzz.

Ah, hell. With a defeated sigh, he lowered his zipper and took matters into his own hands.

SHE’D PROBABLY NEVER SEE HIM again, Meg reflected gloomily as she applied her mascara. She blinked, satisfied that she’d coated each lash and slipped the slim tube back into its place in her makeup case. Going to the trouble of getting ready for their date seemed like a monumental waste of time considering he’d most likely departed the hotel first thing this morning, or at the very least had moved to a different room.

But Meg went through the motions anyway on the off chance that he still planned to keep their date. After all, he hadn’t called to cancel. He struck her as the type who’d extend such a courtesy.

When she’d returned to her room this afternoon after attending her trade-show duties, she’d fully expected to hear his regrets on her voice mail. But she hadn’t. Nor had she heard any activity in his room. No TV. Not so much as the flush of a commode. It had been eerily quiet.

Honestly, though, if he stood her up, could she really blame him? A sigh seeped past her lips. Despite the fact that they’d had a great time and had obviously clicked on several different levels, he’d been asked a very personal question—about his erection, for pity’s sake!—by a complete stranger.

And it was all her fault.

Of all the rotten luck, Meg silently railed. If it had been anyone but Marcus Kent who’d caught the two of them in the hall, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

And it was a predicament. As screwed-up as a soup sandwich.

Marcus had cornered her downstairs again this afternoon, extolling his unending delight over meeting Antonio and getting his perspective on all the products she’d been critiquing. The curiously effeminate man had practically rubbed his greedy little hands in anticipation. He simply couldn’t wait. And, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Antonio could start critiquing, too? Do a He Said, She Said-type review and run them together? Run their pictures beside their column, just like Ann Landers?

Oh, I don’t know, Meg thought sarcastically. Lemme think about that a minute. No!

Meg pulled in a shaky breath. No, it would not be wonderful. Their pictures? Please. When hell froze over. She didn’t even use her own name, for heaven’s sake. Why the hell would she want her picture up there for the entire world to see? Hey, Ma.

Check out this url. www.yourdaughterthenympho.com.

A hysterical bubble of laughter fizzled up her throat. This was turning into her worst nightmare. If it weren’t for Paris—for the opportunity to study with Pierre—despite the fact that she enjoyed critiquing, Meg would give notice and head straight back to her unsuspecting virtually stress-free life. There was a lot to be said for peace of mind, Meg decided, and ever since Marcus had seen Meg in the hall with Nick, her peace of mind had been shattered.

Marcus had lots of ideas, all of which had begun to make Meg physically ill from thinking about them. Because each one was worse than the last—and they all involved the partner she didn’t have, but seemed she would be forced, in short order, to get.