The Naughty List

by Donna Kauffman

  They stood quietly for a few moments, bodies touching in the middle. He breathed her in, his heart raced, and he fought the urge to pull her tighter against his erection. It was about more than just sex.

  Her clear hazel eyes met his. “I see you now, LJ.” Her hips wriggled again, the pressure making him swell further. “And I feel you.”

  Oh yeah, that was what he’d wanted to hear. Gently, he traced the line of the dragon’s snout across silky, warm skin. “I want you, Dragon Lady.” As his teenage crush. As the tantalizing woman in his arms. And who knew, maybe even as his future. He touched her guardian dragon again, serving notice.

  Her lips quirked. “And I want you, Tool-belt Guy.”

  “I’ll let you play with my tool belt if you show me your mystery tattoo.” The idea of another tattoo—maybe more than one?—hidden under her clothing drove him crazy.

  A soft laugh. “Seems like a fair exchange.”

  Relief made him lightheaded, or maybe that was because all the blood had rushed to his groin. “You’ll go out with me?”

  She tensed. “No, I’ll have sex with you. That’s what this is about.”

  Not for him. She still didn’t really see him, not as more than a guy with a good body who’d be fun for some casual sex. But it was a starting point. “Let’s go to my place this evening. Get out of the construction zone.” And get her on his turf.

  She nodded, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.

  He bent his head to kiss her.

  She rose to meet him, and their lips touched, soft and tender. Despite the aching throb in his loins that urged him to do her right then and there, he caressed her mouth with his, letting his kiss tell her she was special.

  Joey’s voice broke the moment, calling from downstairs, “Hey, LJ, I need to know how big to cut this.”

  Charlie murmured, “Tell him big.” Her hips thrust suggestively. “Big is good.”

  Chuckling, he stepped back. “Big,” he promised. “And thorough. Satisfaction guaranteed, like I said.”

  “I’m beginning to believe you.”

  5

  Later, after the men had gone and she’d made a quick dinner and fed Romeo, Charlie stripped and stepped into the shower.

  As she stroked the teal-colored face cloth—a vivid, personal touch amid the bland décor—over her breasts, down her belly, and between her legs, her body hummed with anticipation. LJ was one sexy guy and he was going to be awesome in bed.

  It had taken her years to get over the attempted rape. She stroked the tattoo on the back of her neck, blessing the day Ginger had picked her up, hitchhiking near Sylvan Lake, Alberta. The kindhearted woman had taken her home and fed her. A dozen years older than Charlie, she and her husband Jake had treated her like a little sister.

  Thanks to them, she’d slowly begun to trust, and to heal. They’d taught her how to judge character, how to respect herself, and how to defend herself against men like Drew.

  When they died and she left Sylvan Lake, she took their lessons with her. Eventually, she stopped holding on to her virginity and learned that her sexuality was a wonderful thing. One that she owned and controlled. Over the past years, she’d gone out with a number of guys, some as friends and some as lovers. One day, she hoped she’d find the kind of love her friends had shared. The kind she heard about now and then from tattoo clients. A love worth symbolizing in body art that would last her entire life.

  She just didn’t have a clue how to find it. Love was a big mystery. Infinitely desirable, but overwhelming, scary, and out of reach. Something she’d longed for as a kid, but never found. Not until Ginger and Jake gave her things she’d never known before: a real home, acceptance and love, a family. They’d been more her family than any blood relative ever had.

  After the accident, she’d been alone again, so she’d hit the road. Inspired by the tattoo lessons Jake had given her, she found an apprenticeship with the artist who did the feather-flower tat from her design. Two or three years later, she wound up in Toronto, found work at The Barbed Rose, began to dream of opening her own business.

  That was the future.

  She stepped out of the shower and pulled off the shower cap. The present was LJ. The very sexy and intriguing LJ.

  It was hard to get her head around the fact that he’d been the geeky Lester. And that Lester, like sweet old Mr. DiGiannantonio, had seen past her badass reputation. He’d respected her. No one in Whistler had respected her.

  Of course, he’d also had a huge crush on her. It would have warped his judgment.

  How did the adult Charlie measure up? Anxious and excited, she selected clothes from her limited wardrobe. Black leggings that hugged her hips and long legs. A coral cami—she liked layers and often avoided wearing a bra—and over it, a long, off-the-shoulder violet sweater. Hair down and shiny, a touch of smoky makeup to accentuate her eyes and cheekbones, and she was ready.

  “What do you think?” she asked Romeo, who watched from the foot of the bed.

  He gave a yip and jumped off the bed, then scurried out of the room.

  “Oh, thanks a lot. That really helps my confidence.”

  A moment later, she heard the front door open and LJ call, “Charlie?”

  Aha. That’s why the beagle had run off. “Coming!” She slipped into her boots and coat, grabbed her purse, and hurried downstairs, tingling with arousal and excitement.

  LJ was in the entrance, hunkered down to pat Romeo, but stood when she walked over. He looked rugged and outdoorsy in jeans and a heavy winter jacket, with snowflakes melting in his black hair and on his shoulders.

  She brushed her hand through his hair and flicked a scattering of melted drops to the floor. “It’s snowing.”

  “Just started.” He caught the lapels of her coat, angled his head, and bent to kiss her.

  Mmm, his lips were cool at first, fresh like the outdoors, but they heated quickly as he explored her mouth with his lips and the tip of his tongue.

  Sexy shivers rippled through her as her tongue met his, danced with it, and for long minutes they took each other’s mouths greedily. She moaned as heat surged through her. Wanting nothing better than to strip off their clothes and go at it hot and hard, she fumbled for his coat buttons.

  He broke the kiss and took a step back, throwing her off balance. “Hell, Charlie, this isn’t how I want it to be.”

  “Feels good to me.” Breathless from that stunning kiss, she burned with the need to feel his naked flesh all around her. Inside her.

  “And it’ll feel better.” He tugged her toward the door. “Promise.”

  Grumbling good-naturedly, she followed as Romeo rushed past them into the snow. The chill air and soft kiss of snowflakes soothed her burning cheeks. LJ held the passenger door of the truck for her, then put Romeo in the back, where the dog curled up on a blanket.

  LJ climbed in beside her and unbuttoned his coat. Rather than his usual tee and plaid flannel shirt, he wore a lightweight navy sweater that hugged his muscular torso. The man was so yummy. And so was the erection that bulged under his fly. She could hardly wait.

  When he pulled out of the driveway, she was assaulted on all sides by Christmas. Lights twinkled around windows and twined through trees and bushes. Fringes of icicle lights hung from eaves, beside real icicles. Santas, reindeer, wise men, and snowmen littered front yards.

  She hated Christmas, for all the things it was supposed to be and never had been. Decorated trees with gifts heaped beneath, bulging Christmas stockings, roast turkey and cranberry sauce, carolers on the doorstep. Family and friends sharing love, peace, and joy. As if. She huddled into her coat, even though the cab of the truck was warm.

  One Christmas, her dad had stumbled into the sparsely decorated tree, knocked it down, and broken his wrist. She, at fourteen, had driven him to the emergency room because her mom was too drunk. The cops had caught her driving home from the hospital.

  Another year, her mom had actually stayed semi-sober long enough to cook a turkey. She
burned the potatoes, though, and Charlie’s dad had yelled. The fight escalated, as fights did with the two of them, and her mom heaved the turkey across the kitchen at him.

  Christmas, like every other day, had been a good day to escape the house.

  She’d been sketching a mule deer in the snow the afternoon her parents set fire to the crappy basement apartment and lost their lives. The fire wasn’t her fault. Ginger and Jake had finally made her believe that. Her parents had driven her out, time and again.

  That had been the Christmas from hell. The dance and the almost-rape, her parents’ death, Patty’s clear distaste at having her niece forced upon her.

  Since then, Charlie had avoided Christmas. It helped that Ginger and Jake hadn’t observed it. They’d been spiritual, not religious, and celebrated solstice rituals that she’d enjoyed.

  Charlie folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window. A gaudy reindeer-drawn sleigh twinkled atop a snow-clad roof.

  “Charlie? You okay?”

  That voice. Now that she knew LJ was Lester, she could hear a hint of the boy in the man’s voice. He’d asked something similar that night when he drove her home, pulling her out of her miserable funk. She’d reminded herself that you’re never vulnerable unless you let yourself be—and even then, you sure as hell don’t have to let anyone else know.

  “Sure.” She uncrossed her arms and rested a hand on his thigh, warm and muscular under denim. Oh yeah, this reality was much better than her crappy memories. She imagined what he’d look like naked. Stronger, more masculine than any guy she’d been with. And his cock…She’d felt it against her belly. Impressive. Very impressive.

  “Yeah, I’m just fine, LJ.” Her fingers trailed up the in-seam. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

  “Me, too.”

  She made circles on his inner thigh, her fingers grazing higher each time, arousal quickening her blood as she drifted closer to the bulge at his groin. Hot, she used her free hand to unbutton her jacket, and squirmed against the needy pulse between her thighs.

  Her fingers lodged between his legs, against the firm curve of his balls. Stroked.

  He caught her hand and tugged it away. “Cut that out, or I’ll drive off the road.”

  “Can’t take it?” she purred.

  “Got that right.” He lifted her hand to his lips and nipped her index finger.

  Arousal shot straight to her sex. “Are we almost there?”

  “Another mile or two.” He returned her hand to her lap.

  It was as good a time as any to ask a question that had been on her mind. “You were a math science geek, right?”

  He tensed, then shot her a glance. “Yeah.”

  “Some kind of boy genius? Yet now you’re a contractor, not a brilliant scientist.”

  “I went to university, got as far as a master’s in physics. Summers I worked for my uncle—he’s the Banfield who started Banfield Renos—and realized I like this work better. It uses my body as well as my mind, and I like to build things.”

  “So, you work for your uncle?”

  He shook his head. “Bought him out when he decided to retire early.” He pulled into a driveway. “Here we are.”

  No decorations, she was glad to see. His home reminded her of a whimsical gingerbread house, with gables, shutters, balconies, scalloped eaves, even a little turret. Golden light gleamed from a couple of curtained windows. “It’s charming.” Her fingers itched to paint the trim in bright, fun colors.

  They walked toward the front door, Romeo dashing ahead. “It’s my aunt and uncle’s. They designed and built it. They’re in Florida, thinking about moving permanently, and I’m house-sitting.”

  He unlocked the front door and they went into a mud-room with ski equipment, a snowboard, and a collection of outdoor clothing.

  As they took off their coats and boots, she asked, “What’s in the turret?” She imagined a sanctuary where a person could curl up, shut out the world, paint, and dream.

  “Me, right now. It was my aunt’s reading room. I’ve loved it since I was a kid, so I’ve taken it over.”

  “I want to see it.”

  “Now? I thought we’d—”

  “Now.” She ran winter-chilled fingers over the front of his sweater, appreciating the fine, soft wool and the firm muscles beneath. Dipping under the hem, she brushed his bare six-pack, her cool skin rapidly warming. Anticipation trembled through her. It had been a few months since she’d had sex, and that guy’d been nowhere near as appealing. “Now.”

  “Want a drink?”

  “I want you.” In case her words weren’t clear enough, she cupped his erection.

  “Feeling’s mutual.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips, then caught her hand.

  As he guided her down a hallway, the dog padding behind, she saw warm light through an open doorway and smelled something fresh as a winter forest. In the hall, a blue runner ran down the hardwood floor and flower photographs decorated the walls. The decor wasn’t her style, yet she felt a whisper of longing at the homey touches, so unlike the dump where she’d grown up.

  They climbed a wooden staircase, up two flights, then LJ ushered her into a dark room and flicked a switch. Expecting light, she was surprised when a gas fire flared to life, illuminating the room with flickering golden flames.

  She pivoted in a circle, taking in round walls and a high, pointed ceiling, a duvet-covered double bed, a dresser, two window seats, and bookcases full of scientific tomes and colorful sci-fi paperbacks. LJ was still a science geek.

  The wooden furniture was simple and attractive, colorful rugs warmed the wooden floor, and several watercolor nature scenes were amateur but bright and cheery. The numerous windows would let in lots of natural light. It would make a perfect art studio. “I love it.”

  Romeo flopped contentedly in front of the fire. She’d have done the same if it wasn’t for the very tempting man who watched her, leaning against the wall by the fire, hip-cocked and noticeably aroused. His black hair, jeans, and rugged masculinity somehow fit perfectly here.

  “Me, too. Aunt Fran used to let me come up here and read or do homework.”

  “My aunt didn’t want us at her home or the B&B. We weren’t good enough.”

  “I bet she regretted it. That’s why she left you the B&B.”

  “Maybe. Better late than never, I guess.” She shrugged away the thought. “We’re not here to talk about family. In fact…” She stepped closer until their fronts almost brushed. “Let’s not talk at all. Show me what you’ve got, Tool-belt Guy.”

  “In exchange for that secret tattoo.” He wove his fingers through her hair at the temples and held her head firmly as he bent to kiss her.

  She surged into him, gripping his shoulders, and captured the kiss greedily. Since she’d first seen him, he’d turned her on, and now, being in his arms with a bed only a few feet away, passion and need fused in a fire that thickened her blood.

  His lips were gentle and slow despite the erection that lodged firmly against her belly. A man with self-control.

  Maybe she’d like him to lose control. She was hot for him, quivering with arousal, melting with need. He didn’t need to seduce her; she was already there. She wanted him to be as hungry for her as she was for him. Once, he’d had a crush on her. She could make him lose control.

  Sex, plain and simple. Sex, hot and hard. Sex that wiped your mind clear of everything but the moment, the experience.

  She deepened the kiss, taking his mouth with her tongue while she wriggled her hips to rub his erection in an erotic rhythm.

  He groaned. “Shit, Charlie, I can’t believe—” He didn’t finish and she couldn’t ask because his tongue dueled with hers and his hands grabbed her butt, squeezing, lifting, pulling her tight while he thrust against her almost desperately.

  She moaned and wormed her hands between them, trying to pull off his sweater and undo his jeans all at once.

  He broke away, gasping for breath, and hauled
his sweater over his head.

  She froze, breathless, too, and stared. Male perfection. Skin golden in the firelight, muscles strong and defined, a scattering of black hair, cocoa brown nipples. A perfect canvas for a tattoo, yet a great work of art—erotic art—just the way he was.

  Her hands itched to touch him, itched so badly they fumbled with the button of his jeans.

  He pushed her hands away and quickly undid his jeans and shoved them down, pulling his underwear and socks with them.

  She sucked in a breath, taking him in. A lovely, hard cock, springing from a nest of black curls. Slim hips, lean, muscular legs. Her gazed drifted back. An amazingly lovely cock.

  Everything inside her turned liquid with arousal.

  Before she could touch him, he tugged her sweater up and pulled it over her head. Then he began to pull the tight, stretchy leggings down her hips.

  His hands stilled, and she knew he’d glimpsed her tattoo. It wrapped around one hip and down the top of her thigh, extending halfway onto one buttock and partway onto her abdomen. Exotic, sensual flowers—rather like Georgia O’Keefe paintings—bloomed amid twining vines. The blossoms were in shades of peach and apricot, of violet and indigo, and the vines were every green imaginable.

  He peeled her leggings off slowly, his eyes wide. Men’s reactions differed—from shock to disgust to arousal. LJ’s looked like wonder. When she was down to a coral cami and a black thong, he stepped back and studied her. “Charlie, that’s incredible.” He ran a gentle finger over the petals that decorated her hip. “Beautiful. Sensual.” Huskily, he added, “Sexy.”

  It was her symbol, her celebration, of owning her own sexuality. She would choose to whom she gave her body, and what she’d do in bed.

  She chose LJ, and she wanted to do everything with him.

  When he raised his eyes to her face, she saw the fiery glitter of sexual need. He took her by the shoulders and backed her toward the bed, then they tumbled onto the duvet, kissing hungrily. Hands and legs grasped, twined, then her camisole was off and her breasts smushed against the hard heat of his chest as he came down on top of her. Her hands dug into his butt, feeling firm muscles bunch and shift.