“Am I supposed to guess?” Heath traced the shell of her ear with the tip of his index finger, a feathery, barely there touch that made her tremble in her seat. “I’ll start naming the naughtiest things I can come up with, and you tell me if I’m getting warmer.”
There was a terrifying idea. “I want sex that’s...not polite.” When he raised an eyebrow, she elaborated, “I don’t want to cringe if it gets a little loud or messy or rowdy.”
In contrast to her wish for a noisy rumpus, her voice was barely a whisper. Heath was leaned in close to catch every word.
“The heat of passion isn’t the time to be politically correct,” she said. “I don’t want a guy who stops to give a formal apology because he accidentally pulled my hair.” Frankly, there were a few instances where a little hair pulling might be a turn-on. “Gallantry is great in real life, and respect is essential. But in a hot moment, it would be empowering to know I drove a man to be dirty and out of control.”
“Dirty like you have sex after a workout without showering first?” Heath asked against her ear. “Or dirty like your lover tells you he wants to go down on you and can’t wait to discover how your pussy tastes?”
“Heath!” Flames swept through her body. The formerly well-behaved Phoebe might have mistaken it for mortification, but the pulse at her core was pure arousal.
“What?” he asked, his expression all innocence—the devil smiling beatifically while tucking her soul in his back pocket. “It was hypothetical.”
“It was vulgar.”
“You’re grinning.” He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, tracing her smile, and she melted at his touch, liquid need simmering inside her.
Oh, yeah. We’re gonna need those condoms.
* * *
AS IT TURNED OUT, hours of sexual frustration—and watching the doe-eyed flight attendant do everything but write her phone number on Heath’s pack of peanuts—left a person cranky. When they exited the plane, Phoebe’s entire body felt too hot and too tight. The sticky Miami air as they waited for a cab did nothing to improve her mood. Neither did Cam’s announcement that he’d texted Miranda, who couldn’t wait to see them, “especially Heath.”
“Who’s Miranda?” Phoebe asked, pulling the silky fabric of her top away from her back in a futile attempt at ventilation.
“The leasing agent,” Heath said with a frown at Cam. “We’re meeting with her tomorrow. This evening, our plan is to check in, clean up and have dinner at the place Cam and I are leaning toward buying.”
Cameron wasn’t interested in the itinerary. He was telling Phoebe, “Miranda is smitten with Heath—even offered to let him bunk with her on his visits down here instead of staying at a hotel. That’s probably not a service she offers all her clients. But the ladies love him, right?”
Phoebe thought of Lianne and Starla at the awards luncheon and ground her teeth.
“Now that I stop to think about it,” Cam said, “Miranda’s actually quite pretty.”
“Maybe you should ask her out while we’re here,” Heath encouraged with a pointed smile. “Since you’re single and alone.”
Phoebe climbed into the taxi and prayed the ride was a quick one; otherwise all the testosterone in the vehicle might suffocate her before they ever reached their destination.
Her irritation faded a bit once they pulled up in front of their coastal boutique hotel. It wasn’t as tall as its high-rise neighbors, but the balconies on the ten-story building should afford a gorgeous view of the water. The art deco architecture and lobby were charmingly retro, and she looked forward to seeing her and Heath’s room.
The woman behind the check-in counter took Heath’s ID and company credit card. “We have you down for an ocean-view room with a king-size bed.”
“King-size bed?” Phoebe squeaked, feeling immediately foolish over her involuntary reaction. She’d known they were sharing a room. What had she expected, that they’d share side-by-side beds like some couple in a ’50s TV show? Still, until this exact moment, sleeping in the same bed as Heath had been more of an abstract idea. Or a hot fantasy.
“Is there a problem?” the hotel employee asked.
“Is there?” Cam echoed from his spot down the counter. Did he sound hopeful?
“No problem whatsoever,” Heath told the woman, putting his arm around Phoebe’s waist as he glanced in Cam’s direction. “With this being a smaller hotel, we were afraid all the king-size rooms would be booked. She’s excited.”
Phoebe nodded wordlessly. She also refrained from comment when, after the woman outlined the bar and dining options on property and suggested her favorites, Heath responded with “Thanks, sweetheart.” Still, despite keeping a tactful silence, Phoebe found her temper rising along with the elevator as she and Heath rode to the eighth floor.
By the time he unlocked their door, he was casting her wary looks. “Okay,” he said as he closed the door behind them, “is it having one bed that’s pissing you off, or am I missing something?”
“I don’t recall saying I was pissed.” She let her suitcase and tote bag fall to the side and marched past the bed toward the balcony doors. Even feeling prickly and agitated, she could appreciate the gorgeous view. The blues and greens of the water were soothing. The man behind her? Not so much.
He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Talk to me, Phoebe.”
Just Phoebe.
She whirled around. “You do know it’s patronizing to call women sweetheart, don’t you?” All the females around him were “love” and “beautiful.” Except for me. Good thing she and Heath weren’t really a couple. It would be maddening to tolerate his constant, reflexive flirting.
He blinked. “Sorry. I’m not intentionally condescending, just Southern. I would have stopped if I’d realized they minded.”
To be fair, the flight attendant had not minded a bit when she’d handed him his soda and he’d responded with “Thanks, darling.” She had openly beamed. So why was Phoebe righteously indignant on her behalf? Would you really have been so bothered if the flight attendant had been twenty or thirty years older?
She studied the yellow geometric print on the carpet. “You...never call me any of those things.”
“Wait.” He stood, looking more agitated. “You’re complaining? Because I don’t ‘patronize’ you?”
“No, of course not. I’m not insane.”
His expression was skeptical.
“It’s just funny, don’t you think? You do it as a force of habit, probably never even realizing half the time that you’re saying those things. But I guess since I was dating Cam, you were subconsciously careful not to call me anything that could be construed as...”
He walked toward her, shaking his head. “I said plenty of flirty things when the two of you were together, and you know it. And you’re right, I call lots of women ‘sweetheart.’ Or ‘gorgeous.’ It’s meant to be friendly, like the female version of calling a guy ‘dude’ or ‘bro,’ I guess. You, Phoebe Mars...” He glanced away momentarily, but when he met her eyes again, the intensity in his gaze was searing. “You are beyond random endearments. You’re special and one of a kind.”
She swallowed, startled by the rising tide of emotion inside her. God, she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by getting teary, was she? She hadn’t expected him to say something so sweet. “I forget sometimes what a nice guy you are.”
His laugh was strained. “I’ve had a hundred thoughts about you since you walked into the airport this afternoon. Not a single damn one of them was nice.”
He cupped her face in his hands, holding her a willing captive as his mouth took hers in a deep, ravishing kiss that sent white-hot lust through her. She clung to him, almost painfully eager for more. While his tongue plundered her mouth, wringing a soft cry of encouragement from her, his hand dipped beneath the hem of her top, skating over her bare abdomen and upward until he reached the satin of her bra. He palmed her breast through the fabric, which felt good at first, but it wasn’t enough, n
ot nearly enough, and she felt feverish as she arched into his touch.
“Heath.” The way she sighed his name was a plea.
As he kissed her, he walked them backward. He stopped at the foot of the bed, breaking contact long enough to lift her shirt over her head and let it flutter to the floor. His gaze locked on her breasts and the emerald-green demibra she’d bought this week, his avid expression justifying every dime she’d spent on the high-end lingerie.
He skimmed his thumb beneath a lace edge, lightly brushing her nipple, and she shuddered. She wouldn’t care if he ripped off the expensive bra, shredding it in the process, if it meant nothing between his touch and her skin. She slid the straps down her arms, exposing more of her breasts. He rewarded her boldness by lowering his head and swirling his tongue around one agonizingly sensitive tip. So good. What had started as a sharp twinge of arousal between her legs was becoming a rush of wet heat.
Obviously she wasn’t the only one who craved skin-to-skin contact. After unhooking her bra, he whipped off his own shirt and pulled her closer to kiss her again. Dark hair dusted his sculpted chest, and the light abrasion of it against her bare breasts made her want to rub herself against him like a cat seeking affection. She didn’t doubt that an evening in Heath’s arms would make her purr.
He pulled them down across the mattress but didn’t cover her body with his own. Instead, he propped himself on his elbow, his face close to hers. “I don’t want you to be upset about just having the one bed.”
“Not upset at all.” The overwhelming sensations he lavished on her didn’t leave room for an iota of discontent.
“We may be sharing the bed,” he said, his expression solemn, “but we don’t need to have sex.”
“What?” Could she have sounded more distraught? Way to have some pride, Pheeb. Screw pride. She wanted to get laid. “But don’t you want—”
He slid her hand to the front of his pants, pressing it to the steely ridge of his cock. “I want.” Closing his eyes, he bucked his hips, grinding his erection again her hand. The raw need etched on his face was so harshly beautiful it made her burn.
Then he opened his eyes, rolling atop her. “We’re only in Miami a few days. I plan to touch you plenty—I plan to make you shake with desire and cry out my name—but we can stop shy of sex. Maybe it will be easier to resume our regularly scheduled friendship if we don’t cross that line.”
He kissed the column of her throat, nuzzling lower until he’d reached the curve of her breast. “I’m being noble.” He caught her nipple between his thumb and finger, making her gasp. “Sort of.”
“But—” She didn’t get very far because his mouth moved over her breast, claiming the hardened peak, and all rational thought dissolved.
Very soon she was shaking with desire. He alternated between one side and the other, feasting, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She writhed beneath him, so passion dazed that it took her a moment to register that he was trying to slide down her pants. She gave an obliging wiggle of her hips, desperate for his touch where she was wet and aching. He stroked her through the lace, the damp fabric a silky slide against her swollen clitoris.
Then he began kissing a path down her stomach, and anticipation stuttered through her as he inched the lacy bikini briefs over her thighs, easing them slowly down her calves and ankles as if he had all the time in the world. He slid her legs wider apart, making room for himself, and gave her a deliciously evil smile. Even though he didn’t repeat his dirty words from the plane, she heard them in her head as if he was telling her now how eager he was to taste her.
But he didn’t rush, licking across her upper thigh, then parting the slick folds to find the tight bundle of nerves. He lapped at her until she couldn’t imagine any sweeter torture in the world, then scraped his teeth over her clit, making her whimper. Her body throbbed, unable to contain the pleasure he gave, and when he sucked hard, he might as well have pressed a detonation button. Her hips jolted off the bed, undulating against his mouth as she came in an explosive blast of sheer carnal bliss.
Instead of stopping, he slid two fingers inside her, moving in time to the rhythmic spasms that rippled through her while continuing to stroke her with his tongue. If she could have caught her breath, she might have protested—too much, too much—but then she was somehow hurtling up the ascent again and spiraling over the edge with a shriek she tried to muffle against her hand.
Wow.
She blinked up at the ceiling, slowly regaining her senses, if not the use of her extremities. That second orgasm had melted her muscles into a puddle of contentment.
Heath rose from the bed, crossing to the minibar and returning with two cold bottles of water. He smiled down at her. “Thought you could use one of these.”
She nodded. At least, she meant to. She wasn’t sure her head moved. “You might have to open it for me.” He did, and she took a grateful sip, then sighed happily. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you evaluate that restaurant tonight. Going out to eat would require moving.” Not happening. “Bring me back lots of pictures on your phone and a to-go entrée, would you?”
“How could I possibly leave this room if you’re here naked in bed?” He set down his own water and took her hand, brushing a kiss over the pulse point in her wrist before pulling her into a sitting position. “Come on, you. You’ll feel restored after a shower.” He fingered the tangled curls that fell forward over her shoulder. “I’ll even help you wash your hair.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Only my hair. After orgasms that intense, I’m too tender for you to ‘wash’ anything else right now.”
He gave her his patented look of innocence. “I promise. But for the record? You have permission to wash any part of me that you want.”
Her gaze traveled down to the front of his pants. He was still visibly erect, and she felt a thrill of impatience over the chance to make him feel as good as he’d just made her feel. She shot to her feet. “What are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER 7
SINCE PHOEBE HAD asked for a moment alone in the bathroom, Heath took off his remaining clothes in the middle of their suite, letting them fall to the carpet. He was trying to tamp down regrets about his choice not to keep Phoebe in bed and make love to her until she couldn’t walk. He’d told her he was trying to be noble by not having sex.
It wasn’t a complete lie.
Rounding the bases was one thing, but he didn’t want her to go home feeling like they’d done something irrevocable that damaged their friendship. And given Cam’s evident jealousy earlier, it was probable the man would try to win her back. If the two eventually reconciled, Heath didn’t want her to feel, however irrationally, like she’d cheated.
And what about the other half of your reason? The part that wasn’t noble at all, but pure self-preservation. At every family holiday, Heath had to watch a woman he’d once loved sit next to his brother, her head on Victor’s shoulder as she smiled up at him. Heath wasn’t in love with Phoebe, but sex between them wouldn’t be meaningless. She was a longtime friend, and he cared deeply about her. If he had to see her back in her ex’s arms, he’d rather do it without being taunted by the memory of making love to her.
But that didn’t prevent them from enjoying the hell out of each other.
He heard the shower start running, and then the bathroom door opened. Phoebe had wrapped one of the generous white hotel towels around herself. Her innate modesty made him chuckle since five minutes ago he’d been caressing and licking her naked body.
“I—” She drew up short, sucking in a breath at the sight of his own nakedness. “Oh.” Her gaze roamed greedily over him, the desire in her eyes like a fever in his blood. She swung the door wider and grinned impishly. “Get in here.”
He immediately complied. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re sexy when you’re bossy?” He threaded his hands through her hair, tilting her face upward for a kiss. When she realized that he’d surreptitiously loosened her towel and let it drop,
she bit his bottom lip. He drew back with a smirk. “It’s not like you were planning to shower in the towel, right?”
“Maybe I was planning to do a seductive striptease for you,” she joked.
“End result accomplished. Although, if you’d like to do one when we get back tonight...”
Her hair was so long that the ends of it coyly covered her breasts. He trailed his hand through a ringlet, lightly grazing a nipple.
“Mmm.” Phoebe closed her eyes. “I thought you promised to behave.”
“Did I? That doesn’t sound like me.” He pushed her hair back over her shoulders for an unimpeded view of her, and the light caught the myriad shades, from auburn to a few pale strands of blond. “You have the most gorgeous hair.” He had a sudden vivid fantasy of it wrapped around his fist while she took him in her mouth.
He reached for the handle of the shower door. “I’m getting in.” He wasn’t sure if the water was warm yet, but frankly, cold might do him some good.
The shower was tiled in expensive-looking marble and generously sized, easily big enough for two. He stepped inside and couldn’t help thinking how good life was when the gorgeous redhead joined him. The spray of water was hot, but not nearly as hot as his desire for Phoebe.
She leaned into his chest, running her tongue over his collarbone. “I’ve always thought you were a good dresser. Now I think it’s a shame you’re legally required to wear clothes in public. Maybe I can write the governor, get some kind of exception made.”
Turning Up the Heat (Friends With Benefits) Page 7
