Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

He snagged a piece of chicken. Another good sign. “Don’t worry, she’s not an Aggie. She’s doing graphic design.”

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  “So tell me what she looks like.”

  He lips creased in a doting-dad smile. “She’s beautiful.” Everything was different about him when he spoke of his daughter. He came to life. His eyes brightened.

  “Duh,” she said. “With your DNA, I’m not surprised.”

  Chase licked teriyaki from his fingers, and she had the most incredible urge do it for him. Suck his fingers clean. Her face heated. So did everything else.

  “Is that a compliment?” he asked.

  “Yes, you’re very handsome.” Pretty damn hot, actually. He blinked, then his mouth curved in a sexy half smile. “Thank you.” His lips glistened with a touch of lingering teriyaki. Marianna wanted a taste of that, too. He was obviously grieving for his wife. He didn’t want a real girlfriend. He wanted someone to ease the loneliness for a little while. And she’d almost botched everything totally. She’d even had trouble thinking of things to talk about. Which shouldn’t have been a problem since she had to make small talk all the time with potential buyers. Chase unnerved her in a way Brock Ransom hadn’t. Perhaps because this was more like a date. A blind date one of her friends had set her up on.

  And because Chase was much more devastatingly attractive. She searched for something scintillating to say. “So, Cal Poly is my alma mater, but I’m a real estate agent now.” Oh God. She closed her eyes and waited for him to say, But I thought you were a whore. He didn’t. Instead, he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger, waiting until she opened her eyes.

  “I think we should start over.” His eyes were a gorgeous bottle green.

  “We should?”

  “Yeah. Here I am with a beautiful woman who’s prepared a delicious feast for me and I’m making her struggle to come up with conversation.”

  He had the most amazing eyelashes, thick, dark. “It’s not your fault.” It was her job to be scintillating. She sucked at being a courtesan. Though the thought of that particular word under these circumstances brought a smile to her lips. He raised one brow. “Tell me.”

  Her face always gave her thoughts away. Why not tell him? “I was thinking that I sucked at being a courtesan.” Her smile grew, then she laughed.

  “An interesting choice of words.” His eyes deepened to an earthier shade. 49

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  “Then I realized that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  “You are a very naughty woman.”

  She loved the way he said naughty. He stroked a finger down her throat, then slowly pulled away, leaving her skin tingling.

  “I haven’t done anything naughty”—she fluttered her eyelashes—“yet.”

  Holding her gaze, he dipped into the bowl of peaches and held one out to her. “Eat this.”

  Entranced, she took the fruit from his fingers as if he were a hypnotist. A drop of juice slid off her lip. His eyes glued to her, she licked it up.

  “Now suck this.” His tone was smoking as he stretched out his hand. She drew his finger into her mouth and sucked off all the leftover nectar. So good, she had to close her eyes to savor his taste mixed with the peach and teriyaki.

  “I would say you were a perfect courtesan,” he whispered. He pulled her hand to his crotch, molded her fingers over his hard cock. “Feel what you do to me?”

  Her body was suddenly a blaze of sensation, wet at her core, a flush along her skin, her nipples teased to peaks by the touch of her lace bra. Like Sleeping Beauty, she needed his kiss and she needed it now. She covered the plate of chicken and snapped the lid on the bowl of peaches, then laid them in the basket. She set the two champagne glasses in the grass, hoping they wouldn’t fall over.

  Putting her hand on his face, she gave him her lips. Tentative, sweet, a delicious combination of peaches, teriyaki, and hot male desperation. She swept her tongue across his lips, asking. He parted for her. She’d never felt so in control of a kiss, not the aggressor so much as the director. Touching his tongue with hers, she quickly backed off, teasing. He watched her, his eyes smoky with desire. She leaned in again and gave him her mouth. When she would have pulled away once more, he slid his fingers through her hair, held her to him, and the kiss became his. He used his tongue, his lips, sipped her, tasted her fully, teased, then rolled her under him. Angling his head, he took her deeply. The crush of his body heated her inside and out. She forgot it was about money. She forgot he was a stranger. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed as if she were the longtime girlfriend he’d fantasized about. He groaned, holding her still. Just when she couldn’t bear 50

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  another moment without his hands on her breasts, her belly, between her legs, he backed off, then laid his forehead to hers, eyes closed.

  “Christ,” he murmured, his breath fanning her cheek. “You make me feel starved.”

  “I’ve got more food.”

  He chuckled, real laughter, no cutting it off. “Food is not what I’m hungry for.” He pressed his hips, imprinting his erection along her thigh, then he slid to the side, laying his hand on her abdomen. “I don’t want to rush.”

  “God, I do.” At her words, he laughed again, and she decided she adored his laugh. She could get used to the twinkle in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the square jaw that spoke of strength.

  “It’s been so long, I’d rather take time to savor it.”

  She stroked his cheek, his skin freshly shaven, and, to use his word, savored the feel of him. She parted her lips to say something sexy and seductive, and a fat raindrop plopped on her cheek. “Oh my God, it’s dark up there.”

  Rain splattered in her hair. The stormy clouds that had been off in the distance were now straight overhead. A drop rolled down Chase’s temple. Another, faster, harder. She squealed. “My picnic. It’ll be ruined.”

  Chase grabbed the important things, glasses and champagne, while she slammed the lid of the basket closed. When it was in her arms, he scooped up the blanket, and they ran for the car. Beeping the remote, he got there before she did, and he had the back door already open for her. All she had to do was climb in and crawl across to the far side. Inside the car, she leaned against the opposite door, hooked one leg beneath her, and held the basket in her lap. As he climbed in and slammed the door behind him, raindrops glistened in his hair. He looked so . . . touchable.

  Holding up the champagne, he gestured. “Refill?”

  Her glass was still half full, but she nodded. “More, please.” The rain pattered on the roof. “I guess this is like tailgating.”

  He clinked his glass to hers after handing it over. “Better. With tailgating you have a bunch of people around.”

  She smiled. Oh yeah, being alone was so much better. The champagne had a sweet bite to it. She’d splurged on it for the special occasion. She took two swallows, then licked her lips. Glancing at him, she loved the way his eyes followed the action even as he drank his own champagne. The way a man 51

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  watched when he wanted, it always set her blood racing, but now, with Chase, it made her burn for more.

  Marianna popped the lid of the basket open, gazing at him over the top. “I’ve still got pasta salad and crackers and Brie and . . .” In the midst of it, with his look eating her up, a flush of heat rose to her cheeks and warmed her through. She didn’t care that this had started with money, that she didn’t know him, that tonight might be the only night, that it was all just make-believe. Screw waiting. She wasn’t hungry for any of the goodies she’d packed. All she could think of was his touch on her. He’d made his move by putting her hand on his cock. Time for her to let him know how much more she wanted. Slowly she closed the lid again, then hoisted the basket over the seat and set it in the back of the SUV. She waggled her fingers for the champagne bottle. He handed it to her, and she stood it up next t
o the basket. Chase threw the blanket back there himself.

  It was time for bold moves. Marianna climbed onto his lap. 52

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  8

  EVERYTHING INSIDE HIM STILLED AS SHE SPREAD HER LEGS TO SIT

  astride him, her hair brushing the roof of the car. Time stopped. Chase held his breath and enjoyed the warmth of her thighs surrounding him. It had been so long that everything felt new to him.

  She tapped the bottom of his glass. “Drink.” She sipped from hers at the same time, then bent her head to his. “Kiss me with the bubbles.”

  Her lips sizzled against his, his tongue tingled with her sweet taste and the pop of champagne. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, just thighs, the press of his hard cock along her center, and their mouths. She was so much more delicious than the fine champagne, with a sweetness all her own. She smelled of ozone and rain, wisteria and fresh grass, or maybe she just made him imagine all his favorite scents. He wanted her under him, on him; he wanted inside her. He wanted it all so badly he could do nothing more than kiss her as the fall of her hair teased his neck, his cheeks. She backed off and nipped his lip lightly, then licked along the seam.

  “You like to play,” he murmured.

  “Don’t you?” She smiled for him.

  “I’ve forgotten how.” It had been so damn long. Since long before—

  “Stop,” she said against his lips. “You can think when you’re alone in your bed. Or when you’re driving to work. Or even in some boring meeting.” She rubbed her nose back and forth against his, lowered her voice. “But not now.”

  Then she backed off, gulped the rest of her champagne. “Finish so we can put the glasses down and I can have my very wicked way with you.”

  His heart stuttered, but he downed the champagne. The bubbles flooded his head with desire and need. He wanted anything she’d give him.

  “Define wicked,” he said. Words were as seductive as touches. She leaned once more over the backseat, getting rid of their glasses. Her hair brushed his shoulder, her breast stroked his arm as she settled back onto his lap. Her eyes alight with mischief, she finger-walked from his abdomen to a button on his shirt. “Well, first, I’d undo this.” She flicked it open, then another and another, and laid her palm on his chest.

  “That’s not particularly wicked.” Yet it was fun. It raised his pulse. Could she 53

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  feel the beat beneath her fingers?

  “Wicked is this,” she murmured, pinching his nipple hard. He gasped and surged against her, his cock suddenly as hard as gunmetal.

  “Christ.”

  “Wicked?”

  “Diabolical.” He liked having his nipples pinched, the harder the better, as if they had a direct line to his dick. “How’d you know?”

  She swept in to lick his ear and murmur, “Because I like my nipples pinched hard. And if I like it, why shouldn’t you?”

  He molded his hands to her breasts, pushing her off slightly. Holding her gaze, he rolled both nipples between thumb and forefinger.

  “Do it hard,” she whispered, head falling back, lids drifting closed in anticipation.

  He pinched, she peaked. Then she leaned into his touch and moaned for him.

  “I haven’t had sex in two years.” She rode his cock through his pants, undulating against him. “And this feels so good.”

  “I thought you—” He stopped. “I mean, don’t you—” He didn’t know how to finish without offending her.

  She opened her eyes slowly. “You’re my second date. And I didn’t have sex with him, at least not in the traditional sense.” She tipped her head. “Is it okay that I don’t really know what I’m doing as a courtesan?”

  Her second date? It was difficult to believe, yet he found it hard to doubt her sincerity. Maybe it was part of pretending she was his girlfriend. What the fuck, he didn’t care. She was with him for now. He shoved her hand inside his shirt again. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

  She pinched and laughed delightedly when he put his head back on the seat and groaned, his body rising involuntarily, cock grinding between her thighs.

  “Maybe I know a little bit, then,” she whispered. He laid both hands on her hips and held her tight against him, shifting slightly, rubbing until the heat of her pussy seeped through his slacks. “Tell me how you had sex with him in the nontradi tional sense.” He was curious, turned on, and slightly jealous, too, a heady combination. She gathered the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head. Her nipples peeked above the black lace of her bra. “Lick them first.”

  He loved that she threw her clothes aside with abandon and asked for what 54

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  she wanted. Sliding his palms up the smooth skin of her back, he pulled her to him. “Tell me while I suck,” he murmured the moment before taking her pebbled nipple in his mouth.

  Her low moan vibrated in her chest. “It was a party, a big ballroom.” She jerked as he bit lightly, then put her hand to his head, holding him close. “We went out to the terrace.” She moaned. “Oh yes, don’t stop that.” He sucked harder, pinched her opposite peak. “I can’t remember now,” she laughed, cutting herself off mid-gasp.

  He let her go long enough to ask, “What did he look like?” Not that he cared about other men, but he wanted an image.

  “He was older, fifty-five maybe. Not too bad-looking.” She cupped his cheeks in her palms, held his gaze. “But not like you. Nothing like you.”

  He liked knowing she found him more attractive. He popped the front clasp of her bra, and her breasts filled his hands. “They’re beautiful,” he said, with true reverence.

  “Thank you.” She shimmied out of the lacy garment and threw that, too, just as she’d tossed her shirt.

  “I like that you’re uninhibited.” He liked that she’d lost her earlier nervousness.

  She laughed, low, huskier this time. “I’m not usually. But you’re different.”

  He let himself believe her. “Tell me what you did out on the terrace.” Sliding his hands beneath the skirt, up her thighs, he stroked her ass. She held his shoulders, captured his gaze. “I put my hand down his pants and rubbed his cock. No kiss. No petting. Just right to it where anyone could have seen us.” Her hazel eyes deepened to the color of the ocean, and he knew that last part had turned her on the most. His cock throbbed in his pants.

  “Did he come?”

  “Oh yeah,” she whispered, her lips curving in a seductive smile. He couldn’t resist pinching her bottom, then gliding along the elastic band of her panties to palm her damp pussy. She didn’t balk or tell him he was moving too fast. Her skin was smooth, her belly slightly rounded, her pubic curls trimmed and soft to the touch. She shivered, and it flowed into him, until his body shuddered with need. “Did he touch you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you want him to?”

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  She shook her head again.

  “Why not? Because it was your first date with a man?” He didn’t stress the word, but they both knew it was a euphemism.

  Her fingers flexed slightly on his shoulders. “Because I liked being in control of his orgasm.”

  Heat streaked through him. He stroked her curls, lightly, without delving deeper. “I want to control yours.”

  With her deep inhale, her breasts rose, begging him. He’d never been so entranced with a woman. It was the kinky act of paying for sex, the date being only about sex, the fact he hadn’t even thought about sex in over a year. Suddenly he was consumed by it. Yet there was also a connection. He’d revealed a tiny hint of his turmoil. She’d given him a glimpse of her insecurities. It made what passed between them now so much hotter.

  He wanted to give her this, an orgasm that required nothing in return.

  HOLDING HER GAZE, HE HOOKED HIS FINGERS ALONG HER WAISTBAND

  and tugged her skirt, catching her pan
ties, too. She blinked, bit her lip, but said nothing. Lifting, she allowed him to slide the material along her thighs, then rolling to the side, she shoved everything down her legs. Settling once more, completely nude in his lap, her skin flushed a rosy pink. Marianna shivered again, and it wasn’t cold. Oh no, she was hot all over. And terrified. A man she’d never met before, fully clothed. Her, totally naked, legs spread and vulnerable. She was wet. She’d never wanted anything more than she wanted this, and part of the allure was being at his mercy. With Brock, she’d been the one in control; at least that’s how she’d felt. With Chase, she had no control at all. And she loved it.

  His hand hovered just over her mound, his green eyes seeming almost to glow like jewels. “May I touch you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice cracked. It was one thing to slide your hand down a man’s pants, quite another to be totally exposed yourself. Yet she needed that orgasm badly. She wanted to give him her need, her desire, her control.

  “Please touch me or I might go crazy.”

  Sliding his hand between her legs, he parted her folds, and stroked her with two fingers. She almost cried out, it felt so damn good. Her head brushed the roof as she tipped back and let her body roll with his caress. It was better than 56

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  fucking, gentler, sweeter.

  He stopped. She opened her eyes without realizing she’d closed them. He slowly drew his fingers to his nose, scented them, then sucked one into his mouth. Oh God. She almost came watching him.

  “I needed to taste you.”

  She wanted to put her own hand on herself. Nothing had ever been so entirely about her, never had a man enjoyed her with such sensuality. Need made her dizzy. She didn’t care that she was the naked one. She wanted to come, she needed it now.

  “Touch me, please, or I’ll do it myself.” She hardly recognized her own voice.

  “Then do it while I watch.” His breath was sharp, harsh, his pupils dilated, and his cock bulged hard against his zipper.

  “I was just joking about that. I want you to do it.” Yet the idea made her even creamier.