Must Love Curves (Six Wicked Shorts)

by Wick, Christa

  To top it off, Jack's a player. I've seen three different women in and out of his place in the six months he's lived next door to me. Overnight bags, early morning departures -- all the signs are there. He even carried one into his house and then asked me out the next day. Certainly he isn't the kind of man I'd trust my heart to even if I thought he was serious. But I know he's just flirting. Judging by the women taking a trip through his revolving bedroom door, I'm not really his type. Not a one of them is over a size ten. Me? I could probably fit two of those women in my clothes at the same time with enough fabric left over for matching bandanas.

  Jack plopped down on the ground next to me, his sweaty back pressed against my house. He'd stripped his t-shirt off and was wiping down his arms and chest. He nodded at the plants I was putting in. "Nice day for it."

  I rolled my eyes at him. I knew what was coming next.

  "Not at all like yesterday."

  I jabbed at the dirt with my hand spade before pulling one of the catmints from its pot and dropping it in the new hole. "Freak storm, Jack. You can't blame me for the weather."

  "I can when you're a meteorologist and you tell me it's going to be sunny. I would have reserved an inside field if I'd thought it was going to drop hail on us."

  Stabbing another hole in the ground, I gave him a side glare. We were four weeks into Jack teasing me about my failings as the Channel 7 weather girl -- the soft jabs always landing one side or the other of his asking me out. So what if I'd been off the last four weekends? That was NOAA's data, not mine.

  "It's not like I'm the one sending weather balloons up or running the satellites. Stop jerking my chain."

  "Can't stop. I like how your cheeks go all pink and your eyes glitter when you get annoyed."

  A little gurgle sounded in his throat and I made the mistake of looking directly at him. His shirt was still off, leaving him in just running shorts and his socks and shoes. His tanned skin glistened with moisture. A very light dusting of dark hair covered his arms and chest muscles before thickening at the center of his chest and drawing a line all the way down his tight stomach to disappear into his shorts. His whole body flexed and rippled beneath my gaze. A faint mix of cologne and aftershave radiated from him to curl around my senses.

  Damn he smelled good, even covered in sweat and competing with the catmint. Blinking once, I forced my attention back to the hole I'd been digging.

  "They're very pink right now." Jack rubbed the back of his finger along my forearm. "You must be really mad with me."

  The tone of his voice, low and vibrating, told me he knew it wasn't annoyance coloring my cheeks. Resting his weight on one arm, he leaned close to me, his head hovering over my shoulder and his mouth only a few inches from my ear. "Let me make it up to you. Dinner at--"

  "You shouldn't irritate a woman with a hand spade." I waved the tool in his direction. "If you're not careful, I'll accept just to teach you a lesson. Maybe then you'd stop flirting."

  "I'm not flirting." His free hand ran up my spine, sending a shiver racing across my flesh despite the June heat. "I mean...I am. But I'm serious, too. Have dinner with me tonight."

  Shaking my head, I turned away, fully prepared to ignore him and continue planting the catmint. Only, I was out of plants. Letting out an exasperated puff of air, I tossed the spade on the empty tray and leaned forward to stand up.

  Jack put his hand against my stomach, stopping me. "Come on, Ursula. Teach me my lesson -- you won't find a more willing pupil."

  "I was no more serious about accepting than you were in asking." I tried to brush his hand away, but he wouldn't yield. "I need to go to the nursery, Jack. I want to finish this today."

  Surging onto his knees, he braced his other hand against the small of my back. "First, tell me what the weather is next Saturday."

  I glared at him, trying not to think how good his hands felt on me. They were big, strong but dexterous. Just one would cover a breast with the fingers free to tease and twist at the nipple. His gently forcing me to stay there was doing strange things to my body. The spot between my legs grew hotter and wetter, the flesh beginning to tingle as if I needed to take a long, hard pee.

  "Tell me, Ursula." His thumb stroked my back. His torso pushed against me. I could feel the sculpted muscles of his stomach and chest along the length of my arm. "Will it be sunny so I can book an outside field or will it rain?"

  "Sunny." At least that's what NOAA was predicting, but they'd been wrong most of the month.

  "Is that a guess or are you staking your professional reputation on it?"

  I turned, ready to recite a long list of factors and a process that was part science, part intuition. He was too close -- kissing close -- and the words froze on my tongue. A quiver rolled through my body, the muscles of my thighs starting to flex. Contractions started to build in my cunt, each flutter harder than the last. I needed to get inside before I did something embarrassing -- like climaxing next to him with half the neighborhood looking on.

  "I'm certain. You can quote me on it."

  His eyes fluttered shut, a devilish smile playing along his lips. "Good. Here's the deal, if it's sunny, like you say, I'll not only stop teasing you about the weather, but I'll also never flirt with you again -- not ever."

  "Deal, now let go of me."

  He shook his head. "I'm not finished. If it rains--"

  "Wait a minute, you didn't--"

  The hand on my stomach trailed up, stopping between my breasts, instantly shutting my mouth before a moan escaped. He'd never been so bold before. Jack putting his hands on me at all was an entirely new development.

  "If it rains," he continued, "you're spending Sunday in my house, with me, sunrise to sunset."

  "Don't be ridiculous." I tried to slide to my right, but his hand moved with me, cupping my breast and giving a gentle squeeze. "I'm not going to wager something like that."

  "You already have." He thumbed the nipple and then pinched it. "You can't back out now, not without welshing."

  Changing tactics, I went on the offensive. Leaning against him, I whispered in his ear. "You need someone to clean your kitchen, Jack, get a housekeeper."

  He pulled away far enough that he could look down at me through half shut eyes. "Ursula, you come to my house on Sunday -- it's not the silverware that's getting polished."

  Damn, if I didn't know better, I'd actually think he wanted me. He looked that convincing. All I had to do to call his bluff was reach out my hand and run it along his crotch. That would prove he was nothing more than a big tease. My fingers twitched. One stroke against a limp cock and the charade was through.

  "So what's it going to be?" he asked.

  A car pulled up in the drive next door. Mrs. Duncan got out, waved at me, my whole plan dissolving. I would have to find another way to call his bluff -- like say "yes" and leave him fretting the whole week long that it would rain. If it was sunny on Saturday, I wouldn't have to worry about him flirting ever again -- at least not with me.

  I cut a glance in his direction. "Fine. It's a deal. You won't tease or flirt with me after Saturday--"

  "If you win." He nodded. "Otherwise, you're mine Sunday, for whatever I want."

  ********************

  Five days of glorious sunshine unabated by a single cloud came to a thundering halt Saturday afternoon. Clouds and wind rolled into the city, whipping debris around the streets. Rain followed, backing up the sewers downtown.

  I started pacing in my living room at the first fat drops against the window pane. I drew the curtains shut, paced some more and tried to convince myself that Jack wouldn't show up tomorrow to collect on the bet.

  At nine in the evening, his truck still absent from his drive, I poured myself into the tub for a long soak to ease the tension. He wasn't home, hadn't knocked on my door to gloat and remind me to set an alarm for sunrise. That had to be good -- proof that he'd had the same, sinking "oh shit" feeling at the first sign of rain. I kept reassuring myself of his reaction al
l the way up to one in the morning when I finally fell asleep.

  Four and a half hours later, my doorbell rang. Groaning, I looked at the clock and then at my bedroom window with its faint glow of light around the curtains' edges. I put my pillow over my head, damned if I was going to answer the door. He'd give up in a few minutes.

  That's when my phone rang. Recognizing the number for the Channel 7 news desk, I answered to hear our summer intern's nervous stammer telling me the station had a caller with a breaking weather story, but he would only talk to me.

  "Let me guess, his name is Jack Santos?"

  "Uhm, yes, Miss Cain, how--"

  "Janie..." I stopped before I called her a tool. It wasn't her fault I'd made a stupid bet or that NOAA was wrong -- again. I stood up, wrapped my robe around me and headed for the front door. "Hang up. I know how to contact Santos directly."

  I clicked the phone off before she could reply, tossed it on the entry table and yanked the door open to glare at the sexiest pain in the ass that ever lived. "You've got to be kidding me, Jack."

  Resting one thick, muscled arm against my door frame, his gaze raked my body. "Not kidding, now haul that sweet ass next door, you're ten minutes late."

  I folded my arms over my chest. I could feel the blood drain from my face. When I spoke again, I couldn't manage more than a whisper. "Jack, this isn't funny anymore."

  He swallowed, his gaze softening for an instant before he shook his head. He stepped closer. His hand curled around the back of my neck and he pressed his lips to my forehead. "Ursula, baby, you've made me chase you for almost six months. You lost the bet and I'm not going to just smile and shrug it off so you can back out."

  His fingers plucked at the robe's sash. "So, are you going to come next door, let me flirt with you all day and make me insanely happy? Or are you going to go back on your word?"

  The sash was one tug away from coming undone. I grabbed hold of its ends and cinched it tight, my gaze unable to meet his. "Just until sunset and I don't care what you think you're going to do--"

  "Everything I can convince you to let me do, and," he stopped, looked at his watch, "You've got twenty minutes to account for after sunset."

  "Fine, let me change." I tried to push him outside, but he wouldn't budge.

  "I'll wait right here, thank you very much."

  He probably thought I wouldn't open the door back up if he let me shut it with him on the outside. The thought had definitely crossed my mind. Scowling over my shoulder, I marched to my bedroom, shut the door and threw on some clothes. When I emerged five minutes later, he was grinning ear to ear.

  "None of this is funny, Jack." I grabbed my keys from the entry table and stepped onto the front step.

  "That outfit is -- are you sure you don't want to add a parka and snow boots?"

  "Are you sure you don't want me to go back inside and you can spend the day alone?"

  His expression changed from teasing to contrite in a heartbeat. "No, baby, I'll behave -- at least for a little bit."

  A little bit was right. His good behavior lasted until we were inside his living room. He pointed to a big white box with a pink ribbon tied around it. "I expected you to wear as much armor as possible, so I went shopping last night."

  The grin was back, impossibly wider. He was right. I had put on the least sexy combination of clothes I could find -- a gray t-shirt, layered with a long sleeve top and a hoodie. My jeans were button fly and belted with a buckle that took either a lot of experience or an engineering degree to unfasten.

  Dread weighing down my footsteps, I walked over to the box and opened it. Inside was a slip of a dress -- maybe not even that. "Is this a negligee?"

  "It's a sun dress." He put his hand into the box and fished out a pair of matching sandals.

  I wasn't done arguing. The outer layer of the "dress" was georgette. Beneath it a satiny, body hugging sheath. Both layers were hot pink. Peering into the box, I saw a pair of panties that were little more than a whisper of fabric. "It sure looks like a negligee."

  "It wasn't in that part of the store, so quit arguing and put it on."

  "You said whatever you could convince me to do." I folded my arms across my chest. "And you're just not that persuasive, Jack."

  Immediately, I sensed that I'd made a mistake. I should have found another way to phrase my refusal instead of challenging him to convince me. His hands jumped to the top button of his pants.

  "What are you doing?" I nervously eyed the distance to the front door. I didn't think Jack was about to go psycho, I just didn't want to see what he was packing inside his jeans. I already had a hard time keeping him out of my bed time fantasies.

  "Baby, there's too much clothing between the two of us. If you won't change, I guess that means I have to take something off."

  I went to stop his hands, realizing just in time where I was reaching. I snatched my hand to my side like I'd touched fire and looked at the box again. It was a pretty piece. Expensive, too. For inside wear it might be okay. I certainly wouldn't go parading around town with its too short hem and sleeveless bodice.

  I chewed at my bottom lip, hoping he would relent and I wouldn't have to decide. Hearing the slide of his zipper, I quickly put my hands up in surrender "Wait! I'll try it on, but no guarantees. And even if I decide not to wear it, you're not stripping anything off."

  He shrugged, mirth making his eyes sparkle. "No guarantees, baby girl."

  ********************

  Jack wasn't the only one capable of strategy. I spent twenty-five minutes putting that slip of nothing on. I decided that my game plan for the day would be to spend as much time as possible in his house but away from him. Exiting the bathroom, I returned to the living room to find him missing.

  I could hear the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen. If Jack expected me to go in there on my own, he would just have to be disappointed. I wasn't going to welsh on the bet, but I wouldn't make it easy for him, either.

  Avoiding the couch, I sat in the side chair. Waiting, I kept my knees pressed together, hyper aware of how much of the dress disappeared when I was sitting. Bad enough that it only fell halfway down my thighs when I was standing, another three inches of length disappeared the second my ass hit the cushion.

  Folding my hands in my lap, I tried to relax and not glare in the direction of the kitchen. Another ten minutes passed before Jack came into the living room drying his hands with a dish towel. He stopped just inside the room, the towel falling to the floor.

  "Suddenly I feel the need to go back to bed -- want to join me, beautiful?"

  I rolled my eyes at him and shook my head. It was a cute outfit, flattering -- but not that flattering.

  His mouth puckered then smoothed into a smile. He crooked a finger at me. "Come and have breakfast then."

  He watched me get up, the hem of the dress sliding places it shouldn't and then flouncing along my thighs as I crossed the room. He didn't even bother trying to meet my gaze, his attention fixed on the strike zone of my breasts down to my knees. He drew one side of his bottom lip into his mouth, biting at it as he half shuttered his gaze. When I passed him, his hands came up in an attempt to capture my hips.

  Evading him, I spun on my heels and walked backwards into the kitchen. "Don't get grabby, Santos."

  Jack followed me in, watching me from the side as he filled my plate with eggs, baked ham and chunks of melon. He put the plate in front of me, loaded another plate with food and poured ice water for both of us from a carafe.

  His head tilted down, he looked up at me through thick lashes. "This is our first date, you know."

  "Too bad for you." I pointed my fork at him before I speared a piece of honeydew. "I don't do anything on the first date."

  Reaching under the table, he brushed his fingertips against my leg. "That's why we're watching a movie later -- that's date two."

  I scooted my chair back, the fork hovering in front of my mouth as I tried to stare him into behaving. "Still out of luc
k."

  "And dinner in front of the fireplace will be date three."

  I responded with a raised brow and a shake of my head. Oh, I'd made a mistake on date three once before, but that had only served to reinforce my six date rule.

  "Baby, the way I see it, we should have at least three months of dating history by now." He stretched his legs under the table, his feet hooking my chair and drawing it close enough his hand could tease my knee again. "We've had enough conversation to fill at least a dozen dates."

  I didn't answer -- couldn't. He was tracing little circles along my inside knee. The soft touch and repeating pattern did weird things to me, my body's reaction too strong for something as innocent as a hand so far down my leg. My lower body tightened in on itself, my labia sliding together as my nipples tented the bodice of the dress.

  Jack noticed my pointy nipples and the way my legs flexed beneath his touch. His lips parted, his tongue emerging from his mouth to fill the space as he blinked and drew a long breath in. His hand cupped the backside of my knee and started to squeeze before he shook his head and retreated.

  For the first time in six months, I saw Jack blush. He took a gulp of ice water and then another. Putting the glass back down, he asked me about school.

  "State." The word shook as it left me. I stopped, forced my breathing back under control. The rest of my body hadn't settled yet. My hips ached to slide forward in search of his hand. My breasts were swelling beneath the tight bodice, making the hard nipples almost painful.

  My shoulders twitched, drawing Jack's gaze back to my breasts, where it stayed.

  I needed to distract him, to have him look at my face instead of my body. His gaze focused where it was caused my temperature to spike, particularly down between my thighs. A few more seconds of him staring at me and steam would start rising up from my pussy.