Bedded by a Playboy

by Heidi Rice

  ‘Oh, Monroe.’ She put her palm on his cheek.

  He put his hand over hers, drew it down. ‘We can wait till tomorrow for the next round. Anyhow, I need to get some condoms, remember?’

  Although Monroe was desperate for her, no way was he going to take her to bed again so soon. He’d seen the heart-melting look in her eyes after they’d made love. Didn’t doubt that she probably thought she was falling in love with him. She was young and naïve and unbearably sweet. A romantic to the core. He was older, much more cynical and had never had a romantic moment in his life. Thank heaven.

  He knew that great sex, no, fantastic sex, was all he could give her. So they’d keep things light and simple and they’d both have a good time. He felt okay with it, knowing that he could give her something she’d never had before. That first orgasm was just the start, for both of them. He wouldn’t think about the future because they didn’t have one.

  ‘I better get dressed.’ Jessie stood up, struggling with the throw. Why did she suddenly feel as if there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before? ‘I should go.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ He swung her up into his arms.

  She grabbed for his shoulders and the throw fell away, exposing her to the waist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She tried to cling on and pull the throw back up.

  ‘Forget about that.’ He tightened his arms. ‘I want you naked in my bed tonight.’ He sniffed at her hair. ‘God, you smell fantastic. No way you’re going anywhere tonight.’

  She was clinging onto his neck now, his chest hair brushing unbearably against the swollen, sensitive peaks of her breasts. ‘But I thought we weren’t going to do it again.’

  He laughed, the sound rough and rueful. ‘Red, you’ve got so much to learn.’ He wiggled his brows, lasciviously. ‘Wouldn’t you know it? I guess I’m gonna have to teach you.’

  He didn’t sound remotely put out about it.

  Kicking the throw rug away, he sauntered through into the bedroom with her. Bumping the door closed, he whirled her round into the room.

  Jessie saw the bed first, a large mattress on the floor, the bed sheets strewn across it, but as he knelt down to dump her on it her head fell back and she caught a glimpse of the blaze of colours over his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, Monroe.’ She scrambled out of his arms and rushed over to the canvases stacked against the wall.

  They were strong, bold, striking images. People’s faces, some tender, some touching, others unbearably sad and strong. Stunning landscapes of vibrancy and life. Ugly urban places that had a haunting beauty. Each one of his subjects leapt off the canvas in its own distinct way. His use of colour, of light, of contrast was vivid and demanding, as if he had drawn the emotion out with the paint. She turned back to him, tears forming in her eyes. He stood next to the mattress, watching her, his eyes carefully blank.

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  ‘Monroe.’ Walking to him, she placed her palms on his cheeks, searched his face. ‘They’re incredible. You have an amazing talent.’

  ‘You like them?’

  ‘Are you joking? I don’t like them. I love them. They’re phenomenal.’ She turned, ran back, picked up a small square canvas of a woman and a girl, standing by a gas pump. The girl, who looked little more than a child, was heavily pregnant. Her eyes shone with bitterness and defiance. The paint strokes were rough, the fierce strength elemental on the girl’s face.

  As she studied it Jessie felt her own emotions well up inside her. ‘You’ve captured her so perfectly. Who was she?’

  ‘Hey.’ Walking up behind her, he scooped the tear off Jessie’s cheek, laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t cry, Jess. The guy responsible stuck by her and so did her mom. She did okay.’

  Jessie put the canvas back against the wall, turned to him. ‘I’m not crying because of her. She looks tough enough to wrestle an ox. I’m crying because of your art, Monroe. It’s so exquisite.’

  He looked taken aback. ‘You like them that much?’

  Monroe pulled her into his arms, the surge of pride inside him so huge it was choking him. No one had ever said something to him that could have meant more. This was better than when she’d had her first orgasm in his arms and that had been pretty damned overwhelming.

  ‘It’s only a hobby,’ he said, inhaling the fresh, flowery scent of her hair.

  She drew back. ‘Don’t lie.’ She took another long look at his paintings. When she turned back, her eyes were full of wonder. His knees felt shaky.

  ‘That’s not a hobby,’ she said softly. ‘That’s a passion.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘JESSIE, dear, your young man’s outside.’

  Jessie’s stomach did a little flip as Mrs Bennett walked into the gallery’s tiny office. The leap of joy was something she’d got used to in the last few days.

  ‘He’s only a few minutes early,’ her boss continued as she put the sales invoices down on Jessie’s desk. ‘You can go now if you like.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bennett.’ Jessie tapped the shutdown button on the desktop computer, grabbed her bag from under the desk and ran out.

  Monroe stood outside the gallery’s main doors. He looked tall and slightly tense through the glass. Her young man. Wasn’t that the most wonderful phrase in the whole wide world?

  They’d been together now for four whole days and she felt as if her heart were going to burst in her chest at the sight of him. Had she ever been happier in her life?

  The sex, of course, was fabulous. The man made love like a god. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Toby had always treated foreplay like a chore. Maybe that was why she’d never been able to relax, enjoy it. Monroe seemed to know instinctively what to do to make her forget everything except the touch, the feel of him.

  But it wasn’t Monroe’s lovemaking skills that had dazzled her, had lifted her onto a cloud of such intense pleasure and contentment. It was the companionship. They made love every morning and then they would have breakfast in his apartment before he took her to work on the Harley. He’d be waiting outside to pick her up when she got off at noon and then they’d drive like mad things straight back to the apartment and make long, lazy love together all afternoon and most of the evening.

  And yesterday, he’d brought her flowers, for goodness’ sake. A small bunch of wildflowers he’d said he’d spotted on the way in to town. His obvious embarrassment, when he’d thrust them at her, the delicate blooms wilting in the heat, had only made the gesture more wonderful. It was so romantic.

  Thinking about their tempestuous lovemaking by the pool afterwards made Jessie’s heartbeat throb heavily and the flush hit her cheeks as she pushed open the door of the gallery.

  ‘Monroe!’ She flung her hands around his neck, making him almost drop the grocery sack in his arms.

  ‘Watch it, Red. This is our lunch.’

  She pressed her lips to his. ‘I’m too happy to see you to care about food.’

  The grin spread slowly across his face. ‘Is that right?’ He slung the sack under his arm, put one hand around her waist and pulled her closer. ‘Let’s do that again.’

  The kiss was long and heated this time. ‘Mmm.’ He licked his lips. ‘Damn it, there you go tempting me again. You’ll make me forget.’

  ‘Forget what?’

  ‘Come on. The Harley’s round the back.’ He gripped her hand, pulled her behind him down the small alleyway that led to the customer car park.

  ‘Are we going home?’ She certainly hoped so.

  ‘No way.’ He shot her a quick grin, but carried on walking, forcing Jessie to jog to keep up with his long strides. ‘You’ll just end up jumping me again.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Who knew you sweet little English girls could be so damned insatiable?’

  ‘Well, really.’ Jessie laughed. ‘Who knew you Yankee guys would get knackered so quickly?’

  ‘Knackered!’ He stopped in front of the Harley
, dumped the grocery sack on the bike seat and put his hands on her hips. He placed a light kiss on her lips, his eyes challenging. ‘You wanna bet on that?’

  ‘I certainly do.’ She drew her arms up, threaded her fingers through the soft, shaggy gold-streaked hair that she adored. ‘Still think you can handle me?’

  His hands slid around to her bottom, massaging the flesh through the thin fabric of the cotton trouser suit she wore. ‘If it’s a matter of my Yankee honour.’ He dipped his head, took her lips in a hot, demanding kiss.

  She drew back, breathless. ‘You win, Yankee boy.’

  He gave her bottom one more quick squeeze and then let her go. ‘Hell, I guess that means I don’t get to ravish you, right?’

  ‘You can’t have it both ways, buster,’ she said, lifting a coquettish eyebrow.

  He sighed, pulled her helmet out of the bike’s saddlebags and handed it to her. ‘Mount up. We’re going on a picnic.’

  The streets of Cranford were clogged with tourists. Monroe had to ease the bike down Main Street, threading through the crowds of people heading to the town’s beach. The old-fashioned clapboard sidewalks were overflowing, spilling tourists into the road like so much flotsam. The midday sun was a killer, scorching bare flesh and making children cranky and unmanageable.

  Monroe didn’t mind the delay a bit. He could feel Jessie’s arms tight around his waist, her thighs pressed against his hips. As much as he would have loved to head straight home, he forced himself not to.

  He’d gorged on her the last four days. But it seemed the more of her he had, the more he needed. The way she responded to him was like a fire in his blood, making him want more all the time, making him take more. He knew he’d exhausted her last night—and himself.

  He’d slept like a log.

  Ever since prison he’d had trouble getting to sleep. Not any more, it seemed. With her in his arms, snuggled against him in the darkness, the stir of passion still flowing through him, he’d drifted off like a baby.

  He’d decided on the way to town that this afternoon was going to be different. He was going to prove he could keep his hands off her.

  He’d stopped by the grocery store on his way into the gallery and picked up some stuff for lunch. He knew of a nice little spot at Montauk Point that shouldn’t be too crowded, but there would be enough people about to stop him getting any ideas. Not that he needed them there, of course; he could keep his hands off her if he had to.

  As the bike finally cruised past the town limits he revved his hand on the throttle. As they shot down Sunrise Highway, he couldn’t ignore the thrill that surged through him as Jessie’s arms tightened around his waist.

  Jessie could see the lighthouse, tall and solitary at the end of the point, as the sea breeze whipped at her face. She clung onto Monroe as the bike angled down to the left, along a narrow strip of path that led to a small spray of sand hugging the Point’s leeward side. A few tourists had been milling about up top, but once Monroe brought the bike to a stop at the edge of the sand she couldn’t see anyone.

  Could Monroe have found anywhere more romantic for their picnic? Maybe missing their afternoon lovemaking session wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

  He took her hand as they walked onto the sand. The bracken bushes provided some handy shade from the noon sun as he spread a thin blanket on the ground, and dropped the brown paper sack onto it.

  Jessie took off her jacket, the lacy camisole beneath fluttered in the breeze and cooled her heated flesh. Sitting down, she toed off her sandals and reached for the bag.

  ‘I certainly hope we’ve got something more inspired than sandwiches in here,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘You know what?’ He sank down onto the blanket next to her and grabbed the grocery sack. ‘She who doesn’t buy doesn’t get to belly-ache about what’s in the bag.’

  ‘What are those—Latimer house rules?’ Jessie’s lips curved as she watched him pull an assortment of ready-made salads and a large foil bag out of the sack.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said as he brought out a chilled bottle of wine with a flourish. ‘Now who’s griping?’

  ‘Not me,’ she replied.

  He up-ended the sack and paper plates, plastic cups, napkins, forks and a bottle opener dropped onto the blanket.

  ‘You thought of everything. I’m impressed.’ Jessie tried to sound contrite but was enjoying the moment too much. He looked so pleased with himself. Like a little boy who’d just got straight As for the first time.

  As he concentrated on opening the wine, Jessie leant forward on her knees and placed her hands on his shoulder. When his head came up, she put her lips on his. The kiss was a whisper, full of the love blossoming inside her.

  He dropped the wine, fisted his fingers in her hair. Dragging her mouth across his, he plundered. The kiss shot to scorching, but only for a moment. When he released her, his face was dark with arousal, and something else, something she wasn’t sure of.

  He scooped up the bottle of wine. ‘Don’t get carried away, Red. We haven’t tasted it yet.’

  Jessie forced herself to ignore the stab of regret. Why hadn’t he carried on kissing her? Don’t be a ninny. Of course he didn’t want to take things any further—they were on a public beach. Anyone might see them. But she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he had withdrawn for some other reason.

  She turned round on the blanket, stared out at the waves gently lapping against the shore. She could hear the screech of seagulls overhead, see the tip of the lighthouse in the distance over the long grass and bracken that edged the bluff.

  ‘Here you go, Red.’ He nudged her arm. She turned and took the plastic cup. He tapped it with his own. ‘Here’s to sand in your potato salad.’

  Jessie forced her lips to curve. ‘Here’s to guys who know how to pack a picnic.’

  Monroe took a long gulp of the light, fresh white wine. It tasted pretty good, but did nothing to calm the fire inside him.

  She had wanted to continue the embrace, had looked disappointed when he’d pulled his mouth away. That fact and the memory of her warm and willing in his arms was making the need claw in his gut like an angry dog. He screwed the plastic glass down into the sand and started pulling the wrapper off the plates.

  He’d brought her here to have a nice sensible lunch, not climb all over her again as soon as they got here. He refused to feel bad about it. Even though the confusion in her eyes and the surge of blood to his groin made it damn near impossible not to drag her across his lap right now and…

  Jessie opened the salads, searched for something to say as she arranged them on the blanket. ‘Ali called the gallery today.’

  ‘How are they doing?’

  ‘Ali’s exhausted. I don’t think she’s left the penthouse much.’

  ‘The heat’s a bitch in Manhattan in August.’ Monroe ladled some potato salad onto her plate, then his.

  ‘Emmy’s having a great time, though. Linc took her to the Bronx Zoo yesterday.’ Jessie laughed, remembering the conversation with her sister that morning. ‘She said Linc was so shattered when they got back he could hardly string together a coherent sentence.’

  Monroe chuckled. ‘I bet Emmy was still chattering away like a little magpie. The poor guy.’ Tearing open the foil sack, he put a piece of fried chicken on Jessie’s plate. ‘Did you say anything to Ali about us?’

  Jessie glanced up, watched him lick his fingers. ‘No, I didn’t.’ Was that relief she saw flash in his eyes? No, she was being silly, paranoid. ‘Ali wouldn’t be all that surprised, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  Jessie wished she hadn’t blurted that out. How did she explain the statement without sounding pathetic?

  ‘It’s just…’ She looked down at her plate, concentrated on forking up the potato salad. ‘I used to have a pretty massive crush on Linc when they were first married.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  She looked up. He put his fork down on his plate. He was watching her,
his expression unreadable.

  ‘It’s silly really. It was just a stupid schoolgirl’s fantasy.’

  He dumped the plate down on the blanket. ‘What kind of schoolgirl’s fantasy, exactly?’

  ‘Not that kind of fantasy, you numbskull.’ Was he jealous? It was so ridiculous it was almost sweet. If she hadn’t felt like a complete fool for bringing up this whole business, she might have been flattered. ‘It took me a while to realise it, but it wasn’t Linc I fancied. Well, not much anyway. It was what he represented.’

  ‘And what was that?’ Monroe didn’t even know why he was asking the question. He didn’t want the answer.

  Jessie huffed out a breath, put her own plate down. ‘He adored Ali. It was obvious whenever they were together that they adored each other. And then, about a month after they announced they were getting married, they told us that Ali was expecting a baby.’ Jessie picked up her fork, toyed with her food. ‘Of course, it was wonderful news. We were all so excited.’

  Monroe wasn’t convinced. He could see the misery in her eyes at the memory. ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘A part of me was,’ she said, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her over the churn of the sea. ‘But a part of me was pea-green with envy.’

  ‘Because she was having Linc’s kid?’ He really didn’t want to hear the answer to this one.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  The knot of tension in his shoulders released.

  ‘Because she had this perfect life,’ Jessie continued. ‘Marriage to a gorgeous man who worshipped her. When Emmy arrived, a beautiful daughter.’ Jessie shook her head, her eyes downcast. ‘I was a stupid, selfish, silly little girl who wanted what she had without having to work for it.’

  ‘Red.’ He reached out, stroked his hand down her arm. ‘Don’t be so damn hard on yourself. You were only a kid at the time.’

  ‘I was old enough to know better. And I didn’t really get over it until after Toby.’

  ‘Toby.’ Monroe felt his shoulders tighten again. ‘The dumb bastard who couldn’t give you an orgasm?’