by Moira McTark
“Enough of the big brother protection crap.” Nichole cocked her head to the side and smirked at him. “This is Club Kink, and I’ve been hired to do the PR for their mythological themed Valentine’s Day event. I need to look the part. Besides, it’s fun. Kind of provocative. I like it.”
He liked it too, and that was the problem. Her big brother protection idea was dead wrong. His emotions didn’t stem from any protective place; they were possessive. He had no right. Yet regardless of what his head knew, his heart and everything south of it screamed that Nichole belonged to him.
He could only imagine where the average horny fuck’s mind would go when other men saw her. They’d think about bending her over a chair, pushing up that gauzy skirt and tearing down her racy red panties, or putting her on her knees and winding their fingers through her hair. Jesus. His gut twisted at the thought.
Stupid as it was, he didn’t like to think of her being physical with anyone. Nichole was no virgin, he knew that much for sure. But in the happy land of Denial-dom, he chose to believe she never gave it up. He liked to believe in the magic of her cold, empty bed.
Tonight, however, her outfit screamed come and get me. If anyone took her home, no way would he be able to summon up the image of her slapping a wayward hand from her ass or turning a cheek to block an unwanted kiss.
“Eros, stop scowling,” she chided. “Do you want a drink before we go, to take off the edge?”
“Why? Are you nervous?” He took a step toward her and grasped her shoulder. Maybe she felt obligated to dress up for the job. Club Kink wasn’t an actual sex club, but its theme was unquestionably sexual. Maybe Nichole didn’t mean to send any signal at all.
“So does this outfit do anything for you…at all?” Her voice low and sultry, she peered up at him through those long black lashes tipped with glitter.
Maybe he just wished she didn’t intend to send such a wanton signal, when in reality, her outfit reflected the goal she had in mind. The look in her eyes made him wish like hell she’d dressed up for him, not some damn bunch of strangers at a club. As quickly as he thought it, though, he knew he’d never let it go that way. He couldn’t risk losing her.
Nichole bit her plump bottom lip and tugged it slowly through the grip of her teeth. “Well? Anything?”
“You know it does.” He met her faux-flirtatious stare with his own dark, honest heat. “How can you even ask when you’ve got me in these shorts? A guy’s got nowhere to hide.”
Nichole’s smile faltered as her gaze tracked down his body, leaving the skin of his face, neck, and torso to burn in its wake. She lingered on his cock, as he had known she would. He felt no shame in his physical response. She’d known what she was doing. He didn’t have a chance in the fight against her flirtation. She’d gotten to him. So the utter look of shock on her face was a surprise.
Nichole tumbled back on her narrow heels, blanched, and then flushed red across her chest and cheeks.
“God, you’re…you’re…huge,” she stammered, her eyes still locked on his swollen shaft.
More blood plummeted to his groin. “Christ, Nichole, I’m a man. What did you expect?”
The way she stared at him had him scrambling for excuses and justifications, back to the shelter of the platonic purgatory where he never let her see the depth of his attraction.
“Hell, my grandmother would be turned on by that outfit.” It was his turn to have the blood rush to his face. Nana was rolling in her grave.
“Your grandmother?” A mixture of disgust and amusement lit Nichole’s eyes as she regained her composure and flippant attitude. “You’re bent. But I’ll take it as a compliment regardless.”
A horn blared in the background, saving Matt from further mortification, and Nichole spun into high gear.
“Let me grab my binder. You put that thing away before you hurt someone with it. God, it’s a monster!”
Matt snorted and adjusted the taut fabric, trying to settle his cock into some kind of a discreet position. But after Nichole’s adulatory assessment, until the demons were released, he doubted he’d have much wiggle room in his costume.
Nichole took the short flight of stairs down to the door and glanced over her shoulder, her gaze dragging back to his crotch.
Shit. Just having her eyes on him was enough to make him swell again. He scowled. “Stop that, or I’ll never get out of here. Grab your coat.”
“I’m not taking one,” she answered. “It’s only thirty degrees, and we’ll literally run from the limo to the club. and then back out when it’s over. Besides, sexy little nymphs don’t wear parkas.”
“How about wearing my overcoat? You’ll be more comfortable if you cover up.”
He’d be more comfortable if she covered up.
Matt stuffed his legs into a pair of loose jeans and jammed his feet into a pair of sneakers.
“I’m fine, Matt, but since we’ve just gotten the wings right, any chance you’ll skip the coat?”
Matt hissed and relented with a curt nod.
“Oh, come on, grumpy. If you’re cold, maybe I’ll sit on your lap and warm you up.”
“Nichole,” he snapped, his restraint perilously close to the breaking point.
She erupted in giggles and fled out the door. This was going to be a long night, and there was something very wrong with the fact that he was more concerned about Nichole’s flirtations breaking through his resolve than about standing around ninety-nine percent naked in front of a club full of strangers.
—
Backstage at Club Kink, Nichole scurried to check markers and cue music. With everything running like clockwork, the event so far was a great success. When she and Matt had first pulled up to the club, the line to get in had stretched halfway down the block, and that was before sunset. Now at nearly ten o’clock, the queue wrapped around the corner, and the local entertainment news crews she’d contacted had arrived and set up their cameras to catch the show.
With five minutes left before Eros swept the stage, Matt stood in the center of the huge papier-mâché chariot, fidgeting with the leather straps across his chest. At various stations around the club, men and women hired out of the local dance academy moved to the heavy beat of the music. Their oil-slicked muscles gleamed under the lights as they stretched and bowed their bodies.
“This is so wrong,” Nichole mused, staring at Matt’s ripped physique, which somehow looked flat under the lights.
He shook his head and put a hand to his ear.
She tucked his gold spray-painted bow and arrow under her arm, grabbed a goodie bag packed for the VIP guests, and selected a small, clear bottle from the contents inside. Stepping up to the chariot, she leaned into Matt, savoring the warmth of his hand as it rested against her shoulder. “You need to rub some of this into your skin so your body will stand out more.”
“What?” He pulled back and fixed his scowl on the bottle in her hand.
“Oil up!”
Matt rolled his eyes, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he took the bottle from her and grumbled something she couldn’t quite catch. Although, she was pretty sure it contained a colorful assortment vulgarities she’d just as soon miss.
He rubbed the slick liquid across his chest in a couple of awkward strokes that left him glistening with an oily mark of Zoro. Then he held out his hands. “Good enough?”
“Not hardly. Let me do it for you,” she groused. She grabbed the open bottle and poured a generous portion of oil into her palm. Then she snapped the lid closed, dropped the bottle back into the bag, and pitched it behind the rear curtain.
She’d been running in business mode since they’d arrived at the club and it wasn’t until she stood poised to rub oil into Matt’s chest that her focus slipped back to her plans for seduction. What serendipity to find him in need of a good rubdown. It gave her a perfectly legitimate excuse to touch him, and in a way that was much more intimate than any feigned concern over a fever could ever be.
She settled her ope
n palms against his chest, and her senses immediately dulled to the environment and any stimulus beyond the firm resistance beneath her touch. The scent of peppermint assailed her as she smoothed a slick sheen over Matt’s pecs, circling his solid muscles in outward strokes, working under and around his wing harness until she’d covered his shoulders and biceps as well.
Her mouth went dry and her throat tight as she traced her fingers down the hollow between his pecs to the ridged terrain of his abdomen. His tightly wrapped muscles ticked under her caress, and her strokes stalled as she ran out of skin.
The pounding of her heart seemed louder than the music and she wondered if Matt could feel her pulse slamming through the tips of her fingers as they traced each ridge and valley. She brushed his nipple with her thumb, and his hand shot out. He snared her wrist in his tight grip.
She released a gasp and her gaze shot upward to meet his dark stare.
“Nichole—”
The tempo of the music changed, and her heart raced into overdrive. Showtime! There was only one thing left to do; one thing she hadn’t mentioned to Matt. It was part of the show and definitely part of her plan.
The lights flashed bright and the curtain that ran around them dropped to the floor. Four hundred sets of eyes fixed on them, and a roar of excitement burst through the crowd.
Matt still gripped her wrist as she stood outside the chariot staring up at him.
“One more thing for the show. Forgive me.” She slinked her free hand up his chest and, with speed and determination, dragged him into a kiss. His lips were a firm line against her mouth as he took it like a dose of castor oil. She’d known he’d fight it, and she tamped down the disappointment threatening to well within her regardless. She eased back, and he relaxed a little bit. The master of restraint. Too bad. She wasn’t done with him yet.
Her fingers found the soft curls at the nape of his neck and sifted through them as the tip of her tongue touched the corner of his mouth and traced over the hard seam of his lips.
Nothing.
Time seemed to stall. Regret nudged past the hope surging inside of her.
Her eyes opened, and she met his warning glare. She’d gone too far, crossed the line, and for nothing. He didn’t want her.
“Matt,” she whispered on a breath against his mouth.
A tic fluttered at the corner of his eye, a falter in his stone-solid resistance, and his control snapped. He jerked her roughly against his chest and crushed his lips onto hers, plundering her mouth in the most demanding, invasive, and spectacularly punishing kiss she’d ever experienced.
Her legs went weak as his tongue delved deeply into her mouth, stroking and teasing with each thrust and then retreating, until she opened wider to him. Pressing closer to him, she gave herself over completely, moaning into his mouth—and then gasped in confusion when he pushed her away.
The crowd erupted in cheers, whoops, and whistles.
Nothing existed but them. Nothing else mattered. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, ready to throw her career away if he’d leave with her and continue that kiss for a few more minutes, or forever.
The corner of Matt’s mouth curved up, and he growled, “Give me my bow and arrow.”
Chapter Three
Off stage, Nichole fumbled through her binder, turning the pages in mock concentration as if her focus were on something other than the devastating kiss Matt had just laid on her.
He’d kissed her.
Well, to be honest, she’d kissed him, but he’d kissed her back. Completely.
Heat swirled through her belly, and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, which were still tender from the brutal assault of his mouth.
She’d pushed him, and his restraint had broken. Now she had a few hours to wait and wonder before she found out if he’d let her push past his limit again. He’d have to. She couldn’t go on like this.
A light hand on her elbow broke her from her reverie and she jerked her attention to the slight woman standing in front of her.
“Lindy, you made it!” Nichole hauled her friend into a fierce hug. Lindy Dorn was one of Nichole’s closest friends and the owner of the Whips and Licks Sex Shop, which had supplied VIP goodie bags for the event. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Hell, yes. I did. I wouldn’t miss out on all this free promo for my store, or the opportunity to see Matt strut his tight little ass up there. Dibs on Eros when you’re done with him.”
Nichole bristled with jealousy, even though she knew Matt wasn’t anywhere close to being Lindy’s type.
“That was some kiss between you guys. Was it planned?”
“Sort of…but not really,” she admitted, feeling like a fool. “Matt didn’t know.”
“It’s about time. You two would be so damn good together, if you’d ever stop pussyfooting around.”
“We’re friends, Lindy. That’s all. I don’t think we could ever be more.”
“Yeah, I totally got that from the part where his tongue was in your mouth, and you were practically dry-humping his chariot.”
Nichole shook her head and flushed from the memory of his taste on her tongue. “I mean aside from the physical, Matt doesn’t feel that way about me. He isn’t in love with me. But maybe there’s room for just one night…with no strings.”
“You think Matt doesn’t love you, but might give you no strings? What about you? You think no strings is even possible from your end?”
She pinched her mouth shut and shrugged. Of course it was. She had her eyes open and knew what to expect—and what not to.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Which tells me you’re in deeper denial than I thought. I strongly recommend you stick to a vibrator and skip the part where you lure Matt into bed for no-strings sex. It’s a bad idea, honey. Come on, you know that.”
“No. I don’t know that,” she snapped, her voice rising against her will. “What I do know is that my relationship with Matt is the most important thing in my life, and for months I haven’t been able to think about anything but him on top of me. I’m going to ruin everything if I act like some bitch in heat every time he comes near me.”
“God, is this all because of that one night?”
“Technically, it was morning,” Nichole said quietly, her focus fixed on a speck of dust conveniently adrift a few feet to the left of Lindy’s accusing glare.
No matter how many times she tried to block it, forget it, or pretend it hadn’t happened, that morning two months ago changed everything, and she’d been in a losing battle with her fantasies ever since.
She and Matt had spent the evening in a marathon game of Trivial Pursuit that began as a battle for bragging rights, and after hours of over-consumption of alcohol, degenerated into a plastic-pie-piece-flinging free for all, ultimately ending with the two of them passed out on the couch together.
No harm, no foul.
At least, not until she awoke from an intensely sexual dream to discover that the hands and mouth she’d been glorying in actually belonged to Matt. His face was burrowed against her neck; one hand cupped her breast, while the other drew her hips against his cock’s hard bulge. Their legs were tangled together, and Nichole’s fingers wound through the silky waves of his hair. For a moment, she wondered what would happen if she feigned sleep.
How far would it go?
A low, rumbling moan ground out of Matt. He rocked his groin against hers and pulled her thigh over his hip. “Nichole….”
The sound of her name on his lips slammed through her like a tidal wave, washing away all reason and leaving her wet and aching with need. It was the blow that shattered her restraint and sent her desire spiraling out of control. After all of the years, maybe there was a chance.
Her thumb traced the line of his brow, possibilities winding through her mind.
“Matt,” she whispered.
He went still against her, the corners of his mouth pulling down as he squinted one eye open and settled his gaze on her.
“Oh, Christ!” He jolted against the back of the couch and scrambled over her to get to his feet. He raked his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. You should have slapped me.”
She shook her head, trying to throw off the disappointment before he read it in her eyes, and forced a light chuckle. “Don’t sweat it. I just woke up, too.”
“Shit, are you sure?”
No. “Of course. It was nothing.”
“God, I’m sorry.” He stared at her, his eyes unreadable. “I can’t believe I did that.”
She dismissed it with a wave of her hand.
“Okay, Nickie. Thanks for being cool about it.” He nodded and escaped to his room.
Yes, that’s what she would do. She’d be cool about it.
Matt went to work, and she took care of her business at home. As the day wore on, she tried to put the incident behind her. Tried not to think about his palm warming her breast or the tightening of his fist on the fabric of her jeans. She tried to ignore the tide of lust that rose as she remembered the husky sound of her name riding his breath. But she couldn’t help wondering… He’d said her name. Which meant, he was dreaming about her. It had to mean something.
Hope bore into her heart and held its ground until that evening. She sat on the couch and tried to focus on her latest paperback, waiting for Matt to get home. She planned to talk to him, to be honest and see if there was a chance for anything more between them. But at nine-thirty, when the door finally opened and Matt burst into the townhouse, he wasn’t alone.
Peg, a leggy blond he’d taken out a couple of times, was with him. He dragged her into his room without so much as a hello—and using no words at all, drove home the point that there was nothing between him and Nichole but friendship.
For romance, he ordered out.
And that was that. Except Nichole couldn’t stop thinking about those few moments of intimacy she’d shared with him. It wasn’t the beginning of a love affair. It was physical.
