With a laugh, he bent forward again, reaching for his fork. “Yeah, I date. Jealous?”
Please. She was not missing a single thing. Which didn’t explain why she hotly blurted out, “I date, too.” Once a decade or so.
Given that look on his face, she didn’t exactly have him fooled. But he only said, “No, I meant are you jealous of my dates?”
A snort left her before she could contain it. “I’m not usually jealous of big hair and even bigger boobs.”
Wyatt’s eyes dropped to her chest and lingered. “With good reason.”
Heat flooded her face. Shoot, she had walked right into that one. Unable to think of a snappy comeback, she took the other half of the roll and threw it at him. He caught it midair as she said, “Stop staring at my chest.”
Like that was a smart thing to say. It made it even worse, since he looked both amused and smug. God, he reduced her to a bratty twelve-year-old starting a food fight. Or maybe that wasn’t him. Maybe it was the embarrassing awareness that she might have been missing something for the last three years. She was so out of touch, she didn’t even know how to have a simple dinner conversation or respond to light flirtation without acting childish.
But Wyatt only said, “I haven’t even started looking yet.” Then he lifted the roll she’d thrown at him and bit it.
Not liking the idea of her spit mingling with his, CJ leaned forward and held out her hand. “My roll, please.”
Of course, his tongue had been in her mouth the night before, but that was different. How, she didn’t know, but she’d figure it out later when her nipples weren’t hardening and her already-too-low panties weren’t sliding down.
He shook his head. “Come and get it.”
The roll waved slowly back and forth in front of her.
“There’s a whole bowl full right here,” she said, pointing out the obvious, not wanting to play his little games. Or maybe her little games, since she had thrown the roll in the first place.
“But it drives you nuts, doesn’t it, that I have your roll?” And he took another bite.
He knew how to bait her too easily. But then he’d had nine months’ practice doing just that. For five seconds, she watched him chew, making “mmm-mmm good” sounds, before she gave it up. She had kicked off the dumb little shoes and now she stood up barefoot, padded around the table on the soft carpet, and reached over him for her roll.
Just as she was about to grab it, Wyatt jerked his hand back, so that she wound up leaning dangerously far over him before pulling back, empty-handed. “Very funny.”
He just laughed, then taunted her with the bread again.
Knowing she should be mature and just let him have the stupid half-eaten lump of dough, she still did the exact opposite. After all, wasn’t this whole night supposed to be about giving in to impulse? Having fun? Playing games with Wyatt was fun.
She made another quick grab for the roll, only this time when he pulled back, she lost her balance and fell hard against his shoulder. Before she could say Slick Rick, he had her in his lap, hand on her thigh, settling her bottom nice and close against his waist.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have gotten her down, but the dress had her off balance. It was hard to move wrapped like a floral mummy.
“You did that on purpose.” CJ mustered a glare, even though she really just wanted to lean back against him and purr. Or laugh.
It had been a really long time since she had indulged in this kind of silly bantering. For all she professed to be annoyed by Wyatt, secretly she enjoyed their verbal byplay. There were days she looked forward to going to work, just because she was anticipating sparring with him. Not that she’d ever admit to that, not even under the torture of wearing stilettos every day.
“I’m sure you don’t believe this, but I don’t sit around devising plans to piss you off.”
His hand was on her knee, stroking, making her itch and ache and want to squirm. “So you just spontaneously piss me off?”
“I guess you could say that. But maybe if I ask you ahead of time, we can avoid the whole problem.”
There was a trick here, she just knew it. An April Fool’s or Halloween kind of trick, where she was going to be left empty-handed, feeling slightly ashamed.
She turned to him. Big mistake. Big, fat, eight-hundred-pound-gorilla mistake. He was right there, watching her. Two inches or less from her mouth. She could smell the wine on his breath, feel the heat of him surrounding her, see the light stubble on his chin.
“Would it piss you off if I kissed you right now?”
That was the trick and as far as tricks went, it wasn’t a bad one. CJ was on the verge of tugging him by the tie over to her anyway. She shook her head. “No, that would be okay.”
More than okay. Orgasm okay.
“Just okay?” He made an impatient sound.
“Well ...”
Her words died as he took her mouth, slow and deep, covering her, hand gripping her knee as he tasted her. There was nothing tentative about Wyatt as he sucked the tip of her tongue, sliding, owning, dominating the kiss, leaving CJ breathless and clinging to his shirt. Geez, he had the trick and the treat.
He was melting her innards, heating her up from the inside out, like microwave brownies, smushy and gooey, hot liquid. And they hadn’t even gotten past the opening round. Yet.
Wyatt seemed inclined to change that. His hand was inching up past her knee, sliding under the dress, teasing and light along her thigh, while his mouth dropped down to kiss her neck and her shoulder. When his tongue darted across the top of her breast, she only managed to hold back a groan by biting down hard, but nothing could stop her head from lolling back.
Wyatt pulled away immediately, leaving her skin flushed and damp from his tongue and her nipples tight with frustration.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he said.
He had to be joking. “No, no,” she murmured, sounding as desperate as she felt. “You’re not rushing me.”
If anything, he was going too slow. She had no problem with heading straight for the hard stuff. Like his erection pressing into her, right between her cheeks. If she weren’t wearing Dumb Dress, she would swivel around and spread her legs on either side of him. But given the confines of rayon, she’d probably wind up pitching herself to the floor and ripping the dress.
And if she tore it, she’d never get to wear it again. Not that that was a bad thing.
But before she could plan a course of action, Wyatt said, “Is this rushing?”
He cupped her breast, and before she had a breath to moan, he kissed her hard, the rhythm of his tongue matching the brush of his thumb over her distended nipple. His other hand shot up under the dress and found the black lace panties.
Desire ripped through her, making her movements jerky as she tried to keep up with his mouth, tried to rub against his hand and encourage him to rush all he wanted. The panties he’d bought her were damp and needed to come off.
She pressed, she ground, she begged with her body for him to take her, make her burst, satisfy this raw need.
Wyatt broke off the kiss and pulled his hands back. As she stared at him, sucking in air, trying to remember where she’d left the condoms, he gave her a gentle nudge.
“Dance with me, CJ.” His voice was a little rough, lacking in his standard charming flirtation, but otherwise he didn’t look ready to explode, the way she felt.
“What do you mean?” She’d been off the sexual circuit for a while, but she didn’t think she was that out of it. Dancing only meant one thing to her, and it wasn’t what she wanted to be doing right now.
“Stand up.” He nudged her again. “I like this song. Let’s dance.”
Given a thousand chances to guess what he would say, she never would have gotten that right. “Why?”
“Because I want to.” He lifted his thighs so that she was forced to stand or tip onto the floor.
She stood and just stared at him. She had no idea what to s
ay, and was waiting for some kind of punch line, accompanied by thigh slapping and hearty chuckles.
“Don’t look at me like I’m nuts.” He moved away from the table and held his hand out to her. “I want to dance with you to Frank Sinatra. I want to hold you in my arms.” With a wry smile, he added, “Please? It’s just one night.”
Suddenly she didn’t want to be reminded of that. Not when Wyatt Maddock was standing in front of her in a tux, holding his hand out for her. Her. Looking earnest and aroused. Looking like a dream.
CJ put her hand in his and clung to sarcasm for protection. “You’d better not step on my foot. I’m not wearing shoes.”
He glanced down, holding both her hands. “Cute little toes.”
Which made her want to both blush and slug him. Or kiss the quiche out of him.
“Did you get enough to eat? We rushed dinner, didn’t we?”
Dinner? They’d eaten dinner? CJ nodded as Wyatt pulled her closer, snug against his chest, his arms tightly around her waist. “I had two bites of beef and half of the roll I winged at you. I’m good.”
Normally she had a healthy appetite, but food was the furthest thing from her mind as she dangled her arms by her side, not quite sure what to do with them.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he said, swaying just slightly to the music.
Damn, she’d been hoping to avoid that. Biting her lip, she did as he asked, and when her chest rested against his, and he dropped a kiss on her ear, she couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure. She had offered Wyatt a quick wham-bam, and here he was wining and dining her, giving every appearance of enjoying himself.
Maybe she didn’t have him completely pegged after all.
He said in a husky voice, “I always thought you were beautiful.”
And she was suddenly damn glad she was wearing the floral foo-foo dress.
Four
Wyatt was trying hard to breathe. Damn, but CJ was hot. She looked spunky and defiant yet feminine in the dress and her bare feet, and even though she rested in his arms a little stiffly, it felt right. Good.
Like he’d found something he hadn’t even known he was looking for.
Where the hell had that thought come from?
Scaring the shit out of himself, Wyatt straightened up a little, removing his mouth from the temptation of her cute little ear that he kept wanting to nibble.
“You dance well, White.” Her movements were confident and graceful, even if what they were doing was simply swaying, not really dancing.
She smiled. “I went to theater camp every summer from the time I was twelve to fifteen. I had to take daily dance lessons on everything from jazz to tap to ballroom.”
“Theater camp, huh? I have a hard time seeing you in a musical.” But then again, he was learning there was way more to CJ than met the eye.
“It was a compromise. My mom wanted me to take ballet, to keep me from spending all my time on the soccer field getting muddy and sweaty. But I wasn’t about to put on tights and do pliés, so we settled on the theater camp. I actually had fun there.”
“Sounds like a better way to spend your summer than I did when I was a teenager. I was washing dishes at my parents’ restaurant every night.”
Not that it had been all bad. He’d gotten to do what he wanted every day until three o’clock or so; then he’d headed to the restaurant to do whatever was needed until closing at ten. Usually that had been washing dishes, but back in the kitchen, he’d had fun talking and laughing with the busboys and flirting with the waitresses.
“Really?” CJ looked up at him, and he realized that her body had relaxed against his. “That’s tough, having to work all the time.”
“Yeah, well, we were a family, we all pitched in, but there were good times, too. One night when I was fifteen, Paula Ramsey—who was seventeen, by the way—kissed me with tongue in the deep freeze.”
CJ rolled her eyes and he laughed.
“Well, I had my first real boyfriend at that camp. He was from Michigan, and we talked about soccer and held hands, and he was a perfect gentleman. He kissed me on the cheek once and that was it.”
“What an idiot,” Wyatt said.
CJ frowned at him. “It was cute and polite and showed admirable self-restraint!”
Her breasts were pressed against him, her hands were tickling up into his hair at the back of his neck, her breath was warm on his cheek, and Wyatt saw no need for self-restraint.
“Maybe I’m not cute. Or polite. And I don’t plan on showing any self-restraint. But I can make you feel good.” He dragged his thumb over her plump bottom lip. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”
They weren’t moving to the music anymore and CJ had sucked her breath in on a nervous hitch. Wyatt waited, jaw clenched, hands lightly on her back, for her answer.
“No.”
“No, what?” No, don’t ever touch me again, you nasty pervert? No, I don’t want you to stop until you’ve come all over me? No, what?
“No, don’t stop.”
Okay, not as good as his imaginings, but still good.
“CJ, CJ,” he whispered, before bending over and sucking the top of her breast exposed above the dress.
He’d been waiting, wanting, too long. While he licked and dampened her flesh, his hands dropped lower on her backside, down to cup her firm behind, to pull her close against him so she could feel his cock pulsing on her thigh. The dress molded to her body, and he could feel the heat between her legs, the sharp, tight jerk of her leg muscles as she pinched her fingers in his neck.
No sound came from her, but her head writhed and her lips were white from clamping down so hard. He wanted to hear her, to feel her, to smell every inch of her smooth, fair skin, so he eased her dress up past her knees. Afraid to rip the delicate fabric, he decided not to pull down the top to expose her breasts, but settled for finding her nipple through the dress with his teeth and nipping and nibbling, sucking and pulling, driving himself insane.
Man, she felt good. Hot, willing woman. And wet. He got the dress past her thighs and cupped her, stroking across the panties, relishing the dampness he felt there. Her fingers cut deep into his flesh, and her eyes were shut tight, but she was still quiet, the only sound of her arousal rapid breathing, which she couldn’t quite mask.
She was holding back, hiding from him, not wanting to give in to the pleasure and scream out loud. Wyatt wanted her to yell, moan, whimper, to relax with him and share the passion that flared so easily between them.
Shoving the panties to the side, he teased around her clitoris, groaning softly at how swollen she was already. “You’re very wet, CJ. I find that really sexy.”
There was no answer, just a pink stain on her cheeks that gave away her embarrassment.
He slipped his finger inside her wetness, felt her body clasp onto him and pulse. Her fingers convulsed on his shoulders, and her thighs rocked forward, but still no sound. Everything about her was tight, tense, taut with desire and agitation. He wanted her, but not like this.
Removing his finger, he rolled it around her swollen nub, kissing her on the swell of her breast, trailing his tongue between her breasts. He stroked over and over, feeling her strain tighter and tighter, and he knew that if she came now, it wouldn’t be enjoyable for either of them. CJ was holding back, yet seemed determined to forge ahead, bumping against his finger.
It was like she wanted to get it over with. Without revealing anything about herself.
He didn’t want part of her. He wanted all of her. Everything. Every inch and every angle, and he wanted her to open her mouth and say his name with all the desperation that he felt.
Just as her grip got tighter and her thighs clenched, he pulled his hand back, preventing her from having a watered-down orgasm.
“Let’s get this dress off,” he said mildly, wondering if she knew he’d done that on purpose, wondering if she’d be angry. Or if she thought he was clueless about a woman’s body and its reaction, assuming that he had no ide
a she had been on the verge of coming.
Arms still in the air, even after he stepped away, CJ blinked at him. “I was ...”
She couldn’t seem to finish her thought, her expression so forlorn he had to hide a grin. Wyatt took her by the shoulders and spun her around gently so that her back was to him. He reached for the zipper.
“Shh. It wasn’t the right time. You weren’t ready.”
CJ stiffened and jerked forward so his hand fell off the dress. “Was too,” she muttered.
Yeah, but he happened to like his women to enjoy themselves, not willing their bodies to an orgasm so they could go home.
He stepped toward her and pulled the zipper down in one smooth motion. Greeted with the sight of her back descended to the rounded curve of her very nice ass covered in sheer black lace, he swallowed hard. Then reached inside that dress and covered her backside, caressing along the underside of each cheek, teasing with the leg band and bending so he could dart his hand all the way around to her soft mound and brush across it.
Kissing her shoulder, tasting the fresh, clean scent of her skin, he roamed all over her body, exploring her curves with his hands, noting that CJ was lush, particularly in the chest, but strong and firm, with an athletic build. Her waist dipped in only slightly and her behind was solid, smooth muscle. He wondered idly if she could kick his ass if he gave her a chance.
Nah. But the tussle before he won could be fun.
He found her nipples, played with them, straining the dress to accommodate his big hands. She wiggled in front of him, trying to maneuver his touch more fully on her. Wyatt’s hard-on was pressing into her tight little ass, making him want to slip inside her panties and take her from behind.
But CJ still wasn’t making any sounds and she felt tight enough to snap in half like a pencil.
With a flip of his fingers, he stripped the dress down her arms and dropped it, the upper half pooling on her waist, caught by her hips. Another tug and it fell to the floor. CJ’s shoulders rose and fell, her hair moving a little, swayed by the breeze of the dress dropping. He lifted her hair off her neck and kissed her.
She shivered.
Bad Boys In Black Tie Page 12
