Wilde Nights in Paradise

by Tonya Burrows

  “It’s not like I have any work to do. I’m on vacation.”

  He exhaled. “You’re going to be pissed about that for days, aren’t you?”

  “Hmm.” She swirled her wine, pretended to consider it. “Yeah, I think so. And you owe me a new phone.”

  He waved a dismissive hand and disappeared into the bedroom. Impossible man. Impossible, frustrating man. With a shake of her head, she stuffed the cork back into the neck of the wine bottle and returned to her seat at the kitchen island, where she’d left her book open on the countertop. She started reading, intent on sinking back into the words and forgetting about him for a while, but a thump from the bedroom drew her attention. Another thunk. An exclamation.

  What the hell was he doing in there?

  She stood and made it halfway to the hall when he reappeared with a box in his hands. He breezed past her and deposited his cargo on the dining table in the open area between the kitchen and living room.

  As she moved to his side, she got a good look at the box. “Battleship?”

  “My favorite. I knew Seth had some board games stashed away somewhere from when his family used to use this place as a vacation house, but I didn’t think I’d find this one. Wanna play?”

  “Seriously?”

  “We don’t have anything else to do,” he said with mock gravity. “We’re on vacation.”

  “Yes, ha-ha, throw my words back at me. You’re so clever. Let’s all laugh.” She traced her nail along the edge of the old, beat-up box. “I haven’t played this since I was…I don’t know. Ten?”

  “Really?” Jude seemed genuinely surprised as he opened the box and handed her one of the game boards. “The twins and I play all the time. It’s our go-to game when we’re bored.”

  “But…you’re adults.”

  “So?” With that, he pulled out a chair, sat down, and focused on placing his ships. She watched him for a moment, amazed at the pure enjoyment he got out of finding the perfect position for each of his game pieces. He muttered to himself—a mix of “hmm” and “nope” and “ah-ha!” until he was finally satisfied and gazed up. He frowned when he realized she still hadn’t opened her board. “You don’t want to play?”

  Sighing, she gave in. Like he said, it wasn’t as if she had anything else to do. She retrieved her wine from the island, then sat down across from him. Opening her board, she took considerably less time placing her ships.

  His frown only deepened. “You’re supposed to strategize. That’s part of the fun.”

  “I did.”

  He made a face.

  “I did!” she insisted.

  “Uh-huh. You’re making this too easy.”

  “I am not!”

  “All right, then how about we up the ante?”

  “I’m not betting on a children’s game.”

  “No betting. Well, not really.” A smile—that damned quicksilver grin she found so appealing—twitched at the corner of his mouth. “More like…strip poker. Or in this case, Battleship.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?” he asked, all blue-eyed innocence. “It’ll make things interesting. I get a hit, you take off a piece of clothing.”

  “And vice versa?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Always the negotiating lawyer, huh?”

  “It’s not fair if the rules only apply to me.”

  “All’s fair in love and Battleship.”

  “Uh-huh.” She picked up her wine glass and pushed away from the table. “I’m not playing.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Libs. I was joking. Of course the strip rule applies to me, too. It wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”

  Libby knew she was dancing too close to the fire, but the wine was a warm, heavy buzz in her head, muffling the little voice inside her mind that always told her the proper way to act, the right thing to say. In fact, it felt good to ignore that annoying voice. And, besides, she never could resist a challenge.

  She returned to her seat. “All right. Deal.”

  Jude grinned and waved a hand in a flourish, indicating she should start. “Ladies first.”

  “Because you are such a gentleman.”

  He waggled his brows. “We already established that I’m most definitely not.”

  At the reminder, a hot flush blazed just under the surface of her skin. The wine, she told herself. The sudden jump in the room’s temp was only from the wine. Seeing as she was on her second glass, she should probably slow down.

  “Well?” Jude prompted. “Give me your best shot.”

  She emptied her glass and pushed it away before studying her game board. “B-four.”

  He groaned. “Aw, man. You got—”

  “Hah!”

  “—a miss,” he finished with a laugh. “Gotcha.”

  She grabbed a white peg. “You suck.”

  “Only when asked, babe.”

  Okay, that rush of heat had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system. That was one-hundred-and fifty percent pure lust. Her imagination went wild with ideas of places she could ask him to—

  Game. They were playing a game. Nothing more.

  She forced her attention back to the board, but the next three coordinates she tried were misses. Jude got her cruiser on his second try.

  “Pay up,” he said and held out a hand. She reached down and pulled off one of her socks, then held it out to show she had indeed taken off an article of clothing.

  He scowled and looked under the table. “Damn. I didn’t know you were wearing those.”

  She just smiled sweetly and set the sock aside. “I seem to have the advantage. You’re wearing a lot less than I am.”

  “That’s not gonna make any difference.”

  “Mmm.” She eyed him over the edge of her game board. “We’ll see.”

  “Oh, it’s on now.” He cracked his knuckles and got down to the business of sinking her ships one by one. With each new hit, she lost another article of clothing, but it was sort worth seeing the hitch in his breathing every time she showed a little more skin.

  “You sunk my cruiser.” She pouted, but secretly her body thrummed as he sat back with one arm slung across the chair next to him, and scanned her with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Shorts,” he said.

  “Cocky,” she shot back.

  His arm left the back of the chair and dipped beneath the table. “Uh-huh. I am that.”

  Her own breath caught at the mental image of what he was doing to himself under there, which made him grin and release his hold on himself.

  “Shorts,” he said again.

  Oh, he wanted her shorts? Fine. She stood and gave him her back, hooking her thumbs in the elastic waistband. Slowly, so very slowly, she wiggled out of them, then bent over with her ass in the air to take them off her feet. He groaned. Satisfied with that response, she straightened and faced him in just her tank top, one sock, and her panties. Eyes smoldering with barely banked lust, he stared like he was trying photograph her with his mind. She had to battle the ridiculous urge to throw herself at him and ride him until they broke the chair.

  Dammit. She was supposed to be teaching him a lesson with this strip tease, not torturing herself.

  She dropped into her seat and finished her wine in a gulp, hoping to cool the wildfire he’d ignited in her, then made herself refocus on the game. “A-eight.”

  Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she heard the devastating smile in his voice when he said, “Miss.”

  By the time she had only her battleship standing, she’d talked herself into another glass of wine and was feeling flushed despite the fact that she was down to her bra and underwear. She still hadn’t found even one of Jude’s ships.

  “You’re cheating,” she insisted, squinting at him through blurry eyes. “Are you moving them around?”

  He held up his hands. “I swear I’m not.”

  “Uh-huh. Then how come you’re still dressed?”

  “I’m just that good. A-six.”

  “Hit. Dam
mit.” She placed the red peg in her battleship, then stared down at herself. Bra or panties? She decided on her bra and reached around to unclasp it, but Jude stopped her.

  “Uh-uh,” he said, voice thick. “Panties first.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Heat sparked in his gaze. “Absolutely.”

  “Fine.” She stretched out her legs and shimmied out of the panties before balling them up in her hand. She tossed them at him. They bounced off his chest. Laughing, he scooped them up with his finger and waved them like a victory flag. She laughed, too. Couldn’t help it. He looked so damn satisfied with himself.

  “I should forfeit,” she told him.

  “You won’t.”

  “You’re going to win.”

  “Yup,” he said, completely unapologetic.

  And a moment later he did, sinking the battleship and taking her bra as a prize. She hadn’t scored even one hit against him. How was that possible? She stood and leaned over the table to peek at his board. All of his ships sat stacked one on top of each other.

  “You did cheat, you jerk!”

  “No, I took a calculated risk. If you had hit one of my ships, you would have hit them all.”

  “I demand a rematch!”

  He smirked and reached out to trail a finger along the curve of her breast. “You don’t have any more clothes.”

  “I’ll play naked.”

  “Now that’s an intriguing offer.”

  And a stupid one. Why the hell had that popped out of her mouth? It must be a mix of the wine and her competitive nature getting the best of her and she reeled herself in, sat back down, and crossed her arms over her breasts. “That wasn’t a fair game.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Ugh. You’re infuriating.”

  “And you’re beautiful.”

  That stopped her indignation in its tracks and she realized he was staring at her like he wanted to lick her all over, all but devouring her with his eyes. Heat bloomed under her skin. Her nudity hadn’t bothered her before, but she didn’t want him to see the flush, didn’t want to let him know how much that languorous sweep of his heavy-lidded blue eyes turned her on. She scrambled to find something to cover herself with, ended up grabbing the thin blanket draped over the back of the nearby couch, and clutched it to herself as she stood.

  “We had our one night,” she reminded him and his easy smile slipped away.

  “I’m not satisfied with that.”

  “Too bad.”

  Jude’s jaw tightened until a tick started in his cheek. “Are you?”

  “That was the deal.”

  “Forget the damn deal. You know how good we are together, Libby.”

  They were good together, but only in bed and that was the problem. If he were any other man, she’d have indulged in a fling without a thought. Then again, if he were any other man, she wouldn’t have been interested in a fling to begin with. Jude was it for her. The first time they had made love, he’d ruined her for all other men and she’d made her peace with the fact that she was going to end up a career-focused spinster.

  Now here he was again. Back in her life, offering only part of what she truly wanted, and she couldn’t bring herself to take even that. She couldn’t put herself through the heartbreak of falling in love with him again and she was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to help herself if she spent more than one night with him.

  Shaking her head, she backed away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Libby rolled over on the big bed for the fourth time that night and kicked off the sheets. So uncomfortable. And hot, her skin flushed despite the softly blowing air conditioner.

  Why couldn’t she just sleep already?

  Okay, she knew that answer even though she loathed admitting it, even to herself. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw images of Jude in this bed with her, doing things to her that made her insides quake.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Out of all the men on the planet, she had to want the one who was the worst for her mental health. Frustrating, annoying, impossible, selfish Jude Wilde.

  But he was right about one thing: they burned up the sheets together and, God, did she need the release of a good orgasm right now. She’d been wound so tight since their fight this afternoon, and then the way he’d stared at her during Battleship…

  No man ever stared at her like that. No man, that is, except for Jude.

  “You can’t have him,” she told the ceiling.

  Well, no, that wasn’t completely true. She couldn’t let herself have the real him again—but the fantasy version, the one she kept locked away in her mind and brought out on lonely nights? That version of Jude she’d permit herself. He’d always be there, always be hers, and he was perfect because he never spoke. Never teased. Never infuriated. He was just there to offer pleasure.

  She closed her eyes and as she traced a hand down her body, she pictured him, the Jude she used to know. Younger, his hair shorter in a severe military cut, his body leaner and less muscled. No earring. No tattoos. Same pale blue eyes, quick smile, and talented fingers.

  She imagined those fingers now, slick with her desire, parting her folds, finding her clitoris. Her body tightened as pleasure zinged through her and a low moan escaped her throat. He slid a finger into her, testing her, and she was oh so ready, hanging on by a thread. His thumb tweaked her bundle of nerves and his lips brushed her neck, traced her jaw.

  Come for me, babe. Now. I want you to come for me.

  Oh God. Young Jude faded away as the words whispered through her mind and an image of the man sleeping out on the couch took his place.

  Come for me.

  She was going to, her body trembling on the edge of that abyss. Holy hell, this fantasy was so much more potent. Jude, with his earring and all his tattoos, his wide shoulders and hard body that always crushed her into the mattress with each powerful thrust of his hips. She strained toward climax, begging him to finish it, to take her over into oblivion with his amazing fingers—and still it wasn’t enough.

  Dammit. Fantasy wasn’t enough.

  Nearly sobbing in frustration, she lifted her hips to meet her hand and squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She needed to come. She needed…

  “Jude.” Yes, saying his name helped. He was right there in bed with her, driving her mercilessly toward orgasm, whispering naughty things in her ear. “Jude…” So close, her thighs quivered and her inner muscles clenched around her fingers. But it…wasn’t…enough. “Jude!”

  …

  At the shout from the bedroom, Jude shot to instant wakefulness and grabbed his firearm from the end table where he’d set it before stretching out for the night.

  Something was wrong. Libby wouldn’t call out for him. Not unless something bad was happening.

  He didn’t waste time dressing and slammed into the bedroom, the door hitting the wall so hard it probably left a dent. But he didn’t care because fucking hell, there she lay, splayed out in the bed, her nightshirt bunched up around her shoulders, giving him a prime view of her body. Her hand stroked between her legs, her slender fingers sinking in and out of her sex, and she arched with the movement, her eyes screwed shut, her body taut. Struggling for a climax, she needed somebody to give her a little something more, somebody to love her right, to raise her up and over the mental block keeping her from coming.

  That someone should be him. Always him. Only him.

  All the blood drained from his head at that possessive thought, making him dizzy as fuck, and his erection jumped from half-mast to ahoy matey so fast he nearly exploded right then and there. He dipped a hand inside his shorts and gripped himself to stop it from happening, squeezed until the line between pleasure and pain blurred, and a groan rumbled from his chest without his consent.

  Libby’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, God! What are you doing in here?”

  “You called for me.”

  “You’re crazy. I wouldn’t—” She
started to sit up and withdraw her hand, but Christ, he couldn’t let her. He wanted to watch her pleasure herself more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  “Don’t.” His voice was pure gravel, but he didn’t bother clearing his throat. He pumped his hand up and down his shaft in hard strokes. “Let me see you. I need to see you.”

  Her gaze drifted down his body, her eyes widening at the sight of his straining cock. After a second that seemed to last for years, she slowly settled back against the pillows and let her knees fall open. Her hand returned to her pretty pink sex and as he watched her dip her fingers inside herself, his whole body started to tremble.

  “I did call for you,” she admitted and dropped her head back to stare at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I was imaging you doing this, your fingers right here where mine are, stroking me.”

  He couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the slow slide of her fingers in and out. Unconsciously, he matched his strokes to her rhythm.

  “I want you,” she gasped and he saw he wasn’t the only one trembling. As her thumb pressed against her clit, her legs shook so hard she vibrated the bed. “I want you and I know I shouldn’t. I can’t help myself.”

  “You want me?” He was panting now, about to go off like a teenager making out in the backseat of his first car. He wanted to be inside her when he did and it took every ounce of control he could muster not to jump onto that bed and pound into her until they were both screaming. “Say the word, Libs. That’s all you gotta do.”

  She caught his gaze, held it. “Yes.”

  In two strides, he crossed the space between them and grabbed her ankles, pulled her across the bed. Rough. Too rough, and yet he couldn’t seem to slow it down, take it easy. He held her open, looped her legs over his shoulders and bent to taste her. Just a quick taste for now—he already wasn’t going to last long and needed inside her.

  Libby cried out and bucked against his mouth, her legs going rigid around his shoulders as the orgasm she’d been striving for slammed through her, leaving her gasping, the muscles in her thighs quivering. He gave her clit one last tease with his tongue, then stood and buried himself all the way inside her in one hard plunge. Again. And again. She screamed his name with her next climax and the sound shattered his control. He leaned over her, planted his hands by her hips for better leverage and pumped hard, driving in as deep as he could get. His release surged out of him with so much power, he half-feared his cock had exploded.