by Jane Linfoot
He gave a throaty laugh, shifted his spare arm higher, yanking his T shirt up a notch. More exposed skin that brought her own out in a rush of goose bumps. Not a good look.
‘Whatever. No worries.’ Disentangling his fingers from her hair, he rubbed his thumb across her cheek. Snaked a nail down her neck. ‘Sixty-nine’s good by me any day.’
Trust him to make something out of this that it wasn’t. Sixty bloody nine? So not the idea. So not on the schedule. So… She didn’t even care. Couldn’t have moved if she had to. All she could do was to lie and let his fingers work their teasing way across her skin and let her bones melt. She held her breath as his fingers moved on down, followed the centre of her chest, stopping only for a moment to undo a button. As he snagged a nipple she let out a small cry, felt her insides turn to syrup and her panties get wetter still.
‘Jackson?’ She shifted her head, twisted. One inadvertent tweak of his waistband, and the tip of his penis thrust into view. Thick and sculpted and beautiful. She swallowed hard. Bit her lip. Her hand was itching to touch, her mouth was already open, ready to swallow as much of him as she could take. All she wanted to do was to rip off his jeans, release him and ride him for all he was worth. Except she wasn’t going to do that, was she?
She placed one fingernail in the hollow by his hip bone. Heard his guttural groan of anticipation as she dragged it inch by teasing inch, arcing around the top of his penis, and easing across to his other hip. Then she walked her fingers across his jeans, heading straight for the fly button.
The very thing she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to do. The very thing she’d been aching to do since the moment she stepped into the van four days ago. Sizzling Jackson Gale. There for the taking. Just like he had been that first shameful night. And knowing it was a bad idea wasn’t helping her at all. One glimpse of that sexiest tip of him sent aching contractions of need shuddering through her. She held her breath as she fiddled with the first button of his flies. Then the next. Stopped to run a finger along the skin of his shaft, his low groan making her insides dissolve, his penis thrusting further with each undone button. Three more, and it made a break for freedom, arched toward the roof, and blow the thought of the arrogant guy it was attached to, wild horses wouldn’t stop her now.
She scrambled to her knees, tore off her own jeans. Straddled his thighs, ran one long nail up and down the awesome length of him. Looked up to meet his gaze.
‘Condom?’ She shivered at the expectant tension quivering in the hollows of his cheekbones, and the smoky arousal in his eyes made her insides go molten.
‘Damn it. I don’t have any.’
‘But you always…?’
‘Not this time.’
‘What about the condom string?’
‘I chucked them.’
‘What?’ This she could not believe.
‘You were giving me a hard time about them.’ He gave a snort. ‘They were too small anyway.’
That much was believable, looking down at the towering height of him. He shifted, put his hands on her hips, pushing her away. ‘Sorry, Cherry Bomb, looks like the fun is over.’
‘No, it’s okay.’ A sniff hid her cringe. ‘I might have one.’ Might? This was not the time to cringe with embarrassment for having come prepared – for the unlikely emergency, when she couldn’t keep her hands off him. Unlikely? She gave a hollow laugh at that, slid off him, and made a grab for her bag.
‘So, obsessively organised does have an upside.’ Jackson eased back against the cushions with a grin twice the width of the bed. ‘Throw it over, and take a seat.’
‘Fruit flavour, okay?’ She tossed the packet to him with a guilty smile, hurriedly undid her shirt and shrugged out of it. As he looked up again, she was kneeling beside him, arching her chest towards him, and thanking the God of lingerie for her aquamarine silk balcony bra. She bit her lip. Something about providing the condom made her suddenly shy in the face of Jackson’s narrow eyed scrutiny. No way could she do this looking at him.
She flipped a knee over him, twisted and landed on his stomach, facing his feet, anchored in place by the tower of his erection. Something about the self-service aspect of this position made her more at ease. Her clit throbbed as she opened her legs wide, slid herself against the rippling muscles of his stomach. Much more comfortable, now all she had to worry about was the huge penis, standing massively to attention, straining in front of her. The thought of it had been keeping her awake for almost three weeks. She was beyond ready to put it to good use, so ready she was almost coming here and now. She shifted to stifle the orgasmic flickers already threatening to take hold. This time she wanted to save it all for the big one. Dragging in his musky scent, all mixed up with strawberry fruit sweetness, pushing herself upwards, she eased herself over him. Behind her, she heard Jackson’s grunt as she nudged the tip of him into position.
‘Easy, Cherry…’
Opening herself, her gasps juddered through her body as she captured the length of him, inch by achingly slow inch.
‘Oh, my.’ The colours of the bunting blurred out of focus through her half closed lashes, and the whole world was falling away, leaving her, and her need to ride on Jackson, to thrash on him until her insides exploded. Leaning forwards, she grasped his thighs, gouging the hard muscle with her nails through the denim. Grinding her pelvis, gasping for oxygen, as her heartbeat banged in her ears. Then one last push and she had it all. Cliffs, mountains, rainbows, waterfalls, thundering hooves. One huge gigantic ecstatic release. She heard her own cry echoing a long way off, then Jackson’s animal roar rose behind her and blotted everything else out.
She came to, skin damp with sweat, finding her face crushed into his jeans for the second time that morning. Feet by his head. Top to tail again, but this time the uncensored version. Whoever said top to tail was a safe bet needed their head examining.
‘Oh, my, that was worth waiting for.’ She mumbled more to herself than him, then remembered her manners. ‘Thanks, Jackson.’
His hand landed flat on her butt, as he let out a low laugh. ‘You’re welcome, Cherry Bomb. Any time.’
All casual and sated now. He would say that wouldn’t he, given his strict one time only rule went right out of the van window somewhere along the line? To borrow a phrase from Jackson, that could have been the upside of jumping a guy when he was half asleep. Not that she was complaining. A noise in the distance made her lift her head. An engine. Chugging. Getting louder. She froze as it drew alongside the van, but instead of going on past, it juddered to a halt outside. Then a door slammed, and the next moment the whole van reverberated as someone banged on the side.
‘What the hell?’ Jackson pushed up on his elbows. ‘Watch the paintwork…’
Then the bangs subsided and a man shouted, ‘Hello in there, you having problems? Saw your engine bay open, do you need help?’
‘Great, with you in a sec’.’ Jackson sent Bryony a rueful grimace as he rolled her sideways. ‘Well what do you know, Cherry Bomb? Looks like we’re being rescued.’
Chapter 25
Early evening, three hours up the motorway, Jackson was sitting at a table in a Service Station opposite his manager, Dan, swilling coffee around a plastic cup. And whatever Dan’s accusations suggested, meeting halfway to pick up his car was the most practical solution in the situation. It had nothing at all to do with running away from Cherry Bomb because he couldn’t handle seeing her after her dawn-raid this morning. But having said that, it was damned comfortable being in this godforsaken transitory place where no one knew you and there was no explaining to do, and best of all, no post-mortems.
‘So, how is the awesome Bryony panning out?’ Dan opened his sugar tube and tapped it into his drink.
Jackson had momentarily forgotten that Dan would be giving him a grilling, but whatever Dan threw at him had to be minor compared to Bryony’s exacting stare.
‘Pain in the ass.’ Jackson gave a grimace. ‘As expected, only a hundred times worse. T
hink control-freak with tiara aspirations, add in a complete inability to enjoy herself, and you’ll have it in one.’ He ignored a niggling feeling that he was betraying her here. He wasn’t saying anything other than the truth. More to the point, loud complaints would hopefully provide a smoke screen. No way did he want Dan to know the reality of his plight. That when she was there, she sucked all the oxygen out of the air, that sex with her was the best he’d ever had even when he still had his jeans on, that when he was with her he felt more alive than he’d ever felt, or, that as women went, she was the biggest challenge he’d come across in his life.
‘Bit of a ball-breaker then?’
‘She won’t be breaking mine.’ Jackson gave a hollow laugh, though in reality he wasn’t so sure. ‘She’s a handful – kind of larger than life, like a human steam-roller on fast forward. Took me a couple of days, but I’ve got her worked out now.’ Until she wrestled the reins back off him again, and no knowing when that would be. Something told him any advantage he had was strictly short term.
‘And the camping?’
Jackson gave a snort. ‘Total non-starter. Would you believe the woman actually…’ Jackson swallowed his words. Sharing what Cherry did with her knickers was a bad idea, especially given he’d been inside them only this morning. He took a gulp of coffee, and blinked away the image he’d been seeing all day – her bare ass, bouncing as she rode him. What a turn on, although holy crap, he needed to get a grip. ‘Let’s just say she’s high-maintenance. Not her fault the camper broke down, but I reckon the Range Rover will be faster and more reliable.’
No idea how had he got this far through life and not tried reverse cowboy before. But despite the fact he’d been rock-hard ever since with the mental re-visits, he wouldn’t be going there again with Cherry Bomb. Rules were rules, and this morning was one slip up he wouldn’t be repeating. His survival instincts were well enough honed to know to stay well out of this one.
‘So the trip isn’t bringing you two closer?’ Dan’s tone was nonchalant, but the flinty glint in his eyes told Jackson the question was fully loaded.
‘Closer?’ After all the years he’d known Dan, Jackson knew how to bluff him.
Dan gave a shrug, clearly faking diffidence. ‘The sparks I saw on that interview clip, I thought she might be…’
Jackson rounded on him. ‘Be what?’
‘Suitable, significant maybe?’
‘You mean “The One” don’t you?’ He gave an indignant splutter. ‘Bloody hell, Dan, this isn’t Dating in the effing Dark. You need to back off.’
‘I’d hoped she might bring a bit of happy your way, that’s all.’ Dan tapped his spoon on the table idly. ‘You do know who she is?’
‘Obviously.’ Jackson jutted his chin belligerently. ‘And?’
‘Bryony is Brando Marshall’s sister. Brando, as in billionaire magnate, and TV production company backer, amongst other things.’
‘What exactly are you getting at, Dan?’ Definitely for the best he’d kept quiet about meeting Brando.
Dan hesitated. Spoke slowly, as if he was not only choosing each word very carefully, but walking on eggshells too. ‘Well, taking a view of the longer term picture here, taking everything into consideration for you career-wise, dating Bryony Marshall might be no bad move.’
Jackson opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Where the heck was Dan coming from? With phrases like ‘long-term’, ‘career-wise’? Dan was usually down-the-line, but this time the guy was talking out of his ass. They both knew in a couple of weeks Jackson would be back to full-time training again. It might take a while, and a heck of a lot of work, but he’d get back to where he was when he had the accident. Hell, he had to. Not making it wasn’t an option. As for the rest…
‘So you’re suggesting I date Bryony to clinch a TV contract?’ Jackson’s voice rose, was Dan really implying what he thought he was implying? He knew he was about business deals but this was something else.
‘Not at all.’ Dan was doing a fast reverse here, using that soothing, matter-of-fact voice that drove Jackson round the bend. ‘She’s stunning, you’ve obviously got the hots for her, plus she’s one of the few women I’ve come across who looked like they had any chance of handling you. You know me, I’m thorough, cool and analytical – that’s why you employ me. I can’t help that I see a situation from every angle. What I’m saying here is that the TV advantage would be the icing on an already fabulous cake, that’s all.’
So even if that wasn’t exactly why Dan was suggesting this, the Brando link had certainly come up on his radar. Jackson grimaced. Bryony had mentioned people thinking she only got where she did because of Brando. Him using Bryony to gain a similar advantage had never occurred to him, but now the idea was there, it was just another solid reason to stay well away. And dammit, because he shouldn’t be feeling like he just got a kick in the guts when he never intended to go there anyway. He let out a long sigh. Talk about ulterior motives. So many reasons why Dan had been so insistent on bundling him off on a road-trip with Bryony. Unbelievable. Out of line. But no doubt done with his own best interests close to Dan’s completely misguided heart. He and Dan went way back, but even though they’d known each other since junior school, looked out for each other all along the way, were more comfortable in lots of ways than he was with his own brothers, Dan wasn’t always right about what he needed.
‘Getting your rocks off by matchmaking?’ Jackson flung a defiant grin across the table. The guy was so far off course he had no idea. ‘Sorry, Dan. Me and Bryony are not gonna happen. As for TV contracts, I’ll get them on my own merits, although there won’t be time for TV when I’m racing again.’
‘Life isn’t only about winning races.’ Dan spoke slowly, without meeting his eye.
For a moment Jackson baulked. ‘We’re here to win, Dan.’
Then Dan’s affirming punch smacked Jackson hard on the arm, and whooshed any doubt away. ‘Too right, Jackson. Let’s go geddem.’
Halfway into Jackson’s cycle ride next morning, and his groin was aching. Nothing to do with hours in the saddle, everything to do with the view he’d snatched of Cherry Bomb padding out onto the decking at dawn in skimpy pyjama shorts – and him knowing he wasn’t going to go there. Yesterday had been an aberration, the only time in his life he’d gone back for more, and that’d only happened because she’d pretty much ambushed him when he was asleep. Not that he was complaining… Yep, he’d had the ride of his life yet again – the woman was superhuman, the way she turned him on.
Emotionally and physically he was fully equipped to give one night of pleasure, but anything more than that, and he was lost at sea. Something to do with the depth of those bright-blue eyes set his alarm bells ringing every time, because now she was less uptight, what he saw when he looked into those princess eyes was all soft and warm and squishy, and horribly complicated. The woman was full of need. Need for a guy, need for babies, need for what the hell else, he didn’t know. It couldn’t have been clearer if she’d had it tattooed all over her forehead. He’d never seen eyes so full of complication.
Now he came to think of it he couldn’t remember looking that deep into any woman’s eyes ever before. There was usually some invisible barrier that bounced you back out again before you got far enough in to look around, let alone notice anything. But what he did know was that he was in no position to go any way to meeting any of those needs. He had no earthly idea how a man would go about the job. He was good for riding bikes and winning races, full stop. It was what he’d spent his whole life doing. Winning races was easy. There was a finish line; you crossed it, end of. So long as you got there before anyone else, it was a cinch. That was his specialty, whereas this other stuff – who knew how any guy began to start with all of that? It was in the too-hard box, the don’t-even-go-there box, the risks-this-guy-is-never-going-to-take box. And he was well out of all of them.
Ahead of him the road kicked up, steep and punishing. If he thrashed himself, by th
e time he reached the top his heart would be exploding and his chest would be on fire. He grappled the handlebars, stood up on the pedals, and prepared for the pain. This pain he could deal with.
Chapter 26
‘Shit.’ Jackson rounded the corner onto the decking, helmet and cycle shoes in the crook of his arm, to find Bryony lounging against the balcony rail coffee mug in hand, the sun behind her shining all the way through her gauzy slip. Might as well not have bothered getting dressed at all the way her legs were outlined, all the way up to that delicious point where they met. He tugged down the zip of his top, gave his flattened, sweat-soaked hair a tug, and cursed that the release of the last three hours had been undone in two short seconds. Cursed again as the hard-on of the century began to thrust against the Lycra of his shorts.
‘Jackson. You’re back sooner than I thought.’ Bryony spun round to face him, with a bright smile he picked up in his peripheral vision given his sight-line was locked onto her crotch. ‘Good ride?’
Damn that the see-through situation was just as bad this way round. And damn that now she’d turned, her eyes had zeroed straight onto his groin, where her gaze acted like a massage vibrator and hiked the size of him up another couple of notches. And damn to the exhibitionist in him that wanted to show off everything he had, lapping up her gaze like she was licking him when he had no intention of following through. The show-off in him was getting off on her not being able to look away, whilst the primal, come-and-bed-me-and-sod-the-consequences guy in him was revelling in wherever this was heading, despite his efforts to keep his sensible brain engaged.
‘Great ride, thanks. Sweaty.’ He gritted his teeth. Civilised-guy gave caveman a swift kick on the shins and got him into line as he casually slid his helmet in front of the offending bulge.
‘Right. Okay.’ Her eyes climbed to his meet his. Was that disappointment?
