by Aimee Carson
Nothing moved but his eyebrow. “I still can’t shower.”
The fun wasn’t over yet. After heaving a large sigh, she said, “Turn around.”
Cutter presented her with a back large enough to require a GPS to find her way from one side to the other. But it couldn’t be nearly as disturbing as the front. She cut up the fabric, exposing a beautiful expanse of corded muscle, sinew and tanned skin. Who’d have guessed his back would be as impressive as his chest?
Stunned, Jessica gripped the scissors as Cutter turned around. Chest. Back. Gorgeous. Or breathtaking. Either view, Cutter Thompson was eye candy of the sweetest kind. Sure to rot every thought in even the most rational of brains.
And she used to excel at being rational.
He cleared his throat, startling her into taking action, and she jerked both sleeves down his arms.
Cutter grimaced with a small hiss. His pain had clearly been real. “Nice touch,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your seduction efforts would have worked if it wasn’t for the agony.”
“I am not going to seduce you.”
“No return favors, huh?”
Her cheeks burned with memory. It grew worse when Cutter, his hot green gaze fixed on hers, pulled the snap on his jeans, exposing a little more of his flat abdomen. Her heart started banging harder beneath her ribs, sending her messages, as if the rest of her body was too stupid to notice the danger.
His mouth hinted at a smile. “Sure I can’t change your mind about that, too?”
Too. As in also. Just like he’d proven her wrong by the shark tank.
Without a word, Jessica turned and forced her feet down the hall, trying to ignore the sound of his jeans hitting the floor and the shower door opening. He was back there. Naked. And willing. Water streaming down his beautiful back and buff chest. And after the blatant invitation, all she had to do was strip off her clothes and follow him into the shower.
The mental image left her legs unsteady, and her footsteps faltered.
After rounding the railing, she descended the staircase, her steps growing firmer as she went. Her resolve strengthening with every stride.
She’d already tasted the dark desire he stirred. A bigger slice might choke her focus for sure. Touching him again was out of the question. He was too tempting, encouraging her to stray from the path she’d laid out the day she’d signed her divorce papers. Cutter made her question her vow to stick to her well-thought-out plan for finding a partner.
The right partner.
Jessica exited the front door and slipped into her car, gripping the steering wheel. Her heart still thumped shamelessly, and her body, hot, aroused and eagerly pleading its cause, was insisting she take Cutter up on his offer.
But logic was her ally.
Setting—and reaching—her goals was her specialty.
Unfortunately the fundraiser and keeping The Wildcard on a leash and wearing a muzzle had sidetracked her. Cutter Thompson wasn’t the only man on the planet with sex appeal. It was time to start searching again. If she looked hard enough, she knew she could find a modern guy who not only wanted a relationship, but connected with her on both a physical and emotional level.
A man who knew how to play nice and be polite.
A man who believed in forever, like her.
* * *
The curvaceous redhead on the sidewalk clung to the muscle-bound blond as if he required an anchor to keep him grounded on earth. The two were smiling at each other, one set of perfect white teeth flashing, and another set answering the call. Frowning, Cutter watched the love-fest from his low-slung sports car parked in front of the office plaza that was home to Perfect Pair.
Jessica, as graceful and beautiful as ever, stood talking to the couple at the front door. Her tailored skirt ended above the knee, accentuating her long legs. Her cranberry-colored blouse made her olive complexion glow. The dark, glossy hair was partially pulled back, hanging in gentle waves to her shoulders, exposing the arch of her neck and framing her smiling face. The happy couple obviously brought her immense satisfaction.
Cutter studied her, captivated by her expression.
Her unyielding enthusiasm—her steadfast optimism about love, relationships and the potential for the future—was intriguing. She could have taken her ex-husband for all she could get and spent the rest of her life pleasing herself. Shopping and doing lunch with friends. Bitterly complaining about her ex’s faults, her crushed dreams and life’s little cruelties.
Instead, she’d chosen to spend her days helping other divorced people find love. Now that he knew her better, it was hard to take her breakup cavalierly. And while he didn’t buy into her belief of happily ever after, it was clear the woman had taken her lumps with dignity and turned her misfortune into something positive.
Unlike him...a man who’d been knocked on his ass by a catastrophe of his own making, unable to figure out how to get back up. And if he was completely honest, Jessica was right. He was still throwing himself a massive pity party.
And nobody likes a whiner.
The memory brought a faint smile to his lips. Maybe it was time to borrow a page from Jessica’s book on self-improvement and pull his sorry self up by his bootstraps and start moving on.
Satisfied by the decision, when the couple on the sidewalk left, Cutter exited his car.
He knew the moment Jessica spied him, her body growing tense, a guarded look in her eyes. But her caution didn’t prevent her usual gracious manners.
“Thanks for agreeing to stop by here,” she said as he came closer. They entered the building, and she paused to lock the front door behind them. “I’m meeting someone for dinner on this side of town in about an hour.”
He found her news...disturbing. Hit with her delicate scent, and a sharp twist of the ever-present desire, Cutter stepped closer. And had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes grow more uneasy in response.
Good. She still felt it, too. She might be eating dinner with another man, but there was no way she could deny their burning attraction. Several days after their encounter at the aquarium—and the snapping tension in his bathroom—his body’s reaction was triggered just by her presence. Desire had become a living, chest-heaving entity.
And it was only a matter of time before Jessica Wilson gave in.
“A date, huh?” He struggled to maintain a serious face. “Firefighter or CEO?”
She shot him a dry look. “Neither,” she said as she turned and headed down the hallway. “He’s a pharmacist.”
Cutter pursed his lips and fell into step beside her. “Unless he’s packing Viagra, it’ll be hard to put out those fires wielding nothing but a bottle of pills.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead. “He’s only thirty. I doubt Viagra is necessary.”
“You never know,” he said. “And are you sure he believes in forever?”
“He’s already made the commitment once.”
“I smell an oxymoron coming on.”
She sent him a cutting, sideways glance. “He and his wife divorced two years ago.”
“Am I the only one who sees the irony in this?” When she didn’t meet his gaze, he went on, trying a different tactic. “He might still be stuck on his ex.”
She halted in the doorway to her office and leaned her back against the doorjamb, arms folded, a familiar look of forbearance on her face. “Mike and I have a lot in common. We’re both professionals who enjoy helping people. We have a shared interest in jazz music. And we’re both looking for a long-term relationship.” Jessica held his gaze, as if everything she’d said was aimed directly at him. “But the main reason I agreed to meet him is because we connected over an in-depth email discussion about divorce.”
“That’s romantic.” He leaned against the opposite side of the doorjamb. “What happened to the number-o
ne rule of being positive?”
Was it his imagination or was she clenching her teeth?
“When two people click,” she said evenly. “The rest is frosting. And romance is more than candied hearts, roses and candlelight.”
“So comparing divorce settlements is the twenty-first-century thing now?” he said. She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling in that heaven-help-me way of hers he never grew tired of, and a grin threatened to overtake Cutter’s face as he headed into her office. “I suppose we’d better get started. Wouldn’t want to keep Mike and his bottle of Viagra waiting.”
* * *
An hour later, Cutter leaned over the back of Jessica’s chair and stared at her computer screen, the last response blinking on the monitor.
Complete honesty should always be a priority.
“Damn.” Cutter frowned. “Thank God that’s over. It was like trying to flirt with someone’s straitlaced grandmother.” His frown grew deeper. “I hope Too Hot to Handle doesn’t get voted to be my date.”
Jessica shot him an amused look. “She’s not that bad.”
“So if she asks me if I like her dress, and I hate it, she wants me to tell her the truth?”
“There is always a way to phrase things diplomatically.”
“Sunshine,” he said dryly. “There is no diplomacy in ugly.” He rested one hip on her desk and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans, looking down at her from his perch. Her scent was driving him crazy as he tried to identify the fragrance. “You seem to have hit it off with her. Maybe the two of you should attend the benefit dinner together. When Calamity Jane wins me as her prize, we could double date.”
“I’ll find my own date, thank you very much.” Jessica leaned back in her chair. “And Too Hot is only trailing Calamity by four percent. After our first airing went viral on the internet, people are now tuning in from all over the country, making this the number-one most anticipated pairing since the last episode of The Bachelor.” Jessica’s smile was radiant, her bottomless brown eyes bright with delight. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from pulling her into his arms, much less listen as she went on. “The Foundation has grossed one million dollars on the voting alone.”
At the astronomical number, both his eyebrows lifted in surprise before settling into a position of doubt. “I’m not sure if I’m encouraged by the generous nature of our fellow countrymen or disturbed by their questionable tastes in entertainment.”
Jessica chuckled. “Careful, Cutter. Your cynicism is showing again.”
Enjoying the sound of her laugh, Cutter’s lips twisted as he attempted to contain the grin. He failed miserably, and a moment of mutual amusement passed between them. When it was gone, it left the two of them staring at each other.
And the look was full of all those moments he’d wanted her, of her wanting him...and more.
The tense silence dragged until Jessica cleared her throat. With a glance at her watch, she pushed back her chair and stood. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be late.”
Late for her dinner date.
Perched on her desk, he gazed at Jessica, studying her intently. Rich, dark hair. Wide exotic eyes. The gentle curves of her breast outlined in her blouse. The low thrum in his body, always present when he was around her, began to thrum harder. If it was time to stop hiding from the world beneath the ’Cuda, it was time to meet their attraction head-on as well. No more innuendo.
“Why don’t you pass on meeting Mike and do what you really want,” he said.
“Which is...?” She stared at him, as if afraid to hear the answer.
“Spend the night in my bed.”
Fire spread up Jessica’s neck and touched her cheeks, leaving her damp at the nape of her neck. There was no tease in his tone. His sea-green eyes were bright, hard and glittered with a frank desire that sapped the air from her lungs. And as Cutter stared at her, T-shirt hugging the muscles of his chest, his lovely biceps exposed—God, she loved those arms—she gripped the back of her chair, steadying her knees as another awkward silence stretched between them.
When she felt strong enough, she opened her desk drawer and pulled out her purse. “I don’t have time for this.”
Cutter’s look of sardonic amusement was absolute and complete. “I love it,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “You ladies are a piece of work. Honesty is only vital when it’s convenient.” She bit back the denial as he went on. “When I was in a dog-awful mood and wanted you to leave me alone, you chased me down and refused to leave until we talked about my feelings.” He raised a brow at her, the cynicism rolling off him in waves. “But when sex is the subject, you scuttle away and avoid the truth like the plague.”
“That’s not true.”
Okay, so it was. But she wasn’t going to admit it.
“Jessica, how can you say that?” he said. “Even after the aquarium, you’re still tiptoeing around the two of us.”
It took her two tries to swallow against her tight throat. “I’m not tiptoeing.”
And that wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t tiptoeing. She was in all-out commando-crawling stealth mode. Trying to stay beneath the volley of sensual fire raging around her.
The knowing look he shot her left her heart throbbing in her throat. “What a crock,” he said.
She didn’t owe him anything. One ultra-hot, shark-infested moment in the dark—desire flared high in her body, but she ignored it—did not mean he had some sort of power over her. At least not any she was going to admit to. But she did have something to say.
“Okay, here is some honesty for you.” She lifted her chin. “I want you to stop coming on to me.”
“Why?” He leaned closer. His musky scent teased her, and his green eyes went dark as his voice turned husky. “Because you don’t trust the spark between us?”
Yes.
“No. The right guy is more important than any spark,” she said. She rubbed her temple, her mind spinning as the look on his face slayed her again. “And because it’s making our work on this competition uncomfortable.”
His brow crinkled in suppressed amusement. “I must have been gone the day they passed out the manual on when honesty is allowed and when it’s not. Apparently it’s all about your comfort levels.”
Oh yes, indeed it was.
Heart pumping harder in her throat, Jessica forced herself to hold his gaze, twining her fingers through the strap of her purse. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be late.” She didn’t care that it was an obvious retreat. She needed time to regroup. “Where shall we meet for the next session tomorrow? Do you want to come by here? Or shall I swing by your place?”
Or perhaps they could engage in a video conference with Cutter on the next continent over. She stared at the handsome cut of his face and the athlete’s well-honed body. Make that two continents over.
Antarctica should do.
Cutter studied her, as if considering his options for the meeting place. “Neither. I’m giving the ’Cuda a day off.” His lips hinted at a smile. “Meet me at my boat at five.”
CHAPTER SIX
“SUBTLETY really isn’t your forte,” Jessica called out to Cutter.
She watched him emerge from the water in swim trunks, bare-chested and dripping, the Atlantic extending forever behind him. Lining the shoreline were pockets of muted aquamarine and bright turquoise, while in the distance dwelled shades of deep indigo. Sunday Key, a tiny speck of an island, lay just south of South Beach, accessible only by boat. Close enough for cell phone service, but far from rogue reporters.
In shorts and a tank top, Jessica wrapped her arms around her knees and curled her toes into the warm sand. Not that she needed the extra heat.
Because the almost-grin on Cutter’s face was more devastating than a tsunami.
Cutter
dropped onto the towel beside her and reclined—extending his long, muscular legs peppered with dark hair—and closed his lids.
How could being wet make him look hotter?
His eyes remained closed. “You didn’t like today’s question?”
“You posted it when you went to unload our stuff from the boat, just so I wouldn’t see it.” Jessica stared down at him. The responses from the contestants had come in thick and fast, and they didn’t bode well for her cause. “And it’s a blatant attempt to use your contestants against me.”
“I thought you’d be happy I was finally getting into the spirit of the competition.”
“Which is more important, the spark or the man?” she said, repeating his posted question to the participants. She narrowed her eyes, frustrated his lids were closed and he was unaware of her glare. “Why don’t you simply say I should toss out my priorities and indulge in a succession of meaningless sexual encounters?”
“That’s your interpretation?”
Fortunately, his eyes were still shut, so he couldn’t see the heat rushing to her cheeks.
Lovely. She’d probably just fallen into some devious trap he’d spent all night formulating. Doing her best to ignore a near-naked—and dripping-wet—Cutter was hard enough, but did he have to smell good, too? No cologne, just a hint of fresh soap, salt water and the vague scent of warm man that Cutter exuded. Maybe it was the smell of testosterone. Or pheromones. God knows he had plenty to spare. And how could she focus on the conversation with him exuding a masculine, lusty cloud that blocked every hope of a rational thought?
Despite everything, talking Cutter into participating in the publicity stunt had turned out better than she’d ever imagined. If she could just keep her physical responses under control, everything would be fine.
