by Cari Quinn
Chapter Ten
“I can’t believe you brought me on a picnic,” Layla said, propping her head on her hand. She’d stretched out on her side in the grass, without concern for her clothes or sitting in a ladylike position. She hadn’t even complained about getting dirty.
Sawyer shrugged and dug for more chips at the bottom of the bag. He’d sprawled out facing her in the shade, then spread his denim shirt beneath their picnic lunch of a ham-and-cheese sandwich, barbecue chips, and grape soda. Apparently her appetite had returned, though she ate about half as much as he did. All that was left of the meal was the giant brownie he’d seen her eyeing at the deli. He’d bought it the minute she turned away. Anything to make her smile.
Sap.
“Seemed like a nice day for one. And Hyde Park’s just far enough away from Hot Shots that we won’t be spotted.”
She tugged self-consciously at her flowing skirt, then held out a hand for more chips. “I can’t fault your reasoning. Though I’m not sure we’ve done anything that warrants hiding out.”
“Yet.”
She smiled and toyed with the wrapper on her soda. “So what do you think of the agency?”
“Aw, man. You’re giving me a sales spiel at lunch?”
“No. I’m just curious.”
He crunched more chips. “The setup so far seems similar to what I’ve dealt with in the past. Leon’s really professional, and Con’s a decent guy. The shoots so far have been fine too. Nothing extreme.”
“And you like the other models.”
“You mean Kiana?”
“Not necessarily. You’ve talked to some of the others too.” She shrugged. “But yeah, Kiana as well. You have great chemistry.”
“She’s a nice girl.” He cleared his throat and wondered if this line of conversation would inject a sour note into what had been an easy, pleasant lunch so far. Too easy. “She, ah, invited me to that Hot Shots dinner thing on Saturday.”
Her expression gave nothing away. “Good. I’m glad you’re going.”
“You are too, right?”
“Yeah.” She flipped back her braid and drank more soda. “I’m sure we’ll see you there.”
And there it was, the elusive “we” that had thus far been missing from their conversation. He brushed a hand over his jeans. “I’ve heard the Fontaine Room is a great place. I love fondue.”
“Me too. Their chocolate version is to die for.”
At his dubious look, she laughed. “Seriously. It’s delicious. Aidan and I always get some to go, and it reheats really well.”
“Aidan doesn’t really seem like the fondue kind of guy.” She stared at the grass, and he wished he’d never spoken. He could imagine way too many uses for chocolate fondue, and none of them involved toast points.
“I’ve been told the event’s a lot of fun,” she said, apparently deciding not to touch his Aidan comment. “Manda says they open up a separate room for dancing. Plus they have a section they call the toy box. You know, gotta make it fit the Hot Shots theme.”
“Of course. Dancing, fondue, and sex toys sounds like my kind of night.”
“Will you still be able to teach math if you sign with us?”
He glanced over at her topic change. She traced one of the buttons on his shirt on the grass, clearly preoccupied. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I guess it depends what kind of jobs I take.”
“So that’s why you’re reluctant to sign.”
He cocked a brow at her anxious expression. She cared. That wasn’t fake. Despite her “again” speech, he had serious doubts the level of her feelings approached his, but still. At least there was some amount of…affection between them. Talk about cold comfort.
“One of the reasons, yes.”
“Talk to Con. I bet he could still get you jobs that would make good money but not compromise any possible—”
“It’s probably a pipe dream,” he interrupted. “Stupid to be focused on something that may never happen when my bush is full of birds right now.”
She didn’t smile. “There’s nothing stupid about having a goal and working toward it. You just need to believe you can get there. I believe you can.”
“I’m single, Layla. No wife. No kids. I don’t even have a fucking degree.” He knew he sounded like a petulant brat and didn’t really care. “My ass is firmly planted in New York for the foreseeable future. No restored farmhouses are in the cards.”
Her eyes softened as if he’d mentioned he loved puppies and little girls in baby bonnets. “Restored farmhouse?”
“Yeah.” He bit off the reply. “My mom’s neighbor has been talking for years about selling. I used to think she hadn’t yet because it was supposed to be mine.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“And maybe not.”
She didn’t gripe at him, just pursed her lips. “If you’re worried that Hot Shots won’t support your ambitions down the line, walk.”
“Layla, you’re not getting it. It’s a dream. Not reality. I sucked at school.”
“Bad grades?”
“No. My grades were fine. I just couldn’t concentrate.”
“Thinking about your mom and sister back home?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
“So if you made some cash, then you wouldn’t have to worry.”
“It’s probably not going to happen. Besides, who but me would bypass a career in show business—well, kinda—for something as banal as teaching?”
“It makes sense to me.” She sipped more soda. God, he wanted to lick the purple off her lips. Just suck on them until they were puckered and swollen. “Tell Con your situation. I bet he can get you jobs that’ll up your profile and not screw you over later. The guy’s made schmoozing into its own language.”
“What about you? What could you get me?”
“I don’t have the experience or contacts Con does.” She tilted her head, and a lock of hair skimmed her cheek.
It took all his control not to brush it away. Not to lay her back on the dewy, freshly cut grass and bury himself inside her, right here where anyone could watch.
“No, but you have more heart.” With effort, he dragged his attention from her to the bicyclist who cut between two lunching couples and set off a flurry of complaints in his wake. “I’d go with heart every time, especially when I don’t know who to trust.”
“You’d trust me?” Surprise lined her voice.
“For some reason, I don’t seem to have much choice.”
Once the errant bicyclist disappeared from view, Sawyer unearthed the brownie from the paper bag and smiled at her gasp. It probably wasn’t fair to use chocolate as a distraction, but in this case, he figured it was more than justified. He lifted it to his mouth.
Her sexy mouth curved into a pout. “Hey, I saw that brownie first. Aren’t you going to share?”
“Depends.” He kept on eating, making a show of it. Closing his eyes, smacking his lips. “What do you have to offer in trade?”
“Nothing. You ate all my chips, remember?”
He laughed. “True enough, Neb. So unless you come up with something else, guess I’ll keep this big, moist, chocolaty brownie all to myself.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would. It’s really good. There’s peanut butter in the center.”
“I love peanut butter.” She swallowed, her gaze centered on the hunk of chocolate in his hand. “Do you take IOUs?”
“Nope,” he replied cheerfully.
“But we’re not near the deli, and I need to get back to work soon.”
“So give me something else.”
“Like what?”
Sawyer cocked his head and licked stray crumbs off his thumb. “You.”
With a frown, she glanced around them. “In a public park?”
“No one’s close.” He’d chosen this spot under a huge, protective oak for that very reason. The closest couple sat a good distance away, and no one was looking at them.
“You aren’t serious,” she said, wiping her mouth. Her forehead furrowed at the streaks of soda on the napkin; then she glanced at him in reproach. “Did you really let me sit here with purple lips?”
“It was cute.” He took another bite. “And I’m deadly serious.”
“Damn, I want that brownie.”
He shifted closer, moving the remnants of their lunch aside, and playfully dangled the brownie over her mouth. Only the erection that pressed against his fly revealed his intent. “How bad do you want it?”
“Sawyer,” she said, her plea faint.
“Unbutton the bottom couple buttons of your shirt and leave it untucked.”
He figured she’d argue. This wasn’t even a “sanctioned” outing by Dr. Demented, and here he was, trying to get into her pants again. In a manner of speaking.
But she inched closer on the grass and did as he asked. “I can’t believe I’m risking a lewdness charge for a brownie,” she muttered, making him laugh.
“It’ll be worth it.” He broke off a piece and fed it to her. She glanced at him before taking the bite, her soft mouth grazing his fingers. “See?”
“It’s good.”
When she leaned in for more, he held the brownie away and grinned.
“Meanie.”
“That’s me. The mean brownie denier. You’ll get the rest once you trade tit for tat.”
“What, exactly, am I trading?” Wariness shrouded her expression as she looked down at his denim-clad hard-on. “I like brownies. Love sex. Hate jail.”
His grin widened. “Pull your skirt up just a little in front.”
“If I pull up the front, the back comes up too.”
He shoved aside the bag and wrappers from their lunch, then shook out his shirt. With a flourish, he draped it carefully over her hip and thigh so that it shielded her in the back as well. “With such delicate skin, you need to be protected,” he said, tone grave.
Her snort made him grin. “You do realize I’m not wearing panties.”
“Oh yeah, I realize. Hold the shirt in place and let me see.” His throat tightened when she pulled up on her skirt just a bit. Shadows, a flash of red curls, pink skin. “More.”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
“You know, you’re right. This is wrong.” He drew back and started to sit up. “I’ll just eat my nice brownie and—”
She chuckled. “Such a jerk. I’m doing it.”
“What, exactly, are you doing? Please describe. In detail.”
“Out here?”
“Oh, Layla, I really am enjoying this innocent routine. It’s hot, if unbelievable. You forget I saw your treasure trove of goodies. And that I know, intimately, some of your talents. Sucking cock, for one.”
Her pupils dilated, but she held his gaze. “What do you want me to do?”
“Well, I was thinking. Since you’re not even supposed to be here with me today, I shouldn’t touch you. Right?” He waited for her reluctant nod. “But there’s no law saying you can’t touch yourself. I want you to make yourself come.”
“Right here.”
“Yes. There’s a juicy brownie on the line,” he said, setting the spoils of victory aside.
“Juicy?” She frowned at the brownie.
“What I hope you’ll be in a few moments.” He moved closer so that he was the only one with a front-row seat to the activity between her legs. “Now stop stalling. Lunch is almost over.”
She rubbed her palm against the apex of her thighs. “Yes, boss.”
“Sorry, but I’m not buying that routine.” He cocked his brow at her tentative movements. “Make it happen for real, the way you started to the other night when we were watching the DVDs. Don’t hold back.”
Challenge fired in her eyes as she did exactly as he asked, widening her thighs just enough that she could blatantly stroke her clit. He reached out to steady the shirt, holding it in place on her thigh.
“Yeah, ’cause that’s not suspicious at all.” She jerked her chin at the placement of his hand.
“Stop worrying. No one’s near us or paying any attention.” He stared between her legs. Already her fingers looked glossy and wet. “Except me.”
Her chin quivered, but she made no sound at all. She didn’t even smile. She was focused on her task. A slave to her pleasure.
God, she was beautiful. Droplets of perspiration formed at her temples, and it took everything he possessed not to lean forward and collect them on his tongue. She picked up speed, fingers flexing, hips rotating in small, impatient circles.
They stared at each other while she brought herself to the precipice of orgasm. The dirty talk he’d planned to torment her with simply vacated his head. He couldn’t have looked away from her if he’d wanted to. The curls clinging to her neck, the harsh breaths she couldn’t hold back, the sweet smell of her arousal—all combined to draw his cock, full and hard, against his zipper. If she didn’t come soon, he was going to blow. Spectacularly.
And then she did, with a silent cry that rounded her lips. Hips flailing, hand on autopilot as she shut her eyes with a flicker of long, dark lashes.
“Amazing.” He couldn’t drag his gaze from the sight of her removing her glistening fingers. He wanted them in his mouth so badly he nearly spoke before sense returned.
Playfully, she wiggled them. “Want?”
He shook his head and wondered what the hell he was doing. And why. Who was he punishing? Aidan for suggesting he become her boy toy? Or Layla, because she kept drawing him back? “Put them in your mouth. Tell me how they taste.”
Again she complied, sucking them with slow pulls. His cock pulsed, the increased blood flow tightening his jeans. Especially when she withdrew them and brushed her fingertips over her throat. That spot of wetness taunted him.
“Good?” he asked hoarsely.
She flashed him a sultry smile and let her gauzy skirt fall into place. “Yes. You would approve.”
“You were supposed to tell me about the flavor,” he said as she handed over his shirt.
She did up her buttons and tucked in her blouse, then leaned in and spoke close to his ear. “Like…peach melba and whipped cream. Except not.”
He chuckled at the naughty-schoolgirl look she tossed him. If only she had on her glasses. “You screwed up my game.”
“Yeah, well, you screwed up mine too.”
“What game are you playing?”
He didn’t notice her hand wandering toward the brownie he’d set on the bag, but he sure heard her triumphant laugh. Some part of him was disappointed she’d bypassed an opportunity to delve into their twisted hookup. The rest couldn’t deny the satisfaction he got from her smile.
Besides, what was to left talk about? He knew where she stood. She was engaged. He was a potential agency client and a man she enjoyed having sex with. Beyond that, there wasn’t anything to discuss.
He studied his soda to avoid watching her make quick work of her dessert. “Delish,” she murmured, as if she knew he was avoiding her gaze.
“Told you.” He jolted when she lifted his face up to hers with a brush of her damp fingers. “What’re you doing?”
“Saying thanks.” She laid her mouth on his, her kiss as light as the breeze that drifted through the canopy of leaves above them. Then she slipped back. “For the brownie and lunch.” Her expression softened, and everything that had begun to relax in him strung tight once more. “And for you.”
His lips hummed. “You’re welcome. I’m glad we got some time.”
“Me too.”
“How are you feeling?”
Something passed through her eyes, and his breath caught. Every time she looked at him like that, he fell a little more in love. Soon he’d be neck deep.
“Much better. You have that effect on me, Sawyer Blake.”
That, he supposed, would have t
o do.
He gathered what was left of their lunch and rose. When she hesitated, he held out his hand and smiled as she linked her fingers with his. “C’mon, Ms Palmer. Let’s get you back to work.”
* * * *
Sawyer tipped back his beer and took a long draught. What a frigging week.
He’d participated in a second successful test shoot, been given yet another opportunity to sign with an agency that swore up and down they’d bring in the cash, and accepted a contract for a new Skyline commercial. Then there was his lunch with Layla, which might’ve been more fun had he focused on what he had with her—though that wasn’t much—rather than everything he never would.
One thing he’d learned due to recent events was to expect the unexpected. Even so, he never guessed he’d end up at a club called Bare Nekkid Friday night.
Better yet? He’d come with a guy who knew all about getting nekkid, and then some.
“Told you it was a classy joint.” Drew raised his brows and tipped his beer at the stage where two blondes were shimmying and swaying in G-strings and pasties. “Check out the feather boas.”
Sawyer had to laugh. Though Drew seemed to have more moods than suits, Sawyer couldn’t deny he liked the guy. When Drew had asked if he’d like to go out for a beer sometime, he’d figured it was just another attempt to give him the company song-and-dance. But since he didn’t have many friends in town yet, he’d decided he shouldn’t be choosy. And he definitely needed a distraction.
He just hadn’t counted on this kind of distraction.
“So you want another beer?” Drew pried out his wallet. “On me.”
“Haven’t finished the first.”
Drew winked at the closest blonde stripper, who actually seemed to do a double take as she glimpsed him sitting beside the stage. Then she winked back. “Two’s always better than one,” he murmured, motioning over the waitress.
Sawyer shook his head. “Watching you work is truly something to behold.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve managed to get the attention of half the strippers onstage tonight. And they all look at you like you’re a fucking king.”
“That’s their job.”
“Yeah, but it’s different with you. They act like they’d beg for a chance to give you a lap dance.”
