Playboy Prankster

by Pamela Britton

  She didn’t answer.

  “I know you have a sense of humor.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She stiffened suddenly, then quickly reached for the doll. A second later she’d popped the plug, the doll instantly deflating.

  “Does that make you feel better?”

  Her look clearly said, “Do I look like I feel better?” And she didn’t, he admitted, she still looked upset. Sad even. He mulled that over for a second before she waved an imperious hand and said, “Let’s go.”

  But he didn’t want to go. Oddly enough, he wanted to soothe her just like he had earlier. He stiffened, his foot almost slipping off the gas again. What was wrong with him?

  Too much sun.

  “Well?” she asked, arching a brow.

  But, danged if he didn’t like her spunk. All the women he knew would be ranting and raving at the prank just pulled on her. In fact, some of them had ranted and raved at the jokes he’d pulled on them. But not CJ. Oh, sure, she wasn’t exactly thrilled, but that was probably the hormones. No wonder she’d looked a little green earlier. And yet not once had she complained about it. Nor had she complained about her hair, breaking a nail, or getting dirty. The most she’d done was get a little emotional just now. What a gal.

  “Br-yce,” Harry’s irritated voice screamed through the net.

  He turned to look at his friend, feeling kinda weird suddenly.

  “If you’re not going to drive the damn truck, then get out and let me drive.”

  “Right, Harry,” he murmured, pressing the gas pedal. But he didn’t floor it, no, he sorta strolled past the starting line.

  “Dammit, Bryce—” he heard Harry scream, before they were out of range.

  “What are you doing?” CJ asked warily.

  “Takin’ it easy until you feel better.” He shot her a reassuring smile. “Let me know if you get crampy or anything.”

  Her eyes widened, before they looked a bit…guilty? “Thanks.”

  He stared at her a second longer, realized he must’ve been imagining it and said, “Sure.”

  “And I wasn’t crying,” she reiterated.

  “I know. You probably had some dirt in your eyes or something.”

  He could see her nod out of the corner of his eye.

  “Yeah. Dirt.”

  He shot her another glance. She was nibbling her bottom lip. “You know you really are a good sport.”

  She didn’t look at him. Bryce didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  “And don’t mind the crew. They’re just treating you like one of the guys.”

  This time she turned toward him. “One of the guys. Is that all I am, just one of the boys?”

  Uh oh. Times like these were like navigating a mine field. You never knew when something would blow up in your face.

  “Hey. Don’t take that wrong. It’s a compliment. If you were any other woman, they’d have never done what they did.”

  “Any other woman being svelte and glamorous and perfect.”

  Oh, man. Things were going from bad to worse. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He thought about it for a moment, toyed with flooring it so he could end the conversation, and the hole he’d dug for himself, and ended up saying, “I mean you’re not like the other women I’ve seen hanging out at the races. You’ve got moxy. Hell, I doubt any of them know someone who’d have the nerve to ride along in one of these things. But not only have you done it once, now you’re back to do it again. You’ve got guts, and to top it all off, the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m sure the crew has noticed that too.”

  There. She couldn’t possibly misinterpret that. He glanced over at her. Her lower lip trembled. And, ah, man, she looked ready to cry again. Bryce felt something inside him give, something warm and soft and fuzzy, something that made him want to tell her it’ll be all right.

  It hit him then.

  He liked her. Really, really liked her. Liked-like, as in, I’d-like-to-see-you-again like.

  “Thanks, Bryce,” she said huskily. “That’s probably one of the sweetest things a man’s ever said to me.”

  He shot her a blank stare.

  “And you better have meant every word.”

  She was teasing him, but underneath he could tell she wanted his words to be true. He had the uncontrollable urge to tip her chin up with a gentle hand, an urge he squelched at the last moment, “Ah, yeah. Sure.”

  She smiled at him, his words obviously having meant a lot to her. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Ah, man. What the hell was happening here?

  She grew silent. Silence was a good thing, he told himself. Gave him time to think.

  “And you can step up the pace a bit if you like,” she said.

  Yeah. He probably could, but he didn’t, too engrossed in his thoughts to want to concentrate on driving. Could he like her, like her? As in seriously like her?

  “Wow, we’re really moving now.”

  But the words barely registered. He was attracted to her. He could admit to that, could practically taste those sassy lips of hers.

  He turned to look at her, his thoughts as sluggish as the truck, which was why he asked, “Have you ever liked someone so much you were attracted to her?” before he considered the ramification of his words.

  She drew back in surprise, and then her expression veiled, the teasing smile left. “What’s her name?”

  “What’s whose name?”

  “Never mind. And I’ve never been attracted to a her, so I really couldn’t say.”

  Well, that answered one question, but not the one he’d wanted. “I mean, attracted to someone because you liked them as opposed to lusted after them.”

  Another look through lowered lids. “It’s Pink Pumps, isn’t it?”

  “Who?”

  She waved her hand. “Never mind, but the answer is, yes, I have.”

  He was glad he’d asked then. Maybe her answer would give him some insight about what the hell to do about her.

  “My college English professor,” she added. “In my senior year.”

  “What’d you do?”

  She turned a look on him. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  She shook her head. “Why bother? Men like my professor never find me attractive, not when they have a whole school of lithe young co-eds to choose from.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re way off the mark with that one,” he found himself saying.

  “Oh, really? Then why, when I did exactly that—made a play for man way out of my league—did he chew me up and spit me out once he was done using me?

  “Because he was a fool,” Bryce instantly retorted. “Someone who must have been completely blind to what’s inside CJ Randall. Believe me, you’re better off without a man like that.”

  He’d rendered her speechless. He could tell. Frankly, he’d rendered himself speechless.

  “Thanks,” she finally said, but it was in a near whisper.

  “You’re welcome,” he said firmly because, by God, she needed to stop selling herself so short, and he was just the right person to do exactly that.

  “And then what’d happened?”

  “We didn’t talk for the rest of the hour,” CJ reported that evening to her fellow workmate-in-bondage, Deanna, trying not to feel even more depressed as she looked around her. The nicotine-colored motel room smelled appropriately like the inside of a cigarette carton. The air conditioner wasn’t working. She’d had to beat the darn thing into submission earlier. Now it sputtered and rattled asthmatically beneath the window which she’d left open in the hopes of airing out the place. Unfortunately, it now smelled of grilled onions and frying hamburgers from the burger joint below. It made CJ’s stomach growl.

  “Not at all?”

  CJ sat on the edge of her motel room bed and let her upper body fall back onto the brown spread. “Not a word.”

  “Well, anybody who says such nice thi
ngs to you just because you’re PMSing should definitely be boinked at the first opportunity.”

  CJ gasped. “Deanna White, I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Why not? I may be married, but I’m not dead.”

  Trouble was, CJ’d begun to think the same thing. “He’s not interested in me, Deanna. He’s interested in some anorexic blonde he met yesterday. Not only that, but I couldn’t get involved with him even if he did suffer some kind of mental meltdown and find me attractive. Miles would have a fit if I messed around with someone I’m supposed to be interviewing. You know that.”

  “To hell with Miles.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not on his most-wanted list.”

  “I still think you should go for it.”

  “There’s nothing to go for.”

  “Since when does the man have to be the aggressor?”

  “Forget it, Deanna.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “No.”

  “But why not—”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” And she refused to be disappointed by her decision. Refused. Trouble, remember?

  Silence, then. “Well, all right.” And then, in an obvious change of subject, “So what four-star hotel did Miles book you in tonight?”

  “The Bates Motel, where else? You should see it. The carpet looks like termites got desperate one night and chowed down on it, then spit it back out. I think it used to be brown, but I’m not sure. And the bedspread. Ugh. It matches the carpet except for the stains on it. I try not to think about those stains, oh, and the best part is there’s a bullet hole in the glass.”

  “Oh great.”

  “I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight.”

  “Score one for Miles.”

  “Yeah.” CJ shot up from the bed again, too agitated to sit down. She pulled a moth-eaten, grunge-brown curtain aside. The view outside wasn’t so bad. It offered a scenic vista of the desert sun sinking behind the majestic Burg-O-Rama restaurant sign.

  “So how was work today?” CJ tossed back.

  “Miles was his usual charming self.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Worse than usual, as a matter of fact. I think he misses having you around to publicly flog.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Deanna’s pause was one of long-suffering resignation. “You should have shot him, instead of refusing his advances.”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly. Remember, he cornered me in the supply closet. I expected him to ask for a ream of copy paper, not ram his you-know-what-into my behind.”

  “I know what.”

  “And then I had to go and sock him when he tried to turn me around to kiss me. I have never seen such a look of rage on a man’s face before…or so much blood.”

  “Jeez, Ceej, I wish I could have seen it.”

  “No you don’t. It was terrifying, and demeaning and shocking. I was so stunned I started to cry. I had makeup and tears dripping onto my white rayon blouse. I should have quit then and there. Gone straight to the publisher. Instead I kept my stupid mouth shut because of what happened with Ed and now I doubt anyone would believe me. I blew it and now I’m paying the price. If I could afford to quit, I would, but you know how hard it is to find a job these days. I’m stuck and he knows it."

  Deanna sighed. “I know. I know. I’m in the same boat.” She paused, a depressed sort of pause.

  “Speaking of Miles, I better go. I texted the idiot to call this number and I still haven’t heard from him. If he calls and the line’s busy I’ll probably get a lecture about making personal phone calls on the company’s dime. You know how it’s his mission in life these days to make my life miserable.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  They rang off, CJ staring at the phone for a long while afterward. When it didn’t immediately ring, she breathed a sigh of relief. Gosh, her heart pounded like she’d just run a marathon, the strain on her sore and bruised muscles having increased since she’d sat down. She wanted a shower. Now, before her muscles seized. And she stank. Gracious how she stank…like an Iraqi oil rig. Straightening was an effort too. So was walking.

  She took the two small steps required to get from the edge of the bed to the bathroom, turned on the shower, then slowly tugged off her clothes and boots. When she was done, she paused for a moment before the mirror. Deanna was wrong, there was no way Bryce could be interested in her.

  She looked like a bag lady.

  Her face was streaked with desert dust, the right side burned, the other side not. Her shoulder-length hair looked like she’d taken a wire whisk to it and her bangs stuck straight up exactly like her next door neighbor’s yappy dog, Rufus. Terrific. If she wore her “Beam Me Up Scotty” T-shirt she could call MUFON and pretend she’d been abducted. That’d be a good story.

  Now there was an idea. At least she’d get something in print again.

  She took a step back instead, studying her body. She told herself it was to see how things were hanging, but she knew better. What she really wanted to see was if it was as bad as she thought. She wanted to observe what Bryce had perused today.

  It was bad.

  Oh, she wasn’t ready for the slaughter house yet, but it was dang close. She turned sideways—no better—then faced forward again. Where the heck had all the weight come from? And why had most of it gone to her breasts? She hadn’t noticed it before, but suddenly she admitted that she really did have a decent pair. As yet, they hadn’t succumbed to the destructive pull of gravity, and her stomach beneath was relatively flat. It was her hips that would have an African Javaro licking his lips and putting water on to boil. She needed to join a health club…soon…if she could fit through the door, but first she needed to shower.

  Fifteen minutes later CJ clicked her hairdryer off and stared at her reflection. Well, at least it didn’t stick up straight anymore. And the color matched her sunburn pretty nicely.

  “Hello, CJ.”

  Chapter Six

  “Ohmigosh,” she screeched, her hand on the handle of the bathroom door and staring at Bryce in disbelief. She glanced down at the towel barely covering her private parts and darted back into the bathroom. “Bryce Danvers, you creep, how the heck did you get in my room?”

  “You left your window open. I stuck my hand in and unlocked the door.”

  She felt her mouth flop open, then closed it, then opened it again. She couldn’t believe he was telling the truth, had to resist the urge to call him a liar.

  “Well, you can just walk right back out.” She clutched the towel around her more firmly, closing the bathroom door until there was just a crack to peek out and hoping upon hope that she was suffering a Dramamine induced hallucination and not facing the reality of Bryce Danvers in her hotel room.

  “Ah, honey, you don’t really want me to leave, do you?” he drawled in his mint julep voice.

  “Don’t you call me honey, you…you pervert,” she opened the door a bit more. “What’s the matter, the woman in pink lose your room number?”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Get out of here before I call security.”

  “CJ, this place doesn’t have security.”

  “How do you know?”

  “’Cause I caught a look at the guy at the front desk. The closest that man had come to security is the maximum security kind.”

  He must mean that god-awful man at the registration desk, the one with more ink tattooed on his arms than a printing press. “Well, then I’ll call the police.”

  “You’ll have to come out here to use the phone.”

  “That won’t be a problem since you’re leaving.”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to bite?”

  “I’d need a rabies shot if you did.”

  He groaned. “Ooo, a low blow.”

  She didn’t say anything. Tro
uble, she reminded herself.

  “And to think, I was going to ask you out to dinner.”

  “Sorry. I have other plans tonight.”

  “What plans?”

  “None of your business.” She heard a rustling sound and stiffened. “Don’t you come near me, Bryce Danvers.”

  Silence.

  “Bryce?” she called warily. Maybe he was leaving. She opened the door another notch.

  Nothing.

  She peeked her head out the door.

  “Boo.”

  She jumped. The brat stood right by the door frame wearing a white polo shirt and tan slacks, looking entirely too good for her peace of mind. “You…You…” She hissed, all the while trying not to gawk. Bryce, without his firesuit, was a sight to behold. The shirt clung to his muscular frame, the white contrasting with his tan and making his eyes stand out even more. She clutched the towel around her more firmly.

  “Are those bruises on your shoulder?”

  She looked down, startled out of her salivating. Bruises? What bruises?

  He walked forward and CJ tensed. Oh gosh, this was bad. This was really, really bad. He smelled like that forest again, and she was in a towel, and he was…oh goodness, he was touching her. Gently, softly touching her shoulder. She closed her eyes, her body thrumming like a guitar string.

  “Did the harness give you those?”

  She nodded, still not trusting herself to look up at him. If she did, she might drop the towel and offer herself to him like Aphrodite on the altar of love.

  “Where else are you bruised?”

  “It feels like everywhere I have skin.”

  “Can I see?”

  She looked up at him, there was a look concern on his face. CJ squelched the stab of disappointment that it wasn’t burning, uncontrollable lust.

  “C’mon, I promise not to hurt you.”

  That was what all men said, but she lowered the towel anyway, not a lot, just so he could check it out, the feel of his eyes on her more erotic than the feel of his fingers.

  “You’re black and blue.”

  Was she? She almost closed her eyes, but the look in his eyes wouldn’t allow her. There was so much tenderness in his gaze, so much genuine concern her heart instantly forgave him for not tossing her over his shoulder, throwing her on the bed, and having his wicked way with her.