Playboy Prankster

by Pamela Britton

  “What I’m thinking about is you.”

  “Same thing.”

  “You’re right.”

  She could feel his breath on her face. Her eyes caught on his lips again. Her whole body flared with heat. Once. Just once more, taunted that little voice. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I’m absolutely not going to let this happen.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Because I’ve every intention of making it happen, CJ.”

  Her heart skittered in her chest.

  He stared down at her, his blue eyes so dark they looked black. She let herself drift in that gaze for a moment.

  “So if you want to leave, CJ, I suggest you do it now. The door doesn’t lock from that side.”

  It didn’t? Oh.

  His head began to lower…slowly, oh so slowly. He was giving her time, time to slink away like a chastened puppy. But that hitherto unknown masochistic side promptly refused to budge. It also made her close her eyes, close her eyes and wait for a kiss that never came.

  She peeked through her lashes. His head was still there, he was still staring down at her. She closed her eyes again.

  Still nothing.

  Her eyes popped open. “Have I got a booger hanging off the end of my nose or something?”

  He smiled, that smug smile that made her toes curl. “No, I just wanted you to admit that you want me to kiss you.”

  He must have seen the answer in her face because he smiled, just before jerking her toward him. Their bodies connected; she gasped, a gasp which quickly died as his lips covered hers. He was right, she realized distantly. God, how he was right. She craved his kiss like a dog craved people food.

  His hands found the Velcro opening of her firesuit, pulling it apart with a slow, tantalizing thoroughness that mimicked the job he was doing with that tongue of his. Dang. No wonder men loved their firesuits. Zap, and you were nearly naked. He just about drove her over the edge, especially when he somehow managed to peel her firesuit away in the world’s fastest strip job. Not that she minded.

  “You’re not wearing a bra,” he groaned against her lips.

  She’d never put it back on, the fabric having been filled with cactus spines, but she didn’t tell him that, couldn’t have spoken if she’d wanted to because in the next instant he’d pulled her tank top away, his lips clamping on a nipple just before he suckled one to a hard point.

  She moaned, tilting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. A hand brushed her side, then gently rolled down her stretch pants and undies all in one move. She let him, stepping out of everything all at the same time.

  “Undress me,” he murmured trailing kisses toward her collar bone.

  If he’d told her to light her hair on fire she would have. At that moment she would have done anything for him, even danced naked wearing nothing but a glove on her head. So she stepped back and tugged at the Velcro of his firesuit, pulling the suit down to expose first his shoulders, then his darkly matted chest. When she reached his hips she hesitated a moment. He was hard for her, she could see that…Helen Keller could see that.

  “Take it off.”

  She pulled the suit down lower until at last he was exposed. She closed her eyes and let him stroke her, wrapping her arms around his waist, content just to let him hold her. Then suddenly her skin began to tingle. Her body hummed.

  She nuzzled his chest, inhaling his musky odor. He smelled like one of those pine-shaped car deodorants. She loved it, loved the way his hairy chest tickled her nose and made her want to sneeze. She found the tip of his nipple, he groaned when she lightly nipped him, then licked a circle around it.

  “Damn, CJ, you could make the Tin Man cry with that tongue of yours.”

  She leaned back, looking into his blue, blue eyes, surrendering to the magic in them. “Kiss me, Bryce.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice.

  He tasted sweet, like he’d been nibbling on the lime jelly beans she’d spotted on the desk. He angled his head to deepen the kiss.

  She let her hands explore the contours of his back, let her body drift even closer.

  He pressed her toward the couch, following her down, his hands caressing her breast in slow, sinuous patterns, and still he teased her lips with his own. His tongue brought her alive in a way she’d ever dreamed of.

  When she drew back, their lips hovered an inch apart.

  “CJ,” he whispered, his breath wafting over her face. He nuzzled her nose with his, then her cheek, his blue eyes staring into hers with a kind of wonderment. “Do you know what you do to me?”

  She could feel what she did to him pressing against her left thigh. “I’d have to’ve been born without any nerve endings not to feel what I do to you.”

  He smiled, that sexy mouth of his dipping closer, “Let me show you what you do to me.”

  He shifted, his body fully covering hers. CJ closed her eyes and sighed. Her right leg dropped off the edge of the couch. His hand drifted to her side, then her hip, hovering over that part of her which craved his touch most. She arched toward him, pleading without words for his caress. He gave it to her, oh boy did he give it to her. Those magic fingers of his stroked, then fondled, then slowly delved deep inside her. She just about blew a fuse.

  “Bryce, please.”

  She wanted more; she wanted all of him.

  He must have understood because he shifted and then she could feel the pulsing heat of him at her opening.

  “Yes,” she cried as he sank partially into her. She cried out again. And yet, still, she wanted more…wanted all of him. Her hands dug into his shoulder blades. She pressed closer, squeezed harder, demanding that he give her everything and more. He slid in only a little deeper.

  Not deep enough.

  “Bryce,” she cried out in frustration. Her short nails dug into his back.

  “Hold on, CJ.”

  “I don’t want to hold on.”

  He chuckled, a gentle puff of laughter that drifted across her sensitized skin. He nuzzled her neck, his mouth trailing a path back to hers. “Patience,” he whispered.

  Slowly, he sank into her another millimeter, then withdrew before sinking another millimeter. “Bryce,” she warned. He was tormenting her. The schmuck.

  He kissed her, cutting off her words and for a moment she was content to let their breaths mingle as one, to lap at the moist sweetness of his mouth. Then he moved against her and the ache between her legs turned into full-blown need.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered as he buried himself to the hilt.

  “Yes,” she cried out. “Oh yes.”

  “How’s this?” he asked, withdrawing, then plunging back in.

  “Better.”

  “And this?”

  “Get…getting warmer.”

  “What about this?”

  Her head thunked against the wall. “You’re getting…warmer.”

  She hardly noticed. Her brains were splattered like an upside down pizza. She braced her hands against the wall for the next one. “Ahh, now you’re hot.”

  He found a rhythm, rocking in and out of her again and again. She locked her ankles around him and cried out.

  Hard and fast.

  Hot and wild.

  She opened. He gave.

  Harder and harder he thrust, her cries matching their rhythm. A pressure began to build and build and build. She shuddered, and then suddenly her whole body rocked with an orgasm. Hell, the whole transporter rocked. People in the next hauler probably rocked.

  “CJ,” Bryce gasped as he gained his own release.

  “I know. I know,” she panted with him.

  For a long time they just held each other. She could feel the frantic beat of his heart against her pancaked breasts. Slowly her breathing returned to normal, but it was Bryce who spoke first.

  “Wow,” was all he said.

  That summed it up.

  Wow.

&
nbsp; Double wow.

  Double damn wow. His tongue stroked the shell of her ear. Her body goose pimpled in response. “I can’t wait to make love to you in a bed.”

  “A bed. What’s that?”

  He chuckled, whispering, “You’ll find out.”

  Would she? Was there a future for them? Deanna’s words rang in her ear. Just go for it, Ceej.

  But she didn’t know if she could. The sad truth was when it came right down to it she was a coward. A pure, unadulterated, lily-livered coward. Sure the sex was great…all right, better than great. But that’s all it was: sex. She just didn’t know if she could trust him not to hurt her. Come on, Ceej, be honest. You’re deathly afraid once the sex haze wears off he’ll see you as you really are; plain, overweight CJ Randall.

  He shifted. “We should be leaving.”

  She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want reality to intrude. She wanted to stay with him all day and have hot, wild sex.

  “Oh, so now that you’ve gotten what you want it’s sayonara, baby?” she murmured half-jokingly, half serious.

  He laughed. “No.”

  Man, she loved that laugh. Loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corner. Loved the way his whole face seemed to light up.

  She could so easily fall in love with him.

  CJ flinched, almost as if the realization had come out of nowhere and smacked her in the head. Abruptly, she stiffened.

  “CJ, what is it?”

  She pulled out of his arms, swiveling to sit on the edge of the couch. Oh, man, no.

  “CJ?” he said, sitting up next to her.

  No. No. No. No. No.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She wanted to fall in love with him. To dive in with both feet. To sink beneath the surface…even if it meant drowning at the end.

  “Honey, you’re scaring me.”

  She looked at him and just about keeled over in terror. “It’s, ahh, nothing. Just a pain in my, err, my, ahh, foot.”

  “Your, err, ahh foot?”

  She nodded. Her world felt as if it’d suddenly flipped upside down. What an idiot. How could she have allowed herself to dream, even to think for one moment that things could get serious between them? Easy, mused that little voice inside her head. You never stood a chance.

  “Want me to rub it for you?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

  No, she couldn’t let him touch her. If she did she might grab him by the gonads and convince him to rub something else. She shivered and got up, pretending to limp as she picked up her firesuit. The air-conditioning in the transporter suddenly kicked on, the perfect excuse to pull on her clothes. “I’m fine, Bryce. It must have been a cramp, but it’s, ahh, it’s gone now.”

  Escape. She needed to escape.

  “Are you sure you should be standing on it?” he asked as he pulled on his own clothes.

  She looked at him.

  And just about ran from the room right then. Oh, heavens, he looked so handsome. So concerned. So damn lovable.

  “CJ?”

  “I think I need to walk on it.” She pushed on her shoes, ran a hand through her tangled hair and turned for the door.

  “CJ, don’t go yet. We need to talk.”

  About what? About which condo he’d set her up in? No, thank you.

  “We’ll talk later,” she said in dismissal, checking to make sure he was dressed before opening the door.

  Two of Nick’s crew members stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  CJ stared at them, aghast, all sorts of emotions surging through her. Embarrassment. Anger, and a sudden desperate need to be in Kansas. Had they been listening at the door? Yes. Yes, they had. She could tell by the smirks on their faces.

  It seemed as if an oven door had been left open, her face burned so hot. One of the men was the same man who’d made the helicopter jibe. Without another word she pushed past them and exited the transporter like a woman whose pink pumps were on fire.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “And so what happened next?” Deanna asked the following Monday morning.

  They were sitting in CJ’s office, the glass windows behind her desk nearly blinding her after her attempt at drowning herself in a jug of margarita mix the night before. She had a headache, a brain-pounding, mind-numbing headache. Even her teeth throbbed.

  “CJ?” Deanna asked, the brown eyes that matched her ebony skin staring at her in curiosity…and concern.

  She looked up, the movement causing a sharp stab of pain to lance through her head. The black woman’s face was filled with concern, her shoulder-length dark hair pulled back. “I just left, Deanna…ran away…hit the high road…hasta la vista, bab—”

  “I get the picture,” Deanna interrupted, holding up her hand. “Jeez, girl, I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Believe it,” CJ said, resting her forehead on her arms and sending a piece of paper flying off her desk and onto the carpet.

  “But why? You had it goin’ with one of America’s top ten hunks. I can’t believe you messed it all up like that.”

  “Yeah, well, believe it.” CJ peeked up from her arms, blowing a hank of hair out of her eyes.

  Deanna frowned. “You should call him.”

  “No way. I got out while there was still an outside chance I’d survive.”

  “That’s why your eyes are all puffy like you’ve been crying?”

  “Crying?” CJ asked, straightening and leaning back in her chair. “I haven’t been crying.”

  All right, so maybe she’d cried a little, but only because she knew she was dreaming if she thought Bryce could be serious about a woman like her. And maybe she’d been a little upset because she just knew Miles was going to fire her. And when Saturday had blended into Sunday and Bryce hadn’t called, she’d cried a little more. Sure she hadn’t given him her phone number, but he could get it somehow. He could’ve, but he hadn’t. So it was a good thing she’d left when she had. This way her heart didn’t get broken. Not completely anyway.

  Already is, Ceej, murmured that little voice. Because the truth of the matter was, she might have let herself care for Bryce a little more than she’d originally thought.

  “Shut up,” she told it right back.

  “Don’t tell me to shut up, girl. I’m just trying to warn you.”

  CJ refocused on her friend. “Huh?”

  “I said, Miles is here, and he’s got that smug little smile on his face. God, I hate that damned smile.” Deanna stared out the window behind CJ’s desk overlooking the parking lot. “Maybe you’re right about getting fired, ’cause I doubt the man got laid, and I can’t think of another reason for him to be grinnin’ like that.”

  CJ groaned. Miles here? Before nine? Amazing. She straightened in her chair and swiveled around. Sure enough, there he was. Her lip curled. It was simply not fair that men grew more handsome as they got older. Miles managed to look the quintessential yuppie with his frosted blond hair, gray Versace suit (with a pink silk shirt beneath, no less), and Prada shoes. He stepped away from his cherry red BMW, clicked the arming button on his alarm, and headed for the entrance of the building. She turned back to Deanna.

  “I guess it’s time to beard the lion in his den,” her friend said.

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “Buck up, kid. Maybe you’ll get to tell Miles to piss off.” With an encouraging smile, Deanna turned and left.

  CJ watched her go. She would miss working with Deanna. Maybe she could convince her to quit too. Maybe they could both have a career in food services.

  “Celia,” Miles barked through her intercom five minutes later. “In my office. Now.”

  CJ stared at the intercom, “In my office now,” she mimicked his words. She gritted her teeth. Despite facing a future of poverty, she heartily looked forward to not having to put up with any more of Miles’s bull.

  Squaring her shoulders she headed toward the worm’s office, aware every eye was on her when she entered the common area.

  “Close t
he door,” Miles snapped when she entered the shrine to his journalistic accomplishments, most of which he’d swiped from other people.

  She glanced around, trying to hide her revulsion as she eyed the wall of certificates on her left. That in itself wouldn’t be so bad except he’d also erected shelves to her right; on those stood crystal phallic symbols—awards he’d garnered over the years—as well as framed magazine covers for all the publications he’d worked for. It was pretension at its worse.

  “Good morning to you too, Miles.”

  He stood behind the tennis-court-sized desk, flipping through his mail and ignoring her. She recognized the ploy. He’d used it on more than one occasion. It wouldn’t work. She took the opportunity to study him.

  She supposed he’d had every reason to think she’d welcome his advances. She knew other women in the office did. It wasn’t fair. Women aged like grapes, getting all dried up and shriveled after they put on forty pounds. Men aged like wine; getting better and better.

  “Sit down,” he finally deigned to say. “Or are you afraid that skirt of yours might split?”

  He was referring to the black mini-skirt she’d bought this weekend in a fit of depression. Personally she’d thought the garment combined with her double-breasted, black jacket, and white silk blouse looked kind of cute. Leave it to Miles to say something snide.

  And for the first time since going to work for him, CJ felt confident enough to say what she thought. Why not? It appeared she was about to get fired, anyway. “I wouldn’t worry, Miles. If something splits, the thong I’m wearing covers the important parts.”

  His lip curled. “Thanks for sharing.”

  “Just thought you’d like to know. By the way, from the…ah, looks of things, I bet you’re able to wear a postage stamp to cover your private parts.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Still trying to lose that twenty pounds, Celia?”

  “At least I’m not afraid of Crazy Glue.”

  Direct hit. He stiffened, his hands clenching around his mail. “How’d you hear about that?”

  She shrugged. “Who in this office hasn’t?”

  That was news to him. She could tell by the way he held himself erect. It took him a moment to regain his composure, his jaw clenching a few times before he said, “I didn’t invite you in here to trade insults.”