One-Click Buy: September Harlequin Blaze

by Jo Leigh

  He didn’t make it good. He made it amazing. By the time he finally sunk all the way into her tight heat, Izzie was whimpering. And by the time he began to lose his mind and thrust wildly, in and out, over and over, she was practically sobbing.

  He thought they were alone in the building. But he couldn’t be sure. “Izzie…,” he said, slowing to ease out of her, to calm them both a little, “…wait.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “I’m not stopping, sweetheart,” he said. Then he stopped. She whimpered, watching him, then realized he was turning her around. “I have to kiss you, Iz,” he murmured.

  She twisted in his arms to face him, twining her arms around his neck and one leg around his waist. Plunging his tongue in her mouth, he tangled it with hers keeping his eyes open so he could stare into her beautiful face. Lifting her back up onto the vanity, he went right back into her, deep and fast, knowing this last stretch would be a quick, pulsing one.

  “Sweet heaven, you amaze me,” she whispered against his mouth as he filled her again.

  “Amazing. Yeah.”

  Those were the only words he could manage. Wanting to be connected with her everywhere, he kissed her again, wrapped his arms tightly around her body and drew her up against him.

  Stroking and thrusting, he rocked into her with every bit of himself, her cries of pleasure echoing sweetly in his ears. And when he finally heard those cries turned into desperate gasps as she climaxed, he let himself go, too, erupting inside her until he was completely empty.

  “HEY HOT STUFF, you’re looking delicious again today.”

  Bridget jerked her head up, blinking the columns of numbers out of her brain as someone stepped into her office Sunday afternoon. She knew it wasn’t Dean…he didn’t speak to her like that, which was good. She wanted him to notice her, wanted him to realize she was interested in him. But she definitely didn’t want a man who’d speak to her so coarsely.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, seeing one of the salesmen standing in the doorway. The guy, Ted, was a middle-aged divorcé with a phlegmy chuckle. He also had what she and her friends in middle school used to call Roman hands and Russian fingers.

  He was grabby. Touchy. But he’d never gone too far beyond pats on her shoulder. She hoped that wasn’t about to change.

  Ted wore his usual ugly striped sports coat over a dingy dress shirt and a red tie. In other words, he looked a mess. Usually, she saw him as a kind of sad guy whose wife had dumped him. He was smarmy and coarse, but had never given her any reason to be wary of him personally. Now, however, goosebumps had prickled her body and tension throbbed in her temple.

  She didn’t like the look in his eye.

  “You dressing like that just for me, hot stuff?” he asked as he sauntered into the office.

  “I think that question would be called sexual harassment,” she said as she stared hard at him, hoping he’d take the warning as a threat and get out now, before he’d gone too far.

  When he smiled and pushed the door shut behind him, she had a sinking feeling he’d already gone too far.

  Damn. She should have left an hour ago. It was four o’clock, an hour after the dealership closed on Sundays. And she had to assume everyone else had gone home. Ted hadn’t been around since this morning. Judging by the whiff of alcohol she caught wafting off him, she figured he’d gone for a long lunch at a local bar.

  Dean, why didn’t you show up? She’d thought for sure he’d be here. He’d worked every weekend since he started. That was the only reason Bridget had come in herself today…to see him!

  It had been for nothing. She’d worn another short, sexy skirt that she’d bought at a cute local clothing store last night. That, with the silky sleeveless shell that draped across her curves invitingly would have been enough to get the man’s temperature rising. And he hadn’t even been here to see it.

  Instead, Ted was. Ick.

  “Girl, you have been hiding your light under a bushel.” He stepped closer. “It’s closing time. Let’s go have some fun.”

  “No, thank you,” she said, her tone icy. She stuffed her paperwork into a drawer. Normally, she’d be more tidy. Today, she was in a hurry. She wanted out of here.

  “Aww, come on, sweetie, I know there’s no man in your life. You must be lonely. Why don’t you let me keep you company?”

  She’d rather keep company with a dead skunk. “No, Ted.”

  Hopefully that firm tone would get the message across and he’d get out of her way and let her leave. But as she stood, Ted stepped between her desk and the door, right in her path. “You know you really want to stay.”

  “No. I really don’t.”

  Trying once again to be like Izzie, she fisted one hand, retrieved her purse, and tried to walk past him.

  He grabbed her arm. “Not even a few minutes conversation?”

  “Not even that,” she insisted, jerking her arm away.

  Her angry tone and the heat in her eyes must have finally gotten through. Because Ted went from stupid drunk trying to score to angry drunk trying to control in one blink of her eyes. Without warning, he put both his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. Bridget stumbled over her own high-heeled sandals, landing on her butt on the edge of her desk.

  “Perfect.” Dropping his hands onto her thighs, he crudely pushed her legs apart and forced his way between them.

  “Let me go!”

  “Not yet, hot stuff.”

  She reached around on the desk behind her, hoping she’d left her scissors or stapler out, but all she managed to grab was a small desk clock. Wrapping her fingers tightly around it, she swung, but only managed a glancing blow to Ted’s shoulder.

  His nostrils flared even as his eyes narrowed in anger. “Playing hard to get?”

  “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

  “Nobody to hear you, pretty thing,” he said, any hint of charm gone from his voice as his true nature emerged.

  Before she could say a thing-or think what to say-Bridget heard something that sounded like an angel. But it was no angel.

  It was Dean Willis. Roaring.

  “Get the hell off her you son of a bitch.”

  Suddenly he was. Ted was lifted off her and tossed to the side of the room. Bridget saw him land hard against the wall and crumple to the floor. He yelped in either fear or pain. Or both.

  He had reason to be afraid. Dean was already reaching for him, his face red, his body emanating danger. “You’re dead.”

  Ted’s bravado when facing her disappeared under this new threat. Before Dean could even grab him, he’d launched himself to his feet and run out the door, leaving the two of them alone. The whole thing-from Ted’s entrance to his speedy departure-had taken place in under three minutes.

  Her head was spinning. Breathing hard and shaking a little, she mumbled, “Thank you so much.”

  Dean swung around to look at her, that blood rage still evident on his face. His blue eyes were like matching chips of ice. He looked as much like a cute, nice-guy car salesman as she looked like Xena the Warrior Princess.

  No. This was not gentle, good-natured Dean. This was a dangerous man in a high fury. And her shivers of fear turned to shivers of excitement.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Still sitting on the desk, she could only shake her head. “He obviously had been drinking. He came back and caught me alone. It’s the first time he’s ever…I mean, he’s a creep, but I never thought he’d…”

  “Maybe if you’d wear clothes that didn’t scream ‘do me’ men wouldn’t try.”

  Bridget’s jaw dropped and she stared at him in shock. “What did you say to me?”

  “Look at you,” he snapped, stepping closer. He pointed to her legs, still splayed open on the desk.

  Bridget tried to jerk them back together, but Dean stepped between them before she could do it. With absolutely no warning, he plunged his
hands into her hair and bent to cover her lips with his. He thrust his tongue in her mouth, tasting her, devouring her. His body was hard against hers, his hips between her thighs, and Bridget couldn’t even try to deny the absolute flood of heat that roared through her in response.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her head to kiss him back just as deeply. And for a long, heady moment, they made crazy, wild love with their mouths.

  Then the moment ended. Dean let her go and staggered back a few steps. “Bridget, I’m…”

  She put her hand up, palm out, to stop him. Sliding off the desk, she straightened her skirt and said, “Don’t. Okay? Just don’t say anything. I wanted that. Maybe I needed it just so I could wash Ted out of my memory. I didn’t exactly jump up there and part my legs-he pushed me.”

  Dean instinctively swung his head to look at the door, that tense rage returning.

  “He’s long gone. Thank you for coming in when you did.”

  He ran both hands through his hair, his anger finally draining away. “I’ll take care of him, Bridget.”

  “Marty will deal with him.” She stepped closer, offering him a tremulous smile. Because now there was no doubt that Dean’s interest in her was one of more than friendship. That kiss-and his body’s hard, instinctive reaction to it-told her he wanted more. Maybe as much as she did. “I guess that makes you my hero, huh?”

  Dean stared at her, his eyes softening, the tension easing. Reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms. But this time, he didn’t attempt to kiss her. His embrace was pure, sweet comfort. He held her tightly, running his hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry. Sorry for what he did…sorry for what I said.”

  “It’s all right. You were angry.” Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him. “I thought it was kinda sexy.”

  For a second-a brief one-she thought he was going to smile back. To laugh, then lower his mouth to hers and kiss her again, gently this time.

  But it didn’t happen. Instead, Dean sighed heavily and his mouth drew tight. “I’m also sorry for kissing you. I should never have done that.”

  “I’ve been wanting you to…”

  He put his hand up to stop her. “Don’t. It was a mistake, Bridget. A big one. And it won’t be repeated.”

  She gasped, unable to believe he was rejecting her. Again.

  “What is your problem?” she asked, completely indignant.

  He just shook his head. “I don’t have a problem. I just can’t…don’t want…hell, Bridget, this just can’t happen.” As if needing to convince himself, as much as her, he reiterated.

  “It won’t happen.”

  10

  WHEN NICK MANAGED to get through another evening at Leather and Lace without watching her dance, Izzie got a little nervous. She didn’t want to ask him about it over the next few nights since they were having such an amazing time doing wildly sensual things to one another. But she couldn’t help wondering.

  On Sunday night, he’d been too busy to watch her dance. Or so he’d claimed. He’d conveniently had to go put out another fire in the club every time she was scheduled to go on.

  Suspicious. She didn’t want to be, but she was.

  He’d said he could handle it…but he wasn’t acting like he even wanted to try.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. In fact, putting herself in his shoes, she’d have to say she’d probably have a major problem with other women looking at her naked man with covetous eyes, thinking of ways they could have that incredible body and handsome face.

  Her man. Her man? Oh, God, had he somehow become her man?

  Sitting in her apartment, she realized that yes, at some point in recent weeks, Nick had become her man.

  Maybe it had been when he’d made love to her in the back of the van. Or when he’d cared for her after she’d fallen in her dressing room. Maybe it was because of his sexy smile and the intimate way he watched her when he thought no one was looking.

  Maybe it was even because of the way she’d felt every single time she’d woken up in his arms.

  Those pre-dawn moments. Yeah. They’d probably done it.

  Because each time it had happened-whether at his apartment, or hers, she’d had to lie there and watch him sleep. Study the line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. Wonder how a man could have such a sensuous mouth and still be so damned tough. Note the small scars on his body, and his tattoo, and grieve for the things he must have gone through as a soldier.

  Yes. In those moments, her heart had opened up. And she’d let him in just as surely as she’d let him in her body.

  There were moments when she allowed herself not to care. To even consider whether they could make this crazy relationship of theirs work. Maybe a masked wedding…the Crimson Rose and the sexy night watchman.

  That was so lame.

  But it was no more crazy to think about than the idea of an official union between Izzie Natale and Nick Santori of Taylor Street.

  “Would that really be so bad?” she whispered. She’d been telling herself it would, but at moments like this, she had a hard time remembering why.

  “I need sugar,” she mumbled as she headed for her kitchen, dying for something sweet. She’d been so good at the bakery and tried to resist temptation, so she never brought any of that stuff home. At moments like these, though, she regretted it.

  Nick had called a while ago, saying he’d be leaving the pizzeria in an hour and would come by. She glanced at her watch, wondering if she had time to run to the corner market. She was so desperate she’d go for a packet of Ho Hos at this point.

  Before she could grab her shoes and dash for something to binge on, her cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID and recognizing the New York City number, she immediately began to smile, now knowing another sure-fire way to escape-at least mentally-from her troubles.

  “V!” she exclaimed as she answered.

  “Girl-friend!” was the reply. “It has been for-evah, where have you been?”

  Plopping down on the sofa, Izzie kicked her feet up and leaned back, so happy to hear a voice from her old life, she wondered if fate had sent Vanessa’s call as some kind of mental gift. Vanessa was a good friend from her Rockette days. The striking, long-legged African American woman had been Izzie’s roommate on the road and the two of them had hit it off from their very first hotel stay, when they’d both decided to call for room service French fries at two in the morning, despite the matron’s orders to go to sleep by eleven o’clock.

  “I’m still in Chicago.”

  “Still doing that bakery thing?” Vanessa asked, sounding completely shocked. “I can’t believe you’ve lasted this long.”

  “Join the club. I sometimes forget I haven’t spent the past seven years with my arms in cookie dough up to my elbows.”

  “How’s your father?

  “Getting better every day, already pestering my mother to let him go back to work.”

  “That’s great. And as soon as he does you can quit.”

  Yes, she could. Why that idea would send a shot of sadness through her, Izzie didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she liked working at the bakery. Even if she had made friends with all the staff, gotten on a first-name basis with their restaurant clients and the regulars who stopped in every day for breakfast.

  Well, maybe she did like it. A little. But certainly not enough to want to stay there permanently.

  Vanessa laughed softly. “And then you can come home. You still thinking of choreographing, or teaching?”

  She had been, though, not as much lately. But she didn’t tell Vanessa that.

  Fortunately, her friend quickly moved on. “You’ve got to come back soon. You are so missing out.” Launching into an explanation of all the things that had been going on-with the Rockettes, and in her personal life, Vanessa soon had Izzie laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. The other woman was a wild on
e, and the ballsiest female she’d ever known.

  The stories were entertaining, particularly when told with Vanessa’s flair. But even as she laughed, Izzie couldn’t help wondering whether her friend was truly happy. She sounded a little…empty. Lonely. Bored.

  Which made Izzie suddenly remember the way she’d been feeling right before she’d hurt her leg.

  Very much the same way.

  All the things Vanessa had been describing were things Izzie had been doing the past few years in New York. She missed none of them. Honestly, all she really missed were her friends and her apartment. The lifestyle she’d already begun to outgrow even before she’d been forced to leave it.

  Going back to it didn’t sound very palatable.

  She shook off that crazy thought-not go back to her life? Insane. Like she had anything better going on here? “So which guy did you shove in the fountain?”

  “The French dude. Pierre from Paris. Only, I think his name was probably really Petey from Poughkepsie or something. He wasn’t French any more than my dry wheat toast was French this morning.” Sighing, her friend added, “Why do men suck so bad?”

  “Not all of them,” she said before thinking better of it.

  Vanessa caught the tone in her voice and leapt on it. “Talk. Who is he? What’s he do? When did you start doing him?”

  Having had no one to truly confide in since she’d been here…about her feelings, her relationship with Nick, even a bit about her sexy weekend job, she found herself spilling all of it to Vanessa. She must have talked for a solid five minutes without letting her friend get a word in. Finally realizing that, she whispered, “You still there?”

  Vanessa murmured, “Oh, honey. This is serious.”

  Yes. It was. Very serious.

  “This Nick, I remember you talking about him.”

  Izzie was afraid of that. Nick had always been-for her-the dream guy she’d never landed.

  Now she’d landed him. She just didn’t know if she was going to get to keep him. Or if he even wanted her to, considering he hadn’t been able to bring himself to watch her dance again at the club.