And Holy Mary Mother of Ginger, it better not be the last.
She looked at him and he looked at her because they’d arrived at the moment. In any relationship, there was always the moment, a moment when a couple continued down the road together or took different paths, ate their sushi and said good-night.
The room was totally silent, except for a sizzle as one of the floating candles burned itself out.
This moment was going on too damn long. Jordan’s muscles clenched with the effort of holding himself still. Somebody had to take the next step, or make it absolutely clear that she wanted somebody else to take it.
Maybe somebody should indicate that he was more than willing to start things off. Jordan unbuttoned a fifth button, allowing his shirt to gape open.
Lia’s attention caught and held.
Jordan wasn’t falsely modest. He knew he looked good, but she checked him out so thoroughly, he began to feel objectified. Which, she would be surprised to learn, was not uncommon.
Women saw an image. They rarely saw him. But Lia had never seen the image. What’s more, Jordan believed Lia wouldn’t ever confuse the two. It made sense—her whole job was all about image.
A half smile quivered as she unbuttoned her fifth button. “I’m not dressed for this,” she whispered, releasing the edges of her shirt.
“Oh, yes, you are.” Jordan’s voice sounded deep even to him.
He reached for her, one hand skimming around her neck to support the back of her head and the other boldly sliding beneath her shirt to cup her breast.
Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed faintly.
He held her for a few moments, enjoying the weight of her breast in his hand, giving her a chance to pull away. When she didn’t, he traced the inner curve with his thumb, brushing his fingers over her smooth skin. Stroking. Sensitizing.
“Ohh.” This time it was a sigh.
Holding his gaze, Lia slid one hand behind his neck and the other beneath his shirt, splaying her fingers over his pecs, copying his position.
Could she feel his heart pound? Surely it was about to jump into her palm.
Then she brushed her thumb back and forth across his nipple.
Jordan smiled. The fingers of his left hand were callused from years of playing the guitar. What they’d lost in sensitivity, women gained in pleasure.
Lia had no idea what she was in for.
Her breathing had quickened in anticipation. He felt her nipple harden in his palm even before he duplicated her actions with his thumb.
Her breath hitched and her fingers spasmed against his chest, her nails digging into his skin.
He wasn’t going to mirror that.
Instead, he circled and stroked, plucked and tweaked, working magic with his music-roughened fingers.
Lia’s hand stilled as her eyes closed and her head fell back. Jordan bent forward and kissed the side of her neck, nuzzling his way across her jaw.
She made a tiny sound and bit her bottom lip.
Jordan started to ease her down onto the pillows.
“Wait.” Lia’s eyelids drifted open as she drew her other hand to his chest. Smoothing her palms across his skin, tracing his muscles, she whispered, “Nice.”
Jordan inhaled when her warm breath tickled across his skin.
Lia stopped and blinked up at him. “I felt your heart beat faster.”
“Yeah.”
“I did that?”
He nodded.
“Because I’m touching your chest?”
“Because you’re you.”
AND HE MEANT IT. He had to. A man couldn’t deliver a slick line with his heart beating like that, could he?
Lia stared into J.C.’s eyes and saw no guile, no fake anything. She’d never seen fake anything from him.
His hands had dropped away when she’d spoken, and now she noticed he’d clenched them into fists.
He wanted her. A lot.
And she wanted him. A lot.
Moving her hands sideways, she parted the shirt and slid it off his shoulders, down his arms, all the way to those clenched fists.
Shrugging out of the shirt, he reached for her and did the same.
“Very nice,” he whispered.
“And now my heart’s pounding.” Swallowing, she reached for his hand and placed it near her heart.
“It is pounding.”
Truthfully, part of the beating was due to a touch of nerves. “By the way, please feel free to take the lead from here. I…I’ve read all these power articles on women asking for what they want…but there haven’t been any on what to do when they get it.”
J.C. gave her a slow smile that sent a whoosh of tingles shooting through her. “They enjoy it.”
His voice sent molten warmth after the tingles. She felt as though her blood had turned into fizzy hot chocolate.
And all this was before he positioned them amid the silky pillows and took her mouth in a deep kiss.
This kiss was even better than the one before, and she’d thought about that one so much, she’d been afraid she’d exaggerated the memory and nothing would live up to it.
Surrounded by his warmth and scent, she savored the feel of his skin against hers. His hand splayed against her back, holding her close, but not crushing her against him.
And then he hummed softly, the deep sound rippling through her. Her nipples tightened instantly and she rubbed them against his chest as she drew his tongue deeper into her mouth. He stroked a rhythm that had her desperate to get closer.
He shifted and she realized that her fingers were claws on his shoulders, clutching at him so he wouldn’t move away. She unclenched them and rubbed at the places where they’d dug into him.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“About what?” he whispered back, and then continued kissing her so she couldn’t answer.
When they finally did come up for air, Lia was pretty much incoherent, but not so incoherent that she was unaware of her responsibilities.
“The door,” she gasped.
“I locked it while you were changing.” He kissed her nose and curled his hand around her breast.
Ooh. “And…and…we need to be responsible…”
He drew back so she could focus on his face. “I have little packets of responsibility hidden in several convenient corners. I hope you weren’t talking about any more responsibility than that.”
She shook her head. “You know, you can seduce a woman with just your voice. When you speak, I can almost feel the sound touch me,” she said dreamily.
He unbuttoned her tux pants. “I’m planning to touch you with more than my voice.”
“Yeah. You’re going to play me like a violin.”
“That would be guitar.” J.C. raised his eyes to hers, but didn’t stop easing her legs out of her pants and underwear. “I’m going to strum your strings, feather your frets and cross your bridge.”
Lia was almost distracted enough by what he was saying to forget that she was now naked on the floor of a men’s dressing room.
With a man.
Who was not naked. She reached for his waistband, but he moved away.
“Not yet. I want to get the feel of the instrument before I start playing.” J.C. ran one hand down the length of her, starting at her shoulder, dipping in at her waist, his gaze following as his hand climbed over her hip and down her flanks until he stopped at her toes.
Lia was struggling to maintain a relaxed pose against the pillows when she was anything but. She wasn’t used to such frank appreciation, of being examined as though he’d unwrapped a present and discovered his heart’s desire inside.
J.C. touched her foot and she flinched. “Lia, you are strung way too tight.”
“I know.”
He bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead, her nose, her chin, her throat, the valley between her breasts and her stomach. He hummed against her belly button and she laughed even as she felt the vibrations deep within. “What are you doing?”
“Loosening your strings.” J.C. hooked an arm beneath her knees and lifted her legs. Stroking her thighs with one hand, he reached for something with the other.
What? He was going for the responsibility already? Lia propped herself up on her elbows in time to see him holding a piece of ginger. “You’re stopping for snacks?”
Smiling devilishly, he brushed the ginger over his lips before eating it and she understood what he had in mind.
No way. Not with the ginger.
J.C. scooted down and parted her knees.
Maybe they should talk about this. Did he know what he was doing?
He did.
At the first touch of his tongue against the juncture of her thighs, she squeaked and immediately clasped her hands over her mouth.
J.C. lifted his head. “You’re okay?”
Actually, Lia was a little shocked. “Fine,” she managed to say in a high, breathy voice.
“The ginger isn’t stinging, is it?”
“I can’t even feel…” Lia became aware of a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “Oh.”
“Is that a good oh or a bad oh?”
A few tingles joined the growing warmth. “Ooooh.” Lia sank back onto the pillows. “I knew I liked pickled ginger.”
He chuckled and she felt his tongue on her once more, stroking, spreading the tingling warmth.
Lia clutched the pillows as a kaleidoscope of sensations rushed at her. And they were excellent sensations, sensations that she’d never, ever, ever felt before, sensations that set a new bar for sensations.
J.C. not only didn’t need a road map, he discovered previously hidden detours. Lia twisted, trying to get closer and farther away at the same time. The warmth exaggerated every stroke of his tongue. It was too much.
But J.C. slid one arm beneath her hips to hold her more firmly against him and the other hand up her abdomen to fondle her breast.
Lia whimpered. Whimpered. No man had ever made her whimper before. No man had ever taken her this far, this fast before. She drew a deep breath, trying to slow down. J.C. was the dream lover every woman wanted at least once in her life and Lia wanted her once for as long as possible.
Though she tried to resist, Lia was swept along in a sensual tide. She buried her fingers in his hair and then he hummed, the vibrations detonating a series of erotic explosions within her.
Omigawdomigawdomigawdomigawwwwwwwwwd…She may have squealed that out loud. She didn’t care. J.C. lightly held her as little tremors continued to ripple through her.
Wow. Just…wow.
She lay there panting and limp as J.C. drew himself alongside her and wrapped her in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say.
“Why?”
“I intended…I wanted it to last longer.”
He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “We’re not finished.”
“I don’t…can’t…Once is usually it for me,” she admitted regretfully. And it was regretfully. “I mean…I haven’t forgotten I owe you, but I’m pretty much done for the evening.”
He tilted her chin until she was looking at him. “You are not done. That was just a startergasm.”
She laughed unwillingly. “Maybe that’s what it was supposed to be, but I’m telling you, it was the big O for me.” Mindful of the etiquette here, Lia rolled to her side and unfastened his waistband. “And I’m very grateful.”
“Grateful?” J.C. looked insulted. “Woman, you’re supposed to be an exhausted, quivering lump of bliss. What is the matter with the men in this part of Texas?” J.C. lifted his hips and helped her slide off his tux pants, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts printed with guitars, treble clefs and musical notes.
Not what she expected. Lia raised her eyebrows.
J.C. grinned. “I have a collection.”
“Your hobby is collecting tacky underwear?”
“People give them to me. It started as a joke and now it’s my thing. It brings in big bucks at charity auctions.”
“That’s…interesting.”
“And obviously a mood killer.” He whipped the boxers off and tossed them over her head. “Better?”
“So much better.”
He was one good-looking man. Which he knew, but wasn’t obnoxious about. “Someone should burn all your underwear. In fact, you should never wear clothes. It would be a public service to women everywhere.”
“I don’t care about women everywhere. I care about you.” He gestured. “Do you like the way I look?”
As if he really expected her to deny it. “That’s a lotta look.”
He gave a crack of laughter and rolled her beneath him. Lia stared up into his blue eyes with the crinkles around them and the passion in them and felt a pang near her heart. She liked him way too much to walk away without getting hurt. So she’d deal with it. Later. Now she’d stay in the moment, especially since the moment involved J.C. saying, “You are beautiful,” in his rumbly voice and lowering his mouth to her breast.
As his hands moved over her, Lia was astonished to feel herself respond. She reached for him, but he caught her hand and put it over his shoulder. Her breath was already coming in gasps. He licked and hummed. She groaned and squirmed. And incredibly, she felt her excitement building again.
“J.C.! I—I—” She didn’t even know what she wanted to say.
“Let yourself go, Lia,” he murmured.
“Not by myself!” She wrapped her legs around his waist.
He stared down at her, his face strained. “It’ll be better if you wait—”
“I’m not waiting.” Her hand closed around him and he inhaled sharply.
“Lia,” he breathed and slid into her just before she climaxed.
His strokes prolonged her pleasure and she was still trembling when he shuddered against her.
“Thank you,” she whispered next to his ear.
He raised his head and brushed her hair away from her face. “Don’t be so quick to thank me,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You’re not an exhausted, quivering lump of bliss yet.”
She laughed weakly. “How do you know? I’m feeling pretty blissful.”
His dimple appeared. “’Cause you’re still talking.”
And later, after they ate the sushi, and talked, and finished the wine, and Lia was ready to collapse, J.C. played her body in an encore…that left her completely and blissfully unstrung.
8
J.C.’S CELL-PHONE ALARM woke them and it was a good thing he’d set it. They had to clean and vacate the dressing room before William opened the shop.
Lia had a sex hangover. Her first. And the mirrored walls let her know just how bad she looked.
J.C. just looked attractively tousled.
“Stop looking at yourself in the mirror.” J.C. dropped his arms around her from behind.
She groaned and covered her face with her hands.
“Now see, you think you look bad. Me, I look at you and feel plenty pleased with myself.”
Lia slid her hands down her cheeks. “You’re entitled,” she mumbled ungraciously.
Without looking at him, she shrugged off his arms and reached for her discarded tux jacket. “I’ll get changed and come back and help you clean up.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He watched her. “If you take the dress and nightgown back to the salon, that’ll be enough.”
Lia nodded, finally meeting his eyes as they stood. “You’re leaving soon.”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” He smiled faintly. “You know that young couple?”
“With the bride in the borrowed sample dress? Oh, yes.”
“I’m going to sing for their wedding first. It’s at two o’clock in the gazebo at the park. I’d like you to come hear me.”
Her eyes widened.
For the first time, she saw a hint of anger in his. “Don’t worry. I’ve sung at my fair share of weddings.”
Lia nodded. “I’m sure you’ll d
o fine. I…I think I’d like to say our goodbyes now.” Because she was going to be pretty weepy this afternoon.
“Lia, I want to talk to you.”
She held up her hand. “Don’t waste time telling me what I already know.”
“I don’t want to leave, but I have to get back to Nashville,” he said in the deep voice she’d never forget.
“J.C., please don’t say anything.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Just give me a goodbye kiss to remember.”
LIA HAD ABSOLUTELY no intention of going to that wedding, but here she was, on the edge of a crowd by the gazebo. She wasn’t even going to lie to herself that she was there to keep an eye on the borrowed dress. She wanted to hear J.C. sing. Really sing, not the quiet snatches she’d heard through the dressing-room wall. If she was going to lose him to his dream of making it as a singer, she wanted to know that it was worth the bruises on her heart.
The crowd kept growing and, frankly, some of these people weren’t wedding guests. And there was a buzz in the air, a sense of excitement that seemed odd for a simple wedding in the park.
At least the people quieted when the wedding party appeared, but there was an actual ripple of applause when J.C., carrying his guitar, climbed the steps of the gazebo.
The sun gleamed on his blond-streaked hair and flashed as he pulled his guitar into position. And then he began to sing and Lia closed her eyes as the deep voice stirred intimate memories.
He sang “Ave Maria,” bringing tears to her eyes. Okay, so she’d underestimated his singing ability. Seriously underestimated it.
When the ceremony ended, he sang “The Angel in My Heart.” Lia recognized the song and it was such a perfect match for his voice, it almost sounded like the recording.
She heard women sighing around her and indulged in a moment of smugness.
The bride and groom refused to leave until J.C. sang another song.
That’s when he sang “Butterfly.” It was all about life changes and wedding-dress cocoons, just the way he’d said it was. The song was beautiful and she wanted to cry, but not because it was so beautiful. She wanted to cry because she’d tried so hard not to fall for him, but she had anyway. She wanted to cry because they could have had one more night together, but she hadn’t answered the phone when he’d called. She’d been afraid that she’d embarrass herself by asking him to stay in Rocky Falls and work at Tuxedo Park.
Undressed Page 7
