by Lyric James
“They were so sure I’d find a job with one of the top papers in the country. Hell, even I’d been sure, but when it didn’t happen… I needed out of their house, out of their sight. A college friend lived here so I decided to come for a visit. As soon as I arrived, I grabbed a few papers from a newsstand and started applying for any job I could get. There was no way I was going back to my parents’ house.”
She took a breath and forked in a couple mouthfuls of spaghetti and paused to chew. “This is really good.” She hunched her shoulders and said, “The Tattler was the first to offer me a job, so I took it.”
“Now you’re one of their star reporters. I guess that means you’re very good at your job.” When he said it, the edge in his voice didn’t sound like a compliment.
“I’m guessing the reason you’ve never done an interview is because you don’t like reporters.”
This time, he looked her square in the eyes. “Your guess would be correct.”
The expression on his face revealed a feeling that went much further south than mere dislike. It teetered on loathing. For some reason, that hit her hard in her chest. Fundamentally, that meant he didn’t like her and never would. So what if she harbored a secret wish that when the night was over he’d want to see her again?
Well, so be it. She wasn’t here for him to like her. She was here to get a story and a story she would get.
“Did you always want to be a reporter?”
The question surprised her. She expected he was asking to keep her from inquiring about him. When she stared at him for a second, she saw genuine interest on his face.
“No, actually, I didn’t. I had dreams of being a writer. I won a writing competition when I was in high school and after I did, I knew I was going to be the next Nora Roberts or Janet Evanovich. But when I expressed that desire to my parents, they balked. Writing wasn’t a career, it was a hobby, they said. I thought I had picked the next best thing.”
“But working for the Tattler wasn’t exactly your dream job?”
“Um…no. After a few months, I found I was pretty good at it though.”
“You gave up your dreams to suit your parents and didn’t even end up with the job you wanted.”
Layla scowled at him. “They were paying the bills at the time. I had no choice.”
“What about after that? After you were grown and living on your own. Why didn’t you pursue your dream then?”
She wouldn’t dare tell him that a finished manuscript sat in a drawer collecting dust because she feared rejection. She’d already proven she wasn’t good enough for the biggest newspapers in the country. Why in the world would she think she was good enough to publish a book? Layla had had enough rejection to last a lifetime.
“I grew up.”
“No, you gave up.”
Chapter Five
After she finished eating, Layla took her plate to the sink, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. She was neither a cook nor a cleaner but she knew how to put the soap in the right compartment and push start.
“I’ve answered some of your questions, how about you answer some of mine now?” she said after she turned around to face him. But when she did, he was right there again, too close to her, screwing up her equilibrium. The man had a raw sexuality that made hers kick into overdrive.
In a low, husky voice, he drawled, “But we haven’t had dessert.” The immediate change in the pitch of his tone was enormously arousing and she felt it all the way to her toes.
She placed her fingers over her belly, which zinged with nervous flutters. Layla was stuffed but when Jordan pulled the plate of cinnamon rolls he’d covered with icing forward, her mouth watered.
“I hope you have a gym somewhere in this place because after that mouthwatering spaghetti and now those, I’m going to need to run about two hours on the treadmill.”
When his gaze slid down and back up again, she tugged on the T-shirt he’d given her. He smiled with a definite dash of wicked intent, which caused a dimple to wink in his left cheek. And then he leaned forward, brushing his slightly rough jaw against the soft skin of her cheek, which made her shiver.
“I don’t think you need a gym at all. I haven’t forgotten our bath together. Your body is perfect in every single way.” He picked up one of the sweet, decadent treats and started to bring it to his mouth then stopped. Instead, he brought it to hers. “Open up.”
She complied. It was still hot and smelled heavenly and the icing dripped from the sides onto his fingers. When she bit down, she couldn’t help but close her eyes, it tasted so delicious. She’d never experienced something so divine.
“Another family recipe, I’m guessing?”
He nodded. “A great-grandmother.”
Wow. Sexy, smart, rich and he could cook. She’d died and gone to heaven. He was the perfect man.
Well, except for that whole phoenix thing, which reminded her she still hadn’t asked him one thing. “You didn’t answer my questions.”
A dribble of sauce dripped down her chin and she reached up to swipe it away. She was about to stick her finger in her mouth when he stopped her, took the digit and slid it between his lips instead. Every hormone in her body took notice and a fluttering surge of desire caught her in a tight fist.
He brought the roll up to his mouth and took a bite directly over the spot where she’d bitten. “You said you wanted me to answer some but you didn’t actually ask me anything.”
“Oh,” was all she could manage. “Well…”
Jordan tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “You really should take this off.”
Damn, he was distracting her and dang it almighty, she was loath to stop him. “Why?”
Swirling his finger around the cinnamon roll, he trailed some of the gooey, sweet substance onto the tip, dipped it in the hollow of her throat and moved downward. “Because I just thought of several places I could put this.”
He leaned forward and licked the sugary goo off her skin. A deep shiver went down her spine as his tongue, his warm breath, moved over her. Relentless, his lips traveled to her earlobe and tugged, then down the side of her neck where he bit and nipped.
Layla let a whimper escape and grasped him around his head. She didn’t know what happened to their dessert, because he pressed her breasts inward until they met and his thumbs rubbed circles around each nipple through the thin shirt.
“This has to come off,” he said, and slid lower until he took the shirt and lifted it up and over her head, leaving her completely naked.
She felt the full, impressive length of him through the thin cotton of his pajama pants. He circled her waist, lifted her and set her on the cool granite countertop.
With a growl, he picked up another cinnamon roll, removed the glaze and rubbed the substance over her breasts. She gasped when his mouth swooped down to her nipples. His lips closed over one and the delicious suction was almost too much for her to take. If she were standing, her legs would be shaking uncontrollably.
While he suckled, she felt his fingers skim over the curves of her legs, over her thighs, down to her calf muscles and back up again. She opened her legs wider, trying to force him to touch places that clamored for his attention even worse but he ignored her, focusing on her breasts with the fascination of a man who’d never seen them before.
Layla wanted him gloriously inside her. She wanted to be taken, roughly, fully, right in his gourmet kitchen. She squirmed. “Now.”
“Not yet.”
She blew out a huff and kicked her foot against one of the lower cabinets. Fine then. Since he wanted to take his own sweet time, she knew a way to make him hurry up.
The counter was low enough and he was tall enough for her to reach inside his pants. She delved down and made a fist around his cock. He groaned but didn’t stop the exquisite torture he was causing with his mouth.
Layla moved her palm along the full, solid length of him. She squeezed and stroked him. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she needed t
o keep some level of control, couldn’t lose herself to him again, because if she did he’d own her heart forever.
Everything he was doing, every touch, every whisk of his tongue, drove her closer and closer to the edge of something, somewhere she was afraid to go.
She continued stroking him and he rocked to meet her touch. She kept her fingers busy, exploring him, fondling his huge sac, her every intent to take him right over the edge with her.
He yanked away from her breasts on a groan, pulled her hands free, surged toward her lips but stopped mere inches from her face. When she leaned forward and licked a trail over his mouth, he moved again to her neck.
She was hungry for him. “Kiss me.”
“I’ll kiss something else instead.” And lowered himself to the floor.
When he reached out, parted her folds and zeroed in on the sensitive nub of her clit, she forgot all about kissing him. He plucked and tugged at her and rolled his lips around her before plunging deep.
An animal moan she didn’t know she could make escaped. She surged forward, arched to meet him, riding the waves of pleasure. Before the swell hit, he was up again, pulling her to the floor and turning her around.
Bending her over the counter, he thrust hard and deep, grunting with the effort as her nipples rubbed against the chilly texture of the granite. He gripped and lifted her, driving into her, her clit moving over the round handle of the lower drawer. The pressure of it coupled with each thrust ratcheted the pleasure so high, she thought she’d never come down.
Their images shimmered in each square glass tile on the wall. For some reason, she saw her expression in one square, his in the other. But as he caught her gaze, they seemed to meld into one, the rapture she felt mirrored in his face. She closed her eyes, unable to fathom the possessiveness she experienced because of his touch.
How could he be so in tune with what her body wanted and needed when he didn’t even know her? Every time she thought it, he did it. The man was an expert at knowing when to touch, how to kiss, where to caress and how much pressure he delivered to her heated skin. She could become addicted to this if she wasn’t careful. He could become her weakness.
As her orgasm crested, Jordan let out a cry of release as he came, gripping her hips. He shuddered against her, his damp forehead pressed to the middle of her back, her cheek flat on the cold surface of the counter.
The only sounds in the room were their labored breathing and the gentle ticktock of the clock on the wall. He pulled her up, moved her hair to the side and placed a quick kiss on her shoulder. He shifted her around, grabbed the shirt off the floor and pulled it back over her head.
“Where’d you park your car?”
Her gaze swung up to his. “What?”
“I know you didn’t park your car in the drive. Where’s your car?”
Her stomach dropped. How could he switch himself off like that? Like nothing had happened between them?
“On the street. A couple houses down. It’s a black Honda,” she murmured.
He bent over, stuck his leg back in the pants of his pajamas and pulled them up. “I’ll go get it and park it in front of the garage. Where are your keys?”
Layla hunched her shoulders. “Somewhere upstairs with my clothes, I guess.”
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
“Could you bring me my purse? It’s in the trunk.”
He nodded and before she knew it, dropped another condom she never knew he’d put on into the trash and disappeared upstairs.
When her stomach clenched again, she realized it was her own fault. This man wasn’t her lover. Hell, he wasn’t even her friend. He’d already told her point-blank he didn’t like reporters. He was a story and sex was a means to an end to get that story. Every time he touched her, seduced her, she mistakenly made it more than it was.
She busied herself straightening up the kitchen, putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher, leftover food in containers and in the refrigerator. She kept the mantra going in her head that she wasn’t here on a date. They hadn’t gone out, enjoyed a leisurely dinner as a couple, come back to his house to make love. She paled at the thought of what doing any of that implied.
It wasn’t love. It was sex.
As she found her way back upstairs, she remembered that last week she’d made a bargain with her conscience to only use men for sex now. She wasn’t going to bother looking for Mr. Right anymore because he didn’t exist. By having sex with Jordan, she was getting two for the price of one—great sex and a story that would put her on the front page of the Tattler.
Hell, if she got enough information and her editor approved, she could stretch the editorial out over a few weeks. She needed to get herself back on track and mentally find a way to keep Jordan from distracting her with sex again.
When she made it back to his room, she crossed to the balcony. It was a beautiful night out. The sky was clear, the stars sparkled and the neighborhood was quiet except for a few croaking frogs, chirping birds and the occasional car that drove by.
She felt Jordan come up behind her more than she heard him and that unnerved her.
He slid his hand up her back and moved her hair again, kissing the nape of her neck. “I left your stuff on the bed. Want to join me for a dip in the pool?”
“The pool? It’s after midnight.”
“And?”
“Why would you want to go swimming at this time of night?”
“For the same reason I can cook in the middle of the night. It’s my house. It’s my pool. I can do what I want.”
She laughed. “Fine. Let me check my messages first.”
When she did, she saw she had three voice mail messages from her editor, one from her mother and a text from her best friend. Why was her editor calling her again?
Probably to check up on her because he knew what she was trying to do tonight. No, he didn’t know the extremes she’d planned to take, like breaking into Jordan’s home, but he knew she was going for the story.
Jordan smiled and started to tug the shirt over her head again but she playfully squirmed away from him.
“Can the messages wait?” he asked.
“My editor’s called me three times. I need to call him back.”
Somehow he managed to get the shirt off and when she was once again naked, which seemed to be happening an awful lot around him, he began to draw lazy circles across her back.
“You’re not being fair.”
He bit her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t answered one of my questions.”
“Well, it’s hard to answer a question when you haven’t really asked me one.”
She ducked away from his sensuous touch and moved around the bed. “That’s because you keep distracting me with sex and food. Stop it.”
He shook his head. “Oh no. Sex is so much more fun than talking.”
“Yes, true. But you promised. You get sex. I get a story.”
He tackled her and they fell back on the bed laughing. “But isn’t this much more enjoyable than work? That other stuff can wait until the morning.”
Jordan was on top of her now. When she reared up to try to kiss him, he avoided it and began nibbling on her neck. Why did he keep doing that? Who did he think he was? The male Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?
Did he think not kissing her kept him detached? From feeling anything for her? Falling in love with her? Ridiculous. Besides, she didn’t want him to fall in love with her. Did she?
“You are not being fair,” she moaned like a petulant child as his tongue snaked over the lobe of her ear.
“I think you said that already.”
He kept nibbling and found his way back to her breasts. When her phone chirped again, he stopped. “Come on. Let’s go swimming.” He dipped his head to her neck. “I still taste icing on your skin.”
As he began to pull her up, her phone continued to ring. When she reached for it, he stopped her.
�
�It may be my editor again. Go on, I’ll be down in a second.”
He acquiesced and headed toward the door. He removed his pants on the way and she watched his firm, naked butt walk away. Mercy.
She slid her finger across the screen to answer. “Hello.”
“I’ve called you three times already, Martin.”
“I was busy. I was just about to call you back.”
“I hope you’re busy getting an interview with Jordan Gaines, because the word came down from corporate late this evening.”
Her pulse began to race. She knew what was coming. Rumors were circulating all over the newspaper. Jobs were probably going to be cut. People were going to be laid off. She may be a star reporter but that didn’t mean her job couldn’t be eliminated.
“They’re cutting positions across the board. It’s between you and Emilia since you were the last two hired. So get me that story, Martin, or I’m going to have to let you go. You and the story need to be in my office at ten o’clock.”
“I hear you.”
She clicked off and slumped in the chair beside the balcony.
Chapter Six
As Layla walked to the pool, Jordan admired how the black T-shirt he’d given her molded to her breasts and legs. Unaware of his perusal, she didn’t know he saw the forlorn look on her face before she masked it with a smile.
Ask questions. Get the information. Keep your job.
Each of her thoughts hammered into his brain like spikes and he flinched away from them. It was a reminder to him of the real reason she was there. It didn’t matter what he thought or how he was beginning to feel about her.
And even though he shouldn’t care, he asked, “Is everything okay?”
She gazed at him and smiled. “Yeah. It’s great.”
He walked to her, leaned down and kissed her forehead. The need to kiss her, touch her, almost overwhelmed him sometimes, in stark contrast to what he wanted to feel. “I didn’t think you were going to come out.”
“Sorry. My editor…the call took longer than I thought.”
