Pretty in Kink Read online

  He imagined the scenario of pulling up at her house, knocking on her door and handing over the naughty pictures. He could look her right in the eye, see what color they were, inhale her scent as he stood and explained how he’d gotten them.

  Diego snorted. He could say, “Hi there, gorgeous. Here’re your pictures. See, since our last names both start with M, the idiot photo-shop tech gave yours to me by mistake. Can you believe it? So… You’re okay, right? You’re not like, being forced into some kinky shit against your will or anything, are you?” And if not, how about a date? Because you sure know how to turn a guy on.

  Yeah, right.

  She’d just have to look in his eyes, or at the hard-on in his pants, to know he’d seen the photographs. But he was a confident man, even arrogant, he supposed. No doubt in his mind that despite her embarrassment and possible outrage, he could still hand over her pictures one minute and get a date—or have her in bed—the next.

  That is, as long as she’d consented to the pictures.

  Nah, scrap that. Probably a boyfriend had snapped the shots. And Diego wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation with some asshole lover. So maybe he should just put them in her mailbox or mail them to her anonymously?

  The last option seemed more viable. Yet if he had half a brain, he’d just return them and hope for a chance meeting with her at the drugstore—right, fat chance of that—and ensure the copies were in her possession, which would disprove all his suspicions.

  He peeked inside the envelope one last time. “Jesus Christ. Has to be pictures taken by a boyfriend. Has to. One without a fucking digital camera.”

  He frowned. Wait. He could make copies, that way if she were tangled up in some sinister crap and the pictures weren’t hers, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. At least someone would have some evidence when the missing-person news reports hit the airwaves.

  He shook his head almost as soon as the thought entered his mind. “No way, you stupid fucker. Not likely.” Better take them back ASAP. He’d gone through his kid days as a punk thief and had learned his lesson long ago. Best not to butt into her business.

  She was fine. Just fine. Probably gonna pick them up any minute, eager to share them with her husband or boyfriend. His jaw tensed. “Huh. Lucky bastard.”

  Copy the pictures. It’s your last chance, man.

  The voice continued to nag at him, but he’d do the right thing. He snorted. Ha-ha, what a hero. But the woman didn’t deserve to have her privacy breached, at least not any more than it already had been.

  So that was that.

  He locked up the house and made his way up the walk to his garage. With his helmet fastened, he fired up the bike and darted onto Coconut Drive toward the drugstore with her photos tucked inside his vest pocket. Right against his heart.

  He’d better hurry, get this over with. He wouldn’t want her to see him stroll in with her pictures and know he’d had her smoking-hot shots in his hands. And lusted over every single pose.

  Chapter Two

  Britt raced up the makeup aisle, photo packet in hand. Lexi had found it! Something about assuming she must have forgotten she’d misfiled them for safekeeping after putting them on the break table. But Britt didn’t care. Elation that a potential disaster had just been foiled kept her moving at a brisk pace toward the exit door. She wanted to get home and look at them…before she burned the evidence that would have Doris burying her in the nearest cemetery. Or suing her for breach of contract…or something. Doris would find some reason to ride Britt’s ass for being so stupid.

  Her heels clicked on gleaming linoleum. She made a sharp turn up the next aisle and the sudden detour had her crashing into what felt like a rock wall. The breath was knocked from her lungs. The force threw her backward and her head spun, her purse and the envelope dislodged from her hand. They sailed across the drugstore floor in a swish somewhere behind her.

  Just before her rear end hit the hard surface, strong hands encircled her upper arms. “You okay?”

  She’d seen stars on impact into the “wall”, but now her vision returned in full force. She looked up into the brownest eyes she’d ever seen, thinking of warm, melted chocolate. The man’s voice still echoed in her head in that deep, almost gruff tone. Shivers danced up her back and along her scalp. His hold tightened as he dragged her to a full standing position. Almost from a distance, she heard the squeak of his leather vest as he straightened. Mute, she stood there staring into the rugged, handsome face of the devil himself.

  “Are you okay?” he repeated.

  With her arms restricted by his firm grasp, she had to do a little jerk with her head to swing a lock of hair out of one eye. “I…yes, I’m fine.”

  Britt stood tall at five-feet-ten, but even taking her heels into account she still had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. Within the deep shade of them, unusual gold flecks starred around the dilated pupils. Dark lashes framed the lids, intensifying the effect, while coffee-brown eyebrows winged above them. Despite a small knot on the bridge of his nose, it was attractive, one that would fit on a boxer’s face. His jaw appeared to be shadowed by a day’s growth of dark whiskers, and she wondered what it would feel like to caress his face with her palm, to rub her cheek against that stubble.

  To have it lightly scratching the insides of her thighs…

  Britt shook her head and ignored the heat that ignited between her weak legs. Damn it, that photo shoot had done wicked things to her mind, taking it places it never went.

  She zoned in on his parted lips. Her throat went dry, and then her mind melted into mush when he pursed his mouth in concern.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” The worry in his voice couldn’t have been any more sincere. Neither could the expression on his face as he devoured her from hair, to neck, to her engorging breasts and tingling nipples. “You hit my chest awfully hard.”

  Yes, your chest is definitely hard.

  “I’m so sorry. I must have been a million miles away. I should have been more careful.”

  And I should probably quit gawking too.

  “No, no need to be sorry,” he assured her, and the smile that lit up his face reached his eyes and made them sparkle with mischief. His gaze swept downward over her body, then back up to snare her mouth, her nose, her brow. She could have sworn he’d swiped her with a torch. The thorough inspection caused her skin to tingle, and something deep in her pussy quickened. Never had her body reacted to a man in such a swift, wanton fashion before.

  “Yes, there is. I was a total klutz.”

  “Really, it’s no problem.” He lifted both brawny shoulders. His hot hands continued to brand her arms. “It’s not every day I get the pleasure of scooping a gorgeous woman up off the floor.”

  Seconds blurred by. She could see by the vague half-smile that he meant it as a joke. But being parted from her naughty pictures once again took the humorous edge off and doused all the flames.

  “I, uh…” She tore her stare from his and forced herself to search for the photo package. Stupid snapshots. They’d become a threat to her livelihood, and a resentful disruption in her life. But she could honestly say this man appeared to be a lethal distraction to even that danger. Yet she refused to go through that horrid panic again at losing them, not even for this stud.

  Finally, she caught sight of the envelope over her shoulder. It just lay there all innocent beside her purse. Almost as if to defy fate, her eyes shifted back to him. It had the same effect as bumping into him had. Stunned to breathlessness, it was as if she’d first severed an electrical current by glancing away but had been struck again by its force when she returned her gaze to him.

  She groaned inwardly. Of all things, her cunt dampened and the heat rose by a few degrees. And yet he was a complete stranger.

  And not her type.

  He inhaled. His nostrils flared like a wolf’s detecting her arousal. But he didn’t say a word. Instead, he arched a brow and waited for her to find her tongue.

&nb
sp; His fingers were still curled around her upper arms, but Britt couldn’t seem to untangle herself. She stared at him as she tried to catch her breath and form some halfway adequate words to utter.

  He was not only not her type, he looked so different from any man she’d ever known. Rough around the edges, longish hair, a blue-collar worker based on the button-up mechanic’s shirt he wore beneath his vest. She caught the faint aroma of motor oil mixed with leather and smoke. And somehow it smelled…nice. Oddly alluring. There wasn’t the overpowering scent of expensive department-store cologne like the few men she’d slept with, and something about that made her womb accelerate with another flash of warmth. She tried to picture him in a suit and tie—the way most men in her life dressed—but she just couldn’t conjure the absurd image. Rather, it faded into a fantasy of him naked, and her with that necktie wrapped around her wrists instead of his neck.

  Similar to the pictures Lex had taken of her.

  Oh god.

  Britt eased herself free and stepped toward the items she’d dropped. She bent to pick them up. “I’m sorry, I need to get my things off the floor and—”

  Somehow he had her purse and the packet in his hands before she could finish squatting. He tucked them both under his arm and reached down to help her up with his free hand, but he pulled her up a bit too swiftly. It tilted her off balance on her heels long enough to have him yanking her closer to steady her. One arm cradled her, secure and tender. She could swear his heart thumped through the layers of their clothing. His chest singed her breasts and made her think of lit matches searing her nipples. With an inward groan, she ordered her areolas not to tighten further, but they disobeyed and strained against her lacy bra and silk blouse. She inhaled deeper and caught an underlying whiff of deodorant soap, not the pungent, cologne-laced type, but manly soap.

  For an eternity, he held her close and kept her from toppling off her high heels. A sudden heady sensation assailed her. Unfamiliar wickedness clawed its way out of some unknown spot deep in her soul. It dared her to continue standing there in public with this outrageously rugged man, while opposing warning bells sounded somewhere off in the distance.

  Get a hold of yourself, Britt.

  This recklessness wasn’t like her at all. There had to be an explanation… Ah yes, that depraved posing for Lexi last night had caused her to go temporarily sex-insane.

  She shook her head to clear her cluttered thoughts. The pictures. Get them back before you float out of here in a swoon and forget.

  Britt glanced down at the pectorals straining against leather. Her arms were bent up and folded along the sides of her chest, imprisoned there against his rock-hard torso. She noted his vest gaped away on one side from the dark-gray, button-up work shirt, just enough for her to glimpse the white oval patch on his left chest. The piece had been edged in red stitching, and the name sewn into its center matched the border, making it jump out at her.

  “Diego. I like that.” But she didn’t like her own breathy tone.

  She expected he’d flash her that infectious smile, but instead his expression sobered. “And I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

  His words had softened to a hoarse whisper. She shivered. The deep, quivering raspiness reminded her of her vibrator skimming over her clitoris, bringing her to maddening heights.

  “Are you cold?”

  Damn her legs. They went weak again. She relaxed against him, just enough that his half-erect cock pressed against her lower abdomen. The shock of it tore a strangled gasp from her throat where she must have been holding every molecule of oxygen inside. All she could do was stand there and gawk like a tongue-tied teen as he continued to hold her closer than propriety allowed, her purse and those scandalous pictures tucked at his side.

  “No. T-thank you, no. I…I, um, really need to be going,” she finally murmured.

  He cleared his throat and glanced around the store as if he’d forgotten where they were.

  She looked down and noticed a plastic drugstore bag had fallen and landed near his booted feet. He must have dropped his own sack to rescue her from a fall. Her gaze slid back to the bag. Was that a packet of photos she saw through the semitransparent sack? Had he just come from Lexi’s photo counter too?

  “Sorry about that,” he said at a more conversational volume as he eased her away and cleared his throat. He released her and swiped up his sack. “So do I—need to be going, that is.”

  Britt stumbled back, stunned at the chill that breezed over her skin. The air-conditioning must have kicked on. “Okay, well then…can I have my purse and pictures back?”

  He glanced down at the items still held hostage between his arm and side, as if he had no idea how they’d gotten there. His gaze met hers. Another swoon of dizziness swam through her head.

  Surprise and confusion flitted across his face. “Oh, sorry. Here.” He held the items out to her.

  She snatched the pictures, hooked her purse over her shoulder and hugged the packet to her chest as if it were her last chance to ever possess it again.

  “No problem.” She turned, stopped, turned back. “Thanks. Thanks for picking me up off the floor—twice.”

  “You’re welcome, Britt.”

  Her spine stiffened. Goose bumps rippled up her back—and not the good kind. The shock of her name coming from the stranger’s mouth hit her like a stinging slap across the face. The coals that had been stoking in her system were doused.

  “H-how do you know my name?”

  He blinked, and for the briefest second she thought she saw a glimpse of guilt in his expression. “I, uh…it’s written on the envelope you dropped. That is your name, right? I mean, you weren’t picking them up for someone else, were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t. Sorry. It’s been a pretty stressful day.” Of course that explains it. The damned and dangerous photo envelope rides again. She held out her hand. “Britt Malone. Nice to meet you, Diego.”

  He narrowed his gaze, his eyes twinkling with irony. “How did you know my name?”

  “Remember?” Britt grinned. “The nametag on your shirt. So, Diego who?”

  “Mansini.” He took her hand in his big, warm one. The strong grip sent a ripple of heat up her arm and surged into each chamber of her heart. And tumbled straight down into her drenched, throbbing pussy.

  Britt tipped her head, studied him one last time. “Diego Mansini. Nice name.”

  “Glad you like it, babe.”

  Babe? Whoa. That really sent her hormones racing. No man had ever called her that before, much less in such a sexy tone.

  She tugged her hand free, surprised again at the instant chill that replaced the warmth. “Well, I need to get out of here. Thanks again…Diego.”

  She turned, but he caught her elbow and halted her retreat. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “Normally, I might say that’s none of your business. But since you’ve been such a gentleman, I’m going home.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t have to ask.” He winked, indicating in that one gesture that he meant it. An unabashed playboy who knew the power of his charms. He was proud of it, just as any alpha lion knew he was king of his lair.

  She blinked. The firm hold he had on her, both physically and strangely enough, emotionally, seemed amplified as if she dreamed this encounter. His sexual hold on her had grown out of control for sure, and with little effort on his part. “You wouldn’t have to ask what, exactly?”

  “For a woman—in this case you—where you’re going and if you’ll go to dinner with me.”

  Britt’s gaze fell on the tanned hand where it dwarfed her arm even atop the slight puff of her blouse. The short-sleeved work shirt revealed bared, fit forearms. She dragged her stare up inch by inch and followed the corded arm with the whorls of dark-brown hair and the beginning of a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out. By the time her perusal reached the biceps bulging against the hem of the sleeve, she was panting. How embarrassing. What was it about this unrefined man that even on
e touch, one look, could soak her panties and set her pulse racing like no one before him?

  “Dinner?” she croaked.

  “Yes, you know, that meal that’s eaten toward the end of the day?”

  The laughter bubbled from deep in her throat. “Ah. Funny.”

  His mouth thinned, the full lips pressing together. “I’m serious. I’d love to take you out to a nice dinner. Believe it or not, I clean up pretty good. This grease you smell isn’t permanent.”

  “I-I never said…”

  “You don’t have to. It’s obvious.” His voice had a gruff, almost surly tone to it, while his penetrating, sober gaze caressed her from head to toe and back again. She could have sworn he’d reignited a flame and aimed it right between her legs. “Sorry, I just got off work not long ago. I own a bike sales and repair shop not far from here. So even though it might look and smell that way, I don’t wallow in grease at night too.”

  “I-I never said—or implied—that I thought you did.”

  “In that case, you’ll be wanting to be ready by eight. I’ll pick you up right on the nose.”

  Britt let out a nervous laugh, glanced at her watch. It read seven ten. “Tonight?”

  “Ah, eager. I admire that in a woman.” The teasing glow in his eyes returned.

  She heaved a silent sigh, realizing he had a very dry sense of humor. Not to mention an agenda to get her where he wanted her.

  In his bed.

  That potent combination was unfamiliar to her in her usual choice of men, but it gave her a charge she couldn’t quite ignore.

  She straightened her shoulders and withdrew her arm from his grip. “I… Well, something sure tells me you’re eager.”

  “What was your first clue?” Diego angled his head and grinned with boyish charm. The move brought a tiny gold stud earring to her attention. Britt had never been touched by a man with a pierced ear before, much less gone on a date with one. The absurd idea of it had her nearly cackling out loud despite the sexual rush it gave her. To add to the almost pirate-like look of him, he folded his thick arms across his chest in a way only a man of his stature and deserved arrogance could get away with. The entire contradictory picture of boyish smirk coupled with self-assured rogue made her womb contract and her emotions go all topsy-turvy.