Pretty in Kink Page 3

  Click. She could almost hear the shackle being locked around her heart.

  He answered his own question when she gaped at him. “How about the way I ogled you in public? But then, you’re beautiful. What red-blooded man wouldn’t ogle you, or want to get you in his bed?”

  Whew. She mentally fanned herself. No one could ever tell the man he didn’t go after what he wanted. She’d bumped into him no more than five minutes ago, and already he had her in his bed. But despite her raging libido—which had been pretty much nonexistent moments ago—Britt knew from Lexi’s horrible experiences with men like Diego that he was a scoundrel through and through.

  One not to be entrusted with a woman’s heart.

  In fact, Britt had stood by and watched Lexi fall prey time after time to these bad-boy-type men. Though Britt could understand the allure now, she wouldn’t be making the same mistakes her friend repeatedly made.

  “As I said before, thank you, but I really need to be going.” She passed through the automatic doors.

  He followed. “So what do you do? For a living, I mean.”

  She gave him a sidelong look, not seeing the harm in revealing her job to him. She shrugged. “Oh, just modeling. Catalog ads, store sales mailers, internet shots for department stores, that type of thing.”

  “Nice. I can see you doing that.” He fell into step beside her and did this sort of nod-shake-head combination that made her wonder if he believed her. Or maybe he thought she wasn’t pretty enough to be a model?

  She combed her fingers through her hair, wiped at her lips. “Thank you.” Maybe she had some smeared makeup, or her hair resembled a witch’s hair?

  “Okay. So eight o’clock Friday night. Two nights away. Think you can wait that long?” A mocking glitter lit his eyes as he escorted her to her Mustang convertible.

  She couldn’t suppress the snort. “You put a lot of stock in yourself, don’t you, Mr. Mansini?”

  She had to admit he had every reason to.

  “Diego. Mister doesn’t fit me, wouldn’t you say?” One eyebrow arched and he moved to the Harley parked right next to her car. He stuffed the drugstore sack into a leather saddlebag and jammed on a helmet. Then he settled onto the seat and fired up the engine, his quiet confidence all but saying he didn’t care one way or the other if she accepted his invitation or not.

  And damn it, that just made her want him more.

  The oddly pleasant odor of his motorcycle’s exhaust assailed her as she stuck the key in the door of her car. He raced his motor in neutral as if to order her to turn around and give him her undivided attention. She did. She turned back to him. And the hot, all-male image he made had her close to dropping to her knees in subservience.

  Ugh. Subservience, just like in the pictures.

  “Mm, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe ‘mister’ doesn’t fit you.”

  “Master” might though, given that dominant aura surrounding you.

  “So that’s your motorcycle?” Flustered at her own thoughts, she blurted the dumb question over the rumble of the engine.

  With every gesture he made, her own engine revved. He flipped up the kickstand with the heel of his boot and step-rolled the Harley backward out of the parking spot. Strong thighs clamped around the sleek black-and-chrome bike, sending her hormones racing. Whew. She wiped at her brow. What was the temperature out here tonight, anyway? He embodied complete male sex appeal in a rough-hewn sort of way that just couldn’t be ignored. In fact, he could be a model himself in a motorcycle or beer ad, the type of guy who thumbs his nose at the clean-cut, pretty male models of the world.

  The kind who, with a single sizzling look, proves what a real man is like, how a real man keeps the women fantasizing and swooning like weak-kneed twits.

  Well, she refused to be a twit. She’d just have to shut her motor down before she made a horrible mistake. Besides, she didn’t intend to have to deal with Doris’ prude reaction. If Britt so much as glanced at a man even slightly comparable to Diego, Doris would start in on one of her you’re-better-than-that-scum lectures. Then Britt would get that urge to search for a new agent.

  But securing another agent could be just as difficult as landing a top runway gig.

  “Naw, I’m stealing it.” His answer reemphasized that it had been a dumb question. He winked and made a sardonic click with his tongue.

  Her traitorous cunt throbbed in response.

  Okay, you lose, Britt the Twit. Don’t let him get away without accepting that date.

  Instead of waving goodbye the way she should have, she held her breath, waited, wondered what he would do or say next.

  Hoped he’d repeat his dinner invitation.

  “Kidding. It’s mine, all right. One of several.” He lifted a finger in farewell, releasing the brake. Her heart lurched and sank in one motion.

  No, don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t…

  The bike came to an abrupt stop as if he’d forgotten something. Or read her mind. “See you later, doll. Friday. Eight o’clock sharp,” he called out over his shoulder as the motorcycle rolled farther away from her.

  “But wait.” She held up a hand.

  He wasn’t going to ask her again. The conceited hunk already assumed she’d accepted.

  And of all things, that turned her on.

  He squeezed on the handbrake again. Tires squealed on pavement and left the stench of burned rubber wafting in the air. His quizzical, silent look made her stomach quicken. So damn handsome.

  “Y-you don’t even have my phone number or address.”

  Traffic hummed by. He looked her square in the eye through the yellow-toned visor. The gleam she caught there melted her insides.

  “Got it off the envelope when you dropped it on the floor.” He tapped the helmet at his temple and rattled off her number with smooth accuracy. “Photographic memory.”

  He squalled from the lot and wove his way into the busy Tampa traffic. Dark tendrils of long, straight hair whipped behind him. The leather vest stretched smooth across his wide back, and she realized she still held her breath, imagining the hard bulk of the shoulders beneath her eager hands.

  Digging her fingers into the taut muscles during the throes of some hot sex.

  Bulging muscles overpowering her.

  Tossed and rolled and filled to high heaven.

  Britt waved the envelope in front of her face. Her gaze followed him until he slipped over the horizon and the rumble of his motorcycle died in the din of traffic.

  “Oh shit. What the hell have I just done?”

  Chapter Three

  Britt smoothed her hair one last time before she went out into the living room to answer the door. The sound of the buzzer sent her pulse into a spiky rhythm she couldn’t seem to squelch. Diego had called her that night after she’d returned from the drugstore and asked if she’d mind going to a biker rally Friday morning for breakfast instead of dinner.

  A biker rally? She was actually going to go to a biker rally today? Wow.

  She’d driven home from yesterday’s photo shoot with knots in her belly and a stupid grin on her face. Then a sleepless night coupled with this morning’s shower had been torture. By the end of her ritual of shaving, conditioning and skin treatments, along with fantasizing about making love with him, she’d needed to rinse the sticky trickle from between her legs. What’s more, he was here now and the cycle would start all over again.

  As she reached for the door handle, she conjured a mental image of him, wondering how close he’d come to the Diego of Wednesday evening. Would he have shaved the smattering of whiskers, combed back the shoulder blade-length dark locks? Would he be in worn jeans and the leather vest again, or would he have opted for a bit more clean-cut image? Really, it didn’t matter to her either way. Her type or not, the man would be hot however he presented himself, whether clothed or naked.

  Mmmm, naked. Now that’s a nice thought.

  She unlocked the deadbolt and turned the knob. Her pulse palpitated as she pu
lled the door open almost in slow motion, her breath held in, waiting…

  She released the air.

  Diego stood outside holding a long, narrow box in the crook of his arm. Her heart did an odd roll in her chest at the picture he made. He’d shaved his jaw smooth but had left the beginnings of a mustache and goatee. His eyes glowed in that predator’s way, making her feel naked and nervous. Damp hair had been hand-combed away from his face, so she assumed he’d secured it low at his nape in a ponytail, not loose as it had been at the store. He again wore leather, though it appeared newer and sleeker—a jacket this time. It lent him that dangerous look, the one that had kept her distracted on the set the entire shoot yesterday, and awake all last night.

  A thrill of recklessness shimmied up her spine. But that dangerous look, god help her, hit her tenfold now. How could that be possible, to ooze even more magnetism than when she’d first met him?

  Her gaze traveled down the long length of him, over the chiseled, t-shirt-clad chest peeping out from beneath the jacket. Her palms tingled and she suppressed the sudden need to reach out and skate her hands across the defined pectorals, to explore downward over the washboard abs she could discern beneath the snug fabric.

  Breathe. Talk. For heaven’s sake, do something.

  But she couldn’t resist further inspection. He’d donned jeans again, she noted with pleasure, but this time they were even more worn with rips and holes that afforded her glimpses of tanned knees and thighs scattered by faint whorls of deep-brown, curly hair. The ankles of the jeans were settled around scuffed leather boots, but her gaze kept returning to the crotch of his pants. With a darting glance and a surge between her legs, she took note of the tattered, thin fabric cradling a prominent fullness.

  She swallowed. Holy shit, look up, look away.

  From where she stood, she could smell the faint aroma of soap and a pleasing, musky aftershave. The whole sight he made standing there with that dark, imperceptible look on his tanned face could have brought her to her hands and knees if she hadn’t been clutching the door.

  “Good morning, Britt,” he said in a raspy voice. There wasn’t even a trace of a smile, just that penetrating look that had the power to render her speechless.

  Britt shivered. Her mouth went dry. She tried to suppress the throbbing in her loins, but she couldn’t douse the fire, even knowing neighbors could be peeping out their curtains, shocked that a man like this stood on her doorstep making her swoon.

  “Hi there.” Britt stood aside, waved him in and took a quick visual sweep of the condos across from hers before she shut the door.

  He stepped just over the threshold. His jacket made that faint squeak. She thought of the moment in the drugstore when he’d drawn her close to keep her from hitting the floor. She’d inhaled his scent and become mesmerized by those melt-me eyes.

  Diego offered the box to her. “For you.”

  She reached out and cradled it in her arms. A bouquet of tissue-wrapped pink roses were framed by the clear cellophane window. “Wow. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Might want to put them in water before we leave.”

  “Yes. Yes.” She scurried into the kitchen and pulled down a vase from the cabinet above the stove. Across the breakfast bar, his gaze followed her, caressing her. She averted her stare, arranged the roses and added water.

  But her cell phone buzzed in her office just off the living room and broke the spell. Or maybe it was a rescue ring? “Um, sorry. Could you excuse me while I get that?”

  “You bet. Take your time. I’ll just hang out and watch TV or something.” He sauntered to the couch and sat, legs spread in that guy way.

  Britt caught her breath and swallowed to ease the lump in her throat. She stepped through the archway and into the bay nook she’d set up as an office, sat and took a deep breath. Damn, if she turned her head just so, she could see him in her line of vision. She hoped it wasn’t someone she’d need privacy to talk to.

  Such as Lexi harping on that contest and wanting Britt to turn the pictures over to her.

  Or a nosy neighbor prying into her life, wondering who this man was.

  Or Doris, god forbid.

  He turned her on like crazy, which gave her this obsessive need to separate him from the rest of her life.

  She glanced at the phone’s screen. Crap. Doris.

  What a mood killer.

  Britt bit her lip. It was her day off, so she didn’t have to answer it.

  It rang and vibrated on her desktop calendar, making vague paper-crunching noises.

  Let it go to voicemail.

  She slid a look at Diego. Her insides jumped with excitement to get out that door with him.

  Ignore it…

  Britt pulled in a rush of air. It could be news about the Victoria’s Secret runway gig.

  “But if it was good news Doris and I got the Victoria’s gig,” she murmured to herself as the phone continued to ring, “Doris would hate Diego, insist I dump him for my job’s sake. I should probably back out on the bike rally, not take the risk of getting into controversy.”

  What I don’t know won’t hurt me. Or make me decide not to do something I’m dying to experience.

  Yeah. That was it. In this case, ignorance had a definite possibility of turning into bliss. So she let it go to voicemail. She’d listen to it later tonight.

  Britt grinned at herself and walked away from her desk, phone in hand. On a brave whim, she reached out to him as she passed by on her way to get her jacket. He didn’t hesitate to snatch her hand. It felt dwarfed in his. The heat from his palm traveled into her icy fingers and a surprising sense of calm overtook her.

  “Sorry about that. I’ll be with you in a short bit.” She stepped away. Their fingers held, uncurled, separated as she started for the foyer closet.

  He winked. “I know you will.”

  She opened the closet door, slid her gaze to Diego where he lounged on her couch with the remote. He seemed engrossed in the television, punching the buttons until he found a program about a motorcycle shop building a bike for a celebrity, oblivious to what that wink had done to her insides.

  Holy moley, he looks so hot.

  Her heart pounded. A flood of juice trickled from her pussy. She suppressed a rush of lust and tore her gaze from him, forcing herself to stroll into her room, grab a random ponytail holder off the dresser and slip it on her wrist.

  She didn’t even look at him when she stepped back into the room. She couldn’t, or she feared she’d jump him and get that bulge inside her before she even realized what she’d done. Instead, she snatched her backpack from the barstool, slipped her cell inside a pocket and turned to the door. She announced, “Are you ready? I sure am.”

  “Um, you’re going to want to pull that gorgeous hair back and bring a heavier jacket.”

  She couldn’t avoid looking at him anymore, so she pivoted around to face him. He stood over by the fireplace, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, looking sexier than any man had a right to.

  “I am?”

  “The morning wind’ll be chilly, not to mention it’ll knot all that thick hair up. Mm, you’re going to look hot on the back of my monster.” He angled his head, narrowed his eyes and added, “You’re cool with riding on a motorcycle, aren’t you?”

  His monster.

  What had gotten into her? Innocent words, a look and the thought of something as nonsexual as his motorcycle flipped a switch in her head and made her mind walk on the wild side and her crotch go all hot.

  Did she have an electrical short in her system? Look at him, sizzle, look away, recover. Rinse, repeat.

  He ambled toward her where she stood by the door. His fresh-air aroma floated to her across the short distance. She pictured herself on the back of his bike, clinging to his wide torso, inhaling his scent, rubbing her breasts against his back. The fantasy of it made her tongue thicken and her legs go limp with desire as she imagined her pussy pressed against his butt, the seat vibrating like
a sex toy between her legs.

  “I-I, uh, I’ve never ridden one before, but yes, that would be fine.”

  He lifted a hand and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. The move took her by surprise and made her system kick into overdrive. Again. “Scared?”

  She shook her head, watching his gaze as it followed his own finger’s path around her lips.

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure. Now, can we get going before my agent calls me again, or shows up, god help me?”

  He threw his head back on a laugh. The genuine, deep tune of it settled somewhere in her soul. “You bet. But can I ask you one thing first?”

  She just wanted to get the hell out of here, to climb onto that bike of his, speed off and never come back. “Ask away.”

  His eyes angled down, captured her mouth again. “I normally take without asking, but given what I just heard you say about maybe backing out on the rally, I’ll give you this one chance to say no to the ride, and to… Well, can I kiss you?”

  “Can you…”

  “Can I kiss you?” he repeated. “I figured since I won’t have your agent’s vote, then it might be my only chance to taste you before she talks you into dumping me. Or you talk yourself into it.”

  She glanced away, locked back on his gaze again. Shit, he’d heard her mumbling about the phone call. Heat crept up her neck. It engulfed her face and seemed to incinerate her tongue, her voice. Her mind screamed yes to the kiss, but her body wouldn’t move. She wanted it, wanted him. But this was the tipping point, her last chance to decide which side of the fence she wanted to walk on.

  The boring, prude side.

  Or the tempting, wild side.

  Her silence must have meant consent from his view. He slid a hand across her rib cage, settled it at the small of her back. It scalded her like a hot iron. His gaze dropped away from hers and snared her lips again. He tugged her closer, gliding his hand farther still, until he had his arm wrapped around her waist. With the other, he cupped her cheek.