Play with Me Page 4

  Have an adventure.

  Sounded like a good idea to him.

  “So how do you like Halloween parties?”

  AMANDA HAD TO ADMIT IT…Reese Campbell made one hot-as-blazes 1970s-era airline pilot. Eyeing him from the other side of the backseat of the taxicab, she wondered what strange whim of fortune had sent such a sexy, charming, single man across her path right when she needed one most.

  And she definitely needed one. It had been a long time since she’d felt so sure of herself as a woman, so in tune to the sensations coursing through her body. All the late-night blue movies that had played in her mind lately, replacing any semblance of a real love life, had been mere placeholders, no substitute for the great sex she wasn’t having.

  Those mental movies were going to have a new leading man in them after tonight. Because she had the feeling that before the night was over, she was going to be saying, “Welcome aboard,” and “Fly me,” and meaning exactly what those old ad execs had wanted passengers to think the sexy stewardesses meant.

  She wanted Reese. He wanted her. It was a wild, reckless Halloween night and they were both single and interested.

  So why not?

  Okay, so she’d never done the one-night-stand-with-an-utter-stranger thing. But her best friend, Jazz, had. She hadn’t ended up with a scarlet A branded on her chest or any nasty diseases, nor had she needed therapy to get rid of some nonexistent guilt.

  Considering she sometimes thought Jazz was the only woman her age in the world who was the least bit like her, or who completely understood her, she didn’t figure the example was a bad one to follow.

  Besides, Amanda had indulged in short-term affairs before. In fact, considering how badly her last few relationships had ended, a one-night stand sounded just about perfect.

  She liked sex. She liked it a lot. This time, she’d just be having it without the two requisite dates—drinks, then dinner—first. Or the worrying about a phone call the next day. Reese would go back to his life in Pittsburgh, she’d stay here, and they’d both smile whenever they thought of the night they’d gotten a little down-and-dirty with a stranger in Chicago.

  Best of all…there’d be no crazy fake suicide attempts. No drunk-dialing complaints that she was a feckless bitch who enjoyed breaking guys’ hearts. And Reese wouldn’t become the newest member of the Facebook group “Dumped by Amanda Bauer,” which had actually been set up by a guy she’d dated during her junior year of college.

  God, men could be such fricking babies.

  Back to the subject: one-night stand.

  Okay. Sounded good. She just had to feel her way around to make sure Reese was on board with it. Judging by the way he’d been devouring her with his eyes since the minute they’d met, she had a feeling that was a big, fat yeah.

  “How in God’s name did they breathe in these things?” he muttered as he tugged at the too-tight collar of his shirt. “I can’t believe there weren’t crashes due to lack of oxygen in the pilots’ brains.”

  “It’s only a suit, for heaven’s sake,” she said, rolling her eyes at the typical male grumbling. “It just happens to be too small for you.”

  They’d found the antique uniform Reese was using as a costume at the airport after landing in Chicago. It hadn’t been difficult. Lots of the companies at O’Hare had been around for decades, and Amanda had friends at just about all of them. A few inquiries had put her in the office of a guy who’d worked as a baggage handler since the days when there’d been a Pan in front of American. He’d known where lots of interesting old stuff was kept and had put an only-slightly-musty uniform, complete with jaunty pilot’s cap, in her hands within an hour of landing.

  It was too tight across Reese Campbell’s broad shoulders, but loose around the lean hips and tight buns. Whoever Captain Reliable from the 1970s had been, he definitely hadn’t had Reese’s mouthwatering build.

  “You’re going to rip it,” she said as he continued to tug. “The thing is flimsy enough.”

  Brushing his hands away, Amanda reached up to his strong throat, her fingers brushing against the warm, supple skin. A low, deep breath eased in through her nearly closed lips and she suddenly felt a little light-headed. There was such unexpected strength in him, tone and musculature more suited to an athlete than to the boring businessman she’d accused him of being.

  Not that she’d meant it. Not at all. The clothes he’d been wearing might have been conservative, but the look in those eyes, the sexy twist to his lips, the suggestive tone of his conversation…none of those things had indicated anything but exciting, intriguing male.

  A thin sheen of sweat moistened the throat where the shirt had cut into the cords of muscle. She had to suck her bottom lip into her mouth just to make sure she didn’t do something crazy like lean closer and taste that moisture, sample that skin. She ignored the sudden mental command to just do it, focusing instead on unfastening the top button and loosening his tie.

  Reese said nothing, just stared at her, his expression hard to read in the low lighting of the cab.

  When she was finished, she dropped her hands to her lap, twisting her fingers together on top of her long winter coat. It didn’t quite match the costume, but despite the mild autumn they’d been having, it had become freaking cold out when the sun went down. She honestly didn’t know how the hippest 1970s chicks had stood it.

  “So, this client of yours, he’s not going to mind you showing up with a…” She considered her words, decided against saying date and concluded, “…guest?”

  “It’s a pub,” Reese replied, his sensual lips curving up a little at the corners. “I think they can handle one extra.”

  “That’s some job you’ve got, having to go to pubs for Halloween parties,” she said, trying to think about something other than his mouth. How much she wanted that mouth. And where she wanted that mouth.

  “I don’t think it quite stacks up to yours—having to jet off to the Caribbean to ferry the rich around to their sinfully expensive vacations.”

  “I usually ferry obnoxious, spoiled executives to their sinfully expensive corporate retreats.”

  He tsked. “I’m sure they consider it bailout money well spent.” He hesitated for a split second, then added, “So I guess I should be glad you called me boring rather than obnoxious and spoiled?”

  “Not obnoxious,” she immediately replied.

  A brow went up. “Spoiled?”

  Amanda tapped her fingertip on her chin, pretending to think about it. She didn’t suspect this man was spoiled in the way some of her clients were. He didn’t come off as rich, used to everyone bowing down before him at the first request. And he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy who expected a woman to spread her legs at the first mention of something sparkly.

  Yeah, she’d met a bunch of those guys. Amanda had always been left wondering what kind of woman would trade a night beneath a sweating, out-of-shape, pasty old man for a pair of diamond earrings.

  Reese wasn’t like those men, not physically, not mentally. She had the feeling he was successful but he was not financially spoiled.

  Spoiled in other ways? Maybe. Something about his self-confidence, his half smile when he’d asked if she was single, told her he was used to getting what he wanted when it came to women. The way he sat just a few inches away—casual and comfortable when she, herself, was tingling with excitement at his nearness—said he was sure of what he wanted to happen and his ability to make it happen.

  Sexually confident, yeah. But spoiled? No. The guy who’d looked like he was going to lose his lunch during the flight had been adorably sexy and vulnerable. Not one creepy, jerky, I’m-good-and-I-know-it thing about him.

  “Not spoiled,” she admitted.

  “I should hope not. As the oldest of six kids, I learned at a very young age not to count on anything I owned remaining unbroken, unborrowed or unlost.”

  “Six kids!” The very idea horrified her. One sibling—one perfect, good, just-like-their-parents sibl
ing who did exactly what was expected of her and never stepped off the approved path—was quite enough for Amanda, thank you very much.

  “My God. Six. I can’t even imagine it,” she muttered.

  “Oh yeah.” A small chuckle emerged from his mouth as he added, “It was never boring.”

  Amanda nibbled her bottom lip before replying, a bit sheepishly, “Sorry I said that earlier. I was just trying to get you to relax.”

  Reese might dress the part of executive, but no man with those looks, that mouth and that gleam of interest in his eyes could possibly be called boring.

  “So how’s that strategy work for you?”

  Confused, she asked, “What strategy?”

  “Throwing insults at guys to relax them. Working out okay?”

  Hearing the laughter in his tone—knowing he was laughing at himself, too—she had to admit, she liked Reese Campbell.

  Wanted him. Liked him. Two points checked off her mental I’m-no-slut-and-don’t-have-one-night-stands list.

  Tonight was looking better by the minute.

  “It worked on me, by the way.” He leaned back farther in the seat, turning a little to stare at her. The dim reflections from streetlights they passed striped his handsome features in light and shadow. His breaths created tiny vapors in the chilly air that couldn’t be banished by the car’s weakly blowing heater. His voice was low, thick as he promised, “Because I’m looking forward to proving you wrong, Amanda.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Just one. Something about the way her name rode softly, smoothly, on his exhalation, thrilled her. But she managed to keep her own breaths even. “Oh?”

  He nodded. “There’s nothing boring about what’s going to happen between us.”

  A shiver of excitement coursed through her. It started with her lips, which quivered and parted, then moved down her entire body, which suddenly felt so much more…alert, somehow. The cold was more biting, the coat scratchy against her bare thighs. Her breasts tingled under the slick, polyester fabric of her blouse, the sensation sensual against her tight nipples.

  Excitement had awakened every inch of her. It had been there, sparking right beneath the surface, for hours, since she’d first spied him on that tarmac back in Pittsburgh. Now the spark had caught and spread into a wildfire of interest and arousal, even though he hadn’t touched her.

  He knew. He had to know. The very air seemed thick with her sudden certainty of just how much she wanted the man. That certainty must have communicated itself to him with her shallow, audible breaths, the almost imperceptible way she leaned closer to him, irresistibly drawn to his heat. His size. His scent.

  The big, strong hand sliding into her hair and cupping her head came as no surprise. She smiled in anticipation as he turned her face, tilted her chin up, then bent toward her. Their breaths mingled in the cold evening air and an almost tangible sizzle of excitement preceded the initial meeting of their lips.

  A heartbeat later, the cold air disappeared. Nothing separated them at all.

  Their first kiss was no tentative brush of lip on lip, nor was there any hesitation, or even a gasp at the thrill of it. It was instead strong and wet. Sensuous. Confident and hungry, Reese parted his lips and slid his tongue against hers, tasting deeply, thoroughly, with enjoyment but not desperation.

  Enjoyment could easily lead to desperation, she had no doubt. But despite the fact that they were in the backseat of a random cab, and had a one-man audience, courtesy of the rearview mirror, Amanda didn’t care.

  She wanted this. Craved it. So she didn’t resist or even hesitate. Instead, she reacted with pure instinct, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tilting her head to the side, she silently invited him deeper. She moaned at the delights provided by his soft tongue, tasting him and exploring the inside of his mouth.

  He was warm and solid, the spicy, masculine smell of him filling her head even as his heat against her body chased away any last remnants of chill.

  Finally, he ended the kiss, slowly pulling away far enough to stare down into her eyes. She saw want there. And something else—excitement. Pleasure.

  His lips quirked. And she saw even more: self-confidence. He confirmed it with a broad, satisfied smile.

  “This is going to be so much fun.”

  “The party?”

  He shook his head. “You and me.”

  3

  ALMOST FROM THE MOMENT they’d met, Reese had known he was heading in one direction: toward Amanda Bauer’s bed.

  They were going to have sex. Soon.

  Reese knew it. Amanda knew it. The two of them were savoring that knowledge, building the anticipation as the evening wore on.

  He’d done his bit for the business. Then, when old Mr. Braddock and his family had left for the night, he’d taken off his official Campbell’s Lager title and gone back to being Reese, the man who’d picked up his sexy personal pilot.

  Every look asked and answered the same question. Every smile was a seduction, each casual word a hidden code and every brief brush of hand on hand had become the most sensual foreplay. The way they intentionally tried not to touch more intimately increased the incredible tension, each non-caress promised unimaginable pleasure when they finally did come together.

  Reese couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been more excited by a woman. He just knew, as he stared at her across the crowded bar, that he’d never desired one more.

  They hadn’t kissed again since that brief encounter in the cab. They hadn’t needed to. The want they were both feeling had been building by the minute.

  When they’d danced, and his hand cupped her hip, or her thigh slid against his, the anticipation of how this night was going to end had nearly sent him out of his mind.

  It had also sent him in search of something to try to calm down his body’s heated reactions.

  “So, are you supposed to be, like, the president or something?”

  Reese didn’t bother glancing over at the vapid little redhead dressed as a sex kitten—one of at least a dozen in the packed-to-bursting bar. She’d been trying to engage him in conversation for a full minute, but he was busy focusing on the dance floor. And frowning.

  Because there, in the middle of a writhing crowd full of zombies and witches, mad scientists and vampy angels, was his sexy stewardess…dancing with another guy. He’d made his move when Reese had gone in search of a cold shower, but had had to make do with a cold glass of water.

  “Or, like, a James Bond spy?”

  Right. ’Cause James Bond always wore stupid navy blue uniforms and captain’s wings on his lapel.

  “You’re way too hot to be an accountant or something.”

  “Pilot,” he mumbled, barely paying attention. All his attention was focused on Amanda.

  She looked better than any woman in the place as she shook her stuff with a man Reese recognized as one of Braddock’s low-level employees. Steve something or other.

  Reese had never had a problem with him—at least not until he’d realized Steve was seriously moving in on his date.

  Steve hadn’t been able to keep his covetous eyes off Amanda since the minute they’d arrived. Reese had figured the hands-off-she’s-here-with-someone-else code would prevent the other man from actually doing anything about it. But when Steve’s hand accidentally brushed Amanda’s luscious ass for a second time, Reese realized he was either too drunk, or too hot for her, to even remember the code.

  He tensed, ready to stride out there and do something that could cost his company a major customer, depending on how much Mr. Braddock liked Steve, even as he wondered what this crazy, unfamiliar jealousy was all about. But before he could do anything, the redheaded feline jiggled around in front of him, purring, “Dance with me?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. He wasn’t the first man she’d been gyrating up against tonight. An hour ago, she’d been wrapped around some guy dressed as a caveman, complete with fur loincloth. Captain Cav
eman was now groping a woman in a Little Red Riding Hood costume cut so low it barely covered her nipples.

  Was there a law somewhere that said Halloween costumes for twenty-something-year-old women had to be slutty? God, he hated parties like this. How could he possibly have forgotten?

  The only good thing about tonight’s was the moment he and Amanda had hit the dance floor themselves. After he’d officially gone “off duty” they’d had a couple of drinks. Drifting into the crowd, they’d danced not to the loud music, but to the intimate, primal beat that had been thrumming between them for hours.

  He should never have left her alone. He should have just lived with the hard-on, trusting that the crowd on the dance floor would ensure nobody else knew he was dying to rip his date’s hot pants off and screw her into incoherence.

  “C’mon, it’s a party, in case ya haven’t noticed!”

  The redhead was the one who wasn’t too observant. She obviously didn’t notice that every ounce of his attention was focused on another woman. Or else she just didn’t care. He figured that was it because she had dragged him to within a few feet of Amanda and Steve, then proceeded to pole dance against his thigh, rubbing so hard he could feel the heat of her crotch through both sets of their clothes. Nasty.

  Grabbing her shoulders to push her off, he grimaced when she reached up and clasped onto his hand. Holding tight, she then turned her head and tried to suck his thumb into her mouth.

  Repeat: You hate Halloween parties. And he was so far over the bar scene, he honestly couldn’t remember why he’d once enjoyed it.

  Before he could disentangle himself, he glanced over and met Amanda’s stare. Her eyes narrowed and hardened. Her pretty lips compressed as she saw the strange young woman practically riding him, the pouty suction-cup mouth trying to simulate a sex act on his thumb.

  He knew how it must look—as if he was pulling the bimbo closer rather than pushing her away. Amanda obviously saw it that way, because she rolled her eyes and grimaced, her jaw rock-hard and her slim form straight and tense. Considering she had been fending off the groping hands of one of Reese’s customers, she had every right to be angry as hell.