Bad (7 page)

"Nice?" Steele jabbed him in the chest. "Mate, nice is for cupcakes and puppies." He grinned. "I'm hoping for your sake it moved beyond nice."

"We fooled around a little." Wyatt wouldn't say anything more than that and Steele must've picked up on his recalcitrant vibe, because he nodded and didn't pry.

"Good for you." Steele slapped him on the back. "She's a stunner."

Wyatt managed a weak, "Yeah," before hiding behind his beer bottle again.

He could ask Steele's advice, but what Ashlin had revealed to him was private and he didn't want to encroach on that. Besides, if her demeanor this morning had been any indication, his plan to make her so hot she'd beg for it was working. The sexual tension between them was palpable. And he intended on ratcheting that up later today.

"Will you see her again?"

"Yeah, we're going to date casually while I'm in Vegas."

Looking suitably impressed, Steele gestured at the barman. "Another round?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks." Wyatt also wanted to move onto phase two of his plan and that meant heading back to his hotel suite. "I've actually got to catch up on work tonight. Maybe we can organize a dinner with Zane sometime this week?"

"Sounds like a plan." Steele picked up his refill. "Catch you later."

"Okay." Wyatt wasn't the touchy-feely type. He rarely shook hands with Kurt. Yet for some inexplicable reason he felt like giving Steele a man-hug. The guy looked lonely.

Steele shot him a curious glance when he hadn’t move, so Wyatt raised his hand and walked away. The person he should be considering touching was Ashlin.

Sooner rather than later.

"Where did you disappear to over the weekend?" Miranda linked her hands and stretched overhead. "Even Chantal noticed your absence and that's saying something considering she's shacked up with Lover Boy and not coming up for air."

"I went away." Ashlin dabbed at her face with a towel then draped it around her neck.

When she'd asked Wyatt to drop her off at Burlesque Bombshells, she'd envisaged a leisurely work out session by herself. Sunday nights were notoriously quiet at the club, with the dancers performing two brief shows and the place closing early.

Chantal had wanted that from the beginning, to give her staff some down time one day a week and her employees appreciated it. Ashlin rarely had input into the Sunday shows, the dancers performing the same routine for as long as she could remember. Mainly regulars came in on Sundays. They knew what to expect and the girls delivered. The ever-popular fan dance. One of the girls in a life-sized champagne glass. A combo veil-feather number.

It meant Ashlin could have a complete night off. She'd usually curl up with a book. Tonight, she'd needed to work off her frustrations.

She hadn't counted on running into Miranda in the club's gym.

"Where'd you go?" Miranda moved onto stretching her quads and hamstrings.

"A town near New Orleans."

"Nice. Spa retreat?"

"No, a friend's house." Ashlin eyed the door, wondering if she could escape before Miranda's interrogation continued.

Her friend loved to gossip and Ashlin would bear the brunt if Miranda learned any more.

"Anyway, I have to run—"

"Anyone I know?" Miranda lunged to one side and held the stretch, the twinkle in her eyes alerting Ashlin to the fact she wouldn't let up until she knew every last nitty gritty detail.

"No." Ashlin picked up her workout bag and slung it over her shoulder. "See you later—"

"Male or female friend?"

Knowing she was sunk, Ashlin shrugged. "Male."

Miranda abandoned her stretching and bounded over. "Tell me more."

"Nothing to tell. Wyatt asked me to go with him and—"

"Wyatt!" Miranda screeched, and Ashlin wondered if the audience had heard from all the way across the club's complex. "The cutie fixing our computers?"

Ashlin nodded, knowing she wouldn't have to say another word, as Miranda would continue to babble with excitement.

"But I didn't know you two were even dating. And for him to ask you to go away with him, that's huge." Miranda rubbed her hands together. "And obviously Chantal doesn't know. Wow, you two could be sisters-in-law—"

"Whoa. Hold on there. We're just dating while he's in town, that's it."

Miranda, a hopeless romantic who lived on a diet of erotic novels and rom-com movies, clasped her hands to her heart. "It's so great. You've been single for ages and he's lovely so imagine if you did get together long-term—"

"You're hopeless." Ashlin laughed and headed for the door. "Go home and read one of those smutty books you love and leave me alone."

"I want details!" Miranda yelled and Ashlin flipped her the bird.

As Ashlin slipped out of the door, her cell buzzed with an incoming message.

She rummaged in her bag and pulled it out, knowing Miranda worked fast but not that fast. This couldn't be Chantal demanding Intel on her weekend away.

When she saw the sender’s name on the screen, her heart did a weird little skive.

WOT R U WEARING?

Was Wyatt trying to have phone sex with her? One way to find out.

She typed a response: PINK THONG. C-THRU LACE BRA.

The message had barely entered cyberspace when he answered.

TAKE THEM OFF.

Heat flushed her cheeks. Wow, she'd never had phone sex before. And the anticipation of doing it with Wyatt made her hands shake.

She bolted for her office, slammed the door shut and flicked the lock. She slipped off her sneakers and made herself comfortable on the small two-seater sofa opposite her desk. Then she answered.

NOT TIL U GET NAKED 1
ST
.

She stared at her cell's screen, willing a return message. When it came, she jumped.

DONE. NOW U.

Feeling foolish, Ashlin unhooked her bra and pulled it through the sleeve of her tank top. Then she shimmied out of her thong and put her shorts back on. She may be up for her first bout of phone sex but no way could she lounge around her office naked.

Her cell pinged. PINCH NIPPLES. ROLL THEM. IMAGINE IT'S ME.

Ashlin placed the cell on the sofa next to her, and did as Wyatt instructed. It felt good. Fantastic, in fact. Imagining his fingers tweaking the hardened nubs.

TOUCH YOUR CLIT.

She didn't need to be asked twice, the pressure building as she looked down and envisaged Wyatt's head between her legs. Imagined entwining her fingers in his dark curls as his tongue licked her…

FASTER. LIKE I'M PUMPING MY COCK.

Seeing his explicitness on the screen had her excitement skyrocketing. She circled her clit with her middle finger, faster and faster, her breathing shallow.

Sweat beaded between her breasts, trickled down to where she couldn't stop staring at her hand. Until her cell beeped again and she eagerly glanced at it to see Wyatt's next instruction.

U R SO WET 4 ME. CUM.

And she did, the spasms stronger than anything she'd ever experienced alone, draining every last drop of energy as she sank deeper into the sofa cushions.

Every inch of her body tingled, like being zapped with tiny bursts of electricity. Hell, if Wyatt could do this remotely, she could be ready sooner than expected to let him try it for real.

She picked up her cell, lost for words. It vibrated in her hand.

SWEET DREAMS. C U SOON.

That was it? She wanted more. Now.

But considering how goddamn horny Wyatt had made her over the weekend, the guy knew what he was doing. She needed to trust him. Something she'd never done with any guy since Dougal.

So she responded with XXX. Three kisses that could be interpreted as X-rated.

After all, why should she be the only one left squirming?

Wyatt didn't contact Ashlin for two days.

Making her wait almost killed him.

He worked remotely too, not daring to enter Burlesque Bombshells on the off chance he'd run into her. If he did he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

There was a difference between patience and insanity, and he trod a fine line between the two. He wanted to build the anticipation for her, but in turn it drove him frigging nuts.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He would invite her over tonight. Time for this seduction to move on from feet and texting to…more.

As he picked up his cell to text her, an incoming videoconference call on his PC lit up.

Kurt.

Not in the mood for his brother's usual brash crap, he hesitated. Then a memory of Steele's questions popped into his head and he did the right thing.

He answered and Kurt's big head and wide shoulders filled the screen. "Hey bozo."

"Hey putz." Kurt grinned like he didn't have a care in the world. That grin irked. "What are you doing?"

"Work. You know, that thing I do for a living, rather than chase a pigskin around a park while trying to dodge a bunch of Neanderthals."

"Still jealous of my athletic prowess, I see."

Wyatt scowled. "Bite me."

Kurt's grin faded. "How are the Aussies?"

Ah, so that's what this call was about. Wyatt knew he should be glad Kurt showed an interest in their half-brothers. Then again, shouldn't he be calling them? Typical Kurt, ignoring him until he needed something. Using him, calling him to pave the way.

So he decided to rub it in a little. "Zane's great. Moved in with Chantal. And Steele's a good guy. Dynamo businessman. We've been hanging out."

He could've sworn Kurt paled a little beneath his year-round tan. "He's doing business while he's here?"

Touchdown
. Wyatt bit back a grin. "Nah. But he does marketing for all the big brands around the world. He's the best at what he does."

Kurt mumbled, "Uh-huh," before his lips compressed into a thin line.

Wyatt felt bad for baiting him, for all of two seconds before he remembered the countless times Kurt had taunted him.

"I'm coming to Vegas in a few days and I want us all to hang out," Kurt blurted, sounding uncharacteristically anxious. "I'll throw a party. Less pressure that way."

"Okay." He had to give Kurt some credit. The brother he'd grown up with didn't go out of his way very often, and the fact he wanted to spend time with his siblings was a big deal. "See you then."

Kurt saluted, about to sign off, when Wyatt added, "Don't invite Christopher."

Kurt instantly glanced away and Wyatt's heart sank. "Tell me he didn't set you up to do this as a way to meet Steele."

"Fuck, no. What do you take me for?"

"Daddy's golden boy," Wyatt said, with more than a hint of rancor. "Look, Steele remembers Christopher. He remembers a father who upped and left him to start another family, then didn’t contact him again. He's come all this way to meet us. Don't rub his nose in it."

After a long pause, Kurt nodded. "I'll think about it."

"You do that." Wyatt hit the end-call button before he said anything he'd regret. Such as telling Kurt what it felt like to be a son ignored by his father. To feel inadequate and never good enough. To feel an outcast in his own frigging family.

Fuck, if Wyatt felt all those things and he'd had Christopher around, how much worse must it have been for Steele?

Hopefully Kurt had got the message and Christopher wouldn't be at his party.

For all their sakes.

Ashlin didn't like hotels. She'd lived in enough of them while touring around Europe and the novelty had grown old fast. And she particularly hated room service. She'd spent too many nights eating in her hotel room because she had to keep up her strength, followed by crying jags that left her wishing she hadn't eaten a thing.

Those days had been the pits personally, while professionally she'd gained a reputation as an innovative choreographer with the capability of producing unique, standout routines. She'd been revered in public. And filled with self-loathing in private.

When she'd initially fled her home and ended up in trouble in London, she'd done what she had to do at the time. It had been her sole option. But Dougal hadn't seen it that way and she'd lost him too. She'd been an emotional wreck. But dance had saved her and it would ultimately save her now.

The big competition had been moved forward to this Thursday, two days from now. She was ready. Had rehearsed with the girls a million times. Yet she couldn’t ignore the ever-present niggle at the back of her mind: what if she didn't win? What then? Would she continue to stagnate in Vegas, reluctant to take a chance on something new?

Shaking off her thoughts, she fixed a smile on her face as Wyatt served dessert. Chocolate mousse. Signature room service fare.

He faltered, the plate perched precariously on his palm. "You don't like mousse?"

"I'm not a fan of room service," she said, wishing she didn't feel compelled to enunciate every honest thought around this guy.

A puzzled frown creased his brow. "Why didn't you say something? We could've gone out to eat?"

She took the plate, placed it on the coffee table and pressed a kiss to his palm. "Because I wouldn't have been able to do that in public."

His eyes darkened to ebony. "If it's confession time, I have to admit I invited you here to say screw the plan and let me screw you."

She smiled at his bluntness. "That phone sex was pretty intense, huh?"

"Hell yeah." He sat next to her, temptingly close. "Think I'm torturing myself more than you."

"I'm being tortured plenty." She fanned her face. "You make me incredibly hot."

"Ditto." He sat next to her, their knees touching. "But I don't want to ruin this." He laid a hand on her thigh and she could've sworn her skin sizzled through the thin cotton dress she'd worn. "I'd planned on sending you steamy emails and handwritten notes and all sorts of smutty stuff."

"And now?"

"Now I just want you."

His sincerity floored her.

She'd never met anyone like him. Honest. Genuine. Not afraid to articulate exactly what he thought.