Girl Gear 4: Striptease (14 page)

Missing his nearness already, she prepared to drive him away for good. “I know you don’t want to believe that you might actually be letting your career take over your life. I know you don’t want to believe that you’ve fallen into the same trap that your parents did. Because that would mean you didn’t learn anything at all from their example. And that you’ve let down your sister, as well as yourself.”

His narrowed eyes glittered. He picked up his wineglass and drained it dry. And then he shook his head. “You’ve definitely been talking too much to my sister.”

“Am I right?”

He shifted around on the bench to face her. “I have plans, Melanie. I’m not sure what Renata told you, but one thing even she doesn’t know is that this documentary is going to take me where I want to go.”

“How so?”

He shook his head, as if what he was thinking had nothing to do with her question, but with what he was seeing in his mind. “This is the best work I’ve ever done. Everything I’ve captured is real. Nothing is forced or set up. It’s spontaneous. Every single detail. That’s why I could see the way you were looking at
me. And that’s why…” He hesitated, as if uncertain how much more to say.

“Why what?” she prompted.

“Why I can’t think of this as a relationship,” he said quickly. “I like you a lot, Melanie. I’m pretty sure you know that. But a true relationship would cut into the time I need to spend on my work. The time, and especially the focus, I need right now. I’m at a really crucial point and I don’t want to screw it up.”

And she would screw it up. Who was driving whom away? She pursed her lips for a moment before saying, “Then my timing is really perfect.”

“Timing?”

She nodded. “I’ve realized lately how much I’ve neglected work since you and I have been involved. And it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t been watching that same sort of neglect happen all around me.”

“I’m lost here, sweetheart. But feel free to enlighten me.”

“Lauren can’t go without calling Anton at least five times a day. Macy’s lunch hours always run two hours, no doubt taken in Leo’s corporate rest room. Chloe repairs her makeup at the end of the day, but on company time, because getting home to Eric is all that matters.” God, where was all of this coming from? “Even Sydney spends too much time daydreaming, looking like the cat that ate the canary.”

The dreaded relationship distraction. Melanie expelled a long sigh, trying to keep her voice steady. A steadiness that would’ve been easier to maintain if what she was thinking and what she’d just said didn’t make the women she loved and worked with sound like unprofessional dweebs.

But the minute the other women became part of a couple, nothing else seemed to matter in their lives.

The entire gIRL-gEAR paradigm was falling apart. And Melanie couldn’t stand it.

Feeling righteously justified in what she was doing, even as her heart twisted, she looked Jacob straight in the eye and said, “I think we should call this whole thing off.”

“Call it off,” he repeated.

“Yes. We’re not involved except physically, so it shouldn’t be hard. We can both get back to our priorities. When you think about it, it’s the smart thing to do.”

“It’s the chicken thing to do,” he countered bluntly.

She blinked. Twice. “Chicken?”

“Chicken. Taking the easy way out. What are you afraid of? Your loss of control?” He smiled wryly. “Don’t look so surprised. Did you think you were still a stranger to me? Not hardly.”

She found herself totally speechless.

“Don’t you realize what a turn-on your passion is?”

“Yeah, right.”

“What’s the problem then? You think putting an end to this affair is going to help your concentration? Screw your partners and what they might or might not be doing to ruin the company. This isn’t about them. This is about you. We stop what we’re doing? You’ll be frustrated and just as distracted as they are, obsessing about the sensational sex we’ve had.”

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. “Much ego there, Faulkner?”

This time he snorted. “Is that it? You think I’m going to dump you, so you’re doing the dumping first?
We don’t have a serious thing going on here. There’s no real dumping involved, is there?”

His arguments were too logical. Her pride too great. And her heart aching. This had to be what her mother had felt, her grandmother, too—this pull between sex and sanity, love and self-protection.

But Melanie was stronger than them, she told herself. She would not be weaker when he left. “Fine,” she said firmly. “So we don’t call it off. Where do we go from here?”

“Back to your place.”

“It’s so nice to be wanted for my body.” She said it teasingly, sarcastically, though in reality she was putting more emotion than challenge on the line.

“Hell, Melanie.”

He slid out of the booth and waited for her to follow. And only then, when she was standing beside him, her shoulder rubbing against his chest and absorbing his warmth…only then did he add in a whisper, “A body I can get anywhere. It’s your brain that makes this an adventure.”

S
ATURDAY MORNING FOUND
Melanie having just finished working out when her cell phone buzzed. Bent forward at the waist, she continued her cool-down stretch, counting to ten.

A girl couldn’t even enjoy a quiet sweat, she mused, taking hold of the pole for support with one hand, the other braced on one knee. She breathed slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth, until a bead of perspiration fell from the hollow of her throat to puddle on the room’s hardwood floor.

She’d used her remote control a few minutes ago to shut off the music. She preferred cooling down in si
lence, enjoying the sound of her own labored breathing and the imagined drumbeat of her heart.

But when her phone buzzed again, she picked up her towel and headed for her bedroom, where the device sat in its charging cradle on her dresser. “Message Received” read her display screen.

She frowned; not many of her girlfriends shared her cell service and none ever utilized text messaging. The incoming number wasn’t familiar, though that wasn’t saying much. She didn’t make a habit of memorizing numbers.

That was the entire purpose of having a cell phone and a PDA. She pushed the combination of buttons necessary to read what had been sent. And then she rolled her eyes.

Let’s go, Adventure gIRL. Be in your car in fifteen minutes.

Jacob thought he was so clever. Adventure gIRL her butt. He was determined to ignore everything they’d talked about last night. And the things they’d done after tumbling into bed, having killed two bottles of wine between them.

The alcohol had lowered inhibitions. And she didn’t doubt for a minute that this morning found Jacob regretting the things he’d said.

If he even remembered them.

Wouldn’t that be just her luck, that all his talk of the things she made him feel turned out to be nothing but drunken ramblings. Drunken horny ramblings. He didn’t want to lose the easy sex he was getting.

And, honestly. Why was she putting so much stock into what he said in bed? Bed was…bed. Sex. Much more important were the things they talked about
when they had their clothes on. Except Jacob never wanted to talk.

Or he wanted to talk about anything except the things she thought mattered. Until last night, anyway. Last night he’d finally given her the glimpse into his head she’d been wanting.

Of course, once he realized how much of himself he’d revealed, he’d immediately backed off and suggested more sex instead. Such a typical man. And a man she was falling for in a very big way.

He made her laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her laugh, catching her off guard with the outrageous things he said. His attitude. His observations.

The thought of him not being around the office and, even worse, being half a continent away…the idea was almost unbearable. Even though she’d sworn less than twelve hours ago to keep this purely sexual, she couldn’t stand to think of him leaving.

Her phone buzzed again. She pulled up the message.

Chicken.

That did it. She wasn’t going to stand around here and be called names. Not by a man who was a bigger chicken than she was.

F
OLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS
Jacob sent as text messages to her phone wasn’t hard in the least. Granted, she’d taken forty-five minutes to get to her car, not the fifteen he’d ordered. But she figured he’d rather have her arrive for her adventure smelling better than she had when he’d first rang.

By the time she headed out it had been almost noon. She was able to easily map the entire route using his play by play instructions. She’d never realized how close he lived. Well, closer to the warehouse loft Poe had just bought from Lauren and Macy.

In fact, Jacob’s address was also a warehouse, his being farther east of downtown. He was almost within walking distance of Minute Maid Park. She wondered if he made it to many ball games.

She parked where he’d directed, using the security code to open the gate leading to his private carport. She pulled her Infiniti in next to his Sport Trac and got out. He’d told her that the bunker-style door ahead would open into a maintenance room where she’d find his elevator.

She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find
him,
what with all this subterfuge. But then she heard the electronic whir of a camera zooming in, and it was all she could do not to look up into the corner as the elevator ascended to the second floor.

Spy boy was not going to rattle her that easily.

The elevator opened into a cavernous room with a floor tiled in large black-and-white squares. And
he
accused
her
of needing to add color to her life. Oh, there were red squares, too, she noticed, moving farther inside. And purple, she saw on further inspection. But there wasn’t much else in the room.

A kitchen space took up one end, complete with track lighting above a stainless-steel island like something off the starship
Enterprise.
Especially when she factored in the row of television screens above cabinets that were white with black trim.

Except for the missing sound track, it was like being in a funky club with random music video images flashing from one screen to the next. A syncopated relay of sorts.

Or so she thought until she reached the last monitor in the row and found herself looking at her own image. A live image. Nothing he’d recorded earlier in the office or on the Webcam. But a security feed much like the one she’d heard being made in the elevator.

Nope. He wasn’t going to get to her. Not today after last night’s decision to simply enjoy his brain and his body as long as he was around.

She turned away from the kitchen space, hearing another camera whir and ignoring that one, too, as she made her way into what appeared to be the main living area, or would have been livable if furnished.

It wasn’t. At least not in a conventional way. He had what she supposed passed for two sofas, but had started life as automobile bench seats before being given a designer touch. The coffee table between was the tailgate from a pickup, with legs made from the supporting bases of jacks.

Halogen floor lamps sat in critical locations beneath the high warehouse windows in the long brick wall. At the far end of the room, a spiral staircase led up to a second floor. Hmm. Must be his lair.

She headed that way, wondering what kind of guy didn’t have a monstrous big screen TV and stereo system. What was she thinking? A guy like Jacob, of course, who didn’t analyze but went for the overall concept. This overall concept was strangely spare. And strangely strange.

Since she didn’t need to understand him more than she already did, she let it go as she reached the stairs. It was then that she realized the windshield frame hanging there on the far wall wasn’t framing a picture. It was broadcasting another camera feed.

And he claimed to be able to separate work from the rest of his life. Ha! Taking a walk through his loft pretty much drove home her theory that videography
was
his life. Amazing, really, how well she knew him. And sad, as well, that the man she knew best would never be a long-term fixture in her life.

Blowing out a long, slow breath, she gripped the iron railing and ascended the stairs, feeling her own image following her progress from below. A mightily disconcerting situation, she had to admit. But it was nothing compared to the shock that throttled through her when she reached floor number two.

The high-set windows of the long main wall were blocked by a television screen. But it wasn’t a single screen. It was a video cluster that showed one single broadcast. And, of course, that broadcast was her. Talk about disconcerting, seeing oneself literally the size of a building and cut up into a dozen squares.

She took another step into the room. The camera
capturing her image zoomed in so that she saw only her mouth to the far right of the top of the screen, a shoulder in the lower left. The center of the picture was the hollow of her throat. And the nervous beat of her pulse was visible there.

She wanted to know where Jacob was but she refused to call out. He’d no doubt make his presence known when he was good and ready. And watching his mind at work, gauging that readiness by the adjustments he made to the camera angle and zoom, intrigued her to no end.

When, after several seconds, the picture on the wall of screens hadn’t changed, anticipation blossomed on her skin in a fine sheen of sweat. Before Jacob, she would’ve been much more ladylike and perspired. But her response to him had long since been anything but ladylike.

She continued to watch the monitors, not wanting to miss a minute of what was coming and, yes, admittedly hesitant to spoil the suspense. This had to be his bedroom. And she was certain they’d end up in bed. But she wasn’t ready for the end game when they had so many rounds yet to play.

It was then that she caught movement behind her video image. She looked beyond her own shoulder and watched Jacob come into the scene. Every part of her body tensed with expectation. Breathing became more chore than unconscious thought.

When he finally came into focus, she caught nothing but glimpses as he used her body as a shield. But she did see that his shoulders were bare and, it seemed, the rest of him, too. She saw the long lean length of both hip and thigh before she blocked him completely.

And then, at that moment, the music came on. The
same mixture of Dirty Vegas and Moby, Vibrolux and Zero 7 that she’d used in her original striptease. The man did not play fair, because now he was directly behind her and the air fairly screamed with the tension.

She couldn’t see him and she wanted to see him, but she saw nothing but his hands as they settled on her shoulders. His hands and, as he shifted position, a sleek headset and mike.

“Zoom in one,” he said, after lifting one hand to a sound control at his ear, and the image on the cluster became no more than her body from shoulders to waist.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, watching her throat work as she spoke.

“You wouldn’t watch the tape. I want you to see what I see when you take off your clothes.”

“I know what you see. I know the equipment.”

“You know the parts. You don’t see the whole.”

They were back to that, but she wasn’t going to argue because his hands had slipped down to the row of buttons beneath the deep V-neck of her sleeveless top. Big round buttons, the color of sunflowers, holding together the matching blouse she wore over her shirt.

She wondered if he’d noticed, but he didn’t say a word. He only continued to unbutton.

He finished, and one hand went back to his headset. “Zoom in two.”

Melanie watched as her chest filled the video screen. Jacob’s hands returned to pull her top off her shoulders, exposing her sheer, ivory lace bra and dark areolas. And then he released the back clasp of her bra and took the straps down her arms until the lace edges of the cups caught on her nipples, drawn achingly taut.

She hated watching; she loved watching. She couldn’t decide if she was more aroused by what she saw or what she felt or by seeing what she felt.

And she
was
aroused, beyond belief, and clenching the muscles between her thighs made it worse, made her long to take him as deeply into her body as she possibly could, made her want to feel the firmness of his erection when she squeezed.

And now Jacob’s fingers were tweaking where the cups of her bra held fast, tugging at her nipples, his palms dipping below to cup the slight weight of her breasts. Eyes wide open, she watched the play of his very masculine hands, broad-palmed and long-fingered and with a dusting of dark hair, over her very feminine coloring and curves.

The music throbbed to the pulse of her body; her body thrummed to the music’s rhythm. She couldn’t separate the two sensations, the rush of her blood from the beat. The lighting here on the second floor wasn’t overly bright, but it was strategic. The video movements played between light and shadow, as if a strobe flashed from one screen to the next.

She was mesmerized, a voyeur in her own seduction. And then Jacob slipped his fingers beneath the sheer cups and covered her breasts completely. Her bra fell away, leaving nothing for her viewing but her naked torso and his hands. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. For this moment she only want to feel.

He tugged at her nipples, kneaded the firm flesh, ran the flat pad of a finger around the pebbled surface of her areolas before starting again from the beginning. But then he moved lower, his palms sliding over her abdomen to her skirt.

“Zoom out one,” he said into the mike, then added, “Zoom out two.”

Melanie looked on, and once again found herself gazing at her body from shoulders to waist. Only this time she was bare but for the short denim skirt that rode at her hipbones, and the belly chain circling above. Jacob slid his fingers beneath, splaying them over her abs while the chain across his knuckles seemed to hold him in place, hold him imprisoned.

The concept totally turned her on—as if she wasn’t turned on already. The lights, the music, the feel of Jacob’s hands on her skin and the very visual proof of what she was feeling taking up an entire wall…how could she not be on the verge of going out of her mind?

And then there was the obvious fact of Jacob’s arousal, and knowing that behind her he was naked. She’d caught glimpses as he’d moved, but none of what she’d seen satisfied her curiosity. Not when she could feel the hardness of his erection as he pressed himself to her bottom.

“Zoom down one,” he said into the mike, and the video cluster showed her belly chain and her skirt. Jacob’s hands worked the zipper down in back, and then he placed his palms on her hipbones and slid the skirt down her thighs until she stood in nothing but her sheer ivory thong.

The elastic edge ran along her trimmed line of dark hair, and the sheer material beneath hid nothing. Her clit stood out between her plump labia, and she was dying for Jacob’s touch. She watched as if disembodied, as if she was an uninvolved voyeur, as his hands framed her mound, his index fingers slipping beneath the thong and between the folds of her sex.

She whimpered and spread her legs, giving him better access to what he was seeking, there, where his fingers were holding open her sex and, oh, yes, he had her. He circled her body’s wet opening and dipped a finger inside, withdrawing before she could do no more than sigh in relief at his touch.

Frustration mounted higher when he pulled his hands away. “Take off your thong,” he ordered, and she hurried to oblige, feeling the heat of a blush travel over her skin.

Seeing her naked sex so…big and so…bare was as disconcerting as it was an erotic thrill. And then she heard the tearing sound of a condom wrapper at the same time Jacob said, “Touch yourself.”

What? Between her legs? It had been one thing doing so for a camera, but watching her own hands play in her own sex with Jacob behind her looking on? She moved her hands to her breasts and cupped the spare curves, moving fingers to pinch at her nipples as the fantasy settled in to stay.

Jacob had dipped his knees and, holding her hips, thrust his penis between her legs, rubbing from back to front through the folds of her sex, teasing her wildly with glimpses of the covered tip of his cock.

She wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to see him inside her, wanted more than the sensation of her bare bottom pillowed by the cushion of soft hair there at the base of his shaft.

His sharp intakes of breath signaled his want of more, too. But he made no move to take her to bed or to push himself into her body. And so she leaned back against him and slid her hands into the folds of her sex.

She pulled herself open so she could see everything
Jacob had seen on her Webcam performance, as well as when he’d buried his face between her thighs. She pressed her fingertips to the sides of her clit and shuddered as sensations rocked her to her toes.

And then Jacob’s hands were there with hers and she let him take over. Nothing she’d watched herself do in any way compared to having him please her. But suddenly it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

And so she stepped away, turned around and wrapped her arms around his waist, sliding her palms down to his backside, where she squeezed.

“What the hell are you doing?” He ground out the words even while pressing his erection into the softness of her belly.

“Taking my adventure into my own hands,” she replied, and settled her lips at the base of his throat.

She kissed him there, nipped at his skin, sucked and soothed the teeth marks. His hands, which had settled on her hipbones, slid up her rib cage; his thumbs rubbed the plump sides of her breasts and she shuddered.

“Jacob?” she murmured into the muscle and skin of his shoulder.

“Melanie?” he answered, his voice hoarse and gruff.

“Is there a bed in here?” she asked. “Or am I going to have to take you down to the floor?”

He chuckled then, and she felt the rumble everywhere he touched her. “Yeah. There’s a bed.”

“Then unless you consider a cold tiled floor beneath your back a turn-on, maybe we could move there?”