Learning Curves (3 page)

Even as he told her to leave, he couldn’t help but wonder if her skin colored the same way when she came. Did her breasts and neck flush in the grip of sexual passion? Would she be as bold during sex, taking the lead and showing him how he could please her? Brandon took an involuntary step toward her before he remembered he wasn’t interested in touching her. He was interested in getting her out of the room.

Yeah, right
, his conscience chimed in,
and I’m the Tooth Fairy.

“I’m not here for that,” she protested, and he’d been so distracted by the inappropriate nature of his thoughts, it took him a moment to recall his last words. Then she frowned. “So you don’t do private lap dances? Really?”

“No,” he said, trying to decipher her tone and failing. Disappointment? Or relief? “I never have. I only stepped in tonight because a dancer canceled at the last minute. Normally, I’m back of the house. I haven’t done a show in a couple of years.” He shook his head, dismissing his explanation as unnecessary. “But you still need to leave. This area isn’t for the public.”

“Oh.”

She looked so absurdly pleased when told he didn’t dance that Brandon wondered if he’d misjudged her. But something still didn’t add up. Even if she wasn’t here to seduce him—he tried very hard to ignore the disappointment that swept through him—she was still plenty nervous, biting her lip and twisting the chain of her purse into tortuous knots.

“Well, then, I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll just show myself out and let you get on with whatever it is you’ve got to do now.”

She edged toward the door. He reached out and closed his hand around her wrist, impeding her flight. Her quick intake of breath sounded loud in the silence and her eyes darkened, although her expression remained stubbornly noncommittal.

“You came back here for something. Why don’t you just save us both some time by telling me what it was,” he said. “My guess? Sex.”

She gasped at his bold charge. “No.” She paused. “Well, yes, but not really.”

“Which is it?” he replied, and she sighed.

With her free hand, she dug into the pocket of her skirt and handed him a rumpled business card. He studied the tiny picture and read the note before tossing it carelessly onto the dressing table.

“Pretty girl. You back here to broker the deal?” he said cynically, trying to ignore how soft her skin felt beneath the pads of his fingers.

She shrugged. “No. The plan was to make sure you didn’t.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Gillian’s the reason I’m here tonight. It’s her hen party. You know, rhinestone veil, raunchy gifts. The…uh…”

“The stripper?” he supplied, and she nodded. Her explanation didn’t add up, though. In his years at the club, he’d been accosted by more than one giggling and inebriated bride or bridesmaid. This woman’s palpable discomfort was something else entirely.

He took a stab in the dark. “So you wanted to save her from a fate worse than death, then? Keep her pure for the honeymoon?”

She giggled, then pressed her lips together, clearly struggling to contain her mirth. “Gillian? Are you kidding? She may look like an angel but she’ll screw anything on legs. I was actually thinking about Jeremy, the guy she’s supposed to be marrying.”

A surge of jealousy rocketed through him at her mention of the groom’s name. How the hell could he be jealous? He didn’t even know this woman.

“What’s so special about Jeremy?” he asked, trying for an even tone.

“He’s a good guy. And he doesn’t deserve to hear about his fiancée catting around two weeks before they tie the knot. What she does afterward is her business, but before?”

“Well, you can rest easy. I’m not in the market to provide stud services. I dance. Period.” Her face lit up at his avowal. She was a pretty girl when she wasn’t smiling, but when she did, she transformed from run-of-the-mill to dark-eyed and exotic. The pull of attraction he’d been fighting strengthened. “When I’m with a woman, it’s because we both want it. Not because she’s paid me.”

Her eyes widened at the suggestion implicit in his claim. He breathed deeply, trying to tamp down his rising need. She wore some kind of perfume. Fruity, with a hint of lemon and maybe vanilla. He didn’t recognize it but whatever it was, it was intoxicating. Brandon stroked his thumb against the tender flesh of her inner wrist.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
Tiny circles. So small, they were almost nonexistent, and they shouldn’t be having this mesmerizing effect on him. The slight hitch of her breath told him she was turned on too. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers across more of her body—the vulnerable column of her throat, the delicate skin behind her knees, the full mounds of her breasts. He moved closer, unable to focus on anything but the slight pressure of his thumb against her skin, incredibly aroused by this barely there touching.

Later, he would swear he’d meant to let go, that he’d opened his mouth to apologize for his unwarranted and forward behavior and to ask her to leave for good. He’d never be sure, because his next words took him by complete surprise.

“I saw you tonight,” he said softly as he stepped even closer. She didn’t resist his gesture, but tilted her head back to keep looking in his face.

Her eyes were dark and uncertain. A fine scattering of freckles dusted her nose. She swayed slightly as she licked her lips and Brandon felt his cock grow even harder when her breasts brushed against his chest.

“Saw me?” she said in a husky tone.

“From the stage. When I was dancing,” he murmured. He stepped even closer, until there was barely any space between them. He could feel the tight beads of her nipples through his robe. His cock surged, and he knew she could feel his erection pressing into her hip but he didn’t back away.

His mouth was only millimeters from her ear as he traced her jaw. He stopped at the corner of her lips. Either one of them had only to move a fraction of an inch for their mouths to meet. He wanted to kiss her so badly but forced himself to be still as he whispered, “You were sitting so still, but I knew you were thinking about me. Tell me, what were you imagining I was doing to you?”

Their eyes met, the unspoken answer hanging between them, drawing them even deeper into a bewitching, erotic haze.

As she looked into his face, his eyes dark and inscrutable in the poorly lit room, Leanne couldn’t forget the sensations he’d aroused in her while she watched him onstage. Or the fantasies he’d called forth. She remembered thinking earlier in the night that there was no way she’d ever be turned on by the dancers and the illusions they peddled.
Hubris.
The word suddenly popped into her mind. That was what the Greeks had called it. Because this stranger turned her on in a serious way.

The faith and confidence he had in his body, the smooth, almost musical way he moved, whether onstage or in the small space of the dressing room, combined to strip away her natural reserve and caution, compelling her to seize this charged moment.

The walls’ thick soundproofing muted the music from the club, softening it to a rumbling hint of bass. The sound seemed to beat in time with her heart even as the silence between them stretched out. Blood pulsed through her body. Her breasts were full, and warmth seeped through her body, settling between her legs, making her wet and turned on.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. So ready, so hot. Even when Steven was around, their sex life had never been spectacular. By the time they’d broken up, it had gotten to the point where Leanne could darn near time the whole thing. Start to finish, nine minutes. Nine brief, unmemorable minutes. Routine and boring and…

Leanne didn’t want to be routine anymore. She didn’t want to play it safe or by the book. Because the way Brandon looked at her made her feel dangerous and giddy and out of control. The way she imagined in her daydreams but never in real life. Until now.

Desire burst over her. This close, his face only inches from her own, she could see the small scar on his jaw and the remnants of his stage makeup.

“I was thinking about how it would feel to kiss you,” she confessed, her voice thick and languorous.

“Where?” he asked. He dipped his head the smallest degree and tasted her trembling lower lip. As their warm breath mingled, Leanne melted, her whole body overrun with need, until she felt more liquid than solid.

“Everywhere.”

A gleam of satisfaction lit deep within his blue eyes.

“What do you think we should do about it?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

She wanted to kiss him but her reservations made her hesitate. He tilted her chin up so their eyes could meet.

“You don’t do this very often, do you?” His voice was still dark and aroused but an undercurrent of gentle amusement eased her nerves. She relaxed a little into the circle of his arms.

“What’s that?”

“Take the lead in a one-night stand.”

“Is that what this is?”

“Certainly looks like it to me.”

“You have experience, then? No-strings-attached sex?”

His lips crinkled at her bluntness. “Some.”

“How much is ‘some’?”

“Some,” he repeated, brushing his lips along her throat. “I don’t do relationships as a general rule. Not my thing.”

“Funny. I don’t remember asking you for one.”

“No, you didn’t. But what’s between us right now won’t be
anything—
not a fling, not an affair, not no-strings-attached sex—until you tell me what you think we should do about it.”

It was his restraint that decided her. If he’d been crude or obnoxious or tried to rush her, she would have walked. But despite his all too evident need, he’d waited until she was certain this was the course of action she wanted to embark on.

She knew nothing about him but she knew enough that she couldn’t wait any longer.

“This,” she replied fiercely. And shoving aside her doubts, she kissed him.

His lips were firm, and when they opened against hers, his tongue, smooth and hot, slid into her mouth. It wasn’t an elegant kiss but the connection set off a fuse within her and she intensified the embrace greedily, their tongues clashing, taunting, inflaming.

When he released her wrist, his strong hands stroked effortlessly across her body. He buried them in her hair with a groan, and his fingers threading through the tousled strands brought her into even closer contact to his surging body.

Touching him was suddenly an imperative.

Not pausing to consider her actions, Leanne ran her hands across his chest, reveling in the firm muscles flexing beneath her fingertips. His robe gaped open where their bodies met and her questing fingers found the sash. Never breaking contact with his mouth, she wrestled with the knot until she worked it free. The robe slid down, off his shoulders, and puddled on the floor.

She nearly purred at the sight of him, her thoughts muddied by pounding, feverish need. It overwhelmed the clamoring voice of caution shouting in her mind. The only thing she could hear now—the only thing she wanted to hear—was his voice saying
More. Faster. Deeper.

Now she could touch him like she’d imagined while she watched him dance. But the reality was better than her fantasies. Far, far better. The feel of his skin, the tang of his sweat when she licked the strong cords of his throat. Each small gesture immediate, intense and intoxicatingly real.

Pulling her sweater over her head, revealing her bra, Brandon took her breasts in his strong hands. He rolled them together before caressing her nipples. His hands sought the clasp of her bra, undoing it with a deft snap.

His large hands, rolling the taut peaks between his fingers, sent a charge through Leanne’s body. She was wet, her pulse rapid, her flesh aching for his touch. And when he bent down and suckled the nipple, drawing it into his mouth and laving it firmly, Leanne thought she would come right there.

Suddenly she couldn’t wait. She needed his cock now. In her mouth. In her body. She didn’t care which. If she didn’t touch the rigid flesh, she might self-destruct.

She reached with greedy hands toward his straining erection and stroked the hardened length, pressing her palm against him. At her touch, he gasped. She worked quickly, freeing his cock from the confines of his g-string, and wrapped her hand along his erection. She caressed him firmly, from base to tip, and he swore.

“Christ! Where’d you learn to do that?”

She laughed and repeated the gesture, delighting in the feel of his tight abdominals clenching and contracting with each stroke. “I’m a perennial student. I’ve spent a lot of time at school.” She squeezed, running her finger up and down his length. His skin was soft and velvety, but underneath was an undeniable rigidity. She moved her hands more quickly and he buried his face against her neck, his breath coming in harsh pants as he licked and kissed her shoulder.

“
A,”
he said. “I give you an
A.”

She pouted playfully. “Just an
A?
I’ll have to try harder, then. Much, much harder.”

She twirled her hand around the tip even faster, running her finger along its sensitive underside, and a few drops of come seeped out. She wrapped her palm around his girth, the liquid lubricating the glide of her hand, stroking him with firm, unrelenting movements.

“Ahh…” He let out a murmured, strangled noise, half plea, half promise, “
A-plus! A-plus!”

Leanne smiled, luxuriating in her newly revealed power. She found it incredibly erotic, knowing she could drive such a gorgeous man so perilously near to losing control. This was what she’d dreamed about. Forgetting the rules and silencing her fears. Taking charge had never felt so good.

Trailing openmouthed kisses across his chest, she pushed him backward until his knees met the sofa. As he tumbled down onto the waiting cushions, Leanne sank shamelessly to her knees in front of him. “That’s good,” she said, “but now it’s time for another lesson.”

“Another lesson?” He groaned as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and sucked him into her mouth. His fingers wrapped into her hair as she took his cock in, deeper and deeper.