Lucky 7 Bad Boys Contemporary Romance Boxed Set (127 page)

By the time she took her third, she was already starting to feel better.

She set the bottle down then looked at the clock. It was almost eight.

Max would be here soon, and she was still fully dressed, hardly what one would call comfortably.

Rushing into the bathroom, she stripped down to her underwear, simple boy-short panties and a cotton camisole and bra. Face flushed with nerves and alcohol, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror.

What she'd told Max was true. She wasn't beautiful, and she didn't have the world's best body, but she was attractive. Certainly nothing like he and Rhys were used to, but Max must find her at least reasonably attractive, or else he wouldn't have agreed to her little proposal.

Unless he felt sorry for her.

Oh, God. Was she about to be pity fucked?

The idea didn't sit well with her. She was a strong, independent woman who simply wanted to expand her repertoire of tricks. She'd read sex books. She'd watched porn. But besides making her incredibly hot and frustrated, most of the sexual acts and responses she'd viewed still seemed somewhat perplexing to her. The whole thing with the nipples, for example. Nipple stimulation did next to nothing for her, but other women seemed to enjoy it. Did men?

That was the kind of thing she wanted to know. The kind of thing that Brian had ridiculed her for when she'd asked him. She'd ply Max with questions, and she'd try her best to make the experience a good one for him.

It wasn't like he could have very many expectations.

At least she knew she was a better kisser than she'd been at sixteen.

Closing her eyes, she opened herself to the memory of that long-ago night. Rhys had asked her to meet him in her parents’ gazebo the night of her sweet sixteen party. He had something special he wanted to give her, he'd said. And something important to tell her. Imagination going wild and hope soaring, she'd waited in that gazebo for over an hour before Max had come out to find her. When she'd asked about Rhys, Max had stalled. But Melina had kept pushing until Max finally admitted that Rhys was making out with Trisha James, the busty blonde cheerleader who lived next door and the one who Melina's parents had bullied her into inviting. She'd sobbed all over poor Max's shirt, and then, feeling sorry for her, he'd kissed her. Even then, she hadn't been ignorant of his skill. That slow, gentle, open-mouthed kiss still ranked high on her kiss-o-meter. By the time Rhys had shown up outside, Trisha by his side, Melina had been able to control her hurt and make a dignified exit.

She'd always been grateful to Max for his compassion that night. That's why she knew he wouldn't let her down now.

Another quick glance at the clock confirmed she had about twenty more minutes until he showed up.

She climbed on the bed. She tried out several come-hither positions, but only felt exposed and silly. Finally, she settled for getting under the covers, but not before putting the minibar bottles on the end table next to her, lined up like little shot glasses.

Just a little more whiskey courage, she thought.

She was on the last bottle, an enjoyable buzz simmering inside her, when she remembered Max's third request.

Her glasses. She took them off, stared blurrily at the fragile frames, and moved to put them on the nightstand. She hesitated. With a shrug, she tossed the glasses in the direction of the armchair, wincing when she heard them bounce against something hard.

No matter. She had a spare pair in her purse and more at home.

Tonight was supposed to be all about experiencing new things.

New sensations.

She was going to be a good little pupil.

She knew, however, that, like a shot in the arm that was for her own good, sometimes it was better to not see what was coming. Especially if it was of magnum proportions.

* * *

Rhys got off the elevator and moved wearily toward his hotel room. He was standing in front of his door and fishing his key card from his pocket when he suddenly froze. Head tilted back, he took a deep breath. He smelled lemon, a fresh, clean scent that he always associated with Melina because of the shampoo her mother had customized for her long, curly, brown locks. His gut clenched as he replayed his conversation with Max.

His brother had landed two blows over the course of two days. The first, by exposing his feelings for Melina. The second, by accusing him of hurting her. Both right on the mark.

He didn't want to hurt Melina. That's the last thing he wanted. But after over a decade of having what he wanted just within his reach but knowing he couldn't have it, he needed to move on.

Hell, he and Max were celebrities. Women threw themselves at him. The brunette he'd left at the bar had made it clear she was interested in more than his autograph and had seemed genuinely disappointed when he'd wished her goodnight.

Still, while one or two had managed to catch his attention for more than a night over the years, they'd never been able to make him feel the way he felt when he was with Melina.

As though a part of him had long been chopped off and magically reattached.

Like a deck of cards missing all its aces until someone slipped them back in.

It was a feeling that even the thundering applause of a packed theater in Caesars Palace couldn't compete with.

But it was an illusion. She'd already shown she preferred Max's company by a wide mile. Plus, beyond physical attraction on his part and possibly on hers, they weren't compatible, and he didn't want to spend his life arguing with her or disappointing her just to be proved right.

Shaking his head, he slipped the key card in and entered the hotel room.

Immediately, he tensed, his sharp vision homing in on the woman lying in his bed, her eyes sleepily blinking open as she propped herself up on one elbow. He almost swallowed his tongue when the sheet slipped down her chest, exposing her graceful throat and bare shoulders and arms. Her hair, usually pulled back, tumbled around her face like a cloud of mink.

Like a man under a spell, he walked into the room. Stumbled was probably more like it. He heard the loud click of the door closing behind him.

She smiled. “Hi.”

He trembled at the simple word, spoken in a husky, sleepy tone he'd never heard come from her lips. His hands clenched into fists as an inferno ignited inside him, spreading from his groin into his extremities. His dick filled with blood, hardening so fast that he would have grimaced with the pleasure-pain if he was capable of it.

Instead, he stared at her and struggled to speak.

She scooted to a sitting position and tucked the sheet around her. “I-I must have dozed off.” She glanced at the clock, squinting a bit without her glasses.

When had he last seen her without her glasses?

“Everything okay?” she asked.

His soggy brain struggled to work. Okay? Things were looking fucking fabulous from where he was standing.

“So, did you want to clean up first or—” She cleared her throat. “Or just get started?”

His mouth dropped open. Worked up and down. “Started,” he finally managed to croak. He'd intended the word to be a question, but it came out as a definitive statement.

She shot him another sweet smile, and he instinctively stepped closer. God, she looked amazing. And the way she was staring at him, so warm and at ease, a look she hadn't given him in such a long time. It made his chest ache. It made his heart pound.

It made his dick throb even more.

She held out a hand. “Then come here, big boy, and teach me what you like.”

Chapter Four

Dalton's Magic Rule #5: Get up close and personal.

Part of Melina knew she should be freaking out. She couldn't quite comprehend why she wasn't. Somewhere between getting into bed and Max's arrival, a veil of calm certainty had surrounded her. She felt like Super Sex Goddess Woman. Like she could do anything. Do anyone. Especially now that she'd done herself.

The words echoed in her mind, and she almost giggled. Although she suppressed the urge, she couldn't stop the way her legs shifted guiltily beneath the blankets.

Could Max tell what she'd been up to before he'd walked in? Thank God, the tremors of her self-induced orgasm had already dwindled. And it certainly wasn't a crime. In fact, it had made perfect sense to her as she'd lain staring at the ceiling, her nerves eased but her mind still working a hundred miles a minute.

Max was her friend, true, but there was no doubt that he was also overwhelmingly hot and way out of her league. Despite Brian's comments to the contrary, she got as horny as the next woman. Maybe even more so, for all she knew. That wouldn't serve her well tonight. If she was all aroused and stimulated when Max climbed into bed with her, she wouldn't be able to concentrate on the task at hand. Since she had always been a one-a-day girl if she was lucky, it made sense that giving herself an orgasm would help her remain sufficiently clearheaded throughout the evening.

Satisfied with her reasoning, she'd slid her hand inside her underwear and taken care of business, rubbing and pressing and dipping in ways she thought were quite simple but Brian hadn't been able to get a basic handle on. When she'd felt her pleasure building, she'd closed her eyes and given into one of her favorite fantasies.

It involved her and Rhys. And water. Lots of water. Rain pounding down on them, plastering their clothes to their bodies. Rhys tossing her skirt up and pressing her up against a porch post while she wrapped her legs around his waist. But the rain on the outside would be nothing compared to the warm wetness that would help ease his way inside her. His cock would be thick and long. Rock hard. Big and beautiful and filling her to perfection so that she'd go crazy in his arms—right before he went crazy in hers.

Imagining his hips thrusting and bucking while he shouted her name to the heavens had made her body clench with delight. The pressure inside her had mounted, spinning out of control until it had finally snapped. She'd bitten her lip as she'd savored one pulse of pleasure after another. Of course, as the sensations had ebbed, and she'd found herself dry and alone in her bed, she'd bitten her lip again—this time in an effort to stifle her moan of pain.

She'd ached inside when she'd realized it had just been another fantasy. Just like she always ached for Rhys. And just when she'd started to fall asleep, with the vague idea that maybe Max wasn't going to show, she'd heard the hotel door open.

Now here he was, standing no more than five feet from the bed, his tall form as broad-shouldered and powerful as the one she'd conjured in her fantasy. And although she was a little nervous because she didn't know exactly what was going to happen, she wasn't freaking out. In fact, that slow, lazy glide of slick pleasure had started inside her again, weighing her down with a pleasant but confusing infusion of desire. Obviously, her eyes were seeing Max, but her body was ready to reach out and touch Rhys.

Even without her glasses, she could tell Max was feeling a little off-kilter, as well. Somehow, that gave her added courage.

Wow. She was about to get her game on with one of the Dalton twins, maybe not the right one, but at least the one who, unlike most men in her life, was here to give her what she needed and not the other way around.

Well, kinda.

She took a deep breath. It's showtime.

Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, she got to her feet, then immediately threw out a steadying hand when she swayed.

Whoa. Not wearing her glasses was not only putting a hazy edge to her vision, but throwing her equilibrium off balance, too. Shaking back her hair, her hand still gliding over the bedcovers for balance, she skirted around the mattress toward Max. Deliberately, she threw her shoulders back and kept her chin up.

She was tired of men who sucked in bed and blamed her for their suckiness. She'd take her fair share of responsibility, but not all of it. At least she was proactive. At least she was willing to learn. And who knew? She was a good student. If Max was a good enough teacher, maybe she could make her fantasy come true. Not with Rhys, of course, but maybe with Jamie. And if not with him, then maybe someone else.

Coming to an abrupt halt, she smiled. She was starting to think that her vow to give herself one last chance to find a man was silly. She'd never been a quitter, after all. Pleased with her realization, she raised her gaze to Max.

He hadn't moved. Just continued to stare at her as if her offer to please him had rendered him speechless or, at the very least, given him second thoughts.

They couldn't have that.

Raising her arms, she turned in a slow circle, ending the show with her hands resting on her hips. “Well? Is this sexy enough for you?”

* * *

Sexy enough?

Was she sexy enough for him?

Rhys licked his lips, but was careful not to make any sudden moves. If he was losing his marbles, he wasn't about to do anything to rattle his brain back to life. With her simple camisole and boy-short underwear, she was showing less skin than women often showed at the pool. Hell, the girls wore less material on stage.