Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume III Page 10

  Instead, she told herself to pretend he didn’t exist. Or when that didn’t work—she tore off another bite of donut—she found other oral compensations.

  “Every story’s got a variety of slants,” Sebastian said reluctantly, shifting his attention from the window he’d been contemplating. Weird. He was usually the life of these meetings, tossing around ideas and flirtatious comments with equal enthusiasm. Jordan frowned, noting for the first time the stress tightening the corners of his eyes.

  For a second, she had the urge to climb over the table and give him a hug. But unlike the other four women in the room, she’d never been the groupie type.

  Well, that and if she tried, her father would go into overdrive to ensure the Golden Boy was hooked good and strong. Sell off his youngest daughter to net his dream son? In a heartbeat. No, thank you. Someday, she’d have success, her father’s approval and a hot sexy guy’s attention. And none of them, dammit, would have anything to do with the other.

  In the meantime, she took another bite of the donut.

  “Right, right. There’s always a slant,” Garret agreed heartily with Sebastian as he paced the room. “But I’m asking what slant you personally would go for.”

  Sebastian grimaced. She wasn’t sure if it was because he ended up sucked into every decision, as if his agreement represented a gold star of approval. Or if it was whatever had put those stress lines on his forehead.

  “For Machismo, the obvious is probably better,” he said, giving Jordan a look that said he was sorry, but she should already know this. “Men aren’t deep thinkers. If you can find a way to tie in the article to one of the sponsors’ products, say the Twisted Knickers Lingerie? Extra points.”

  Jordan knew he was right. She hated it, but she had to start using that fact. While Machismo catered to men, it wasn’t an in-your-face chauvinistic magazine. It was more along the lines of a good-ole-boy club on glossy paper. Which was why she’d nagged her father into letting her work here, specifically.

  Because if she could make it here, he’d have to admit she could make it anywhere.

  With that in mind, she patted the folder and gave Garret her best smile. “More cheesy fantasy, less reality. A sprinkling of hardcore client ass kissing on the side. Got it.”

  Garret’s lips twitched, but he just went on to deliver the next article revision. Jordan tuned it all out, focusing instead on jotting down revision ideas. As soon as Garret wound up the Thursday afternoon editorial meeting, she gathered her notepad and the folder and hurried for the door.

  She told herself it was so she could get this article rewritten before noon and still have time to work on her column proposal.

  It had nothing to do with wanting to avoid being alone in the room with Sebastian.

  Despite her efforts, she and Sebastian reached it at the same time. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked at each other. She raised her brow, hoping he’d take the hint and hurry up. He just grinned.

  “You know, I wouldn’t ask you to wear scratchy lace while you were cooking my chicken,” he murmured. “I’d hate for anything uncomfortable to irritate that alabaster skin of yours. I’m such an easygoing guy, I’d let you cook in the nude.”

  Her heart pounded so hard she was sure it would leap through her businesslike button-up shirt and splatter on her toes. Jordan struggled to keep her breathing smooth and her expression amused. As if the idea of the Golden Boy talking about her and nudity in the same sentence didn’t make her want to nibble her way down his washboard abs.

  Was he flirting with her? Should she check his temperature? Acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Jordan gave him a sweet smile and leaned closer to lie. “I have about as much interest in getting nude with you as I do in posing that way for the cover of Machismo.”

  “You’d make one helluva cover, princess,” he said, his tone husky and his eyes heating as he dropped his gaze to inspect her body.

  Holy cow, he was flirting with her. Thinking about her. Naked. Images of him seeing her nude filled her mind in blazing Technicolor. Her body went into instant meltdown. Heat poured through her system, beading her nipples beneath the crisp cotton of her blouse and sending damp awareness to pool between her legs.

  He must be ill.

  Forcing herself to keep her cool, though, Jordan rolled her eyes. And, with no hint at the spark of delight shivering down her belly, brushed past him. The scent of his cologne, clean and fresh, filled her senses. Her shoulder skimmed the hard planes of his chest, tingles adding to the melting desire already working through her system.

  “Everybody at the Monday morning meeting,” Garret called out. “I’ll have some personnel changes to announce as well as who’s getting the new column.”

  Jordan automatically crossed her fingers and sent up a wish.

  “Hey, Lane, do you have a minute? You haven’t turned anything in for the column yet and I want to run some ideas by you.”

  At Garret’s words, Jordan almost tripped over her own practically shod feet. What? No! She wanted to object. Dammit, that column should be hers. Her What Women Really Want column was perfect. For her, and for the magazine. She’d done enough research, included all the statistics to support her idea. And she’d even thrown in the cheesy sluttiness slant for advertising.

  Donut churning in her stomach, she jutted out her chin and determined to do whatever it took to make her column the winner. Somehow, someway, this time she was going to come out on top of Sebastian Lane.

  GOD, HE WAS SLIPPING. Sebastian watched Jordan Olliver stride away, her clipped, controlled pace not disguising the sway of her hips. He’d never met a woman he didn’t love watching walk away.

  Except Jordan. Her, he always had the urge to call back. An urge he was careful to squash like an irritating fly. Despite many hours mulling over why, he just couldn’t figure out what it was about her that fascinated him. It wasn’t her sense of style, since she dressed in an uptight way that did nothing to show off her curves. Her brown hair was short, flippy and streaked with coppery strands that caught the light whenever she turned away. Which was often.And if there was one thing Sebastian Lane used to pride himself in, it was his gift with women. How to woo them, how to do them, how to leave them smiling and waving goodbye. And how to know which ones to stay the hell away from.

  At least, that’d been something to be proud of up until four weeks ago. Before his life had gone to hell.

  But even without the bitter irony, he’d never have chased Jordan. Thanks to her daddy, she was strictly off limits.

  “C’mon into my office, Lane. We need to talk.”

  Pulled from his contemplation of Jordan’s butt, Sebastian followed with a sigh. Garret was a good guy. Wickedly clever and savvy in the ways of getting the most from his staff. But that tone, the serious-boss edge to it, told Sebastian this little talk didn’t bode well for his currently miserable state of mind.

  “Have a seat,” Garret said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. Sebastian gathered the stack of folders and magazines and, looking around, dumped them on the TV stand, then dropped into the chair.

  “You know you’re the best reporter we’ve got,” Garret started. Sebastian could tell the editor was going for the slow build, so he slid a little lower in the chair and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Your work covers the gamut—anything with the human element, especially anything that hints at sex, and you nail it three ways from Sunday.”

  “I’m good for more than sex,” Sebastian protested, unwilling to admit just how vitally true that statement was. Especially since he currently sucked at sex. And not in a good way. “I told you last month, I’d really like to refocus. To cover topics other than sex for a while.”

  “Sure thing. You’re Machismo’s biggest star. And we expect you to grow even bigger. Huge, actually.”

  Huge. Sebastian forced back his sardonic laugh in order to hide the touch of hysteria. He hadn’t grown huge in weeks. Four freaking weeks as a matter of fact. His nine-inch glory da
ys were apparently over.

  Sure, he could still get it up. But every time, up was about a quarter inch less than the last. Hell, at this rate with a few more hard-ons, there’d be nothing left to grow. And once he was up? Nothing. Nada. He couldn’t maintain those ever-shrinking inches to save his life. Or his ego.

  Thanks to that bitch…er, witch.

  “I hate to say it, Lane, but your performance has been lacking lately.”

  Understatement of the year.

  “Mr. Olliver even called this morning. He’s wondering if you aren’t stimulated enough.”

  Sebastian winced. If he tried any more stimulation, he was pretty sure his dick would fall off.

  “I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot going on.”

  “Why don’t you take tomorrow off, make it a three-day weekend? Take a break, grab one of those women who’re always falling all over you, go have a good time.”

  As if.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need time off.”

  “Look, Lane. Sebastian…” Garret sighed and leaned forward, his hands folded together on the only clear space in the office, the center of his desk blotter. “Mr. Olliver and I want to do whatever it takes to get you back on top of your game. But you haven’t been yourself lately. Hell, you haven’t even turned in that article on bogus sex magic you were supposed to write a couple weeks ago.”

  Sex magic. Nothing bogus about it.

  Sebastian struggled against the need to tell Garret everything. The witch. The curse. The impotent misery. Even though he was gossiped over and teased about being a ladies’ man, Sebastian had a deep, intense respect for women. Which meant he never talked about his relationships, whether they lasted an hour or a month. So this sudden urge to share was unfamiliar. And hellishly uncomfortable.

  Unable to stand it any longer, he leaned forward, his elbows on his jean-clad knees, and puffed out a breath. Then, in a low tone, he asked his editor, “What if that magic stuff is real?”

  “Huh?”

  “What if the magic is real? What if they do get naked, have sex, cast spells. But not the mumbo jumbo kind. The real kind. The take-a-guy’s-manhood-and-turn-it-into-a-limp-noodle kind.”

  Swallowing the anger that’d lodged in his throat, he forced himself to remember that night. The smell, the bodies, the words.

  The miserably real results.

  Results nobody was going to believe.

  “Beg pardon?” At the shocked expression on Garret’s face, Sebastian forced himself to wink, as if he’d been joking. After a couple stunned seconds, Garret laughed uncomfortably.

  “Look, Lane, you’ve been on the fast track for a while. You’ve been working hard. Top-notch, of course. But maybe you need a break.”

  A break? Like that was going to help. Wasn’t he already broken? Oh, sure, after his little run-in with the crazy witch with the grudge, he’d figured it’d been a joke. But he’d had a date the next night and, like most of his dates, it’d ended up back at her place. Angi had been hot and horny. They’d gotten naked fast and started playing slip and slide. Hard and happy, he’d headed for home. Then, poof, nothing. He just…couldn’t. His dick just…wouldn’t.

  Garret continued, “We’re kicking up the magazine’s circulation goals. We need you performing at your best.”

  His best? Hell, he hadn’t even been able to perform at his worst. After the failed date with Angi, he’d tried a few more times, a few other women. Then he’d become worried that maybe the witch’s spell might be, well, real. He’d tried to remember her words. Something about letting the woman go first. But he’d never had a gal not come, so it should have been an easy fix.

  “The sales team is hitting some top dogs this month,” Garret continued. “Olliver wants to take it to the next level, to take Machismo from regional to national. Quantity and quality. We need our heavy hitter in top shape to make it happen, though.”

  Heavy hitter, hell. Five women, all of them left with earth-shattering orgasms thanks to his skill with his fingers and tongue. But him? He was left with jack diddly. Sebastian shoved a hand through his hair, frustration making him want to rip it out by the roots.

  He’d finally gone over the edge last night. Obsessed with the wording of the curse, he’d figured he had to take it further than just letting his partner come first. So he’d hooked up with this chick, very demanding. He’d figured, hey, maybe that’s what it’ll take. A bossy one. He winced at the memory of the buxom brunette telling him to drop drawers, that she got off spanking guys. Hell, he’d actually had his jeans unzipped before his brains had reengaged.

  God, he was getting desperate.

  “Lane, seriously. If there’s anything I can do, just say so. I’m here for you, man.”

  But not desperate enough to share his misery.

  “I’m fine,” he said again. “I just need to get a few things…straightened.”

  And keep them straight, dammit. Unable to take any more, Sebastian slid to his feet. He had to get out of here. The combination of stress, sexual frustration and the memory of how close he’d come to hitting on Jordan, of all women, was enough to make him crazy.

  “We need you in top form next week,” Garret reminded him, the frown in the guy’s watery blue eyes making him look like a drowned basset hound. “You’re a part of the sales pitch meeting on Wednesday. I want total focus, okay? And I want that sex article. It’s the feature of the next issue and we need time to get it polished before the presentation.”

  “Sure,” Sebastian agreed, not really caring. Maybe he’d better start paying more attention, he chided himself. After all, it was starting to look as if his career was all he had. His favorite pastime wasn’t doing so good. “I think I’ll take you up on that break offer, though. I’ll take tomorrow off, head out of town. I have to do a little more research, but I’ll get the witch article to you by Monday.”

  “At the latest,” Garret agreed reluctantly, his smile gone now. Late articles didn’t make for a happy editor. “That reminds me, though. Olliver tossed his weight behind your name for the new column. I need an actual proposal though.”

  He’d been the one to suggest the column two months ago, wanting a platform to prove he could write about more than sex and how to hook the ladies. Cursed, now it meant more than ever. And, he shuddered, it might be all he had left to be proud of.

  “I’ll have it to you this afternoon,” Sebastian promised. Then he remembered a flash of something in a pair of caramel-brown eyes at this morning’s meeting and frowned. “Who else is in the running?”

  “Tomlin on sports, Cransfield for electronics and Marley mentioned a business angle. Stocks, investments, juggling funds.”

  The tight knot of tension loosened for the first time in two weeks. Okay, if he couldn’t have sex, at least he’d have his career.

  “Oh, yeah,” Garret remembered. “And the princess.”

  The princess. Jordan, of the sexy eyes and even sexier mouth. The woman who haunted his dreams, even now that those dreams had gone from wet to pathetically dry. Randall Olliver, the king of periodicals’ gorgeous, smart-mouthed daughter. Damn. The last thing he wanted was to go up against her.

  By Sebastian’s third year at Machismo, Olliver had made it clear he saw the younger man as his protégé. The potential prince to his kingdom. Both flattering and tempting for a boy from poor beginnings. Then he’d been introduced to Jordan, and Olliver had hinted that princedom had some sweet perks. As tempting as Jordan was, Sebastian had regrettably had to decline. Olliver might be willing to use his daughter, but Sebastian wasn’t. No matter how much he wanted her.

  Because if ever there was a woman to get a guy hard and horny, Jordan was her.

  2

  “SHIT.”

  Sebastian’s pride and joy hit yet another ugly rut in the miserable excuse for a road. Fists clenched on the Corvette’s steering wheel, he struggled to keep the lean, mean machine from going off a tree-infested cliff.What was a city boy doing in the freaking woods? He should have
refused Olliver’s offer to use his cabin to get away and relax. Sebastian could have stayed in his apartment, researched until he found an answer to this curse. Except that he’d been afraid if he stayed in the city, he’d do something crazy.

  Like try and have sex. Again.

  And one more failure just might kill him. But at least if his car faced it into a tree, he’d understand why. This curse? He just didn’t get it. He was always respectful of women. Sure, he’d slept with quite a few wonderful ladies. But he’d never got naked with a woman he didn’t like. Of course, he’d yet to figure out if any of them actually liked him back, or just liked what he could do for them.

  He didn’t figure that made him a cynic. Just a sucker who’d been burned enough to know that he’d have to pay to play. Since he couldn’t conceive of life without the blessed benefits of the opposite sex, he accepted the costs.

  But he’d never thought he’d pay like this. Cursed and unable to find a way to reverse the damn thing. Some investigative reporter he was. Sure, he’d figured out who the woman was and why she’d held such a grudge. The bartender had vividly recalled her ranting about the series Sebastian had written on women who used men. But Uma, no last name, had gone underground. Just disappeared, and nobody at the club claimed to know her. Short of trying to convince the cops that some pissed-off woman who didn’t like his writing had cursed his willie to shrivel, Sebastian was stuck.

  He’d tried everything he could think of to break the curse. He’d focused on “putting her needs before his own” with every freaking woman. The results? It was only getting worse. He wasn’t a selfish man, but dammit, four weeks of almost constant sexual foreplay and not a drop of personal satisfaction? It was like some perverted version of hell.

  One more turn, a dozen swear words, and the potential of becoming airborne as his prized classic ’66 Corvette flew over a pit, and there it was.

  Olliver’s cottage. Like everything the publishing mogul owned, calling it a cottage was a major understatement. Three stories high, balconies wrapped around like a ribbon and a bank of plate-glass windows gave it more of a château in the redwoods appearance than that of a mountain cabin.