Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume III Read online

  Irritation splashed over the edges of her orgasm-induced morning cheer.

  Jordan gave herself an entire two minutes. She drank the rest of her coffee. She refilled the cup. She leaned against the counter and counted to ten. Then she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “So what’s the problem?” she challenged. “I’ve seen you in the morning before, you’re not anti-sunshine. So what is it? Are you one of those guys who get pissy if a woman initiates sex? Or are you just the bedpost-notching type and not getting your rocks off throws your count?”

  As soon as the last word left her tongue, Jordan wanted to yank them all back. Oh, God, what was wrong with her mouth? This was so not the way to win friends and influence the guy to give her more mind-melting orgasms. And it made her sound more than a little bitchy.

  But at least it got his attention. Shoulders braced for an angry confrontation, she watched Sebastian slowly tap the spatula on the side of the frying pan. Once, twice, then three times. She gulped, her hands trembling just a little on her coffee cup. Was he trying to keep himself from throwing it at her? She’d never seen evidence of a temper in him before, but maybe he was like her dad and just kept a charming lid on it at work?

  Then he turned around. Eyes wide, she inspected his face. Her stomach settled when she saw the amusement in his eyes and that sexy half smile of his. Smiles were good.

  Spatula still in hand, he crossed his arms over his chest. Tilting his head to one side, he gave her a smooth once-over. His eyes lingered on her breasts, their tips tightening erotically against the delicate lace of her purple bra. He raised a brow at her jeans, whether because of their tight fit or the strip of bare skin visible above the waistband, she couldn’t tell.

  From the heat warming his golden green eyes when they returned to hers, either way, he liked what he saw. Jordan pressed her lips together, remembering the look in those eyes last night as he’d watched her explode with passion. Desire, damp and needy, pooled at the juncture of her thighs.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked with a wicked grin. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

  No. She’d got up alone this morning, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she shot back. “You forget your manners this morning, or is this how you handle awkward morning afters?”

  He snickered and shook his head. That’s when Jordan saw it. The lines of stress and worry bracketing his eyes, creasing his forehead. The same lines she’d noted on Thursday at the editorial meeting.

  “Look, sorry. I’m having a bad morning,” he apologized. His tone was light and friendly. “It has nothing to do with you. Or what happened last night.”

  The words were on the tip of her tongue. What was wrong? But she swallowed them.

  What a chicken she was.

  All she needed now were a few feathers to complete her wimp status. If she was interested enough in the guy to lure him into the hot tub with her naked body, she should damned well have the nerve to ask him personal questions.

  Squaring her shoulders, Jordan did just that. “Are you okay? I know last night was—”

  “Last night was great. I was working through a problem, totally spacing out,” he interrupted before she could detail exactly what the night had been. Then he gestured with the spatula. “How about breakfast?”

  Not sure if she was irritated or grateful, Jordan asked point blank, “Is the problem being stuck up here in the mountains with me?”

  Something flashed across his face. She saw surprise, irritation and something else. Fear? She couldn’t figure it out.

  “See,” Sebastian pointed out, “This is one of the reasons you run into problems at Machismo. You don’t have enough confidence in yourself to wait out the competition. Instead you let irritation get the better of you and smart off. Or you jump to the wrong conclusions. Or both.”

  Warmth heated Jordan’s cheeks. Well, that was an effective distraction, wasn’t it?

  “Are you saying we’re competing?” she challenged, sidestepping the rest of his comments.

  “Aren’t we?” he gave her another long, searching look, then turned to stir his potatoes again. “These are done. Want to grab the juice? I figured we could eat on the patio.”

  No, she didn’t want to grab the juice. She wanted to know what the hell he meant.

  But, despite his accusation, she knew the value of timing. So she snagged the glass pitcher, grabbing the dish of toast on her way out the sliding glass door. Then she grinned. There on the small wooden porch she saw he’d set the table all pretty, complete with cloth napkins and a flower. He’d obviously got the plates, a brilliant turquoise, from the box she’d left on the back counter. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d be breaking them to bits as soon as they were washed.

  “Wow,” she said, seeing that the food looked as good as it smelled. Along with the potatoes and toast, he’d made chive-and-cheese scrambled eggs and fried ham. Fat city, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember the last time a guy—hell, anyone outside of a restaurant chef—had cooked for her.

  She wasn’t going to let that stop her, though. She filled her plate first, then asked, “So if you know so much, what am I doing wrong?”

  “I didn’t say you were doing anything wrong.”

  “You’re the one who said I had problems at Machismo,” she pointed out. “I get the crap assignments, fluff and filler. My ideas are only good if they are handed off to someone else. Half the staff acts like I’ve got cooties and the other half like I’m the golden goose.”

  “You do have a few challenges, don’t you?” He considered, like he didn’t want to rock the boat too much, then scooped up a forkful of aromatic potatoes before asking, “I don’t get it. You’re a good reporter. You could have your pick of your magazines to work at. Olliver Publications or any other place. Why Machismo?”

  Jordan shrugged and started to toss off a glib excuse, then she saw the look in his eyes. Concern. Real, heartfelt concern. She sighed, a corner of her heart melting into a puddle. Just one corner, though, she assured herself.

  “I want…no, need to prove something. To my father, to myself,” she admitted. “As far back as I remember, Daddy’s wanted someone to hand the business down to. I want to be that someone. Oh, not because of the money. All of us girls are financially set. Because I wanted to prove I was as good as any son. That I have what it takes to work my way up. From the bottom up.”

  “Editorial?”

  “Eventually,” she nodded. “I like reporting. But I like the ideas more, coming up with concepts and story proposals. Like the column. That excites me more than going out scoping for news.”

  “You’re good at it,” he agreed. Then he grinned. “At least, you are when you keep the audience in mind.”

  Jordan smirked.

  “And you think you can handle that?” he asked in a serious, contemplative tone.

  She shrugged, stabbing a forkful of potatoes and eggs with a frown. It sounded so lofty and conceited, didn’t it? Maybe she could convince him she’d just been kidding?

  “Hey, I’m not doubting you, I’m just clarifying. I didn’t realize that’s the direction you were interested in.” He reached over and nudged her chin so she’d look at him. His eyes were warm, with no hint of derision or amusement.

  “You’re the first person I’ve told,” she admitted.

  Jordan didn’t know what the feelings were tumbling around in her stomach. Nerves, definitely. Hope, a little bit of irritation. But there was something else. A soft, trembling sort of emotion. If she didn’t know better, she’d be scared. Because it felt as if she was falling in love.

  “I think you’ll be incredible. I know I’d work under you.” He gave her a naughty grin, then continued, “If I can help, put in a good word, I’ll be happy to. Whatever you need, count me in, okay?”

  “I thought…” she hesitated.

  “Thought that’s the direction I wanted to go?”
he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nah. I like the unpredictability of reporting.” His grin was pure charm, but she saw the stress and hurt in his eyes. Sure, he might like reporting, but he was ambitious. And he’d willingly step aside, let opportunities pass.

  For her.

  Jordan frowned as a flash of light sparked bright. Probably the sun coming through the clouds, glinting back off the window, she told herself. She was sure it wasn’t the tears she had to blink fast to hide.

  Well, hell. Looked like she really had just fallen in love.

  SEBASTIAN SQUINTED, almost blinded by the explosion of light. Damn, wasn’t a limp dick and freckles enough? Did he have to have vision issues, too?

  “You okay?” he asked, his eyes adjusting so he could see her face again. She was pale and a little stunned looking.“Um, yeah.” She looked down at her plate, took a breath, then shrugged. “I’m good. I think. But I’m curious. You said you’re willing to help me out. How about some advice? You see how things go down at Machismo. How do I change that?”

  Preferring to talk business to whatever it was that’d put that fragile look in her gorgeous eyes, Sebastian took a second to gather his thoughts.

  “Quit worrying so much,” he finally suggested.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You worry. You obsess. You are always trying to make people happy at the expense of what you want. Take that article last week, the Valentine’s thing. You wanted to slant it one way, Garret another. You gave in instead of compromising.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she said, giving him the most adorable little nose-scrunch before she scooped up more scrambled eggs. “You write with the advertisers in mind. You snag all the top stories, whether you come up with them yourself or not. Don’t try and tell me you’re not about making the suits happy.”

  All he could do was grin. Was there anything sexier than a woman with brains, attitude and a mouth made to deliver snappy put-downs. That mouth, it drove him crazy. One look at it and all he could think of was sex. The rich scent of her coffee reminded him of the sacrifices he’d made the last couple weeks trying to get his performance issues fixed. More exercise, less TV. No caffeine, more oysters. Hell, he’d even given in to humiliation and visited the doctor for a stash of those useless little blue pills.

  Which meant that Jordan and her sassy mouth needed to stay off limits. Focus, he reminded himself. If he couldn’t give her his best time, he could at least give her good advice.

  “You don’t have to stop slanting things in a way that people can get behind,” he told her. “You just have to quit putting their desires before your own wants and needs. You want the article to inform men how idiotic scratchy lace lingerie is, talk up the benefits of silk. There’s always a way to make your point and still make the powers-that-be happy.”

  She started to speak, then stopped. He was sure she was going to make a smart-ass comment, but instead she gave him a long, considering look then nodded.

  Always tops when it came to gauging whether his subject was ready to divulge more information or needed to regroup, Sebastian didn’t push it. After a few minutes of silence only broken by the sound of utensils hitting china, Jordan pushed her gratifyingly empty plate away.

  “Not that I’m saying I agree with your interesting—” she stopped, as if searching for the least offensive words “—assessment of the situation. But you have to admit, this sudden urge to offer up career advice is a little out of character. Especially when that advice is in direct conflict with your own career goals.”

  “It took the rest of your breakfast to come up with that polite way to say you think I’m full of shit?” he asked with a grin, before he tucked away the last bite of his toast.

  Her lips twitched, but she kept the smile from surfacing. “You don’t give me enough credit,” she taunted. “I came up with that in seconds. But I wanted to do the food justice, so I waited.”

  Sebastian burst into laughter. She didn’t give an inch. As incredible as it’d been nibbling his way over her body, feeling her explode and enjoying the feel of her body convulsing around his fingers, he wanted to be inside her. To feel her slick folds tighten around him, milking every blessed ounce of pleasure he knew he’d have with her body.

  Fury flashed through him, just for a second, at the curse.

  But, no. Instead of being pissed, he should be grateful. If not for the curse, he’d be doing Jordan on the table right this second. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

  And she deserved better.

  7

  “HEY, DON’T LOOK ALL grumpy like that,” Jordan joked, laying her hand over his. It was all he could do not to turn his so they were palm to palm. When he met her eyes, she gave him a teasing little smile. “You’ll end up looking like my father. You know, all uptight and frowny.”

  Sebastian laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Frowny?”“That’s what my sisters call it. He gets this look—his brow sort of creases into his chin—whenever he doesn’t want to talk about something. You know, things like dreams, troubles, the future. My mom, anything emotional like that.”

  Sebastian couldn’t help it. At the flash of sadness in her eyes at the mention of her mom, who he knew had died when she was a toddler, he did turn his hand. Palm to palm, he meshed his fingers with hers and gave a squeeze.

  “That must make it hard to communicate about your career goals then,” Sebastian pointed out.

  “It all depends on what you mean by communicate. If you’re referring to the sessions where I pour out my plans and goals and he ignores me, we communicate just fine. Or the other ones. You know, where he lectures and lays out all the reasons I’m failing to meet his requirements for a well-behaved daughter?”

  Sebastian bit off an angry growl. It wasn’t just her words; the casual acceptance that it wouldn’t change infuriated him.

  She just shook her head and winked like it didn’t matter. “Your name comes up a lot in those particular lectures. He thinks you’re all that and a box of chocolates.”

  He shook his head. “Quit giving in to that game, then,” he told her. “You’re good at what you do, Jordan. You’ve got a dream and a plan to make that dream happen. Why are you letting your father ruin it for you? Just stand up to him, for God’s sake.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. You know how parents are.”

  He dismissed that with a shrug. “Not really. Even controlling ones are better than what I had.”

  And didn’t that sound melodramatic? Sebastian winced, forcing himself not to slump into his chair. This was the reason he never shared. It was impossible to even say the words aloud without sounding like a movie-of-the-week reject.

  When Jordan gave him a questioning look, he did shift.

  “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

  For some reason, he couldn’t lie or evade. Not with her. So he said it fast, like ripping off a bandage.

  “I don’t know who my father was. He took off before I was born.” He saw the sympathy flash in those caramel eyes and continued quickly, before she could say anything. “Christie, my mother, was a part-time phone operator, full-time alcoholic. I grew up on the streets of L.A., ran wild until I watched one of my buddies gunned down in a random drive-by. I decided then and there to get the hell out. To make something of myself. I’ve been working at it ever since.”

  Horrified, her eyes filled with tears.

  “I didn’t tell you that for sympathy,” he snapped. Hell, he had no idea why he’d told her. Nobody knew, including Olliver. Although if he did, the old man would probably give up his Sebastian-for-son-in-law campaign. “The past is the past. I meant what I said, though. Just because things have always been a certain way, your dad being overbearing for instance, doesn’t mean they have to stay that way. You have choices, Jordan.”

  Sebastian clamped his mouth shut, irritated that he’d offered up such an arrogant lecture. Who was he to tell her what to do? He waited for her justified retaliation.
>
  Instead of tearing into him, though, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a long, considering look.

  “You know, you might want to see a dermatologist,” she suggested, totally changing the subject.

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve always had pretty decent skin.”

  Sebastian’s brain couldn’t find the connection. He was talking ideas and trust and she was talking skin care? Then he realized she was making it easy for him. Changing the subject so he didn’t feel uncomfortable. What a sweetheart.

  He gave her a slow, charming smile. His ego swelled. She’d noticed his skin. She really did have a thing for him.

  Apparently his ego came through loud and clear, even without words. Jordan’s own skin grew a shade pinker, but she jutted out her chin stubbornly and shrugged.

  “Just saying, last week I noticed you’d suddenly broken out in freckles. Now they’re fading. It’s winter and you haven’t been vacationing in a sunny locale. So, like I said, you might want to see a dermatologist. With come-and-go freckles, you’re probably getting some weird skin condition and will have to quit your job and leave the field wide open for me anyway.”

  So much for having a thing for him.

  She laid a friendly hand on his knee. An arrow of excitement shot through Sebastian at her touch, innocent though it was. Then, as if realizing she’d initiated the first physical contact since he’d had her naked, she pulled back and bit her lip. She stood, clearing the long-finished breakfast dishes as if nothing had happened.

  “Look,” she said quickly, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t know if it was his confession or his nagging her to stand up for herself that had got to her, but he could tell she wanted some space. “I’ve got some things to do. I’ll catch up with you in an hour or so, okay?”

  Then she gave him a smile. It was like a shy ray of sunshine peeking from behind the clouds. Small, hopeful and sweet.

  He felt it all the way to his heart.

  Calling himself a sap, Sebastian left the table without another word. He headed outside and followed the now well-trodden path through the woods. Five minutes later, he strode along the bank of the lake, kicking at the stones in his way and wishing like crazy he could get the hell out of here.