Naturally Naughty (6 page)

He shook his head, still watching the pulse tick away in her throat, right beneath the tip of her finger, wondering how she tasted right there. Wondering how she smelled. Wondering if she’d whimper when he gently licked the moist spot. And mostly wondering when he’d be able to take her in his arms again. Though, this time the decision would be hers. As much as she might believe otherwise, Jack didn’t believe in
taking
what he wanted. It was much more pleasurable to be given such a gift.

“I followed you because of the way we looked at each other.” Like they were looking at each other now. “I kissed you because you landed in my arms.” As he wanted her to now. “What can I say? You were a beautifully wrapped present and I couldn’t resist. Who could resist a beautiful woman so obviously in need of a kiss?”
Like now
.

She took a tiny, step back. He let her go. Not crowding. Not encroaching.

“You let me leave. You didn’t try to stop me.”

He smiled. “I let you go because after you told me your
name, I remembered your face and the article and knew I could find you again once I got home to Chicago.”

Her eyes widened. Tap went the index finger. Tick went the pulse. Down went the heat—through his gut, into his groin.

“So you read the article?”

He shook his head, being honest. “Not really. I just remember your face, your first name and something about a store. You sell women’s lotion and things?”

She chuckled, a warm and truly amused laugh that rose from her throat. “And things.” Before he could question the naughty twinkle in her eye, she’d turned and looked out into the dark auditorium. “When did the Rialto close?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. I don’t come back too often. But I think it was seven or eight years ago.”

“You have family here?” She lowered her voice, betraying her keen interest. “You’re from Pleasantville?”

Jack nodded, but didn’t offer more information. He certainly wasn’t about to reveal who his family was. If Kate had spent time in town, she’d know the Winfield name. The last thing he wanted was someone else bringing up his father’s death. And whatever scandal the town gossipmongers had been whispering about any time his back was turned in the past few days.

Besides, he liked the anonymity of this night. It seemed right, especially here, in the old abandoned theater, so rich with atmosphere and antique glamour.

“Yeah. But, like I said, I got out years ago, as soon as I could. And I avoid coming back as much as possible.”

Her rueful nod said she completely understood what he was saying. Then she smiled, a small, friendly smile that made him think for some reason she’d let down her guard. Because he’d admitted he didn’t like this town?

“I used to love this building. It was my favorite place in
Pleasantville.” She walked across the stage, her footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden planks. “I used to come for the first showing of a new movie, then hide in the bathroom to stay and watch it again and again.”

“Ah, a daredevil,” he said with a laugh.

A reminiscent smile curled her lips. “The ticket taker, the old one with the poofy black wig, caught me once.”

“Miss Rose?”

She nodded. “Yes! That’s it. Miss Rose. She was so funny, the way she’d talk about the movie stars, as if they were really here, living behind the screen.”

“So what’d she do about you hiding?”

“From then on out I didn’t have to hide—she always let me stay, but told me not to let on to anybody else.” She looked down at her hands. “I’d forgotten about her.”

Interesting. She looked happy and sad at the same time, as if it pained her to find positive memories about her years in Pleasantville. He could relate. Since his father’s death, especially, Jack had tried to reconcile the kid Jack who’d left town with the man who’d come back.

Seeing a table right behind the partly open, red-velvet stage curtains, he pointed. “Anything interesting back there?”

Kate stepped between the curtains, and he followed her into the murky backstage area.

She picked up her purse, which was lying on the sturdy old wooden worktable beside the curtain. But, thankfully, she didn’t immediately turn and try to leave. “
Flashdance,
” she said out loud, looking at a stack of papers lying on the table. “And
Dirty Dancing
. I think I actually saw that one in this theater.”

“I could have guessed you liked dance movies.”

She grinned. “What can I say? I can’t hold a tune, but I can move to one.”

“Did you take lessons?”

“Yeah, I started when I was really little, back in Florida.”

“Florida? I thought you were from here.”

“We moved here when I was six. After that, I took lessons when I could, before the only dance teacher in town got married and moved away.”

He winced. “Don’t remind me. My sister went into mourning and my mother wanted to sue the teacher for breaking her lease on the studio…just as a way to try to get her to stay.”

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. He still didn’t want to get into any discussion about his family. Stepping closer to the table, he was easily able to distinguish the names on the old, crinkled, dusty advertisements. It wasn’t completely dark back here—after all, the curtain remained open and the stage was brightly lit. Still, it felt very intimate. Almost cocooned.

“I wonder why no one ever took all these wonderful old movie posters. Look, here’s Clint Eastwood.”

He glanced at the title. “Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

“High Plains Drifter
. Not one of his most popular.” She stared at the poster, looking deep in thought.

“Spaghetti western?”

“Sort of. He’s a ghostly man who comes back to a horrid little town to get vengeance on the townspeople.” Her eyes narrowed. “They think he’s there to save them. In the end, he destroys them and rides away, disappearing into the mist.”

He reached around her and pulled the poster away to see the next one. She didn’t watch, appearing completely unaware of anything except the Eastwood picture, at which she still stared.

“Here’s a James Bond one…from several Bonds ago.”

She finally shook her head, ending her reverie, and
glanced at the poster in his hand. “Sean Connery. He’s still so hot.”

“You have a thing for older men?”

She cast a sideways glance at him. “No.” Then she studied the poster again. “I think it’s his mouth. He’s got the kind of mouth that makes women wonder what he can do with it.” She looked at Jack’s lips, looking frankly interested.

“What he can
do
with it?”

She nodded. “Some men are strictly visual. While women might like being looked at, we’re more elemental creatures. Some women like to be…tasted.”

Jack dropped the poster, staring intently at her. “Are you one of them? Do you like to be…tasted?” He wondered if she’d dare to answer. If the color rising in her cheeks was brought about by sexual excitement, or simply nervousness.

“Yes, I do,” she admitted, her voice husky and thick.

Definitely sexual excitement.

“And you? Do you like to
taste?
” she countered.

Yeah, he
really
did. Right now he wanted to dine on her as if she were an all-you-can-eat buffet and he a starving man.

Which was exactly the way she wanted it. She, the woman, in complete control. He, the drooling male, at her feet. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but there was no doubt Kate liked being the one in charge when it came to sex. Perhaps that’s why she’d kissed him the second time today. As if to say, “Okay, the first one was yours. Now, here’s what
I’ve
got.”

Two could play this sultry game. He shrugged, noncommittal. “I enjoy input from all my senses, Kate. Taste, of course. Good food. Cold beer. Sea air. Sweet, fragrant skin. The salty flavor of sweat on a woman’s thigh after a vigorous workout.”

She wobbled on her high-heeled shoes.

“And sight, of course. I think men are focused on the visual because we like to claim things. We like to see what we’ve claimed. Whether it’s a continent, a car, a business contract. Or a beautiful woman in a red silk teddy.”

She swallowed hard, then pursed her lips. “Some women don’t want to be claimed.”

He touched her chin, tilting it up with his index finger until she stared into his eyes. “Some women also
think
they don’t want to be kissed by strangers in broad daylight.”

She shuddered. “Touché.”

“I’m a sensory man. I also enjoy subtle smells.” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “Like the lemon scent of your hair, Kate. And sounds. Gentle moans and cries. Not to mention touch. Soft, moist heat against my skin.”

Kate leaned back against the table, as if needing it for support. Her breathing deepened. He watched her chest rise and fall and color redden her cheeks.

“Yes, some men are definitely capable of appreciating all their senses.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the table, next to her, so close their hips brushed. “So, Kate, tell me, a man who knows how to use his mouth. Is that really your
only
requirement?”

She licked her lips. “I suppose there are…other things.”

“Other things?”

His fingers? His tongue? His dick, which was so hard he felt as though he was going to shoot off in his pants?

“His…” This time she ran her hand down her body, flattening her palm against her midriff, then lower, to her hip.

“Hands?” he prompted, staring at hers.

She nodded. “And one most important thing of all.”

He waited.

“His brain.”

Jack grinned but didn’t pause for a second. “Did I tell you I graduated with honors from U.C.L.A. and have my masters in architectural design?”

She laughed again. A light, joyous laugh, considering they were having a heavy, sensual conversation about oral sex and other pleasures. He found himself laughing with her.

“I like you,” she admitted, her smile making her eyes sparkle. Then she paused. Her smile faded, as if she’d just realized what she’d said and regretted saying it. A look of confusion crossed her face. It was quickly replaced by cool determination. As if tossing down a gauntlet, or trying to shock him into backing off, she tipped up her chin and said, “I mean, it’s been a long time since I met a man who made me laugh and made me wet in the same sixty seconds.”

Whoa
. Yeah, definite challenge. Did she think she’d scare him off? Erect a wall that most men wouldn’t have the guts to try to broach? He could have told her, had they known each other better, that he wasn’t a man who was easily scared. And nothing turned him on as much as a woman who said what she wanted.

Holding her stare, he let a relaxed smile cross his lips, and let her have it right back. “I like you, too. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to jerk off in the shower of my parents’ house after meeting a beautiful, amazing, unattainable female.”

Kate’s heart jumped out of her chest and into her throat, then skipped two solid beats as she took in what he’d said. He’d answered her deliberate challenge with one of his own, without so much as a second’s hesitation. Most men would have backed off, intimidated into retreat. A few would have thought about it, deciding whether or not they wanted a woman who knew what she wanted and said so. Some would have figured out a way to see if she really intended to put out. Played the standard game.

Not Jack.
He’s too much. He’s too much for you to handle.

But, oh, my, how she wanted to
handle
him.

The realization surprised her. She’d thought she wanted him to back away. She’d figured her natural defense—that being a deliberately aggressive offense—would protect her as it had so many times in the past. It hadn’t. Instead it had catapulted her right out of the frying pan and into the fire.

A seductive, intoxicating, all-consuming fire.

He didn’t move closer, made no other suggestive comment, didn’t try to kiss her or to persuade her in any way. They both knew what was at stake here. Good, hot, completely unexpected sex. A gift of pleasure from an attractive stranger.

She didn’t think she’d had a more appealing opportunity in years. She’d never wanted anything so much in her entire life.

There really was no deciding.

“Now why on earth would you want to do something so terribly wasteful in your parents’ shower?” His eyes widened as she reached up to touch his cheek, then pulled him close for a kiss. “And why would you possibly think I’m unattainable?”

She felt his shudder as he recognized her answer to his unvoiced invitation. To have him. To take him. To take this, now, to hell with what came afterward.

Yes. This wet kiss. This warm meeting of lips and tongue that stole her breath and rattled her senses. The touch of his hands, sliding around her waist, cupping her hip, then her bottom. He pulled her tighter against him and she ended the kiss, dropping her head back to moan at the feel of his rigid hard-on pressing insistently against the apex of her thighs.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked, almost growling
against her neck as he nipped at her throat, then lower, to press a hot kiss in the hollow below.

Her answer emerged from both her energized, aroused body, and also from a lonely, empty place in her heart. She wanted to be close to someone. Held by someone.

Taken by someone.

“More sure than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

He didn’t ask again. Lifting her at the waist, he sat her up on the table and continued to feast on her neck. Her earlobe. Her collarbone. Tangling his fingers in her hair. She parted her legs, and he stepped between them, making her hiss as his big erection came directly in contact with her thin, wet panties.

He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Her arms, her thighs, her face. She was just as greedy, tugging his shirt up so she could slip her hands beneath. She felt his washboard stomach, the light furring of hair, then tugged the shirt off.