Naughty Tonight Page 2

She had no hope. Not with him. Jackson didn’t want her, not enough to get over his fear of relationships and give them a shot.

  Tears pooled in her eyes and Kim forced them back so not to run the mascara Mel had applied.

  Sure, she was just trying to punish him—he deserved it, dammit—but tonight she would be sexy. As Mel promised, she had the potential with the right clothes on and a few drinks to loosen her up. And if Jackson didn’t like it, he could just be jealous. Just go to hell. She deserved some male attention—and he wasn’t giving it to her. Not in the way she needed. Tonight, she proved—to no one but herself—that she was a desirable woman.

  And Jackson was just an idiot.

  It was the only way she’d get over him.

  Clutching to that resolution, Kim shed dark jeans and that godawful lipstick and tear-stained pink blouse, cotton panties and comfort bra.

  Mel, thrilled Kim was stepping out of the box, had provided this evening’s outfit and a quick trip into Victoria’s Secret, the new undergarments. Moving like a robot, Kim clipped the lacy gold bra into place—ick, how it scratched—and stepped into the matching butt digger—er, thong—then a stretchy black skirt. Next came a shimmering black undershirt and cropped gold sweater that buttoned twice at the front. Borrowed jewelry and two-inch sling-back heels Kim was sure she couldn’t walk in…

  This time, as she squared her shoulders, wobbling to stand straight in those circus-act shoes and face herself in the mirror, Kim saw the her she could be. Big, beautiful brown eyes. Full, pink cheeks. Lush, kissable lips.

  Her hands roamed her length, exploring the truth swathed in black and gold. Compact, shapely figure. Flat stomach, small waist. High, perky breasts.

  Kim spun a quarter turn, peeking over one shoulder. Great ass in check.

  It was all there, the whole package. She was damn hot. Take that, Jackson.

  Now she just needed someone to make her feel like a deserving woman because she was.

  If she could walk out of this room without breaking her nose.

  —

  Veronica dangling on his arm, Jackson strode through the door into the granite foyer, finding the immediate area oddly devoid of partygoers. In the living room several women mingled about, talking heatedly amongst themselves as thumping music and clapping carried from the dining area, leaving one curious just what was going on. And with his friends, one never really knew. Exactly why Jackson loved ’em. Crazy lot, all of them, and not afraid to have fun.

  Veronica though…she might break a nail.

  “Looks like this party’s started,” he chuckled, feeling more at ease than he had all evening. He nodded a greeting to the ladies in the corner. “Let’s check it out.”

  “I’d adore some chardonnay.” Veronica rolled cold gem-like blue eyes. “Will we be here long?”

  Had he ever pegged her wrong. For all her flirting, Ronnie here was a real bore. Empty conversation, little in the way of character. A real rich bitch. Only reason he hadn’t taken her home after dinner was that he’d hoped a few drinks would loosen her up.

  He was beginning to think it would take a miracle, not a bottle. And if she fucked the way she made small talk, he might as well call it a night. A woman like her would never prove the distraction he needed from the one he really wanted. And shouldn’t.

  From the next room, cheers erupted. “If you want to go,” he offered, interest peaking over what was going on in the next room, “I’ll call you a cab.”

  Her sigh seemed to take an immense effort. “Just get me a drink.”

  “Whooooohoo!”

  Jackson easily recognized that bellow—Carter Jones, the building’s resident beach bum, minus the sand. No job, plenty of money from thin air and a real distaste for rules and manners. Plus an acquired tongue for cheap whiskey. “Yeah, baby! Take it off! Whhooooo!”

  “I’ll just get that drink.” Intrigued, Jackson abandoned Veronica to the almost-vacant living room and rushed to the jampacked dining room.

  “Hey, Jack!” Carter called out, several bodies in, face lit with the goofiest grin. “Kim’s giving a real show!”

  “Huh?” Loud music. Jackson must’ve misheard.

  “Kim, man!” Carter waved with one finger to the front of the room.

  Kimmy? From behind some Jolly Green Giant, he caught a glimpse of long, flying honey-colored hair and panic welled. Music pulsing around him, Jackson shoved through the crowd, forcing people aside for a better view.

  Jackson felt his heart shut down. His world squeak to a jarring halt.

  There she was, his little Kimmy…dancing on the table. Stripping.

  Minus a shirt, in naught but a lacy gold bra that pushed up creamy white mounds, a skin-tight black skirt that clung to luscious curves and heels that accentuated the sexiest legs in existence. Her angled hips pulsed in rhythm to the music, her slim waist swung erotically as her hands waved above her head.

  She stumbled a little, quickly regaining her footing, but nothing could subtract from her sensuality.

  What the hell was she wearing?

  What the hell was she doing?

  Swaying so sensually. Showing off everything.

  Kimmy? Looking like that? Acting like this? Like a slut?

  Hell, he knew her—she was going to break her neck in those shoes!

  Then she whirled around, bending and wagging that ass, and before he knew what he was about, Jackson burst through the crowd with no apologies for the feet he stepped on or the shoulders he slammed and grabbed her by the arm. “Jackson!” she yelped in surprise as he hauled her off the table, pulling her right from the shoes she had no business in and into his embrace. Good riddance.

  “My heels!”

  Worried about those but not her shirt? “Let’s go,” he growled from his deepest core. “You’re drunk.”

  That had to be it. She was soused. Out of her mind. Simply needed to be put to bed—and not his.

  But on very steady legs, her feet dug in. “No way. I’m not drunk and I’m not going anywhere with you.” She spat that last word like poison.

  Murmurs of disappointment echoed through her audience. “Come on, man!” some idiot beckoned, and suddenly Jackson hated his friends. “Let her dance! She’s just having fun!”

  “That’s right, I am!” Kimmy wrenched from his unyielding grasp, those wide, beautiful brown eyes no longer filled with innocence but glaring with seething anger. “Get used to it. You don’t want me.” Her free hand formed a fist and rammed into his chest—but Kimmy packed a helluva punch and he knew she could do better. He caught that arm too, locking it in his grasp as she spat, “Plenty of others do!”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? What, exactly, had he missed here?

  “Let’s go.”

  “Like hell!” Cheers took her side in the matter.

  Damn her! Damn them! She’d all but created herself a mob! “Like hell you’re staying!”

  She wrenched and fought his grasp as he plowed her from the room and through the nearby kitchen door, down the opposite hall. “Are you crazy? Let me go!” she screamed, and when he didn’t, she called on her crowd, “Help!”

  But no one tried to stop him. In the end, everyone knew—Kimmy was his and that wasn’t something to mess with.

  “Stop!”

  Jackson did just that, pinning her to the wall in the dim corridor lit only by one small overhead light, just out of public view. Only then did he realize he was rock-hard, breathing heavy and jealous as spit. “What am I doing? What are you doing?” Never feeling more possessive over a woman, he flicked her silky bra strap. “What is this?”

  Kimmy didn’t wear shit like this. Didn’t act like this. That’s what made her Kimmy. Made her safe.

  Safe? Ha! Right about now the girl should have a warning flare wedged between those two luscious, soft breasts… Breasts she’d spent the entire day showing off and driving him mad with.

  “Well?” he demanded, wrenching his mouth-watering gaze back to her face and fall
ing head over heels into those bewitching brown eyes of hers. That sumptuous mouth.

  “Um, a bra.” Angry irony laced her breathy chuckle and that heated gaze rolled upward, mocking him. “Mission accomplished, I guess…”

  “Jesus! I know it’s a bra!” The steel wall he’d constructed against age-old desire went weak, threadbare. His control waned, his cock straining against his slacks. His need suddenly, painfully intense. How, how did he want her so much, so instantly? “Don’t get cute with me, Kimmy! You’ve got to be drunk! And what the hell do you mean, mission accomplished?”

  Did she want him to want her?

  No. Please no.

  But deep down, the truth glared like high beams on a dark road. Kimmy, wearing that damn blouse today. Putting on lipstick. Asking him out.

  As if she weren’t hard enough to resist in the first place!

  “You know, I absolutely hate when you call me that.” Shoving free of him, she sauntered all of two steps down the hall before he caught her by the upper arm and dragged her back into place, trapping her beneath his body. “And don’t pinch my cheeks, either! I’m not a little girl. And I’m not drunk!”

  “Obviously!” If she were, he wouldn’t be so close to hiking up those legs and ramming into her against the wall. Fucking her furiously and easing the beast deep within, taking control, needing to control her. His best friend. The one woman in all the world he trusted to be close to him. The one woman he vowed never to touch, for she meant entirely too much. “Do you have any idea how those guys were looking at you?”

  “No. But I know how you were looking at me. Go ahead, lie about it.”

  “What’s that mean?” Jackson’s hand clasped her biceps involuntary, squeezing in resistance to what was occurring between them—and shouldn’t be. Couldn’t. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Knew you would.” Boldly, she placed her free hand to the steel shaft lodged in his slacks, laying her palm to his width, fingers curling in claim. Electric currents shot from his balls up his spine.

  Oh God. Jackson shut his eyes to what was happening, unable to believe it. “Kimmy, don’t do this.”

  Still, he allowed her to cradle his length, to stroke tenderly. Nothing had ever sounder sweeter than her eager response. “It’s already done.”

  Hope battled reason, clashing swords with desire. Want her he might, but he knew better. Kimmy was his friend. He cared about her. If they slept together, that would all be over. She wasn’t the type of girl he could just cast aside. One kiss, one night, and they’d have a relationship. That word alone made Jackson shudder.

  Sex might be great. But love, that kind at least, could ruin them.

  “It’s not already done.” Determined, Jackson reached between them and peeled away her hand and held it tight. “You’ve no idea what you’re getting into. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t,” she promised, clueless. “Jackson…I’m in love with you.”

  Just like any other woman…blinded by preconceived notions of happily ever after. Shit.

  “Kimmy, this will ruin us.” Jackson had seen what a so-called happy marriage could twist into. Had felt his parents’ union—and the violent war they called a divorce—as deeply as if a knife cut out his heart. Sixteen years and his mom hopped into bed with some guy as if his dad meant nothing. Sixteen years and his dad felt no remorse, taking her by the hair and throwing her naked from their home.

  And that was just the beginning. How much they’d loved each other. And in the end, how much they’d hated…

  It happened every day to tons of couples. Never would he do that to himself. To Kimmy.

  Besides, he realized as she wrestled his grasp and grappled for his cock a second time, and protested vehemently, “It won’t!”, that there were other issues at hand. Kimmy really had no idea what she was getting herself into, hoping to hop into his bed. “I’m not the man you believe I am.”

  “Are you kidding? I know you inside out and right side in.”

  “Not entirely you don’t.”

  He let those firm, unyielding words settle in, not prepared to elaborate. But then the vixen slinked beneath his arm, heading back to the party. “Fine. Like I said, since you don’t want me…”

  She was playing him, he knew.

  If he had half a brain about him, he would let her go.

  But neither of those thoughts came as first instinct. Grabbing her did, hauling her back to him, this time with her facing the wall and that perfect little ass arched against his groin.

  God, what was he doing to himself? “You’ve never been in my bedroom, Kimmy.”

  “I want to be.” She wiggled, rubbed, nearly pushing him over the edge, tempting him with that beautiful butt of hers. God, how he loved a tight ass…

  Jackson should have been walking—no, running—away. Instead, his perverse mind twisted to the locked closet in his bedroom. Shelves of toys. Nipple clamps. A vibrating sex clamp. Anal plugs.

  Restraints.

  Blindfolds.

  Paddles.

  And all the wicked things he’d love to do to her, his Kimmy. Jackson barely managed to clear the knot from his throat, the husky words he could not believe he was uttering. “What if my tastes…what if they’re more than you bargained for?”

  “Like what?” Damn her, why’d she have to thrust her ass like that, as if inviting? Why’d he have to go and pinch it, inciting a strangled cry?

  “You know, I could spank you for how you’ve acted tonight.” The words, unbidden, just slipped out. And there it was, his dirty desires exposed. To the one woman he was supposed to love cleanly.

  Did she hesitate? Did she take offense? Offer up even the slightest amount of shock? No…not Kimmy. Not tonight. The hellion simply rubbed that behind against him seductively, invitingly. “Suppose I’d deserve it.”

  No! No, she wouldn’t. And that was just his point.

  Enlisting all his willpower, he paced a wide step back, hitting the opposite wall. This had to end. Now. “Seriously, I’m not doing this.”

  With a sigh—or was it a moan—she turned to face him. In the hall’s dim light, those shimmering brown eyes danced, daring him, and she roved a slow tongue over supple lips. “Fine. I’ll go back to my original plans for the evening.”

  She barely moved an inch and he blocked her. “Like hell you will!”

  “Are you going to stop me?” she mocked, and Jackson found himself faced with a woman unshakable, glaring up at him. “So you know, I was offered an internship.”

  His immediate reaction should have been joy. Instead he felt himself go cold inside. “What? Where?” he barely managed to ask.

  “It doesn’t matter where. Either I’m yours, Jackson, or I’m not. Decide for once. Tonight, you want me or someone else will have me.”

  Those words rang true. Already this had gone too far between them. Wasn’t reversible.

  It was now or never, take her or leave her. No longer would Jackson have the best of two worlds, Kimmy in his home, his life, his…but not quite. Years he’d kept her at arm’s length but still in reach. Now she had something better to move on to and while he wanted that for her more than anything…

  There was no mistaking her meaning. Either he pulled her close or pushed her away completely.

  And God help him, Jackson knew what he had to do. Even if he didn’t want to.

  Even if he really did.

  Chapter Three

  The clothes really had made the difference. Heels, as she’d discovered, weren’t really that difficult. Not if she concentrated hard enough…

  Never had Kim felt bolder…sexier. Had no idea how she voiced aloud half of what had come out of her mouth tonight, much less gotten up on that table.

  But she had. And it’d changed her world completely.

  Okay, she’d had a drink or two. But one look at Jackson, unspoken needs smoldering in his eyes, and she’d been knocked dead sober. Now her future—theirs—tilted on an axis and th
e only weapon Kim possessed was his jealousy. There Jackson stood, obstructing the hall, angled jaw locked, those golden eyes licking with flames. So resilient. Such a liar. A total scaredy pants.

  He wanted her…and she knew some part of him always had. That hard cock proved it.

  “Sooner rather than later,” she goaded, knowing her false threats were creating a landslide of lust in her direction. Kim licked her lips, loving every second. “I’m going to leave singlehood behind. Leave you behind. Find myself a lover…probably some hot football player…and have lots and lots of sex…”

  To emphasize her intentions, Kim dipped a shoulder, letting her bra strap slide over her arm.

  “Right about now,” she went on, drawing her shoulders in close to mash her breasts together as she shook them teasingly. “I’m soooo horny.”

  Like a bitch in heat. Wet. Wanting.

  And from the groan he gave, he was her dog. “Will it be you, Jackson? Or—”

  As predicted, the beast took the bait. “It sure as hell isn’t going to be anyone else.” Yanking the strap back into place, buttons flew as he yanked his dress shirt from his body and draped it around her, not even bothering to pull her arms through as he fastened the only two remaining buttons and caught her biceps through the thin fabric, towing her from the hall and through the condo. Past staring partygoers, past the woman she recognized as Veronica, his date, bare-chested he hauled her, her in his shirt. Embarrassing yet somehow invigorating cheers chased them out the door.

  Dizzy from the striking reality of it—Jackson was actually going to make love to her—Kim’s heart walloped like a bass against her ribs.

  He moved so fast she could barely keep up. Her feet tumbled. The walls whizzed by. Keys twisted. Doors slammed. Anticipation sizzled.

  And suddenly they were there, in Jackson’s bedroom, and he was flicking on the bedside lamp. None too gently he thrust her toward the bed. “Sit,” came his concrete command.

  Ohhhh…so he liked it rough, eh?

  She clenched her pussy at the thought, warmth trickling down her inner thigh as she saluted, “Yes, sir!”, and lowered herself to the edge of the mattress, crossing her legs ladylike in an effort to contain the building pressure in her crotch.