Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (21 page)

Her rainbow eyes sparkled and she shot him a
mischievous grin. He stepped inside the shower, gave her a love tap on her
round bottom and nuzzled the nape of her neck. “The better to taste you with,
my sweet little thing.”

Sliding his hands across the front of her slick, soapy
body, he edged them up to cup her breasts. He massaged her nipples.

“Jack,” she moaned, locking her fingers around the
back of his neck.

“What is it, baby? What do you want?” His fingers
trailed lower, circling her hip bone, then down to graze the sweet nest of
curls between her legs.

“Jack.” She dug her fingernails into his neck muscles.

“Talk to me, Francine. Tell me what you want.” He
massaged her inner thigh and she bent her knee to give him better access. “Do
you like this, baby? Does it feel good?”

“I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

“Jack...I need...” She arched again and he slid his
hand between her legs, cupping the feminine mound with as much tenderness as he
could.

Back and forth. Slowly, methodically. Water pounding
against his back. He kissed her shoulder, her neck. She tasted of flowers and
magic, and he found himself humbled by her surrender.

She arched, opening completely, surrendering to his
touch.

Trust. Need. She needed
him
, not Bradley the accountant. Not anyone but Jack. This was
something only Jack could give her.

“Jack!” she cried.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into her ear, then feathered
kisses along the rim. “Let go, baby. Just let go.”

“AAAAHHHHHH!” she howled and fell limp against his
chest.

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, thrilled that
he could give her this.

“I need…” she whispered.

“What baby? What do you need?”

“I need you. Inside me.”

Breaking free of his grasp she turned to face him. His
gut clenched at the sight of her, dressed in a leopard-skin bikini, wielding a
black whip in her hand. She smiled and fangs gleamed from beneath the black
mask.

“Francine?” He spit water from his mouth and took a
step back, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision.

“I want you inside of me. Now! And the name
is…Tatianna.”

She cracked the whip and it sliced open his chest,
right above his heart.

“No!” He gasped. Couldn’t breathe. Nothing working.
Had to fill lungs. Had to—

“Jack?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the source of the
voice and nearly jumped out of his skin. Frankie clutched the covers to her
chest with one hand and reached out to him with the other.

“What the—!” he cried, leaping from the bed. Red
satin sheets tangled between his legs, sending him facedown on the floor. He
kicked and sputtered, heaving desperate gulps of air to crush the panic. It was
no use. The more he struggled the tighter the sheets bound his legs.

“Aw, hell.” He surrendered, laying belly up on the
floor. Unbelievable. He could body slam a three-hundred-pound opponent, but
lost in the first round with a set of linens. He was surely losing his mind.

“Are you okay?” She leaned over the edge of the bed,
holding what remained of the sheets up to her neck.

What difference did that make? He’d been naked with
her in the shower, touching and stroking her most intimate places.

The mental fog cleared and reality hit him like a semi
truck: It was a dream.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Concern filled her eyes as
she slid a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. A nightmare.”

“You scared me.”

Not like you
scared me, baby
.

“I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” He sat up and flailed
his arms to detangle himself.

“Here, let me help.” She threw the sheets aside. Her
white robe parted slightly in front exposing the curve of her breast.

“I’m fine.” He sprang to his feet, stumbled to the
corner of the room and clutched the top sheet to his chest.

“Are you sure?” she said, tugging her robe closed in
front.

“I’m fine. Sure. Perfect. A-OK.”

“It sounded like you couldn’t breathe. Do you have
allergies?”

“No allergies. I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle, right as
rain.” He sounded like a complete idiot. “We’d better get dressed.”

“But it’s only two in the morning.”

“Oh.” He didn’t move. Now what? He sure as hell
couldn’t get back into that bed. Not with her. Not with the dream still fresh
in his mind. He placed his hand on his chest to rub away the lingering sting
from her whip.

“I know what you need,” she said.

“What?” He backed up against the wall.

“A drink of water. It guarantees you won’t have
another nightmare.”

She paced to the bathroom. He heard the water go on.
He took a deep breath and glanced at himself. What a pathetic sight, cowering
in the corner.

What the hell was happening to him?

Frankie McGee, that’s what. He pushed away from the
wall and paced to the window. Damn, he had to get a handle on his emotions. She
didn’t pose a threat to him, not physically, and not emotionally. She was an
impossible woman, a stuck up, judgmental, bossy—

“Here, drink up.” She walked up to him, holding a
glass of water in her hand.

“I don’t need—”

Shoving the water to his lips, she tipped the glass.
He had no choice but to drink it or push her away, which meant he’d have to
touch her.

Thank God the water was cold. Very cold.

He downed it in three swallows. There. Now maybe she’d
leave him alone. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

She placed the glass on top of the dresser. “Better?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay. Even big, tough wrestlers are allowed to
have nightmares.”

He gritted his teeth. She was making fun of him.
Wasn’t she?

“Should we try to sleep again?” She ambled to her side
of the bed and sat on the edge.

He crumpled the top sheet between his fingers. The
least he could do was give her back the covers.

“Guess you’ll need this.” He unwrapped himself and
flung the sheet across the bed, tucking it between the mattress and box spring.
He glanced up, long enough to register the look of appreciation in Frankie’s
eyes. Normally not modest, Jack realized he was parading in front of her in
nothing more than tight, knit boxers.

His body tingled in places that were going to
embarrass him even further in a minute.

Damn, he had to get his mind off this woman.

Snatching the television controls from the bureau, he
sat on the edge of the bed and punched the “on” button.

“I’m going to flip around for a while. It helps me
relax,” he said.

“Okay.”

The bed shifted, then stilled as she got under the
covers. He surfed the channels hoping to find something to distract him from
the unwanted desire burning through his body.

Why this woman? Why now? She was totally wrong for
him. He’d fantasized about finding an easy going, nurturing woman to share his
life with. He knew damn well Frankie McGee was the definition of disaster since
she was committed to her career and her perfectly planned life.

The mattress shifted. She must be finding a more
comfortable position, or maybe the sound of the television was keeping her up.
He should leave the room and find a nice quiet spot in the lobby to spend the
night.

Wouldn’t that look great in next month’s issue of
Wrestlers Wisdom Magazine
—Jack
spending his honeymoon night on the couch. Readers wouldn’t exactly be writing
in for marital advice, that’s for sure.

The sound of a woman moaning and groaning drew his
attention to the TV. A naked woman filled the screen, long blond hair cascading
down her back as a naked, semi-hard man sprayed her obviously implanted breasts
with whipped cream.

“Hell.” Jack clicked the button and landed on a
channel featuring two actors dressed as Annie Oakley and Wild Bill Hickok
having sex on a horse.

He clicked off the tube and tossed the controls on the
bureau. Well, it was the honeymoon suite. They probably aired all-night sex
shows to get keep newlyweds in the mood.

“Nothing good on?” Frankie mumbled.

“Nope.” He started for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” She propped herself up on her
elbows.

His chest ached at the concern in her voice. It sounded
like more than concern for the talent. Now he was fooling himself.

“I’ll go read or something until I get tired,” he
said.

“Still spooked by the nightmare, huh?”

“You like rubbing that in, don’t you?”

“No,” she hesitated. “I’m sorry if it sounded that way.
Actually I think I can help.”

I’ll bet.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” he said.

“Okay.” She lay back down, but not before he read hurt
in her eyes.

Why the hell did he care? He didn’t. Not one bit.

He ambled to his side of the bed and sat on the edge.
“Okay, what’s your idea?”

“Lie down. Get comfortable.”

Any requests other than the impossible?

Stretching out on top of the sheets, he interlaced his
hands over his chest. His gaze drifted to the mirror. The candles were still
burning, and the soft light cast an angelic glow across her face.

He swallowed hard. “I’m ready.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Come on, do it. Trust me.”

He closed his eyes and felt the bed shift. He peeked
through his lids, but she’d rolled to her side, propping her cheek on an
upturned palm.

“Okay, now take a deep breath. In through your nose,
out through your mouth, then another.”

Humoring her, he followed orders, planning to feign
sleep in the hopes she’d give up the psychotherapist act. That wasn’t
completely true. He was complying with her request because he couldn’t stand
the thought of hurting her feelings.

Man, he was in trouble. Big time.

“Now pick a focal point. A flower or tree, something
that makes you feel good.”

A pair of rainbow-colored eyes came to mind.

“You like the mountains,” she said. “Picture the
Colorado Rockies, the vast, dark green, rolling mountains that take your breath
away.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “You’ve been
there?”

“I’ve seen pictures.
 
Now go ahead, close your eyes.”

She placed her fingers on his eyelids, and he thought
he’d scream at the gentle touch. The scent of wildflowers tickled his nose.
Hell, screw the Rockies.

“Picture yourself hiking up a mountain, forging a new
trail, finding hidden lakes and valleys. So beautiful. Keep breathing…in with
your nose, out with your mouth. Count to five. Breathe in…breathe out. The
sun’s lighting up the snow-capped peaks. The world is peaceful, quiet. Deep
breathing. That’s it.”

Sure, he’d heard of creative visualization. A lot of
the guys used it to cope with the pain, but Jack thought it a lot of hooey.

Yet the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders.

“You’re walking up a narrow trail on the side of a
steep mountain. Deep breathing. In… and out. You get to the top of the mountain
and you feel exhilarated, refreshed. You see a waterfall below you. The sound
is so relaxing, the constant sound of water slapping against rock. You take off
your backpack and spread out a flannel blanket. Picture yourself sprawled out
on the ground. Relaxed. Every muscle relaxed. The rush of water drumming in
your ears, the sound of birds singing their welcome...the feel of sunshine
bathing you in warmth. Breathe, that’s it. In…and…out. You close your eyes and
the sun’s heat warms you, comforts you…”

Not nearly as much as the sound of her voice. He could
see himself lying on a blanket in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, the sun
shining, water pounding.

But he wasn’t alone.

Dressed in full hiking gear, Frankie smiled down at
him from beneath a floppy tan hat. He squinted to see her past the blinding
sun. She knelt beside him and brushed her knuckles across his cheek. Then she
trailed her fingertips across his lips. He wanted to taste her, taste every
part of her.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the mirror but
couldn’t make out her expression because she’d rolled onto her side. Did she
sense his fantasy? Was that why she’d stopped talking?

Jack turned his head to study her. Her eyes were
closed, her hands curled, pillowing her head. She looked so peaceful and
content.

And asleep.

He brushed a strand of copper-streaked hair off her
cheek. “At least one of us will get some sleep. Sweet dreams, princess.”

***

Frankie was in the middle of a four-alarm fire. What
else could explain the burning of her fingertips and the ringing in her ears?

Something vibrated against her palm. She opened her
eyes and blinked twice. She was half-sprawled across a man. She started to pull
away and realized it was Jack. Pressing her cheek against his sinewy back
muscles, she squeezed her arm tight around his body and sighed.

Obnoxious ringing pierced her eardrums. Content and
foggy brained, she didn’t want to move.

“Phone,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

“Ignore it.”

“Okay.” He pulled her arm tighter around him.

The persistent ring rattled her brain. “All right
already.”

She leaned across him and grabbed the phone off the
nightstand.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Francine? Is that you?” asked Uncle Joe.

“Yep.”

There was a pause, never a good thing. “What?” she
pushed.

“You have to come home. It’s an emergency!”

Jack shifted beneath her. “Who is it?”

“My uncle.”

“What does that crazy bastard want?”

“What do you want, Uncle Joe?” She pushed a few
strands of long black hair off Jack’s face.

“Francine…it’s nearly eleven and you’re just waking
up? And is that…is that Jack in bed with you?”