Nice Girls Finish Last (2 page)

‘Maybe I reapplied.'

‘Your lips aren't swollen, your skin isn't flushed, your eyes don't have that gleam.'

His words stoked the insane reactions occurring within her body—her lower belly had become an inferno and it was almost impossible to remain still. The urge to be exceptionally wicked had to be held in place somehow. Except she didn't know how. All she knew was that she was answering him back again. ‘I've got a quick recovery. It's necessary, you know, when you take on so many at once. A girl like me has stamina.'

‘Oh, you do?' He sounded pleased. ‘Then one more isn't going to make much difference, is it?'

She froze. ‘One more what?'

Her words may or may not have been audible. Who cared? Because at that moment he moved that shiver closer.

His lips caught hers on the full, claiming complete possession. She didn't even think to stop him. For a moment pure shock immobilised her, sending her strength someplace else. She melted, thankful for the wall behind holding her up.

It had been a hell of a long time between kisses and this was one hell of a kiss. He took total control, first warming her lips with his own, teasing them apart with his tongue, then surging forward and exploring deeper. That brought
her back, only not to fight and push him away as she probably should. Oh, no, the only thing she
could
do was open up and kiss him right back. He was absolute masculinity—a wall of heat, strength and solidity that turned her into a malleable woman who'd bend whichever way he wanted.

She heard the growl, felt the shift as he moved closer still so his body pinned hers. His hands cupped her face, holding it up to his, and for a few carnally delightful seconds he seduced the soul out of her. But just as she was really getting into it he broke away, angling so he could look hard at her. His blue eyes blazed.

‘Now you have the gleam,' he said, voice thick with satisfaction.

She gasped and started to blast him with some sarky thing on the tip of her tongue—only, before sound even emerged he swooped back and took her tongue with his own.
She
growled then. Oh, he was hot. And bold. And delicious.

She tasted his smile as he switched to a series of soft teasing kisses. His hands slipped to her neck, his fingers stroking downwards, skimming hot sensation over her skin. But her passion ran far deeper than that.

That formerly locked-up dam spilled more heat, spinning it along her veins until anticipation tingled in every cell. Need spiked. She moved, her muscles all fire-fuelled strength. She shivered and pressed her mouth harder to his, hurtling them back to the bruising, blistering, barely controlled hunger of seconds before.

She totally forgot about rubbing the oil on his jacket to pay him back for his smug arrogance and out-of-order assumption. Instead all she could think of was having him closer, harder, heavier against her. She clung as urges rampaged through her. Urges she couldn't suppress. She kissed him—hungry, wild, restless.

Reckless.

Her fingers tightened into his jacket, her toes tightened in their shoes, her muscles tightened in her womb. She wanted to clench down on something really hard. And the really hard thing was pushing right against her.

She couldn't have broken free even if she'd wanted to. Some violent force bound them, demanding closer intimacy. More furious, more hungry. She devoured the sensations. Devoured him. Blissfully out of control and utterly abandoned to how good it felt.

Their lips sealed, tongues stroked, locked into a rhythm, deep, rough, outrageously passionate. His hands pressed down her back to shape her waist, and then cupped her bottom, pressing her pelvis harder against his.

It had been for ever since she'd had a physical release. And she'd never been this turned on by a few saucy sentences and a couple of kisses. But this was so much more than kissing. She moaned into his mouth as the uncontrollable fire turned her reason to ash.

She was so tension-filled she couldn't uncurl her fingers, but she pulled her hands apart, jerking his jacket open so she could press her tight, aching breasts against the spectacularly solid wall of his chest. She pulled harder and his jacket slipped partway off his shoulders, half pinning his arms to his sides, but his hands were exactly where she wanted them anyway—gripping her hips, hauling them closer to his in time with every thrust of his tongue.

A door banged. More noise followed—a sudden volume of voices—men's voices.

He released her instantly. Lena crashed back against the wall, hitting cold, hard reality. He stepped up in front of her, his body a barrier so she couldn't be seen from the doorway,
a surprisingly protective move. But she didn't stop to say thanks. Not when she'd just blown her rep to smithereens.

Her brain screamed the order. Her body followed it.

She fled.

F
ASTER
,
faster, faster.

Lena knew exactly how to shortcut through the myriad corridors in the massive complex, so she scurried along them, got to her office, snatched her handbag and was in the ladies' loo before she could gulp the breath her lungs were bursting for.

She gasped when she saw her reflection and thanked all the stars she'd got there without seeing anyone. Her lipstick was a mess, her hair mussed, her mouth huge. As for her eyes, her pupils were so massive and dark she looked as if she were on something. Which she was—lust, hormones, the highest of natural highs, and she'd wanted to ride the wave all the way to the top, not be dropped out halfway to heaven….

Oh, she'd been an idiot.

She scrubbed her hands but could still smell the baby oil. She held a bunch of tissues under the cold tap and pressed them to her lips. It didn't cool them a fraction. She debated whether it was better to reapply lipstick or leave it. Went with reapplying. Not having any would look more unusual. She never went bare at work because she had an image to maintain. Polished, capable,
professional.
The kissy fullness would settle in a few moments, right?

Oh, so stupid, stupid, stupid.

She'd worked so hard to earn respect and a good reputation here and she'd just chucked it. For what?

The kiss of a lifetime. Definitely. But it wasn't worth her job.

Despite her hammering heart and desperate urge to flee the place altogether, she had to go back and implement damage control—sooner rather than later. She swiped her comb through her hair to smooth it, closed her eyes and counted to ten. She'd fix up the last couple of shirts for the team, then deal with the five-car pile-up her life had just become. She fussed with the fabric, getting it perfect while questions spun so fast in her head it was worse than being on some g-force terror ride at a theme park.

Who and how and why was he there? It wasn't the right time in the season for a new recruit and he'd been right about it being a restricted area…so
who
?

And
what
had she been thinking? It was his fault—right? He'd invaded her personal space and made boundary-crossing comments and started the whole explosive episode.
He'd
kissed
her
. She'd been the innocent party…sort of. But her heart knew the truth and her body just wanted
more
.

 

Seth had shrugged his jacket back up to his shoulders and walked forward as soon as he'd heard the door open. Breathless, his brain obliterated, he had been guided by pure instinct to protect her as best he could.

But in the few seconds it took for the door to bang shut again—with no one having walked through it—she'd gone. Faster than lightning, she'd streaked down the corridor. He didn't chase her; in the split second he saw her turn a corner—she knew exactly the way out of there. He didn't.

So what he had to do was find Dion. Because Dion would be able to tell him who the flamethrower was.

Wow.

He chuckled and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, checking it. Yeah, a smear of the slick red she wore on her lips coloured his skin. He rubbed again to be sure he was clear, then ran his hands through his hair and exhaled hard, trying to release some of the tension.

As if that were ever going to happen. He was so wound and wired it was a wonder he could even walk. But walk he would—just as soon as some of the blood pumped back out of his pants and up north to his head. It took a few moments—hindered by the fact that all he could think of was that woman with the creamiest skin and the palest green eyes that were totally,
totally
feline. Given the smart-but-pretty dress and heels and make-up she had on, he guessed she worked here, probably PR, given her polished image. Less polished now he'd messed with her….

Yeah, none of these thoughts were helping him recover his control. He forced it, breathing out again and striding forward through the change-room door. ‘You in here, Dion?'

Seth stopped a few paces into the room and blinked at the sight. Dion was on the edge of a group of rugby players—all of whom were clad only in white towels, while a few more were posed in one corner of the room. In between the two groupings stood a photographer, camera in front of his face as he issued instructions and click, click, clicked.

‘Hey, Seth, glad you could make it.' Dion had recently stepped in as CEO for the stadium. He was another property-development addict, and his new diversion was perfect timing as far as Seth was concerned—now for more than one reason.

‘Yeah, thanks.' Seth smiled, exceptionally glad he'd come here today. ‘What's going on?'

But Dion was staring at him with a curious expression. ‘What did you do to your jacket?'

Startled, Seth glanced down and saw streaks of some
thing all over his lapels. He frowned, put his fingers to a spot and felt the slick dampness. Then he remembered— Green-Eyed Girl had grabbed his jacket as she'd snapped back at him. She'd held on to it tight. Now he knew why. She'd had some kind of slime on her hands and she'd wiped it all over him. The devious creature. He laughed, tickled and no less turned on. ‘Oh, I don't know.'

He took it off—happy to—given he was still hotter than hot.

Dion still looked curious but Seth just jerked his head towards the team. ‘What's going on?'

‘Last couple of shots for the annual calendar shoot.'

‘Really?' Seth grinned at the poor bastards. Most stood with their arms folded across their gleaming bare chests. His eyes narrowed. ‘What have they put on you?' he asked the nearest one.

‘Baby oil.'

A few started laughing again and smacking their chests like cavemen. ‘Oh, she got us good.'

‘I can still feel the sting of her palm,' one complained, rubbing his hand up by his shoulder. ‘She's a sadist.' He rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘But it was worth it.'

‘Who got you good?' Seth tried to ask casually.

‘Lena.'

Cue more smirks and body-slapping.

Lena
. Oh, hell. Wasn't Lena the name of the woman Dion had told him about? The woman who had the power to save him from next week's nightmare so long as he could convince her to help him? The one he
needed
?

Hell, yes. Only, now he didn't want her to agree to his last-minute project plan, he wanted her to say yes to something else altogether. Seth gritted his teeth as a surge of testosterone rippled through his muscles—all masculine hunger and sexual curiosity. His curiosity was so rabid he
was unable to resist asking exactly what they'd been up to with the luscious Lena. ‘What did you do?'

‘Asked her to rub the oil on,' one said with a shameless grin. ‘Thought she'd refuse all haughtylike, but she didn't. She slapped it on all of us. And I mean
slapped.
'

The entire team erupted.

‘Perfect!' the photographer shrieked, spinning, his finger holding down the shutter button as he caught them all. ‘Keep talking.'

‘You should have seen the look on her face.'

Oh, Seth had. ‘Did she laugh?' He was still hearing that laugh; it had drawn him to her the way a magnet drew an iron filing. He'd been powerless to resist her pull.

‘Nah, you never see that, she always holds it together. Cooler than a chilly bin.'

Uh, Seth didn't think so. He glanced down at the jacket in his hands, retrieved the few things he had in the pocket and dumped it in the rubbish. No getting oil stains out of that. He turned back, unable to resist asking more—to be sure it was her. ‘She wouldn't be wearing a blue dress, would she? About this tall?' He gestured just above his shoulder. ‘Dark hair, creamy skin, green eyes and curv—'

He broke off, recognising a little late that they'd all gone quiet and that he'd been about to get a little
too
detailed….

‘You noticed her,' said Ty, who Seth knew was the captain.

‘I told you about her. Lena Kelly.' Dion pointedly looked from Seth to the rubbish bin and back again. ‘PR and organisation and stuff.'

Yeah, definitely the one Dion had said Seth needed on board. She had the power to convince management to let him bring his boys here—the at-risk youth who needed not just a shot of discipline, but of inspiration, too. But Dion hadn't told him she was such a scorcher. And right now,
wrong as it was, Seth had more of a fixation on that fact than he did on sorting the problem that had brought him here in the first place.

She definitely had a more valid reason than he did to be hanging out near the change rooms. What was more, she really
had
had her hands on all the boys. There was no smothering his chuckle.

The captain saw. ‘Don't bother, mate, she's not interested.'

Oh. Seth cleared his throat. ‘She's taken?' She'd better not be, or she shouldn't have been kissing him so hot—not just hungry, but famished. Aggression surged, hardening. He hated infidelity.

‘No, but she refuses
everyone.
She almost flirts. You can see it in her eyes, but she never says what she's thinking,' Ty explained. ‘Wish she would.'

‘Got nice eyes,' one of the forwards grunted.

Wicked
eyes.

Seth relaxed. He wasn't up for commitment and he wasn't going to be party to cheating. But he was more than happy to play.

‘Got nice everything,' some other player piped up. ‘But no one gets near. Totally untouchable.'

‘Right.' Seth nodded, breathing deep to hide the outrageous victor's pleasure coursing through him. He had to stop himself puffing his chest out like some damn cockerel—because Not-Interested-Lena had been more than a little interested in him.

‘You really do fancy her,' Dion stated quietly.

The entire team stopped laughing and stared at Seth. Suddenly they didn't look anywhere near as friendly—more like aggressive.

‘Uh, no.' Testosterone resurged. He'd happily fight his corner, but he needed these guys onside if he was going to
get them to help with the youth-aid project, so he went for deflection. ‘Only noticing what you've all noticed.'

And now he noticed how the atmosphere had turned from teasing to protective. Which meant they respected her. Which meant she was no tease. Which meant he might have to be careful. He more than fancied her and badly wanted a fling. He'd had a dry spell for all of a month or so and she'd be a much-needed distraction from the construction consent issues he had coming out of his ears. And okay, he was totally hot for her. From the answering heat in her kiss, he knew he could get her to say yes. So long as her no-dating policy wasn't because she was holding out for a husband. Marriage wasn't in his deck of cards.

‘She'll knock you back,' said Ty. ‘She doesn't date anyone famous.'

But Seth wasn't famous in the way these guys were famous. Ten minutes ago she hadn't recognised him, nor had she knocked him back. In the right mood, Lena Kelly wasn't untouchable at all.

Dion's eyes had that delighted gleam that came on when he saw a building he wanted to acquire. ‘I reckon you'd have more luck than most.' He turned to Ty. ‘Want to make a bet?'

‘No.' Seth instantly stamped on that. This conversation had gone more than far enough already. ‘Never bet on a woman. Bad karma.'

Dion glanced, his laughter easy. ‘Quite right. And we've pushed it enough with Lena today. Imagine what she'd do if she heard us now?'

The entire team cracked up again. The photographer practically bounced with excitement as he snapped off shots.

Dion looked smug. Seth suspected the bet comment had
been to provoke his reaction. Ruthless bastard. But Seth smirked, too—it took one to know one.

‘So this is going to be the calendar, huh?' He knew his change of topic wasn't going to fool Dion. The captain was watching him as well but he tried anyway. ‘You guys must just love this.'

‘Oh, sure.'

Some of the guys groaned.

‘Need you all back in the shot now,' the photographer called.

As they lined up his thoughts derailed. The temperature of that kiss had been surreal—like being submerged into a spa after a day on the snow, bringing out goose bumps even though you were burning. Your body couldn't decide if it was pleasurable or painful—just intense, hellish good. He was hurting for more of the supposedly untouchable Lena. The urge bit to the bone. He liked nothing more than a challenge and a chase. Used to success, he figured there was no reason why he couldn't get her to agree to
both
propositions. All he had to do now was find her.

‘Coming through!'

Seth's body recognised the slightly husky edge to the singsong voice before his brain did. Predatory instincts rose, focus sharpened. He had to turn slightly to the side to force himself to relax. This was a challenge, yes, but not one for public consumption. The guys were cheesing it up for the camera, but he sensed their attention snap to him the second they heard her, too. They wanted to see what was going to happen. Which meant that, right now,
nothing
was going to happen. Later on? Absolutely everything.

He tried to act nonchalant, but it would be abnormal not to look, so as the heel tapping neared he glanced over. She was hidden by a wall of shirts—holding them up high and out front like a curtain—but he recognised the dress. His
body acted as if it had met its dream mate and he gripped hard on his bunching muscles.

‘Thanks, Lena,' said Dion. ‘Hang them over there for us, will you? They'll need to shower after this. Don't want that oil over all the clothes.'

Seth knew Dion had just directed another speculative glance at the rubbish bin where his jacket was now in residence. But he wasn't going to say a word.

‘Lena, this is Seth Walker,' Dion added. ‘Seth, this is our ever efficient PR queen, Lena.'