The Virgin's Revenge (5 page)

“No, you’re not. It’ll turn into the Donner party, and then we’ll have to run for our lives.”

Her laughter burst out of her then, which she quickly stifled as he led her to her seat. The seat next to hers was suspiciously open, but if Amanda thought anything of the fact that in ten years, he’d never once been allowed to sit anywhere other than between the elder twins, she didn’t even falter as she sat.

Cole took his new seat after darting a dark look at the men around him. Locke was unfazed, and the younger twins had the good sense to look at their empty plates but the other three all but snickered. Rat bastards, every one of them.

Locke reached his hands out, and after a small grimace passed over each of the brothers’ faces—ha!—they all took hold of one another. His challenging glare remained on Cole for several silent seconds before the big blond lowered his head and said grace.

Cole should have been paying attention to the prayer, but he couldn’t quite slide his mind from the soft, warm feel of Amanda’s palm against his. Damn Locke and his games.

For years, he’d successfully steered his brain from taking a natural interest in Amanda. Not touching her in anything but a brotherly way helped considerably. Like handing her dishes from the dishwasher or passing her cards during a game. Sure, he hadn’t been able to restrain every touch to that category, but he’d tried damn hard. It had practically become an obsession. Especially after the time he’d stupidly tackled her during a family football game years ago. He’d spent a week wiping out the sensation of her pliant body beneath his from nearly all recollection.

But the gentle hold of her hand in his, their palms fitting to each other in a simple clasp, took him right back to that electric moment of settling between her parted thighs. He didn’t understand how, exactly, but a simple slide of her hand into his and synapses started snapping like firecrackers. The sensory thrill of it had him mesmerized. She was cool to the touch, her skin soft and dry, her fingers lightly wrapping his own. Fairer than his, smoother.

“Cole?”

He looked up, right into Amanda’s eyes. The blue-gray gleamed so bright, it was almost a glow.

“Yeah?” His tongue felt thick all of a sudden. Couldn’t have anything to do with the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and her mouth curved upward, though. Because that would be stupid of him. Supremely stupid.

“I was wondering if you were done with my hand.”

“Done with it?”

She lifted their clasped palms. “Kinda need it to eat.”

But when he didn’t let go and the silence dragged on, Cole began to feel the weight of six male Jackman glares on him.

Yeah, subtle wasn’t served at
this
table.

He let go abruptly, snapping himself out of the strange mindset. This disaster was messing with his head, and it hadn’t even been a full day yet.

Unfortunately, Amanda’s eyes widened at the sudden rejection, forcing him to mumble an apology. She nodded, but he saw the pink rise on her cheeks as she turned to her empty plate.

Dammit
. Now he felt like a jerk. “Since you can’t drive your car, I can take you home after dinner,” he found himself offering gruffly.

She might have snapped a bone whipping her head back his way.

“If you want me to,” he added, feeling strangely like he was back in middle school. All he needed now was for his voice to break and his skin to erupt. Shit. What he wouldn’t give to have a cigarette right now.

She stared at him for a long second, then her gaze slid over toward her eldest brother, who glowered down at his food, his jaw clenching tight. Glowered, but didn’t object.

“On your bike?” Her squeak of incredulity would be cute if he allowed himself to view Amanda as cute.

“Mellon’s got an extra helmet,” he added, knowing the name of his bike never failed to make her roll her eyes, and this time was no different. She loved his
Lord-of-the-Rings
-themed bike, whether she admitted it or not. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” Actually, it probably would be. She’d never gone for a ride with him, and Amanda was the Jackman who loved roller coasters, unlike her wuss brothers. It was the only thing they were ever allowed to do together without a chaperone.

“Okay,” she replied, her eyes lighting up and the flush to her face finally having nothing to do with embarrassment.

He reached for the chicken and decided not to be concerned how much better that made him feel about this whole debacle. Yeah, they’d eat, he’d take her home and tell her all about this latest insane plan of her brothers’. Everything would be just fine.

Then they were going to laugh all about this ludicrous plan of Locke’s.

He just knew it.

Chapter Three

This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had in your life. And it’s never going to work.

But it had to work. She had to make sure it would. And if that took going through every scrap of clothing she owned to figure out how to do it, she would. Which was how Amanda found herself staring at her reflection in her full-length mirror. The harsh light of day was not being kind, especially not the harsh light coming into her living room. Normally, both her bare body and the mirror were kept in the strict confines of her bedroom, but this new plan of hers meant she was going to need some room.

All throughout dinner the night before, she’d plotted while she chewed. It wasn’t easy to be sweet and oblivious while her blood had been boiling, but the thought of dropping all seven of the jaws around the table had given her the fortitude to keep up the smiles. Every single one of them needed his eyes opened up. The younger three she couldn’t blame too much. Oh, they needed to learn how to stand up to Locke, that much was certain, but there never had been any reason to try it before. The elder twins, though, could use a solid kick to the backs of their heads. And Locke…what he needed was a wake-up call of epic proportions.

Seducing Cole, she was honest enough to admit, was more for her than anyone else. But everything else she did from this point on needed to have a goal. A singular goal. To make the men around her as insane as possible until they finally realized they had absolutely no say in what she chose to do. Ideas sprang up all throughout dinner. Good ones, designed to make Locke chew nails and possibly hammer a hole right through his crew boats.

The only thing that had thrown her off was Cole.

His hand in hers had been so warm. Worse, the stupid romantic in her had tingled like mad when he hadn’t been willing to let her go. Until he’d dropped her like a bug. Even that hadn’t done much to dim her body’s pathetically melty response. Thankfully, her sweater hid the fact that her nipples might as well have turned into neon blinkers proclaiming to all that the man had only to breathe on her to get her motor revving. And speaking of revving…

Who needs a vibrator when you can just climb on the back of a motorcycle?

Cole had kept his word about driving her home on the bike, and Locke had kept his word about not interfering. That alone had her bristling…until Cole joined her on the seat. He wrapped her arms around him, guided her thighs close on either side of his, and when her breasts mashed into his back her entire body went on overload. He’d looked over his shoulder at her as he started up the bike, his eyes smiling behind the clear visor of his helmet, when the engine’s reverberations jolted through her. Her eyes had widened until they stung, her jaw dropped and she hoped to God he didn’t hear the moan that escaped her. He heard her screams of glee later, though, as he sped all through town before getting her home.

Her heart still raced, even now, thinking about the speed and the thrill of it all. Especially when he’d raced up Connor’s Hill, jumping the bike over the deep dip just under the top. Her stomach had dropped, and she swore they floated for endless seconds before the bike finally came down hard enough to jar her teeth and rattle the back of her head. All the way down the hill, she’d heard Cole’s laughter and wild whooping.

If only it had been real.

Not their enjoyment of the ride—she didn’t doubt it was fun for both of them in a way her brothers would never be able to understand. But the offer… That wasn’t real. Neither was the hand holding or the dazed look on his face when they’d finally come to a stop in front of her cottage and he’d helped her out of the helmet.

She’d looked up at him, still laughing and breathless, and he’d been just the same. His smile had faded slowly, just like something out of a movie. The glints of excitement in his eyes had darkened into something…else. His gaze had dropped to her lips, just for a second. Then his eyes had grown darker still when she’d licked her lower lip, unable to help herself. Wanting him to lean down and kiss her. Just that tiny bit, and she’d finally know what those firm lips tasted like. How they’d move over her own.

He’d almost done it, dipping his head incrementally before pulling back as if someone had stuck him with a cattle prod.

Just like that, the illusion shattered.

He didn’t
want
to kiss her.

Because he didn’t think of her that way. He saw a sister, not a woman. Not a lover. Not even a fling.

Suddenly, she was never angrier in her life.

And he probably knew it.

Granted, it was probably hard to miss the brunt of the helmet pounding into his solar plexus, but that wasn’t her problem. She’d thanked him for the ride even as he called her name. It felt good to ignore him and close the door to her house with him still trying to get her attention.

What he didn’t know was that he did have her attention. And if it killed her, she was about to get his. Dumb idea or not, she was going to seduce Cole Engstrom until his eyes crossed.

Better yet, until
her
eyes crossed.

She turned to the side now, eying the fit of the peacock feather thong across her hip. She had more lingerie than a woman without a lover—or a prospect—ought, but for all of that, she had yet to find anything that would definitely knock Cole for a loop. This particular set was one of Susie’s personal creations, a thank-you gift for modeling it for the new catalog she had been putting together for her upcoming Christmas line.

Susie had woven the iridescent green and blue threads of the feathers into the black string over the hips, saving the eye-tips for the spray of them fanning her tailbone and for the swath dipping between her thighs. The matching bra demi-cupped her breasts, the tops decorated with more of the multi-colored feathers. The little strands rested on the tops of her bosom, inviting a lover to slide them out of the way for heated kisses.

This was the twelfth set of bras and panties she’d put on this morning, and it wasn’t any more right than the others before it. They’d all looked fine in the pictures but, really, what
didn’t
look great under studiously controlled lighting after a couple bottles of wine while she and Susie laughed at their own nearly bare asses?

In the real—more importantly, sober—world, Amanda couldn’t help the flutter in her stomach or the nerves that had the corners of her lips pulled taut. When she figured out how to get him into her house, would he see her in this and laugh? Think she was ridiculous and pathetic? Or would he choke on sudden, desperate desire?

If the shadows were right, she judged, running her hand over her hip and imagining the fingers were his, he just might. Candlelight, maybe. Or flames from the fireplace she’d never once had cause to light. That might be just the thing.

Some nights, when she was feeling indulgent, she lit all the candles in her bathroom and took endless bubble baths, basking in the fact that no one was pounding on the door for her to hurry. She rather thought her legs looked all kinds of sensual when the little flames glistened off her wet skin.

Cole might find her sensual too…

No. She crushed that bit of over-romantic whimsy ruthlessly. Sensual wouldn’t cut it. Cole knew her too well for sensual to do anything but make him uncomfortable. What she wanted was something to make him swallow his tongue and turn as blue in the face as he’d get in the balls.
Atomic
sexuality. Nothing less would be incentive enough to overcome his brotherly way of thinking. Something that would grab his cock from the second he laid eyes on her and not let go until she had what she wanted. Somewhere in this pile of lace, silk, satins and even a few bits of leather, she’d find the right thing to crack Cole Engstrom. She hadn’t lived with six brothers for nothing. If she’d learned anything from the way they lost the ability to speak, think, breathe or even hold in their drool, flash enough skin and men would happily have sex with a porcupine.

Except Locke.

But he didn’t count anyway.

The only one who mattered right now was Cole—

A knock on her door had her nearly jumping out of her feathers.

“Hey, Amanda? You in there?”

The good news was that the voice didn’t belong to any of her brothers. The bad news was that it wasn’t Cole either.

“Amanda?” The shadow passed into the frame of her window just before the man’s body moved in front of the glass. “Hey, there you—oh,
shit
!”

She dove for her robe at the end of the couch, but not before Billy Anderson had cupped his hands around his face and pressed them to the window, allowing him to see through the thick lace curtains. Right to her mostly naked body.

And that heavy thud had to be the sound of poor Billy hitting the wooden porch like a sack of lead.

Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and yanked her silk robe around herself as tight as possible. Billy worked over at Burke Hallifax’s repair and custom body shop, which could mean only one thing. Locke hadn’t listened worth a damn.

Rushing to the window, she found the beleaguered auto clerk splayed out on the porch as expected and a shiny blue sedan parked out at the curb. Shaking her head, she stepped out onto the porch, hoping the thin fabric of her blue robe would do enough to cover the fact that she was naked but for a few peacock feathers.

“Billy?” She crouched next to him, making sure the robe’s flaps covered her legs completely. “Billy, are you okay?”