Authors: Regina Kyle
“Patience, Duchess. Patience.”
He ushered her through the lobby to the ticket taker, a spiky-haired twenty-something who stared at Jace open-mouthed.
“Ohmigod, you’re...”
“Shhh.” Jace put a finger to his lips and handed their tickets over. “Give us a break, okay, man? We just want to enjoy the movie on the down-low.”
He held his breath as Spiky Hair studied them. He was used to being recognized in California, where the Storm played, but farther from his home base he was usually able to fly under the radar. Leave it to lady luck to put a baseball buff at the door.
“You bet,” the usher said after a beat. “Let’s get you inside. No one will recognize you in the dark.”
He looked at the tickets. “Sweet. VIP passes. Right this way, Mr. Monroe.”
The usher led them to the front of the theater, where the first few rows were corded off. He unhitched the rope and let them pass, showing them to two seats in the second row on the aisle.
“Here you go.” He handed their passes back, along with two programs. “Enjoy the show. The VIP reception and talkback with Mr. Carpenter will be immediately afterward, upstairs in the green room. It’s all in your handouts.”
“Mr. Carpenter?” Noelle asked as the usher made his way back up the aisle. “Does he mean... ?”
“Yep. John Carpenter, the greatest living horror director. At least according to Dylan.”
“Dylan was in on this, too?”
She tensed a little, her lips pressing into a thin line, and he knew immediately what she was thinking. Funny how quickly he’d learned to read her. “Don’t worry. As far as Dylan and Sara know, we’re just two friends cutting loose and blowing off some steam.”
She relaxed and put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his groin. Now he was the one getting stiff. “We’re really going to meet John Carpenter?”
“Surprise.” Jace covered her hand with his and leaned in to whisper in her ear as the lights went down. “Told you you hadn’t seen anything yet.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible over the creepy opening theme.
It had been ages since he’d been to a horror flick. They weren’t his thing. Give him a sci-fi or superhero movie any day. But within minutes, he remembered why they’d been so popular when he was in high school.
“Don’t go in the garage.” Noelle snuggled close and gripped his hand as the girl on the screen ignored her advice and opened the car door. “He’s in the backseat.”
True to her word, the white-masked killer popped up and Noelle jumped, clutching Jace harder and burying her face in his shoulder. The fresh, flowery scent of her perfume or shampoo surrounded him.
“You have seen this movie before, haven’t you?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Of course.” He could almost hear her smile in the dark. “But the good ones always make you jump, no matter how many times you’ve seen them.”
They watched the rest of the movie in relative silence save for her gasps and screams every time another victim met their grisly end. With each killing, she cuddled closer. The body count was high so by the end of the flick she would have been in his lap if there wasn’t an arm rest between them.
And his dick was as hard as a steel rod, creating an uncomfortable bulge in his jeans. He shifted away from her and adjusted himself before the lights went up.
“Now comes the real treat. Ready to meet the man of the hour?” He stood and held out a hand to her.
She took it, standing and brushing her lips against his cheek in a kiss so gentle he almost missed it. “I’m more than ready to meet Mr. Carpenter. But the man of the hour is the guy who went through all the trouble to set this up. And that’s the real treat.”
10
N
OELLE
FLOATED
OUT
of the theater on a cloud of contentment. No, contentment wasn’t a strong enough word. Euphoria was more like it. All because of the conundrum wrapped in an enigma that was Jace Monroe. Superstar shortstop. Legendary ladies’ man. The man on the back of baseball cards and the front of cereal boxes who’d taken the time to discover her guilty pleasure and give her a night she’d never forget.
She didn’t want to admit it, but he’d gotten to her. How could he not? No other man had ever gone to such lengths to please her, inside the bedroom or out. Yet Jace had figured out how to do both in the span of only a few weeks.
“After you.” He swung open the passenger door of the sports car and helped her in.
“Thanks again,” she said when he’d settled into the driver’s seat. “For everything. I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
He turned the key and the engine started with a roar. “Would it tarnish your newly shiny image of me if I told you my motives weren’t entirely pure?”
“Only a little.” She fastened her seat belt and stretched out her bum leg. “Any man who’d go to the lengths you did just to get into my pants deserves a certain amount of consideration.”
“Hey, I never said it was just to get into your pants.”
“So you admit you want to get into my pants.”
“Don’t you mean get into your pants again?”
“Semantics.”
Jace smoothly maneuvered the sports car into traffic. “So, was meeting the prince of darkness all you thought it would be?”
“And more.” The director had been charming, funny and generous to a fault with his time, answering questions and signing autographs long after he was supposed to leave. She smoothed a hand over the program in her lap, tracing the letters in his signature then tucking it safely in her purse. “I’m still a bit starstruck.”
“Now you know how your fans feel.”
“And yours.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, fighting a yawn.
“Tired, Duchess?”
“More than I realized until this second.”
“Then sit back, relax and get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re home.”
“Home?” She cracked one eye open and turned her head to look at him.
“You know what I mean.” He pulled up at a stop light. “Mind if I put the top down?”
“Sure, why not? It’s a nice night.”
“Not worried about messing up your hair?” He reached above him with both hands, released a latch, then hit a button on the dash, retracting the roof.
“Nah.” She shut her eye and let out a contented sigh. “I rock the windswept look.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
She heard the engine rev and felt the wind pick up. The steady hum of the motor relaxed her and within a few minutes she could feel herself drifting off to sleep.
It could have been ten minutes or two hours when she woke up with her head on Jace’s shoulder, one hand pressed against the rough denim of his jeans.
And that wasn’t the only thing it was pressing against.
A slow, answering ache stirred inside her, starting in her belly and working its way up to her chest. Almost involuntarily, her hand curled around his thigh.
“Don’t. Move.” He jerked the steering wheel and the car made a sharp right.
“Hey!” Her grip tightened on his thigh, making his erection twitch under her fingertips.
“I’m not kidding, Duchess. One more inch and I’m gonna bust a nut, run us off the road or both.” Another turn and gravel crunched under the tires.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure I don’t kill us.” He slowed the car to a stop, turned off the ignition and slid the bench seat back.
She sat up and peered out the windshield. He’d parked at the edge of a field, nothing but darkness and the silhouettes of the acacia trees in the distance. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere no one will see me do this.”
He slid across the seat, pinning her against the door with his hot, hard body and claiming her mouth in a scorching, demanding kiss. He framed her face in his big, work-roughened palms and pressed a thumb just below her jawline, where she was sure he could feel her pulse racing like a member of the corps de ballet dancing her first solo.
She kissed him back, openmouthed, her tongue sliding against his. She focused her attention on the magic he was making with his lips and fingers, trying to blur out the niggling fear they’d be discovered by some unsuspecting dog walker or, even worse, a police officer.
“You’re thinking too much,” Jace scolded, breaking off the kiss. He worked one hand under the top part of her dress and cupped her breast through the lace of her bra. His thumb found her nipple and circled it, teasing.
A zing of pleasure rippled through her and she dropped her head back against the seat. “I do that a lot.”
“Stop.” His forefinger joined his thumb and squeezed. “The only thing I want you doing right now is feeling.”
“Feeling what?” She closed her eyes and let the sensations emanating from his fingers wash over her.
“This.” He tugged at her nipple, the brief but sharp pinch of pain surprisingly stimulating.
“And this.” He nipped her earlobe, another twinge of sexual torture that sent shivers dancing down her spine.
“And this.” His tongue soothed the ache his teeth had caused.
She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him to her as his mouth caressed a path from the sensitive spot behind her ear to her collarbone. She was feeling, all right, like she’d never freaking felt before. It was all so...naughty. The pleasure/pain. The open air. The perverse thrill of knowing they could be interrupted at any moment.
Hot damn.
Sex
en plein air
was fun.
“Top off,” he growled.
She raised her arms and he yanked the flimsy garment over her head.
“Don’t want to lose this.” He tossed it into the backseat and returned to worshiping her breasts, now clad in only her lacy bra, her nipples practically poking holes through the fabric.
She arched her back, a low hiss escaping from between her teeth. “You’ve obviously done this before.”
“I’m no saint,” he admitted, his fingers finding and fondling the already hardened nubs. “But I can honestly say I’ve never been so turned on I had to pull the car off the road.”
“Nice to know.” Her toes curled and her body tensed as his lips joined his fingers.
That was the last of the talking for a while as they divested themselves of as much of their clothes as they dared. His shirt went the way of her top, as did her panties. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down past his hips.
“Condom,” he grunted. “In my wallet. Right rear pocket.”
He lifted his ass and she reached underneath him to pull it out, taking a second to cop a quick feel. He really did have a magnificent butt, round, firm and eminently squeezable.
“Quit stalling and hand it over.” He snatched the condom from her, ripped it open and sheathed himself, pulling her into his lap when he was done.
She straddled him, hovering over his erection, pointed straight at the cloudless night sky. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“There’s only one way to have public sex, sweetness.” He gripped her hips and thrust upward, into her. “Quick and dirty. But don’t worry. We’ll try nice and slow later.”
* * *
“
L
ATER
?”
N
OELLE
PANTED
, poised above him, her body flushed with arousal.
Jace began to move, long, fast strokes that had her moving, too, grinding against him, working her body, taking what she needed. She felt so fucking good, hot and wet and tight, he wasn’t going to last worth a damn. He was a greedy bastard, thinking of their next time before they’d even finished. But having her again, and taking his time to touch, taste and explore wasn’t just a matter of want or even desire. It was a necessity. Like breathing.
“My room,” he managed to grunt between thrusts. “You’re staying with me tonight.”
“Bossy, aren’t we?” she asked, her gorgeous blond hair—and her equally beautiful breasts—bouncing wildly each time he pounded into her.
He slowed to catch his breath so he could answer. “You have a better idea?”
“Yes.” She rested her forehead on his, almost speaking into his mouth. “My room. No rabid teenage baseball fans to interrupt us.”
“Deal.” He began moving again, the hands on her hips pulling down as he thrust hard. “Now shut up and come for me.”
Wordlessly, they found a rhythm that brought them both to the edge. Noelle toppled over first, collapsing against him, burying her face in his shoulder and moaning her release into his neck. Her body still pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, she kissed first his shoulder blade, then the hollow at the base of his throat, then his chest, her tongue daring to steal out and tease one nipple.
The tongue thing was the final straw for Jace. He let out an animal groan as he came, the muscles in his chest and abs tensing as jolt after jolt of pure pleasure shot through him.
When he was spent, he slumped in the seat, taking her with him. One hand trailed absently down her back, tracing the curve of her spine. “Is it my imagination, or does it get better every time?”
“It’s not your imagination.” She twirled a finger in his hair.
“How about we test that theory?”
“What do you suggest?”
He glanced into the backseat. Her top was on the floor behind him, his on the seat above it and her panties had somehow wound up hanging from the door handle. “For starters, putting our clothes back on.”
“Sort of counterintuitive, isn’t it?”
“Only so we can get back to Spaulding without being arrested before we hit your room and take them off again.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She rolled off him and leaned over the seat to reach into the back of the car. “Get moving, superstar. We’re wasting the wee hours.”
He sat motionless. He could barely remember his damn name at the moment, with the bottom of her dress creeping up and that ass he loved, still sans panties, inches from his mouth, begging for him to take a bite. Or maybe that was him begging.
She sank back down onto the front seat, delivering him from temptation, and held his T-shirt out to him. “I meant what I said before. We have to keep this quiet. I won’t become fodder for the tabloids again.”
He took the shirt and shrugged it over his head. “Works for me. Nothing kills a comeback faster than bad press.”