When she flashed him a how-awesome-is-that look, he simply laughed it off. “I’m not looking for a random lay. Trust me, if I wanted to get laid?” He lowered his voice to a smoky pitch and snapped his fingers. “I could get laid just like that. But see, that’s not what I’m after.”
A sigh lodged in her chest. “What are you after, Seth?”
“You.”
Equal parts arousal and irritation pleaded for her attention. Ignoring both, she released her breath and crossed her arms over her chest. Seth’s gaze immediately rested on her cleavage, more pronounced now that her pose was pushing her breasts up. She promptly let her arms dangle to her sides.
“I don’t have time to play games with you,” she muttered. “I have too much on my plate at the moment, and even if I wasn’t busy, I still wouldn’t say yes. I’m a mother, first and foremost. My kids are my life.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not asking you to put the rugrats up for adoption, Miranda.”
“No, you’re just asking me to pretend they don’t exist and launch myself into some whirlwind sexual affair with you. How will that even work, Seth? You’re going to sneak into my apartment after I tuck Sophie and Jason in and ravish me while they’re sleeping next door? You’ll pay for a babysitter while you and I go to some sleazy motel?” She shook her head. “For the millionth time, I’m not interested.”
He rewarded her speech with his trademark smirk. “Has anyone ever told you that you look sexy when you lie?”
“What does that even mean?” she mumbled. “Whatever. Don’t answer. In fact, don’t say another word.”
She brushed past him and yanked on the door handle. Out in the hall, the drum and bass bounced off the walls and vibrated beneath her feet. Perching her hands on her hips, she turned to scowl at Seth.
“I’m serious. Quit coming here every night. Quit hitting on me. Quit acting like being my former boss’s son gives you some kind of say in my life.”
As usual, he seemed unfazed by the rejection. Stepping closer, he brought those tempting lips to her ear again, his hot breath fanning over her skin. “See you Monday night, Miranda.”
“Seth—”
Holy crap, had he just licked the shell of her ear? He had. And now his lips were closing over her earlobe.
A jolt of pure desire hit her hard and fast. Before she could lay into him for his sheer presumption, he was moving away.
“You’ve got my cell number,” he reminded her. “Call me when you’re ready.”
When. Not if.
Presumptuous jerk.
As her heart pounded up a storm in her chest, she watched Seth stride off, angry with herself for noticing how incredible his ass looked in those black jeans. Angry at him for walking away without once looking back, while she was standing there like a slack-jawed moron, unable to take her eyes off him.
“Who was that?” The breathy female voice came from the long line in front of the ladies’ room.
Sighing, Miranda met the eyes of a young blonde in a gold micromini and black halter top. “That was our resident troublemaker.”
The blonde grinned. “My kind of trouble. I’d trade my firstborn for even ten minutes with that hottie.”
A few of the other women in line overheard the remark and laughed, but Miranda only managed a weak smile. Being around Seth Masterson was utterly exhausting. She was forever on guard, waiting for his next seductive ambush, steeling herself against the sexual magnetism he possessed in spades.
You have a problem, Miranda Rose Breslin.
God, she totally did, didn’t she? Why was she always attracted to bad boys? Those kinds of men were all well and good in the movies, but in real life, you had a better chance of teaching a dog to send an email than taming a bad boy.
She needed to do something about this silly schoolgirl attraction, pronto. Maybe she ought to lock herself in her bedroom tonight and put her vibrator to good use. A few orgasms and she’d be thinking, Seth who?
Seth Masterson, that’s who, and you’re an idiot if you think your battery-operated boyfriend will make you forget it.
Oh for the love of…was that Seth’s voice in her head?
Wonderful. The man was already shadowing her at work. Haunting her dreams. Starring in her fantasies. And now he was narrating her damn thoughts.
How on earth was she supposed to crush this attraction to dust when even her own subconscious was against her?
With another sigh, Miranda headed back to the main floor of the club. And prayed that the deafening dance beat would pound all thoughts of Seth right out of her head.
Chapter Two
Seth had never felt more on edge as he stalked into the dark townhouse he shared with Dylan Wade. Seeing Miranda on a nightly basis was absolute torture, and tonight had been particularly brutal. Probably because it was the closest he’d ever come to battering through her defenses. He’d seen her pulse jumping in her throat when he’d told her he wanted her. Heard her intake of breath. Witnessed the haze of arousal in her eyes.
She could deny it all she wanted, but Seth knew when a woman was hot for him. And this one was. Big-time.
Which was a damn good thing, because he was hot for her too. He’d wanted Miranda Breslin from the second he’d laid eyes on her. They may have officially met four months ago when he’d helped her move into her new apartment, but he’d already been lusting over the woman for more than a year by then.
First time he’d seen her was backstage at the Paradis, which he pretty much considered his second home. Miranda had been sitting at a vanity table while a makeup artist hovered over her. She’d worn an elaborate costume studded with blue jewels and adorned with peacock feathers. The leotard-like outfit had offered a lot of cleavage and emphasized her long, shapely legs, made even longer and shapelier thanks to her sheer silver stockings and high-heeled dance shoes. She’d yet to put on her feathered headdress, so her long sable-brown hair had been slicked back in a tight bun, drawing his attention to her high cheekbones and intriguing features.
In that moment, Seth had never encountered a more appetizing sight. And yeah, maybe coming off a six-month-long deployment had intensified the punch of lust he’d experienced, but here he was, a year and a half later, and he still hadn’t come close to meeting a woman who turned him on as much as Miranda did.
“You struck out, huh?”
Seth nearly jumped out of his own skin when the deep male voice cut through the silence of the house. He flicked the light switch in the kitchen to find his roommate leaning against the L-shaped counter.
As Seth’s heartbeat steadied, Dylan nonchalantly sipped his glass of water like he had no care in the world.
He also had no stitch of clothing on.
Dylan’s naked body was neither new nor off-putting—Seth had seen enough of it after three years of living with the guy, not to mention all those times they’d tag-teamed chicks. Without batting an eye, he stalked past the blond SEAL and opened the fridge door.
“Judging by the silence, you struck out hard,” Dylan remarked, unconcealed amusement in his voice. “Don’t you think it might be time to give up?”
“Never.” He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap.
“What is it about that woman that gets your panties in a knot, man?”
He wasn’t in the mood to be harassed, not when his cock ached so badly he could barely stay upright, but just as he was about to offer a sarcastic response, he noticed the genuine curiosity in Dylan’s green eyes. Huh. Weird.
Instead of snapping, Seth simply shrugged. “She yells at me a lot. I kinda dig it.”
Dylan burst out laughing. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“Plus, she’s hot as hell. Smart as a whip. Tough as nails. Doesn’t take crap from anyone, especially me.”
And apparently capable of turning him into a sappy loser who stood around at two in the fucking morning, listing his favorite qualities about a woman.
Dylan set his empty glass in the si
nk. “Is this a mommy complex thing?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I was watching that new talk show today, the one with those two dorky therapists who wear matching glasses. They did a whole segment about men having this subconscious need to marry their mothers. Well, not their mothers, but, you know, chicks who remind them of their moms.”
Seth grinned. “I thought we decided you weren’t gonna watch that crap anymore.”
“I know, but ever since Oprah went off the air, there’s shit-all on TV during the day. I was bored as fuck today.”
“You poor thing.”
“Anyway, it was interesting. And it totally applies to you. Mom’s a showgirl, your new crush is a showgirl…”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a crush. It’s lust. I want to get her into bed. End of story.”
“Whatever you say.” Dylan strode toward the oak cabinets over the sink, opened one and started rummaging around.
“Besides, Miranda is nothing like my mother. They’re both dancers, but their personalities couldn’t be more different.”
Hell, if Miranda had Missy Masterson’s personality, Seth would run in the opposite direction. He loved his mom to death, but the woman was loud, flighty, and had no sense of tact. She belonged on one of those reality shows where the women got very noisy and said things like “talk to the hand, bee-otch”.
But despite her scatterbrained nature and garish sense of style, Missy was a good mother, a ferocious lioness when it came to her cub, and that loyalty and maternal pride extended to the dancers she now trained, Miranda included.
When his mom had phoned and demanded he keep an eye on Miranda, Seth’s first thought had been hell yeah. Moving to a new city was tough, and he’d been more than ready to show Miranda some Southern California hospitality. Helping her unpack some boxes, taking her out to a dinner or two, and then, if they happened to wind up in bed…well, he sure wouldn’t be complaining. Except there was one thing he hadn’t banked on—her stubborn determination to resist his advances.
And he also hadn’t anticipated the baggage she came with.
Kids.
Two of them.
Christ. Like one wasn’t bad enough.
As he sipped his water, he watched Dylan assemble a baffling collection of items. A box of crackers from the cabinet. A block of cheddar cheese from the fridge. Chocolate syrup. A knife, presumably for the cheese.
“Anyway, if you do have a thing for Miranda because she reminds you of Missy, that’s perfectly healthy,” Dylan said.
Seth let out a sigh. “Do you realize that you have absolutely no credibility right now?”
“Why the hell not?” Dylan added a box of sugar cubes to the growing pile in his hands.
“Because you’re walking around the kitchen with your cock flapping in the wind like the American flag.”
“What can I say? My dick’s a patriot.”
Seth snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you—okay, seriously, what the fuck are you gonna do with all that stuff?” he demanded as Dylan grabbed a pack of toothpicks and a saltshaker from the cupboard.
His roommate strode toward the kitchen doorway. “Some of this is for eating, the rest is props.”
“Please tell me you have a girl in your room.”
“Duh.”
“Thank God, because I just pictured you drizzling chocolate syrup over your own balls, and almost threw up.”
“Quit fantasizing about my balls. Pervert.” Dylan tossed one final grin over his shoulder before disappearing.
Seth chugged the rest of his water and dropped the empty bottle in the blue recycling bin across the room. He left the kitchen, peeling off his black T-shirt as he made his way to the bathroom. Considering the relentless throbbing down below, he really ought to be taking a cold shower, but when he yanked off his jeans, the erection that popped up and slapped his navel was impossible to ignore.
Screw it. One way or another, he was getting some relief tonight.
Two minutes later, he dunked his head under the shower spray, letting the hot water slide down his face and neck. Rivulets coursed down his chest and dripped onto his hard cock, making it ache even more.
With a strangled groan, Seth leaned forward and rested his right forearm on the tiled wall. Then he brought his left hand to his groin and encircled his stiff shaft. At that first stroke, a shudder of anticipation racked his body.
Christ. He needed this. He hadn’t been with a woman in two months, not since he’d picked up that cute tattooed redhead at a bar after another one of Miranda’s rejections. He’d brought the woman home and screwed her all night long—and yet the encounter had left him entirely unsatisfied. He’d tried again a week later, cozying up to one of the ladies Dylan had come home with, but try as he might, he hadn’t been able to muster up any enthusiasm. Or an erection.
Miranda, damn her, had ruined him for all other women. He needed to fuck her, ASAP, before he completely lost his mojo.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he worked his cock, jacking it in a fast, furious rhythm, moving his hips to match the frantic pace he’d set. Steam filled the shower stall. His breath came out in harsh pants.
An image of Miranda’s tight ass flashed across his mind. Shit, she had a great ass. Looked particularly juicy in a pair of black tights. And her tits… His hand moved faster over his cock, mouth filling with saliva as he pictured those round, perky breasts bouncing beneath her tank top each time she walked up and down the bar counter.
The base of his spine began to tingle, all the blood in his body migrating south to pulse between his legs.
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He came with a ragged grunt that bounced off the walls. A rush of pleasure flew through him, and his hand went still as hot jets of come shot out of his dick and landed on the tub floor.
After he caught his breath, he uncurled his fist and let his hand fall to his side. Damn it. Not enough. He didn’t feel an ounce of relief. The climax had been good, but his erection refused to subside. Stiff shaft, tight balls and, holy shit, but the anticipation was building again. The pressure that had just been blown to smithereens began to re-form into a knot of sexual desperation that throbbed in his groin.
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.
Smothering a groan, he brought his hand back to his dick and got ready for a repeat performance.
Cursing Miranda Breslin the entire time.
“Sorry, honey. I was chatting with my roommate.” Dylan entered his bedroom and flashed his trademark ladies’-man smile at the naked girl in his bed.
The blonde giggled as she studied the various food items in his hands. “You weren’t kidding about the chocolate syrup.”
“I never kid about chocolate syrup.”
He sank on the edge of the bed and dropped the supplies on the patterned bedspread. Next to him, Kelly scooted closer and reached for the plastic Hershey’s bottle. She popped the lid with her red-manicured fingers. “So what do you say, sailor? Feel like getting dirty?”
“Me? Uh-uh, baby doll, you’re the one getting dirty.”
He swiped the bottle from her hand and had her flat on her back in the blink of an eye, eliciting a delighted shriek from her pouty lips. He wrapped his fingers around the bottle, turned it upside down, and squeezed. Chocolate sauce trickled out of the opening and onto Kelly’s bare breasts.
“And you’ll be getting sticky,” he rasped, dipping his head and letting his mouth hover over those delectable double-Ds. The girl was built like a Playboy Bunny, all tits and ass and long golden limbs.
Dylan licked a drop of syrup off the tip of one pearly-pink nipple. “And wet,” he murmured. Another lick. “I think you’ll get pretty wet too.”
With a moan, she grabbed his hand and shoved it between her legs. “Already am,” she said breathlessly.
He trailed his finger along her slick folds, then pushed it into her pussy. He groaned. Yep, she was wet. Very, very wet. He’
d been so damn bored all damn day, but this, right now, totally made up for it. No-strings sex with a cute girl who didn’t mind getting a little kinky? Could anyone say living the dream?
Kelly squealed as he grabbed hold of her thighs and shoved them apart. He swiftly lowered his head and brought his mouth to her core, flicking his tongue over her clit, the taste of chocolate and sex infusing his taste buds.
“Mmmm, tastes good,” he murmured, working her tight channel with two fingers while he latched his mouth on that swollen nub and sucked.
Moaning, Kelly rested her hands on his head to keep him in place. Right. Like he was going anywhere.
“More,” she pleaded, rocking her hips faster.
He fingered her harder and rode out the resulting orgasm, his own arousal heightening at the sexy sounds she made and the way she moaned his name, over and over. When she grew still, a sleepy smile stretching across her face, he reached for the condom on the bedside table and tore open the package.
He’d just rolled the latex onto his erection when his cell phone rang.
“Shit,” he said with a sigh. He grabbed the phone and studied the screen, his irritation transforming into a knot of worry. His brother’s number was flashing on the display. And since it was three in the morning, he couldn’t think of any reason Chris would be calling other than to deliver bad news.
With growing alarm, he signaled to Kelly that he needed to take the call, ignored her disappointed look, and pressed the Talk button.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded in lieu of a greeting.
His brother’s answering laughter brought a rush of relief. Chris wouldn’t be laughing if he was calling with bad news.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Chris replied, confirming Dylan’s thoughts. “In fact, everything is very, very right, little brother!”
Loud music and muffled voices in the background made it difficult to hear what Chris was saying, but the guy was slurring, that was for sure.
“Are you drunk?” Dylan asked warily.
Next to him, Kelly slid off the bed and slipped into the white button-down he’d tossed on the chair. “I’m going to use the loo,” she whispered before darting toward the bathroom on the other side of the master bedroom.