Waking Up to You: Overexposed (27 page)

“Tough,” he muttered, his mouth watering for the kung pao chicken he could smell from the bag. Not to mention the egg rolls, fried rice...he’d bought enough to feed an army.

Nick knew a little something about clandestine missions. Enough to know that when you were on one, you accomplished as much as you could the first time, in the hopes that you could delay going back. And a big bag of food meant leftovers. Enough to last a week or so, meaning no more dangerous, secret excursions to Mr. Wu’s for a while.

Unless, of course, he had unexpected company for dinner. Female company. Like the female standing right outside his apartment door, her hand lifted to knock.

“Izzie?” he mumbled as soon as he stepped off the elevator, wondering not only how she’d gotten into the building, but also how she’d found out where he lived.

She whirled around, her eyes wide and bright. She hadn’t knocked yet, which meant she hadn’t quite prepared herself to face him. He’d caught her off guard.

Nick tried not to wonder what this meant, tried to remain casual. Tried not to notice how curvy and inviting her body looked in her tight tank top and sexy short skirt.

It would be like not noticing an earthquake shaking your house down around you. She was just too beautiful to ignore.

As they continued to stare, he finally murmured, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

They said nothing else for a moment. Long enough for him to notice the smudges of shadow beneath her pretty brown eyes and the paleness in her cheeks. She was practically biting a hole in her bottom lip as she tried to figure out what to say.

He couldn’t help taking pity on her...at least taking pity on that gorgeous lip before she bit a hole right through it. Shifting his bag to his other hip, he walked to the door and lifted his keys to the lock. “You hungry?”

She glanced at the bag. “No pizza?”

“Nope. I’ve got egg foo young, lo mein, couple of different chicken dishes, you name it.”

“Oh, God, feed me,” she exclaimed, following him into the apartment with a smile on her face.

Once inside, she tossed her purse onto his couch, a large one that dominated the small living area of the very small apartment. He didn’t mind—compared to sharing a barracks with twenty other guys, this was pure luxury. He’d picked the place because it was clean and high, with a great view of the college a few blocks away. And he’d barely started furnishing it, figuring he’d get the most important things first.

Big comfortable reclining leather couch. Big TV for watching football. He could live for a while on that...plus the huge comfortable bed dominating his bedroom.

A flow of warmth washed through him at the thought of that bed. He’d imagined Izzie in it many times. He’d
dreamed
of her in it many times.

Now, here she was. So close he could smell her perfume and hear her breaths. Like a fantasy come to life.

“Minimalist, huh?” she asked as she stared pointedly at the couch and the big-screen TV.

“I’m working on it.”

He couldn’t believe how normal they sounded. Like two old friends getting together for dinner. Considering the last two times they’d been alone they’d been either fighting or practically ripping each other’s clothes off, he figured that was a pretty good trick.

“I, uh, wanted to...”

“Save it,” he muttered, not wanting to start their discussion yet. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat first.”

Relief washed over her pretty face as she followed him into the kitchen. When she lifted something up onto the counter, he realized she hadn’t come empty-handed.

“Peace offering.” She pointed toward a six-pack of beer.

“Are we at war?” he asked, repeating a question she’d once asked him.

“We’ve been doing a lot of battling.”

Yes, they had. And he, for one, was tired of it.

Getting some bowls, plates and silverware, he spread all the food out on his small kitchen table, and they each loaded up, smorgasbord style. “Where...”

“Do you mind the floor?” he asked.

Shrugging, she followed him into the living room, watching as he sat down in front of the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him, with his plate on his lap. It wasn’t quite as easy for her, since she wore a skirt.

Nick forced himself to focus on his food, not on her long, sexy legs so close to his on the floor. Picking up the TV remote, he flicked the power button, then channeled up to a station playing soft music. It was background noise, filling the silence that grew thicker as they ate...as they drew closer to the conversation they both knew they were about to have.

When they’d finished, he took their plates into the kitchen. She followed, working on putting away the food. Within a few moments, there was nothing left to do—no dinner to eat, no dishes to clean—nothing to do but face each other.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said, surprising them both.

“Do what?”

“Fight with you. Do battle. Whatever you want to call it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to, either. But I need to tell you... I need to get this out.”

Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and waited. “Okay.”

She closed her eyes, then spoke in a rush. “I’m sorry I was dishonest with you about being the Crimson Rose. At first, I didn’t trust you—didn’t trust
anyone.
I’m sure you know that my parents wouldn’t be happy about what I’m doing, and I don’t want to do anything to add to my father’s health problems.”

“I understand that.” He did. It made perfect sense for her to go incognito at her risqué job. “But once you and I...

“I know.” She raked a hand through her brown hair, which was loose around her shoulders tonight, rather than up in its usual ponytail. “I should have told you immediately. Instead I panicked and pushed you away.”

“Yeah. I gotta say, I felt pretty damn humiliated when I figured it out. I should have known you.”

“I
am
a performer. I know about portraying someone else.”

“About that...when did you start in this line of work?”

“Stripping’s not my line of work. Dancing is. I was with the Rockettes until a year ago.”

“You were one of those kick-line chicks?”

She glared at him. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“Right. Tough life dancing with giant nutcrackers and Santa Claus.” He quickly put his hand up. “I’m joking. You must have been damn good to make it.”

“I was,” she said with complete confidence. “But I got bored with it and went with a modern-dance company in Manhattan. Then came the injury. Then came Dad’s stroke. Now I’m here.”

Her life in a nutshell.

“And now what?” he asked, knowing that was the question he really wanted answered. Where was she going from here? Where did she see him fitting into that?

“I don’t know. Right now I’m biding time, trying to figure out what I want.” Her jaw tightening, she continued. “But it’s not the bakery, and it’s not the neighborhood. It’s not Gloria’s life—a repeat of my mother’s. And it’s not my sister Mia’s life as a hard-ass lawyer with tons of drive and no happiness.”

“I understand,” he murmured.

Nodding, she said, “I’m sure you do. If anyone would, it’s you.” The tension easing from her shoulders, Izzie walked across the small kitchen, covering the distance between them in a few short steps. Putting her hand on his chest, she looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Which is why I have to repeat this—I am sorry, Nick. Please say you’ll forgive me.”

He hesitated, then offered her a short nod. Appearing relieved, she began to pull her hand away, but he covered it with his, not letting her go. “Where do
we
go from here?”

She hesitated, so he pressed her. “We can’t be just friends.”

“We can’t be a couple.”

Their eyes locked. They both said the same four words at exactly the same moment. “We can be lovers.”

Nick chuckled as Izzie smiled. Tightening her fingers in his shirt, she scraped the tips of them along the base of his neck. “Where I’d
like
to go right now is into your bedroom to see if it’s furnished any better than your living room is.”

Lifting her hand to his mouth, he pressed a warm kiss on the inside of her palm. “Oh, it is, angel. You bet it is.”

8

M
AKING
LOVE
TO
N
ICK
in the back of the van had been erotic and spontaneous and incredibly hot. It had also been a week ago and in that week, Izzie had begun to wonder whether it had really been as amazing as she remembered.

As soon as Nick led her into his bedroom, turned her to face the mirrored door of his closet and slowly began to kiss her neck, she knew it had been. He was so slow—so patient—so deliberate. The man had incredible control and he had used it to drive her absolutely wild.

Izzie had flipped the light switch on as soon as they entered the room, determined to see all, savor all, enjoy every minute of this experience. When Nick studied her in the mirror, consuming her with his eyes, she was very glad she had. She liked watching him watch her. Liked having his eyes on her. And she wanted to watch everything he did to her.

“You’ve been driving me absolutely insane since I saw you that night in the restaurant,” he whispered, his lips hovering just above the sensitive skin below her ear.

“You’ve been driving me insane since you landed on top of me on the cookie table.”

He turned her to face him. “Izzie, I’m sorry I didn’t...”

“I was a kid. You needed to wait until I caught up a little,” she said with a smile.

He glanced down at her, his stare lingering on the scooped neck of her shirt and the clingy fabric hugging her breasts. “You caught up a lot.”

She reached up and unfastened the top button of his shirt, then moved to the next. “Oh, more than you know,” she whispered, feeling incredibly free. A sensual woman capable of knocking him back on his heels the way he’d knocked her back last week.

Their first time together had been about him overwhelming her senses. Tonight it was Izzie’s turn.

She was not going to lie back and
take
the pleasure he wanted to give her, she intended to
give
with every lustful molecule in her body. He’d offered her an experience she would remember until the day she died. Now she planned to do the same.

Using the one thing she did best.

She quickly scanned the room, thinking ahead. “Where’d that come from?” she asked, pointing to an old-fashioned straight-backed chair in the corner. It, a simple, immaculately clean dresser and an enormous four-poster bed were the only things in the room. The chair didn’t look at all new like the rest.

“My parents insisted on giving me stuff.... I had to take
something
and there’s no room for it in the living room.”

“It won’t fit with that TV that’s more suited for the Jolly Green Giant’s living room,” she said with a low laugh. Licking her lips, she pointed to the chair. “Go sit down.”

One of his eyebrows rose, but he obeyed, watching with interest to see what she was up to. Izzie glanced around the room, looking for a radio, a boombox, something.

No luck. Nick’s bedroom was nearly empty, with just the furniture and a smaller TV on the dresser. There wasn’t a piece of clothing on the floor, or a speck of dust anywhere. It was nearly Spartan...military, she assumed. And it lacked the warmth she knew Nick possessed.

She hoped that someday he allow that warmth to spill free and become part of his home as well as a part of his life.

“You got me where you wanted me,” he drawled from the chair. He put his hands behind his head, his fingers laced, and leaned back against the wall. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his forearms bulged and flexed. His big strong legs were sprawled out in front of him and for a second, Izzie was tempted to climb right onto his lap.

She could unzip his jeans, tug them out of the way, release that big erection she could see from here. It would be delicious to slip her panties off, lift her skirt, then slide down onto him to ride him to her heart’s content.

Not yet.
First she needed to delight his senses the way he’d delighted hers last week. He’d focused on her sense of touch and smell—she could still inhale and remember that sweet, cheesy filling he’d smeared all over her. And her body tingled at the memory of his lips and tongue removing that filling.

They’d played games with food. She intended to whet his taste buds with something else.

The sight of her body.

Suddenly remembering what he’d done with the TV in the other room, she grabbed the remote control and turned on the bedroom one. Punching in a few numbers—familiar, since she liked listening to the same station at her own apartment—she landed on a channel that played sultry Latina music.

Because luck was a woman, the song was a slower one with a sultry backbeat and a sensuous rhythm. Easy to dance to.

“What are you...”

“Watch me,” she whispered.
Watch me and I’ll make you burn.

She began to move, closing her eyes and letting the music roll through her. Since childhood Izzie had had an affinity for music—all types of music. It had always made her want to move. To sway or to spin, to leap or to bend. She just had a dancing gene that demanded release whenever the right beat hit her ears and rolled on down through her body.

This one was perfect for seduction.

Keeping focused on her own instincts—giving herself pleasure by the simple act of moving—she knew Nick would gain pleasure, too. At first she simply danced. Her eyes still closed, she threw her head back and tangled her hand in her hair. Rocking her hips, she gyrated against an imaginary partner, sliding down and up against an invisible thigh, quivering under the touch of a hand that wasn’t there.

She heard Nick groan softly. Licking her lips, she slid her hand down her own body. Her hips still rocking, she touched her stomach, then slid her hand lower, resting her fingertips on her pelvis. Her other hand she moved across her chest, scraping her nipples, already rock hard in anticipation and excitement.

“Izzie...”

“Shh.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t let him distract her. Instead, she tugged her top free of her waistband. Flicking at the snap and pushing down the zipper of her skirt, she rocked until the thing fell to the floor. She kicked it out of the way, never losing the beat, her body in constant, sensual motion.

Her top came next. She dragged it up—slowly, so slowly—letting the fabric fall back an inch for every two she raised it. She could hear Nick’s ragged breathing over the music. Could hear her own heart pounding in her chest, too. Every move she made was an invitation and a promise.

She pulled the top off, sensual even when untangling her hair from the material. Clad in nothing but a skimpy bra and thong panties, and her high-heeled sandals, she bent over and swung her head, letting her hair fly free.

“You’re killing me here,” he whispered.

“So take care of yourself. Get ready for me,” she replied, coming closer—but not too close. “Do what you
want
to do when you watch me dance.”

“I want to
have
you when I watch you dance.”

Tsking, she shook her head in disbelief, still swaying like a woman being sexually aroused by the touch of the musical notes on her body. “Pretend you don’t know you’re going to have me, Nick. Let me see what you’d do then.”

She turned around, her back to him, returning her attention to her dance. Bending at the waist, she put her hands on her thighs and did a booty rock that she knew would drive him out of his ever-loving mind.

His low groan told her it had worked. But Izzie ignored it.

Grabbing the end post of Nick’s bed, she used it, hooking one leg around it and bending back. The wood was hard against her swollen sex, but she needed it—got off on it—rubbing up and down in a way she never rode the pole at the club.

“Izzie,” he whispered hoarsely.

She glanced over and almost smiled in triumph. He’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and it hung from his shoulders.

Even better, his jeans were open, his briefs pushed down. And his hand encircled his huge erection.

“Yes. Imagine it’s
me
touching you,” she told him.

He never took his eyes off her, beginning to stroke, up and down, his movements timed to match her strokes against the bedpost. But when she let go of it, he didn’t stop.

“The bra,” he ordered.

“Just as the customer desires,” she whispered, taunting him with every bit of her sexuality.

She unfastened the bra, dragging out the moment before it fell away to reveal her breasts. This usually marked the end of one of her numbers, but tonight, Izzie was just getting started. She touched herself, showing him the way she wanted to be touched. Crossing her arms—her hips still rocking—she cupped each breast. Capturing her nipples between her fingers, she tweaked and rolled. The pleasure she gave herself—and the way Nick reacted to it—sent pure liquid want rushing to her sex, already dripping with readiness.

Hearing Nick clear his throat, she glanced over and saw he held a twenty dollar bill in his hand. He was enjoying this game. Getting into the fantasy.

“You have something for me, mister?” she asked, almost purring the words as she danced closer, wearing nothing but her skimpy panties and shoes.

“Uh-huh. But you have to work for it.”

She moved again, closer, stepping over one of his legs to straddle it. She lowered herself closer to his thigh, rocking a few inches above it. Her breasts swayed close to his face. “What’d you have in mind?”

He leaned up, his mouth moving toward her breast.

“Uh-uh, no touching,” she said, easing back a little. “I can touch you...you can’t touch me.”

“Those the rules?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not sure how long I’ll be able to obey them.”

“You’ll just have to keep your hands busy
elsewhere
until I say you can break them.”

He flexed his hand again, lazily working the erection that still jutted out of his unfastened pants. “That means the rules
will
eventually be broken?”

She bent down again, low, brushing her silky panties over his strong thigh. “If you’re very, very good.” Her mouth watering, she inched closer, so her leg could brush against all that male heat. He instinctively arched toward her, branding her with that ridge of flesh that had given her such intense pleasure last week.

She wanted it. Badly. In every way it was possible for a woman to take it.

“You want a lap dance, mister?” she asked in her heavy, Crimson Rose whisper.

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you gave them.”

“I don’t. But you’re an extra-
special
customer.”

Izzie had never done this particular type of dance, but she figured she could fake it. Frankly, she didn’t think Nick would care if she didn’t get it exactly right.

So she went with her instincts. With both hands on the back of the chair, she swayed over him, brushing her breasts against his cheeks, shivering at the delicious roughness of his skin. She danced above him, writhing just above one leg, then the other, then straddling both. He watched with glittering eyes, groaning with need as she taunted him—coming close, so close—then pulling away.

“Gonna have to break that rule soon, lady,” he growled.

“We’ll see.”

Driving them both closer to the brink of insanity, she dipped lower than she’d ever gone, until the silky wet fabric between her thighs met his arousal and set them both completely on fire. He grabbed her hips, helping her rock up and down on him until they both moaned with the pleasure of it.

“You’re touching,” she said.

He thrust up harder, the hot tip of his erection easing into her, bringing her silky panties along. “I’m going to be touching you a lot more in a minute.”

Oh, she liked playing these wicked, sexy games with Nick. It was unlike anything she’d ever done with anyone before, and Izzie sensed she could be happy playing bedroom games with him and
only
him for a very long time.

“But you still haven’t paid me.” She licked the side of his neck, biting lightly on his nape. Feeling the scrape of the bill against her skin, she pulled away just enough to watch him slip it into her panties. “Big tipper.”

“You’re worth every penny.”

“I think maybe you should get a little bonus for being such a good customer.”

She needed a little bonus herself. Needed to do something she’d been aching to do since she’d first seen him take off his pants in the back of the van.

Sliding back, she lowered herself to the floor, then moved between his thighs. She reached for his hand, covering it with hers, mimicking his slow, easy movements up and down his erection. Eventually she pushed his hand away, pleasuring him with her fingers and her palm. Encircling him as best she could, she slid down to the base of his shaft, then eased back up. She trailed her fingers across the thick, bulbous head to moisten them with his body’s juices, then repeated the motion.

But it wasn’t
quite
enough. Izzie inched forward, wetting her lips with her tongue.

“Iz...”

“Let me,” she murmured.

She didn’t wait for permission. Kneeling between his spread thighs, she drew closer, flicking out her tongue for a quick taste of the sac pulled up tight beneath his erection.

He jerked up, thrusting harder into her hand, which still encircled him. Izzie didn’t stop. Parting her fingers to make way for her mouth, she licked her way from the base of his shaft all the way up to its tip. “You taste so good, Nick,” she whispered before flicking her tongue out to catch more of that fluid dripping out of him.

“So do you.” Still sprawled out before her, he tangled his hands in her hair. “But I’m hungry. I want some, too.”

Mmm...mutual oral pleasure. She’d love to savor that experience with Nick. But for right now, she wanted to concentrate on him. So, ignoring his comment, she moved over the thick, pulsing head of his cock and took it into her mouth. As she sucked, he hissed. The deeper she went—taking as much as she could—the louder his groans.

Shifting around for better access, Izzie began to slowly make love to him with her mouth, getting off on hearing
him
get off. She slid up and down, taking more with every stroke, wanting to swallow him all the way down, though he was, of course, much too big for that. But she gave it her all, focused on his sounds of pleasure, the smell of sex rolling off his body, the feel of his hands delicately stroking her hair and the back of her head.