The Sex Solution. Kimberly Raye
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standing near the concession stand when he’d looked at her, really looked at her, for the very first time.
Love note aside, she was still the shy girl who’d blushed at him from the safety of an algebra book and brought him homemade muffins.
The innocent who’d never once ventured behind the bleachers during a football game.
He knew the backside of those bleachers by heart. Hell, he’d carved most of those names himself and hers was not among the bunch. He’d be willing to bet his finest horse that she didn’t even know about the conquest bench. What’s more, he would lay down his entire spread that she’d never set her fine little bottom down and kissed up a Gulf hurricane with one of the locals, either.
Maddie had been too nice and wholesome and respectable for bleacher smooching. And that afternoon at Skeeter’s he’d been wrong to think she was anything but the same sweet girl now.
The proof dangled from Cheryl Louise’s head.
He stared past the top of Maddie’s soft blond hair, that smelled of sweet strawberries and cream, to the group of women sitting nearby.
A drape of white tulle decorated with condom packages sat atop the bride-to-be’s head. Six to be exact. The same brand, same size Maddie had purchased that afternoon. Obviously they hadn’t been meant for her personal use.
A crazy assumption in the first place. Maddie wasn’t the condom type. She was the quiet, mild, I’m-saving-it-all-for-the-man-of-my-dreams kind of girl. Why, she made muffins, for Chrissake! Big, giant, melt-in-your-mouth homemade blueberry muffins. Sure, they couldn’t compete with a bowl of Miss Marshalyn’s candied sweet potatoes, but they came in a close second.
Now that Austin had given up fast times and even faster women, Maddie was exactly his type of woman. On top of that, she was an old friend. The only female, in fact, who’d ever qualified for such a title.
Austin Jericho had never kept company with girls he’d had no sexual interest in. He’d always wanted something from them and they’d wanted something from him—namely a good round of red-hot, breath-stealing sex. Or several rounds.
Not Maddie.
The only thing she’d wanted from him had been his daily homework assignment and his full attention when she was explaining the newest algebra equation.
There’d been no sly glances, no fluttering eyelashes or wandering hands or heaving cleavage. Hell, he’d never even known she had cleavage, thanks to the sacklike flower-print dresses she’d always worn.
Except for that Friday night at the football game. She’d worn a red sweater and blue jeans and he’d actually realized she had a figure. Nice, round hips. Large breasts. But while shapely, the clothes hadn’t been revealing.
Not like what she wore now.
His attention shifted back to her and the enticing display of creamy flesh fully visible above the neckline of her black leather tank top. His gut hollowed for a long moment and his mouth went dry.
Easy, he told himself.
So what if she had visible cleavage? That didn’t mean she’d checked her morals at the door and turned into a bona fide, red-hot, give-it-to-me-now wild woman.
This was Maddie, he reminded himself, drawing a long pull on his beer.
The only girl he’d actually been able to talk to about stuff, like his love of horses and his desperation to do something other than perpetuate his family’s no-good reputation. He hadn’t worried about impressing her or sweeping her off her feet. He’d never even thought about her like that.
Okay, maybe that once, when he’d opened her love letter. But when he’d asked her about it at the football game, she’d sworn that it hadn’t been meant for him. He’d let things go at that, and he’d let her go. He’d walked off with Barbara Mayfield for a wild ride on his Harley and an even wilder ride in the back of her daddy’s old pickup.
His attention snagged on her lips. Soft, full, kissable lips. His heart bucked and his blood rushed and a certain part of his anatomy, a certain hard part, throbbed just thinking about what she would taste like.
“What do you say?” she asked, her sweet voice pushing past the pounding of his heart. “Are you up for a little two-stepping?”
He was up, all right. But his throbbing erection had little to do with dancing and everything to do with Maddie.
It’s Madeline. No one really calls me Maddie anymore.
He could see why. She looked too sophisticated, too sexy, too…hot.
So?
Even if the package looked a little different, this was still Maddie. Nice, wholesome, respectable Maddie.
He smiled, set his beer on the bar and reached for her hand. “Lead the way, darlin’.”
THERE WAS NOTHING NICE, wholesome or respectable about the sexy woman in his arms.
The thought struck him the moment they moved onto the dance floor and she stepped into his arms.
The two-step had faded into a slow, sweet, cryin’ tune that required a little more contact than he’d anticipated. Her arms slid around his neck. Her full breasts pressed against his chest. Her pelvis cradled his, moving against him with a soft, subtle sway that sent a bolt of electricity straight from his hard-on to his brain.
The jolt scrambled his sanity, and instead of pushing her away and running for safety, he pulled her even closer and closed his eyes.
Her hair tickled the underside of his jaw. Her strawberries-and-cream scent filled his head. Her luscious curves pressed against his hard body. Her warmth seeped inside and made his blood rush faster.
His hand slid an inch lower, easing from the small of her back to the swell of her sweet little ass molded by the tight miniskirt. His other hand slid up her back, under the spill of hair to cup the back of her neck. His fingers pressed into her flesh and his thumb drew lazy circles against the tender spot just below her ear. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he heard her sigh—a soft, breathy sound that meant she liked his touch.
That it turned her on. That she wanted more. Right here. Right now.
For a split second, he inched toward her nipple puckered beneath the slick material of her halter top. He wanted desperately to slide his fingers beneath the plunging neckline and tease the ripe tip…
Slow down.
She was not the sort of girl to get busy on the dance floor in front of half the damned town. She was a good girl. Tame rather than wild. He had to slow down and behave himself.
His eyes popped open. He eased his hold and drew back to a respectable distance.
“What’s wrong?” She stared up at him, her green eyes glittering beneath the swirl of colored dance-hall lights. Her forehead wrinkled and he had the sudden urge to reach up and smooth the lines away with his fingertip. “Austin?” Surprise turned to concern. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah. I just think we need to slow things down a little.”
Instead of smiling because he was being a proper gentleman, she frowned. “I think things were going just fine.”
“We were moving too fast. Way too fast. I don’t like fast.”
“Since when?” She eyed him. “You were always racing around on your motorcycle, burning rubber down Main Street, and burning up the sheets with some lucky girl afterward.”
“How do you know I burned up the sheets?”
She stared up at him, a knowing look in her wide green eyes. Not a plain old grass green at all, but a deep, vibrant shade of jade that glittered and teased and dared him when she smiled.
Like now.
“Word gets around. You definitely liked fast.”