They’d certainly have a lot to discuss, come morning.
6
SAMANTHA GRAYSON WAS going to hunt Candy Valentine down and hurt her. That was the only thing she could think of at first, when Joe uttered those fateful words no woman ever wanted to hear.
“What do you mean, how can I bring you home to my mother now? ” Sam thought of a few more choice words too, said them, and understood that her last shot of meeting Joe’s mother was over. She just wanted Joe out of her apartment, and out of her life. The sooner, the better.
She grabbed her robe and quickly pulled it on over the lacey bra-and-panty ensemble she’d purchased earlier that day. Her plan had been to spice up this relationship even if she died of embarrassment doing so.
She didn’t think things could go this downhill this fast. But her boyfriend of four months stood there holding the sexy fantasy in his hand, looking between her and the paper as though both of them scared him.
And here she thought she was the prude.
Joe stared at the paper, and when he spoke, his voice reflected his level of disbelief. “You want to do a striptease for me? You want me to tell you how hot I get when I see you naked? I mean, Samantha, what were you thinking? This is so unlike you.”
“I sure wasn’t thinking about your mother when I wrote it,” she shot back.
“Where did you learn these things? I can’t believe you wrote this,” he said.
She had written it, the whole thing, from scratch. When Carly’s fax finally came through, she’d crumpled it up, threw it away and wrote out her own fantasy. She’d never expected this would be Joe’s reaction.
“I was trying to turn you on. I’m sorry you disapprove.” What a jerk. He had to be the only man on earth who’d still be standing there, fully clothed and horrified by sexy words. She should’ve known this was a bad idea from the start, especially since she normally didn’t date men who had blood-lines like Joe’s. His family was prim and proper, the kind of family who was friendly with Carly’s. Joe was the kind of man who shouldn’t be with someone who wasn’t a debutante. But Sam had always presented as if she belonged in that set, and when Joe set his sights on her, she’d been flattered.
That his kisses left her cold was a fact she’d blamed on herself, until this happened. She was an idiot for forcing her love life into the wrong-shaped box. Because, at the heart of the matter, a man like Joe would never, ever get her blood pumping.
At first, there had been something. Shared interests. A love of Shakespeare and foreign films. And he was handsome. Kind and gentle.
That was the problem. Gentle. Didn’t need it or want it. His “I want my girlfriend to be plain vanilla and have sex in the missionary position only,” attitude wasn’t for her. And partially, it was her fault, since she had yet to allow a man to see past the good girl disguise she wore so well. She’d always imagined that the right man would see through her act, although a big part of her was worried about what would happen when that did happen. Her mother had been a, quote unquote, bad girl, and that hadn’t worked out for her at all.
And Joe was still reading, when he should’ve been ripping her clothes off. “Tie me to the bed…I want to be helpless when you take me….”
“Just stop.” She snatched the fantasy from his hands before she did shrivel up and die from humiliation.
“I don’t understand. It’s like something out of a porno movie.” He was hanging on to the paper, but held it away from his body, as if whatever she wrote there was highly contagious.
If only.
“I’m surprised you’d know,” she said.
“I do know, but it’s not something I want to associate with the woman I’m dating,” he spat. “This is something I’d expect from a woman who performs at bachelor parties or strip clubs.”
“I thought you’d be happy. I thought it would get you going.” Somehow, she’d treaded too closely to Joe’s ego, taken away his pride when she’d taken the lead. But if he’d had any kind of mojo in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to write the fantasy.
“I think we need to see other people. I thought you were different, and I don’t know if we’re meant to be together,” he said.
“Breaking up’s fine with me. I’ll buy a vibrator to replace you. It’ll fulfill my fantasies better than you ever could. And maybe I’ll even send one to your mother.”
He stormed out of her apartment, and her tears rose, more from embarrassment and anger than hurt. Though she mentally congratulated herself for being honest about what she wanted in bed. Maybe Candy Valentine was rubbing off on her and didn’t deserve to be strangled, after all. Maybe there was something to be said for letting your wild side hang out, because her blood was pumping like it never had before.
Who are you kidding? Come morning, Sam’d be back to her old, safe life. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to throw out the written fantasy. Maybe if she slept with it under her pillow, she’d conjure up dreams of a man willing to satisfy her in whatever ways she wanted.
“IS THIS WHAT YOU DO NOW when you get time off? Sit on your ass like an old man, reading the paper? You should be out, raising hell and partying with naughty women. And bringing some along for me.”
Ty Huntington’s voice carried, loud and raucous, across the quiet diner. His black leather boots were noisy, stomping across the linoleum. In fact, Ty was pretty much dressed totally in black. When he stripped off his jacket it revealed a T-shirt with no sleeves and multiple tattoos adorning both arms.
It was only a little past two in the morning, but Hunt had never slept much anyway. He’d stretched out in one of the back booths to catch up on the news. He’d known his brother would be arriving at some point soon; this diner was always his first stop when he was in town. And Hunt had been right, because he’d heard the roar of Ty’s Harley long before his brother pulled into the parking lot. Ty always rigged his bikes to roar so loud when started that they would set off car alarms within four blocks. Luckily, he was always gone before the irate owners got to him.
“I wore all those women out and sent them home to bed,” Hunt said.
“Just as well. I wouldn’t want them to compare you to me, because you would’ve been second best,” Ty called, then gave a subtle tongue wag to the young waitress. He hadn’t changed a bit.
Hunt stood and grabbed his younger brother in a headlock, reminiscent of all the times he really would’ve liked to strangle him. When he let him up, Ty was smiling, as if he knew.
His brother’s hair was longer than when he’d seen him last, his skin tanned from all the time spent outside on the bike, drifting from place to place and doing who knows what. He didn’t ask and Ty didn’t offer, and Hunt knew better than anyone the line between legal and barely so.
He’d straddled that line himself too many times to count, but he had the US Military backing him. It was a world Ty would never have survived in, although his brother was more of a survivor than anyone truly knew.
“You look
