Bound and Determined Page 2

  Kerry shook her head. “Did you see the man? There’s no way I can distract a guy like him with mere small talk. He’s like—like Antonio Banderas crossed with Brad Pitt . . . only taller, bigger. And if he recognizes my voice, I’m hosed.”

  “It’s fine. He’s not suspicious, and trust me, he looked his share.” Jason’s buck-up stare cut through her insecurity. “You don’t have to have sex with the guy. A little light flirtation will most likely work. If not, do . . . the minimum and move on.”

  No, she had no plans to have actual sex—not that a guy like Dawson would seriously look at her as a potential bedmate. He might flirt a little, but that didn’t mean he wanted to get down and dirty. Still, Kerry had visions of what the “minimum” might entail, assuming he actually was interested, and in every scenario, tempting him to such an act required more knowledge than her limited experience allowed. Hell, she’d never even seen a naked penis in person. What if he wanted a blow job?

  She couldn’t think about that now. Positive energy!

  “You’re right. I came up with this plan and I’ll finish it. When I get him alone, I will persuade him to help Mark. Somehow.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just present Mark’s case as logically as you can. Don’t get emotional.”

  Kerry rolled her eyes. “That’s like telling the sun not to rise.”

  Jason conceded the point with a shrug. “Do your best. Now lose the coat.”

  Yes, she wanted to be unafraid of her sexuality, be bold, be brave—but being liberated was harder than it sounded. Kerry shook her head, clutching the lapels of the coat tighter.

  He sighed. “Dawson can’t be distracted by what he can’t see.”

  Jason had a point, damn him.

  Reluctantly, Kerry removed the coat, resisting the urge to cover herself with her arms.

  “You look hot,” Jason assured her, giving her a quick grin.

  Her, hot? Yeah, she had guys clamoring at her door. In her dreams . . .

  Okay, so she hadn’t had time for a relationship yet. Mark’s bout with cancer had begun just after she’d left her last hellish foster home. Kerry had been trying to put herself through school and working, taking care of Mark after the chemo—all that had taken a toll on her social calendar. But Mark had been healthy for a while. Why, oh why, hadn’t she found someone to date? Or at least have a quickie? Once upon a time, Jason might have been a candidate . . . except he was like another brother to her. And Mark would have killed him.

  So now she got to have her first sexual experience since Richard and the nightmare of her prom. And she got to acquire this new experience with a veritable god. Granted, she didn’t intend to have sex with him . . . but coaxing him to the cottage without touching him—or him touching her—seemed unlikely.

  Lord, what if she started hyperventilating?

  “Hot? I’m packed into this outfit like a sausage. I’m all boobs and hips.”

  “And that’s a bad thing because . . . ?” Jason smiled at her hesitation. “Besides, I doubt he’s thinking about sausage when he looks at you, Kerry. You look great.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, I can do this. I’ll just keep him talking for now.”

  “Between conversation and that damn near see-through handkerchief you’re wearing, that really ought to be enough.”

  Hope sparked. Likely Jason was right. She could handle it. She would. Positive energy.

  Besides, what choice did she have? It was either survive this humiliation, or see her brother go to prison.

  It hadn’t escaped Rafe’s notice that Kerry with a K was one very sexy woman.

  Or that she was a nervous one.

  He sipped on a Black Irish, his drink of choice, grimacing with pleasure as the whiskey and Kahlua burned a sweet path down his throat. Very nice. Most limo services didn’t pay that kind of attention to detail. Then again, Standard National, after a recent security breach in which an employee had electronically embezzled nearly three million dollars, was worried enough to pay through the nose for his services to tighten things up.

  Desperate enough to hire a limo, complete with his own personal “hostess.”

  And since Rafe didn’t live in Mayberry, he was pretty sure he knew what “hostess” meant. Interesting for a bank, usually conservative to the core, to have sent such a woman . . . but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

  Except that fair-skinned, wide-eyed Kerry didn’t act like a woman who fucked for a paycheck.

  So what the hell was she?

  Generally, Rafe dated worldly women. A little conversation, maybe an evening at the theater, lots of experienced sex, then an air kiss or two goodbye. No scenes if he encountered them later by chance on the street. No tears, no regrets, no messy emotional shit.

  Kerry wasn’t sophisticated. In her, he sensed an odd sort of innocence that went beyond the appearance of her pink-bowed mouth smeared with too-dark lipstick and the artless sunshine ringlets beginning to overtake her hairstyle. Hell, for someone who “entertained” men for a living, she’d certainly covered up a pair of hard, heart-stopping nipples faster than a preacher’s wife.

  Getting naked with someone hired for the job had never appealed to him in the least.

  Getting naked with Kerry . . . very appealing—as the hearty erection south of his belt buckle could prove.

  Where did that leave him with Kerry? He pondered, swallowing more of his cold, tangy drink. Was she a sure thing? He couldn’t possibly have misread the situation, right? No one wore a fuck-me skirt with boots like that, along with a top so small it made a bikini look like nun’s garb, if she wasn’t a sure thing.

  It sounded logical, but that question niggled in his mind: Why was she so nervous?

  Then again, why question the situation? This simple job with Standard National would finally put him over the five-million-dollar revenue mark. He’d worked two bartending jobs to afford college and damn near starved through his first year in business—all without the help of his father’s money—just to reach this milestone before his thirtieth birthday. And he’d make it with two weeks to spare. He’d be someone in his own right then, more successful than Benton Dawson III had ever been. Screw the past—and his old man.

  The car door opened and Kerry slid into the backseat with him. She sat close—but definitely kept air between them. A tense silence ensued as the driver took his seat, started the car, and drove away. Sipping at his drink, Rafe studied Kerry. She couldn’t be a day over twenty-two, twenty-three tops. Why was she working as a glorified hooker? And her breathy, starlet-on-Valium voice? He shrugged. Maybe she thought it was sexy.

  His thoughts scattered when she scooted closer and leaned in, providing a spectacular view straight down the front of that tiny red halter, which instantly confirmed two curiosities: Yes, her breasts were naturally large, and no, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Rafe bit back an insane urge to tear the tiny scraps of her clothing away and persuade her to dance the horizontal mambo with him in the limo’s backseat. Now. His cock got even harder at the thought she might oblige him.

  He closed his eyes. Where was his self-control? Normally, he didn’t take the Neanderthal approach—stupid and ineffective. But Kerry made him feel surprisingly primal.

  Rafe searched his memory for the last time he’d had sex—and came up empty. Two, three, four weeks ago? Hell, he couldn’t remember. Not after being treated to a view of the best breasts he’d ever seen.

  Wearing a wobbly smile, Kerry with a K tapped one of her fingers to his chest and began tracing a light, random pattern. Where did her teasing sugary vanilla scent come from? That alone made his mouth water. Coupled with her touch, his heart started chugging.

  If she smelled that good, how fabulous would she taste?

  Kerry stared, batting thick, dark lashes over huge green eyes. “We’re going to be busy tonight—lots to see and do. If you have someone to call, someone you should check in with, now is the time. We’ll be much too busy later.”
br />   The words sounded sexy and ripe with promise. His cock certainly stood at even greater attention. But the look on her face did not say come hither. More like now what? When the privacy panel between the two of them and the driver slowly rose with an electronic buzz, her sweet-faced confusion turned to dread. She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously.

  Again, he wondered just who she was and what she was doing here. Kerry didn’t seem comfortable alone with him or with exposing her . . . assets. And was she asking if he was single? Would a real professional “hostess” care?

  He blinked, feeling suddenly too tired to solve the riddle. Too little sleep and too little coffee were not a good recipe for a late night with a beautiful woman.

  “Nope,” he answered. “No one to check in with. My mother died years ago and my friends don’t bother me when I work.”

  “Great news—about the friends.” She smiled, showing a sweet pair of dimples. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

  Whoever sent Kerry his way must have read his fantasies. He was a sucker for blondes with dimples . . . Would she surrender herself completely? The question rolled around his mind the way candy rolls on the tongue. He’d give his right arm to be inside her in the next five minutes, but the reticence she was trying to hide made that doubtful, no matter her occupation. Instead, he sipped the last of his cocktail and fished around for another tactic.

  His sluggish brain took a while to cooperate. “So Kerry, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a skirt like that?”

  He tossed the question at her playfully. Her defensive stare took him aback.

  “What do you mean?”

  Rafe sighed. “You seem awfully nervous. I won’t bite . . . unless you want me to.”

  She sent a stilted, dimpled smile his way but said nothing.

  Damn it, his head was beginning to hurt. A nap before dinner would probably be a good idea.

  “You don’t . . . entertain men regularly, do you?”

  Those green eyes widened to big-screen proportions. “I—I . . .”

  “First day on the job?” he guessed.

  “Exactly.” She nodded vigorously, emerging curls bobbing.

  Oddly, her answer pleased him. So she wasn’t a hooker and she was having second thoughts. Which was good. He didn’t like the idea of another man pawing her in the back of this limousine. For some reason, the image pissed him off.

  Lord, he must be tired to be caught up in a woman he’d met all of fifteen minutes ago. What was wrong with him?

  Still, his thoughts continued to spin in his oddly lethargic brain. Why had she felt compelled to take a job she obviously did not want? Was she in some sort of trouble?

  “This job is more difficult than I thought. I—I’m sorry if you were expecting someone sexier.” Her apology broke into his contemplation, startling him.

  Forcing himself to focus, he peered across the inches separating them. Kerry had bowed her head and apparently taken up hand-wringing as a new hobby.

  Something—compassion, empathy?—stirred to life within him. He placed a gentle hand beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. Tears shimmered in her eyes, disturbing him.

  “If you were any sexier, I couldn’t restrain myself. You already blow my mind.”

  Kerry’s jaw dropped. She blinked once, twice. “Me?”

  Rafe nodded—and noticed a lock of stray golden hair curling about her moist bottom lip. Slowly, he lifted his hand to brush the hair away. Kerry didn’t flinch, didn’t tense.

  Was her silent acquiescence a green light to touch her more?

  Fighting off a wave of exhaustion, he smiled and dragged his thumb along the edge of her full, red-painted lips. Damn, how would she taste? He was dying to know.

  “Yes, you. Very sexy. If you don’t hear that often, the men in your life are stupid and should be beaten.”

  That sweet pink flush crept into her cheeks again. She tried to reproach him with her stare, but that low-lashed gaze caressed more than punished him. A hint of a sexy smile played at her pretty mouth.

  She was an amazing combination of angel and temptress. And he wanted her under him, legs splayed wide, in the worst way. But jet lag and an oddly fuzzy brain were beginning to spoil the moment. And damn, it was hot in here. Wincing, Rafe loosened his tie.

  “I’m sure my brother has never considered whether or not I’m sexy.”

  “Your boyfriend?” he prodded, stifling a yawn.

  Why was he asking her this? The guy was likely a loser who simply couldn’t appreciate Kerry with a K the way he ought to. What kind of guy would let his woman “entertain” other men for a living?

  Sleep. He needed sleep. That would restore his common sense.

  “No boyfriend,” Kerry whispered.

  Rafe grinned, despite his weariness. “That’s a shame.”

  His teasing made her laugh, and her dimples came out to play once more. A bleary-eyed moment ruined it, and he knew he would need that nap before dinner whether he wanted it or not. He really should have eaten lunch during his layover in Baltimore . . .

  Hell, why did he have to give out now?

  No. He would not fold like a cheap tent—not without tasting her.

  “Kiss me, Kerry,” he blurted, aghast to hear his words slurring.

  She appeared not to notice. Instead, she sent him a shy nod. Rafe grasped both of her arms like a lifeline and pulled her close, dragging her firm, fine ass onto his lap. Kerry gasped. Refusing to acknowledge his utter exhaustion and his screwed-up speech, he pressed on. His raging erection demanded attention. He wanted Kerry to ache the way he did.

  Odd that he should be tired and aroused at the same time . . . but who cared when he had a beautiful blonde on his lap?

  Rafe settled one hand low on the curve of her hip. The other he thrust into the soft silk of her hair. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, until she was desperate to have his cock inside her. Hell, he wanted to inhale and savor her at once.

  And he would make it happen now . . . if his growing headache weren’t slamming him between the eyes and the need for sleep weren’t shutting down his brain.

  He felt freakin’ weird. What was happening to him?

  Apparently, he was going to have to settle for inhaling Kerry—quickly.

  Rafe covered her incredible lips with his mouth. She was soft, as he had suspected. But he needed more. Everything. He plunged his way inside. Her sweet taste, like summer-ripe cherries, exploded on his tongue as she opened for him. Kerry kissed shyly, but somewhere in his lust-fogged brain, he heard her moan. If a kiss could do that, he wondered what sort of amazing sounds she might give off when he laved her clit with his tongue.

  He was dying to know. And if he didn’t get closer to her in the next few seconds, he was going to combust.

  As he swept through her mouth for another searing kiss, Rafe lifted Kerry and shifted her to straddle him. Her inner thighs hugged his middle. Her skirt inched up around her hips, revealing the fact she wore tiny, very sheer black panties. No question, she was a natural blonde.

  “Wanna touch you, rip your panties off,” he breathed against her neck. “Then taste you.”

  Kerry shivered in his arms.

  A new wave of weariness followed. He ruthlessly squashed it.

  Cupping her delectable ass in his hands, he urged her hips forward until he felt the damp heat of her pressed against his tented trousers. Unable to stop himself, he broke the kiss and threw his head back. She arched into him, too, a cry rising from her lips. Raw pleasure clawed up his spine, crashing between his legs. God, the woman was killing him.

  Breath coming in harsh pants, Rafe looked back to her, the disheveled hair, the swollen mouth and flushed skin. Her green eyes looked darker, dilated. Hunger tore at his belly. She would be a goddess in bed.

  “Want you,” he grunted. “Damn bad.”

  Where the hell had his ability to speak gone? Was he getting sick? Or was the light-headed feeling the result of all his blood rushing
below his navel?

  Fighting suddenly heavy arms, Rafe found the little bows holding her halter together. The one between her shoulder blades wasn’t too difficult. One quick tug . . . Ah, magic, he thought, sliding one hand around to cup her breast, tease her distended nipple.

  Kerry bit her lip at his touch, her lashes fluttering closed.

  “So sexy,” he murmured, faltering about for the next tie. After a Herculean effort, he raised his free hand to her nape and found it. The tug required to set the top loose exhausted him. But once it fell free of her body, having her breasts bared at mouth level . . . worth the effort.

  Determined to stay awake long enough to enjoy the sharpest arousal he could remember—and the woman who had caused it—he stroked both nipples with thumbs and forefingers. The sweet mewling sounds from the back of her throat encouraged him. He latched on to her with his mouth, sucking hard on her flushed, rosy nipple, nipping gently with his teeth. Her sigh became a groan.

  “Skin so soft,” he muttered, taking the other nipple in his mouth.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the fact Kerry had sunk her fingers into his hair and was holding him in place. That suited him. He laved her again, then looked down at her panties. They were damp. Perfect.

  But once focused down, his eyes refused to lift again. He gave up. Sight wasn’t as important as touch or taste right now.

  “Here,” he rasped. “Now. Can’t wait to be inside you . . .”

  “Yes,” she moaned in his ear.

  Triumph spiked briefly as he reached for his belt buckle. He would have all her slick heat closing around his cock. For a while, the goddess would be exclusively his to take in every way he ached for. But consciousness became harder to grasp. What the hell was wrong with him? Heat poured over him in inferno-like waves. Sweat rolled down his temple. Rafe fumbled around to find the button that would roll down a window. No luck. Nausea hit him. Damn, he’d never been sick like this before. Never. Why now?