Feeling Hot
Page 9
“Glory hallelujah.”
“Did you join a Baptist church when I was overseas? Forget it, don’t answer that. Knowing you, you probably did. Anyway, we need to make sure he stays away from you until then.”
“My super had the locks changed this morning, and I won’t leave the apartment unless I’m with somebody.”
“Not good enough.”
A warning bell chimed in her head. “What does that mean?”
Without answering, Carson gave her shoulder one last squeeze before getting to his feet. “I’ve gotta go. I wanted to stop by the restaurant to surprise Holly for lunch.”
As he strode toward the door, Jen shot off the couch and hurried after him. “What did you mean by not good enough, Carson? What are you planning and why do I get the feeling it’s going to annoy the shit out of me?”
Shooting her a saccharine smile, Carson reached out to ruffle her hair, a gesture that never failed to aggravate her. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Jenny. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” He reached for the doorknob. “Lock up behind me.”
Stifling a sigh, Jen watched her brother go, then flicked the deadbolt and locked the chain. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Carson was about to add a little more misery to her already miserable life. He’d always been incredibly overprotective of her, just like their dad. But what else could she expect? When you were related to a retired admiral and an active-duty SEAL, macho posturing was a fact of life.
Her shoulders felt heavier than stone as she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She kind of wished it was a shot of whiskey, but she wasn’t much of a drinker, and besides, no amount of alcohol could improve her mood.
When had everything become such a mess? She’d lost her job, her love life had turned into Fatal Attraction, her brother had snapped into alpha-male caveman mode, her parents would probably lecture her for falling for a psycho.
And to make matters worse, her sexy stranger hadn’t called, even though it had been two days since she’d given him her number.
You’re better off. This isn’t the time for a new relationship.
Yeah, that was probably true. Adding a new complication to the mix would undoubtedly lead to disaster, but even knowing that, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of disappointment.
She’d really enjoyed that encounter with Cash McCoy at the Tavern. The conversation, the laughter, the hot make-out and groping session. After being on edge for the past month, looking over her shoulder expecting Brendan to pop out of the shadows, it had been nice to let loose and flirt with a hot guy.
And kiss a hot guy.
And almost have sex with a hot guy.
Just the memory of those piercing blue eyes and chiseled male-model features made her pulse speed up. Hands down, Cash McCoy was the sexiest man she’d ever met. She shivered, remembering the feel of his hard chest against her br**sts. The thick ridge of arousal pressing into her thigh. The firmness of his lips and greedy thrust of his tongue.
Jen gulped down the rest of her water, suddenly feeling parched. She didn’t normally fool around with complete strangers, but Cash had unleashed some kind of primal urge inside her. The urge to f**k him senseless.
If they hadn’t been interrupted, she knew without a doubt that senseless f**king would’ve definitely been on the agenda.
And she would’ve loved every second of it.
“You’re such a little slut,” she mumbled to herself.
She couldn’t help but laugh. Ha. Hardly. Truth was, she was the furthest thing from slutty. She wasn’t a virgin, but she hadn’t sown any wild oats either. Which sucked, because sowing some oats sounded unbelievably appealing to her.
Unfortunately, she’d yet to meet a man who was interested in helping her explore her sexuality. Her past boyfriends had treated her with kid gloves, like she was a fragile object that would break if they got too rough. They’d seen her as a pretty little blonde they needed to protect, but she didn’t want a protector. She wanted hungry kisses and husky demands, a man so desperate to get her naked and screw her brains out that he didn’t bother with the when or where or how—he wanted her now and he’d damn well take her.
She’d experienced that with Cash in the brief moments they’d spent together.
Fighting a rush of frustration, she slammed her drinking glass in the sink, then marched out of her tiny kitchen, crossed the tiny living room and entered her tiny bedroom. Running motif of her apartment? Tiny. It was all she could afford on her wages, but this one-bedroom flat sure beat living under her parents’ roof. Their constant lectures and relentless nagging were detrimental to her sanity.
She froze in the middle of her bedroom as a terrifying thought struck her. Now that she’d lost her job at Arnold’s, she might actually have no choice but to move back home. She had enough money saved to pay a few more months of rent, but after that?
“Don’t think about it,” she mumbled, banishing the scary notion.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached the weathered wooden desk sitting beneath the small window that offered a stunning view of the brick wall belonging to the building next door. Her camera bag sat on the desk, and as she slung the strap over her shoulder, the familiar weight of the bag and the Nikon digital SLR it housed brought a sense of tranquility.
Her camera was the one thing guaranteed to soothe her soul. Whenever she peered through the lens of a camera, she felt so confident, so utterly in control. Everything else seemed to melt away—the problems, the stress, the bullshit bogging her down. Taking pictures had always been her means for escape, and at the moment, she needed to escape. Big time.
“Did you join a Baptist church when I was overseas? Forget it, don’t answer that. Knowing you, you probably did. Anyway, we need to make sure he stays away from you until then.”
“My super had the locks changed this morning, and I won’t leave the apartment unless I’m with somebody.”
“Not good enough.”
A warning bell chimed in her head. “What does that mean?”
Without answering, Carson gave her shoulder one last squeeze before getting to his feet. “I’ve gotta go. I wanted to stop by the restaurant to surprise Holly for lunch.”
As he strode toward the door, Jen shot off the couch and hurried after him. “What did you mean by not good enough, Carson? What are you planning and why do I get the feeling it’s going to annoy the shit out of me?”
Shooting her a saccharine smile, Carson reached out to ruffle her hair, a gesture that never failed to aggravate her. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Jenny. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.” He reached for the doorknob. “Lock up behind me.”
Stifling a sigh, Jen watched her brother go, then flicked the deadbolt and locked the chain. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Carson was about to add a little more misery to her already miserable life. He’d always been incredibly overprotective of her, just like their dad. But what else could she expect? When you were related to a retired admiral and an active-duty SEAL, macho posturing was a fact of life.
Her shoulders felt heavier than stone as she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She kind of wished it was a shot of whiskey, but she wasn’t much of a drinker, and besides, no amount of alcohol could improve her mood.
When had everything become such a mess? She’d lost her job, her love life had turned into Fatal Attraction, her brother had snapped into alpha-male caveman mode, her parents would probably lecture her for falling for a psycho.
And to make matters worse, her sexy stranger hadn’t called, even though it had been two days since she’d given him her number.
You’re better off. This isn’t the time for a new relationship.
Yeah, that was probably true. Adding a new complication to the mix would undoubtedly lead to disaster, but even knowing that, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of disappointment.
She’d really enjoyed that encounter with Cash McCoy at the Tavern. The conversation, the laughter, the hot make-out and groping session. After being on edge for the past month, looking over her shoulder expecting Brendan to pop out of the shadows, it had been nice to let loose and flirt with a hot guy.
And kiss a hot guy.
And almost have sex with a hot guy.
Just the memory of those piercing blue eyes and chiseled male-model features made her pulse speed up. Hands down, Cash McCoy was the sexiest man she’d ever met. She shivered, remembering the feel of his hard chest against her br**sts. The thick ridge of arousal pressing into her thigh. The firmness of his lips and greedy thrust of his tongue.
Jen gulped down the rest of her water, suddenly feeling parched. She didn’t normally fool around with complete strangers, but Cash had unleashed some kind of primal urge inside her. The urge to f**k him senseless.
If they hadn’t been interrupted, she knew without a doubt that senseless f**king would’ve definitely been on the agenda.
And she would’ve loved every second of it.
“You’re such a little slut,” she mumbled to herself.
She couldn’t help but laugh. Ha. Hardly. Truth was, she was the furthest thing from slutty. She wasn’t a virgin, but she hadn’t sown any wild oats either. Which sucked, because sowing some oats sounded unbelievably appealing to her.
Unfortunately, she’d yet to meet a man who was interested in helping her explore her sexuality. Her past boyfriends had treated her with kid gloves, like she was a fragile object that would break if they got too rough. They’d seen her as a pretty little blonde they needed to protect, but she didn’t want a protector. She wanted hungry kisses and husky demands, a man so desperate to get her naked and screw her brains out that he didn’t bother with the when or where or how—he wanted her now and he’d damn well take her.
She’d experienced that with Cash in the brief moments they’d spent together.
Fighting a rush of frustration, she slammed her drinking glass in the sink, then marched out of her tiny kitchen, crossed the tiny living room and entered her tiny bedroom. Running motif of her apartment? Tiny. It was all she could afford on her wages, but this one-bedroom flat sure beat living under her parents’ roof. Their constant lectures and relentless nagging were detrimental to her sanity.
She froze in the middle of her bedroom as a terrifying thought struck her. Now that she’d lost her job at Arnold’s, she might actually have no choice but to move back home. She had enough money saved to pay a few more months of rent, but after that?
“Don’t think about it,” she mumbled, banishing the scary notion.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached the weathered wooden desk sitting beneath the small window that offered a stunning view of the brick wall belonging to the building next door. Her camera bag sat on the desk, and as she slung the strap over her shoulder, the familiar weight of the bag and the Nikon digital SLR it housed brought a sense of tranquility.
Her camera was the one thing guaranteed to soothe her soul. Whenever she peered through the lens of a camera, she felt so confident, so utterly in control. Everything else seemed to melt away—the problems, the stress, the bullshit bogging her down. Taking pictures had always been her means for escape, and at the moment, she needed to escape. Big time.
