Playboy

  I’m jiggling my shoulders and hips as Charlie Puth’s song “How Long” fills the outdoor arena. We’re all the way up front so I have room to shake and move. I especially love that Cullen’s hands land on my hips, where he keeps me still against him whenever a song stops. The roped-off section accommodates tables, chairs, and standing room only for about seventy-five people, but the concert is sold out and I feel like a real VIP.

  The band’s lead singer works his final number like he has something to prove. “This one goes out to those of you who love to win!”

  He’s standing in front of me as he starts singing The Calling’s “Wherever You Will Go.” He walks down to the other side of the stage as the song begins, then he returns for the chorus and stays right there . . . in front of me . . . singing to me!

  And I’m loving it.

  I’m loving it because Cullen’s hating it.

  I’m grinning.

  He’s frowning.

  I’m singing aloud and barely hear my guy until he pulls me hard against his solid cock, dragging me as he sways gently one way and the other.

  My whole body electrifies as I lean back against him. I let him sway me.

  I already know my guy can dance when he’s inspired.

  His arms tighten and he breathes at my ear, “I’ll go wherever you go.”

  “Will you?” I play, glancing over my shoulder.

  His lips take mine and his kiss makes a statement. It’s one that shows ownership and makes me forget everything else, even the concert.

  When he releases me, the band’s lead is nowhere in sight.

  I shoot him a playful glare for scaring him off.

  Then it’s over.

  “That was incredible!” We’re walking back the same way we entered, and he’s holding my hand. I’m so happy I’m swinging our arms. The desert air is nice and warm, but not humid and thick. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “I’ll bet,” I say, when suddenly a drunken woman stumbles up to him, feeling up his dick as she tries to straighten up. “Hey.” She blinks up at him. “I remember you. You’re the one they say can win it all this year at the final table.” She practically purrs when she adds, “You feel like a winner to me, Playboy.”

  “I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, sweetheart.”

  “Cullen?” I whisper, suddenly bristling. She knows his nickname? What the hell?

  He called her sweetheart?

  Unfortunately, he helps her to her feet and smilingly tells her something that makes the girl—a drunk girl—blush, and I grit my teeth.

  “Really?” I search his eyes and take off at a faster walk.

  I can walk.

  Independent women—sober women—can do things for themselves like, oh, I don’t know . . . keep their hands to themselves?

  Actually, I have a tough time with that myself when it comes to Cullen but still.

  He wants my hands on him.

  Does he want drunk chick’s too?

  Apparently so . . .

  Cullen catches up to me within a couple of minutes. “Really, Red?”

  He sounds amused. It pisses me off even more.

  I stop. “Really. That’s what I asked you. Really, Cullen? How could you?”

  “She grabbed me. Believe me, it wasn’t invited.”

  “You didn’t look too distraught.”

  “And you didn’t stick around to help.”

  “Help? Are you kidding me?”

  “Why not? Faith Hill made a public claim on Tim McGraw one time at their concert. You could’ve done the same.”

  “They’re married. She should’ve!”

  I keep walking. I’m so damn pissed and even madder that I don’t have claims to him. If I had claims to him . . .

  Shit, Wynn, what are you thinking?

  I stew on our ride back to the hotel and the smile Cullen is wearing makes me even madder. He holds my hand and I try to take it away, but he only tightens his hold and won’t let me retrieve it.

  I let him have my hand. That’s the only thing he’ll get tonight. And I look out the window, avoiding his penetrating stare.

  “What did you say to her that made her blush?”

  “Only to watch her step next time before she fell onto someone that would be more difficult to pry away from.”

  I huff angrily. “You’re incorrigible, Cullen!”

  “I meant some other loser. I’m not interested in her.”

  I shoot him a glare. I hate this feeling and I hate that he made me feel this. Him and his playboy ways.

  By the time the car halts, I admit to myself that I’m more mad at myself than at him. I’m mad by how jealous I feel. How . . . fragile this thing with him is. I feel things for him. Crazy, deep things. And yet I’m leaving tomorrow, and it’s starting to make me panic.

  When the car halts, I open my own door and step out. I cross the lobby and hear his footsteps close behind me. “Wynn.” He grabs my elbow and spins me around when a little boy bumps into him.

  “Sorry!” he calls off to Cullen off-handedly as the mother hurries over. “Sorry,” she tells him, then hurries after the boy and catches up with him. “Carson, what did I say about running off?” she asks.

  I realize the little boy’s name is the same as my date when I first met Cullen. I’m about to smile, but Cullen has fallen still, and I can’t help but notice the yearning in his eyes as he watches the boy and mother walk away. He shoves his hands into his pockets, watching intently, a soft smile on his lips.

  It’s the first time Cullen isn’t wearing any poker face at all.

  And what I see there kills me. Makes my heart burn and crumble. My stomach sky-dive. Because I could never, ever be able to fulfill the yearning in this man’s eyes. It’s physically impossible for me.

  And suddenly I’m done with men—with everything.

  “At least Emmett wouldn’t have flirted with some drunk at a concert,” I whisper, needing an outlet for my frustration and anger, unable to admit to him my failings. The reason Emmett couldn’t take the next step with me and I’m sure, the reason no other man will want me.

  His attention whirls toward me, his smile vanishing from his features.

  I hate how catty I’m being but I’m desperate to push him away and remember what we have between us is nothing. Can go nowhere.

  Striding quickly away, I enter the elevator a few minutes later and punch the button, trying to get to our suite ahead of him. Cullen slides between the doors as they’re closing and he looks at me.

  “Emmett,” he says, his voice like ice.

  “That’s right. My ex! The last man I will ever lo—” Before I can say anything else, his mouth is on mine, and he’s giving me a punishing kiss that makes me gasp. His tongue is sliding across mine.

  His hands are in my hair. On my shoulders. On my ass.

  He frames my face, sucking my tongue just a little at a time, the anger and frustration in his kiss matching mine.

  “Stop,” I groan, trying to remember why I’m mad in the first place. “I can’t think when you—”

  The door opens on our floor and I dart out. My key is in my hand and I enter our suite ahead of him.

  When I turn to say something, he’s already ripping his tie away from his neck, kicking off his shoes, undressing right there in front of me.

  “Now you’re mad? Why would you be? We’re talking about this,” I say.

  “No,” he says, his belt following his tie. “We’re fucking through our differences first. We can talk later.”

  “The hell we are.”

  “Glad you agree,” he says, catching me before I have a chance to get away.

  His lips crash down on mine and he’s feeling me up, working one hand under my skirt while the other strips the material away.

  I remember again the look of raw yearning in his eyes when he saw that little boy and I want to comfort him. I wish I could give him the thing he most wants in this life. Instead
I clutch him to me and can’t fucking let go. Wanting him like I’ve never wanted anything.

  I’m on fire and this isn’t one of those delicious slow burns. This is one of those, fuck the foreplay. I need you inside me, somewhere and everywhere . . . now.

  “Cullen.”

  He turns me to the wall, and he rips my thong away and growls in my ear, tells me that he wants me, only me, and that he’s been doing me all night long in his thoughts.

  Holding onto my anger in self-preservation mode, I groan, “If that’s even true then you should’ve told her you were—”

  “Fucking crazy for you?” He leans over my back, palms my ass as if it’s the most fragile thing in the world, and in contrast, he thrusts inside me like I’m elastic, then growls, “Dying to be inside you?” His voice thickens in my ear, his tongue licking me. I groan, parting my legs wider, bracing my hands on the wall. His hips roll forward and mine rock back. “Can’t get enough of you . . . this?”

  He’s breathless now and the hammering begins. He nips at my ear, runs his tongue down my neck, turns my head to my shoulder where he meets me with a soul-stealing kiss.

  “Oh Cullen,” I whimper, clutching his hand as he drives inside me.

  Our fucking is uncontrollable now. He drives inside me with no control and I want him to be like this with me. Want him to take me as if he’s never had me, claim me as if he plans to keep me.

  He pulls out right before I come, and I’m so wracked with sexual frustration I wheel around to face him and jump into his arms, locking my legs around him.

  He enters me again, grabbing hold of my ass as he drives inside my pussy with rapid strikes.

  “Cullen.” I hang on for dear life, dragging my fingers up and down his arms, back and forth as I ride him.

  “What do you want, Red?” He rips the top of my dress down and buries his face in my tits. “Because all I want is this . . . you.”

  He pulls out, backs me up a step or two. My back slams against the bedroom door. “Only. You.” He boosts me up again.

  “Fuck me.” I squeeze him as he impales me on him, grind and ride him.

  “How much do you want me?” he says. His lips skim the peaks of my breasts again.

  “You have no idea,” I moan, unable to think when he buries his face in my hair.

  Then we’re kissing. I drive my fingers into his hair, fisting him as we come together. He clutches me as I shudder, and shudder, and shudder. Cullen growls softly as he follows me. We pant together minutes later, our lips mashing for one last kiss before he pulls out.

  He runs his fingers gently through my hair as he watches me straighten. I look at him, his hair mussed, his lips reddened by me as he watches me rearrange myself.

  I’m scared of what I feel. Of how out of control this man makes me.

  “Don’t pull away,” he husks. His hands fly out to halt me when I try to move back.

  I exhale, prying free to finish righting my clothes. “I had a moment of weakness, but I think this isn’t going anywhere.” I saw the way you looked at the child and mother and I could never give you that, I think helplessly. “And I don’t want . . . this is getting out of hand.”

  “Meaning . . . ?” He starts to frown, bringing his slacks over from the living room. He pulls them on with a frustrated yank and zips up quickly. Almost angrily.

  I groan. “Meaning, I saw the way you looked at that mother and her child in the lobby and it made my heart hurt. I just wanted to comfort you.”

  “And I wanted you coming,” he growls back at me.

  We face off, narrowing our eyes at each other.

  “Fuck you!” I explode. “You won’t even take anything tender from anyone, you try to act as if you don’t really need anything—everyone needs something! You want it, Cullen, you want it all, don’t pretend you don’t!” And I hate that I can’t give you that!

  “I want it! So fucking what? I don’t want your pity,” he growls. “Save your pity, I don’t want it. Do you hear me? All I want from you I got right now.”

  I punch his chest with my fist.

  He doesn’t even move.

  “If that’s not just damn epic,” he hisses.

  “Want epic? I’m using your comps to get myself another room!”

  I stare at him, spin around, grab my purse, and storm away. I hurry to the elevators, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I’ve never dated such a conflicting, infuriating guy. I have no idea what I’m doing with him! I have no idea what to do with myself around him. I march across the casino and grab the first cashier I see. Cash one of my chips, get a hundred dollar bill and push it into a slot.

  I’m pushing the button with tears in the back of my eyes. I don’t know why. It’s because I’m leaving. It’s because I’m mad at him for being so . . . so goddamned wonderful. More than I ever expected. I’m angry at myself for coming here and exposing myself to this man and his charms in the first place. I’m mad because his last words hurt me. Because I want—deep to the very deepest part of me—to be more than just another of his flings. Ugh.

  I sense a shadow behind me. I stiffen, cash out my ticket, and turn around in my chair.

  “Come with me,” he murmurs, his gaze dark and forlorn. He looks bad.

  I hate that I can’t breathe when he’s near and I can’t breathe when he’s gone. I especially can’t breathe when we’re out of sorts with each other.

  I hate that I can’t think when he looks at me. And I can’t think of anything else but him when he doesn’t.

  I press my lips angrily and stay silent.

  He reaches out to tuck a strand of red hair behind my ear. “Come with me.”

  A swarm of butterflies flutter in my stomach.

  “I came down to be alone.”

  “Want to designate areas?”

  He smiles a little as he teases me. But his eyes are tortured and heated. My breath catches as he takes a step forward. I can almost hear my personal bubble pop. My lungs strain for air as he trails his fingers up my cheek and cups the side of my face.

  “Don’t,” I warn. He leans down and kisses my cheek.

  His arms envelop me—locking around me as though he never plans to let go.

  He pulls me up on my feet and brings his lips down on mine.

  My breath leaves me. My toes curl. My lips open for his. The warm, wet flick of his tongue teases me open.

  “I apologize.”

  “Stop it, Cullen, just stop,” I beg.

  “I will when you forgive me.” He nibbles me more. “Please forgive me. I’m unhinged and I don’t know why but I know it’s because of you.”

  “I’m unhinged too and I blame you. Let’s just forget about it. We came here to have fun—”

  “We came here so you could get over that bastard. Don’t mention him to me again,” he warns, angry, as he holds my face in one his large hands.

  I swallow, nod.

  He takes my hand in his. “Ready to go back up?”

  I let him lead me to the elevators. “I lost eighty bucks. I feel so bad.”

  He smiles in amusement, and when we board the elevators, I lean on him on our way up to our room. He stands behind me, embraces me, pulls me closer as he leans his chin on the top of my head for a moment. He drags it down so he can kiss my temple. I’m clutching in anticipation all over. In aching, in yearning.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” he murmurs.

  He gets me to bed—where we kiss like maniacs. Where he kisses me raw. The way this guy makes my body sing mesmerizes me. A body I have hated because it can’t give me one of the things that I most want—a family. He makes me love this body like I used to . . . before I knew.

  We fuck so hard and fast, we never really get our clothes off, and I can barely remember my name after. Much less why we fought.

  Oh yes, I was jealous because of the drunkie.

  He got fucking pissed that I mentioned Emmett.

  Both Emmett and the drunkie can go fuck themselves. I’ve got Cullen, and rig
ht now, I’d rather have him more than anything else, even food or sleep.

  “I want to do it again,” I quietly whisper up at him.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I love having sex with you.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “That you do.” I feather my fingers up his chest. “You have very fine hands, and a very fine . . . umm, you’re so fine.” I bite him a little, slide my hand down the sheets.

  He bites me back.

  “You put your hands on my dick and I’m not going to last.”

  “Mmm, I like that you lose control a little.”

  “I’d say more than a little.” He eyes me. “Strip.”

  I strip my clothes nervously. Watching him do the same before he crawls over me.

  He cups my sex and parts my thighs. “Give me this.”

  I do.

  “You’re gorgeous. Look at me.”

  I do.

  “Don’t close your eyes.”

  I can’t. I won’t.

  I keep them on his as we start doing it slowly this time. Every scent, every sound, every sight, every taste, every touch, intensified. I watch as his eyes haze up and my own blur and still, those silver orbs are all I see.

  WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS . . .

  This morning, right after a round of shower sex that left my legs weak and the rest of me on a cloud way above nine, we got dressed. We’ve sent my luggage downstairs with Oliver. I don’t know what it is about Cullen. The more sex we have, the more I want him. Last night we bickered like a married couple and then made up like one. The feel of him, smell of him, his touch, his looks—I’m addicted to all of it. Isn’t it supposed to be the opposite with a fling?

  Now we’re walking across the lobby, heading out to my waiting car, when Cullen checks me out rather blatantly. “Now you decide to wear the white dress?” His breath is hot against my ear.

  “Makes me look innocent.”

  “On what planet?”

  “Yours,” I mouth.

  He smiles, and that smile kills me. “Want me to phone the pilot and tell him you’ll go home tomorrow?”

  “We discussed this already. I have to get back.” And I thought you would come with me.

  That was the first plan anyway.