The Fantasy Factor Read online

His name stuck in her head and brought to mind all sorts of lustful thoughts. Of herself naked and panting and on her back, Houston between her legs, plunging into her and driving them both toward wild and crazy orgasms.

  She shook away the notion, reached for the bar of soap and concentrated on lathering her hands. The feel of wet, slick soap made her palms tingle as she swirled the bar in her hands and bubbles squeezed between her fingers. She slid the soap back into the tray and ran her soapy hands up and down her throat, over her shoulders. But she didn’t feel her own fingertips, she felt his. Trailing over her skin, circling her nipples, grasping the ripe nubs and twisting until she felt the pull of desire between her legs.

  Her hands stilled and she drew a deep, steadying breath.

  She wasn’t doing this. She’d promised herself a long time ago that she wouldn’t give in to her impulses, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  She reached for the shampoo bottle. It was tall and cool between her fingertips. Cool, as in the opposite of hot. If she could just focus on the sensation, she could forget the heat burning her up from the inside out.

  She popped the push-up lid and was about to squirt the creamy liquid into her palm when the hard, smooth plastic brushed the ripe tip of her nipple. Electricity spiraled through her body and her nerves hummed.

  She wasn’t going to do it.

  That’s what she told herself, but her hands seemed to have a mind of their own. Her fingertips slid around the bottle, circling and grasping as she rasped the edge back and forth against her nipple. The cool hardness was a stark contrast to her soft, heated skin, and sensation spiraled through her. She played with the ripe greedy nub a few more heart-pounding seconds before touching the edge to her other nipple. It sprang to life at the contact, as greedy as its twin for a little attention.

  She couldn’t help herself. It felt so good and it had been so long. The edge of the bottle slid down, following the underside of her breast, the sensitive skin of her belly. The hard coolness trailed over her belly button and lower until she reached the vee between her legs.

  Hunger spurted through her when she felt the edge of the bottle ruffle the soft curls that covered her mound. The sensation moved lower still. The hard, cool edge teased the slick folds and rasped over her clitoris. Her lips parted on a gasp and her knees trembled. She reached for the shower curtain to steady herself, but no sooner had she grasped the fabric than it was tugged from her hands. The rings rattled over the shower bar as the curtain slid to the side.

  He looked as if he’d stepped straight out of her most erotic thoughts. He was naked from the waist up, his broad, powerful chest covered with a sprinkling of whiskey-colored hair. Muscles rippled as he reached for the button of his worn jeans. The fastening slid free, the zipper hissed and the material sagged on his hips for a split second before he grasped the edge of his white briefs and slid both the underwear and jeans down and stepped free.

  His penis was hard and thick, the base surrounded by a swirl of gold hair that provided a stark contrast against his tanned skin. The same hair sprinkled his hard, muscular legs.

  “Christ, you look beautiful. Très belle.”

  “That’s French. Since when do you speak French?”

  “Since I took three years of it in high school. I didn’t sleep through all those classes, you know. But don’t tell anyone. It’ll blow my image.”

  “I thought you called me Belle as in Jezebel.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “I…” Her voice faltered beneath the smoldering look he gave her and she swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Tomorrow is a long time away.” His deep voice drew her attention and her gaze met his. Heat smoldered in the dark gold depths of his eyes and an ache went through her. “I’ve waited too long for this already. Thank God you didn’t lock your door.”

  “I never lock my door. One of the perks of living in a small town.”

  “That makes two things I like about this town.”

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “You.” He stepped in and took the shampoo bottle from her hands. But he didn’t put it aside. Instead, he touched the edge to her nipple. It felt different somehow than it had a few moments ago when she’d done the very same thing. Especially with his gaze locked with hers and his body so close all she had to do was reach out and touch him.

  “You like this, don’t you?” She nodded and he grinned, rasping the edge back and forth until she caught her lip between her teeth to keep from moaning. “I knew you weren’t half as good as you pretended to be.”

  “It’s an act,” she managed to say.

  “Thankfully,” he murmured, and then he caught her mouth with his for a hot, deep kiss.

  The sensation between her legs grew until she whimpered. She was so close to the edge. Another glide of the bottle and she would tumble over.

  “Not yet.” Strong fingers replaced the hard plastic. He touched her, slicking his thumb over her clitoris and rubbing while his finger slid deep, deep inside. “I want to feel you when you go wild, sugar.” His gaze caught and held hers. “And I want to see you.”

  He moved his fingers, plunging and stroking. The pleasure was intense, but it was nothing compared to the brightness of his gaze as he stared at her.

  Panic bolted through her and she caught his hand. “You’re not following the video,” she breathed, her chest heaving, her heart hammering. “It’s sex in the shower.”

  “We’re about to have sex. But first, I want you to come.”

  “We’re both supposed to come.”

  “Ladies first.” Despite her hold on his wrist, he moved his fingers again.

  Sensation bolted through her and a delicious orgasm gripped her body. She caught her lip, fighting back the cry that worked its way up her throat, the same way she fought back the strange fear coiling inside her. A feeling intensified by the way he stared so deeply into her eyes.

  She closed her eyes, shutting him out and effectively refocusing her thoughts on the hard muscle and warm skin pressed against her. She kissed him, tasted him, stroked him until he cried out this time. But not because of an orgasm.

  He was close. So close. But she knew he wanted to be inside of her. And she wanted him there.

  As if he sensed her urgency, he lifted her, hoisting her legs up on either side of him, his penis poised for entry.

  But he didn’t slide her down. He stepped out of the shower and set her down on the bathroom rug. Reaching over, he rummaged in his pants pocket and retrieved a condom.

  She watched as he slid the latex over his bulging erection. He turned her around then and urged her hands onto the countertop, and then he entered her from behind, true to the end of the scene in the video.

  He thrust into her, plunging in and out and driving her toward a second orgasm. At that moment, she caught his reflection in the mirror, his gaze dark and intense and searching. She closed her eyes, catching her bottom lip as an exquisite climax ripped through her, wave upon wave of sensation pounding her. And then she was floating.

  From far away, she heard his cry as he followed her over the edge and slumped against her. His heart hammered in his chest, the rhythm keeping time with the frantic beat of her own heart.

  She relished the feeling for several long seconds before she gathered her control and pulled away from him.

  “Thanks,” she murmured as she reached for her bathrobe. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “What?” He ran a hand through his hair and eyed her.

  “Number four is over. We’re done for tonight.”

  “Done?”

  “You can let yourself out the way you came in.” And then she bolted from the room before she did something really stupid like throw herself into his arms and beg him to take her all over again.

  She wouldn’t do such a thing because that was not part of the video or their agreement, and while she’d lost control for those few moments in the shower when he’d touched her with his han
d and it had felt so good, she wasn’t losing control again.

  She was staying on track and maintaining her perspective, and she wasn’t going to veer off the list again.

  No matter how good it felt.

  5

  IT WAS STRICTLY SEX between them.

  That’s what Sarah told herself the next morning as she stood out behind the nursery and checked off the new arrivals. The early morning sun peeked through the trees and the birds chirped. Her second cousin, Arnie, stood nearby, talking a mile a minute as he hefted plants this way and moved pots that way to make room for the new stock. It looked and sounded like any other workday in small-town Cadillac.

  But it felt different.

  She felt different. She felt, period. The steady pulse of her heart against her rib cage. The press of her nipples against the lace cup of her bra. The slow glide of sweat at her temple. The steady pull of exhaustion on each of her muscles because she’d spent more than half the night reliving what had happened in the shower.

  She completely ignored the fact that she’d spent the other half of the night remembering their first night together down by the creek. After he’d rescued her from Jake the Junior College Jerk. Before they’d made their pact and agreed to try out the Sexiest Seven with each other.

  It had been a long time ago, yet she could still feel the warm summer air blowing over her skin. And taste the sweet mixture of strawberry wine and 7UP. And smell the crisp cleanness of the water. And see the handsome young man sitting next to her, a foam cup in his hand.

  His thigh had pressed against hers as they’d talked. They’d been completely aware of each other. At the same time, she’d felt more comfortable than she had in a long time. More at ease. And so they’d talked about her life and how she desperately wanted to crawl out from behind her late mother’s shadow. And how he wanted so desperately to outrun his father’s criticism and prove the man wrong.

  She’d never opened up to anyone the way she’d opened up to him that night. In more ways than one. She’d opened her body to him, as well. But it wasn’t the sex itself that stood out in her memory. It was the little things. The tingle of awareness when his rough fingertips had caught a drop of wine cooler that had slid from the corner of her mouth. The way her stomach had done a triple somersault when he’d smiled at her as if she were the only girl he’d ever wanted in all his eighteen years. The way her heart had revved faster than his old souped-up Corvette when he’d tucked a strand of hair behind her ear…

  Her skin prickled and she stiffened. She pushed away the memory and concentrated on counting the truckload of potted perennials and listening to Arnie, who helped her out three days of the week when she really needed him a full five. But she barely made enough to support herself and pay her overhead. A full-time employee was out of the question.

  Even if business had picked up since word had spread that the Green Machine now offered deliveries.

  She’d tried to set the record straight—that Mr. Jenkins’s delivery had been a mistake—but then Susie Reynolds had offered to pay double for the delivery of a few potted palms, and Sarah had found herself stuffing the darned things into the back seat of her Ford Taurus. She’d managed to make them fit, but she knew there was no way she could squeeze into the small interior of her car the half dozen other orders that had come in yesterday. She needed a truck for that.

  She needed Houston.

  Not that she was about to call and ask for his help. Even if it was his fault she was in this predicament in the first place. She didn’t want a friend or a helpmate. She wanted to keep carrying on the family tradition, running the family business and keeping up her carefully constructed front.

  Which was why she’d agreed to finish the Sexiest Seven.

  The thought stirred a vivid memory of last night. Her nipples pebbled and Sarah did her best to ignore the ache between her legs. While her feelings were perfectly natural, they weren’t appropriate in the bright light of day.

  “…so I told him, ‘Dawg, you’re friggin’ crazy.’” Arnie’s voice pushed into her thoughts and she turned her attention to the twenty-year-old who’d been talking for the past few minutes while he helped her.

  “There’s no way in hell or heaven, or the in-between,” he continued, “that I’m paying eighty bucks for a new chassis plate, even if it is chrome. And an original. And a once-in-a-lifetime find. ‘Dawg, I ain’t made of money,’ I tell him. I work too hard for my green to go throwing it around. I’ve got responsibilities.”

  “Responsibilities? You live with Great Aunt Jean, who cooks for you and still gives you an allowance.”

  “Yeah, but I’m responsible with that allowance.”

  “You’re broke.”

  “Not exactly. I’ve got twelve bucks.”

  “You just got paid yesterday.”

  “Jenny needed a new filter pump.”

  “And that took everything but twelve bucks?”

  “While I was buying the filter pump, I spotted these sweet-ass seat covers.”

  “And?”

  “And they were sort of expensive, on account of they were so sweet ass and all.”

  “I would think that an authentic chassis plate would be a lot more important than seat covers.”

  “And you’d be dead right. But the thing is, I didn’t know I was going to happen into the chassis plate. I mean, how’s a guy like myself supposed to predict something so huge? So awesome. So once-in-a-lifetime.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Eighty.”

  “I thought you had twelve.”

  “Actually, now it’s a few bucks and some change. I stopped at Pancake World this morning for a short stack.”

  “You spent ten bucks on three pancakes?”

  He shrugged. “You can’t have a short stack without sausage. And you can’t have sausage without hash browns. And nobody but nobody eats hash browns without a couple of scrambled eggs to liven things up.”

  “You had the Big Boy Special.”

  “What can I say? I’m definitely a big boy.”

  “You’re going to be a tired boy. I expect you to put in an extra six hours this next week—two hours for every day that you’re scheduled to work.”

  “Does that mean you’re giving me the eighty bucks?”

  “It means I need to have my head examined.” She walked over to the cash register, punched the button and the drawer slid open. She counted out the money and slammed the drawer shut.

  “Thanks, cuz.” Arnie shoved the cash into his pocket. “You’re pretty dope.”

  “Judging by the way you’re smiling, I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now, get those flowerpots inside.” She pointed to the row of bright yellow flowers on the far side of the truck bed.

  “Man-o-man, an authentic chassis,” Arnie murmured, a smile on his face as he filled his arms with flowerpots and started inside.

  Sarah smiled and did a visual count of a row of bright pink begonias, jotted the number on her clipboard and flipped the page.

  “I don’t know about ‘dope,’ but you’re definitely pretty.” The deep, familiar voice sounded just to her left and a bolt of awareness shot through her. Her grip on the pen faltered and it slipped from her fingers.

  A completely physical reaction that was totally expected, she told herself as she drew a deep breath and tried to calm her pounding heart. Houston Jericho had rocked her world last night, so it was only natural that she would get excited with him so near.

  She expected the surge of need that went through her as she turned to face him. What she didn’t expect was the strange rush of warmth she felt when he loaded his arms with several potted flowers and started inside.

  A feeling that quickly faded into a rush of panic.

  “What are you doing?” She started after him, following him inside.

  “Carting flowers.”

  “But I’ve got someone to do that.”

  “He’s at the cash register helping a customer.”
/>   “Then I’ll do it myself.”

  “You can’t do it. You’re checking things in.”

  “I’ll do it after I check things in.”

  “No sense in wasting time. I’m here, so I might as well do it.”

  “But you can’t.”

  “Sure I can.” He set the flowerpots off to the side of the back storeroom and started outside. “They’re not heavy.”

  “But they’re my responsibility. They’re my job.”

  “Not right now.” He planted a kiss on her lips as he passed her and her heart did a double thump.

  “You kissed me,” she said accusingly, following him into the storeroom.

  “Yeah?”

  “You kissed me. Just now. Here.”

  “And?”

  “This is not sex.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This.” She motioned to the flowers and the nursery. “This. Carting flowers isn’t on the list. We’re supposed to follow the list. It’s supposed to be strictly sex.” She shook her head and stomped off toward the front of the nursery.

  He caught her a few steps shy of the counter.

  “Wait,” he said in a low tone. “I’m not trying to piss you off or blow this image you’ve built for yourself. I just thought I would stop by and see if you needed a hand. It’s the least I can do seeing as how I’m the reason you’re swamped. I’m sorry about the delivery situation.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” She faced him and suddenly the anger and frustration she’d been feeling faded into a surge of warmth. She frowned. “It isn’t the least you can do. The least you can do is give me a ride for this afternoon’s delivery.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll be back at closing time.”

  STRICTLY SEX.

  Sarah’s words followed him out to Hank Brister’s a half hour later. He needed to climb onto old Nellie and focus on something other than the attractive redhead who’d dominated his thoughts all morning.

  She was right. Their relationship was strictly sex. Hot and heavy, fast and furious sex, but sex nonetheless.

  He knew that.

  So why the hell had it bothered him to hear her say it?