Playing the Playboy Read online

  She smiled again, and he reached over to help as she aligned herself above him and then sank down.

  She felt hot and tight and almost unbearably good as he eased slowly into the clasp of her body. He heard himself release a low groan, and one of his hands clenched in the soft flesh of her hip.

  She arched and let her head fall back, her eyes closing as she moaned too.

  His pelvis gave a little, involuntary thrust. For just a moment, he was afraid he might lose it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so uncontrolled in bed. Couldn’t remember the last time a woman had felt so good.

  “So good,” she breathed, as if she’d read his mind.

  He gave a grunt of affirmation.

  She reached down and stroked his chest, her hands sliding against his skin, the texture of his muscles, the sprinkling of hair. Then, before he’d fully reined in his control, she started to ride him.

  “Fuck,” he said, jerking his head to the side so he wouldn’t see her moving above him. The throbbing at his pelvis was almost painful, and he experienced a flare of panic that he wasn’t going to hold back his release. “Laurel, Laurel, fuck.”

  She made a little whimper, as if in response, and didn’t stop moving.

  He bit his bottom lip and started to calculate in his mind the amount of money it would cost to renovate this inn. He went over the construction costs, the necessary repairs, new furnishings for most of the rooms, possibly an expanded pool. It worked. In just a minute he exhaled in relief, the desperate edge of need back under control.

  He opened his eyes and gazed up at her, gripping her hips in both hands. She was moving rhythmically, her full breasts and tight nipples swaying in a tantalizing way. Her hair curtained her face, and she watched him with an intense heat.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah.” He smiled up at her, pleasure taking over the desperation he’d felt before.

  ‘You’re not going to come yet, are you?”

  He laughed, which might have been a mistake. He felt another flash of urgent need and gave a few little bucks up into her before he could control it. “Probably not.” After sucking in another breath, he added. “I’m usually very impressive.”

  She laughed too—soft and husky. “Believe me. I’m very impressed.” Then something in her expression changed. She leaned forward, bracing herself on his shoulders, and her rhythmic motion above him became faster, more demanding.

  His fingers tightened against her hips as the sensations heightened. She was gasping above him, riding him with shameless abandon.

  He slid his hands down to her slim, strong thighs, which were working urgently. He rocked his pelvis up to meet her motion and couldn’t hold back a groan when the sensations kept building.

  She’d been mostly quiet, but she now started to gasp out wordless sounds. He thought she might have come, but she didn’t stop. He didn’t know if she was on the verge of coming again or if she hadn’t come the first time, but her motion and urgency intensified. He’d never seen anything like her—so wild and beautiful and passionate and eager.

  She gazed down at him the whole time, as if she might swallow him whole, as if she couldn’t get enough.

  He raised his hands to her breasts, and only then realized he was grunting low in his throat. He was dying to let go but it all felt so good he couldn’t bear for it to end—agonizingly stretched between need and release.

  She froze, arched backward, her mouth opened in a wordless cry of pleasure. Then she finally collapsed on top of him, gasping and exhausted.

  “Fuck,” he gritted out, his vision whiting out briefly as her change in position did something dangerous to his arousal. “You’re going to kill me for sure.”

  She lolled limply on his chest, her mouth against his jaw, but she laughed. “I like to be on top. And I’ve got to say, you weren’t lying about being impressive. I don’t know if I’ve ever come so hard before.”

  She was looking him in the eyes now, and he was sure she meant the words sincerely.

  For some reason, it roused something inside him that had only been lurking before.

  Without warning, he got a good grip on her body and flipped them over in a practiced move. She squealed in surprise at their suddenly altered positions, but didn’t resist.

  When he’d settled between her thighs, her expression changed. The laughter faded, and her eyes were wide and strangely uncertain.

  “Is this all right?” he asked, briefly worried she wouldn’t like it, even though it was a traditional position.

  “Of course.” She smiled again and twined her arms around his neck. “You can have a turn on top too.”

  Something had changed, though. Not in a bad way. The mood just felt more intense. He started to thrust, slowly at first, making sure she was comfortable.

  She moaned and arched her neck, her eyes falling closed for a moment. Then she wrapped her long legs around his waist, causing him to sink into her more deeply.

  He gasped at how incredible she felt. And gasped again as he gave another thrust.

  She opened her eyes to meet his, and the last thread of his control snapped.

  He started rhythmically, pushing into her with hard, short thrusts, driving toward what he knew they both needed. Then he couldn’t stop. Her fingers clawed lines into his shoulders, his back, his ass, and his motion grew fast and almost clumsy. They were rocking the bed, and she was crying out louder and louder as her body prepared for another climax.

  He was vaguely aware that he was grunting like an animal, like something primal, like something not quite him.

  “Andrew!” she gasped at last, writhing eagerly beneath him and her channel clamping down around him so tightly with her orgasm he let out a helpless sound.

  He came hard, releasing a wordless exclamation as a deep wave of pleasure overwhelmed him. He couldn’t move when it finally passed. Just collapsed on top of her.

  She was just as limp and breathless as he was, and she kept breathing, “Oh, God,” in a hoarse, almost surprised voice.

  At least he knew he wasn’t the only one who’d been blown away by this.

  He wasn’t sure how long it was—since his mind was a hot, replete blur—but eventually she shifted beneath him. “Andrew.” Her voice sounded different now. “The condom.”

  He groaned at the idea of having to move, but he pulled himself up from the bed and took care of the condom.

  When he turned back, Laurel was stretched out on the white mattress in a debauched sprawl, her hair messy and her naked body relaxed. She smiled up at him drowsily.

  He smiled back. He got back in the bed and pulled her against him. He didn’t consider himself a cuddly person, but it always felt rude to leave a woman immediately after he screwed her—so he’d rarely done so.

  He didn’t even want to leave this time.

  “That,” she said, curling up at his side, “was incredible.”

  “No argument here.” He stroked her dark hair, relieved she’d enjoyed it as much as he had.

  He couldn’t remember enjoying anything more.

  He’d never met anyone like her. He couldn’t quite figure out what she was thinking, but he really wanted to find out.

  ***

  Laurel woke up groggy, disoriented, and sore.

  She lifted her head and realized the big, warm, hard thing beside her was a man’s body. Andrew’s body. Either she or he had pulled the sheet up over them sometime during the night. It was early morning now.

  They’d slept together in the outdoor bed on the pool deck all night.

  Andrew was still asleep. His body was completely relaxed, one arm hooked above his head and his chest rising and falling slowly with his breathing. His brown hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions. He had a day’s worth of beard darkening his jaw. He also had ridiculously thick eyelashes.

  She stared down at him, feeling a weird clench in her belly.

  Last night was the best sex of her life. No doubt abo
ut that.

  But it had been a mistake.

  Very carefully, Laurel climbed over Andrew’s body and got off the bed, taking care not to jar the mattress or wake him up.

  She tiptoed over to pull on her cover-up and then farther over to where her bikini had been tossed on the far side of the chaise. Picking it up, and then grabbing the small wastebasket so she could get rid of the condom, she left the pool deck and went down to let out and feed the dogs, emptying the trash on the way.

  As she watched the dogs snoot around their yard and gobble up their food, Laurel breathed in the cool morning air and tried to feel normal.

  She didn’t feel normal. She felt deeply unsettled. Her stomach was heavy, and she was uncomfortably conscious of a slight soreness between her legs.

  She told herself sex didn’t have to be a big deal—which was something she genuinely believed. But she still felt weird and disconnected. For some reason, she was bothered by the idea of Andrew still sleeping upstairs with his relaxed body and handsome, unshaven face.

  In an attempt to pull herself together, she went to take a shower. She dressed quickly in capris and a t-shirt, and she twisted her hair up with a clip so she wouldn’t have to dry it.

  Agatha and Hector wouldn’t be up for another half-hour—the sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. She normally enjoyed the quiet of the early mornings, but it troubled her today. So, after she got coffee, she went to turn on her computer.

  Over the last twenty-four hours, several emails had come in from former guests, one telling her how much they’d loved staying at the inn a few months ago, a few asking if they could make reservations later in the season, and a couple wondering why she was currently closed for reservations and when she would be open again.

  A number of people came as guests year after year, and they were surprised and unhappy about not being able to stay at the inn this year.

  Laurel was unhappy too. The emails reminded her of everything she stood to lose, everything the Damons were trying to take away from her.

  Sex with Andrew had been great, and he seemed like a pretty good guy, but neither of those truths was most important.

  Nothing had really changed, despite how strange she felt this morning. Andrew was still a Damon, and the Damons wanted her out of this inn.

  Deciding she needed more ammunition to give herself proper perspective, she pulled up an internet search engine and typed in Andrew’s name. One of the first entries was the site she wanted.

  She’d found it a few weeks ago when she was trying to prepare for the Damon ambush and doing as much research as she could on the family.

  It was a rather creepy kind of fansite for Andrew Damon. The webmistress collected and linked every article and reference to Andrew posted online. Laurel scanned through the most recent links. Most were to gossip sites, reporting Andrew’s romantic conquests.

  He didn’t appear to indulge in one-night stands very often. Rather, he was more like a serial-dater, going out with one woman for several weeks before he moved on and found someone else.

  Laurel could see exactly how it might happen. Even knowing his history as commitment-phobe, there was something about Andrew’s way with a woman that made her feel like she was the most beautiful, special woman in the world. There was something warm and intimate in his eyes, in his expression, in his touch that could easily fool a woman into believing he was serious, that he could really fall for her in a way he hadn’t with all those other women.

  If Laurel were less experienced and cynical, she might believe such a thing herself after last night.

  He wasn’t an arrogant, selfish asshole who used women without thought for their feelings. He’d been too considerate for her to believe that. He’d gone out of his way to please her.

  But he’d never really had to commit to anything in his life, and he wasn’t likely to start now.

  It was just his way.

  The internet search helped. Reminded her of who she was, who he was, and what she needed to do.

  She felt more like herself when she went down to the kitchen and found Agatha pushing out bread dough on the counter.

  “What’s the matter?” Laurel asked, when her friendly greeting was answered with a wordless grunt.

  “Bad sunrise,” Agatha said, nodding out the window where the sun was rising behind the clouds in weird streaks of gray and purple.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Bad times coming. He needs to leave.”

  Laurel sighed. “I know.”

  She was worried as she picked up a basket and went out to the kitchen garden to pick tomatoes.

  The dogs came out with her, and they jumped up eagerly a few minutes later when they saw Andrew approaching.

  He must have stopped by his room to throw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, but he clearly hadn’t showered or shaved.

  Laurel felt her heart pounding as he knelt down to greet the dogs, grinning and talking to them as if they could understand him.

  She wished he had showered. His hair was still messy, and he looked too rumpled, too relaxed—his big, lean body inexplicably irresistible in the domestic context.

  She tried to focus on picking the cherry tomatoes, taking much more time than necessary to choose the ripest ones and delicately pull them from the vine.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying to sound casual as she felt him approaching.

  “You’ve got to learn to sleep in,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Being so industrious so early in the morning is just wrong.”

  She wanted to laugh at the dry tone, but she felt too stiff, too uncomfortable.

  Then it was worse. He came over until he was directly behind her and wrapped his arms around her, gently pulling her back against him.

  His body was wonderfully warm, and his arms were strong and masculine. He smelled the way he had last night, and it did dangerous things to her senses.

  But he was still a threat to everything she loved.

  “Good morning,” he said in a thick, intimate tone, leaning his head down to mouth the side of her neck.

  Her breath hitched in involuntary pleasure, but she managed not to lean back against his chest.

  With great willpower, she even tilted her head away from his mouth.

  He grew still for just a moment, and she could almost feel him scrutinizing her response. “Uh oh. That can’t be good.”

  She swallowed and gently pulled out of the circle of his arms, turning around to face him. Why couldn’t he act like a playboy was supposed to act and slip away the next morning with as little fuss as possible? “I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It felt pretty good last night.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was as casual as he sounded, and she didn’t like that she couldn’t read him very well. He’d seemed fairly simple and straightforward before—a spoiled womanizer who was used to getting whatever he wanted.

  He didn’t seem as simple anymore.

  “It was good. Obviously. But, with the way things are, I don’t think we should do it again.”

  “I think we can manage to keep the sex separate from business. I thought that was our understanding.”

  “It was. But I’m not comfortable with it. It wasn’t like this could last very long anyway.”

  “Right,” Andrew said with a half-smile, as if he were vaguely amused by her earnest explanation. “It’s too bad. I think we could have a few really good days.”

  “Yeah.” At least he wasn’t angry or insulting. If he could think and talk about sex as casually as that, then more power to him. And if it bothered her that she obviously had responded more strongly to their time together than he had, then that was silly and shouldn’t be indulged.

  She liked to think she could just take or leave sex in the same way he did, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  And she wasn’t going to risk her future and everything she loved for another round of sex with Andrew, no matter how good it would be.
/>   Chapter Five

  Andrew wasn’t used to women saying no to him, and he didn’t like it at all.

  Laurel asked if he wanted breakfast, in what was an obvious attempt to return their interaction to non-personal ground. He accepted, since he was hungry and didn’t want her to think he was offended about her rejecting his advances.

  He wasn’t offended. He was frustrated and a little annoyed.

  Sex with Laurel was the best sex he’d had in recent memory, and it seemed ridiculous not to enjoy it for as long as they could. He’d never been much on pressuring women, however—he’d never been in the position to need to, but it wasn’t really his nature. So he resigned himself to no more sex and managed to be friendly and natural as he chatted with her over yogurt and freshly baked bread with honey.

  The sight of her reminded him of how it had felt to touch her last night, how it had felt when she’d touched him. He really wanted to do it again.

  After he’d taken a shower and gotten dressed, he put the thought out of his mind. He had to take care of the situation with this inn, and the quicker it was resolved the better. So he called his uncle and explained the idea he’d had yesterday and the plan he’d put together to carry it out.

  “I don’t know,” Damon said, after Andrew had made a clear and convincing case. “We’re not in the habit of rewarding people who try to cheat us.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s not intentionally trying to cheat us. She believes the inn belongs to her and that Grayson gave it to her legally and fairly.”

  “Even so.”

  “She’s invested a lot in this inn—her time, work, and money. I’m not at all comfortable leaving her with nothing to show for it when what happened wasn’t her fault. It doesn’t feel honorable.” He added the last sentence because he knew his uncle well, and that was what would sway him the most.

  “You’re sure you’re reading this woman correctly? I imagine she’s an attractive woman, and I can understand if you—”

  “I’m not a teenager. I’m not letting my hormones think for me. I’ve done all the research and investigation, and this is the best course of action. I know how to read people. I’ve always been better at it than Harrison. She believes the inn is legally hers, and everything she’s done has been based on that. She’s not playing an angle here. She’s a victim as much as we are.”