CHAPTER TWO

Dinner was everything her taste buds expected an outrageously expensive fine dining experience to be. And it was an indisputable fact that dessert—particularly crème brulee—was put on this earth with the sole purpose of making it easier to live with the knowledge that she was the worst friend and possibly the shadiest liar in existence.

Rubbing her belly with a groan, Jane stood along with her tablemates and hooked her purse’s strap over her shoulder. With Trig leading the way, their small entourage journeyed out to the parking lot together. Marissa clicked the lock release on her Subaru before turning to receive a farewell kiss from Trig.

Feeling like a lame third wheel, Jane reached for the passenger door handle. Still locked. Marissa hadn’t clicked the remote enough times, evidently.

Great. Now she’d have to stand here like a total creeper while her brother and best friend sucked face for an hour. She swiveled her focus sideways and noticed Jack standing nearby. What the hell was he still doing here? Getting his jollies watching the lovebirds tongue frisk each other?

Cheese Louise, she was a cranky ass tonight. She’d have to take off the edge later via B.O.B. while thinking about her imaginary porn star boyfriend with the giant cock. Better than her usual MO—pretending her vibrator was the infuriatingly delicious man currently standing across from her.

She didn’t deliberately choose Jack as a mental stand-in for her fantasies. If anything, she went out of her way to shove him out of her head. But his smirking face inevitably insinuated itself inside her twisted brain precisely the moment her vibe shot her over the edge. She’d lost count of the number of screaming Os B.O.B. and Fantasy Jack gave her. Probably best not to keep track.

Marissa reluctantly broke away from Trig. “See you after you get done with the gig tonight.” Her cheeks pinked when she spied Jane standing there like a dummy. “Isn’t the door unlocked?”

“Afraid not,” Jane intoned dryly.

Marissa fumbled with her keys as Jack took a step toward them. He paused next to Marissa and squeezed her shoulder. “How about I drop Jane off?”

She wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the suggestion—her or Marissa. Her best friend managed to find her voice first. “Uh...”

Jack cracked one of his patented smiles guaranteed to charm the panties off any woman with a functioning pulse. “It’ll give us a chance to discuss options for your couples shower.”

Jane glared at Jack. Who the hell said anything about a couples shower? “Wait a second, buster. If you think I’m going to forego a raunchy bachelorette party complete with oiled strippers in leopard-print thongs, you clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Err, in case you forgot, I already have a stripper.” Marissa sent Trig a sheepish glance before blowing him a kiss.

Jane tossed up her arms. “Like the party is for you, crazy woman.”

Jack grunted. “No one’s depriving you of your stripper bonanza. I fully intend to throw a bachelor party for Trig. But a separate couples shindig is a good way to include the non-singles.”

Ugh. That sounded about as appealing as a fun evening of Chinese water torture. Not to mention the time constraints. It’d be tough enough hustling together one party on such short notice, let alone two. She opened her mouth, an argument primed and ready, but the excitement on Marissa’s face instantly killed that idea.

If her best friend wanted a couples party, by God, she’d get one. Even if it was the most boring event in existence. Even if it meant having to endure Jack’s presence for however long it took to cook up the damn thing. It was the least she could do to make up for being a shady heifer. She buried a sigh deep down in her soul. At least she assumed that was the dark tattered thing hanging on to her by a thread. “Where’s your car?”

Positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that Marissa and Trig were watching them with the lingering uncertainty of ever seeing them alive after tonight, Jane trailed Jack to a silver Maserati parked further down the lot. The asshole always did have exceptional taste in cars. “I see you’ve upgraded from your Lexus.”

“This baby was sitting in the showroom calling my name. I didn’t stand a chance of walking away without the keys.” He gallantly held the passenger door open for her. She took a moment to inspect the luxurious ride. The vehicle was a perfect representation of its owner—sleek, gorgeous, and ridiculously skilled at handling curves. Not that she’d frequently been on the receiving end of that last part. But the way he kissed? He definitely knew his way around a woman’s erogenous zones.

Not about to dwell on Jack Brewster’s kisses while trapped in a confined space with him, she sank into her seat and tugged on a scowl in tandem with securing her seatbelt. He climbed behind the wheel, his overwhelming presence immediately ambushing her senses. This close to him, his body heat and the warm, woodsy tang of his cologne were inescapable forces of destruction.

Again with the destruction. But that’s exactly what he was doing to her. Little by little storming her defenses and burrowing deeper into her awareness of him. Already she could feel the tingling in her clit. The tightening of her nipples. The dryness of her mouth—a direct contrast to the state of her panties. All of them lovely, undesired side effects of the Jack Brewster Sex Appeal Syndrome.

“You and I both damn well know there’s no porn star.”

Shocked out of her reverie as much by the sound of his voice as the accusation he’d lobbed at her, she jerked her gaze to his. “What?”

“That whole crock of shit was strictly for my benefit.”

She should win Willpower of the Year award for not clocking him on the spot. “Wow. Don’t you have an overblown opinion of yourself?”

He shrugged, the motion drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. She immediately averted her stare before she did something embarrassing—like peel back his jacket and shirt so she could bite his nipple.

“This has nothing to do with my ego and everything to do with saving you some future humiliation when you show up at that wedding sans Mr. Boogie Nights.”

It was a miracle her teeth weren’t ground to dust with the amount of gnashing going on. She pointed her index finger and jabbed it into his chest. “Listen, Jackass, I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, but my vagina didn’t shrivel up and die when you decided to take a hike. Plenty of men can’t fucking get enough of me.” Once upon a time, it was true. Therefore not a total fabrication. “Your loss, their gain.”

“I don’t doubt you have a whole harem of eager men at your disposal. Still doesn’t change the fact that your porn star doesn’t exist. Come clean now and save yourself from that embarrassment later, for shit’s sake.”

He was giving her an out. A chance at redemption and to avoid possible humiliation, like he’d said. Would she take it?

Fuck no. After all, why reach for that lifeline when she could stubbornly dig herself in deeper until she was in way over her head in a mucky quicksand pit of lies and deception? Cheese Louise, I’m one warped, pathetic motherfucker. “I’m really going to enjoy making you eat your words.”

“Jane—”

She slashed a hand upward, imperiously cutting him off. “Don’t even talk to me.”

Grumbling a curse, he revved the engine and backed out of the parking spot. A moment later they were speeding for the expressway. He mumbled something under his breath as he took the On-ramp. She veered her attention to him. “What did you say?”

For a second she didn’t think he’d answer. He surprised her by shaking his head. “I tried to convince myself I’d exaggerated the memory of exactly how exasperating you are. That no one could possibly be that...”

“Exasperating?”

“Yes. There’s not even a fitting word for the full scope of your exasperating-ness.”

While most women would have been insulted with his viewpoint, a devil sat on her shoulder, giggling maniacally over the news that he’d indulged in a fleeting thought about her. Several, if she read him correctly. Granted, the thoughts apparently weren’t exactly on the flattering side...

Hell, even that didn’t bother her. Better to be remembered than forgotten. Besides, she was well aware she wasn’t the easiest person to deal with at times. Likely it could be attributed to her hippie mom instilling within her the conviction to always be herself—even if that meant Jane ended up scaring people off now and then. Oh well. If they couldn’t accept her, annoying quirks and all, fuck ‘em. Went double for Jackass.

Partaking in a little silent grouching of her own, she covertly peeked in his direction. His focus remained pinned to the road, awarding her the opportunity to look her fill of him. The darkened interior of the Maserati left his profile in shadow, adding to the air of mystique he wore as effortlessly as his Armani suit.

In a million years she’d never crack the mystery of Jack. And this stupid infatuation she had with him? Pissed her right the fuck off. He’d kicked her to the curb with less consideration than he probably put into taking out his trash. She should be focusing on that sad, pathetic reality. Not staring at the hint of scruff darkening his strong jaw and wondering how it’d feel against the inside of her thighs.

A decadent shiver skipped through her.

“Cold?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Unanticipated as the question was, her response had more to do with his whiskey-smooth baritone adding several additional degrees of steamy heat to the already humid air. Damn. She’d almost forgotten how his voice held the potential to make her come on the spot. He could make a bundle in the phone sex industry.

She snuffed a snort. For all she knew, that’s precisely how he made his living. Because he’d sure as hell never been forthcoming with the details.

That was putting it lightly. It’d be easier getting classified intel out of a CIA operative. The most she’d finagled from Jack was an off-hand remark about making the majority of his money in the stock market. His vaguebooking hadn’t banished her suspicions that he was hiding something from her, so she’d resorted to snooping. Hell, a gal was forced to stoop to whatever means necessary when a man refused to give up the simplest deets.

She hadn’t found any clues to what he did for a living. But she’d uncovered something else. The biggest shocker of them all. Jack was a dad. She’d taken one look at the wallet-sized snapshot of the mini-me female version of him and known with soul-crushing certainty that he’d had no intention of telling her about his little girl. At least not in the foreseeable future.

Which meant he hadn’t seen a future for them. Even back then she’d known it. Like a fool, she’d chosen to anesthetize herself with denial as long as humanly possible. He could have spared himself the trouble of sending her the breakup text a week after she’d unearthed the picture of his daughter. The writing had already been on the wall, in garish neon.

She was a goddamn pro at putting on a tough, ballsy persona. Not all of it was an act. She was a tough bitch when she needed to be, but her heart wasn’t made of steel, no matter how hard she tried to fool everyone otherwise. She hadn’t taken the breakup with Jack well. At all. Yeah, her friends were well aware of the Crazy Jane turnout there. What they didn’t know about? The endless nights she’d cried herself to sleep, one miserable thought cycling like a taunting reel through her mind...

Why couldn’t he feel the same connection she did?

She wouldn’t go so far as to call it love. If that’s what love felt like, she wanted no fucking part of it. But she’d liked him. Really, really liked him. For the first time in her life, she’d actually considered putting some effort into keeping a man around for more than the twenty minutes or so it took to get an orgasm.

And look where that got her. Dumped, with dozens of worn out B.O.Bs to spoon her on cold, lonely nights.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

She sucked in a shuddery breath before recalling she wasn’t alone. Shoulders stiff, she shot a look toward Jack to see if he’d caught the incriminating sound. Judging from the tensed set of his features—yes.

“Jane...”

Time to derail this incoming awkward exchange train. “How is Sunny?”

Forehead furrowing, Jack tossed her a blank stare. You’ve really thrown a guy for a loop when he apparently can’t remember the name of his own daughter. He blinked, breaking his brief spell of befuddlement. “She’s good.”

“That’s great. So was there any particular reason you never wanted me to meet her?”

Jack’s eyebrows snapped into a low V. “Why would you think that? For Christ’s sake, you’ve met her.”

“Seven months ago, long after we broke up. And purely by chance, I might add.” She and Trig had decided to visit Canterbury Village. They’d bumped into Jack and Sunny at the carousel. Strangely enough, the timing pretty much coincided with the mysterious disappearance of her mojo. Much as she longed to feed herself the lie that the two were in no way linked, she wasn’t that good of a bullshitter.

“I wasn’t keeping Sunny from you.”

“No? You didn’t exactly tell me about her, either, did you?”

“I don’t make a habit of introducing my daughter to the women I date.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, now you’ll at least acknowledge we were dating.”

He plowed a hand through his impeccably groomed ink-black hair, leaving it a disheveled mess. The tousled look only made the shithead look hotter. The unfairness of life sucked major balls sometimes. “I never said we weren’t.”

“Huh. Guess that part about let’s stay friends is a memory I’m picking up from an alternate dimension. Damn, I hate when that happens.”

He scowled. “My saying we should stay friends in no way negated the fact that we were indeed dating.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Stay implies we were a friends with benefits situation—entirely different category than dating. I’ll also point out that the benefits in our situation were certainly limited. I can totally understand how you’d be confused by the whole thing,” she tacked on in the most patronizing tone she could conjure.

“Jesus.” He released one hand from the steering wheel and tweaked the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to need a stiff one when I get home.”

“Me too. Good thing I have Mr. Boogie Nights on speed dial.” She tossed in a syrupy smile for extra obnoxiousness.

His eyes narrowing, Jack dropped his hand. “Prove it. Call him right now.”

“I would but my battery died.”

Those devastating lips of his curled up at one corner. “Always have an excuse ready, don’t you?”

“It’s not an excuse.” She fetched her cell from the confines of her purse and held the device toward him, toggling the Power button several times to confirm the phone was indeed dead. Rarely paid off being lazy about charging the stupid thing. She’d bask in this moment.

Jack lifted his focus to her face, that smoky stare punching straight through the shambles of her equilibrium. There was no way he intended his gaze to be seductive, but when a man was born with bedroom eyes any look winged a woman’s way immediately prompted visions of entwined, naked and sweaty bodies. “You’re a terrible liar, Jane. The sooner you give up this charade with the nonexistence porn star the simpler your life will be.”

Ha. Like she knew the first thing about being simple. Not happening. If she had to, she’d track down the closest porn star and pay him to attend this damn wedding with her. Didn’t even have to be a star, per se.  He could be a damn fluffer for all it mattered. Face it, out of everyone she knew, she was the only one who racked up enough time on porn sites to recognize anyone in the industry.

In fact, he didn’t necessarily have to be in porn. Just someone with enough sexual finesse and confidence to be able to pull off the ruse. Someone like...

Marissa’s gigolo. Yes! Only not Marissa’s gigolo. Though Jane waved her freak flag high and proud...eww. Yeah, no Flowers In the Attic reenactments for her.  All she needed to do was track down the info for that escort service her brother used to work for. She couldn’t pry the details out of Trig or Marissa without raising their suspicions, which meant she’d have to do the footwork solo. No biggie. Wasn’t like she had to use the same company, even. The first one she dug up would suffice.

Hot damn, this could work. Reining in her triumphant grin proved a herculean effort. Somehow she managed to pull that off and not cackle like a maniacal evil plotter for the remainder of the ride to her condo.

Jack pulled into the covered carport. Leaving the engine idling, he shifted to face her, his arm resting casually on the leather-topped console between them.

“Is this the part where you try to get in my pants?” Like there was a chance in hell of that happening. He’d made it perfectly clear that her vag was the pussy equivalent of a Bermuda Triangle he had no intention of getting lost in.

“And risk getting my ass kicked by Mr. Boogie Nights?” His expression suggested he wasn’t sweating bullets over the prospect.

“Eh. He’s hinted at us having a threesome.” She cocked her head to the side. “I understand if you’d rather bow out. You know, due to performance anxiety.”

“Don’t think I could hold my own with a porn star?”

“He is hung like a horse.”

Jack’s smirk reappeared. “Not worried. Truth be told, I suspect your boy toy porn star would be the one feeling inadequate.”

Good grief. How big was the cocky sonofabitch? And damn him for hiding that bad boy from her all that time. “Size isn’t everything. A man who knows how to use his equipment scores higher points with me.”

“Wise woman. Does he make you come by kissing and sucking the spot below your ear?” His dark gaze turned several degrees smokier as she gaped at him. “You thought I didn’t know.” His chuckle prompted a wicked tingle in her clit. “A woman only shudders and gasps like that when she’s climaxing or enjoying the hell out of dessert.”

“Maybe I was fantasizing about tiramisu.”

“Uh huh. You still haven’t answered my question.”

She knew a trap when she saw one. If she told him yes, it was as good as admitting he’d gotten her off with a mere kiss. More than a time or two. If she said no, it’d give him the perfect opening to assume her imaginary lover was inferior to him and a dud in the sack. Either way, she was screwed.

Well played you cagey bastard. “I don’t pay attention to these things.”

“You don’t pay attention to coming?”

She offered a non-committal shrug. “Sometimes it sneaks up on you and you don’t realize it.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“What? It’s totally possible.”

“Not with me. No way you weren’t aware you were coming when I kissed you. Maybe a little brain-fried from the rush, but not entirely comatose yet.”

“Seriously, I’m surprised you don’t need a bigger car to chauffeur that massive ego of yours around.”

“Not ego, sweetheart. Fact.”

Being called sweetheart by anyone other than her parents usually would have earned the endearment abuser a bop upside the head or a direct knee-jam to the balls. Not that Jack didn’t deserve one or both.

The sad, pathetic part? A disgustingly mushy sensation was currently homesteading her body.

This is why she always listened to her pussy over her heart when it came to men. Her vagina understood the importance of keeping things fun and uncomplicated. Her heart, on the other hand, could be a fucking mess at the most inconvenient moments. Like right now, when she was staring at Jack and trying to cling to every damn good reason she had for drowning the punch-drunk butterflies dive-bombing around in her belly. 

He stroked his fingertip across his bottom lip, killing her a bit more. “You know, there’s a simple way we could end this debate.”

“Yeah, you could admit you don’t have as much of an effect on me as your over-bloated ego would like you to believe.”

“Or I could prove you a liar.” Dropping his arm, he moved in closer. Her pulse drummed increasingly faster as his head descended toward hers.

There was no damn way he was going to kiss her. Not after what transpired between them. This was only a test. A tease to get her anticipating it before he pulled away at the last minute, leaving her high and dry. Again.

Well, not entirely dry, according to her panties. Sonofabitch.

She peered up at him, fully expecting him to halt his advance. He didn’t. Instead, he slid his hand to her nape and closed the scant space separating their mouths. The all too intoxicatingly familiar pressure of his lips triggered another shiver. She detected his smile. Resisting the urge to bite him, she growled against his mouth. “That was not an orgasm.”

“I know. But I can already tell you’re going to be a powder keg for me.”

She had a bad feeling he was right. It's been too long since she’d experienced this wild, crazy, toe-curling, roller coaster of intensity that both terrified and thrilled her.

What did it mean if a man could turn her inside out with only his kiss?

She was doomed. That’s fucking what. He probably did her a huge favor running away from her that night. If she’d slept with him, he’d be her drug of choice. And like an addict, she’d constantly be begging him for the next fix.

How damn embarrassing would that be? Unfortunately, her body was doing a bang-up job previewing what that existence would amount to. And it didn’t bode well for her leaving this car without proving herself a big fat liar.

Jack’s fingertips skated along her neck, tickling the fine hairs residing there, and she squirmed. His lips coaxed hers open with a breath-stealing, bold confidence that sealed her fate. Pitted against his effortless seduction, her last hope of exorcising him from her mind died a miserable death. A firing squad wouldn’t have annihilated her faster than Jack’s kisses.

His tongue flicked hers, a devilish tease before he upped the stakes by sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. He released her and dipped his head slightly. Oh shit. She knew what was coming next. Heh. There’s an ironic double entendre for ya.

He scraped his teeth along her jawline. Taking his sweet-ass time, he worked his way to her neck, easily locating the damnable spot that always did her in. Despite her desperate attempt at steeling herself for it, she jolted when he grazed her with his lips. His chuckle washed over her, infuriating and bone-meltingly sexy. Might explain why her body suddenly felt like it was made out of Jell-O.

Get your shit together. Are you really going to let him win this easily? Good grief. This had to be the saddest defeat in history.

Then again, was there really any loser when it came to orgasms? Huh. Talk about a moral dilemma.

Jack coasted slightly to the right, his beard scruff catching her skin with the movement. The friction sent shimmery darts of electricity through her. And that was just from contact with her neck. If his face was between her legs right now, the question wouldn’t be whether or not she’d be able to hold out from coming, but if she’d require shock paddles to revive her afterward.

Undoubtedly.

His free hand snuck upward and cupped her left boob through the triple layers of her blazer, blouse, and bra. Even with the encumbrance of her clothing hindering things, his massaging fingers drove her nuts. Her breasts might be small, but they were sensitive as hell. And he damn well knew it.

Although he’d technically never gotten naked with her, a couple of their make-out sessions ended up with her boobs exposed and happily helpless to the devious machinations of his wandering mouth. One time his hand even found its way inside her panties. It took exactly two caresses of his thumb over her clit before she’d shot off like a rocket. He hadn’t even gotten a finger in her, for shit’s sake.

He slipped the single button on her jacket loose and slid his hand past the lapel before resuming where he’d left off with tormenting her breast. She bit her lip when his thumb grazed the hardened nub of her nipple. Oh, this was such blatant cheating. The sneaky bastard knew it just as well as she did. As much as she wanted to call him out on it, the sensations zip-lining her nerve endings made it impossible to find her tongue.

Unfortunately, Jack had no problem remembering where he’d left his. He made good use of that fact by gliding his tongue over the erratic drum of her pulse before sucking her earlobe. Pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he rolled the distended tip with enough coaxing pressure to elicit a corresponding clench deep in her core. Her breath hitched in her throat—all the ammunition he needed.

Returning to the sensitized spot beneath her ear, he went in for the kill, short-circuiting her brain with a sucking kiss that instantly primed every cell in her body to detonate in three...

...Two...

...One...

Blast off.

A broken gasp punching its way past her lips, she bowed against him, a kaleidoscope of pleasure scrambling her brain. For an endless moment, she floated in a dazed fog of bliss. It wasn’t until Jack moved his head that she realized her fingers were tangled in his hair. Embarrassed, she slid them free, her limp hands brushing his broad shoulders. They stared at each other, their ragged breaths the only sound in the steamy vehicle. She searched his eyes for the expected spark of triumph. It was there but accompanied by a glimmer of...something. Unease? Regret?

It’s what the stupid bastard got for needing to be right. She was supposed to be the foolish, impetuous one here, always diving headfirst into murky waters without first checking the depth and whether or not a scary sea monster lurked beneath the surface. “Satisfied now?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth. The tension bracketing his lips didn’t ease. “Obviously you were.”

“I thought that was the whole point of your experiment. You should be gloating your ass off right now.” She unclicked her seatbelt and reached for her purse, praying he wouldn’t notice the shaking in her hands. “Fun as this has been, I’m afraid I have to call it a night.”

“Jane...”

Ignoring the twisting in her gut, she stalled, her fingers hovering above the door handle. “What?”

He remained silent for a long moment. “Nothing. I’ll watch to make sure you make it into your condo okay.”

Leave it to Jack to be a gentleman and an asshole. Shaking her head, she exited the vehicle and crossed the driveway. Once she’d reached the security of her front entry and didn’t have to worry about anyone witnessing her discomposure, she closed the door behind her and slumped against the slab of wood. She pressed her trembling fingers to her lips, the lingering phantom of his kiss a stubborn brand that refused to budge. 

She had to get him out of her system. Once and for all. Whatever it took.

Panic seeping in, she latched onto her earlier decision to hire an escort as her fake boy toy.

Fuck that shit, she’d take it a step further. She’d request the kinkiest sonofabitch the agency employed. Handcuffs, blindfolds, butt plugs. Bring it on, bad boy. Desperate times called for desperate measures. No pussying around with this. The level of debauchery she had in mind? Damn good thing she wasn’t Catholic, otherwise her priest would probably keel over dead in the confessional box.

The tension that’d seized her broke its hold. Its absence was like ditching fifty bazillion pounds in a nanosecond. Giving her maniacal cackle free rein, she pushed away from the door. Adios, Jack Brewster. You’re about to become a distant memory. For good.