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  So she responded with XXX. Three kisses that could be interpreted as X-rated.

  After all, why should she be the only one left squirming?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Wyatt didn't contact Ashlin for two days.

  Making her wait almost killed him.

  He worked remotely too, not daring to enter Burlesque Bombshells on the off chance he'd run into her. If he did he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

  There was a difference between patience and insanity, and he trod a fine line between the two. He wanted to build the anticipation for her, but in turn it drove him frigging nuts.

  He couldn't wait any longer.

  He would invite her over tonight. Time for this seduction to move on from feet and texting to…more.

  As he picked up his cell to text her, an incoming videoconference call on his PC lit up.

  Kurt.

  Not in the mood for his brother's usual brash crap, he hesitated. Then a memory of Steele's questions popped into his head and he did the right thing.

  He answered and Kurt's big head and wide shoulders filled the screen. "Hey bozo."

  "Hey putz." Kurt grinned like he didn't have a care in the world. That grin irked. "What are you doing?"

  "Work. You know, that thing I do for a living, rather than chase a pigskin around a park while trying to dodge a bunch of Neanderthals."

  "Still jealous of my athletic prowess, I see."

  Wyatt scowled. "Bite me."

  Kurt's grin faded. "How are the Aussies?"

  Ah, so that's what this call was about. Wyatt knew he should be glad Kurt showed an interest in their half-brothers. Then again, shouldn't he be calling them? Typical Kurt, ignoring him until he needed something. Using him, calling him to pave the way.

  So he decided to rub it in a little. "Zane's great. Moved in with Chantal. And Steele's a good guy. Dynamo businessman. We've been hanging out."

  He could've sworn Kurt paled a little beneath his year-round tan. "He's doing business while he's here?"

  Touchdown. Wyatt bit back a grin. "Nah. But he does marketing for all the big brands around the world. He's the best at what he does."

  Kurt mumbled, "Uh-huh," before his lips compressed into a thin line.

  Wyatt felt bad for baiting him, for all of two seconds before he remembered the countless times Kurt had taunted him.

  "I'm coming to Vegas in a few days and I want us all to hang out," Kurt blurted, sounding uncharacteristically anxious. "I'll throw a party. Less pressure that way."

  "Okay." He had to give Kurt some credit. The brother he'd grown up with didn't go out of his way very often, and the fact he wanted to spend time with his siblings was a big deal. "See you then."

  Kurt saluted, about to sign off, when Wyatt added, "Don't invite Christopher."

  Kurt instantly glanced away and Wyatt's heart sank. "Tell me he didn't set you up to do this as a way to meet Steele."

  "Fuck, no. What do you take me for?"

  "Daddy's golden boy," Wyatt said, with more than a hint of rancor. "Look, Steele remembers Christopher. He remembers a father who upped and left him to start another family, then didn’t contact him again. He's come all this way to meet us. Don't rub his nose in it."

  After a long pause, Kurt nodded. "I'll think about it."

  "You do that." Wyatt hit the end-call button before he said anything he'd regret. Such as telling Kurt what it felt like to be a son ignored by his father. To feel inadequate and never good enough. To feel an outcast in his own frigging family.

  Fuck, if Wyatt felt all those things and he'd had Christopher around, how much worse must it have been for Steele?

  Hopefully Kurt had got the message and Christopher wouldn't be at his party.

  For all their sakes.

  Ashlin didn't like hotels. She'd lived in enough of them while touring around Europe and the novelty had grown old fast. And she particularly hated room service. She'd spent too many nights eating in her hotel room because she had to keep up her strength, followed by crying jags that left her wishing she hadn't eaten a thing.

  Those days had been the pits personally, while professionally she'd gained a reputation as an innovative choreographer with the capability of producing unique, standout routines. She'd been revered in public. And filled with self-loathing in private.

  When she'd initially fled her home and ended up in trouble in London, she'd done what she had to do at the time. It had been her sole option. But Dougal hadn't seen it that way and she'd lost him too. She'd been an emotional wreck. But dance had saved her and it would ultimately save her now.

  The big competition had been moved forward to this Thursday, two days from now. She was ready. Had rehearsed with the girls a million times. Yet she couldn’t ignore the ever-present niggle at the back of her mind: what if she didn't win? What then? Would she continue to stagnate in Vegas, reluctant to take a chance on something new?

  Shaking off her thoughts, she fixed a smile on her face as Wyatt served dessert. Chocolate mousse. Signature room service fare.

  He faltered, the plate perched precariously on his palm. "You don't like mousse?"

  "I'm not a fan of room service," she said, wishing she didn't feel compelled to enunciate every honest thought around this guy.

  A puzzled frown creased his brow. "Why didn't you say something? We could've gone out to eat?"

  She took the plate, placed it on the coffee table and pressed a kiss to his palm. "Because I wouldn't have been able to do that in public."

  His eyes darkened to ebony. "If it's confession time, I have to admit I invited you here to say screw the plan and let me screw you."

  She smiled at his bluntness. "That phone sex was pretty intense, huh?"

  "Hell yeah." He sat next to her, temptingly close. "Think I'm torturing myself more than you."

  "I'm being tortured plenty." She fanned her face. "You make me incredibly hot."

  "Ditto." He sat next to her, their knees touching. "But I don't want to ruin this." He laid a hand on her thigh and she could've sworn her skin sizzled through the thin cotton dress she'd worn. "I'd planned on sending you steamy emails and handwritten notes and all sorts of smutty stuff."

  "And now?"

  "Now I just want you."

  His sincerity floored her.

  She'd never met anyone like him. Honest. Genuine. Not afraid to articulate exactly what he thought.

  She covered his hand with hers. "I'm willing to give this a try if you are."

  "I think you're amazing," he said, never breaking eye contact as he turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through hers. "And I'm honored you want to try this with me."

  Damned if tears didn't well up in her eyes and she blinked rapidly. "I'm the lucky one," she said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. "Thanks for being so patient with me."

  She heard him murmur, "You're worth the wait," as he stood and gently tugged her to her feet.

  They didn't speak as they walked hand in hand into the bedroom. When she caught sight of the bed, a little frisson of fear slithered through her. What if she disappointed him? And herself, yet again?

  She'd come so far. Was it worth dredging up the inevitable feelings of inadequacy?

  "We'll take this slow," he said, switching off the lights so the neon from The Strip many floors below bathed the room in a gentle glow.

  "Okay." She didn't move as he grabbed the hem of his polo shirt and peeled it overhead.

  Held her breath as he undid the button on his jeans and unzipped, pushed the denim down his legs and stepped out of them.

  Curled her fingers into her palms as he toyed with the elastic of his boxers.

  "Don't stop," she whispered, not wanting to break the spell that had enveloped her the moment he started to strip.

  With his skin dappled in colored light, his leanness accentuated by zero body fat, and enough muscles to make her fingers itch with wanting to explore, he was breathtaking.

  "All the way, huh?"
He eased the boxers down, and her breath caught.

  He was big. Thick. And jutting toward her with pride.

  "You're beautiful," she said, finally gaining the courage to move.

  If this guy could strip for her, she could do the same.

  But as she popped the first button on her skirt, she stilled. He'd see the scars. He'd know. And he'd judge her, like she judged herself every freaking day.

  "What's wrong?" He took a step toward her and she held up her hands. Yeah, like that would ward off the sight of that much perfection.

  "Can we do this my way for now?" Her hands dropped to her sides as she crossed the short space between them. "I want this to be about you tonight."

  A tiny frown creased his brow. "Do you want to stop?"

  "No." She knelt in front of him, heard his sharp intake of breath.

  "Babe, you don't have to—"

  "I want to." Glancing up at him, she said, "Please?"

  "Fuck," he muttered, looking more tortured by the minute. "As if I'm going to say no."

  She smiled and flicked her tongue out, grazing the tip of his penis.

  "Oh man…" He rested his hand lightly on her head. "But I want to please you."

  "This will please me." She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and squeezed lightly. "Besides, the more horny I get the better, right?"

  He managed a garbled response as she sucked him into her mouth. Swirled her tongue around him. Licked up one side of his shaft and down the other. Alternating speed. Faster. Slower. Her hand pumping him at the same time as she sucked.

  "Fuck, that feels good." His hand fisted her hair, tugging on her scalp, urging her on. She didn't need the encouragement. Blowing Wyatt made her throb with wanting him and to give him pleasure empowered her like nothing else.

  As she picked up tempo she cradled his balls with her free hand, tugging lightly, using her thumb to press just behind.

  He came on a load groan, his final frenetic thrusts making her jaw ache. She didn't care, as Wyatt withdrew and sank to the floor in front of her.

  He cradled her face, staring at her like she'd given him the greatest gift on earth. "That was incredible. Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Oddly shy with the way he kept staring at her, she wriggled back a little. "Do you mind if I leave?"

  Surprise flickered in his eyes as he opened his mouth to respond and she pressed a finger to his lips. "I've got the big competition in two days and I need to get some sleep."

  "You can sleep here," he said, gesturing at the bed. "I don't snore, if that's what you're worried about."

  "I'm more worried about being unable to resist you and being kept up all night." She cupped his cheek. "I know I keep blowing hot and cold. And I seriously wanted to go all the way with you tonight. But most of my problem? Up here." She tapped her head. "And I need to focus on us one hundred percent when we end up in bed, not have my mind wandering."

  He grimaced. "You think I'll be that bad?"

  "I think you'll be stupendous." She kissed him. "But I'm the one who's a screw up so I need my head in the game."

  His mouth downturned a little. "Don't take this the wrong way, but have you ever thought over-analyzing could be making it worse? That you need to stop thinking and start feeling?" He palmed her breast, tweaked her nipple through her top. "Too much assessing may be making you tense?"

  "You're probably right." Though it was so much more complicated than that. If only it was as simple as turning off her voice of reason and going with the flow. "But I need to leave."

  He hesitated, before nodding, his reluctance to let her go obvious. "Okay. I'll give you a few days to get your competition out of the way."

  He stood and helped her to her feet. "But after that, sweetheart? It's no holds barred."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  High on post-comp adrenalin, and the certainty she'd nailed it, Ashlin bounced into Burlesque Bombshells, eager to tell the girls how she'd done so she could catch up with Wyatt ASAP.

  He'd given her the space she'd asked for, with no contact bar a brief text this morning wishing her luck. But that hadn't stopped her thinking about him almost every second of every day. It hadn't been so bad when she'd been rehearsing her ass off but the last few nights, after she'd gone to bed early, he was all she could think about.

  She'd missed him. Missed him in a way that made her edgy and uncomfortable.

  She didn't need an emotional connection with the guy trying to get her rocks off, but that's exactly what had happened. Because she didn't miss Wyatt's flirting or physical attention. She missed him. The way he made her feel with his attentiveness. The way he said what he meant. The way he looked at her, like nothing she could say or do would disappoint him.

  How wrong he was.

  As she entered her office to drop off her bag, she spied a cascade of flowers on her desk.

  Not a bunch of flowers. No cliché roses. But an exquisite cream ceramic pot, covered in turquoise swirls, with an orchid plant in it. And not just any orchid. A four-foot high plant with pale pink orchids tumbling from stems.

  It must've cost a fortune, but that wasn't what had her heart sinking.

  A potted plant signaled permanency. Something she couldn't throw away, not like a bunch of flowers that withered and died within a week or two.

  And if there was one thing she didn't want in her life right now, it was to be stuck in anything resembling permanent.

  She reached for the card, knowing it had to be from Wyatt. A permanent kind of guy. His house in a small town pretty much proved that.

  Hell, was he becoming too invested in them? Did he want more?

  Nothing he'd said had indicated as much. Two weeks, casual dating, had been his stipulation. But Wyatt was a thinker. What if he'd been thinking too much about them?

  She slipped the card from the envelope and stared at the embossed words.

  CONGRATS ON NAILING THE COMPETITION.

  NOW STOP THINKING, TAKE TIME TO SMELL THE ORCHIDS, RELAX AND LET'S TAKE THE NEXT STEP.

  Her breath caught. The next step? Oh no, as she suspected, Wyatt wanted more than she was willing to give.

  The card slipped from her fingers and as she grabbed it, it flipped over. Revealing more words. That made her laugh out loud in relief.

  AND THAT NEXT STEP IS NAILING YOU.

  She laughed so hard her abdominals twanged. The card was so Wyatt. Serious tinged with humor. Thoughtful, yet blunt.

  And she wanted him more than ever.

  A knock sounded at the door and she yelled, "Come in."

  Expecting Chantal or Miranda, she slipped the card back into the envelope and tucked it into the base of the plant, glancing up when she heard the door close and the lock flick.

  "So did you?" Wyatt propped against the door, a quintessential hipster in tight denim, white T and caramel suede bomber jacket. "Nail the comp?"

  "I did." She couldn't keep the smug grin off her face.

  "Then I guess it's time to nail you." He advanced toward her, the determination in his greedy stare as he devoured her from top to bottom making her chest tighten.

  "Here?" It came out a squeak.

  "I can't wait any longer," he said, his hands spanning her waist. "Staying away from you these last two days have killed me and I'm done taking cold showers."

  Turned on by this new take-charge Wyatt, she tossed her hair back. "What happened to this being all about me? About making me wait?"

  "Fuck that." He hoisted her onto the desk. "I'm just as guilty as you of over-analyzing, so let's change the plan." He stepped between her legs. "Starting now."

  Before she could answer his mouth covered hers, hard and demanding. No more gentle coaxing. No teasing. Wyatt kissed her with the pent-up frustration of a guy who wanted her. Here and now.

  Their tongues tangled as he nudged her knees apart. He grabbed her butt and dragged it to the edge of the desk. Pressed her clit against his hardness.

  She moaned as he ground against her, his
tongue plunging into her mouth, mimicking what she wanted him to do to her.

  He tore his mouth from hers, his eyes wild as he unzipped her workout sweatshirt, almost tearing it in his haste to get it off her.

  She shrugged out of it, tossed it aside, her pulse skyrocketing as his mouth fixed on a nipple through the cotton of her sports bra. He bit gently and she arched toward him, wanting him to feast on her.

  As she made incoherent sounds, he lifted his head, staring at her in wonder, as if he couldn't believe his luck.

  She knew the feeling.

  His fingers snagged the bra straps. Dragged them down. Inch by torturous inch. Until her breasts spilled out.

  "Fuck me," he murmured, cupping them in his hands. "Beautiful pink…" His thumbs skimmed her nipples repeatedly until she squirmed.

  When his mouth enclosed one and laved it, she almost shot off the desk. He suckled, hard, sending shards of sensation shooting straight to her clit. Making her yearn in a way she'd never dreamed possible.

  "Wyatt, please…" She strained against him, needing him inside her. Now.

  "Soon," he said, transferring his attentions to her other nipple while his hand insinuated its way between their bodies.

  He pressed his thumb against her clit and she undulated a little, craving relief.

  "Oh God, yes," she said, a second before a pounding at the door made them jump.

  "Hey sweetie, open up. Tell me what happened at the comp."

  Ashlin grimaced and mouthed, "Miranda," as she contemplated ignoring her friend so she could be fucked on her desk.

  But as Wyatt looked at her with a raised eyebrow, Ashlin knew the opportunity had passed.

  She’d been lost in the moment, mindless with wanting Wyatt, but now that reality had intruded it would take her a while to get her head back in the game.

  She needed to be swept away by lust to stop over-analyzing her failures. And sadly, that wouldn’t happen in her office now with Miranda on the other side of the door.

  "Sorry." She slipped her bra straps up and shrugged into her workout top, zipping it up as she headed for the door. "Raincheck?"