Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement / Tempted Into the Tycoon's Trap: Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement

“Are you telling me the playboy image isn’t real?”

“I create my image, then do what I want,” he said.

“You didn’t really answer my question,” she told him.

“I told you the name of my first crush. We didn’t break up until she moved away, freshman year in high school.”

“Wow, that’s longevity.”

“What about you?”

“I was shy, too tall. It took me a while.”

“You had to grow into those legs,” he said, his gaze sliding over her denim-clad figure.

“Tucker Martin,” she said with a sigh. “He had dimples and blue eyes. He was smart and funny.”

“How long did that last?”

“Oh, it never got off the ground. He didn’t notice me,” she said.

He gave a bark of laughter. “Poor sap. Bet he’s kicking himself down the street these days.” He placed his cards on the table. “Full house, again.”

She mentally swore. “You’re impossible.”

“I work at it,” he said. “You owe me another favor.”

She sighed and glanced at the monitor again. The horse had settled down. “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” she said quoting Scarlett O’Hara. “Time for me to go to bed.” She rose and he did too, standing mere inches from her. “Thanks for the amusement.”

“My pleasure. You need to give me one of my favors now,” he said.

A warning instinct flashed through her. “Why?”

“It’s something I need to know for the interview,” he said, moving closer to her.

She should step away from him, but for just a moment, his closeness felt good. “What?”

He lowered his head closer and closer, taking her breath with each corresponding invasion of her space. “I need to know how you taste.”

He gave her three agonizing seconds to protest or refuse, three seconds to turn back or pull away. But Gwen did none of those sensible things, because she wanted to know how he tasted, too.

Five

“You’ve already kissed me,” she said against his lips, distracted by the texture of his mouth, the sensation of his chest beneath her palm.

“That didn’t count,” he muttered.

Her mind scrambled like electrical circuits gone haywire as he rubbed his mouth over hers. Her body instantly heated and she craved more. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this way before. Had she ever?

“You taste like honey,” he said in a low voice and slid his tongue over her lips.

Instinctively opening for him, she moved closer so that her breasts pressed against his hard chest. She couldn’t withhold a soft moan.

He slid his powerful thigh between hers, and she felt a shocking spike of need. Distantly, she felt him move her against the wall. It was cool against her back, but he was so warm, so strong, so male. And somehow she knew he could take care of her sexually, maybe in every way. Was that possible?

Her emotions ran from one end of the spectrum to the other. Should she stop? Should she go further?

Luc slid his hand underneath her sweater and wrapped his hand around her waist. The sensation of his hand on her bare skin sent her equilibrium in to a tailspin.

She slipped her hands up to his head, giving in to the urge to plunge her fingers through his hair. His groan was gratifying, and he brushed his hard masculinity against her. Sucking his tongue deeper into her mouth, she savored his taste, savored the sensation of him.

Luc slid one of his hands down to her bottom, guiding her against his hardness while he skimmed his other hand up her rib cage to just below her breasts.

She held her breath, dying for his touch. Her nipples strained against her bra. She fought the forbidden urge to pull off her sweater and feel her naked breasts against his bare chest. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

She felt his hand slide to her back and felt the catch of her bra release. One. Two. Three seconds later, she felt his palm cupping her breast.

Gwen sighed against his mouth.

His thumb brushed her nipple and she gasped.

“You feel so good. So good,” he said, French kissing her again.

He rocked inside the cradle of her thighs, sending a shower of sensations firing through her bloodstream. She was shocked by the carnal need he drew out of her. Images of their bodies, naked and hot, writhing together, singed her mind. She could taste his wanting, his need.

His hand slid underneath her jeans and panties, grasping her naked bottom at the same time she felt him caressing her breast.

“Oh, my—” He broke off and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

His heat pumped up her heat. She gave in to the urge to slide her hands beneath his sweater and feel his smooth, sleek skin.

“You make me so hot,” he said against her mouth and swore. “I haven’t gotten this worked up since I was a teenager.”

She rippled against him, desperately seeking more.

He slid one of his hands between them. Seconds passed and he guided her hand down to touch him intimately. He was large and hard. She stroked him, driven by his desire, by her desire to please him.

His breath caught, and she loved that he was just as affected as she was.

“Are you sure you want this?”

His voice whispered over her like a warm California breeze. Did she want this? Should she? How crazy was this?

“Too fast,” she said breathlessly when a drop of rational thinking trickled into her brain. She pushed away from him and shook her head. “Too crazy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “No apologies, ” he said, and she was compelled to look at him. She felt the searing connection with him again, and fought it, again.

“We’ll be lovers,” he said with a confidence that should have sounded arrogant but instead was just rock-hard certain. “It’s just a matter of time.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over her cheek. “Sweet dreams, Gwen,” he said and walked away.