Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(21)

She nodded, unable to catch her breath. “Yes. Please.”

Even though James hadn’t lived in the house in ages, there was still something illicit about unzipping his jeans and fisting his erection, giving it a slow pump as she exposed him completely. His hips rolled in time with her strokes, mimicking sex. Only with James, it wasn’t mere sex, it was giving in to compressed need. His teeth were bared, the veins in his biceps growing more prominent. A man that could break her and didn’t mind making that clear.

Lita dropped to her knees, wrists crossed at the small of her back. She couldn’t say what intuition drove her to that position, only that it was what James would like. What she would like. His arousal was delicious fruit inches from her mouth and she couldn’t stop staring, wanting to taste him, pleasure him.

Before Lita could lean forward and take his flesh between her starving lips, James threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting back her head. “Ah, Lita.” His fingers tightened around the strands. “I would kill a man for doing the things I want to do to you.”

“Hello? Anyone up there?”

Lita waded through the cresting surf of desire to pinpoint where a third voice had come from. Downstairs. A woman. Realtor. “Ohhh.”

“Goddammit.” Pain clear in his features, James hauled Lita to her feet, holding her steady as she swayed. “You look at me…you smile, and I forget everything.”

Oh. Oh wow. “Really?”

Gaze narrowing, he paused in the crucial act of stowing his still-erect manhood back inside his jeans. “Yeah. Really.”

“I wish I could be sorry,” she said, more than a little breathless. “So…after you meet with the cockblock downstairs, can we go back to the motel?”

He zipped his jeans with a wince. “Later. We have work to do first.”

“Work?”

On the way out of the room, James threw a wink over his shoulder. “I hope you’re ready to get dirty.”

“I don’t think we’re on the same dirty page,” she called after him, unable to banish her smile. Playful James? She could get used to that.





Chapter Seven



This was getting out of hand.

Twenty yards away, Lita was bent forward on hands and knees, digging with a hand shovel in the dirt. It was a good goddamn thing he’d sent the rest of their landscaping crew to another section of the property to work, because anyone seeing that hot, young backside swaying in the air but him? Not. Happening. The men had already shown way too much interest upon arrival, asking for pictures and autographs when recognition dawned.

James had a lot of experience steeling himself against the urge to scoop Lita up and carry her away when men spoke to her on the road, their familiarity with her persona making them way too chummy. So he’d gritted his teeth and gotten through ten minutes of listening to Lita charm the crew out of their f*cking minds before sending them far away as possible.

They worked outside a newly built commercial space surrounded by a wooded area. He was supposed to be uprooting a rotted tree stump, but nothing could keep his eyes off the little white strands of frayed denim ticking the underside of her ass cheeks. Every time she exerted pressure on the ground with her hands, her back arched, allowing his gaze to follow the denim seam where it ran down the middle of her *. Every so often she would sit back on her heels and stretch, tightening the tank top’s material across her tits, lifting it to expose her stomach.

His hard cock was lodged between the waistband of his jeans and his abdomen. His balls ached with the need to empty. Visions of Lita on her knees like a sacrifice wouldn’t leave him alone.

So why was James enjoying himself so much?

Maybe because they were…talking. Not the usual way they spoke to one another, taunts and warnings issued like cannon blasts. This was different. His secrets were out on the table now. And damn if her plan to replace their first night together with something better—something he could be proud of—hadn’t worked. The guilt that typically sat in cactus form inside his chest was less spiked today. The compulsion to apologize every time they locked eyes had eased. While he still had major reservations about dragging her into the dark fog inhabiting his brain, spending time with her was an aphrodisiac. He craved having her close. Watching her expressions change. Listening to her unique logic.

God, she was something.

“So you were on the water polo team.” She sent him a sly look. “I bet you were beating the chicks off with a stick.”

He wiped the sweat off his upper lip. “You think I’m going to answer that?”

She went back to digging with a half smile on her mouth. That. Fucking. Mouth. “Did you have a nickname?” Wanting to hear what she would inevitably come up with, James stayed quiet. “I bet they called you the Torpedo in a Speedo.”

James laughed under his breath. “Nothing as good as Lita Bandita.”

“I’m still mad that didn’t stick,” she said, throwing down her shovel. “You cause one little panic...”

“You fired blanks during a show and started a stampede for the exits.”

“And you cleaned it up for me.” She shifted on her knees. “You always cleaned it up. I should have said thank you more.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wiped his dirt-streaked palms down the thighs of his jeans. Jesus, he couldn’t handle her acting sweet. If she’d been in reaching distance at that moment, she would have been on her back. “Old News is going back into the studio in a month,” James prompted, cursing himself for bringing up a sore subject. As it stood, he wouldn’t be in the studio with them.