Bedded for His Pleasure: Bedded by a Bad Boy / In the Gardener's Bed / The Return of the Rebel

CHAPTER FOUR

THE next day dawned bright and clear, the sluggish heat kept at bay by a cool breeze off the Atlantic.

Jessie got up with Emmy, made a quick breakfast of cereal and toast for them both, and then handed her over to Linc and Ali. From the flushed look on her sister’s face after the lie-in Jessie had promised the couple, it looked as if they hadn’t been doing much sleeping.

Jessie ignored the stab of envy as she went upstairs to have her shower. Her sister had a fabulous marriage to a fabulous man. When Jessie had been a bridesmaid at their wedding, she’d known that theirs was the ideal marriage—full of passion but grounded in a deep, abiding love. It was the sort of marriage Jessie wanted for herself.

So far, though, things hadn’t quite worked out that way.

It had taken her two long years and one broken engagement to realise Toby was about as far from her ideal mate as it was possible to get. She had thought he loved her, when the only person he really loved was himself.

She’d tried so hard to persuade herself that Toby was ‘the one.’When he’d asked her to marry him, she’d been swept up in the romance of the moment. But the minute she’d said yes, a little voice in her head had started telling her to run like mad in the opposite direction. She’d been naïve and immature; she could see that now. The huge sense of relief when they had finally gone their separate ways had made Jessie determined never to make that mistake again. However glad she’d been to see the back of Toby, the relationship had left her with the depressing thought that she might never find what Ali had.

Heck, at twenty-six she’d never had halfway decent sex, let alone great sex. When Toby had accused her of being frigid, she’d had to accept that he might well be right. He’d never once stirred the passion in her that Linc so obviously stirred in Ali. She hadn’t so much as kissed a guy since she’d hurled Toby’s engagement ring at him six long months ago. Worse than that, she hadn’t even wanted to.

Determined not to let the creeping sense of despair take hold, Jessie wrapped the towel around her and walked to the closet. After careful consideration, she picked out a chic but simple shift dress with large sunflowers on it. She needed to look hip and stylish if she was going to persuade the art gallery to take her on as a Saturday assistant. Cranford might be a small seaside town, but it was no backwater. A tourist Mecca for the Hamptons’ super-rich and aspirational summer residents, the gallery and its clientele would be as sophisticated as any you’d find in Uptown Manhattan.

Jessie had promised Ali that she’d help out with Emmy until the family went back to London in September. But she hoped to get a Saturday job to earn some much-needed money in the meantime. Linc had insisted on paying all her expenses to get her over here, but Jessie didn’t want him giving her spending money as well. He’d already tried to give her a credit card, which she’d flatly refused, but in the end she’d persuaded him to help her get a temporary working visa. Also, a job in an art gallery was just up her street. She loved art, and, while she’d accepted she didn’t have the talent to be an artist herself, she had always hoped to whittle out a career in the art world. She’d spent six long months drifting since the breakup with Toby. It was time to get her life back on track. Ali handled her life calmly and competently, Jessie thought. If she wanted what Ali had, she needed to start doing the same.

At that thought, the memory of Monroe Latimer watching her in the dining room the night before, his pure blue eyes alight with amusement, blasted into her brain and wouldn’t get out again. Jessie frowned. He might have the goods in the looks department, but luckily for her she was not a shallow person. It hadn’t taken her long to see he was a long way short of her ideal mate in every other department. Flirtatious, arrogant and dangerously attractive, he could make any woman lose sight of what was really important. And for Jessie that was the long haul, not the quick flash-fire of sexual attraction.

Remembering Monroe’s parting comment about the proper bike attire with not a little irritation, Jessie slipped into the dress and then pulled on a pair of jeans. She’d just have to take them off when she got to town. After dabbing on some lipstick, Jessie slipped a pair of yellow slingback sandals into her bag and tugged on her sneakers. She tied her hair into a ruthless ponytail and checked herself in the room’s full-length cheval mirror.

Yep, she looked preposterous.

At least her daft get-up should stop Monroe staring at her in that disconcerting way. She wasn’t looking forward to riding on his bike. Despite all his shortcomings, she had the uncomfortable feeling that being pressed up against that muscular back for the ten-mile ride into town might stir feelings she didn’t want stirred. Quite why she was more sexually aware of him than she had ever been of any other man didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Damn it!’ Monroe pulled his hand out from under the car’s hood and watched the blood seep out of the shallow scrape.

‘Did you hurt yourself?’

Turning at the voice, Monroe watched Jessie walk across the garage towards him. She should have looked ridiculous with denim on under the floating, flowery dress, but she didn’t. She looked chic and summery. His eyes dipped to her cleavage, demurely displayed above the dress’s scoop neck. Sucking the blood from his knuckle, he took in every detail.

‘I certainly hope it’s not fatal?’ The sharp note in her voice suggested she hoped exactly the opposite. He grinned as his gaze lifted back up to her face.

Pulling a bandanna out of his back pocket, he leaned against the car’s hood. ‘You know, Red,’ he said as he wrapped the cloth round his hand, ‘that figure of yours would look great in just about anything.’And even better out of anything, Monroe thought, enjoying the way her eyes narrowed in irritation.

Trying to ignore the way her pulse was racing, Jessie fingered her bag strap and glared at him. ‘While your fashion advice is certainly invaluable, I can see you’re busy. Maybe I should come back later.’ Or not at all, she added silently, already feeling unpleasantly flustered.

‘No need.’ He pushed up from the car’s hood. ‘I’ll go clean up and then we can head out.’ He walked towards her, forcing her to tilt her head back. ‘It’d be a shame not to, Red. Now that you’re all dolled up.’

She watched him mount the steps to his apartment. He made it sound as if she’d dressed up especially for him. The conceited jerk.

Monroe took less than ten minutes, but Jessie was just about to walk off, her heart rate still hitching uncomfortably, when he reappeared. He had a fresh white T-shirt on, the same worn jeans, a small plaster on his hand and a motorbike helmet slung over his arm.

‘This is for you.’ He handed her the helmet. ‘The bike’s out front.’ As she turned to walk ahead of him she felt his palm on the small of her back. The minimal contact made her jump.

‘Easy, Red.’ He lifted his hand. ‘Just being polite.’

Jessie didn’t think so, from the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, but didn’t trust herself to speak. When they reached the bike, she fumbled for a moment trying to put her helmet on, before he lifted it out of her hands.

He did a circular motion with his finger. ‘Turn around.’

She did as he asked, grabbing her hair when he deftly removed the band holding it in a ponytail. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded as his fingers combed through her hair.

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘It’ll be more comfortable like that, with the helmet on.’

He rewarded her scowl with another heart-thumping smile as he placed the helmet on her head and fastened the strap. The light brush of his fingers seemed to burn the soft skin under her chin. This was going to be a nightmare. She hadn’t even got on the bike yet and already she felt as if she were about to explode.

Unhooking his own helmet from the handlebar, he put it on and then climbed onto the enormous machine. ‘Hop on, Red.’

It took several attempts before she managed to clamber up behind him. She had to push her feet hard on the footrests and grasp the back of the seat to stop from sliding against him. She was grateful for the jeans now, because her dress had ridden right up to her waist.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, feeling like an idiot.

Instead of starting the machine, he took his hands off the handlebars, pulled off his helmet and turned round. ‘You ever ride a motorcycle before, Red?’

‘Well, no, not exactly.’ She didn’t like that smug look in his eyes.

‘First rule, hold on tight.’

‘I am holding on tight.’ Her knuckles ached, she was gripping the seat so hard.

He shook his head. ‘Not onto the bike, sweetheart—onto me.’

‘Why can’t I just hold onto the bike?’ She could hear the whine in her voice, but couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to hold onto him.

‘Because when we hit a curve, you’re going to have to lean with me.’ His lips quirked. What was so amusing? ‘Wouldn’t want you falling off.’

He was talking to her as if she were an imbecile. ‘Fine. I’ll hold onto you.’

He grinned, the dimples winking in his cheeks, before he turned and put his helmet back on. To her utter shock, he reached behind, put two large hands on her thighs and dragged her towards him. Before she could blink, she was snuggled against him, her legs spread wide to accommodate his denim-clad butt.

‘Now, put your arms round my waist.’

She didn’t want to, but what choice did she have? She wrapped her arms round him, tried to ignore the feel of his hard, flat stomach beneath her palms. His back felt firm and warm against the thin silk of her dress. He pushed back to kick the bike into life. The powerful vibrations of the machine rumbled up through her thighs, making Jessie painfully aware of all the places where their bodies touched. The very core of her started to throb. How humiliating. His shoulder shifted as he gripped the clutch and her nipples hardened. Worried that he might be able to feel them, she wriggled back, but his hand simply came round again and pulled her back.

‘Stay put, Red, and hold on.’

As soon as he shouted the words at her, the big black machine started to roar up the small hill. Although it was probably only going ten miles per hour up the drive, Jessie tightened her grip on him, grateful for the solid, sure feel of him in front of her. As the breeze caught the ends of her hair beneath the helmet she pressed into his back.

By the time they hit the main coastal road, Jessie couldn’t have cared less if she were naked behind him. The exhilarating feeling of speed and freedom as the scenery whizzed by around them and the wind whipping at her arms and face was fantastic. She loved roller-coaster rides but this was better. Every time they leaned into a bend, her stomach leapt up into her throat and she gripped onto his waist even tighter. He felt wonderful, warm and strong and unyielding. She could smell the clean scent of his cotton T-shirt and the subtle hint of soap and motor oil. The hard, sculpted muscles of his butt rubbed against her centre every time he moved his foot on the gears and her nipples were so hard now she was sure they were boring a hole in his back.

Despite the intimacy, the devastating effect he was having on her physically, she sighed when they drove into the main thoroughfare of town, disappointed that the ride was over so quickly. He slowed the bike down to a gentle purr as he drove through the wide, tree-lined main street of the picturesque seaside town, finally pulling to a stop in front of the grocery store.

Jessie took a moment before peeling herself off him and leaning back. He tugged off his helmet, and a huge grin split his face as he turned round. ‘What did you think?’

‘It’s fantastic!’ Her voice was muffled by the helmet but giddy with pleasure.

‘You liked it, huh?’

She nodded, grinning back at him. As she tried to undo the helmet strap with shaking fingers, he brushed her hands aside and did the job for her, lifting it off her head. ‘You’re a real biker chick now, Red.’

The feel of her lush body wrapped around him had made Monroe’s jeans uncomfortably tight, but he couldn’t help smiling at the look of pure pleasure on her face. Seeing a small mark on her forehead, he rubbed it softly with his thumb. ‘Looks like you could do with a better helmet, though.’

‘Don’t worry about that. It felt wonderful. Everything felt wonderful. It was so exciting. No wonder you’ve spent all those years riding around on your motorbike.’

There was no censure in her words, none of the disdain that she had shown him last night, only joy and enthusiasm. With her emerald eyes sparkling, her hair curling wildly and the pink glow of pleasure flushing her cheeks, she looked gorgeous.

He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.

Stunned by the sudden reckless urge, Monroe swung back round and concentrated on attaching the helmet to the handlebars.

‘You better climb down first,’ he muttered.

Jessie stared at his back as she hopped off the Harley. What had happened? One minute he’d been smiling at her, enjoying the moment with her, and then, all of a sudden, he’d as good as dismissed her.

She adjusted her bag as he lifted his leg over the bike.

‘Thanks for the ride. It was…’She babbled to a halt, seeing the intensity in his eyes as he turned to her. She wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue and his gaze shot down to her mouth. ‘It was really fun.’ The words came out on a feeble whisper. What was going on here? Why was he staring at her mouth like that? She felt light-headed and she didn’t know why.

‘You’re welcome, Red.’The nickname sounded anything but casual. ‘See that diner?’He nodded across the street. ‘I’ll hang out there when I’m finished till you’re ready to head back.’

The instant thrill at the thought of being back on the bike with him was followed by uncertainty. Maybe she’d enjoyed the ride too much.

‘I might be a while.’

‘Take all the time you need. I’m in no hurry.’

As Jessie walked away from him she was sure she could feel his eyes following her all the way down the street.

After an hour of trying to sell herself to Mrs Belinda Bennett, the proprietor of the Cranford Art Gallery, Jessie was frazzled. She’d chewed off most of her lipstick during the interview, but the hard sell had been worth it. Mrs Bennett had agreed to give her the job of Saturday sales assistant on a trial basis.

Feeling worn out but enthusiastic, Jessie forgot to feel nervous as she wandered into the small coffee house Monroe had indicated. She spotted him immediately, lounging in a booth opposite the door. He looked relaxed and gorgeous with a few sacks of shopping on the seat opposite.

‘Hi.’ She waved. ‘I hope you haven’t been here long.’

He slid out of the booth as she walked up to it. ‘Not long. I was about to order pancakes.’ His gaze took a leisurely journey down to her feet, now encased in the flattering yellow slingbacks, and then came back up again. Jessie’s nerves came back full force when he smiled. ‘It looks even better without the denim,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ Her voice quivered annoyingly as she slipped into the booth.

‘Move over,’ he said.

She’d expected him to lift up the bags opposite and sit there, but instead he pushed onto the bench seat beside her, nudging her with his hips. When he leant back and put his long, muscled forearm on the seat behind her, she realised she was totally boxed in.

‘So how did it go—you get the job?’

‘Yes, I start on Saturday.’

‘Hey, way to go.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘How about we order pancakes and coffee to celebrate?’

‘That would be lovely, thanks.’

He seemed genuinely pleased for her, so she tried not to notice the way his long, firm thigh was touching her leg. The thin silk of her dress did nothing to protect her against the warm pressure.

As he ordered two short stacks with coffee for them, Jessie noticed the way the teenage waitress blushed profusely. Did he have that potent effect on every woman he met?

‘Looks like you’ve been busy, too.’ She nodded at his purchases, spotting the logo of the town’s expensive art supply shop. ‘What did you get at Melville’s?’

‘Sketching charcoal, a couple of brushes, stuff like that.’

‘Do you paint, then?’

‘Sure, a little.’

‘Really? That’s wonderful. Are you any good?’

He took his arm away from behind her, looked away. ‘I don’t know and I don’t really give a damn.’

The statement was abrupt and rude, and so out of keeping with his usual easygoing manner, Jessie felt instantly contrite. Somehow she’d insulted him.

‘I’m sorry.’ She touched his arm. ‘I only asked because I love art and I’m absolutely useless at it myself.’