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“It’s like a fairytale,” she murmured.
“I upgraded.”
“And they just happened to have the biggest suite available when you checked in?”
“Cade has the largest,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow. “Room,” he added. “Cade booked the largest suite. And I thought what the hell? I still own a portion of the family cattle ranch and it’s been doing well, so why not?”
Oh yes, someone lied about needing to share a room that first night in middle of nowhere California.
Or maybe Cade had clued Jack in on Natalie’s shoestring budget. But she didn’t want pity from Jack.
He bent down and plucked the chocolate body paint from the bag.
Or chocolate covered orgasms. She didn’t want those either.
Now who’s the liar?
He kept his gaze on her as he unscrewed the top and tossed it to the floor. “I have a story for you, and this one comes with a happy ending.”
He dipped his fingers into the paint.
Take charge!
Her brain fired the command, but her limbs refused to move. She glanced at the bed. She had a plan, dammit. And it did not involve a four-poster frame fit for a queen.
“Once upon a time, there was a warrior princess,” he began, “who challenged a prince to a chocolate-covered orgasm duel.”
She laughed and shook her head. “A duel with a man,” she corrected. He might be the Prince Charming of the Navy SEALs, but in here, with her, he was just Jack. If she lost sight of that…heaven help her, he might win. “A man destined to lose the duel.”
“Take off your shirt, princess.”
The deep rumble of his voice seemingly bypassed her common sense, speaking directly to her hands. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her T-shirt. And then he smiled at her. A sweet, playful, and—dammit—reassuring grin.
Oh God, this time I might hand over my panties.
She pulled her T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She squared her shoulders and faced him wearing only her bikini top and jean shorts.
“Place your hands behind your head,” he ordered as he dipped his finger into the chocolate. He reached forward and painted a line over the swell of her breast, careful to avoid her suit. His touch sent a shiver down her spine.
“Jack,” she said, her voice soft and needy.
He looked her straight in the eyes. “Yes?”
“I want to touch you.”
“Believe me, I want that, too.” He drew a line over her other breast. The chocolate felt warm on her skin. And the anticipation—waiting for him to lick it off—left her body aching to be painted, touched, and tasted.
“But right now,” he continued, “I need you to place your hands behind your head.”
She curled her fingers against her palms, forming tight fists at her sides. “I can’t. If I let you win—”
“Natalie.” His tone was gentle but still sparked with desire. “This isn’t about the bet. We won’t touch the bed. This is just me wanting you. Like crazy. For so damn long.”
She swallowed, then murmured, “How long?”
“From the first time you told me to sit down, shut up, and drink my beer.” He dipped his hand into the chocolate again. Slowly, he connected the lines on her breasts, allowing his finger to dip into her cleavage.
“Would it work now?” she asked. “If I told you to sit down, shut up, and let me paint you?”
