Hot In Here. Susan Lyons

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ to her hair.

      Asian women tended to have great hair, but Jenny knew hers was, hands down, the best. That’s why she never colored or messed with it, just let it do its own thing. Which was to grow almost to her waist and gleam and shimmer whenever she moved her head.

      She stowed her camera in her rose-colored backpack as she summoned her inner seductress.

      Scott frowned down at the woman who was trying to ruin his evening. He’d been damned sure the Scandinavian type with the white-blond hair and those luscious boobs busting out of her top was ready and willing to rumble.

      And now some pint-size chick who’d caught his bow tie wanted to interview him? Where the hell did she get off?

      Funny thing was, she was about half his size yet didn’t look the slightest bit intimidated. She was standing there, cute and cocky as all get out, hands planted at her waist. Not his type. He went for tall, curvy blondes. Still, there was something about her.

      He gazed down and began a lazy inventory. Her feet made him grin. Had to be about a size three, toenails painted pink, sandals decorated with all sorts of glittery stuff. Shapely feet, though, attached to pretty ankles and damn fine legs that were on display to midthigh, where they disappeared beneath a denim skirt about the size of a handkerchief.

      What was she wearing under that skirt?

      Why would he care? She wasn’t even his type.

      Except, his cock was swelling. It had stirred a little through his teasing exchange with Scandinavia and her pals, but now it was definitely awake and interested.

      Even more so as his gaze hit the band of smooth flesh between the low-slung skirt and the cut-off pink top. God, she had gorgeous skin. And—oh, fuck, he was dead meat—her navel sported a sparkly pink gem.

      His fascinated gaze moved up over delicate curves, more of that incredible skin, the bow tie that made her look like a miniature Playboy bunny.

      Fuckable. Definitely fuckable. At least that’s what his cock was telling him.

      When his gaze reached her face, he encountered a raised eyebrow.

      “Interview?” she said.

      Interview? The word took a moment to sink in. Right. She wasn’t a bunny, she was a journalist.

      “Jenny Yuen?” she said. “Georgia Straight?”

      The other women who’d rushed backstage had made it clear they wanted to tease and flirt and probably go home with him. This one wanted to put him on the cover of the community paper, which would be embarrassing as hell.

      But it was this one he wanted.

      Her lips twitched and then she let her head drop and a waterfall of shiny black hair swung forward over one shoulder. In slow-mo. It shimmered under the artificial light, fanned out in the air, then gently settled, to drape one breast. Time stopped.

      Then she flicked her head sideways and back, and the hair, a mesmerizing curtain, fanned out again and slowly slipped back into place.

      Who’d ever known hair could be so sexy?

      Scott realized he was panting, his heart was racing, he wanted to bury his hands, his face, his cock in all that incredible hair.

      “Yes?” she said.

      “Fuck, yeah.”

      Her brown eyes widened and he realized what he’d said. “Sorry. I mean, yeah, I’ll do the interview.” Anything to spend more time with her.

      “But, Scott…” The whine came from Scandinavia, the one he’d planned to take home to practice a little international body language, but now he couldn’t spare her a glance. China had won out, hands down.

      “See ya around,” he said.

      With nasty looks and mutters, she and her friends stalked away, leaving him with Jenny Yuen.

      “Hi,” he said. “I’m Scott Jackman.”

      Her eyebrow tilted again. “I know that, Mr. February.”

      “Oh. Yeah.” God, he was coming off like a goofball.

      He was trying to figure out something witty to say, when a battering ram hit his shoulder, catching him off balance. He heard the words, “Hey, way to go, pisser!” as he lurched forward into Jenny.

      He wrapped her in a bear hug, desperately fighting to regain his balance. He’d crush the girl if he fell on her.

      A meaty hand grabbed his shoulder, steadying him, but he didn’t let go of Jenny. She was so small, her bones so delicate. Yet she didn’t feel fragile. He had a sense of strength, vitality, like there was a force inside her that was way bigger than the body that housed it.

      She felt damned good, with her face buried against his chest, that long, silky hair cascading over his bare arms.

      Oh, crap, he was sweating all over her. She’d think he was a pig.

      “Softy, you gonna stop manhandling the girl?” It was the lieutenant, Bulldog Spievak, and damn him, he had to use that stupid nickname.

      Reluctantly Scott released Jenny, who took a small step back. He was wondering if he should introduce her to the lieutenant and was waiting for another crude comment, when Jenny spoke.

      “Softy?” she asked, raising both eyebrows this time. She glanced down, below his belt.

      Crap. She thought he couldn’t get it up. “I’m a probationer at the fire hall,” he said grimly, “so they had to give me a shitty nickname. Remember that old tissue ad, Scotty’s little softy?”

      Her lips curved. “Softens the…blow,” she said, her voice husky. Somehow the words the guys had used to rib him now took on a sexy connotation.

      Blow. Blow job. That pretty mouth wrapped around him, her soft hair every which way on his belly.

      She moved forward and stretched up as tall as she could reach, hands gripping his shoulders for balance, breasts grazing him. Her eyes flashed with something smokin’ hot that said sex to him.

      He wanted to grab her, throw her to the ground, rip off her clothes. Instead he leaned down to catch her whisper as she said, “Definitely not soft now.”

      Jesus, he had a boner, and it was growing. And her nipples were hard buds pressing into him—saying sex, too, in an unmistakable way.

      “Lieutenant?” He sent a pleading look in the direction of the guy whose stubbornness had given him his nickname. Hoping he’d for once cut him a break.

      “Guys were gonna buy you a beer.” Spievak was laughing as he turned away. “Prob’ly the last time you’ll get that offer, but then I guess you got yourself a better one anyhow, pisser.”

      Jenny, still hanging on to Scott’s shoulders, gave a quick grin. Then, as the lieutenant stomped off, she eased away and took a step back. “Pisser?” she asked. “Another nickname?”

      “It’s СКАЧАТЬ