Kiss And Makeup

She couldn’t care less about her mother’s disappointment, or her sister’s wedding, or her exile in Chicago.

She felt alive. And sexy. And desperate for more.

She ran her palms across his beautiful shoulders and down his back. When she reached the waistband of his pants, she let her fingers follow the material around to his stomach and traced the reverse path, up his ridged abdomen and hair-roughened chest.

“Oh, God,” he rasped, pulling away a little, but she rose up, catching his mouth as she ran a thumb across his nipple, delighting in the shudder that quaked through him at her touch. “Chloe, stop for a second.”

“Make me,” she growled playfully, nipping his bottom lip, loving the way his muscles jumped at her touch. He groaned. “Jesus, you feel so good.” He kissed her back, hot and frantic, before tearing his mouth away again.

“Chloe, are you sure about this?”

Ben was staring down at her, hair mussed, eyes dark, looking like the answer to all her sexual frustrations. “I need this, Ben.” She was desperate to experience more of the buzzing current running between them, to block out the shitty stuff and lose herself with this man.

She might as well have said abracadabra, her words had such a magical effect on him. That last little bit of concern that had lingered disappeared in a wolfish grin. “I meant are you sure about the bed,” he lied. “Because I’d be happy to move this over to the table if you want to be able to tell a better story at the stagette.”

“I already missed the stagette,” she responded, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “and the family brunch,” she kissed his neck, “the reception for out-of-town guests,” the hollow of his throat, “the rehearsal,” his collarbone, “the rehearsal dinner—”

“Oh, okay, now who’s being funny? This bed is a joke-free zone, Masterson. Your rule, not mine.”

“You’re right,” she conceded. She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “You’d better take off your clothes and get me on track again.”

His mouth hitched up at the corner in a devilish half smile. “Yeah, baby. I got your torrid right here,” he said, and her laughter betrayed her change of heart. Maybe funny did have its place in the bedroom after all.

Ben got to his feet and pulled his shirt the rest of the way off.

She’d never been into male strippers—way too cheesy for her taste—but watching Ben strip was a study in seduction. There was no teasing or coyness, just a man taking off his clothes.

And then, finally, he stood naked and aroused in front of her. All sinewy muscle and powerful limbs. And she wanted him. All of him.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice so low and raspy that she shivered.

Chloe pushed onto her knees, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. She peeled the material away slowly and air rushed against her skin, doing nothing to cool the heat that raged inside her.

Then there was nothing left between them but her underwear. She tucked her thumbs into the waistband, inching them down her thighs. It was one of the sexiest moments of her life, revealing herself to him this way, and his predatory stare raised goose bumps on her skin.

“You’re so beautiful.”

And she believed him in that moment because she felt beautiful. Powerful. Tonight she was daring and sexy, an erotic fantasy. With a grin that was pure siren, she slipped her panties off the rest of the way and tossed them to the floor. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, I’ve got a couple of ideas,” he promised with a wicked smile. He grabbed protection from somewhere inside his suitcase. Chloe kept her eyes on him as he ripped into the package. She was surprised by how sexy it was, watching him handle himself, roll the condom down the length of his shaft.

She’d never really paid much attention to this part of the process before. She was usually too far inside her own head—How did she look? How did he think she looked? How could she make her boobs seem bigger and her stomach seem flatter?—to pay much attention.

She was paying attention now.

He was big, deliciously so.

She was all damp heat and wanting. When she licked her lips, he practically pounced on her, pressing her back into the mattress. Then he shifted and his erection was between her legs and it was so perfect having him there, just where she wanted him.

When he started circling his hips, applying more pressure, Chloe nearly cried out. “Deeper,” she whispered, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “Please.”

He was inside her with a single thrust, a fast, hard invasion of her body that knocked the wind from her in the best possible way.

“I want you so much, Chloe,” he growled, proving it with every flex of his hips, until she was wild beneath him—panting, sweating, clinging.

Her body was on fire for him. She pulled her knees up, trying to get closer, and the slight change in position must’ve felt just as good to him as it did to her, because he swore and upped his pace. Her entire world had narrowed to the pressure building inside her.

Suddenly, he pushed himself up on one elbow, but before Chloe had a chance to mourn the loss of his chest against her breasts, he moved his hand between them and rubbed his thumb roughly against the most sensitive part of her, startling a cry from her throat. Her brain short-circuited as a sharp shock of white-hot heat rolled through her, swamping her with pleasure a moment before he joined her in nirvana.

4

BEN STEPPED FROM the jet bridge onto the plane, stifling a yawn. He was definitely feeling the lack of sleep. Not that he was complaining. The mere memory of Chloe writhing beneath him, his hands on her skin, her tongue in his mouth... Ben shifted with discomfort as his dick stirred at the erotic recollection.

What he planned to complain about when he saw Chloe again was the fact that he’d woken up alone this morning. But first he had to make it to his seat. He shuffled farther into the plane, waiting as the gentleman in front of him hoisted his suitcase into the overhead compartment.

Jesus, he could still smell her. It was an unfortunate by-product of an overactive imagination and this morning’s shower. He’d used what she’d left in the tiny bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo, and now the achingly familiar perfume of flowers lingered around him. Normally it would have made him nauseous, but thanks to the wrestling match on the bed last night, it was making him horny.

Ben pushed a hand through his Chloe-scented hair and continued to sidestep down the narrow aisle until he arrived at row G and the object of his lust-filled fantasies came into view.

She was wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a zombified Audrey Hepburn on it. Her lips were stained a deep shade of berry; her eyeliner was back with gothic vengeance. And if his cock had been mildly interested at the memory of her, the reality of Chloe had its full attention.

Her attention, though, was studiously focused on the in-flight magazine in her lap.

“Is this seat taken?”

She glanced up as he shoved his carry-on into the overhead bin. She might have sighed as he brushed past her to sit down, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Guess I should have thought this through a little better. I was trying for a dramatic and mysterious exit after a single night of passion.” She flipped a glossy page with her index finger.

“Yeah, assigned seating really messes with drama.”

She flipped another page. “Worst one-night-stand exit ever.”

“On the contrary. You were very quiet when you left—I didn’t wake up at all. Nothing was drawn on my face in permanent marker, and I still have my watch, my wallet and my credit cards,” Ben countered charitably. “As far as I’m concerned, this ranks very high on the scale.”

His joke earned him a withering glare.

“I meant that we’re stuck in forced proximity and tight confines, with no choice but to ignore each other awkwardly and try to keep our arms from touching until we can finally go our separate ways. Which reminds me, I’m claiming this now.” She laid her right arm on the armrest from elbow to wrist, completely covering it from view.

“Or...we could defy the expected and skip the awkward silence. Just keep on living life as though I didn’t ruin you for other men last night.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Look, Chloe. We’ve got about an hour of forced proximity left to go here. So what do you say we move on, start over?”

* * *

“STARTOVER?” she asked speculatively. Like I’m not completely and utterly mortified that I jumped you in the hotel room last night? “As in we do that lame handshake thing in all the girly movies and reintroduce ourselves?”

Ben laughed, and the rumbling sound put a dent in her defenses. “Yeah, that.”

With a shrug of acquiescence, Chloe held her hand out. “I’m Latoya.”

Ben smirked at her as they shook. “Julio.”

“Hmm. Sexy name. So tell me, Julio, what do you do for a living?”

She was expecting a smart-ass comment, like “romance novel cover model,” but instead she got: “What do you think I do?”

She arched her right eyebrow. “Honestly?”

He nodded.

“Sales.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Ad exec, maybe? That or hocking used cars.”

“Wow. Don’t take a second to think about it or anything.” Ben’s voice was light, jokey, but his forehead was a bit furrowed, and there was a gravitas to his next words. “How come?”

“Are you kidding me?”

His silence said he was not.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. The way you dress is part of it.” She eyed his attire.

“Lots of men wear suits. Newscasters. Athletes. Mob bosses. The alter-egos of superheroes.”

She remained unmoved. “Am I right?”

Ben shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny this line of questioning until you tell me what you do.”

“What do you think I do?” she mimicked.

He turned in his seat to look at her, really look at her, and Chloe squirmed a little under the inspection. She was this close to blushing. To counteract the uncomfortable feeling, she forced herself to square her shoulders and raise her chin a notch.

“Well, I’m gonna strike flight attendant and used car salesman from the list of possibilities, considering your obvious scorn for those professions.”

Chloe flashed him a tight smile. Ha, ha.

“Um, okay. You’re not a dentist. You’re not the vice president of anything.” His eyes darted to the zombie on her T-shirt. “And you’re not a kindergarten teacher.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I suddenly feel like this game is going to be less than flattering?”

“What do you mean, suddenly? Did you hear

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