But now that he’d witnessed her strutting down the stairs from her walk-up apartment in a skirt so short it might as well have been a belt, he was the one impacted to his core. He shifted in the driver’s seat, his jeans suddenly snug around his package.
Great first impression, Sharpe. Greet the woman you once screwed over with a raging hard-on. That’ll make her trust you again.
He glanced away, but not before he caught a naughty grin slide across her lips, painted the color of the Caribbean sunset. What did she have to smile about? Only an hour and a half ago, her fury over his plan had been undeniable. What had changed?
Her clothes, for one thing. In college, Jessie had developed a real eye for clothes that drove him wild. Never quite trashy, but always on the edge. His memory swam with images of flesh-colored fishnet hose, leather pants and a particularly tricky lace-up bustier he’d become adept at removing in ten seconds flat.
Today, her look was a bit more subdued, but just as mouthwatering. She’d paired the white skirt with a peachy halter top that made her olive skin glisten in the setting sun. Her hair, long and dark, was pulled into a messy knot that reminded him of lazy mornings in bed after a particularly hot and sweaty night. Everything about her screamed sex—and not missionary sex, either. Hot-chick-on-top sex. Suck-me-till-I’m-dry sex. Loud, grunting, never-forget-me sex.
The kind of sex they used to have as often as possible before he’d thrown it all away.
On the morning she’d discovered him hung over and in bed with some girl he hardly knew, Jessie had made it perfectly clear that she would never forgive him. For months, he’d tried everything. Flowers. Chocolate. He’d even conned his fraternity brothers into an old-fashioned serenade under her window. She hadn’t even lifted the blinds.
After graduation, he’d tried just to talk to her, but despite his determination to be charming, she’d either ignored him entirely or answered every comment he’d made with sarcasm or hostility.
Only after Bianca and Coop’s visits became less frequent did they call what could best be described as a grudging truce. They’d existed that way until, apparently, tonight. Because if Jessie wasn’t trying to cruelly torture him with her choice of sexy clothes and flaming lip color, he couldn’t imagine what she thought she was doing.
Leo met her on the cracked shell path that led from the garage to the driveway.
“You’re late,” she chastised, but without any of her usual annoyance. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time her voice had been so deep and smooth.
His blood supply rushed south yet again.
“Sorry,” he said, dizzy. “Had to get a couple of things … together.”
Without direction, his gaze dropped to her breasts, pressed up nicely by what he suspected was a dark bra, judging by the outline beneath her snug top.
He eyed her suspiciously. Better than anyone else, she knew his weaknesses. Some guys got all hot over naked tits. A few even liked those tasseled pasties that seemed all the rage in strip clubs. But to get Leo really raw, all a woman had to do was don black lace lingerie.
And the undergarments had their strongest effect when Jessie wore them.
“Are we all set, then?”
Again with the sultry voice.
“This all you’re taking?” he asked, gesturing toward her single backpack.
“We’re going to the Keys, right?” she asked, her face so angelic with innocence, his hackles … not to mention other parts of his anatomy … raised even higher. “It’s not like I need to pack a parka.”
She dropped the pack at his feet. He’d scooped it into his hands before he realized how he’d bowed down in front of her. She hadn’t moved except to shift one bare leg a half inch closer to him. He took his time standing, allowing his stare to slide up her body and appreciate each and every curve.
In college, she’d been slim from a constant diet of Ramen noodles and artificially sweetened coffee with no cream. Now she had curves in all the right places, particularly around her backside, where her incredible genetics had blessed her with a booty that could make a man weep. Before he broke down, he stood and gestured her toward the truck.
“What time is our flight?” she asked.
“We have a flexible departure,” he replied, opening the passenger door and helping her into the elevated vehicle. He placed her backpack at her feet and then, before he lost himself in fantasies featuring those tanned legs, slammed her door shut and jogged around to the driver’s side.
“You hired a private plane?” she asked, her voice lilting with what he suspected was suppressed awe.
“Not exactly.”
The truck roared to life and soon they were on the road, heading toward the marina where he berthed his favorite boat. He hadn’t yet told Jessie how they were traveling to the Keys. She’d sailed with him before and wasn’t afraid of the water, but it was bad enough that he had arranged for them to be on an essentially deserted island for two days. If he added a thirty-hour sail trip with no means of easy escape, she might balk entirely.
Having not yet put on her seat belt, she scooted closer to him, scooping up his smart phone and waterproof GPS system and sliding them onto the floor. Ten years ago, he would have rejoiced at the idea of her having maximum access to his body while he was driving down the road. He could remember several crazy nights struggling to keep his vehicle on the pavement while she’d wrapped her hands around his cock and tugged him into sheer delirium.
When, for a split second, he thought he caught the same wicked gleam in her eyes, he cleared his throat, pressed down the brake as they approached a red light and said, “Seat belt?”
“You don’t live on the edge anymore, Sharpe?” she asked.
He forced a confident grin. “I don’t want anything to happen to you on the way to paradise. Buckle up, babycakes, or we’re going to be sitting at this intersection for a while.”
She pouted prettily, but did as he asked, taking her time stretching the strap across her torso so her cleavage was even more enhanced. Jessie had never been overendowed, but she always knew how to make the most of her curves.
The ride to the marina was relatively short, punctuated by her confused look when he took the exit on the interstate that led him to Harbor Island rather than continuing on to the airport. Once she realized where they were going, though, she didn’t object. One moment of apparent uncertainty was followed by a quick smile and a brief “You’re full of surprises.”
He’d already prepped the boat for departure, so he guided her down the pier with only their backpacks slung over his shoulder. At the end was his pride and joy—a sleek, black-hulled cruiser with every imaginable luxury from a full galley to a spacious master stateroom. The weather promised calm seas all the way to the Keys, so he knew he could handle the vessel with moderate help from Jessie.
How he’d handle Jessie was something else altogether.
She stopped at the end of the dock, glancing coyly over her shoulder when he came up behind her.
“This your design?”
He didn’t even attempt to contain his swell of pride. “My newest.”
She leaned forward, her back arched enticingly, as she took in the clean lines and sleek surfaces of his creation. He hoped she didn’t ask him any questions because at the moment, watching her backside lift toward him in unabashed offering had zapped all his knowledge about the ship. Hell, he couldn’t remember his own name.
“And it’s safe?” she asked, her eyes glinting with naughty delight.
He fought to restore moisture to the inside of his mouth. “Safe?”
Oh, yes. The boat was utterly seaworthy. Jessie was in no danger of drowning. He wished he could say the