Sara Jane Stone - Command Performance

“Water.”

Hunter sidled up to the bar, ordered two waters and paid for the earlier beers with Riley’s cash. He’d found the perfect woman, or rather she’d found him—easy on the budget and eager to jump into bed with him. He’d met more women than he could count who swore up and down they did not want a relationship, but brazen-yet-sometimes-shy Maggie was the first he suspected who might mean exactly what she said.

The bartender placed two glasses and a stack of singles in front of him. Hunter took the hint and left a big tip. It was easy to be generous with Riley’s cash. Once he got Sierra out of rehab and employed—God help him—he could afford to drop large tips with his own money. Pushing the less-than-pleasant thoughts away, he went back to the table.

“Your water, Miss Maggie.” He slid the glass in front of her.

The corner of her mouth turned up. “Thank you.”

He picked up his chair and flipped it around. Straddling the seat, his arms resting on the low wooden back, he asked, “So, what would you like to know?”

She stared down at the table a moment then asked, “Do you live around here, or are you just visiting?”

He’d never had the luxury of honestly and openly interrogating the women he met, but if he’d been in her shoes he would have asked the same thing. His gaze ran down her jeans-clad legs—not long, but a good fit for her height—and landed on her lofty heels. Okay, so bacon might sprout wings before he’d wear those supersexy shiny white things, but it was still a good question. “Just visiting. A work thing next week.”

A hint of a smile flashed across her face and her stick-straight posture eased. Relief, he guessed. He waited for her to ask him where he was from, how long he’d been in the army or what exactly he did, which he couldn’t tell her, but Miss Maggie didn’t say a word. “Anything else?”

She drew a deep breath and stared at her water. For a fleeting second, he wondered if he’d read her wrong. He couldn’t tell if she was gathering up the courage to ask another question or run away.

Just when he thought she might ditch her heels and sprint to the exit, she looked him straight in the eye. “No more questions.”

How close is your bed? He kept his mouth shut, waiting for a better response to pop into his brain. Problem was, his brain wasn’t doing the thinking anymore.

“But,” she continued.

God help him, there was a but. He reached for his water and brought the glass to his lips, hoping it would take the edge off the get-her-naked-now feeling pulsing through him.

“I need to make sure we’re on the same page here.” She looked him straight in the eyes, as if she were about to reveal weapon launch codes. “I want an amazing orgasm. Actually, scratch that. I want more than one. So if you don’t think you can deliver, or if you’re looking for more than one night, I’ll thank you for the drink and leave. Because I really need those orgasms.”

He could have sworn he was dreaming. In his wildest fantasies, he’d never imagined he’d meet someone like her. A woman who demanded orgasms, lots of them, without commitment.

Could he deliver? Hunter set the nearly empty glass back on the table. “Honey, I’m your man.”

3

THE PLAN HAD WORKED. Hunter Cross, the man with the bedroom eyes, was looking at her as if he couldn’t wait to tear her clothes off. She could tell from the tension in his body that he was ready to jump up from the table. He’d just drenched the front of his clothes and he didn’t seem to give a damn. That’s what she wanted, a man who cared more about her pleasure than his own comfort.

A rush of excitement washed over her, leaving her skin tingling, waiting to be touched. The feeling took her by surprise. It had been so long since she’d felt that first spark that she barely recognized it. This is what I’ve been looking for, she thought.

“But first, I have a few things I need to know about you before I get into bed with you,” he said calmly.

Or maybe not. He didn’t sound like a man blinded by lust. Maybe she was so desperate for a wild night in bed with a man who made her breasts ache to be touched that she’d imagined his interest.

Her stomach flipped and she reached for her drink, needing to hold something. Why had she picked the most handsome man in the tent, maybe in the entire state of New York, for her conquest? And why hadn’t she started with a normal conversation? She could have asked him what he did in the army, or where he was from. Instead, she’d demanded an orgasm.

Her finger traced the rim of her water glass. Maybe she should run away now and spare herself any further embarrassment. She could stop on her way home and buy a vibrator. Throw in a cinnamon bun and that might be all the wild and crazy she needed in her life right now.

Except her fantasies didn’t involve batteries.

“What would you like to know?” She tried to sound casual, which was hard given she’d whispered the words.

“Do you live around here?”

She looked up at him and felt her building sense of oh-God-what-have-I-done fade away. His George Clooney eyes said I want you, while the laugh lines around his mouth indicated he wanted to play a bit first.

She couldn’t feel the vodka anymore, but her sense of daring, the one that had driven her to wear the skinny jeans even though she’d sworn she’d wait until she lost a few pounds, returned. She leaned forward, watching his gaze fall to her chest. “Yes. About twenty minutes away.”

“Favorite color?” His eyes never left her breasts.

Maggie set her water on the table and leaned back, clasping her hands behind her chair as she pretended to consider his question. Her cotton shirt pulled tight against her nipples and she swore she heard him mumble a curse. “Green.”

“Favorite food?” he asked, his voice low.

“Linguine Alfredo.” Most of which went straight to her thighs. But she didn’t give a damn about that right now. All she cared about was his eyes on her chest and the warm rush it sent down her body. If he didn’t hurry up with his questions, she might explode right now before he even touched her.

He drew his dreamy gaze up to her face. His eyes locked with hers. “Where do you like to be kissed?”

“Everywhere,” she whispered.

“Be specific,” he demanded.

“The back of my neck.”

He nodded. “A good place to start.”

The nerves on her neck tingled in anticipation, and lower down her body ached. How had he pushed her so close to the edge of an orgasm without even making contact?

“One last question.”

She nodded.

“Do you like...”

He paused and Maggie leaned toward him, drawn by the unbelievably sexy sound of his voice.

“Nachos?” he asked.

Maggie blinked, falling back in her chair.

“You know, chips drowning in fake cheese?” He smiled. “I thought we might go for a walk around the grounds before we started working on your orgasms. I remember seeing a nacho stand near the picnic tables.”

Oh, you’ve already started working. Her body hummed with anticipation. Between his eyes, his body and his enticing voice, this man could probably seduce just about any woman. Talk about finding a one-night stand with experience.

“Sure,” she said.

“Great. I like a girl who isn’t afraid to eat fake cheese.” Hunter pushed himself out of the chair in one fluid move. He reached for her hand and drew her up. Wobbling on her heels, Maggie held on tight when he began to release her. She curled her fingers around his much larger ones, enjoying the feel of his strong grip. Her own hand seemed delicate by comparison. So what if he was a soldier? If the old saying about a man’s hands offered any indication of what waited for her in his pants, this man’s equipment would deliver.