Emilie Rose - Millionaire Playboys - Paying the Playboy's Price

She wanted him, and damned if the feeling wasn’t mutual. He swallowed the sudden flood of moisture in his mouth and cursed the unwelcome response drumrolling through his veins. Kissing the bank owner’s daughter would be a big mistake, but part of him wanted to forget common sense, taste her red lips and feel her slender length against him.

Go for it, his awakening libido urged. Then maybe the simmering sexual awareness between them would die a natural death and they could get on with the lessons. She wasn’t his type and he sure wasn’t hers.

He cupped her jaw with his right hand. The warm velvety texture of her skin surprised him. Tempted him. His fingertips teased her earlobe, her nape, and then closed around the cool satin of her hair. He tugged, tilting back her head and lifting her lips closer to his.

“Is this what you want, Juliana?” He cupped her jodhpur-covered bottom, pulling her closer, and lowered his head. In his hypersensitive state, her swiftly indrawn breath sounded as loud as a jet engine. Her fingers spread over his belly and dug into his waist, starting a fire he wasn’t sure he could put out. But she didn’t push him away. Her lashes drifted down and his lids grew heavy in response. His mouth hovered above hers, close enough that he could taste her sweet breath, and then sanity slapped him upside the head.

What in the hell are you doing, Tanner?

He hesitated, examining her flushed face, parted lips and the dark fan of her long lashes against her cheeks. Damn. The reporter had nailed Juliana’s motive. The banking heiress was using him. And if he gave in to the urge to kiss her—hell, the urge to take her right here against the lamppost—he’d be using her, too.

Been there. Done that. Not going back.

He didn’t want to be that selfish bastard again, and risking any kind of involvement with a woman whose family could pull the rug out from under his business could be career suicide. Because when the relationship ended—and it would end—there’d be hell to pay.

Swallowing a sobering lungful of air, he battled the need twisting through him like a tornado and shoved himself away. A sexy protest emerged from Juliana’s mouth, but he ignored it.

“If a walk on the wild side is what you’re after, Ms. Alden, find another sucker.” Turning on his heel, he left temptation—and certain disaster—behind.

Thursday evening arrived long before Juliana could get a handle on her reaction to the near-miss kiss and the sting of Rex’s rejection. But she wouldn’t let a little discomfiture derail her agenda.

“Plan B. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed,” she muttered as she turned her car into the stable’s driveway.

Over the past two and a half days, she’d launched a full-scale fact-finding mission. By her calculations, she was as prepared for today’s lesson as she possibly could be. She’d memorized the magazines recommended by her twenty- and thirty-something coworkers, bought clothing deemed appropriate by said magazines for casual dates with a hot guy and learned everything between the covers of the Department of Motor Vehicles booklet Rex had given her. To top it off, on her lunch hour yesterday she’d visited the local motorcycle dealership. The salesman had fitted her with the proper safety gear to the tune of several hundred dollars, and she’d spent a good part of last night curled up with a book—the Harley owner’s manual.

She spotted Rex standing beside his motorcycle. The bees in her stomach buzzed into flight. Once again, he wore jeans and a Renegade T-shirt. His closed countenance brought heat to her cheeks. He hadn’t forgotten their last encounter or her panting eagerness. Neither had she.

If he could disturb her that much without actually kissing her, then what kind of havoc could he wreak if—when—their lips connected? She trembled in her new biker boots at the possibility of exploring further.

She’d never had sex just for the sex’s sake and wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea now. In the past, each relationship she’d allowed to progress into intimacy had been one that she’d thought might eventually lead to love and marriage. None had, and she readily admitted that was mostly her fault. She’d never been head-over-heels in love or anywhere close to lust and that made it all too easy to get caught up in her job and forget her boyfriends. The guys eventually got tired of being neglected and dumped her.

Forget past failures. Focus on future successes. Wrapping herself in the knowledge that she looked young, hip and available, she took a deep breath for courage, parked and climbed from the car.

Come and get me, bad boy.

Rex’s gaze lasered in on her clothing as she closed the distance between them, and he snapped to attention like a military man. His darkening expression looked more ominous than the storm clouds on the distant horizon.

Hold your ground. Don’t let him rattle you.

“Good evening, Rex.” Juliana’s manufactured smile wobbled on her lips when he didn’t return it. She extricated the hard rectangle of her motorcycle learner’s permit from the pocket of her snug new jeans and handed it to him. “I’m ready for my driving lesson.”

He took the permit, but his eyes examined her, not the card. She struggled with the urge to hitch up the low-riding stretch jeans and cross her arms over her close-fitting camisole top with its built-in push-up bra. At the moment, Juliana would have welcomed anything that would cover the two-inch wide band of bare skin around her midsection. Even the navel ring the sales clerk had tried but failed to talk her into sounded good since it would have covered part of her navel. These clothes were so not her, although she had to acknowledge the heady surge of power caused by Rex’s widening pupils and devouring glance.

Rex blinked, handed back the license and abruptly pivoted toward the bike. “We’ll start with ground work.”

His voice sounded deeper than she remembered, but the stiff set of his shoulders looked familiar. How did he turn the charm on and off so easily? At the auction and with the reporter, he’d been Mr. Too-Hot-To-Handle, but with her, he was Mr. Don’t-Mess-With-Me. Which was the real Rex Tanner and what was he thinking behind that blank expression?

Juliana wiggled her license back into her pocket and reached deep for the bravado to get through the next two hours. “I borrowed a manual and a video from the Harley dealership. I can name most of the parts of a motorcycle.”

He grunted a nonanswer while he polished a spot off the fuel tank with the hem of his shirt. A glimpse of flat abdomen dusted with dark curls sucked the breath from her lungs.

Her studiousness obviously hadn’t impressed him. But that was no surprise. She’d never met a guy who liked brainy women. She ought to know. She’d run off more than her share.

Take the initiative. She cleared her throat. “Can I drive your motorcycle today?”

He shot her a hard look. “My bike is too heavy for a beginner to ride alone, and you’re not wearing the proper gear.”

“I wasn’t wearing the proper gear Saturday night, either. I have a leather jacket and gloves in my car, if you insist, but it’s a little hot for those, isn’t it? Couldn’t you ride behind me and help me keep the Harley upright?”

A muscle in the corner of Rex’s jaw bunched. “Show me what you know.”

Her heart kaboomed in her chest. You can handle this.You’re used to proving yourself, and you give presentations at work all the time. Her mental pep talk didn’t keep her palms from dampening or her lungs from constricting. “Okay.”

Juliana tried to block Rex’s presence behind her from her mind as she circled the bike, naming the parts and regurgitating most of the salesman’s spiel. She was out of breath by the time she finished and faced Rex again.