Page 8 of Infatuation

Derek grinds his hard-on into me and kisses me, jolting me back to the delicious present on my couch. His hand skims my thigh under my skirt and I widen my legs to let him know I’m not at all shy here, big fella, that this isn’t my first time at the sexy-times-rodeo and he need not be quite so respectful of myvagina(which I’ve noticed he hasn’t even attempted to touch).

Derek reacts to my implicit invitation by floating his hand up toward the increasingly wet crotch of my panties.Yes. That’s right. Go for it, Bodyguard. Do it. I’ve got the chorus of Whitney’s song all cued up for you, baby.But, damn, his hand stops at the inside of my thigh and then trails across my hipbone and around to my ass.

Damn.

I press into him with increased enthusiasm, and—

My cell phone buzzes on the coffee table, repeatedly, with an incoming call.

Crap. I’m supposed to be at work right now, actually. I had anearly breakfast meeting with a client (the owner of a new boutique) about the social media campaign I’m planning for her—and afterwards, I swung by my apartment on my way back to the office “to grab an umbrella.” Or so I said. Yes, it had started to pour—this is Seattle, after all—but we have plenty of extra umbrellas and plastic ponchos at the office. What I was actually doing with the whole “I gotta grab an umbrella” ruse was creating an excuse to lure my new bodyguard (who’d been shadowing my every move all morning long) into my apartment to see if I could seduce him into seducing me.

My phone stops buzzing and I refocus my attention onto Derek’s lips.

I kiss him a bit more enthusiastically and he follows my lead, running his hand over my blouse, right over my nipple.Good. That’s good. Come on, Derek. Let me be your Whitney.

I wonder who was calling. Was that my boss? Or maybe Hannah Banana Montana Milliken? Or maybe it was Sarah, calling to tell me some new juicy tidbit about her new boyfriend (who supposedly loves her but won’t say the actual words)? Or maybe, just maybe, it was the boyfriend’s Hottie-McHottie-pants brother, Josh Faraday?

I smile at the thought, even as I’m kissing Derek.

Josh sure didn’t try to hide his attraction to me the night before last at Jonas’ house.

“Don’t worry about me, guys,” Josh yelled to Jonas and Sarah as Jonas barreled to his room with Sarah slung over his shoulder. “I’ll just party the night away with Party Girl with a Hyphen.”

“Oh no, you won’t, Playboy,” I shot back at him. “You’ll have to find another Mickey Mouse roller coaster to ride tonight.”

Of course, I was wildly attracted to him, too—who wouldn’t be?—but I’m not sure how I felt about his whole “Mickey Mouse rollercoaster” analogy. And, regardless, there’s nothing I love better than taking a cocky guy down a peg. It’s kinda my specialty, actually.

I was trying to stun Josh into humbled silence with my little zinger, but Josh wasn’t even remotely fazed. He swaggered over to me and leaned his lips right into my ear, making the hair on the nape of my neck stand up and my crotch tingle. “So that’s how we’re gonna play this, huh, Party Girl with a Hyphen?” he said. “We’re gonna play it cool? Okay, babe, fine with me—we’ll play it however you like,” he whispered, his warm breath teasing my ear. “But weboth know where this is headed. Mmmm.” And with that, he sauntered out of the room, whistling as he went, and never looked back.

I must have stood there for a solid five minutes, my mouth hanging open and my crotch pulsing in my panties. Day-am.

My phone buzzes sharply with a voicemail on the coffee table next to my couch.

Who the heck is trying to reach me so insistently?

Derek’s tongue is swirling around mine and his hard-on against my thigh is becoming urgent. Well, whoever’s calling, they’ll just have to wait. I press myself into Derek’s erection, goading him on, and he reacts by kneading my ass with his strong hand. Hmm. That ass-kneading thing isn’t really working for me, actually. There’s just no finesse to it. It’s like the dude’s wearing freaking oven mitts. Or maybe the problem is that Derek just isn’t that great a kisser?

Oh, shit, I’ve still gotta come up with my social media campaign for that chain of barbeque restaurants. Damn. Maybe Hannah will help me brainstorm? Yeah, I’ll take her to lunch tomorrow and see if she’ll pretty-please help me out. We haven’t been to The Tavern in a while. They’ve got such great salads—

Oh, jeez. I’m thinking about salad while kissing my hot bodyguard? What the hell? Come on, Kat! Kevin Costner. Whitney Houston. Bodyguard.Focus.

My phone buzzes again, just once, with an incoming text. Oh jeez. Someone’s really trying to reach me. I push on Derek’s chest. “Hang on a minute,” I say. “Lemme check my phone real quick.”

Derek sits up and wipes his mouth, his eyes blazing.

I grab my phone and look at the display. The missed call was from a number I don’t recognize. A “323” number. Isn’t that L.A.? I peek into my texts and the new text is from that same unrecognizable number, too: “Kat, this is Josh Faraday,” the text says. My heart skips a beat. “Call me immediately. Please. It’s urgent that I talk to you.”

Derek kisses me and kneads my ass again.

Could it be the Playboy is calling me with an “urgent” invitation to dinner? Sarah told me Josh asked for my phone number last night, intending to ask me to dinner after Jonas kicked him out of his house, but Sarah told him I was already out to dinner with my new bodyguard. Sarah said Josh looked deflated and said he was gonnahop a flight back to L.A.—but did he change his mind and stay in Seattle?

I push on Derek’s chest again and sit completely upright. “Excuse me, Derek,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’ve got to make a quick call.”

Derek exhales, clearly frustrated, but I don’t care. It’s suddenly quite clear to me I’d rather be out on a date with Josh Faraday, world-class Mickey-Mouse-rollercoaster-rider or not, than trying to screw a bodyguard wearing oven mitts who couldn’t kiss his way out of a paper bag.

I practically sprint into my bedroom and close my door behind me, my heart leaping out of my chest.

Josh Faraday.Nowthere’sa guy who makes visions of blowjobs dance in my head. The minute I laid eyes on the man, I felt like I’d been struck by a sexual lightning bolt—and I’m positive he felt it, too. He didn’t even try to hide it.

---