The Player - By Rhonda Nelson Page 0,37

sleep with Jamie—her grandfather’s relationship with him, for starters. Not to mention Derrick, who would not get the answer he wanted from her this weekend. Even if he didn’t follow through with his threat to break things off with her, she’d already decided that she’d end the relationship herself. It was a dead end. She didn’t love him. Staying with him because he was safe—because he didn’t make her feel anything—was a disservice to him and to herself.

Yes, there were a lot of legitimate reasons she shouldn’t sleep with Jamie, and only one reason she should…and that was the one she was going with.

She wanted him.

He was the puppy in the window, the candy through the glass, the last piece of cake on the platter. He was every risk she’d never taken, every thanks-but-no-thanks, every missed opportunity.

But more importantly, tonight he was hers.

Moses lifted his head from her lap, signaling Jamie’s timely arrival. The dog murmured a low woof, then lumbered off the sofa to the door. Audrey stood, felt a wild thrill whip through her midsection and her palms suddenly tingled in anticipation of what was to come. She grabbed Moses by the collar and opened the door.

Jamie smiled, a crooked sexy grin that made her heart do an odd little dance. He’d loaded the testicle basket with the bottle of whiskey and a bouquet of flowers he’d obviously snagged from the landscaping beds. Odd that she’d find that endearing. “For you,” he said, offering it to her.

Chuckling, Audrey accepted the gift. “Come in,” she told him. She gestured toward his gift. “Nice to see you found a purpose for your basket.”

Jamie sidled forward, brushed his lips across hers and nuzzled her cheek. “I’m nothing if not resourceful.”

Heaven help her, Audrey thought, because her heart was nothing if not doomed.

JAMIE HAD BARELY TAKEN A STEP into the room before Moses had once again gone for his crotch. He grunted, made a little “whoa-ho-ho” noise, and stepped back, awkwardly trying to avoid being victimized by the dog again. Honestly, he knew this was normal canine behavior, but couldn’t help being embarrassed nonetheless. This was the third time, dammit. It was beginning to become a habit. “Moses, please, man,” he said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t know you well enough and, even if I did, you aren’t my type.”

Audrey’s face pinkened and she hurriedly dragged the dog back once more, no small feat when the animal had to weigh in excess of 150 pounds. “Moses,” she admonished through gritted teeth. “Cut it out.” She pushed a hand through her long curly hair. “I’ve got a solution for this,” she said. “Hold on.” She disappeared into the kitchen, then returned a few seconds later with an aerosol can. “This won’t stain,” she told him, and before he knew what she was about to do, she aimed the can at his crotch and sprayed him with it. Jamie gaped. “What the—”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” she repeated. “I need to put a shot of this on your—”

“Ass,” he supplied helpfully. Jamie wrinkled his nose. “What is that? It smells.”

“Exactly. It’s a repellent.” She stood once more, popped the lid back on the can. “It’ll keep him from, you know—” she gestured toward his package “—checking you out.”

Now this was a first, Jamie thought, absolutely stunned. He’d never had a repellent spayed upon his privates. He felt a slow grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “This only works on the dog, right?”

She laughed, the sound feminine and oddly gentle. “Right. I use it to keep him out of things I don’t want him messing with.”

Did that mean she wanted exclusive rights to his penis? Jamie wondered, resisting the urge to tease her further about it.

Seemingly following his line of thinking, she darted him a somewhat sheepish look. “Well, you know what I mean.”

God, she was beautiful. Jamie grinned. “I do.”

She turned and started back toward the kitchen. “I hope you like Italian.”

Unexpected delight expanded in his chest. “You cooked for me?”

“Baked ziti,” she said, neatly avoiding his question. “Caesar salad and chocolate pie for dessert.”

“Sounds fabulous. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” he told her, and he meant it. In fact, though he appreciated the gesture, it made him feel downright uncomfortable knowing that he planned to use the massage as a seduction tool. He’d brought that bottle of whiskey, a bouquet of flowers and a handful of rubbers just to mark the occasion.

And she’d been busy cooking for him.

Though