Jillian’s Job

Chapter Three

Her head must have fallen off. No. It was still there, because it hurt like hell. Her tongue tasted like old green felt that had been stripped off an old pool table. Her hair hurt. She reached up to check to see if it was on fire. Her hand found nothing but tangled curls and a pillow that was pulled over her head. A groan escaped her lips. Ow! Even that made her head hurt. What was it? Champagne? Dom Perignon? Or was it Cristal? Ooohhh, God. If she ever saw another bottle of champagne, she’d puke.

She groaned into the mattress, and decided not to bother opening her eyes. She wondered if even that tiny movement would make her sicker than she already felt. Probably. Best to just remain still. She drew deep, slow breaths. She rubbed the back of her hand over her nose to stop an itch, and nearly sliced her nose off.

What the hell? She blinked blearily at her hand under the pillow, illuminated by the faint light that came from around the edges. The cold glitter of a huge diamond nearly blinded her.

Huh? Oh yeah, the rock. Her eyes dropped closed again, and then flew open. Was that…an arm clamped around her? She drew a deep breath, and verified that the heavy weight of a human arm was clamped possessively around her body. Her. Naked. Body?

It was a bad dream. It had to be. An alcohol-induced hallucination. Yeah. But then the hallucination’s arm tightened slowly, pulling her back against another naked body. One that had hard, solid muscles. And one particular muscle was prodding into the small of her back like a frigging fence pole. Her eyes closed tight again.

What. The. Hell?

What the hell was she doing in bed with a naked man? And just what naked man was she in bed with? Sudden visions of Jerrod Lane jarred through her thoughts-the way he had latched onto her and had offered to be big daddy made her swallow hard. Her stomach lurched dangerously.

Oh God. Had she gotten blotto and let that jerk take her to bed? Visions of little Jerrods racing around at her feet were swept away by the blessed recollection of the implant she had decided to get last summer after the rape scare that had gone through her apartment complex. Thank God for paranoia.

Oh, her head throbbed. But no way was she going to just lie there in bed with Jerrod Lane. Famous, handsome, promiscuous, totally hot Jerrod Lane. She pulled the pillow off her head and winced at the brilliant morning light that spilled in through the windows of the unfamiliar room. She forced her bleary gaze to check out the room that was visible, and she saw her sapphire and gold job tossed over the back of an antique chair. On top of a black tux. Shit. Now what?

He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t spoken. Maybe he was still asleep. Lots of men got morning hard-ons. Right? She shifted carefully and tried to slip quietly out from under that arm, only to have it wind even tighter around her body, dragging her back against hot, solid muscle. The naked man behind her drew a deep breath, and stretched slowly. Aw, hell. He was wide awake.

Trying hard to move her ass away from that marauding cock, she tugged at the arm, and said in a cool, calm squeak, “Look, just let me get up and out of here, okay? I won’t tell anybody if you don’t.”

Lips brushed over the back of her bare shoulder, sending chills along every nerve she possessed, and she gave a startled yelp. “Stop that! This was all a great big mistake. Just let go and I won’t start screaming-okay?”

A lean hand slid under her from behind to cup her breast, while the one on top slid slowly down over the curve of her hip to rest between her thighs. The naked man behind her whispered huskily against her ear, “You weren’t nearly so pissed off last night, Turner.”

Nope. Not Jerrod Lane. The naked man was the bastard himself. With a whimper of pain from jerking her throbbing head around like Linda Blair to stare into Michael Furie’s whiskery face, Jill gave a yelp of terror and struggled like a salmon hooked by a grizzly, but he merely allowed her to turn over in the bed to face him, and she was in an even worse spot than she had been with her back to him. His hard-on now prodded wetly against her mons.

“What the hell have you done, damn you?” she yelped hysterically. “You took advantage while I was drunk out of my frigging mind? Oh, I always knew you were a bastard, but I never dreamed…” she grated furiously, her head pounding and her stomach lurching.

“Not even a sweet, good-morning kiss for your husband?” he asked quietly.

“Let me up right-” Her jaw dropped. Her eyes widened to saucers. “My WHAT?”

Dark blue eyes glittered with something she didn’t recognize. “You heard right the first time. Except I can’t call you Turner anymore. I think Furie would be more apropos.”

“This is so NOT funny. Ha ha! Great joke. Now let me the fuck up and I’ll be on my way.”

Pounding head be damned. Fuzzy tongue be damned. Waking up naked with this man was not her idea of the best way to end an employer-employee relationship, but so be it. A long-cherished wet dream, to be sure, but this was not exactly the way a woman should turn in her two-week notice.

“Funny. You weren’t this prickly last night when we got married. In fact, you were rather adorably cuddly and giggly. Hangovers seem to make you damn cantankerous.” His arms tightened, and she was flat against his chest, his hard-as-nails cock resting solidly between her thighs. “I like you naked, Furie. If I’d have known how fucking good you felt before, I think I’d have gotten you naked a lot sooner.”

“No. Way. Are. We. Married, Michael Furie! Just buying myself a diamond with your credit card doesn’t mean we’re hitched, dammit.” Her wriggling was only working that rock-hard invader deeper into her amazingly wet slit.

“No, but your signature and mine on our marriage certificate makes it pretty official, I’d say.”

Jill stiffened. “But…I can’t be married to you. I hate your guts.”

“So you told me last night.” His long fingers traced over her back, sending hot and cold shivers along her spine.

“I would never have gotten married to you. You…you’re a-”

“A selfish, chauvinistic bastard. Right. And you can’t stand the sight of me, because I treat you like a slave…” His lips dragged slowly over her forehead, making her dizzy again, but for an entirely different reason.

“I was going to tell you to…”

“Take my high-paid job and stuff it up my ass. Yeah, I heard.” The flick of his tongue across her jaw made her bite her lip to keep from whimpering.

Her hands tingled where they rested against his hard, muscular chest, and she debated if she should move them. No. If she moved them, her breasts would be flat against his chest, and she didn’t think she could handle the sensory overload. Her nipples ached to feel his smooth, hard body. Ached to feel his hot, hungry mouth. Faint memories of last night wedged themselves into her consciousness. The feel of his steel-hard, silken erection between her thighs brought back memories of feeling it buried deep inside her body as he moved so slowly and deliciously to pleasure her. No. Impossible!

“You wouldn’t marry someone like me,” she blurted. “You’re one of the most misogynistic, hard-nosed, impossible-to-pin-down, dyed-in-the-wool bachelors on the face of this earth.” Okay, that sounded good. Too bad he wasn’t letting go of her.

His lips grazed her throat, and moved down to taste her collarbone, then her puckered pink nipple, his tongue swirling hungrily around the swollen peak as he slowly drove his hips against hers, rubbing his cock over her aching, wet folds. “Guilty as charged.” His hot breath against her nipple made her moan. “I have to admit, Mrs. Furie, that you are the most breathtaking lover I’ve had in a long time.”

“You complete and utter bastard,” she hissed as he rolled her more firmly under his body and wedged his hips between her thighs, sliding deep inside her with a smooth, hard thrust that brought her body up to meet his with a keening whimper of need.

“Oh. My. God! That feels so darned good.” Her mind melted under the sensory onslaught of Mike Furie’s thick, utterly decadent cock buried hard and deep inside her, plunging in and drawing out with a measured, insistent rhythm that made her lose track of what she’d been saying. She couldn’t even remember her own name.

“You might detest me as a boss, Jillian Furie,” he rasped as he drove into her again and again, “but as lovers, we mesh perfectly.” His voice was a guttural growl in his throat as she wrapped her legs about his hips to take him deeper, her nails scoring his back as she threw her head back and climaxed with a scream of pleasure, her pussy clamping around his cock so hot and tight, she could feel nothing but his length filling her.