Double Dating with the Dead by Karen Kelley (great books for teens TXT) 📕

of her thighs. Up one side and down the other. He teased her unmercifully.

“Please, Trent.”

“Please, what?”

His breath tickled her face. She whimpered.

“Please, this?” He ran his wet finger up her sex, then back down.

“Take me,” she groaned. He was slowly killing her with his words.

“No regrets?” he asked.

She shook her head, opening her legs, wanting him to nestle his body between her thighs and bury himself deep inside her.

“Even when I have to ruin your career?” he asked.

She jerked to a sitting position.

What?

It took a second for her brain to begin to work properly. Her body was on fire with need. The need to feel Trent inside her.

No, no, no. She’d been about to have sex. Really good sex. She glanced around the room. It was dark. Trent wasn’t in her room, and she was in her own bed. Alone. She fell back against the mattress. Oh, damn, it had only been a dream.

“Thank goodness?”

Yeah, she sounded real positive.

Okay, maybe not thank goodness. Tears filled her eyes. Why the hell had she awakened? She was just getting to the good part.

She punched her pillow again and plopped back on it. It seemed she couldn’t even have sex in a dream. What the hell was her life coming to? No, that was the problem. She wasn’t coming. Not even in a damn dream.

She was in really sad shape. Note to self: as soon as the two weeks were up, she was going to have more of a social life. At least more sex.

She closed her eyes and envisioned sheep jumping over a white fence. One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep….

One look at her clock an hour later, and she wanted to scream. She punched her pillow and flopped over to her other side. Damn Trent for tormenting her dreams as well as her waking hours.

“Eighteen hundred and one friggin’ sheep,” she growled. “Eighteen hundred and two…”

Trent dragged his eyes open. Damn, he felt like crap. He lay in bed for a moment as he oriented himself to his surroundings.

Not his bed unless it had grown lumps in the middle of the night.

When his vision had sufficiently cleared, he glanced around the room.

Not his room.

Had he been shanghaied?

He closed his eyes again. When he reopened them, it hit him. The old hotel…Selena.

Selena. He groaned. God, what a dream. She was standing in front of him in a red nightgown, her hard little nipples pressing against the thin material. All he could think about was stripping it off her and having hot sex the rest of the night. Then, before he knew what was happening, he was doing just that.

He’d never had a dream that vivid. It had been so damn real. Then something happened. A branch against the window, maybe someone had accidentally honked his horn. Whatever it had been, it woke him up.

If it had been a person…may they rot in hell.

He untangled his legs from the twisted covers and sat up on the side of the bed. His head pounded as if he’d just come off a weeklong drunk. God, he needed coffee.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he closed his eyes and thought about last night. Selena had wanted him—at least in his dream. Why the hell would he even dream about them making love? Not that it had gone that far. No, he’d been jerked from slumber just as it was getting interesting.

There was no doubt about it; he had to get out more. Just as soon as the two weeks were over.

But first he had to have coffee. He pulled on his jeans and slid his feet into a pair of loafers. At the last minute he grabbed a sweatshirt out of his suitcase and tugged it over his head, combed his fingers through his hair and stumbled into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he made his way into the kitchen.

He glanced around. No Selena. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t a morning person. Never had been and wasn’t about to start. Coffee. That was all he needed first thing. He damn sure didn’t need her sultry smile.

After removing the basket, he tossed a filter in and dumped four scoops of coffee into it—then one more for good measure. He added water and punched the ON button. His head pounded. A steady thump-thump. He leaned against the cabinet door, eyes closed.

“Oh, good, you have the coffee on,” a female voice seeped into his slightly unconscious state of mind.

He opened one eye and turned his head just enough that he could see Selena. What was she doing? Torturing him?

Of course she is, stupid. She’s trying to con you.

Damn, she was wearing a sassy pink halter top that left most of her back exposed except for the two, very thin crisscrossed ties, and a full skirt that was in a rainbow of pastel colors. And she wasn’t wearing a bra, unless it was backless, and the way her breasts had a slight little bounce to them, he didn’t think she was.

He swallowed hard. This was dirty pool. But he’d get even. Although he had a feeling if he walked around in his underwear, it wouldn’t have the same effect on her.

She was cheating.

He opened his other eye and watched as she went to the table and set down a white box before turning back to him.

“I’ll trade you a chocolate-iced doughnut for a cup of coffee,” she said.

When she closed her eyes and inhaled, her chest expanded, her breasts pushing against the little pink top. He barely stopped himself from groaning.

“I don’t eat breakfast,” he grumbled.

She opened her eyes and frowned.

Okay, he’d cut her a little slack. Besides, he was still human, even if he didn’t feel like it right now, and he did have a few manners. “You can have a cup of coffee as long as you make the next pot.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Deal.” She studied him.

“What?” he finally asked.

“Not a morning person, are you?”

“How’d you guess?”

As the coffee dripped into the glass