Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut (39 page)

His eyes turned to bottomless black pools, his voice deep and husky. "My schedule just cleared."

Doug guided me back into the bedroom, closing the balcony doors. His dark, dreamy eyes studied me carefully. He kissed my waiting mouth tenderly, anticipating. Our kisses grew rough, carnal, and the same exciting warming sensation Jordan could trigger, started to build between my thighs.

But I didn't want to think about Jordan or
feel
anything. Jordan only cared about being in control. At least Doug didn't lie about his intentions. I knew what he wanted, and at the moment, it was me.

Doug plucked the buttons open on my sundress and it dropped around my ankles, leaving me in only my bikini. This should be the point where I pulled away, but instead, I fisted the sides of his T-shirt and pushed it up, tasting a hint of salt flavoring the warm skin I sampled. His shirt joined my dress on the floor.

We tumbled onto the bed, lips locked and legs braided. My heart slammed my spine, my breaths short and fast. Doug's lips moved down my neck and across my collarbone. His fingers stroked my inner thighs and I curled my fingernails into his shoulder blades when his hand deliberately brushed between my legs the same time his tongue dipped inside the edge of my swimsuit top. He nipped his way back to my lips, waiting—
wanting.

"Marli?" he whispered, his lips so close I could feel his pulse in his breath. "Are you sure?"

I could barely breathe, let alone talk. All I could do was nod permission. He kissed me hard and pinned my legs with his as he sank against mine. His teeth tugged the straps of my swimsuit top off my shoulders and a hand moved around my back and loosened the ties.

A loud pound on the door brought Doug off the bed and onto his feet in one move. I snatched my swim top from his fingers and turned away from his penetrating eyes.

"What!" Doug yelled.

"Dad's looking for you,
that's
what," commanded the voice of disapproval on the other side of the door. Jan.

"Shit!" he hissed. "Tell him I'll be right there." His answer sounded as contemptuous as his sister's, but resigned. "I need cold water fast," he growled, disappearing into the bathroom.

I shimmied into my sundress, still holding my swimsuit top. When Doug came out of the bathroom, face wet, I threw him his T-shirt. He stared at me, still puffing heavy. Embarrassed, I bunched the front of my unbuttoned dress closed, and retreated to the bathroom. Doug swore a loud oath and an argument ensued between him and Jan before he closed the bedroom door.

I turned the shower on and stepped under the cold spray.

Thankfully, the kitchen had emptied when I came downstairs, dressed in a modest white button-up blouse and khaki shorts, my wet hair wrapped in a towel. I retrieved a pitcher of cold lemonade from the refrigerator and poured a glass. The sound of elevated voices echoed from the long hallway off the dining room and when I realized one of those elevated voices was Doug's, I ventured closer to listen.

"We did nothing, I swear! Jan's imagination has blown this out of proportion. Don't worry, Pops, I know what's expected. I'm just so sick of all the stupid rules. Who gives a shit about the color of the bands, or some asinine numbers game?"

Tony Peterson's tone reeked with disgust and anger. "Don't ever talk to me that way! I have every right to expect more from you than your sisters. You're my namesake
,
Douglas—my only son. You'll be head of this family someday, and it's imperative you achieve such prominence with honor and dignity. Bedding Miss Davis early will not get that for you.

"And for your information, the band color does matter, more than you know. It will determine things far beyond today's lust. Also, those asinine numbers you crudely refer to are what will create the world's greatest generation."

I felt my face grow hot with anger and readied myself to burst into the room to defend Doug, when Mr. Peterson's voice lowered and
I
became the topic of conversation, freezing me in place.

"Marli Davis is the girl who could secure you a prestigious station. Smarten up, Douglas. The boy who gets Miss Davis will someday hold the
power.
"

"It's
you
, Pappa, who needs me to be powerful. Your vendetta with Banks is your war, not mine."

Who was Banks?
A rush of air filled my lungs when recognition slapped. President Banks?

Mr. Peterson continued his tirade. "Douglas, you're smack in the middle of that war, and you know it."

"Trust me, every time I look in her eyes,
his
face is a constant reminder."

"Maybe I could do something more to ensure—"

"Don't!" Doug interrupted loudly. "You've caused enough damage. I'll get Marli on my terms, so back off. I've got this."

Damage?
What—oh no! The pictures! Did Mr. Peterson purposely cause my break-up with Jordan? …
Tony Peterson is a powerful man. If he wants something, he'll stop at nothing to get it…
Brandt's statement hit with sudden clarity. Mr. Peterson wanted me with Doug. I pressed my ear against the door again.

"Time is running out, Douglas. Any contact?"

"Nothing penetrates your 'force field,' not even family."

"Enough! You tire me with your disrespect. Grow up and take matters under control, or I will—on
my
terms."

Footsteps sounded toward the closed door and I quickly retreated to the kitchen. The heavy wooden door slammed and hurried steps marched down the hall. I barely made it to the corner of the bench before Doug appeared.

"Marli?" he questioned, surprise covering his face when he rounded the corner. "I was just coming to find you." He kissed my cheek. "You smell wonderful, and taste, um..." licking his lips,
"clean?
" He lightly brushed my cheek, whispering, "Sorry about this afternoon. Maybe we can pick up from where we left off later?"

"About earlier," I began, "we should probably talk."

Doug moved to the bench across from me. "Marli, if Jan hadn't knocked on the door, do you think—"

"I don't know. I don't know about anything anymore." Doug looked confused. I pushed away from the table and he grabbed my arm. "I need to get ready. Please let go."

Let me go.

Once behind the closed bedroom door, I slid to the floor and dropped my head onto my bent knees. This afternoon I came close to giving in to another reckless impulse—one with dangerous consequences. Maybe that's what I wanted. A consequence big enough to alter the course I presently walked. The problem being if my course changed, Jordan's did too, not to mention Doug Peterson now believed I wanted a more permanent relationship. With Jordan out of the picture, when the ninety-days expired I'd surely be slotted as Doug's life partner.

Suddenly I felt trapped. Tears bubbled against the rims of my eyes. All I wanted was to go home; have dinner with my dad, and spend the summer hanging out with my friends. Life before Jordan Mason seemed so simple…uncomplicated. But now? Terrifying.

But the ominous unknown The Program presented didn't frighten me. It was the thought of Jordan gone from my life. Regardless of everything that had happened, I still wanted him.

22

JORDAN

S
tale smoke swirled near the ceiling in a filmy haze. I sidled up to the counter catching Mick's attention.
Miguel's,
the tavern bearing his father's name, was a short walk off campus and sometimes I tagged with the guys from the lab for a beer. Didn't seem to matter that I wasn't legal age. Mick never asked and I never told.

"Mason? To what do I owe the honor?" He finished polishing a glass and threw the bar cloth over his shoulder when I didn't answer. "Silent and brooding. I'm guessing girl trouble?'

Girl trouble
hardly defined my predicament. "You wouldn't happen to have an Adams Utopias in your private stock?

"Dude, a bit 'high brow' for a college pub. Besides, it's banned in this state."

I'd been informed Mick kept expensive spirits stashed for his more
affluent
customers. I pushed a hundred dollar bill across the counter. "I didn't ask if it was legal, just if you had some."

Mick raised a brow, his gaze sliding over the room at the few patrons scattered in the smoky darkness. He unlocked a cabinet under the bar and pulled out the glossy gold decanter. He flipped a glass over, poured it half full and treated himself to a separate shot. When I gave him a questioning glance, he leaned close. "Jordan, it's 27 proof. You seldom drink. You'll be lucky to finish this and walk out of here knowing your name." He took my hundred dollars and didn't give me change.

The nutty flavor, rich with notes of vanilla, lingered on my tongue long after I swallowed. I threw back the rest, a dribble worth twenty dollars slipping from the corner of my mouth. I pulled my handkerchief out and wiped my chin, rubbing my thumb over the blue silk threads monogramming my initial in the corner. Once I owned a set of six. Now I had five. Marli had one.

I tapped the glass for more, this time a full glass. The second sample of ale swallowed smoother than the first. I reached for the decanter with my slowed reflexes, but Mick grabbed it first. "I don't think so friend. Why don't you tell me what's wrong instead?"

My words slurred as they tumbled over my thick tongue. "Mick, have you ever said something so stupid you knew the minute the words left your mouth, the consequences would be huge? Life altering?"

"Life altering, huh? That must have been one hell of statement. Were you drunk?"

"Nope," I replied, punctuating the
p.
"Stone cold sober. Just ape-shit jealous. I'm an ass and a stupid control-freakin' idiot!" I pounded the bar, upsetting the peanut dish.

"Easy friend." Mick moved the dish out my reach. He replaced my beer with a tall glass of ice water. "If you screwed things up so badly sober, I'd hate to see what you'd do drunk."

I opened my cell receptor. Like a fool, I dialed Marli's number. Nothing. Did she really not take her receptor? She wouldn't purposely ignore me…would she? No way did she really mean we were
over
. We couldn't be "over
.
" She was my assignee. I had priority...unless
she
wanted Peterson. Damn! I squeezed my cell so hard it should have exploded.

I stared at the number pad, trying to bring the numbers into focus. Why not? Miss Davis probably hooked up with Doug Peterson by now, so why should I suffer? Heather Sandberg—Number 7? My finger trembled over the call key, my gut twisting into an aching knot. I didn't want Heather. I wanted Marli. The hurt boiled inside, then something worse. Fear I'd really lost her.

Gentle fingers curled over mine, closing the receptor. The voice sounded whisper soft with breath smelling of peppermint. "Why call someone who isn't here, when I am."

My head tilted sideways, or maybe the room did. Her golden mane fell over her bare shoulders, the ends tickling my arm. She looked pretty—I think. Big blue eyes and full, cherry gloss lips. Sexy as hell. She leaned into me, her perfume permeating my fuzzy brain. Something floral, mixed with enough pheromones to make me feel surprisingly lonely...and needy
.

I liked the way her fingers played around the edges of my ears, softly rubbing my lobes. Damn. I swallowed a baseball-size lump. She shifted, allowing me a full view down her shirt. No bra. Everything turned warm and hazy. My pants tightened. She had a fantastic chest. So did Marli. Got close enough a to know her assets were real, not manufactured like the angel melting her lips to mine.

Shit, she tasted good, but not like Marli. Marli was French silk pie where this girl resembled imitation chocolate ice cream at best. However, when you're craving
chocolate
, you'll take what you can find.

I wasn't real clear how we got from the bar to the inside of my car; however at this moment I didn't care about details. Fingers made fast work of the buttons on my shirt and I hissed when her cold hands pressed my chest, but her hot lips warmed the spots to a blistering heat.