She was teasing him again. Waltzing around with little more than a golden tan on that fabulous body, posing and preening and fluttering her lashes just so at him and he was just about sick of it.
She thought that just because she'd come back from two epic battles heroic that she was hot stuff.
Only the problem was that she actually was hot stuff and had been ever since she'd grown tits two summers ago. And she seemed bound and determined to practice her newly discovered feminine wiles and learn the effects of her budding sensuality by flirting shamelessly with every man in all of Spira that had a working cock.
And he just knew that she knew that when she stood over him while he was changing the oil in his hover that he could see practically all the way up that tiny skirt of hers. But he couldn't help looking anyway, and it irritated the ever-loving crap out of him. Because she was just a kid, and she shouldn't be sexy or flirty, especially not with him. He was sure it was only a few years ago that she'd been toddling around with stuffed animals and speaking with a lisp because she hadn't gotten all her adult teeth in yet.
So how was it that now she was wearing lip-gloss and swaying those slim hips so enticingly that every male in the vicinity paused to watch as if mesmerized? And why was she practicing on him, of all people?
Not that he wasn't flattered. But still, someone should have knocked some sense into that girl years ago. She was going to get herself in trouble if she kept teasing men like that. He wasn't some kid she could lead around by the nose. He was a grown man, and a grown man could mean trouble for her if she didn't know exactly what she was getting herself into.
And just like that, it occurred to him that he could solve both problems – Rikku's disgruntling habit of casting those sexy bedroom eyes in his direction and his not being completely immune to her charms – at once. And if he did it right, came on strong enough, pushed her far enough, she'd never bother him again. And maybe he'd get to slide his hands under that sinfully short skirt before she took off in a flurry of self-righteous indignation. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.
So he slid out from under the hover, wiping his oily hands on a rag, shoving a couple of tools and the oil canister to the side as he climbed to his feet. She turned a little, silhouetted by the setting sun which poured over her hair, glinting off the shiny strands in little sparkling, dancing rays. Fantastic. Just what he needed. Waxing poetic over Cid's girl.
She glanced over at him, a coy little over-the-shoulder look from beneath those long, long lashes, then averted her eyes. A little half-smile lingered about her glossy lips. Damn brat, she knew exactly what she was doing. Well, she'd be getting a bit more than she bargained for. She'd learn, once and for all, that he was not one of those timid boys she could taunt and tease with her gorgeous body and delicious voice with no expectations, no repercussions.
So he grabbed her by the arms, pressed her down against the hood of his hover, and kissed her. Hard. Deep. Like a real man kissed a woman, none of those flirty, chaste little kisses she probably expected from her little boyfriends. He cradled her neck with one hand, holding her securely against him, stroking her tongue with his, tasting her, discovering the silky feel of the inside of her mouth, the petal-softness of her smooth skin against his. He expected a slap, maybe a swift kick to the crotch. But he got none of it.
He pressed closer, and her legs parted at the insistence of his, adjusting so his hips fit comfortably in the vee her thighs made, wrapping themselves comfortably about his waist. Dammit, she was supposed to be mad at him!
But her fingers were sliding into his hair caressingly, and she was making soft, satisfied little noises beneath him. Irritated, he ran his hand up her thigh beneath her skirt. Maybe when she discovered how far he was going to take her little game she'd realize she didn't want to play anymore and call him a creep and storm out.
But she didn't stop him. She let him touch her, pressed herself against his hand, let him slide his fingers inside her while she made the sweetest little sounds, with her lips at his ear and his lips drifting over the hollow of her throat. And her fingers traveled down his back, holding him against her while she gasped her pleasure into his ear, shuddering as his fingers found just the right pressure, just the right rhythm.
He watched her face, watched her eyes dilate, watched her grit her teeth and pant. Watched her come to rest – languid and satisfied – on the hood of his hover, eyes closed, still trying to catch her breath. And then her eyes opened, brilliantly green and shining, triumph glimmering in their depths. And he knew he wasn't going to be able to just walk away from this. From her. From them.
Damn. He'd been caught. Caught in his own damn trap.