Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  Something rings and I jerk back. Suddenly, I hear the television again, a laugh track on some 90s sitcom. I hear the New York City traffic below the loft. And most importantly, I hear the Goddamn beeping of my Goddamn phone.

  Jenna laughs and smiles and shifts away from me on the couch. Feeling suddenly floods back into my arm, and I have to grab it with my other arm to even move. I fumble for my phone amongst the stuff on the coffee table and check the text message.

  “Hot date?” Jenna asks.

  She’s staring at the television screen and playing with the loose hem of her sweatpants.

  “Um...” I double check my phone for the date and time, and I sigh. “Um, yeah, actually it is a date.”

  Someone on the TV tells a God awful joke and Jenna giggles as if it was the funniest thing in the world. I try to catch her eye, but she's fixated on Ross making another lame joke about dinosaurs.

  “Jenna?”

  “Have fun, Lee.”

  “Jenna.”

  “Get that cushion for the push-in.”

  “Jenna.”

  “Tap dat ass.”

  “Jenna.”

  “Crush that strange, brah.”

  “Jenna.”

  She turns to me and punches me in the shoulder.

  “Really, Lee. Thanks for making me your world-famous hangover cure.” She pats my knee. “Go have fun. I’m all healed up.”

  “But I haven't cleaned or anything and there's a big –”

  “Lee.”

  “But the dishes aren't –”

  “Lee.”

  “We haven't had dessert.”

  “Lee.”

  “And it's not a big deal if I cancel or –”

  “Lee.”

  “I can stay here with you and –”

  “Lee, can you please do something for me?”

  I wait to hear her request. It makes me nervous that I think I'd do anything for her.

  “Can you hand me the remote on your way out?”

  I sigh, then toss it gently at her and stand up. She nestles back on the couch, already flipping through channels, already acting as if I’ve gone. At the door, I peek back at her and half-expect her to be looking back.

  But she's closed her eyes, and I leave without a goodbye.

  In the cab on the way to my restaurant, I skim back over the Tinder profile of the woman I'll be meeting tonight. I keep having to read and reread what she wrote about herself. I just can’t remember if she’s a dentist or a writer or a police officer. Who am I kidding? She's a model. Of course, she's a model. I glance through her photos: her in a bikini, her on a photo shoot, her topless in a bathroom selfie, her topless at the beach. And the requisite picture of her with a puppy. It's all there. It's all the same. It's always the same.

  I pay the cab driver and head in, apologizing to Gina for being late and kissing her on the cheek. She's stunning.

  But sitting across from a girl in stilettos, I keep thinking about a girl in sweatpants. I’m imagining Jenna on the couch in her granny panties, while Gina is guaranteed to be wearing a thong, or probably nothing at all. I want to be running my hand over Jenna’s uptight bun, even as Gina tosses her beachy blonde waves over her shoulder with a bright white smile.

  “So, Gina?” She giggles like we're at a comedy club, and I try to figure out what I said that was so funny. “What do you think of my restaurant?”

  “Oh, I think it's just the best ever. Like the best food. Like ever.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Anything you think could be improved?”

  “No, of course not. Like, seriously, Lee.”

  Gina leans over the table, the glass of wine sloshing in her hand. I assume I'm supposed to notice her cleavage. It's damn near perfect, but it’s not doing anything for me.

  “It's perfect. And you're perfect.”

  I nod and tap my finger against the tablecloth. “Did you see the blog post from that anonymous critic today?”

  Her face turns into a wrinkle-less frown. “Lee,” she whines. More leaning, more cleavage. “Lee, none of that was true at all. Well, except for the part about your ass.”

  Her foot pokes into my crotch and I jump. Gina winks. I smile and try to gently set her foot back down on the floor.

  “But, what about the part about the food? And me? Like my drive and conviction to my craft?”

  I see a flash of confusion across Gina's face. “You're just so perfect, Lee. Just like so perfect.”

  An awkward silence passes between us. We reach for our glasses and both find ourselves suddenly very interested in something across the room. I don't know what I wanted Gina to say. But that blog post runs through my mind, and I keep thinking more and more that maybe the blogger was right.

  I've lost the passion for my restaurant. I've stopped innovating. Hell, I've practically stopped cooking. I worked so hard to get where I am, and maybe I've lost myself in all the side benefits. I have no idea who wrote that blog, but it wasn't someone like Gina.

  “Should we order another bottle of wine?” I ask, staring at my salad plate.

  We're only on the salad and we're nearing the end of bottle number one. We'll definitely be needing more wine.

  Gina says a little too quickly, “Yes.”

  For the rest of dinner, I listen to Gina talk about her Instagram and her Snapchat, her exes, and something about a client accusing her of being a size two when she is clearly a size zero. I listen and I drink. I listen and I drink and I think about Jenna.

  Soon, I stop listening.

  6

  Jenna

  I pretend-laughed at Ross's lame joke about dinosaurs until Lee got to the door. I’d looked over to see if he looked back but he just slipped through and closed it behind him without even a goodbye.

  Then I laughed at my own stupidity. For just the briefest of seconds, before his phone rang, I’d thought he was going to kiss me. That he might have romantic feelings for me. But how could he have feelings for me when he dated so many women, women that were nothing like me?

  I mope on the couch for a few more episodes, only barely watching, and then I decide that the best remedy for stupid mistakes and a lingering hangover is a warm bath with candles and bubbles.

  I head into the bathroom and draw the bath water. I sit on the edge of the tub, quietly stirring up the bubbles. When it threatens to brim over the side, I turn it off, dim the lights and light every candle I own.

  I strip off my sweats and slip into the water with a deep sigh. I dip down until the warm water comes up to my chin. My body instantly relaxes and the pressure in my head eases. If only I could get the storm outside my head to calm down as well.

  I shouldn't have cuddled with Lee on the couch but it had felt so good.

  I shouldn't have given away that I wanted him to kiss me but it had felt so right.

  And I shouldn't have posted that blog post but I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it.

  That post is the root of all this mayhem. Damn you, red wine.

  You know what? Damn white wine, too.

  I’d been perfectly fine with suppressing my feelings for Lee. I’d been happy convincing myself that I’d rather be dating a respectable lawyer with a trust fund and Harvard degree. I’d been okay with pinching my leg whenever I saw Lee with yet another one of his gorgeous dates and wanted to claw her eyes out.

  I’d dammed up my feelings but good, only now it's like hairline fractures are spreading across the cement wall of the dam. It's only a matter of time before the waters spill out.

  Or is it?

  Duct tape. That's all I need. Just a little bit of duct tape over the cracks and I'll be fine.

  I will always be Bryce’s little sister. Lee isn't interested in me that way, and I've known that my whole life. He wants something that isn't me, or more accurately, someone who isn’t me. And I'm not one of those girls who thinks guys who never change for anyone else will magically change for me, as if I’m some
sort of magical princess. Lee is who he is: a charming, successful, attractive, oh so attractive, player.

  I'm not going to fall. I'm not going to fall. I'm –

  Suddenly, I hear something outside my bedroom, and fear floods through me. I didn't lock the door. I'm going to die, and I didn't tell Lee how I feel about him. I should have told him I thought he was daring and brave and inspiring. I could watch him cook in the kitchen all day: the way he moves, the way he bites his lip when he contemplates, the way he dips his pinky into everything, even the hottest sauces, to taste.

  I should have told him I wanted him to taste me, too. Shit!

  I close my eyes as I hear the door to my bedroom open, and I realize I spent my last moments thinking about Lee, rather than trying to save my own ass.

  Suddenly, Lee bursts into the bathroom.

  At first, he doesn’t seem to see me, naked in the tub. He's out of breath and his shirt is untucked and God knows what happened to his nice leather jacket. His eyes finally land on me, and he freezes. My heart is still racing from lingering fear, and maybe that's why I say what I say next. I can justify it in a million ways, but it doesn’t change the fact that the moment I say it, I know it’s a mistake. I don't care.

  I stare Lee straight in the eyes, and ask: “Are you just going to stand there staring at me or are you actually going to kiss me this time?”

  He looks shocked, and I worry he’s going to tell me he only returned to deliver horrible news about my family or to announce he's engaged to the date he’d just met.

  Instead, his expression clears and he walks toward me.

  He doesn't stop to take off his shoes or pull off the jeans that hug his ass so brilliantly. He doesn't stop to tear off his shirt, that white V-neck that drives me absolutely, positively crazy. He doesn't stop at all.

  Instead, he walks right up to the tub and, fully clothed, steps inside with me while water splashes over the rim of the tub and spills across my tiled floor.

  I laugh and duck under the bubbles. He lowers himself until he’s sitting in the tub directly across from me, settles himself, then runs his fingers over my hand, which is gripping the edge of the tub, and is the only part of me showing besides my head.

  “Are you just going to sit there and hide or are you actually going to let me kiss you this time?” he whispers.

  I watch his fingers trace over my hand, slowly and patiently. If I wanted him to stop, he would hop out of the tub and leave.

  But that’s not what I want.

  I entwine my fingers with his then pull myself up, leaning toward him as much as possible while still ensuring my breasts are covered by bubbles. His eyes drop to my chest anyway, and self-doubt rears its head.

  “You're staring again.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up and he reaches out his free hand, but stops before touching me. With his hand hovering at my neck, he waits, as if asking permission. I nod and he scoots forward. He caresses the side of my neck, and I gasp the moment he makes contact. He lightly touches my clavicle. Then my shoulder. Then he exerts pressure until I’m leaning back against the tub. I shudder as his hand lowers into the water, and he skims the sides of my breasts, up and down, up and down.

  “You're hiding again.”

  He runs his thumb over the bubbles covering my right nipple. I suck in a breath. He proceeds to methodically remove every trace of bubbles from each of my breasts. His warm touch disappears briefly as he swirls his hand in the water, then he drips water over me. Together, we watch the droplets bead over the fullness of my breast, drip over my nipple, and slide under my flesh, where he catches it with his thumb and swirls it again, around and around.

  I lose all track of time as he does this. He’s uncovering me painstaking bit by painstaking bit. Soon, my legs tangle with his. My head falls back and I sigh with pleasure. My cheeks flush with the heat of the bath and his touch, slow and delicate. He's unraveling me, piece by piece, and I'm helpless to stop it.

  “There,” he finally whispers, leaning back.

  My chest heaves, laid bare before him with nothing to hide behind.

  “I want you to stay just like that,” he murmurs. He scoots even closer, careful not to splash any bubbles on me. He cups my cheek with one hand as his other hand slips out of view under the water. I squirm when his fingers play against my thigh.

  “Stay just like that,” he whispers, devouring my bare breasts with his eyes. “I want to see you just like this.”

  His other hand leaves my cheek to support my back just as he starts to rub my clit. Good thing, because I moan, and if he hadn't been holding me up, I'd be slipping under.

  His touch is feather light as the warm water caresses me. Still stimulating my clit, he slips a finger inside me. I struggle to stay above the surface as he pulses his finger in and out, the water flooding back and forth in the tub. He watches me with such heat in his eyes that I grip the sides of the tub and hold myself up as he adds another finger.

  I want nothing more than to give into the pleasure spreading up my stomach and down to my toes that I hadn’t even realized have curled. I want to fall into the water and drown under his touch, as he mixes the roughness of his fingers driving into me with the gentleness of his thumb massaging my clit. I want to collapse, to sink, to fall.

  But his eyes... His eyes on my breasts holds me in place.

  I hold on tighter even as he brings me to the edge, even as my thighs tighten around him, even as I scream.

  I hold on.

  For him.

  7

  Lee

  The pressure of a throbbing, rock hard erection in jeans is difficult enough to handle. Turns out it’s ten times worse when those jeans are soaking wet from stepping fully clothed into a bathtub with a naked girl you’ve fantasized about for years.

  An hour ago, I was having dinner and drinking wine with the gorgeous Gina when I’d suddenly been overcome by the knowledge that I had to leave, had to get to Jenna right away, had to show her how I felt about her, finally, once and for all, or something terrible was going to happen.

  Now I’m here, Jenna’s naked, and I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am.

  I’m hoping and praying I’m about to get even luckier.

  The muscles in my shoulders, arms, and hands twitch, wanting nothing more than to direct my palm toward my crotch for some relief, any amount of precious relief.

  But as Jenna’s knuckles turn white from clenching the edges of the tub and her back arches up from the water and the most beautiful scream slips from her lips as she comes, I find I can’t move, despite how much my cock calls for attention. The small of her back jerks against my hand and the warm walls of her vagina clench around my fingers, so tight, so hot, so wet, wetter than the water in the tub if that’s even possible.

  All I can imagine is how it would feel if instead of my fingers it was my dick buried deep inside her. I nearly groan in pain when more blood floods to my crotch, but I relish the sensation. I watch her, transfixed. It’s as if the sight of her body, the feel of her body, the scent of her body as she comes is shorting out my mind and all I can do is stare in awe as her screams turn to whimpers then sighs, and her chest heaves and her tits quiver as she tries to catch her breath.

  It’s her eyes, as they flutter open and look across the tub at me that finally breaks my paralysis. I can move again. I can breathe again. Because when Jenna opens her eyes there isn’t a hint of shyness or hesitation or regret. She doesn’t blush or giggle or turn away in embarrassment. No, her eyes are dark and steady, piercing into me through the thick, steam-filled air between us.

  Her gaze is lit with lust, heat, a challenge.

  A challenge I’m more than willing to accept.

  Just try to fucking stop me.

  I slip my fingers from her pussy and force myself not to grin triumphantly when my pinky grazes her clit and her hips jerk. Moving my other hand from her lower back, I graze my fingers along her sides before reaching for the top button of my shir
t.

  “Have you thought about this before, little Jenna Harrison?” I ask her, slowing down my fingers when I catch her biting her lip as her eyes follow my progress. “Have you thought about how I could take you apart with just my fingers?”

  Her eyes flash up to mine, and suddenly I imagine so much emotion in them. Not just desire, but longing. Adoration.

  Love.

  No, that’s not what this is. At least not for her. This is me catching her off guard. This is about too much wine and impulsivity and sex. Damn good sex.

  Isn’t it? My mind is starting to spin, and my fingers freeze, and my heart is beating a panicked rhythm when she says, “I don’t think about you at all, Lee.”

  My heart stops racing. Ah, so we’re back to sparring again. That’s the Jenna I’m familiar with. It’s a Jenna I can work with. Because I might have imagined that look of adoration and love in her eyes, but I didn’t imagine the desire. Jenna wants me. And I’m suddenly damn certain that she’s wanted me, at least wanted my body, for a while now, and that fills me with a cockiness that almost makes me dizzy.

  “No?” I start unbuttoning my shirt again. “All these years we’ve known each other, you’ve never imagined what my cock looks like? What it feels like?”

  My shirt falls open as I reach the final button. Her knuckles turn white again when she once more grips the sides of the tub. I peel the shirt from my shoulders and toss it to the side. I lean forward as if to kiss her and her lips part slightly in anticipation. I stop before our lips touch and search through the water for the laces of my shoe, enjoying the flush that creeps across her cheeks.

  Lips just inches from hers, so close that I can see the tiny droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes and the size of her dilated pupils, I continue as I untie my shoe and slip it off. “You’ve never wondered if I could make you scream? If I could make your toes curl? If I could drive you out of your fucking mind, little Jenna Harrison?”

  “No.” Her voice is weak, shaky, uncertain.

  “No?” I strip off my sock and fling it over my shoulder as my shoe floats next to my leg. Neither of us care enough to move it. It’s all about my body and hers and nothing else matters. “You’ve never thought of me when you were touching yourself late at night, biting your hand to keep from screaming my name?”