by Nora Roberts
cup in the direction of the trash. “I hate it when you interrupt me.”
“I know.” And he grinned at her. “Why don’t we have a quiet evening tonight, at your place? We can start making love in the living room, work our way through to the bedroom and back out again.”
“David, Clarissa is my mother and I’m very concerned about her. I should—”
“Be more concerned with yourself.” He had his hands on her hips. “And me.” They slid firm and strong up her back. “You should be very concerned with me.”
“I want you to—”
“I’m becoming an expert on what you want.” His mouth brushed hers, retreated, then brushed again. “Do you know your breath starts trembling whenever I do that.” His voice lowered, seductive, persuading. “Then your body begins to tremble.”
Weak, weaker than she should have been, she lifted both hands to his chest. “David, we have an agreement. It’s business hours.”
“Sue me.” He kissed her again, tempting, teasing as he slipped his hands under her jacket. “What are you wearing under here, A.J.?”
“Nothing important.” She caught herself swaying forward. “David, I mean it. We agreed.” His tongue traced her bottom lip. “No mixing—ah—no mixing business and…oh, damn.” She forgot business and agreements and responsibilities, dragging his mouth to hers.
They filled her, those wild, wanton cravings only he could bring. They tore at her, the needs, the longings, the wishes she knew could never be met. In a moment of abandon she tossed aside what should be and groped blindly for what might be.
His mouth was as hard, as ravenous, as if it were the first time. Desire hadn’t faded. His hands were as strong, as possessive and demanding, as ever. Passion hadn’t dimmed. It didn’t matter that the room was small and smelled of old coffee and stale cigarettes. Their senses were tangled around each other. Perfume was strong and sweet; tastes were dark and exotic.
Her arms were around his neck; her fingers were raking through his hair. Her mouth was hungry and open on his.
“Oh, excuse me.” Clarissa stood in the doorway, eyes lowered as she cleared her throat. It wouldn’t do to look too pleased, she knew. Just as it wouldn’t be wise to mention that the vibrations bouncing around in the little room might have melted lead. “I thought you’d like to know they’re ready for me.”
Fumbling for dignity, A.J. tugged at her jacket. “Good. I’ll be right in.” She waited until the door shut, then swore pungently.
“You’re even,” David said lightly. “You caught her—she caught you.”
Her eyes, when they met his, were hot enough to sear off a layer of skin. “It’s not a joke.”
“Do you know one thing I’ve discovered about you these past few days, A.J.? You take yourself too seriously.”
“Maybe I do.” She scooped her purse from the sofa, then stood there nervously working the clasp. “But has it occurred to you what would have happened if a member of the crew had opened that door?”
“They’d have seen their producer kissing a very attractive woman.”
“They would have seen you kissing me during a shoot. That’s totally unprofessional. Before the first coffee break, everyone in the studio would be passing around the gossip.”
“So?”
“So?” Exasperated, she could only stare at him. “David, that’s precisely what we agreed we didn’t want. We don’t want your crew or our associates speculating and gossiping about our personal relationship.”
Brow lifted, eyes narrowed attentively, he listened. “I don’t recall discussing that in detail.”
“Of course we did.” She tucked her purse under her arm, then wished she still had something in her hands. “Right at the beginning.”
“As I recall, the idea was to keep our personal and professional lives separate.”
“That’s just what I’ve said.”
“I didn’t take that to mean you wanted to keep the fact that we’re lovers a secret.”
“I don’t want an ad in Variety.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t have said why he was angry, only that he was. “You don’t leave much middle ground, do you?”
She opened her mouth to spit at him, then subsided. “I guess not.” On a long breath, she took a step forward. “I want to avoid the speculation, just as I want to avoid the looks of sympathy when things change.”
It didn’t require telepathy to understand that she’d been waiting for the change—no, he corrected, for the end—since the beginning. Knowledge brought an unexpected, and very unwelcome, twinge of pain. “I see. All right, then, we’ll try it your way.” He walked to the door and held it open. “Let’s go punch in.”
No, he couldn’t have said why he was angry. In fact, he knew he shouldn’t have been. A.J.’s ground rules were logical, and if anything, they made things easier for him. Or should have made things easier for him. She made absolutely no demands and accepted none. In other relationships he’d insisted on the same thing. She refused to allow emotions to interfere with her business or his. In the past he’d felt precisely the same way.
The problem was, he didn’t feel that way now.
As the shoot ground to a halt because of two defective bulbs David reminded himself it was his problem. Once he accepted that, he could work on the solution. One was to go along with the terms. The other was to change them.
David watched A.J. cross the room toward Alex. Her stride was brisk, her eyes were cool. In the conservative suit she looked like precisely what she was—a successful businesswoman who knew where she was going and how to get there. He remembered the way she looked when they made love—slim, glowing and as dangerous as a neutron bomb.
David took out a cigarette then struck a match with a kind of restrained violence. He was going to have to plan out solution number two.
“Mr. Marshall.” A.J. had her speech prepared and her determination at its peak. With a friendly enough smile, she interrupted Alex’s conversation with one of the grips. “Could I speak with you for a minute?”
“Of course.” Because he’d been expecting it, Alex took her arm in his innate old-style manner. “Looks like we’ll have time for a cup of coffee.”
Together they walked back to the room where A.J. had stood with David a few hours before. This time she poured the coffee and offered the cup. But before she could start the prologue for the speech she’d been rehearsing, Alex began.
“You want to talk about Clarissa.” He pulled out one of his cigars, then held it out. “Do you mind?”
“No, go ahead. Actually, Mr. Marshall, I would very much like to talk to you about Clarissa.”
“She told me you were uneasy about our marriage plans.” He puffed comfortably on his cigar until he was satisfied it was well started. “I admit that puzzled me a bit, until she explained that besides being her agent, you happen to be her daughter. Shall we sit down?”
A.J. frowned at the sofa, then at him. It wasn’t going at all according to plan. She took her place on one end, while he settled himself on the other. “I’m glad that Clarissa explained things to you. It simplifies things. You’ll understand now why I’m concerned. My mother is very important to me.”
“And to me.” As he leaned back, A.J. studied his profile. It wasn’t difficult to see why her mother was infatuated. “You of all people can understand just how easy Clarissa is to love.”
“Yes.” A.J. sipped at her coffee. What was it she’d planned to say? Taking a deep breath, she moved back on track. “Clarissa is a wonderfully warm and very special person. The thing is, you’ve known each other for such a short time.”
“It only took five minutes.” He said it so simply, A.J. was left fumbling for words. “Ms. Fields,” he continued, then smiled at her. “A.J.,” he corrected. “It doesn’t seem right for me to call you ‘Ms. Fields.’ After all, I’m going to be your stepfather.”
Stepfather? Somehow that angle had bypassed her. She sat, coffee cup halfway t
o her lips, and stared at him.
“I have a son your age,” he began again. “And a daughter not far behind. I think I understand some of what you’re feeling.”
“It’s, ah, it’s not a matter of my feelings.”
“Of course it is. You’re as precious to Clarissa as my children are to me. Clarissa and I will be married, but she’d be happier if you were pleased about it.”
A.J. frowned at her coffee, then set it down. “I don’t know what to say. I thought I did. Mr. Marshall, Alex, you’ve been a journalist for over a quarter of a century. You’ve traveled all over the world, seen incredible things. Clarissa, for all her abilities, all her insights, is a very simple woman.”
“An amazingly comfortable woman, especially for a man who’s lived on the edge, perhaps too long. I had thought of retiring.” He laughed then, but comfortably, as he remembered his own shock when Clarissa had held his hand and commented on it. “That wasn’t something I’d discussed with anyone, not even my own children. I’d been looking for something more, something other than deadlines and breaking stories. In a matter of hours after being with Clarissa, I knew she was what I’d been looking for. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
A.J. sat in silence, looking down at her hands. What more could a woman ask for, she wondered, than for a man to love her with such straightforward devotion? Couldn’t a woman consider herself fortunate to have a man who accepted who she was, what she was, and loved her because of it, not in spite of?
Some of the tension dissolved and as she looked up at him she was able to smile. “Alex, has my mother fixed you dinner?”
“Why, yes.” Though his tone was very sober, she caught, and appreciated, the gleam in his eyes. “Several times. In fact, she told me she’s left a pot of spaghetti sauce simmering for tonight. I find Clarissa’s cooking as—unique as she is.”
With a laugh, A.J. held out her hand again. “I think Momma hit the jackpot.” He took her hand, then surprised her by leaning over to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t hurt her,” A.J. whispered. She clung to his hand a moment, then composing herself rose. “We’d better get back. She’ll wonder where we are.”
“Being Clarissa, I’m sure she has a pretty good idea.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” She stopped by the door to look up at him again. “The fact that she’s a sensitive?”
“Why should it? That’s part of what makes Clarissa who she is.”
“Yes.” She tried not to think of herself, but didn’t bite back the sigh in time. “Yes, it is.”
When they walked back into the studio Clarissa looked over immediately. It only took a moment before she smiled. In an old habit, A.J. kissed both her cheeks. “There is one thing I have to insist on,” she began without preamble.
“What is it?”
“That I give you the wedding.”
Pleasure bloomed on Clarissa’s cheeks even as she protested. “Oh, darling, how sweet, but it’s too much trouble.”
“It certainly is for a bride. You pick out your wedding dress and your trousseau and worry about looking terrific. I’ll handle the rest.” She kissed her again. “Please.”
“If you really want to.”
“I really want to. Give me a guest list and I’ll handle the details. That’s what I’m best at. I think they want you.” She gave Clarissa a last quick squeeze before urging her back on set. A.J. took her place in the background.
“Feeling better?” David murmured as he came up beside her.
“Some.” She couldn’t admit to him that she felt weepy and displaced. “As soon as the shoot’s finished, I start making wedding plans.”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough.” When she sent him a puzzled look, he only smiled. “I intend to keep you busy this evening.”
He was a man of his word. A.J. had barely arrived home, shed her jacket and opened the phone book to Caterers, when the bell rang. Taking the book with her, she went to answer. “David.” She hooked her finger in the page so as not to lose her place. “You told me you had some things to do.”
“I did them. What time is it?”
“It’s quarter to seven. I didn’t think you’d be by until around eight.”
“Well after business hours, then.” He toyed with, then loosened the top button of her blouse.
She had to smile. “Well after.”
“And if you don’t answer your phone, your service will pick it up after four rings?”
“Six. But I’m not expecting any calls.” She stepped closer to slide her arms up his chest. “Hungry?”
“Yeah.” He tested himself, seeing how long he could hold her at arm’s length. It appeared to be just over thirty seconds.
“There’s nothing in the kitchen except a frozen fish dinner.” She closed her eyes as his lips skimmed over her jaw.
“Then we’ll have to find another way to satisfy the appetite.” He unhooked her skirt and, as it fell to the floor, drew his hands down her hips.
She yanked his sweater over his head and tossed it aside. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
His muscles were tight as she ran her hands over his. Taut, tense all the way from his neck to his waist. With her blouse half-open, her legs clad in sheer stockings that stopped just at her thighs, A.J. pressed against him. She wanted to make him burn with just the thought of loving her. Then she was gasping for air, her fingers digging into his back as his hands took quick and complete possession.
When her legs buckled and she went limp against him, he didn’t relent. For hours and hours he’d held back, watching her sit primly in the back of the studio, looking at her make her precise notes in her book. Now he had her, alone, hot, moist and, for the first time in their lovemaking, weak.
Holding her close, he slid with her to the floor.
Unprepared, she was helpless against a riot of sensation. He took her on a desperate ride, driving her up where the air was thin, plunging her down where it was heavy and dark. She tried to cling to him but lacked the strength.
She trembled for him. That alone was enough to drive him mad. His name came helplessly through her lips. He wanted to hear it, again and again, over and over. He wanted to know she thought of nothing else. And when he pulled the remaining clothes from both of them, when he entered her with a violence neither of them could fight, he knew he thought of nothing but her.
She shuddered again and again, but he held himself back from ultimate release. Even as he drove her, his hands continued to roam, bringing unspeakable pleasures to every inch of her body. The carpet was soft at her back, but even when her fingers curled into it she could only feel the hard thrust of her lover. She heard him say her name, once, then twice, until her eyes fluttered open. His body rose above hers, taut with muscle, gleaming from passion. His breath was heaving even as hers was. She heard it, then tasted it when his mouth crushed down to devour. Then she heard nothing but her own sobbing moan as they emptied themselves.
“I like you naked.” When he’d recovered enough, David propped himself on his elbow and took a long, long look. “But I have to admit, I’m fascinated by those little stockings you wear that stop right about here.” To demonstrate, he ran his fingertip along her upper thigh.
Still dazed, A.J. merely moved against his touch. “They’re very practical.”
With a muffled laugh, he nuzzled the side of her neck. “Yes, that’s what fascinates me. Your practicality.”
She opened her eyes but kept them narrowed. “That’s not what I meant.” Because she felt too good to make an issue of it, she curled into him.
It was one of the things that charmed him most. David wondered if he told her how soft, how warm and open to affection she was after loving, if she would pull back. Instead he held her close, stroking and pleasing them both. When he caught himself half dozing, he pulled her up.
“Come on, let’s have a shower before dinner.”
“A shower?” She let her head rest on his shou
lder. “Why don’t we just go to bed?”
“Insatiable,” he decided, and scooped her up.
“David, you can’t carry me.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” She groped. “Because it’s silly.”
“I always feel silly carrying naked women.” In the bathroom, he stood her on her feet.
“I suppose you make a habit of it,” she commented dryly, and turned on the taps with a hard twist.
“I have been trying to cut down.” Smiling, he pulled her into the shower with him so that the water rained over her face.
“My hair!” She reached up once, ineffectually, to block the flow, then stopped to glare at him.
“What about it?”
