A Passion for Him

by Sylvia Day

  Man, was he ever in trouble.

  “I am glad you’re here, Damon,” she said softly.

  God help him, he had to kiss her. “Me, too,” he said.

  Tension radiated between them. Before he could debate the wisdom of his actions, he lowered his head and kissed her.

  Telling himself kissing Laurel was nothing more than a measure of comfort for a friend in need because she was facing such a difficult situation was a bald-faced lie. The instant his lips pressed against hers, the sweet taste of her mouth fired his libido and blindsided him.

  He didn’t believe she’d actually meant to slide her body along his, or return the kiss in a way that defied the boundaries of friendship or that of a client and her attorney. There was no way in hell either of them had imagined for a minute the air around them would crackle with an energy that could only be described as sexual in nature, but when her lips moved beneath his in an erotic dance of seduction, his testosterone shot through the roof.

  Heat stirred in his belly and burned hot in his groin as her tongue demanded entrance. She tasted sweet. And hot. So hot. Like mind-blowing, sweat-drenched bodies, and tangled-sheets sex. The kind they used to have.

  God help him, he wanted nothing more.

  He should stop the insanity, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He wanted Laurel.

  Instead, he moved his hands, sliding them around her rib cage to chase down her back, settling on the curve of her bottom, pulling her closer.

  He brought his hands up, gliding along her side and stopped on her rib cage again. With his thumb, he traced the underside of her breast. She trembled in his arms.

  She slid her hands from around his waist to wreathe her arms around his neck, the movement creating more friction as their bodies moved together. Through the thin fabric of her top, the pebble hardness of her nipples brushed against his chest.

  His cock throbbed. He knew he should stop. Stop before they went too far. He also knew he’d wake up in the morning with more than regret, too, if he didn’t end this craziness—now. He’d wake up in bed with a beautiful, sensuous woman. A naked woman.

  For the space of a heartbeat, he figured spending the rest of the night making love to Laurel would be worth every regret thrown at him. The temptation of having her in his bed again was too much for him to ignore.

  He waited for common sense to prevail.

  It didn’t.

  Thank God.

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  “You really believe that one kiss will get you in my bed, don’t you? You think you can live up to your own legend?”

  “One way to find out.” He put his mouth to hers.

  She stood immobile, her arms hanging down at her sides, her hands clenched in determination. As if she wanted to prove to them both that she wasn’t susceptible to the combustible chemistry sizzling between them.

  Luke took the challenge. He slid his hand off her neck and into her thick, soft hair. Then he spread his other hand over her lower back and pulled her into his body.

  She resisted for a long second, then she softened with a frustrated sigh. Her mouth slid open as she exhaled, her rigid spine eased against his hand and she put her arms around him.

  Surrendering? God, he hoped so. Then her tongue touched his and lust swamped him. His blood pumped fast and hard while his dick throbbed. He sank his tongue deep inside her, tasting Ivy, a flavor so real and intoxicating that he forgot about statues, jobs, fathers . . . His entire world narrowed to the woman in his arms.

  “No!” Ivy jerked her whole body away from him. She ran her hand over her mouth, her gaze losing the haze of desire and icing to frustration, maybe anger. Then she grabbed the doorknob, pulled open the door, and said, “Time for you to go.”

  What the hell just happened? He reached out to touch her, to reconnect.

  Ivy smacked his hand away and glared at him. “Leave.”

  Damn, he’d been doing a good job of seducing her. “Ivy, you liked the kiss as much as I did. Don’t lie.”

  She shoved her hair back out of her face. “So what? I don’t think with my hormones, Sterling. You’re just another dime-a-dozen bad boy.”

  Ah, that was it. She was tough, he’d give her that. Which just made her all the more interesting. Intriguing. Sexy. “You don’t mind using bad boys to get what you want.” She’d used his Urban Legend persona often enough on her radio show to prove her points. To tell the world what a bastard he was without ever having met him.

  Her mouth thinned and her eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting I sleep with you to get you to back off?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not backing off whether you have sex with me or not.”

  She made that female noise in her throat again. “God, you’re annoying. I can’t believe all those ditzy Urban Legend fans actually fall for your bull. I liked you much better in your Clark Kent character.”

  He couldn’t help it, he laughed. She’d been the one person who had gotten him to break character, and she’d been intrigued by him in spite of herself. Drawn to him. “Yeah, well, this is me, sweet cheeks.” He leaned toward her. “I’m not a bad boy.”

  She put her arm against the edge of the door as if she were amused by his ignorance. “No? Then what are you?”

  “A bad ass.”

  A light flared like a crystal star in her gaze. “The difference?”

  Ivy York was such a pretender. That flare in her eyes told him how very much she liked dangerous men. He suspected it was because, deep down Ivy possessed the same drive to survive and to succeed, a need to prove to the world that it couldn’t destroy her. To answer her question, he said, “A bad boy throws tantrums and punches for no reason other than he’s a spoiled brat with a man-sized cock.”

  Her lips twitched. “With you so far, Urban Legend.” She managed to make Urban Legend sound like something right out of a garbage can. He leaned his body closer. “A bad ass takes care of business and gets the job done.” He slid through the opened door, thinking she could chew on that for a night.

  “Hey, Sterling.”

  He turned at the top of the stairs and caught his breath. She stood silhouetted by the porch light in her black tank and tiny shorts. Her breasts jutted out with perky nipples, while her shorts cupped her hips where he longed to bury his dick. Her blond hair flowed down around her shoulders and damn it, she was hot. “What?”

  Her smile was slow and sensual. “You really are a legend . . . in your own mind.” She shut the door.

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  The best part of the tour by far was Jillian Sinclair. The worst part was the effect she had on him.

  He found himself standing closer to her so he could get more of her elusive scent. She didn’t wear perfume. The springtime freshness was too subtle for that. Probably her shampoo, but even knowing the fragrance was something so mundane did not diminish its addictive appeal. Of course, the fact that the unmistakable feminine musk underlying it was all Jillian did not help.

  Alan wanted to nuzzle right into her neck, and various other enticing places, and just inhale. Okay, and then maybe taste and touch . . . shit . . . he wanted this woman.

  “Alan?”

  “Huh?”

  Jillian was looking at him questioningly. “I asked if you wanted to see more of the technical behind-the-scenes stuff.”

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  Jillian knew more about the technical workings of the sets and the show’s production than he would have expected. He took copious notes on everything she said. “I feel like I’m taking Film 101.”

  She laughed. “Bored?”

  “Not at all. Just surprised you know so much.”

  “I never went to college, you know? I took some classes on acting, thou
gh, but for the most part? Boring. Having someone else tell me how to do what I love best just didn’t work for me. I found I liked knowing how everything worked more. So, I took classes on set design, editing, prop design . . . you name it, I’ve probably taken at least one class on it.”

  “So, you really are a jack-of-all-trades.”

  “Well all trades related to the film industry.”

  “Do you have dreams of directing one day?”

  “Yes. And eventually, producing. I’m supposed to direct two episodes next season. It’s part of my contract.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty excited.” She led him out of the prop room. “If this show goes for enough seasons, it will be my last full-time acting gig.”

  “Moving to film?” he asked and promptly tripped on one of those big black cables.

  He fell toward Jillian, her hands automatically coming out to steady him and his grabbing onto her. They ended up with her leaning on the wall, him leaning against her with one of his hands on her hip and the other on her shoulder.

  It was the perfect position for kissing and his body perked up, hormones screaming at him to take the plunge.

  Reason prevailed and he managed to apologize rather than lock lips.

  “No problem. Are you okay?” she asked, both of her hands planted firmly against his chest.

  She wasn’t pushing him away and he wasn’t quite up to the task of stepping back. Yet.

  “Yes. I forgot to watch for the cords.”

  “It’s one of the first things you learn.”

  “It would have to be.”

  “Yeah . . .” She swallowed and licked her sweet bow lips.

  Damn.

  “Maybe you should hold my hand and guide me,” he said in a low voice that he usually reserved for the bedroom.

  Double damn.

  “If it will make you feel safer.” Her voice was huskier than normal too and her pupils had almost swallowed the emerald green of her irises.

  Triple damnation. She was turned on.

  He willed himself to step back.

  Nothing happened.

  She stared up at him, silent but for the short little breaths she took.

  His head began to lower while his libido cheered and his brain shouted at him to go to the men’s room and soak his head under a cold faucet.

  Her mouth opened slightly, ready for his to descend.

  “Miss Sinclair?” It was Ralph, the security guard. “I just got off the phone with the prop master. He wanted to request you not tour his room.”

  Alan found his lagging self-control and sprang backward.

  Jillian sidestepped and moved toward the security guard. “I don’t know what he thought we would do.”

  “Probably break something. He’s pretty protective of his stock.”

  Jillian made a little growling noise. It was cute. “Yes, I know. He’s quite the artiste,” she muttered aside to Alan. “We just won’t tell him we already toured the room, yes?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “If he asks, I’ll tell the truth,” she said on a sigh.

  “Let me know if he asks.”

  Her brows drew together. “Why?”

  “So I can keep our stories straight.”

  She groaned. “I hate subterfuge.”

  “I know.”

  That made her eyes widen, almost with fear. Like the idea of him knowing her worried her. The woman was a 3D Chinese puzzle and he planned to have all the pieces put together before this case was over.

  “Thanks, Ralph.”

  “No problem, Miss Sinclair.”

  She turned back to Alan, her smile almost too bright. “So, what were we talking about?”

  “I had asked if you planned to do movies once this series has run its course.”

  “Maybe . . . I’d like to do a movie or two, but mostly? I want to work behind the camera and I’m hoping I can make that happen in a full-time way.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “From directing? Experience. Mostly. From producing, which is my real love . . . the green stuff. It takes a lot of seed money to build a name as a producer, not to mention some killer scripts.”

  “Another reason to rent rooms out in your house.”

  She laughed. “That’s mostly to cover living expenses. My friend Amanda has almost all of my acting income in an aggressive investment plan. She’s helping me realize my dreams.”

  “She sounds like a good friend to have.”

  “We’ve always been there for each other.”

  “I’ve got a brother like that. He’s my best friend.”

  “That’s great. That you’re close to your brother like that. It’s the way family should be.”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Yes. A younger brother. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s hard to get home. He’s talking about coming to visit. He might even transfer to the University of Vancouver next year. Our parents aren’t too happy, but I’d love it if he lived closer.”

  “I hear that. My brother and I do a lot of IM-ing, e-mails, phone calls . . . it helps. But sometimes, we just have to get together face-to-face. Even if we didn’t want to, Sir would insist on it.”

  “Who’s Sir?”

  “My grandfather. He raised us since our parents died when we were teens.”

  “And you call him Sir?”

  “He’s got his quirks, but he did a good job with us.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “What about you? You’re originally from Southern California, right? I bet you call your parents by their first names.”

  Jillian laughed, but the sound was edged with something not in the least humorous. “No way. We had a very traditional home. At least once my mom married my stepdad. I had to call him Dad even though my own father is still living.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It was, but not because of any feelings of disloyalty I felt toward Scorpio. The truth is, he never played much of a parental role.”

  “Scorpio, the painter?”

  “Yes.”

  Well, he knew where Jillian got her red hair from. But she didn’t seem to have much else in common with her famous father. Scorpio was legendary for his affairs with young, gorgeous women and throwing parties that rivaled the decadent depravity of ancient Roman orgies.

  “I guess you were lucky to have a stepdad then.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  “You don’t.” He was getting tastes of Jillian’s secrets and they only made him thirstier for more.

  “One thing I learned growing up is that appearances can be and are often deceptive.” She sighed. “Not that I think living with Scorpio would have been better. Sometimes, life doesn’t give you any good choices. But you know? I realized after moving out that it could have been a lot worse too.”

  Despite his temporary insanity that prompted his request she hold his hand, Alan kept his distance for the rest of the tour. If Ralph hadn’t shown up, Alan would have kissed Jillian senseless. He couldn’t believe his own behavior. No matter how strongly she impacted his libido, he was not some rookie agent to be derailed by a pretty face. Or even a beautiful face. And an intriguing personality. And a charming personality. And the same sense of humor as his own.

  Practically growling with frustration at himself, Alan forced out question after question about how things worked and who did what on the set and in the studio.

  True to what she’d told him earlier, Jillian had enough knowledge to give him elucidating responses to every single query.

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  850 Third Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  Copyright © 2007 by Sylvia Day

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publi
sher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Brava and the B logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-9063-2

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: November 2007