by Julia Harlow
But everything had changed the moment Dorrie had sat in the seat next to him on that flight to London. She had no self-consciousness about her, no shyness. He wondered if this could be what people meant when they talked about meeting their soul mate.
The bed dipped when he sat down beside Dorrie and stroked her cheek, leaning in to kiss her lovely, soft mouth. “Morning.”
Stretching her arms over her head, she smiled at him. “Morning. Oh, you’re already dressed. I like you in that black T-shirt and jeans. And you smell really nice, all spicy and fresh.” He bent again to kiss the tip of her nose.
“I have to leave in a few minutes, but I’ve ordered breakfast for you. Take all the time you want. It’ll take a while for everything to get set up for the first day of the shoot, so you won’t miss anything for at least an hour or two. Or longer if you want to go back to sleep.” When he kissed her again, her hands cupped the back of his head and pulled him into her warm, soft, naked body. He pulled back, shaking his head and breathing heavily.
“If I don’t leave right now, I’ll never be able leave.” Forcing himself to stand, he gazed down on this erotic vision. “Listen. I was thinking. Why don’t you move in here with me? That’s if you want to.”
She adjusted the pillow behind her head and sat up so she could see him better. “You know I want to, Grant. But don’t we have to keep up appearances? And don’t say ‘fuck appearances,’ because the housekeeping staff will know, and then the whole hotel staff, and next thing you know, everyone on the shoot will know. And it’s sure to get back to Omni.”
He knew his expression was sulky, and he noticed she had to bite her lip in order not to laugh. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and slipped on her robe, cinching the silk tie at her waist. She wrapped her arms around his middle, nuzzling her head into his neck.
“We’ll figure something out. Maybe I can keep my things out of sight here and mess up my room enough to make it seem as though I’ve slept and showered there.”
His grip tightened as he pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head, exhaling an audible sigh of relief. “Now that’s good thinking.”
~*~
When Dorrie entered the lobby two hours later, she’d showered, shampooed and dried her hair, styling it in graceful waves, and dressed in the khaki slacks, tailored white blouse, and leather kitten-heeled sandals Grant had purchased for her. Her laptop, notepad, and phone were stowed in the Coach leather tote, a gift from Blanche for her twenty-third birthday. A pair of wanna-be glam sunglasses finished her ensemble.
For a while, she sat in a club chair in the lobby at the side of the action and took it all in. A skinny man with a shaved head and dressed all in black with a plum scarf artfully arranged at his neck seemed to be in charge. A DJ spun an eclectic mix of music. Almost a dozen androgynous people mingled around like a herd of gazelles: gazelles that appeared as though they hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. Dorrie was certain these were the models for the shoot and took her time appraising each one.
When her eyes fell on Grant, she drank him in from head to toe and recognized that he was the most beautiful of them all, male or female. He stood apart, taller and more muscular than any of the men, frowning slightly, until he spied her and his face lit up, the smile spreading all the way to his eyes. He winked at her. Dorrie lifted her hand in a little wave, stunned that she even knew someone like him, let alone that he was winking at her.
At least half a dozen photographers milled about both inside and at the front of the hotel, some lugging heavy equipment. Spotlights on stands were scattered around the entrance and out on the terrace. Director’s chairs held some of the models while hairdressers wielded hair dryers, brushes, and combs and dipped into bags laden with hair products, while still other models were having the finishing touches of makeup applied. She spied Grant lowering himself into one of the chairs, and sidled over, resting her hand on the side of the chair.
Grant grabbed her hand and was about to kiss it but released it as soon as he noticed her frown. “Stefan, this is Dorrie Applegate. She’s the journalist who’s writing my biography. Dorrie, this is Stefan, my hair dresser.” He gestured to a small, tattooed redhead. “And over there, rummaging around in that bag, is Simone, makeup artist extraordinaire.” Simone gave a little wave, makeup sponge and brushes in her hand.
“Hey there, Dorrie. How’re you doin’?” Stefan’s drawl appealed to her. Hairdryer aimed strategically, he brushed Grant’s thick dark hair, coaxing out the natural curls.
“Would you style my hair sometime?”
The sound of Grant’s groan could be heard over the whirr of the hairdryer. “You’re not touching her hair, Stefan!”
Ignoring Grant, Stefan answered Dorrie. “I’d love to get my hands on your luscious waves, honey lamb, but, honestly, I think I could learn a few tips from you.”
The back and forth minutia of hair products and techniques had Grant’s eyes rolling back in his head. Dorrie giggled and returned to her chair.
She slid the laptop out of her bag and started typing a description of the scene in front of her as fast as her fingers could fly over the keyboard, occasionally glancing up to see what else was happening. Deciding to check the outside entrance, she re-stowed her laptop, slung the tote over her shoulder and made her way outside. The salty sea air was invigorating and she breathed it in, holding her face up to soak in the warmth of the sunlight.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” A smooth voice with a Southern accent seemed to come out of nowhere. Dorrie looked up into green eyes that turned up slightly at the outside corners. She recognized him as one of the models she’d seen inside. He leaned against the doorway, confident, casual in his stance. Not as tall as Grant, he was leaner with slender hands and feet. The contours of his face were softer, his full mouth almost feminine. In contrast to Grant’s dark, sultry looks, his were lighter, sweet, and boyish. Where Grant was Sean Connery in Goldfinger, this man was Ashton Kutcher in Guess Who.
“I’m good.” She smiled at him, and he extended his hand.
“Luke Parker. Very nice to meet ya.”
Taking his hand, she replied, “Dorrie Applegate.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re the one writing the biography of grandpa over there.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, confused. Then she followed the direction of his head nod. “Oh, come on. Be serious. He only has a few years on you.”
Luke shook his head and grinned. “He’s got almost ten years on me. And what’s there to write about him anyway? ‘Fell ass-backwards into fame and fortune’? Mine would be a much more interesting read.” Raising his brows, he gave her a smoldering look. She suppressed a laugh. As if his life had been long enough for anything interesting happen to him.
“Well, Omni hired me to do his biography. Maybe they’ll get to you when you’re as successful as Grant is.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend Grant to this upstart, but she did. He just smiled at her, a charming, perfect white-toothed smile, with no doubt about his appeal.
“Where’re you from, anyway?” he drawled.
“Kentucky.”
“Wow! We’re neighbors. I’m from Georgia.”
“You do know we’re separated by the state of Tennessee, right?”
“I was never any good at geography.” He swiped a hand through his thick, brown hair, eyeing her up and down.
“Aren’t you worried about messing up your hair for the shoot?”
“Naw. They don’t need me till tomorrow. I just came to check out the competition. Say, why don’t I show you some of the sights? My car’s right over there.” He gestured to a vintage British racing green Jaguar.
“I’m actually working, but thanks for the offer.”
“Oh, c’mon, Dorrie. This is just going to be hours and hours of boring poses, voguing, and picture taking. We’re in this amazin’ country. Don’t you want to experience some of it beyond the confines of this hotel?”
He did have a point. She
scanned the area for Grant, wondering if he’d mind if she left for an hour or so. Luke had hit on one of her real weaknesses. She’d hardly seen any of the world and would never pass up a chance to drink in the culture and heritage of a new country.
She also knew Grant was going to be way too busy to show her around. “Well, I really did want to see Amalfi Cathedral and the lemon groves.”
He took her elbow and steered her to his car.
Luke held her hand as she lowered herself into the seat of the Jaguar. At the contact of his fingers on hers, she felt a stab of conscience. She should stay with Grant and watch the shoot. This was an assignment. But as Luke peeled away from the curb and the sea air tousled her hair, she couldn’t resist the thrill of adventuring in this beautiful country. Besides, they’d only be gone an hour.
As they drove down the steep coast of the Sorrentine Peninsula, her eyes lingered on the houses painted in warm, pastel colors, the unique natural landscape, whitewashed villas, and the shimmering sea. Everywhere, the intense scent of lemons filled the air. Dorrie remembered reading in a brochure that Amalfi was called “The Land of the Sirens,” from Homer’s epic poem, Odysseus.
“Want to stop for a Limoncello?” Luke’s voice broke through her reverie.
“What’s a Limoncello?”
“Well, if you don’t know, you’ve got to try one.” His wrists dangled over the steering wheel, and he appeared to be comfortable driving this uneven terrain. The smile he flashed Dorrie had a mischievous twinkle in it, and she wondered what she’d missed.
He pulled off the narrow road to a sidewalk cafe. Before Dorrie could get out, he was at the passenger door, opening it for her and offering his hand.
Mr. Parker was quite the gentleman. But why did she get the feeling he had a good amount of Eddie Haskell thrown in the mix of his good manners? His hand settled in the small of her back as they made their way to one of the small tables. A mustached gentleman wearing an apron that had once been white approached the table. Luke ordered in Italian, holding up two fingers.
“You speak Italian?” Dorrie asked.
“Just enough to get by. So tell me about yourself, Dorrie.” He leaned far back in the bentwood chair so that only the two back legs were on the ground.
“Well, you already know I was born in Kentucky. I’m living in New York now, working as a writer for Omni Publishing. And that’s about it. What about you?”
The gentleman served the Limoncellos in chilled ceramic glasses. Dorrie smiled up at him and ventured a timid “Grazie.” To her delight, the man broke into a gap-toothed smile and rattled off a whole one-sided conversation liberally peppered with “bella” and “bellissima,” gesturing to her the entire time.
Dorrie glanced helplessly at Luke. “What’s he saying?”
“That you’re a beautiful woman. And that he can imagine how good you’d taste if he could stick his tongue in your mouth. And that he’s never seen such a hot, luscious body as yours. And he would like to take you in his arms and—”
Dorrie cut Luke off. “Okay, okay. We both know that’s not what he’s saying.” She smiled and nodded at the gentlemen. When he’d gone back inside, she took a tentative sip of her drink and inhaled a sharp breath after swallowing. “Luke! This is a liqueur! I was expecting lemonade!”
“Yep. Good, isn’t it?” He lifted his cup to his lips and took a swig.
“Very strong and very lemony,” she replied.
“So, now you’ve tasted the renowned drink of Amalfi.” He winked at her, and again she wondered if he had an ulterior motive for this little outing.
They chatted, enjoying the lovely setting and climate, not to mention the warm glow from the Limoncellos.
Dorrie finished the last sip of her drink and glanced down at her watch, stunned that two hours had passed since they’d left the hotel.
“We really need to get back.”
“What’s the rush? I thought you wanted to see Amalfi Cathedral.” Dorrie couldn’t help but notice the irritated edge to his voice.
“I do, but not today. Please, let’s head back now, Luke.”
He tossed euros on the small table and stood, frowning down at her. “Okay.” He waited for her to stand and collect her tote, and then snaked his arm around her waist. When Dorrie tried to edge away, his grip tightened, and he grinned down at her.
“If you’re going to rush me, the least you can do is kiss me. I bet you’ve kissed that old man plenty.” His grin vanished, replaced by a sneer.
“No, I haven’t,” she lied. “Do you have something against Grant?”
“Hell, no. Why would you think that?”
“You just seem really prickly whenever the subject of Grant comes up.”
“Hey, are you calling me a prick?” His grin was back as he opened the car door for her.
Luke drove way too fast on the narrow, uneven roads back to the hotel, and she braced her feet against the floor mats, slamming on an invisible brake. He parked and turned off the ignition, angling his body toward Dorrie and draping his arm around her shoulders. When he leaned his head down to kiss her, she pulled back. “Look. I appreciate you taking me around today, but I really think we should keep this platonic.” She gestured one hand in between them.
“Just a little kiss. Please.” His voice was low and had a sexy affectation she knew he’d perfected with many women. “I’m way too attracted to you to keep this platonic.” He leaned in again, and Dorrie reached for the door handle, backing away. He shook his head, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Here’s a little heads-up for you, Dorrie. No matter how squeaky-clean Grant’s convinced you that he is, he’s lying. He fucks everything that comes his way. And believe me, that’s a lot of hot pu—”
Dorrie yanked the door handle and hopped out before he could finish his latest attempt to slander Grant. As she hurried toward the hotel, she could see that the shoot had almost wrapped up for the day. Only a few of the crew were still around packing up their equipment. She was aching to see Grant, to hold him and nuzzle into the comfort of his arms. Heading toward the terrace, she quickly glanced around the lobby and took a peek in the bar but didn’t see him anywhere.
Just as she stepped onto the terrace, she felt his eyes on her. And they were dark and angry. Really angry.
Chapter 7
Grant grasped her upper arm and spat through gritted teeth, “Where the fuck have you been?” He pulled her toward the elevator. The lobby was no place for a conversation with him in this state, so she waited until they’d stepped inside the elevator to answer, keeping her voice low. Neither of them had noticed the remarkably good-looking man with the green eyes who lurked in the shadows, watching them.
“I just did a little sight-seeing. I knew you were going to be tied up for a while, and I wanted to see a bit of the countryside.”
“I saw you leave with that little dickhead Parker, so don’t give me any of this ‘I’ bullshit. What did the two of you do? Did you fuck him?” His voice had dropped to a dangerous tone, and he gripped the rail in the elevator so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Dorrie felt the sting of his words as if he’d slapped her. She squared her shoulders and met his dark, furious eyes. “I am not going to dignify that with an answer.” As soon as the elevator doors opened, she raced down the corridor to her room, searching inside her tote for the key card. But he was faster, and when he caught up to her, he grabbed her wrists, forcing her to drop her bag, and pulled her hands above her head, backing her against the wall and pinning her with his hips. In an instant, his mouth was on hers, hot and desperate. His kiss was rough at first, but when he sensed her stiffness, his lips softened on hers until her body relaxed into his.
She pulled away to catch her breath, gulping in mouthfuls of air and feeling dizzy at his desperate ardor.
“Please tell me you didn’t let him kiss you. Please, Dorrie.” His fingers brushed the soft curls away from her forehead, and then he held her face in his hands, the sadness in his eyes wrench
ing her heart.
“No. He didn’t kiss me. I don’t want anyone’s mouth on me but yours. And it really hurts that you would think I’d do anything with that little boy.” She turned away and slid her card in the slot, opening her door, and stepping inside.
“May I come in?”
“If you’re finished with the false accusations, then yes. Besides, you promised we’d start working.”
Grant picked up her bag and entered the room, closing the door behind him. “How about a drink first? I certainly need one.”
“Help yourself to anything you can find. I haven’t had much of a chance to check out the mini bar.”
After pouring them each a glass of wine, he settled next to her on the love seat by the windows. “Luke Parker despises me. I don’t know why, other than he wants everything I have and thinks it should be handed to him. He’s spoiled, vindictive, and greedy, and when I saw you leaving with him, it tore me up inside. You’re so lovely and vulnerable, and I wouldn’t put it past him to make a move on you. Or worse. I didn’t know where you’d gone, and I was worried to the point of losing my mind.
“But I’m truly sorry I accused you sleeping with him. That was uncalled for. Can you forgive me?” He leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Dorrie gazed at him, thinking he’d never looked more gorgeous. He was in jeans and a black T-shirt outlining those broad shoulders and muscular chest and clinging to his huge biceps. His usually perfectly coiffed dark hair was mussed, adding to his appeal. For Grant, less was more, as far as she was concerned. He didn’t need any trappings to detract from his stunning looks. Although she wanted him wearing more than the skimpy Speedos he wore for some magazine ads. At least for the moment. She was lost breathing the scent of him when he repeated, “Dorrie?”
She shook her head to focus on his question and met his eyes. “Yes, I forgive you, Grant. But I’d appreciate a little more confidence in me. Or at least the benefit of a doubt before you jump to conclusions.”
He studied her a moment and then handed her a glass of wine. “I don’t know what that was all about. Really. I’ve never reacted like that before. Have you cast a spell on me?” His magnetic smile caught her off guard, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment.
