by Heidi Rice
‘Why? I don’t want to wait,’ she said.
He cursed quietly, his control faltering. Why indeed?
‘All right, then.’ He gripped her hips, settled between her thighs and pressed into the slick folds. He heard her breath catch in shock at the fullness of the penetration. He could give her only a few agonising seconds to adjust before he had to move, the tight clasp of her body torturing him. Her fingers grasped the back of his neck and the last thin thread on his control broke. He thrust into her, again and again, spurred on by the pulsing grip of her orgasm.
His own vicious climax roared through him as her shocked sobs of release echoed in his ear. Totally spent, he collapsed on top of her.
‘Mac, my leg’s gone numb.’
The softly spoken plea yanked Mac back to complete consciousness.
‘Damn, sorry.’ He lifted off her, flopped on to his back and covered his eyes with his arm. Bitterly annoyed with himself.
He supposed he owed her an apology. He’d taken her like a madman.
To think he’d been up half the night, deciding on a course of action, and he’d blown it already.
All during the flight he’d been brutally aware of her sleeping beside him. He’d made himself work to keep from touching her. Not that he’d got much done, with his ears tuned to every small movement or sound she made. It was madness.
When he’d carried her to the guest bed at four in the morning, he’d been so desperate to wake her and make love to her, he’d forced himself to leave her be.
Surely he could do without her for one night? Show some restraint. She was exhausted and so was he, and, anyway, she was here for two whole weeks. What was the rush?
He’d managed to grab a few hours’ sleep in his own bed. But he’d woken up fully aroused all the same. A six-mile jog and a swim in the freezing cold Pacific Ocean—and still the need hadn’t gone away.
When he’d seen her on the terrace, that letterbox-red dress hugging her curves and her eyes alight with surprised arousal, he’d stood to attention with no effort at all. Like a boy of thirteen instead of a man in his thirties.
He’d never wanted a woman this much before in his life. It was starting to concern him.
Feeling her hesitant touch on his heated flesh had been a unique kind of torture. But still he’d managed to pull back, had been determined to pleasure her first to prove he could show at least a little of his usual finesse. But her quickfire response, the dewy taste of her arousal had driven him over the edge, and he’d taken her with an urgency that had been nothing short of brutal in the end, despite all his best intentions.
What if he’d hurt her again?
‘Are you all right?’ He forced the words out. ‘I didn’t plan to be so rough there at the end.’
She gave a long contented sigh. ‘Was that rough? It didn’t feel rough, it felt fantastic.’
He opened his eyes to find her smiling at him, her eyes bright with wonder. The trusting look made his heart stir in a way he didn’t like.
There was nothing he wanted more right now than to let himself off the hook. But what did she know about sex? About what she really wanted, or what she deserved? Next to nothing, he suspected. She was probably tender as hell at the moment. He’d taken her too fast, too hard. But she probably didn’t realise he could have made it better for her if he’d slowed down, if he’d not been so selfish.
Maybe it was about time he found out about what had happened six years ago. So he could stop torturing himself over it? He didn’t want it hanging over him. Making him feel responsible for something he’d had no part of.
‘What made you wait so long, Juno?’
Chapter Eleven
‘EXCUSE me?’ Juno stammered.
Mac looked so serious, so sombre, his eyes a penetrating icy blue.
‘Six years,’ he said. ‘Why did you wait so long? What happened?’
Realisation dawned. She sat up, tugging the sheet over her breasts, the warm feeling of afterglow gone. ‘I’m famished. How about I make us a proper breakfast?’
She scooted over to the edge of the bed, intending to make a bolt for the bathroom, but he grabbed hold of the sheet she was using to cover herself, halting her escape in mid-scoot.
‘I want to know what happened. Why won’t you tell me?’
Was he serious? She turned to see the determination in the harsh line of his jaw. Her stomach sank. Apparently he was. ‘Why do you want to know?’
He let out a slow breath. ‘It’s been bugging me. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.’
‘But it was years ago.’ She didn’t want to talk about her past. Not now she was finally breaking free of it.
He let go of the sheet, moved closer to brush the hair back from her brow. ‘You waited six years. And then you chose me. I want to know why.’
‘But that’s silly, it has nothing to do with you. It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘It does to me.’
Why was he being so stubborn? So insistent? It made no sense at all. And then she understood, and her stomach plummeted to her toes. This was exactly the indignity she’d tried to avoid. ‘If you want me to leave…If I’m not exciting enough for you, all you have to do is say so.’
He swore and grabbed her round the waist as she put her feet on the floor. ‘Stop being so defensive. It’s nothing like that.’ He folded her in his arms, hugging her tight and making it impossible for her to go anywhere. ‘You’re sweet and surprising and sexy as hell and I like spending time with you. Especially in bed.’
Juno felt warmth spread through her at his easy compliments and wanted to kick herself. How pathetic that she should be so grateful for any scrap he was willing to throw her way.
‘So why do you care about my past?’ It hadn’t been part of their deal. She’d persuaded herself she could handle the intimacy, but this felt like more than she’d bargained for.
His chest rose against her back in a heavy sigh. ‘Maybe I’m simply curious, or maybe it’s because I’m an actor and knowing people, understanding their emotions, figuring out what makes them tick is part of my job.’
She tried to shrug off his arms, but the hug only tightened.
Her temper spiked. ‘I’m not talking about my past just because it’s your job to be a nosy parker.’
He chuckled, making her temper spike some more.
‘How about I ask you another question, then?’ he said, his lips teasing her ear lobe. ‘If what happened to you six years ago doesn’t matter any more, why won’t you tell me about it?’
She stopped struggling, her temper deserting her when she needed it most.
Why couldn’t she tell him about it?
‘The fact that you’re so damn secretive makes it seem like it does matter,’ he continued, the teasing note gone from his voice. ‘And that’s what’s bugging me.’
She didn’t know what to say to him. It didn’t matter, but she still didn’t want to tell him about it. And the reason why was simple. She was deeply ashamed of what had happened six years ago. Of how naÏve and immature she’d been. And she didn’t want Mac to judge her.
Which was ludicrous. This was just a casual fling. Two weeks from now she’d leave his home and probably never see him again. Why should she care what Mac Brody thought of her?
Her heart thumped hard against her chest. Blast. She’d have to tell him about Tony. Because if she didn’t she’d be admitting to herself, not only that Tony still had the power to hurt her, but that Mac could too.
‘I need a shower first,’ she said grudgingly. She felt exposed enough already; she wasn’t talking about this naked.
He gave her a final squeeze, then let her go. ‘Go right ahead,’ he said, sounding suspiciously pleased with himself. ‘How about I rustle us up that proper breakfast you mentioned? I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite myself.’
‘All right,’ she said grudgingly, her own appetite as good as gone.
Following the smell of frying bacon, Juno stopped in the
kitchen doorway and held back a sigh. Mac stood in front of the stove, dressed only in a pair of worn jeans, his T-shirt draped over a chair. He looked like a female fantasy come to life as he transferred bacon onto plates already piled high with eggs and toasted muffins.
Goodness, was it any wonder he’d manipulated her so easily? Just remembering what he’d done to her this morning had made her feel shaky in the shower. The man had the ability to make any woman lose her grip on reality. Once she’d got this humiliating ordeal out of the way she’d make sure she was more careful next time. Pheromones were dangerous things, and Mac had a devastating effect on hers.
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘You want to grab some cutlery? It’s in the top drawer.’
‘Okay,’ she said, her mouth going dry. She never would have expected him to cook for her. No man had ever cooked for her before. She pulled the cutlery out of the drawer and pretended not to notice the rapid ticks of her heartbeat. Maybe he’d forgotten what they’d agreed to talk about. The more she’d thought about it, the more it seemed odd that he would even want to know about the girl she’d been. Let alone be interested in discussing it.
He slid the plates onto the table and nodded at one of the chairs. ‘Take a seat. We should eat it before it gets cold.’
‘I’m impressed,’ she remarked, her mouth watering at the lavish breakfast he’d cooked. She sat down and picked up her fork. ‘This looks delicious.’
If he wasn’t going to mention it, she certainly didn’t plan to.
He held up the coffee pot. ‘You want a cup?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, starting to relax. The salty aroma of the bacon made her stomach growl as she took a bite. ‘This beats muesli any day.’
By the time she’d polished off the meal she was feeling almost mellow, sure that he’d forgotten about their agreement in the bedroom.
Seeing he was already finished and nursing another cup of coffee, she picked up his plate. ‘How about I wash up?’
‘No need,’ he said, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle. ‘I have a cleaning service. They’ll get to it this afternoon.’
‘Oh, okay.’ She put the plates into the sink.
‘What happened to the dress?’ he asked.
She looked down at the T-shirt and jeans she’d changed into after her shower. ‘I thought I’d go for a walk on the beach after breakfast. This outfit seemed more practical.’ And a lot less revealing. After her second shower of the day she’d been feeling considerably less bold.
‘That’s a shame—the dress was something else.’
She rubbed her hands on the worn denim. Not sure what to make of the little peak in her heartbeat at the casual compliment. She really needed to get hold of her ridiculous reaction every time he said something nice to her.
She tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. ‘I think I’ll go for that walk now.’ The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating.
He smiled, placing his coffee cup on the table as he stood. ‘Good idea. We can walk round the point during low tide to the public beach.’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘They have the best ice-cream stand in LA there.’
She hadn’t planned on him offering to come with her. ‘I’m sure I can find it myself, if you have something you need to be doing.’
His smile widened as he pulled his T-shirt on over his head. Her eyes were drawn to the play of muscles as his abdomen disappeared behind white cotton.
‘As it happens, I don’t have a thing I need to be doing right now,’ he said.
He slipped his hand into hers as they took the terrace steps to the beach. Squeezed.
‘So what was his name?’
Drat, he hadn’t forgotten a thing.
She tensed and tried to pull her hand out of his. Mac hung on.
He’d seen how wary she was when she’d walked into the kitchen, and had considered for a moment letting it drop. But as he watched her eat the breakfast he’d cooked for her he knew he shouldn’t. Figuring her out was the first step to getting her out of his head for good. As long as she still had secrets, she’d continue to fascinate him.
Once he knew why she’d picked him, and picked now, he wouldn’t feel responsible any more. He was counting on it. There’d be no more guilt trips. And anyway, he’d always been deeply curious about people, other people; it was part of what made him good at what he did.
‘Are you really sure you want to hear this?’
He heard the plea in her voice and forced himself to ignore it. ‘Tell it like a story. It’ll be easier. That’s what my shrink says.’
Her eyes went round in her face. ‘You have a psychiatrist?’
‘Everyone in Hollywood has a shrink. They’re like a fashion accessory.’ He’d only been the once, and he hadn’t told the guy a thing—it had reminded him too much of being in the confessional as a lad—but she didn’t need to know that. If he wanted her to open up, it made sense to put her at her ease. ‘And confession’s good for the soul. Remember that.’
She slanted him a sideways look. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
Not for a minute.
‘Of course I do. I was born a Catholic.’ He swung her hand in his and grinned. ‘Now tell Uncle Mac everything. It’ll make you feel better, I guarantee it.’
She huffed out a laugh, and he knew he had her. ‘Oh, all right, then, but I still don’t understand why you want to know.’ She took a deep breath, shielding her eyes against the sun. ‘His name was Tony. I was just sixteen when I met him.’
‘How old was he?’ He hated the bastard already.
‘Older.’
Figured. ‘How much older?’
She dropped her hand from her brow. ‘I don’t know. I never asked him.’
‘So how did you meet him?’
‘Me and my best mate Candice wanted to see this movie. But it was an eighteen certificate.’
‘One of mine, I hope,’ he said, trying to keep things light. A shadow had crossed her face.
She sent him a wistful smile. ‘No, it wasn’t. I’ve never seen any of your movies.’
He stopped dead in the sand, stunned. ‘You’ve not seen one of my movies? Seriously?’
When her smile widened, he realised how conceited he must sound.
‘Yes, seriously,’ she said. ‘I’m not a big movie-goer.’
‘Well, damn, we may have to remedy that,’ he said, although he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to. There was something refreshing about dating a woman who knew nothing of his public image. Feeling oddly humbled, he took her hand again and walked on. ‘So go on now. His name was Tony and he was an old man.’
She laughed again. ‘I never said he was an old man. He was just…older. Anyway. Candice and I wanted to get into the movie, so we got all dolled up.’ She stifled a small smile. ‘Which meant tons of make-up, fishnet tights, short skirts. I don’t know what it is about being sixteen and wanting to look eighteen, but you automatically assume you should dress like a prostitute.’
He couldn’t imagine her with tons of make-up on. She’d had a little on at the wedding, but she had none on today, and she didn’t need it. The colour of her eyes, so striking against her pale skin, her high cheekbones and those plump kissable lips. It would be a crime to plaster loads of paint on such a fresh, beautiful face. She swiped her hair behind her ear in a natural, unaffected gesture, the sunlight catching the gold in her hair. Did she have any notion at all how gorgeous she was?
He gripped her hand harder. ‘Go on.’
‘Tony was there with a couple of his mates. They were all city-boy types, you know, designer suits, high spirits, full of themselves.’
He could imagine. The bastards had seen two young girls and found a way to take advantage of them. The world was full of users, and the worst were often the best dressed.
‘They offered to take us into the movie. Candice and I were really flattered. We thought we must look very sophisticated, to attract grown men. Tony bought me popcorn and Coke and p
ut his arm round me. By the time the film was over I hadn’t seen any of it. And I was already halfway in love with him.’
She gave a self-deprecating laugh, but it sounded unbearably sad to him.
‘I gave him my phone number, because he asked. And over the next few weeks I fell for him hook, line and sinker. He took me to dinner at a swanky restaurant in Mayfair. We went for walks in the park. He bought me champagne, and flowers, and we chatted about everything. He seemed interested in what I had to say and I was pathetically pleased with all the attention. So when he asked if I wanted to go back to his place in the Barbican one Saturday, I said yes.’
Mac’s gut tightened; he didn’t want to hear the rest of this. But he had to know now. He’d happily kill the bastard, just out of principle. But he had a sick feeling in his stomach that he hadn’t heard the worst of it.
‘When we got to his place, he said all this stuff about how much he wanted me, how incredible I was, how he’d never met anyone like me before. And then, he…’ She turned to look at him and for a second he could see the anguish in her eyes before she banked it. ‘I was a virgin and it hurt. A lot. He wasn’t anywhere near as gentle as you were—and he was annoyed with me for making such a fuss. He told me to come back when I’d grown up. And that’s why I didn’t want to do it again. For quite a long time.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if it had happened to someone else.
She shrugged and looked away, the movement so defeated, his stomach ached.
‘So now you know what a silly, naÏve fool I was.’
‘Don’t say that.’ The words were tight, laced with anger.
Juno turned, stunned to see the barely leashed fury in his face. ‘What’s the matter?’
He tugged her towards him, rested his hands on her waist. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.’ His eyes searched her face, the deep blue turbulent with emotion. ‘You were a child. He knew that and he exploited it.’ He held her head, rubbing his thumb across her temple in one slow, gentle stroke. ‘Don’t ever think it was your fault.’
