Can't Stand the Heat

by Peggy Jaeger

  Sweat dripped down her back as she listened to the latest crisis that needed her immediate attention.

  Twenty minutes later, she left the dining hall after making sure the leaking sinks in the kitchen were being seen to and would be fixed before the chefs were due back to start cooking in a little under an hour.

  Her headache had intensified, pushed to the front of her head now because she was starving.

  Why did she ever agree to this? Did she really want to have her own show so much that she was sacrificing her well-being, her sanity—hell, even the health of her eyes—just to ensure that Teddy Davis lived up to his end of their bargain if she did hers?

  The answer, she silently reminded herself, was a resounding yes.

  Thankfully, when she slipped through the front door, the main hall was empty. She just wasn’t up to talking with anyone else right now. Her rooms were, blissfully, chilled from the central air that piped throughout the house. She tossed the walkie-talkie on the bed and in a heartbeat shed her drenched blouse, shrugged out of her equally sweaty bra and slacks, and ran the water in her bathroom sink to the coldest temperature she could get it, then splashed it over her face and neck.

  Heaven.

  She filled the bathroom glass with cold water and then chugged it down in one long draught.

  Better. Another filled glass and she grabbed three aspirin from her stash in her toiletry bag.

  She really needed to lie down for a few minutes and just allow the meds to do their magic, but lunch break was almost over and she hadn’t been in the production truck since she’d left Nikko his morning coffee.

  Wonder if he noticed it didn’t have the full zing it usually did?

  As she ran a towel across her wet face and neck, she flexed and extended her fingers. They’d gotten quite the workout last night, but it had been worth it to finally bring him some much-needed relief.

  Melora told her he was still sleeping when she’d slipped out of the cabin for their early-morning yoga session. After thanking her again, the girl had admitted she’d been scared to her core when she’d called the night before that something truly had been wrong with him. It was plain to see she worried about Nikko, about his pain. But Stacy could see past the obvious worry and sensed Melora was terrified of what would happen should she lose the one parent she had left.

  It didn’t take a psychologist to discern that the girl’s food issues were directly connected to her mother’s loss. Stacy was smart enough to know anorexia was all about control after having witnessed it, firsthand, when her last hospital roommate had suffered through the disorder.

  Melora needed as much help as her father did, and because Stacy hated to see anyone in pain, be it psychological or physical, she felt herself drawn to the two of them more with each passing day.

  Her thoughts drifted to, and centered on, Nikko. She hadn’t seen him during the morning session because of all the fires she’d had to put out around the set. Was he angry with her for having invaded his house, his preciously guarded privacy? He hadn’t asked for her help—for anyone’s, really. Would he even mention her assistance when she finally encountered him, or just ignore it? Ignore her?

  Stacy was self-aware enough to know that something had changed within her these past few days. Being around Nikko, watching him work and interact with the crew, had been an eye-opening experience. She’d known he was famous for being a control freak on a set, but for the first time acknowledged behavior like his might be a good thing. Watching him give direction, actually seeing how involved he was with every aspect of the filming, showed her how much work was involved in being the head of a show.

  And isn’t that what she wanted?

  She’d agreed to come here to get her chance at the show of her dreams. This side benefit of watching and learning from a master like Dominick Stamp was something she’d never considered.

  And he certainly was pleasant to look at, which she did often while seated behind him in the production truck.

  Nikko had the kind of features that when he aged would be described as distinguished and patrician. As her hands had moved up and down his leg, a little jolt of awareness of him as powerful and sexually attractive had pushed up from deep inside, heating her face and neck. She was glad his eyes had been closed so he couldn’t witness how nervous she was.

  Or how turned-on.

  Thoughts of how it would feel to be trapped within those mighty thighs, imprisoned within their hold, had bolted through her. A few times she’d squeezed a little harder than she’d intended, caught up in the fantasy of how she would feel pressed against the long length of him, losing herself beneath him as he made love to her.

  Those thoughts had wormed themselves into her head at various times throughout the morning as well.

  Of all the people to have a stupid crush on, why did it have to be the one person who could barely tolerate being in her presence?

  Stacy toweled off and was about to get dressed in fresh clothes when a knock sounded at her door.

  “Just a sec,” she called as she threw on her robe.

  Surprised was too tame a word for what she felt when she opened the door and found Nikko standing in the hallway.

  He looked…nervous.

  “Mr. Stamp? What’s wrong? Melora? Is—?”

  The nerves turned to annoyance in a heartbeat. His brows pulled together over eyes that narrowed as they peered down at her. His mouth tightened at the corners and he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring with the effort.

  “Nothing is wrong. I need to talk to you about something. Can I come in?”

  “Um, sure.” She glanced around the room, noting her clothes and underwear were scattered in a discarded trail that led to the bathroom.

  She held the door wide for him.

  “I was just changing before the afternoon prep started,” she said, gathering up the items. She rolled them into a ball, threw them into the closet, and then swiftly closed it. “It’s so hot out, you know? I’ve been all over the ranch this morning dealing with production problems and I needed to just freshen up a little.”

  Realizing she was dangerously close to babbling, she stopped and took a breath. Clasping her hands in front of her, she squared her shoulders, calmed her facial features, and said, “What did you need to speak to me about?”

  Nikko took his own breath and for a moment she was fearful he was going to light into her about something.

  “I know you’ve been busy all morning. You weren’t in your usual spot when I arrived.”

  She was about to tell him about the misplaced produce, but before she could, he continued.

  “First, thanks for the coffee. I’m assuming you were the one who put it at my place?”

  She nodded.

  “It tasted a little different today. Good, but different. Thanks.”

  What would he do if she’d told him it was the same blend of coffee, but she’d mixed together half-caffeinated, half-decaf portions so he’d cut back on his caffeine use? Research had told her too much caffeine could exacerbate muscle cramps, and from what she’d seen so far, Nikko was just this side of being a caffeine addict.

  Better to keep that bit of info to herself.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, simply.

  When he ran a hand across the back of his neck and broke eye contact with her, the thought he was nervous again shot through her.

  Why? was the question.

  “I also want to thank you for what you did last night. For coming over when Melora called you.”

  “Oh. Well, she sounded upset, so…” She lifted her hands, palms up.

  “She was. Thanks for helping to calm her down.” He lifted his gaze back to hers, cocking his head while he continued to hold her gaze. “And thank you for…helping me. My leg”—he shook his head—“was awful yesterday. Too much standing; too much sitting. I don’t
know what, but yesterday was pure torture. By the time we were done I could barely stay upright.”

  Compassion poured through her.

  “You probably know I was in a car crash? That my leg got pretty mangled?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry. You lost your ex-wife in the crash too, I know.”

  He sighed, deep and long. “Yeah.”

  Stacy felt saying she was sorry again sounded hollow.

  “How does your leg feel today?”

  “Amazing,” he said without hesitation. He shook his head, a ghost of a grin trailing across his lips. “I haven’t had a twinge all morning. What you did helped. Considerably, so thank you. Really. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad.” Stacy nodded and bit her bottom lip. She weighed what she wanted to say next, not sure at all of what his response would be. “I don’t usually give advice, primarily because I hate getting it. Especially unsolicited,” she said, secretly pleased when his lips lifted, “but can I just offer some?”

  He waited a moment before saying, “Go ahead.”

  “Please don’t be mad at Melora, but she told me you didn’t keep up with any kind of physical therapy after the accident.”

  His grin lessened just a bit. Before she lost her nerve, Stacy quickly added, “I’m not questioning your decision for doing so, believe me. That’s none of my business. But I think part of the reason your leg cramps so much is because you’re not doing anything to strengthen the muscle. You spend most of your time either sitting or standing. Muscles fatigue and start to atrophy when they’re not used and strengthened. They basically give up. When that happens, any movement will cause the cramping and spasms to come back.”

  She stopped. From the blank look now settled on his face she couldn’t decide if she’d crossed a line with him or not. She wanted to help, not alienate. Arrogance and stubborn male pride were such staunch blockades, though.

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” he said after a few seconds. “Firsthand.”

  “In this instance, I do,” she told him. “The pain from muscle cramps is, like you said, torture. The best way to deal with them is to prevent them from happening. That’s why physical therapy is so important.”

  After a few moments, he asked, “What do you suggest I do, then, to prevent them from coming back? I can’t just call for a therapist to come out here. The production schedule is tight enough as it is. I can’t make leeway in it just so I can get a massage.”

  “You wouldn’t need to. The easiest answer would be to move around more during the day. You stand a lot of it, especially while we’re filming, but you don’t move much.”

  “So, what? I need to take a walk? That’ll get rid of the pain?”

  He looked so doubtful she wanted to laugh.

  “That would be one of the ways,” she said with a quick nod. “The other would be just to simply stretch out in the morning first thing when you wake up and then again right before you go to bed. And try not to stand still so much when you’re directing. You can easily move around in the production space.”

  He stared at her, his eyes dark and guarded and filled with doubt.

  “You used heat last night. Hot towels. You told me the heat would relax the muscles.”

  So, he did remember the particulars of what she’d done. She hadn’t been sure he would.

  With another nod, she said, “Warmth actually dilates the surrounding skin, muscles, and tendons. When they’re dilated, they relax. The pain comes from constant flexion, extension, and contraction of the muscle all at the same time, with no relief. Adding warmth and massaging the area helps the muscles unwind and stay that way. Actually, if you had access to a Jacuzzi or hot tub, it would really help. There’s nothing better for cramped muscles than a long, hot soak in pulsating water.”

  She gave him an open smile. “As decadent as it sounds, it’s really beneficial. Physical massage is, as well.”

  Something in his eyes changed. Warmed. Grew.

  He wasn’t looking at her now with his usual aggravated glare, or even the doubtful one he’d given her just moments before. Nor was his expression simple curiosity at her expertise.

  No, what was in his eyes was something she’d never expected to see from this man: need.

  A stab of unexpected hunger, so piercing and swift, sliced right through her midsection and dropped lower, tickling the area between her thighs.

  And the hunger had nothing to do with the fact she hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

  Nikko took a step forward, then another, until he stopped directly in front of her.

  Stacy had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact with him. Hypnotized by the intensity in his eyes, she couldn’t look away from it; didn’t want to.

  “Yes,” he said, his breath drifting over her, making her insides flutter like a flimsy curtain battling a sudden breeze. “I remember that. I remember you massaging my leg for some time.” He moved in closer, their torsos just a hair’s width from her breasts scraping along his chest.

  “I remember the feel of your hands on my leg. Kneading. Rubbing. Your fingers, gliding along my muscles, up and down. Helping me. Easing my pain.”

  “I—I…” She backed up a step and hit the dresser, her spine flattening against it. She braced her hands behind her, the tips of her fingers landing across one drawer. “I’m glad I did. Help, I mean.”

  Was that her voice? It sounded as if she’d just run a marathon.

  Uphill.

  In thin air.

  Nikko’s hands rose, slowly, purposefully, and came to rest on the top of the dresser, bracketing her between them, effectively imprisoning her.

  With every breath she took now, her torso grazed his.

  His knees bumped hers as his head lowered, his eyes never moving from her own.

  “Easing my pain,” he repeated softly, as if she’d hadn’t spoken, “and making me…want.” His lips floated a breath above hers, then touched hers once, just a brief buss; a sample; a promise. “Want…you.”

  In the next breath he fulfilled that promise by resting his mouth fully against hers. Soft yet powerful, seductive and masterful, his lips glided over hers. Pressed. Savored. Asked.

  Stacy answered by relaxing against him, moving into the kiss without thought, without reservation, without worry.

  He kissed like a man who knew what he was doing. He demanded nothing of her than to simply let him pleasure her mouth, and yet she poured everything inside her, offered every bit of herself into kissing him back without the slightest bit of hesitation or concern.

  He shifted, changed the angle of his head, and lifted his hands from the dresser to cup her cheeks between them. Tipping her head back, her body arched as he deepened the kiss, greedily parting her lips with his tongue then forging between them, overwhelming her, claiming her.

  Under the thin robe her nipples came to two hard points as his tongue tugged and wound with hers. He tasted like…nothing she could put a name to. Full-bodied, like the thirty-five-year-old port her father favored after dinner; sweet and refreshing like Grandma’s orange sorbet, her favorite dessert; savory and woodsy like air in a forest after a quick, unexpected downpour.

  A fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, Nikko didn’t dislike her as much as she’d believed flew through her mind.

  Her hands developed a will of their own as they danced up his broad, rock-hard chest, and wound around his thick neck to grip his hair. Fisting it, she hung onto the ends as if her life depended on it. As if she’d crash back to earth if she let go.

  His fingers drifted along the column of her throat, across her shoulders, down her back, to settle, through her robe, on her butt. Molding his hands to her rounded flesh, he pulled her in closer, folding her into him and letting her know just how much what he was feeling wasn’t dislike.

  Not even close.

 
; Except for her thong, she was naked under the silk robe and as his hands glided over the material, whispered over her body, the luxurious feel of the fabric rubbing against her bare skin shot erotic flares all along her spine, straight down to her toes.

  While his tongue mated with hers, his hands slipped under the hem of the short garment to cup the bare skin he found there.

  As she’d massaged the muscles and sinew over his leg the night before, he returned the favor, squeezing and kneading her butt in his warm, firm grasp. For a heartbeat, Stacy tensed, her gluteal muscles instinctively tightening. The touch of a man’s hands so intimately pressed against her flesh wasn’t something she was used to.

  In the next instant, spurred on by the gentle, thorough pressure of his fingers, she relaxed and pushed in even closer, nothing separating their bodies but their clothes.

  Nikko slipped one finger under the strip of her thong, tugged it to the side, and with another traced a line down along the cleft between her cheeks.

  Her knees buckled when he thrust a knee between her thighs, forcing them to open for him, pressing intimately against her. She could feel the soft denim of his jeans through the tiny wisp of the thong’s lace panel and when he began rubbing his knee across her mound, her insides turned to melting gold.

  Good Lord.

  Every nerve fiber in the lower half of her body stood straight up at attention. Stacy widened her stance as much as she could. It was then she realized she was standing on the very tips of her toes. Nikko bore most of her weight as she leaned against him.

  He shifted again, reached down, and dragged his finger along the heat pouring from her core, now separated and open to his touch.

  A guttural moan, deep and filled with longing, escaped in the air as his lips left hers to trail down and nuzzle the sweet spot behind her ear. He tugged the lobe between his lips and bit down, while his wicked and persistent finger dared to dip into the long, wet length of her.

  And she was wet.

  Drenched, in fact.

  His strong, steady finger glided from one end of her to the other, slipping across her flesh and through every defense she had.