“Breathing? I’m already breathing.”
She was beginning to feel sorry for Dr. Snow. “Deep breathing. Make yourself comfortable, but sit with your back straight.” She waited until he’d arranged himself on the settee. “Now, close your eyes, place your hands on your chest and stomach, and breathe. You should feel your stomach move.”
He sat for a moment, eyes closed, frowning. “I don’t get it. How is this supposed to help?”
She pressed her hands against his. “Inhale deeply, then exhale.” She could feel the shift of muscle beneath her fingertips, but only in his chest.
“No, like this.” She pulled his hands to her chest and stomach, closed her eyes then inhaled. “Feel how my stomach moves? Get the air down into your core.” She took a few more breaths, feeling her own agitation leave her and the warmth of his touch spreading through her silken gown. The tension in his hands relaxed, his touch softened, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her.
His gaze was dark and powerful, his full lips slightly parted, and the hands against her body seemed to spread a heat that flooded her with desire, with a deep craving, from her chest to her core and further. Her breasts swelled, nipples peaking against the silk and lace covering her body. With every breath she took, there was friction—and so much heat. Her heart picked up in pace, and she knew he could feel it beating against his palm. A hunger flared deep within, something so explicitly sexual it stuttered the breath in her throat.
“Now you try it,” she said hoarsely, and transferred his hands to his own body. She would have let go but he grasped her hands.
Taylor kept her gaze glued on their joined hands as his chest rose. His top shirt buttons were undone, and she could see the smooth expanse of golden skin, the strength carved into his pectoral muscles. The silence was broken only by the sound of their synchronized breathing and the fire crackling and popping in the hearth, but the heat it spread was nothing like the conflagration of need sweeping over her. It was so hard, so fierce, it took her completely by surprise.
“I think you’ve got it,” she whispered, and tugged her hands free. She smoothed her palms over the silken material covering her legs. She wanted to touch him, to slide her hands inside his shirt, and further. She tried to tell herself it was a bad idea—and mean it. This was Bill Spencer. Reason crept into her stimulated brain.
“If you keep using that breathing exercise, I think you’ll find you’ll be able to control those high-anxiety moments,” she said, trying to keep her tone even and professional.
Professional. She wanted to climb into his lap and make them both pant. She rose from the settee, folding her arms in front to prevent herself from reaching out and touching him. Caressing him.
Bill stood, and she couldn’t help looking him over, from the top of his dark head to his broad shoulders and trim waist, down his strong legs. He was gorgeous. He sucked in a deep breath, and her gaze returned to his opened shirt, then drifted to his face. She tried to ignore the flash of skin and muscle, the powerful strength that was almost tangible with every breath he took. Tried … and failed. His eyes were hot and intense. But that was Bill—hot and intense. A slight frown marred his forehead.
“Uh, it’s late,” she managed to say, gesturing casually—God, she hoped she looked casual—in the direction of the front door.
His eyes narrowed, just a little. “You’re right,” he finally said.
He followed her to the door, and she realized about halfway there that she was swaying her hips with each step. She felt like a cat in heat.
“Thank you, Taylor,” he murmured once they’d reached the door, and she tried not to shudder as his deep voice rumbled over her.
“You’re welcome.” Oh, he was welcome, any time. She swallowed. How did she retain her dignity with this man around? How did he manage to affect her like this, like she was some sex-starved, needy little nympho? She’d lost her cool with Bill, and she desperately needed it back. She forced a smile to her face as she opened the door.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, then leaned toward her. Her breath hitched, and her toes curled on the cool marble as his lips brushed her cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. He took a deep breath then withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Taylor padded on silent feet back into the living room and collapsed on the settee. She was a hot mess—a hot, needy little puddle. She stared sightlessly into the fire. She had to face it: she wanted Bill Spencer. Bad. She covered her heated face with her hands.
Was it obvious? Did he know? Good grief, what was worse—wanting him, or him knowing she wanted him? He was—infuriating. Demanding. Arrogant, ruthless, and sexy as sin.
Sin. That was a good way to describe Bill Spencer. Tempting, wicked, fascinating; he was trouble with a capital T.
And he wasn’t even her type. She liked the sweet, tender, mature kind of guy. Like Eric.
For once, thinking of her ex-lover didn’t cause her the pain it usually did. She and Eric had been the closest of friends, their relationship built on a strong foundation of respect and trust—or so she’d thought. When things had fallen apart, it wasn’t so much the losing of a lover that had hurt, but losing her best friend.
And after all these months, the first man she showed an interest in was Bill Spencer.
Well, that couldn’t happen. She wanted mutual respect in a relationship, a partnership between equals. Bill believed he was lord of all he surveyed. She didn’t want her man to fight her, but fight for her. That was probably the key issue with her failed relationship with Eric. When the time came, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—fight Brooke.
Bill Spencer had slept with Brooke, and ruined his marriage over her. There was no way Taylor could entertain this infatuation with him. Apart from being yet another adoring fan of Brooke Logan, he had also been married to a former patient. No, she couldn’t indulge in anything with the media mogul.
Taylor took a deep, shuddering breath. It had to be an infatuation. A crush. A rebound after Eric, that’s all. Just get over it.
So she wanted Bill Spencer. So what? She could get over wanting him.
Couldn’t she?
*
Bill strode down the corridor and tried to look like he was listening as Brooke outlined her plans for the next release of the Brooke’s Bedroom line. Liam nudged him, and he frowned briefly at his son. They were at Forrester Creations to schedule the advertising campaign, and to discuss some marketing avenues with the Spencer Publications social media platform.
He knew he was distracted. This time, though, he couldn’t blame it on the PTSD. Ever since leaving Taylor’s home three nights ago, she’d been the focus of his thoughts. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d started to dial her number, just to hear her husky voice. He’d visited the clinic in Culver City, despite how annoyed the temporary shrink made him feel, just in case she dropped by.
She didn’t.
His secretary had even snapped her fingers at him this morning when he’d tuned her out in a meeting, while daydreaming of the sexy little doctor.
“Are you listening, Bill?” Brooke’s voice interrupted his reverie.
He nodded. “Of course,” he lied.
She narrowed her eyes. Brooke thought she could read him. She probably sensed something was going on, but she’d never figure out the source of his distraction—unlike Taylor, who seemed to figure him out well enough.
They’d stopped in the hallway in front of Eric’s office, and he nodded briefly to Pam and Donna. He still couldn’t figure out why Eric needed two assistants, particularly these two assistants. They were currently arguing over a report on the screen. Did they get anything done?
“Is Eric in?” Brooke asked them.
“Yes, he is. I’ll let him know you’re all here,” Donna replied breathlessly, then snatched the phone handset off Pam, who shrugged.
The older secretary turned her attention to the rest of the group. “Can I offer you some lemo
n bars?” she asked sweetly, holding out a plate.
Bill shook his head, while Liam helped himself. “These are so good, Pam,” he said as he bit into the slice. Pam smiled, her cheeks flushing prettily. She looked positively indulgent. Bill eyed her suspiciously. He’d heard stories about Pam—something about honey, a bear and a tied-up Donna—and he never accepted a lemon bar.
Today’s meeting would include all members of the board. That number no longer included Taylor, since she’d given her shares to Steffy. He’d heard all the gossip, but he didn’t really buy into the “going got too tough” scenario. Taylor wasn’t the type to run away from a problem. No, she’d talk until it died a slow, painful death. Actually, she was more like a bull terrier with a bone when it came to resolving issues. So why did she leave Eric?
“Oh, everyone’s here already,” a male voice commented from down the hall, and Bill turned. Thomas was striding up toward them, and—his body tightened—Taylor was close behind. He kept his expression neutral, but his gaze traveled over her feminine frame.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing some sexy red silk gown that he’d wanted to peel off her, inch by slow inch. He’d wanted to lay her back on that settee and stoke the fire he’d seen blazing in her eyes. But she’d withdrawn, all cool and polite.
He’d felt her tremble at his touch, though, and he’d wanted more.
Today she was wearing her hair in an artful chignon that bared her neck. He wanted to bend down and kiss that neck. She liked to dress so properly, and to behave with such decorum, but he’d seen what she slept in. He’d caught a glimpse of a warm, sexy woman the other night, and he wanted to see just how improper Taylor could be.
“Taylor,” Brooke said, and Bill heard the frost in her voice.
“Brooke.” Taylor turned. “Bill, Liam.” Her voice was even, calm, but she only darted a quick glance at him before focusing her attention on Liam. “It’s good to see you.”
The door behind them opened. “Ah, here we are. Come in,” Eric Forrester, head of Forrester Creations, intoned from the doorway. Bill watched carefully as Taylor’s gaze shifted to the man who, up until recently, she’d hoped to marry. Her eyes flickered briefly, but her expression remained serene, and she smiled when Eric noticed her.
“Taylor, it’s—it’s good to see you,” Eric said, a hesitant smile brightening his face.
She inclined her head. “It’s good to see you, too, Eric,” she said smoothly. There was no embrace, though, Bill noticed. Friendly, but not friends. For some reason, the thought cheered him.
“Well, it was good to see you, Taylor, but as you can see, we have some work to do,” Brooke cut in.
“Oh, you’re not here as Steffy’s proxy?” Eric asked. Did he still want Taylor? They’d seemed so close—what the hell had happened between them?
Taylor shook her head. “No, Eric, I’m going to sit this one out. I have a prior appointment.”
“Can you reschedule?” Bill asked, wanting to delay her departure. Taylor glanced at him in surprise.
“Er, no, I can’t,” she answered, a slight crease forming between her brows.
“We’re making some decisions today regarding the direction of the new lingerie line,” Bill informed her. “Perhaps you’d like to have a say, on Steffy’s behalf?” Something goaded him, a compulsion to provoke her, to get her to show some of the spark he suspected she hid under her silk shirts and tailored pants. He was sure working on the lingerie line would be as appealing to Taylor as brushing an alligator’s teeth.
“Oh, I’m sure Taylor has other things to do,” Brooke intervened hastily.
Bill watched with satisfaction as Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, Brooke, Steffy wants me to vote on the strategic development of this company. I’ve just decided to leave the minor details in your hands.” She smiled sweetly. “But you are right, I do have some important things to take care of, so I’ll trust you to make these insignificant decisions without me.”
Taylor turned on her heel and started to walk toward the elevator. Bill enjoyed watching her leave. Her tailored pants cupped her derriere to perfection.
“Er, why doesn’t everyone come in,” Eric said.
“You guys go ahead, I’ll be there shortly,” Bill said, and followed Taylor.
Chapter Six
Taylor looked up in surprise as a tanned hand slapped between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing. They widened, and Bill Spencer entered.
Taylor frowned. “Bill—don’t you have a meeting to go to?”
“They’ll wait for me,” he told her. The doors slid closed behind them, and she stepped back to give him—and her—some breathing space.
“Was there something you wanted?” she asked. Keep it polite. Distant. Her hands heated, and her fingers twitched, as though muscle memory was kicking in, wanting to reach out and touch his broad chest. For God’s sake, don’t touch him.
He looked around the space. “I never realized how small this elevator was,” he commented.
She shrugged. It was an elevator.
He braced a hand against the rear wall of the elevator. “Why did you walk away?” he asked, and blinked.
Good grief, was he talking about the other night? She’d stepped away so that she wouldn’t jump on him and possibly embarrass them both. For the first time in—well, she couldn’t remember how long—she’d wanted to kiss a man, to give in to physical need, and to hell with the consequences.
She always factored in the consequences. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she was trying to sort herself out. But did he want her to come out and say it? Would he take some perverse pleasure in getting her to admit her attraction to him?
“I thought it was best,” she said.
Bill squinted, then blinked. He’d gone pale beneath his tan. “Best for who?” he asked, but though he was staring at her, his gaze had lost some of its intensity.
“Best—best for us,” she said, then frowned. “Bill? Are you all right?” He had the same look on his face as that night at Il Giardino. Was he having another flashback? “Bill?”
He stared at her blankly, and she gently grasped his hand. “Bill, remember your grounding techniques.”
He blinked briefly, and his fingers clasped hers. He dragged her closer, his other hand spearing into her hair. His lips pressed against hers.
Taylor gasped, and his tongue swept inside her mouth. She closed her eyes as heat instantly engulfed her, as though he’d thrown a match on her still-smoldering desire. He held her head in place as he kissed her thoroughly, turning them around to back her up against the wall.
He’d taken her by surprise, but with his tongue sliding against hers, his body pressed close, she gave herself up to the sensation. She’d been fantasizing about his kiss, but the reality was so much better than anything she could imagine. She let go of his hand, and slid both hands up his arms, feeling the tension of well-defined biceps bunch under his shirt.
His strength, his power, his domination, were like intoxicating drugs. She pulled him closer, kissing him back with equal fervor. His hand slid up her side to rest underneath her breast, and she arched her back into his caress.
She moaned when his hand brushed her breast, her nipple pebbling under the silk. His thumb returned to the little peak, teasing it with one tantalizing touch after another. Liquid heat pooled in her core, and she trembled in his arms.
The elevator dinged, and reality intruded. Taylor pulled back, gasping, as the doors opened. Bill lifted his head reluctantly, his gaze hot and piercing.
“What—what are you doing?” she rasped. Oh, God, he’d scorched her vocal cords with one kiss. She sagged against the wall. She couldn’t feel her knees.
He stepped back and stuck his hand on one of the doors to prevent them from closing again.
“I was grounding myself in the moment,” he told her.
She gaped at him. She’d felt like she was flying. Then his words registered. “Grounding yourself.
How is kissing me supposed to ground you?”
The elevator doors started to beep, they’d been held open too long. Neither she nor Bill took any notice.
“Touch. Taste. Smell. Using your senses, remember? I started feeling weird, that kind of mental dislocation, and you told me to ground myself.” He shrugged. “So I did.”
She closed her slack jaw with a snap. “You’re supposed to hold ice, or suck on a lemon or something,” she said sharply. Not blow all her systems, along with her inhibitions, in a blazing kiss.
Bill grinned unabashedly. “You taste much better than a lemon.”
So she was convenient. He’d used her. Hurt cooled her ardor with abrupt efficiency. Why was she surprised? Bill Spencer was renowned for turning everything to his advantage—including his relationships. And just when she’d started to feel something for him. Well, she was certainly feeling something for him now, and it wasn’t warm and fuzzy.
“Next time, figure something else out,” she said, and shoved past him.
“Oh, there will be a next time,” he called out as she crossed the main foyer.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she tossed back over her shoulder.
“I love a challenge.”
She turned just in time to see the elevator doors close on his confident, infuriating smile.
*
Bill strode into Eric’s office, a spring in his step. Yeah, Taylor may act and dress all prim and proper, but beneath that haughty exterior was a passionate woman who just needed a little encouragement to break free from restraint.
“Ah, Bill. Good to have you. We were just talking about the strategy for the Brooke’s Bedroom line,” Eric said smoothly.
Bill nodded as he took his seat and leaned back to listen. Brooke stared at him keenly as Thomas presented a demographic report on sales. It wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Accomplished, successful, smart women bought Forrester Creations garments. Celebrities, businesswomen—they all appreciated the finer cut and make of a Forrester original. Women like Taylor.
Collision Course: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 5
