Hot Spot

by Debbi Rawlins

  She was off base. He’d cooperated. Wasn’t staying the night his suggestion? It wasn’t just about the sex, either. Yeah, he had designs on her, but he wanted her to meet her deadline. He hoped she got the pictures she wanted. He wasn’t crazy about being on the cover, but he hadn’t sabotaged her in any way.

  At least not consciously.

  He thought back over the past twenty-four hours and got a little uneasy. One of the things you learned early on when doing live TV was to school your face in a neutral expression. To not let your feelings show or get in the way of your reporting. It wasn’t so different from acting. You let loose only what you wanted the audience to see.

  He sighed and dropped his chin to his chest.

  Okay, so he hadn’t been the model subject. Maybe he’d held himself in check at times. But consulting his watch often was a habit. He did it all the time. At least he’d been up-front about not wanting to participate. She had to give him credit for that.

  He wouldn’t be able to take it if she was sitting in the suite crying. She didn’t seem the type, but her eyes had been awfully glassy before she left.

  Damn.

  “Mr. Logan?”

  He looked up and a pretty blonde, unnaturally tanned for this time of year, dressed in skimpy black shorts and Hush’s trademark pink T-shirt was standing before him.

  She smiled. “Are you waiting for a massage?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Would you like one?” She shrugged a shoulder that called attention to her generous breasts. Not that he hadn’t already noticed. “I don’t have another appointment for a couple of hours.”

  The idea tempted him. He was tight and knotted all over. And his appetite had vanished, so dinner held no appeal. But the image of Madison’s bleak face and watery eyes stayed with him and he didn’t want to risk letting her out of his sight for too long.

  “No, thanks,” he told the masseuse as he got to his feet.

  He and Madison had unfinished business.

  MADISON LAY across the bed in the most beautiful room she’d ever been in, which she should be enjoying but was totally miserable, and tried calling Karrie for the second time. Again no answer.

  Just as well. Madison hated bothering her just to bitch. If she hadn’t found Rob it would be different. In the old days, when Karrie was single, they used to call each other for every little thing. No matter what time it was or how silly the reason. Madison missed those days.

  She let the cell phone drop onto the luxurious satin comforter. The rich fabric must have cost a bundle, and it occurred to her she shouldn’t be lying on it like this. But at least she’d kicked off her shoes.

  Staring at the ceiling, she sniffed a couple of times, but so far she hadn’t let the tears come. Wouldn’t happen. Even when she was totally hormonal she wasn’t the weepy type. Besides, as ticked-off as she was with Jack, she wasn’t through with him yet. He owed her a cover. And she was gonna make him pay up even if it took all night.

  Just for the heck of it, she thought about trying Karrie again, and then just as quickly discarded the idea. Karrie and Rob had been away from Vegas for quite a while and probably had errands to run, catching up to do. Or maybe they’d simply unplugged the phone while they made mad, passionate love for hours.

  Madison groaned and rolled over to bury her face in her hands, careful not to get makeup smeared on the satin. She wasn’t jealous. Not of Karrie. Not really. It was all Madam Z.’s fault.

  She chuckled at her own irrationality and then sighed. She still didn’t believe in the psychic’s power, but if there were anything at all to the woman’s supposed gift, why hadn’t Madison been as lucky? Why hadn’t she met the man of her dreams?

  Jack came to mind. Well, theoretically she supposed she had, but she meant a viable candidate. Not someone untouchable. Not someone who was only interested in a one-night stand. Or at least he had been. By now he probably couldn’t wait to get rid of her. She doubted he’d stay the night. She would, though. No way was she passing up this opportunity. Besides, what else did she have to do?

  Oh, she was a first-class idiot. She hadn’t gotten laid in so long. And she could have been with Jack Logan. Now, she was ready to have a good cry.

  She fumbled for the cell phone. Just one more time she’d try Karrie.

  A knock at the closed bedroom door startled her.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I come in?” It was Jack.

  She quickly sat up and smoothed her hair. “It’s unlocked.”

  He walked in, holding a bottle of bourbon in one hand and two glasses in the other.

  12

  “I THOUGHT YOU WENT to dinner,” she said, scooting off the bed and then remembering her cell phone. She stuck it back into her pocket.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “Nope.” She watched him walk to a table by the window and set down the bottle and crystal tumblers and then pour about an inch of the amber liquid into each one. “A Sunday dinner tradition?”

  He said nothing, didn’t even smile, but carried both glasses across the room and handed her one. “Let’s talk.”

  “Bad idea.” She took a small sip and felt the liquor burn all the way down her throat to her very empty stomach. “We did that. It didn’t work.”

  “Can we sit down?”

  “Do anything you want.” She immediately regretted the caustic edge to her voice.

  He didn’t seem to notice or chose not to. He smiled. “That’s quite an offer.”

  She shook her head in mock disgust. Tried not to smile back but couldn’t help it.

  “I’ll start by apologizing.”

  She took another sip, nervous suddenly about what was to come. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “I’m not finished. You were right. I’ve been taking this matter too lightly.”

  There were no words that wouldn’t sound spiteful or petty, so she just folded her hands together and listened.

  “I’ve been selfish, trying to skate through this and only thinking of my own interests.” He gulped down the rest of his drink. “My contract is coming up for renewal and, according to my agent, my agreeing to do this is a bargaining chip.”

  “For more money?”

  He laughed.

  She cringed. “Sorry. None of my business.” But what else could it be? He had everything. A top-rated show. A couple of awards on his shelf. An adoring public. She waited for him to continue, curious at his sudden hesitation.

  “Money isn’t the issue,” he said finally. “I want to spend some time reporting stories as they’re happening, wherever they’re happening.” His mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile. “And as you so succinctly put it, I don’t want lip service from the network. I want it in my contract.”

  “That seems simple enough.”

  “Believe me, it’s not.” He shook his head with a grimness that furthered her curiosity. “I’m not trying to make excuses. This isn’t even about me. This is your career, and it’s no more fluff than my morning show. They both serve a purpose.”

  “Fluff?” She didn’t know whether to be more indignant about the insult to himself or her.

  “I said it wasn’t fluff.” He went back for the bottle, poured himself more and then took the bourbon to her.

  “But you did have to deny it.”

  “Christ, Madison, don’t make this more difficult.”

  Surprised that she’d finished her drink, she held her glass out and he filled it halfway. “Okay, you’re right. I won’t overanalyze.”

  “Thank you.” He took her hand. “Let’s go sit down.”

  She nodded and let him lead her into the dimly lit parlor, really glad he’d brought the bottle with him. Especially when he sat right beside her on the long, deep couch, so close their thighs touched.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked, suddenly wondering how many he’d had before now.

  “No. You saw me have my first one.”

  She decided she’d bet
ter set the glass aside and pace herself. The bourbon was definitely taking effect. The only thing she’d had to eat was a candy bar around noon.

  He leaned toward her, lifted her chin and touched his lips to hers. He retreated just as quickly, leaving her baffled, and a little angry.

  “What was that for?”

  “Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since yesterday.”

  “You call that a kiss?”

  He smiled. “I call that not wanting to get slapped.”

  “Chicken.” She cupped the back of his neck and pulled him toward her. He came readily and their lips met clumsily at first. But quickly he took control, slanting his mouth over hers and greedily consuming her.

  Heat surged through her like an inferno. Her nipples tightened and she squeezed her thighs shut, afraid of the dampness already pooling between them.

  She pulled away, struggling for breath. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Nope.”

  “Problem is, it wasn’t enough.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head while his gaze stayed steady.

  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it free from his waistband as their mouths met again.

  “Wait,” he said unevenly against her mouth when she slid her palm up his belly and into a thatch of soft hair.

  She stilled her hand, embarrassed, ready to withdraw.

  “There’s something else I’ve wanted to do.” He tugged up the loose hem of her blouse and stared.

  “What?” She looked down, confused.

  He shifted on the couch, then lowered his head and peered closely at her navel. “What is this?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a navel ring before.”

  “This one’s different.”

  She laughed softly. “It’s got a couple of diamonds strung through the hoop.”

  “Real ones?”

  “God, no. I’ve lost two already.”

  He smiled a wicked smile, still leaning over her thighs. “How?” He stuck the tip of his tongue through the hoop, grazing her navel at the same time. “Like this?”

  She shivered. His head rubbed against her breasts as he took the hoop between his teeth and lightly tugged. She arched her back and his hands came up under her shirt, his palms sliding up her skin to cup her breasts.

  “You’re not playing fair,” she whispered, as he used his thumb and forefinger to tease her hardened nipples through the silky bra.

  “How’s that?”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  He smiled. “Take off yours.”

  “Together.”

  “Okay,” he murmured against her skin, his beard-roughened chin slightly prickly and giving her goose bumps, and making no move to release her.

  She let her head fall back, wondering if she should pinch herself. This couldn’t be real. This had to be another one of those dreams that kept waking her last night.

  He swirled his tongue around her navel and then started to travel up toward her breasts.

  She stopped him. “Your shirt?”

  He let out a grunt of frustration, but sat back and unbuttoned his shirt. As more and more skin was exposed, she could barely keep from touching him, keep from running her fingers over the ridges across his flat belly. Keep from exploring more of the silky hair that fanned out between his brown nipples.

  “Come on. You, too.” He stopped unbuttoning to run a thumb down her cheek and then slid it across her lower lip. “You’re so soft.”

  She swallowed hard. This was totally real. And she had to be crazy. But she didn’t care. She yanked off her shirt, and then helped him unfasten his last button.

  “Your bra, too,” he said hoarsely.

  She slid one strap off her shoulder, and he took care of the other one. Her gaze went to the window. The drapes were still open. They were high enough up to be safe from prying eyes, but it was still disconcerting.

  He reached for the front clasp holding the silky cups together but she stopped him and glanced significantly at the windows.

  “No one can see in.”

  “Still.”

  “No problem.” He got up, and she watched him walk toward the window, sorry he hadn’t already taken off his shirt. But the return trip gave her a great view of his perfect chest, and she got all tingly knowing she was about to explore every inch of it.

  She waited until he’d settled next to her and she was pushing his shirt off his shoulders, then asked, “Why didn’t we just stay in the bedroom?”

  “Believe it or not, I truly intended to talk.” He shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall behind him.

  “What happened?” As if she had no say, by their own volition her hands immediately went to his chest. Slowly she dragged her palms over the peaks and valleys of sinew and muscle.

  “I lost my head.” His eyes closed briefly, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath her hands. “But it’s your fault.”

  “How so?”

  “You look so good I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” He unclasped her bra and roughly pushed the cups aside. Her nipples ached from being so tight for so long, and as if he knew, he tenderly, reverently stroked each tip with the lightest of touches.

  She moaned softly, and he smiled, his eyes so dark with desire they were almost the color of milk chocolate. He pushed the bra straps off her shoulders, and when she shrugged back to help release them, he dipped his head and touched his tongue to her nipple. The cool dampness on her fevered skin sent a shiver down her spine, and she closed her eyes, praying this wasn’t a dream.

  She opened them again just as he brought his head up, and the pure male beauty of his face stole her breath. “Why are you doing this?”

  He drew back, frowning at her, the dazed look in his eyes lingering incongruously. “What kind of question is that?”

  “I want to know.”

  He blinked, his eyes clearing, and she was a little sorry she’d broken the spell. Maybe he’d come to his senses. Get dressed. Leave.

  And did she really want to know? Or did she want this one glorious time with him more?

  “It’s pretty obvious,” he said, amusement in his voice as he trailed a finger between her breasts. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent, spirited woman.”

  Madison gasped softly. “Don’t say that.” She didn’t want to hear his spiel, the one he used on every other woman he’d been with, except with them it was probably true. “Really. You don’t have to.”

  He looked genuinely confused. “You asked.”

  “I know.” She had the sudden urge to cover herself. “Okay, I am pretty intelligent and unquestionably spirited.”

  He cocked his head to the side, searching her face, his expression speculative and not especially pleased. “Don’t do that, Madison.”

  “I’m not in your league. We both know that.”

  “Ah.” One eyebrow went up in challenge. “What exactly would this league be?”

  She decided not to answer. Anything she said would probably make matters worse. Instead she reached for his belt buckle.

  He forced her chin up. “Are looks the only thing that interests you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why give me so little credit?”

  “You’re twisting things around.”

  “Beauty comes in many forms. So does ugliness.” He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and gazed down at her pearled pink nipple. “This is beautiful,” he whispered, and lightly brushed it with his lips.

  He transferred his attention to the other one, again touching it lightly with his lips. “Exquisite.”

  He looked up. “Your eyes, your lips, your smile…all beautiful. All a part of you.”

  The sincerity in his eyes was almost more than she could absorb without coming apart at the seams. She leaned in and kissed him hard, pulling his belt loose.

  He had the zipper to her jeans down equally as fast. And in seconds they were both free of c
lothing, her pink lacy panties lying atop his brown silk boxers on the expensive Vivienne Westwood rug.

  Anxious to see him, all of him, she urged him to lean back against the couch. It was too difficult not to stare, so Madison just gave in and looked at his lap. The hard length of his cock lay heavily against his belly, incredibly and fully aroused. It had to be. Any bigger and…

  Shuddering, she touched the velvety tip where a bead of moisture had already formed. He twitched, and she wrapped her hand around the base, fighting the temptation to lick him clean, taste his saltiness.

  He moaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. Touching her wrist and applying a little pressure, she knew he wanted her to release him, but she wasn’t ready.

  His lips curved in a lazy but knowing smile. “Hey.”

  “Hmm.” She stroked upward.

  “Oh, no.” He took her wrist and pulled her away, forcing her upward. “Come here.”

  She crawled over him, his cock pressed against her skin, forging a path between her breasts, down her belly as she slid up to meet his lips.

  He moaned, his hips moving beneath her, grinding, his sex pressing against her mound, and he kissed her hard. His tongue parted her lips, touched hers, and then dove deeper, sweeping the inside of her mouth, exploring every spot.

  Madison’s whole body trembled as his hands ran down her back, settling underneath her buttocks. He shifted her so her knees straddled his hips, so that she was spread open and ready.

  Her hands bracketed his shoulders, balancing on the back of the couch and as she got used to the position she gasped when his cock head left a slick trail over her lower belly.

  All the while he hadn’t stopped kissing her. His scratchy stubble would leave her marked, but that was the least of what he was doing to her. She could feel how much he wanted her, and not just the thick evidence that strained to be inside her.

  His kiss, his kneading hands still cupping her bottom. She pulled back to catch her breath. To look once more into his desire-darkened eyes. His hands inched closer together and she gasped as his fingertips brushed her inner folds.

  “Madison,” he whispered, all hoarse and gravely.

  She’d never heard him like this. He was completely different from the man on television, from the man she’d photographed. This was the real Jack Logan. Strong, sexual, not in the least politically correct.