“The press will be there. I don’t want to take anyone who might misconstrue the situation—might think I’m inviting them because I want a relationship. I need someone who will look sexy but not slutty, be charming, and make me look good, without all the complications. I need someone I can trust. I need you, Max. Are you free tonight?”
The tension left Max’s shoulders. She’d be breaking a date with her TV and a bottle of wine—a date well worth breaking.
“Sure. What’s the film?”
Jasper made that sound, a half-laugh filled with embarrassment. “It’s After Ecstasy. I don’t really want to go, but…”
Sholto’s film? Max leaned back on her office chair, and swung her legs up onto its edge. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile. Could anything be more perfect? “What time will you pick me up?”
After Jasper’s call, she did a quick, mental inventory of her closet. She had the perfect dress, but needed to buy drop-dead gorgeous, fuck-me heels to match. Tonight was a night for pulling out all the stops.
She snatched her bag off the floor, powered down her computer, and was on the point of leaving the office when her cellphone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Curious, she answered.
“Maxine.” A deep, dark, sexy voice with a hint of Scottish accent rose the hairs on the back of her neck.
She swallowed. “This is she.” She sat back down again.
“Sholto Kincaid.” She closed her eyes. Christ, he sounds delicious.
“Ah, Sholto. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.” She forced her voice neutral. “It’s been a long time.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever want to talk to me again—I did try, you know.”
Against her will, despite her assurance earned over the years since she’d been an innocent, his words jerked her back to their shared history. Whatever he would say she didn’t want to hear—didn’t want to be reminded of the past. She had to take control of this conversation, and quickly.
She forced a laugh, which sounded false as hell to her own ears. “That was all a long time ago. I do want to see you, though. I know you’re in London, and wondered if you might have time for a quick meeting.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “What is this about?”
She swallowed. “I want a business meeting—half an hour at most. I have a proposition for you.”
“A proposition—I guess you’re not married then?” There was a hint of tease in his voice.
“Believe it or not, there are some women immune to you, Sholto. No, I’m not married—although what my marital status has to do with meeting me on a business matter escapes me.” She curled her fingers into her palms. She wanted to tell him to forget it. Wanted to call him a whole bunch of very uncomplimentary names and leave it at that, but the memory of her mission gave her pause.
“I’m intrigued. Come to my hotel tomorrow afternoon.” He named the most exclusive hotel in London. “I’ll tell the front desk to expect you.”
Shall I tell him I’ll see him tonight? She decided that conversation was better had in person. “Okay, I look forward to it.” Before he had time to engage in any further chat, she hung up.
Chapter Two
Max sat in the back of a black limousine cutting through the streets to the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square. Her royal blue dress was a perfect fit, swathes of chiffon artfully wrapped and sewn to flatter her figure in a classic, strapless design that dusted her ankles. It wasn’t a designer original, the budget wouldn’t run to that, but instead a well-made copy—one she was sure would pass muster amongst the designer dresses worn by the red carpet glitterati.
Her fingers played with the sapphire collet necklace her friend Kathryn Hazzard had given her for Christmas. She’d always loved the antique Georgian necklaces with their flat, clear gemstone ovals, and had built an enviable collection of reproduction ones. The sapphires were paste, but they nestled around her throat looking just like the real thing.
Matching earrings hung from her lobes, and she’d spent an hour at the salon, having her hair arranged in a pretty updo.
She looked good, and Jasper was the perfect date. So why was her stomach in knots?
“Wow, look at the crowd.” Jasper leaned near, peering out the window. Crash barriers lined the red carpet leading into the cinema behind which crowded a couple of hundred people. “Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“You look fantastic.” He squeezed her hand. “You remember the drill?”
“Yes.” They’d talked as the limo idled through traffic. Jasper had confided that Sholto would try and engage him in conversation, and her task was to run interference—getting between them and keeping the conversation light.
“He’ll probably try to get us to the after-party, but we’re leaving the moment the screening ends—okay?” Jasper’s smile was nervous. For some reason, he was determined to avoid any private time with Sholto, and tonight, he was calling the shots.
“Absolutely. I’ll be ready to go the moment the film is over.”
Jasper squeezed her hand. “You’re an angel. I hate these things.”
“Unless it’s one of yours…”
“Even then. I’m more a behind the scenes type of guy. But you know that.”
The limo slowed, joining the line of cars depositing people onto the red carpet. Ahead, an A-list couple climbed out of their limo and stepped onto the red carpet. The crowd went wild—the sound of shouts and shrieks audible even in the soundproof interior.
“Here we go.” Their car edged forward, then stopped. An attendant reached for the handle and swung the door open.
The sound was deafening, and the air shimmered with camera flashes. Max accepted the attendant’s hand and stepped out into the melee.
“Smile.” Jasper joined her on the red carpet, his hand at her waist.
She plastered on a grin, and they set off on the long, red stripe. On both sides, actors and celebrities were being interviewed or greeting the crowd. At the end of the carpet, at the left, a gaggle of people clustered.
Jasper leaned close and spoke into her ear. “Sholto is signing autographs.”
A man next to him looked up, saw them and hurried down the carpet to their side.
“Jasper? Larry Meisner, Sholto’s agent. I’m so glad you could make it.” The stranger’s smile was warm as he pumped Jasper’s hand. Then he turned to Max.
“This is my date, Max.”
Larry air-kissed her cheek. “Come and say hello.”
Sholto’s head was bent over a magazine that bore his face on the cover. He scrawled his autograph, and handed it back to the breathless fan.
“Sholto. Jasper is here.”
He looked up. Damn, he looks good. He’d always been tall, but when she last saw him he was rangy to the point of skinny. Now, he was all muscle. His navy tux fitted perfectly over his wide shoulders and powerful chest. He wore a white shirt and a blood red tie and even though every inch of his body was covered, it was a body women sighed over. Hair dark as pitch tumbled over one eye and curled over the neckline of his jacket. His attention was focused on Jasper as he shook his hand and said something she couldn’t hear over the calls of the crowd.
Then Jasper took her hand and tugged her forward.
And he, finally, looked at her.
Had his eyes always been that green? Dark forest green. The echoes of the boy he’d been were evident in the slope of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth. But his eyes were different now, the expression in them more calculating, more direct.
“This is Max,” Jasper said.
She waited for the eye-widening moment of recognition—even if he hadn’t thought of her in years, they’d spoken mere hours before—but it didn’t arrive. Instead, his mouth curved in a smile, and he held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Max.”
Did he really not recognize her? She placed her hand in his, and shivered as his cool fingers curled around her
s.
“I need to sign a few more autographs. See you inside?”
She let go of his hand, and forced a tight smile.
Jasper took her arm, and walked her into the cinema. “Cat got your tongue?” he teased. “I guess all the things they say about the effect Sholto Kincaid has on women are true.”
“What’s that?” She accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter circling the foyer.
“The Daily Mail said he stuns women with his sexual aura…that no matter how immune to him women think they are, once they get within a five yard radius they turn to jelly, and stop functioning. They call him a sexy EMP.”
She smiled. “Okay, I confess. I do feel sort of fried.” Her hands trembled. No wonder Cam wanted to bring him to the reunion, up close and personal he was the ultimate trophy date. She’d only touched him for a moment, and her palm still tingled.
There was movement from the doorway—the actors were being positioned in front of a banner featuring the movie’s title, and a cluster of photographers were readying their cameras.
Larry walked over. “They’ll be a couple of minutes. Let’s take our seats.”
They followed him into the theatre. “Sholto would like you to sit here, next to him, Jasper.” He indicated a seat. He glanced back to the door. “Enjoy the movie. I’ll see you later.”
Max waited for Jasper to move. He didn’t. “Are you going to sit?” Patrons were filing into the cinema now, and she didn’t want to keep standing in the aisle.
“I don’t want to sit next to him—he’s bound to try and talk business.”
Business? Before she had a chance to investigate that further, Jasper patted her arm. “You sit next to him—running interference, remember?”
She was here as Jasper’s guest, and she’d promised. “I remember.” She started down the row and took the seat earmarked for Jasper. Great. Not only did she have to deal with the unexpected attraction to the guy who’d humiliated her years ago, she now had to sit next to him while his on-screen self screwed his gorgeous co-star in a movie critics were saying was so hot it would set women’s panties on fire.
Good thing she wasn’t wearing any.
*****
Jasper’s date wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room. Nor the one showing the most skin. His co-star, Caro Michaels, was wrapped in a long black dress with cutout panels. The sheer panels skated between the curves of her breasts, revealed her smooth stomach, and then swerved just above the cut of her bikini line to reveal the entire side of her hip and a hint of butt before skimming down to the floor. She looked as though half of her dress was missing.
As the photographers competed to take the perfect photograph, she held herself erect, careful not to reveal too much.
“That’s one hell of a dress,” he murmured as they stood close together before a battery of flashes.
“Jesus, tell me about it,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why I let them talk me into it. Walking is a nightmare—half my butt is hanging out. I can’t even wear a thong in this thing; it would show up on the hipline. You guys have no idea how lucky you are to get away with just a suit.”
His gaze skittered around the room, finally finding Jasper and his date again. Her dress was strapless, revealing just the top curves of her breasts, and it wrapped her narrow waist and hips before falling to the floor. It was timeless, elegant, and way sexier than Caro’s in what it hinted at, rather than revealed. She was sipping from a flute of champagne, smiling at something Jasper was saying. Her blonde hair was arranged up, with a plait across the top, which made her look young, sweet, and totally approachable.
Shame she was another man’s date.
“Time to go.” Caro’s arm tightened on his. “Stick to me like glue, I don’t want a wardrobe malfunction on rerun.”
They were escorted into the cinema, and took their seats. Sholto’d arranged to have Jasper seated next to him—there was time before the start of the feature to schmooze, but to his annoyance, Jasper and his date had switched places. There was nothing he could do about it, so he plastered on a smile, and took his seat.
“I hope you enjoy it,” he said to the straight-backed woman beside him.
“Enjoy?” She frowned. “Ah, the movie. Yes. I’m sure I will.” She darted him a look beneath her dark lashes. Her cheeks went pink. Her hands were clasped together in her lap.
The lights dimmed, and the opening credits started to roll. Sholto took a deep breath. Within the next ten minutes, he would be screwing on screen in the presence of a packed audience. He wasn’t shy, but boy, he wished he were somewhere else right now.
Music played over a sweeping aerial view of the New York skyline, finally arriving at a skyscraper and zooming in to a sole window—the window of Damon Fitz’s office. Then it cut to the office’s interior, to Damon sitting behind his desk. It was easier to think of himself as the character—the only way to get through this was to distance himself from his performance. With a critical eye, Sholto appreciated the cinematography, but once his on-screen persona spoke, he grimaced. Many actors liked watching themselves on screen, but he hated it. The opening scene was to give an impression of Damon’s world; he met with colleagues, and directed his empire as any good billionaire should. In the next scene, he’d meet and seduce Caro’s character, Bette, with very little preliminary. The director’s intention was to shock. It would be interesting to see how the scene translated to the screen.
Ten minutes later, Damon was sliding down Bette’s zipper and stripping off her dress. His lips were on her neck as his hands cupped her breasts. It looked damn hot—even though it had been anything but with dozens of crewmembers around. Movie magic.
A movement caught his eye. Max was crossing her legs. His gaze swept up to her face.
“You’re driving me crazy,” Damon said onscreen. At this point, his hands were unfastening her bra and removing her panties. But Sholto wasn’t watching; Max held his complete attention.
Her chest rose as she breathed deep. She chewed her bottom lip in a way that sent a bolt of sensation directly to Sholto’s cock. Her hand rose to touch her jeweled necklace, then rested below it, on the creamy expanse of skin between the necklace and the curve of her breasts. She was captivated by the story unfolding before her. She ran the back of her fingers over her neck, caressing her skin in a manner instantly recognizable.
She was aroused by what his celluloid doppelganger was doing on screen.
The cinema seats were narrow. Their arms were almost touching. It was ridiculous to feel jealous of the man on the screen, but the urge to touch her, to stroke his fingers over her arm and have her direct that attention to him, in person, was strong.
Watching her was voyeuristic, but he couldn’t look away. No doubt there were others in the cinema caught up in the erotic storyline—but she was the only person he was interested in. Her hand drifted down and her palm flattened on her thigh.
She sighed.
Jasper will be getting some tonight. Anger followed the thought that he was acting as the opening act, the fluffer who would prepare her for another man’s bed. He must have made a sound, for her head turned and eyes, blue as the sapphire crystals that glittered around her neck, met his.
For a moment, time seemed suspended.
She looked at him in the same way as she’d watched the screen. Her tongue swiped the corner of her mouth, and her eyes blazed with heat. She was another man’s woman, but right now she looked as though she wanted to be naked with his cock pulsing inside her.
Politeness dictated he did something to break the mood.
Fuck politeness.
Sholto deliberately looked at her mouth. His hand moved a fraction, and the tips of his fingers traced the soft skin of her arm, butterfly wing light.
She didn’t move away. Her lips parted. The exposed upper swell of her breasts rose and fell in response to her shallow breaths. Her arm twisted, revealing the inner curve of her elbow, making the pale underside from el
bow to wrist available to his fingers.
Then Jasper said something to her.
The mood was broken. She turned away from Sholto, crossed her arms, and angled her knees toward Jasper, eloquent body language in action.
She didn’t uncross her arms or look his direction until the final credits rolled. Didn’t acknowledge him when the lights came up, instead, hurrying to the end of the aisle and getting behind Jasper as if Sholto was a wild animal she feared might ravage her.
There were so many people wanting to talk to him, Sholto was distracted. When he looked back, Jasper and Max had left.
“Larry.” He grabbed hold of his passing agent’s arm. “Tell me Jasper will be at the after-party.” He had to keep his attention on business, on getting that role, but his body didn’t seem to have received the message. It wanted to get up close and personal with Max again.
Larry shook his head. “I tried. I’m sorry. He said they had to go.”
*****
The West Continental had three elevators: two for regular guests, and one reserved solely for the penthouse. Max watched the numbers counting down, and then stood to the side as the doors slid open. Three girls sauntered out, all wearing mini-skirts and cropped T-shirts. They were talking, giggling, staggering on their high heels. They looked as though they’d spent one hell of a night. Sholto Kincaid obviously hadn’t changed at all.
Max stepped into the elevator, breathing in a potent cocktail of mixed female perfumes, and pressed the P button on the display. For the first time since she’d made the call the previous day she allowed herself to think that perhaps contacting Sholto hadn’t been the best idea. Especially after last night. The double whammy of seeing him undress and act sex with a beautiful actress while at the same time being aware that he was staring at her watching onscreen him, had been the hottest experience she’d ever had. When he touched her, she’d forgotten where she was, who she was with, for a moment and just let herself play the game.
The I’m-going-home-with-you game.
Thank God Jasper intervened when he did, before she made a complete fool of herself. She’d stayed awake for hours reliving it. While he played the I’m-going-home-with-you game with a whole team of players.
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