by Andrea Dale
“That I’m very glad no one has a camera pointed this way.” He looked down at the obvious bulge in his jeans. Hannah’s gaze followed his, and she laughed softly. The sound made him grit his teeth. God, but he wanted to take her right here, to back her up against the railing and wrap her legs around his waist. To hell with anyone watching.
“It’s still going to be too long,” he said.
Hannah smiled. He was glad the wariness was gone from her eyes. He still didn’t know what had caused it. He kissed her one last time, thinking that his bed was going to seem even lonelier tonight than it usually did.
And the cravings he battled every night were going to have an entirely different cause.
Chapter Six
Traveling sucked.
Hannah dropped her suitcase on the floor of her condo. Not only had takeoff in San Francisco been delayed, but by the time she’d gotten into LA, the 405 had been a parking lot. She was grumpy and her feet hurt.
Toeing off her shoes solved one of the problems. She padded down the hall, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Her voice mail was full and she accessed it while peeling off her sweater. The first message was from her mother. She rolled her eyes. Another crisis in the Forbes’ household. No doubt the latest housekeeper had quit.
The sweater landed on the bottom of the bed, followed by her pants. She was tempted to flop down and wrap up in her favorite antique Baltimore rose quilt, but she still had things to do. Pretending to be a contortionist, she pulled on a comfortable T-shirt and yoga pants while listening to the rest of the messages. Most were from friends, two from clients. The last message was from a guy she’d seen a few times in the last month. He’d been nice, but there’d been no sparks.
And now that she’d met Nate, she knew just exactly what was possible when there were sparks.
Hannah refused to think about Nate. If she did, she’d end up using one of the toys in the drawer next to the bed. Which would be a poor substitute for the real thing.
How on earth had she thought that having him for just one night would be enough?
“Call your mother, you know she worries,” Hannah muttered out loud. She’d get the call out of the way, and then she’d have a glass of wine. Maybe listen to some music. The thought of Nate’s voice, all smoky velvet and sex, filling her living room, made her breath catch.
Better yet, have the wine first. The refrigerator yielded up half a bottle of her favorite vintage Zinfandel. She poured herself a glass.
“Call your mother,” she repeated sternly. She folded her legs into the corner of the purple-and-gold striped sofa and hit speed dial. The bright colors of the sofa were her personal rebellion against her mother’s designer pastels when Hannah had lived at home. Now, she filled her own space with sleek lines and rich color.
“Hi Mom,” she said when her mother answered. Definitely another housekeeper quitting. Her mother hated answering the phone.
“Hi, honey, are you back from San Francisco? I was beginning to worry.”
Almost eight years on her own, and her mother still fretted. Hannah sighed. “The freeway was backed up. What’s going on?”
“Alice quit,” her mother announced. “I just don’t know about people these days.”
Hannah made appropriate soothing noises.
“Oh, I mentioned to your father you were meeting with that Fox fellow, and he reminded me that you two had already met. Did you catch up on things?”
“He hired me to be his publicist, Mom,” Hannah said. “I’ll be going out on the road with him soon.”
“That’s lovely, dear. I’m so glad you have a job. I seem to remember you had a poster of him in your room when you were younger. Did you tell him that?”
Hannah nearly choked on her wine. “No, Mom,” she said when she finished coughing. “I didn’t tell him that.” Quick, change the subject. “So am I still welcome for dinner on Tuesday?”
“Of course you are.” Her mother sounded offended. “And you can bring a date, you know that.”
Oh right, like she’d ever consider taking Nate home for dinner. Now there was a nightmare of supreme awkwardness. Between the reminder of their first kiss and her mother’s blithe stories of Hannah’s teenage crushes…
“I don’t think so, Mom. I love you. Kisses to Dad, and I’ll see you both on Tuesday.” She hung up quickly before her mother could continue the excruciatingly embarrassing conversation.
There was no way in hell she wanted to remind Nate that she was Everett Forbes’ daughter. Nope. She wanted him to think of her as a grown-up sex kitten, not some frizzy-haired teeny-bopper groupie. She’d changed her image. It was going to stay that way.
Feeling restless, Hannah topped up her wine, then wandered into the study. The familiar mess greeted her. The crowded bookshelves, the desk scattered with papers and magazines and Post-iIt notes and cables for her phone and iPod, the faded comic strips taped to the wall next to the window.
On the wall opposite the desk, where she wouldn’t be distracted when she worked, was the poster of Nate. It had seen her through a lot of lonely nights. Her fantasies had kept her company between boyfriends, and in some cases, even during.
Nate Fox, Fantasy Rock God, had set the bar for the men in her life. Whether she wanted to or not, she unconsciously made comparisons. She knew it wasn’t fair, knew it wasn’t right, but hadn’t figured out how to fix it.
Of course, now she’d had the real Nate Fox. Her eyes skimmed the body preserved in the photo. He’d grown up too. He’d looked good back then, had fuelled enough fantasies to start a forest fire.
But now. Oh now. There was something about the look in his eyes, the confidence in his stance. His totally hot body. How did he compare to the fantasy? He exceeded it, just by walking into the room.
My oh my. She’d had her one night. And a morning. She’d fulfilled her teenage vow. She sat in her beloved Aeron desk chair and spun around so she could stare at the poster.
She should be happier. She should be feeling triumphant. How many women had looked up on stage and fantasized about having sex with the rock star of their dreams? How many had had the fantasy come true? She was happy she’d fulfilled a goal, but somehow, it all felt empty.
Jet lag.
The devilish voice inside reminded her that she couldn’t get jet lag flying from San Francisco to LA, but she ignored it. She could certainly blame it on not a lot of sleep last night… The memory of what—and who—had kept her up made her squirm in her seat.
With those thoughts came the rush of guilt mixed with the jealousy she’d felt when she’d seen him working the crowd at the Wharf. She wasn’t allowed to feel jealous. She’d violated her professional ethics, but that didn’t give her license to feel jealous when he looked at another woman. Guilty, yes. Jealous, no.
More importantly, her fling with Nate was far from serious. She had no claim on him, no reason to feel possessive. They’d have their fun, get it out of their systems, and move on.
It was her job to put him back on top, where she knew he belonged. That meant being heard on every rock station in the country, being seen in every good entertainment magazine. Along with that was being seen with the right people. It was all about image. Being seen with the best implied that you were the best.
She was just going to have to get used to that.
Besides, the attraction between them was still there. They didn’t seem to be able to keep their hands to themselves. And right now, no other woman could say that.
Focus on work. That was the ticket. Putting her back to the poster, Hannah opened her laptop. Gina had given her the memory card from the shoot and Sam had given her their webmaster’s address, acknowledging that it was her job to get the photos online. There was the FoxFanatics website to visit, pictures to send. No room for daydreams today.
And definitely no room for the longings Nate’s words had rekindled.
I want to see you again.
*
The house was too quiet. Nate flipped on the stereo.
Low strains of heart-aching jazz filtered from hidden Bose speakers. With a grimace, he turned it off. Okay, the silence was preferable to having libido-enhancing music filling the house. He didn’t need any help feeling frustrated and turned on.
Nate wandered to the kitchen for a bottle of water. That was a mistake. The dishes from this morning’s breakfast were still stacked in the sink. The apron he’d worn was crumpled on the floor. He looked at the granite countertop, remembering how it had recently been used, and groaned. At this rate, he was going to have to pour the cold water over himself rather than drink it. Grabbing a bottle from the refrigerator, he quickly left the room, eager to put some distance between himself and the last place he’d made love to Hannah.
Hannah. Lord, he could still feel the lush warmth of her body. Those long legs had trapped him tight, keeping him captive while they’d slaked their passion with each other. He was never going to look at his kitchen the same way again.
When he’d woken up yesterday he hadn’t expected to end the day with the most incredible night of his life. And certainly not with the woman who had so intrigued him all those years ago.
He’d never forgotten that impulsive teenage kiss. She’d been too young. Her father had been his producer. But there’d been something about her...
He wanted her again. He wanted to see where it all led.
Needing to burn off some energy, he took the stairs two at a time. Nate went to the bedroom to change into sweats. The bed was still unmade, the sheets a tangled mess.
And damn, he could still smell her. Her scent lingered, softly intriguing, slightly exotic. He closed his eyes, breathing it in. He was instantly, painfully, hard. Another groan rumbled from his chest. The next few days were going to be the longest of his life. He was positive.
He was pretty sure he was going to explode long before he saw her again.
The need for her was almost like an addiction, and he had plenty of experience with that. But this felt different, better. Something good could grow from this.
Nate moved to yank the sheet up, covering the pillows. He found the duvet on the opposite side of the bed, lifted it, and saw something black and lacy drop to the floor. He hooked the item with one finger. Her thong. He crushed the tiny scrap of lace in his hand, and thought he might go out of his mind. He remembered peeling them off of her, sliding them down those incredibly long legs. Pressing his lips to the sweet treasure they’d hidden.
The fact that she’d left his house bare-assed naked under her sexily professional skirt practically made his eyes roll back in his head.
The musky scent of aroused woman filled his senses. He held the cloth to his nose. Breathed her in. Allowed himself to be consumed by the fantasy.
Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, Nate cupped himself through his jeans. The rasp of his zipper seemed too loud, but he imagined it was her hand freeing his swollen cock, caressing the sensitive flesh. With his eyes closed, he wrapped the fabric around his fingers and sheathed himself with it.
The combination of smooth satin and textured lace had him almost ready to come with one stroke. He slowed down, imagining Hannah cupping him, her slender fingers drawing the scrap of lingerie across his aching flesh. He moaned, spreading his legs, caressing himself while her scent teased him. He came in a sudden burst of pleasure that made him cry out, the sound fading to a throaty moan.
Nate’s breathing slowed, but somehow the ache in his groin didn’t seem any easier.
He laughed. Oh, he had it bad. He only hoped that she was as turned on by memories of their lovemaking as he was. He knew he’d see her again soon, but he wasn’t going to kid himself that what he really wanted right then was to be in her bed.
Hell, the floor would do. Or they could check out her kitchen counters. Or maybe the couch.
Damn, this wasn’t helping. He stared down at the panties still clutched in his hand. He was going to have to come up with something to make her pay for having this effect on him. Something sexy and outrageous.
The thought filled him with anticipation.
Nate grinned, heading for the bathroom. He was going to let his imagination have its own way, and see what it came up with. Then he was going to make Hannah as achy and needy as he was.
He couldn’t wait.
*
Opening the door in response to the bell, Nate found Sam on his doorstep. The older man held up a cup from Nate’s favorite coffee house. Sam arched his shaggy eyebrows in a silent question.
His arrival had been inevitable. Stepping back, Nate ushered his friend in.
“So what did you think?” Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder as he preceded Nate down the hall to the kitchen.
“What did I think about what?” Nate asked carefully. He watched as Sam put the coffee down on the counter where only that morning Hannah’s fine ass had graced the granite.
He picked up the cup. He forced himself to relax his grip before coffee exploded all over his hand.
“About the photo shoot this afternoon,” Sam replied. He took a long swig of coffee before heading over to the refrigerator and pulling it open. He pulled out a container of take-out Chinese. Peered at it suspiciously. Put it back.
“It seemed to go okay,” Nate said. He took the white container back out of the refrigerator and tossed it into the garbage. Then, because he didn’t want to spend any more time in the kitchen with the counter that seemed to take up the whole room, he headed for the media room.
“It looked like it went more than okay to me,” Sam said. “I think it was really valuable. Hannah did a good job bringing your fans out. The hardcore ones are the ones who’ll spread the word about your grand return.”
Nate sprawled on the burgundy leather sofa, sinking into the deep cushions. “It was good to see them again,” he admitted. He knew damn well who, in the end, paid his bills.
He appreciated his fans’ unwavering support, craved the give-and-take of their energy at his concerts.
“Every little bit of flirting helps,” Sam said with a laugh. “Speaking of which, I noticed the sparks flying between you and our new publicist.”
Figures. Half the time, Sam couldn’t find the off-ramp they needed on the tour bus, but anything to do with women, and he was spot-on. “She was pretty hot.”
Tantalizing. Vibrant. Addicting.
Sam browsed through the CDs lining one wall, his blunt fingertip sliding from case to case. “She was that,” he agreed. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Hannah said you’d talked to her. I’m a big boy, Sam. I can take care of myself.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Sam grinned. “Did I or did I not see the two of you making out after the photo shoot?”
“We weren’t making out.”
“Only because it was the middle of the afternoon in a public place,” Sam said. He sat down on the sofa, putting his feet up on the teak coffee table and crossing them comfortably at the ankle. “It looked pretty serious to me.”
“So I kissed her. That doesn’t mean it was serious.”
Sam snorted. “Don’t even try to tell me that you two didn’t spend the night together. I’m not an idiot.”
“Never said you were,” Nate said. He took a sip from the cup. Wiped a spot of foam off his upper lip.
“Look, I want you to be happy, have some fun. I know it’s been hard since…” Sam didn’t need to finish the sentence; they both knew exactly what he meant. Sam had been there for Nate through the whole thing.
“I just don’t want you screwing up a good working relationship,” Sam continued. “She’s great at PR and we really need that.”
Nate stared at his old friend. Always the bottom line for Sam.
“She’ll be on the road with us,” Sam persisted. “You’ll need to decide how public you want a relationship with her to be.”
“There’s no relationship,” Nate said.
Not yet. Maybe never. Maybe just lots of hot sex. But then why could he still taste her? Feel her around
him?
Sam nodded. “If you say so. Just keep your non-relationship discreet. I’ve got to run. There are a million things to do before the tour starts.”
Nate followed Sam to the door. It was good to see his friend and manager so positive again. He said as much.
“I could say the same thing for you,” Sam said soberly. “Look, I know you’ve been worried about the tour, and the problems that could crop up. You’ve just gotta have faith in yourself.” The familiar evil twinkle started up in his eyes again. “Or just keep thinking about your publicist, if that’s what puts you in a good mood.”
Nate laughed and punched Sam on the arm. “Get outta here.”
But by the time he’d finished his coffee, his thoughts were indeed right back with Hannah.
Despite the drink on his tongue, he couldn’t seem to forget the taste of Hannah’s skin. The desire to touch her again was almost consuming him.
Maybe just hearing her voice would ease the yearning ache. The need.
Or it would lead to other things. After all, he wanted her just as aroused and needy. His groin tightened at the thought.
He reached for the phone.
*
Hannah stretched, feeling her spine pop, the kinks dissipating. She’d logged off the last website, and she was finished. Gina’s pictures were perfect, as always.
She was struck by how good Nate looked in them. Not just his usual good, but healthy. She hadn’t realized just how much he’d changed until she’d surfed some of the sites that had photos from his last tour. There’d been a gauntness to his face. Lines and tension that had aged him, that spoke of turmoil. Funny that she’d never really noticed it until now.
These new shots caught his edgy sensuality. They made Nate seem dark, mysterious, and utterly delicious. Hannah sighed. Hunger coiled in her body, making her clit throb. Just thinking about the things he’d done to her made her shift restlessly in the chair.
The phone rang, and she jerked upright, her feet hitting the floor.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hello, Intoxicating.”
“Nate!” Her heart thudded in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Or maybe that was just the husky voice in her ear.
