by Andrea Dale
“Every damn word of it,” he said softly. “You are all I need. Not the fame or fortune. Just you.”
“But your career,” she protested. “People will say—”
He kissed her, effectively cutting off the words. Oh god, how she’d missed the feel of his lips on her. She felt like she’d been drowning and he was the air she needed. One hand cradled her head; the other stroked down her spine, urging her closer until she was pressed against him. Nate teased her bottom lip with his tongue, and she opened her mouth on a moan. She felt the velvet thrust of his tongue against hers all the way to her clit.
One last kiss. Just one. And then she would have the strength to pull away. Sliding her hands beneath his vest, she curled her arms around him. He was warm, his muscles hard beneath her questing fingers, his skin slick with sweat. She held him tight, trying to memorize his feel, his taste.
From some dim, faraway place, she could hear applause. It yanked her back to reality.
“Nate,” she said, breathing his name against the temptation of his mouth.
He rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you. Being without you is not the way I want to live.”
She’d missed him, too, but she had to say goodbye. It was unfairly cruel that she had to say it again, but it had to be done.
But before she could tell him, he responded to her earlier protest.
“I don’t give a damn about what people will say or think,” Nate said. “The only people whose opinions matter all seem to think we should be together.”
That was the applause. Hannah looked over Nate’s shoulder to see Gina grinning like an idiot. Andre clutched his hands to his chest, practically swooning. Sam gave her a quick thumbs-up, his nod telling her he approved before he turned to bark orders at the roadie breaking down the drum kit.
“I’m not good for your career,” she protested. She was going to kill her friends later. Maybe. Or maybe she’d thank them. She was rapidly losing track of how she should be feeling, what she should be thinking. Her resolve crumbled around the edges because she couldn’t remember why she was supposed to be resolved.
“Sweetheart, you set my career back on the path to the top,” Nate told her. “You did something truly amazing and impressive. But I’d walk away from all of it if that’s what it took to be with you.”
She stared at him, shocked. “You can’t do that!”
“Coming through!” The warning was followed by a crew member wheeling a crate-laden dolly.
Muttering a low curse, Nate grabbed her hand and wove his way through the backstage disorder. She followed, trying to assimilate everything he’d been saying. He’d give up his music for her? That was crazy talk.
But it was sweet, too. And a small ember of hope flared a little brighter in her chest.
Nate tried the handles of a series of doors, finally finding one that was unlocked. He pulled her inside, simultaneously flipping a light switch. It was a storage room, stacked high with boxes and chairs. There was no lock on the door, so he grabbed a chair and wedged it up under the knob.
“We can’t be back here,” Hannah said. “There’s a roomful of people waiting to see you!”
“If they want to see me, they’ll wait. You’re more important.”
He filled the small room with his scent, his presence. When he backed her up against the wall, Hannah couldn’t help but respond to the hard pressure of his body against hers. She touched his cheek, stroking the lean planes of his face. When she traced the sensual curve of his bottom lip, he caught her hand in his. His tongue curled around her fingertip before drawing the digit into his hot mouth. She felt an answering rush of moisture between her thighs.
“I love you, Hannah,” he said softly. “And I have no intention of letting you walk away from me.”
He loved her? Really? Something cracked inside of her, thawing in the warmth.
“I don’t have to be at the top of the charts to know that I’m successful,” he said. “Sure, being there is fun, but it’s the music that matters. I’d lost the music, and you gave it back to me. I’ve done everything you’ve wanted me to do to get back to the top, but unless you’re there with me, it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Everything I’ve wanted?”
“Giving you up, taking Marta to the Paradise Club, posing for pretty pictures.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. You hired me to put you at the top of the charts, to generate buzz about your comeback. Positive buzz, not—”
“I just want to play music, Hannah,” Nate said. “My music and my performance should be enough for people. As long as the fans are happy, my career will be fine. If the media doesn’t like me, or me with you, then screw em.”
He leaned close enough to brush his lips along her jaw. Warm breath tickled her hair. The sensation was maddening. Her eyes closed, her head resting against the wall. His teeth grazed her skin, his tongue soothing the spot. The throbbing between her legs intensified and she rocked her hips against his. He laughed, a low growly sound, and rocked back. The hard length of his erection pressed against her, a clear, erotic sign that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
“Tell me you love me,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. The blue-black of his eyes drew her in, and she knew that no matter what happened, she didn’t want to be apart from this man. “I love you, Nathaniel Fox.”
The quick triumph that flashed in his eyes, the cocky grin that curved his mouth, she could forgive all of that, because he kissed her with an utterly focused possession that drove everything else from her mind.
They’d only been apart for a week, and yet she felt as though they hadn’t touched for years. The desire was as strong as the first time they’d had sex, back in his house in San Francisco. She couldn’t get enough of the taste of him, the feel of his mouth on hers and his hands roaming restlessly over her body.
This was no time for drawn-out pleasure, for languid stroking and teasing, for romantic foreplay and slow joining. She wanted him. He wanted her.
Now.
Desperate for skin-against-skin contact, Hannah pulled her shirt from her waistband, wriggling the material up along her torso. Nate’s hands immediately went to her ribcage, skimming along her, his calloused fingers digging into the muscles in her back. He pulled back from their kiss just long enough for her to pull the shirt over her head and toss it away. Then he was kissing her breathless again.
He worked his hands between them to take her pouting nipples between his fingers, rubbing the lace of her bra against her tender flesh.
“Jesus, Nate,” she gasped, her knees almost buckling as the sensations shot through her. She reached behind her and gripped the shelf she was leaning against. A plastic bottle of cleanser tumbled to the floor.
He tugged the cups of her bra down. Her full breasts spilled out of the lace. He bent to capture one nipple in his mouth. The first slow suck had her throwing her head back, crying out. Nibbling her with his teeth, he slid his hands down her sides. Capturing the hem of her skirt, Nate tugged it up, pulling it over her hips. His fingers grazed against her damp thong, and she shuddered.
“So hot,” he murmured. “So wet.” He raised his head and kissed her again. “So intoxicating. Intriguing…”
She fumbled with the lacing of his leather pants. The knot caught, tied twice to keep an avid fan from reaching up and pulling it free. Her curse made Nate laugh, but didn’t stop him from pulling her thong aside and slipping one long finger into her folds.
“That’s not helping,” she ground out, riding his hand as he slipped a second finger into her. Heat spread inside, weakening her limbs. His thumb nudged her clit. Hannah gritted her teeth, determined not to come until he was buried deep inside of her.
But he knew exactly what he was doing, and each little bump of his finger against her notched the pleasure higher and higher.
Finally, her plucking fingers released the damned lac
es, and she slipped her hand into the leather pants. He was gloriously bare beneath, and she was gratified to hear him groan when she pulled his erection free. He didn’t give her any time to stroke or play, however. He spun her around, tugged her panties down. She kicked them off one foot and grabbed hold of the shelves, praying they were bolted to something solid.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that Nate had stopped just to look at her. Her long legs were spread, her feet still in the stiletto heels. She wiggled her hips, doing a slow bump and grind. His eyes were riveted on her ass. She reached back, gave herself a light slap on one cheek.
“Fuck me, Nate!”
The low growl that came from his throat made her wiggle her ass again.
Nate nudged the head of his cock against her slick opening. She felt him separating her, teasing. She tried to push back, to take him inside, but strong, calloused fingers held her hips tight. His tongue traced her spine, his teeth lightly biting the back of her shoulder.
“I love you, Hannah,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek. He reached around and stroked along her needy clit. She was suddenly at the edge. “I want you. I need you.” He nipped at her ear and whispered, “Come for me.”
She wanted to tell him again that she loved him, but words were impossible as she succumbed to her orgasmic convulsions. “Nate!”
She was still shuddering through her climax when he drove into her, coaxing her up and over a second crest. Clinging desperately to the shelf, she pushed her hips backwards to meet his strokes. Her inner muscles clenched down hard on his erection, urging him to join her.
A flurry of thrusts, and then he groaned her name when he reached his release.
Nate rested his cheek against her shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around her. She could feel his heart beating, matching her own pounding pulse. Hannah relished the feeling, the sense of belonging and homecoming.
When she could move again, she turned around, seeking his mouth in a long slow kiss.
“As much as I want to stay here with you,” he said finally, “I don’t want to keep you from your job.”
“Our job,” she said. She gave him a playful pat on his butt. Such a cute butt. She was feeling awfully possessive of it right now. “We both have to go out there and shmooze those music execs.”
He pulled her against him and kissed her hard. “Thanks to you, I’ll have some new songs for them to produce in a few months.”
He handed her the lace thong she’d kicked across the floor, held her shirt while she shrugged into it. He stroked his fingers through her hair, straightening the waves that tumbled down her back.
Every touch told her how much he cared.
They opened the storeroom door.
Sam, Andre, and Gina waited for them across the hall.
“Are you two finished talking things through?” Gina asked. She didn’t move her hands, but the air quotes were clear in her tone.
Hannah cleared her throat. “We’ve definitely come to an agreement,” she said. A quick glance at Nate showed her that he was grinning, the joy so apparent in his eyes.
“Good,” Sam said. “Now, don’t you have some work to do?”
Andre simply fluttered his hands. Hannah noticed, however, that as they walked away, he tilted his head to check out Nate’s ass. She caught his eye, saw the query there. She nodded. Yep, leather pants meant no underwear. Andre rolled his eyes in delight, falling into step behind them.
Nate would wow the record execs. Offers would be forthcoming. She’d done her job and she’d continue to do it.
But this time, she wouldn’t give a damn what the rest of the world thought.
The fans wanted them together. The FoxFanatics poll had proven that.
More importantly, Nate wanted them together. It was what they both wanted, and needed.
She opened the door to the meet-and-greet, her fingers firmly twined with Nate’s.
They would fly together in the future.
*
In Her Hands Sneak Preview
CHAPTER ONE
Sarabeth licked her lips in anticipation as she gazed at the male perfection that awaited her.
She slipped an Evanescence CD into the stereo and cranked the volume. The pulse-pounding beat wasn’t the only thing that made her hips twitch as she walked to where he stood.
Waiting for her.
She was in complete control. It was a heady, empowering feeling. She could touch him in any way she wanted.
But she teased herself, putting off the first contact. Instead she walked slowly around him. She’d molded each faint bump of his spine already, cupped her hands around those taut cheeks. Teased the dimples that cut into his hips. Traced the juncture where buttocks met thigh.
She walked back around to face him. God, he was beautiful. Her hands trembled, ever so slightly, when she reached up and rested them on his firm chest. Smooth, and faintly cool. He would heat up soon enough under her touch.
Sarabeth dipped her hands in the bowl of water and raised them again. She trailed her fingers along the ridges of muscle, outlining them, defining them. Nipples bloomed to life beneath her fingertips. She circled the hard nubs, fingernails tweaking ever so gently. Her breath hissed between her teeth.
Oh, yes.
A drop of water trailed down, hesitating at the crease of his thigh, and she longed to follow it with her tongue. She licked her lips again, and flicked the droplet away from the crisp hair with her thumb.
Teasingly, she tickled his belly button, smoothing her fingertip around the indentation. Beneath it, a treasure trail of hair pointed down. But she wasn’t ready to go there yet.
Not just yet…
Another douse in the water, and her hands slipped along his narrow waist, resting briefly on the sharp hipbones. He had a birthmark on his left hip. She touched the crescent moon shape like a blind woman reading Braille, sensitive skin sending distinct signals to her brain.
Erotic signals.
Was it getting hot in the room? She felt sweat trickle down her own back, but she was too intent on the body before her to stop and open a window.
She outlined the six-pack muscles of his abdomen, her own stomach fluttering at the touch. She longed to have him touch her in the same way, to feel his strong hands caress her flesh.
Evanescence’s lead singer wailed about her immortal.
He was her immortal, Sarabeth thought. He consumed her senses. But right now, she was the one with the power.
Now.
Now was the time to touch him, really touch him. Touch him for the first time. She’d been waiting so long. Her hands trembled again, from anticipation and the barest frisson of fear. So long she’d waited. Another moment, and there would be no going back. Some women could, but she couldn’t. Once she started, she was committed, all the way to completion.
She pressed against the hard muscles in his thighs, closed her eyes, imagined. Then she dipped her hands in the water again and closed them around his manhood.
She coaxed, gently at first and then with more assurance, bringing him to life between her palms. Long, firm. Not too thick. She wrapped her fingers around him, analyzing the circumference. Stroking his length from end to tip, she marveled at how perfectly he fit in her grasp.
She pressed her thumbs along the smooth ridge of his proud head, shaping the smooth mushroom cap. The veins beneath caught her attention, and the ridge just below the head. She caught her tongue in her teeth as she worked her ministrations.
Leaning in so close that she could smell him, she cupped the twin sacs, massaging gently. But he distracted her, and she couldn’t stop herself from gently stroking him again.
Her breath came in shorter gasps as she neared completion.
God, he was perfect.
Sarabeth stepped back and beheld her creation, what she had brought to life with her own hands.
She glanced out the window at the billboard that stretched across the building opposite: an advertisement for Noir for Him cologne. T
he model regarded her with eyes filled with sensual promised. He was shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned just far enough and the bulge below outlined just enough to tantalize the imagination of any straight woman between sixteen and, well, dead.
Her eyes flicked between the billboard and the clay torso on the pedestal in the middle of her studio. She’d didn’t think she’d taken too much artistic license by making him nude—and hard.
*
Michael was early for his date with Jill. The mâitre d’ took him to a table in the brick courtyard, which was framed by palms that shaded the diners from the sun but still allowed some peeking by the rabble on the street.
It was just the type of place Jill would choose. Just the type of place Michael preferred to avoid like the proverbial plague.
He didn’t have to wait long in the dappled Los Angeles sunshine before Jill arrived. He rose as she approached the table. The statuesque redhead turned her head slightly, allowing him to kiss her cheek while at the same time showing her best profile to any fans on the street, any paparazzi with cameras she hoped would be trained on them.
He felt her coolness. He knew before his butt hit the chair again that they were over.
“You do understand, don’t you?” Jill laid a hand over his. Intimate, but not too intimate.
“I do,” he said. He waited for sadness to come, perhaps even anger to sting, but all he felt was a small hint of regret.
He’d met Jill when his face, if not his name, was already a household feature (it was the jeans ad spread in Esquire that had done it, paired with the beer commercial during the Superbowl that had more women watching football than ever before) and she had been a rising star.
Now he was still a household feature, but her first movie (in which she’d played the ingénue sidekick) had fired the public’s interest, and her second, which she’d just finished filming, had everyone abuzz.
Jill toyed with her salad fork. Most of the salad remained in her dish. He’d tucked into his grilled ahi without a problem—a guy still had to eat. The teriyaki-wasabi sauce had been exquisite.
