by Joanne Rock
He found erogenous zones in places I would have never guessed anyone would look, stroking with deft fingers until I hung on the brink of orgasm. Who would have thought the arch of the foot could be so incredibly sensitive? But when he pressed his thumb there, all the while kissing his way up the inside of my calf, I melted. Just totally melted.
By the time he covered me and slid deep inside, I flew apart in seconds.
I saw stars behind my closed eyes—tiny pinpricks of light that burst into bright flashes as I came over and over again. I think I’d been holding back so long that it was impossible to wait another second when I felt him move thick and sure inside me. I clutched his shoulders, my fingers flexing deep in his skin to hold him tight to me.
My hips rolled against his, wringing every last bit of pleasure from the aftershocks, and yes, I enjoyed the hell out of the way my body moving against his made him growl with approval. The way his hot breaths grew faster against my neck as I—yes, stuttering, quiet Courtney—drove this magnificent man absolutely crazy with desire.
God, yes.
“Courtney.” He whispered my name in my ear right before he found his own release, the word filled with a tenderness I hadn’t expected after the way we’d teased and tempted each other all evening.
He anchored my body to his, sealing us together for long moments where we shared the same breath. The same heartbeat.
In the aftermath, I couldn’t move. Languid pleasure made my limbs heavy and I sprawled beneath him, gasping. I breathed in the scent of him, of us, and absorbed the feel of the warm, gorgeous man beside me.
I told myself not to think about the fact that I was falling for him. That I’d started that downward spiral even before this incredible encounter. I cautioned myself not to attach too much meaning to decadent, heady sex. Just because I had rocked his world on a physical level didn’t mean he had deep feelings for me or long term plans, right? I vowed not to obsess about what this night together meant.
I was here to enjoy this time with him for however long it lasted. I could not lose my heart to a man from such a vastly different world, a man whose life was lived in the public eye. Still, even as I tried not to think about the future, a small part of me was already envisioning lazy Sunday mornings spent in his arms. Scintillating nights where we drove each other to frenzied highs...
To squelch the fierce want rising up inside of me, I gathered up my pride and independence and boldly inched away from him. Not enough to be a rebuff, just enough to cool the still-heated air between us. I turned on my side to stare at him, his profile as compelling as the rest of him. I tucked both my hands beneath the folded pillow so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch him.
“Can you stay?” he asked, turning on his side, too. “I didn’t think to ask you before, I was just so glad to finally see you again.” He stroked a hand over my hair, making me wonder what I looked like.
A train wreck, probably.
But his words suggested he didn’t find me unappealing. At all. Had I mentioned that I felt like a sex goddess with those good endorphins flowing through me? This sensation could become addictive.
“I hitched a ride here,” I reminded him, grateful to put the ball in his court on the sticky question of whether or not to spend the night. “So it’s up to you when you want to send me packing.”
The way his brow furrowed made me think I’d been too flip about it.
But then, his expression eased.
“Guess I’ll hold you hostage a while longer, then.” He smoothed a strand of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. “It took too long for me to see you this week as it was. Your work must keep you busy.”
We’d gone three days without seeing each other. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one who’d been eager after that initial date.
“I’ve been given new responsibilities.” Given the way I wanted to curl up against his chest and forget about the world, I figured it would be a good idea to talk about my work. Better than admitting how crazy I was about him.
“Is that a good thing?” Still holding that lock of hair captive, he used the ends like a paintbrush, twirling them around my shoulder.
I had to consider his question for a moment. Partly because what he was doing felt really good. And partly because I wasn’t sure how I felt about new work without an increase in my paycheck.
“It’s exciting. I’ve been at Sphere for almost three years, doing the same job. Thinking about a new facet of the company will be interesting.” I explained to him about my previous behind-the-scenes role and my impending presentation to a client. “It’s all the more flattering for me because of my speech issues.”
“That doesn’t make you nervous?”
“A little. But after dancing at Backstage, I figure I can handle a few new risks.” My eyes had been opened that night. I wasn’t going back to my passive, take-what-I-can-get approach to life.
“Good for you.” He released my hair, and I shivered at the way it slithered down my arm and slid across my back to rest on the pillow behind me. “Have you ever considered acting lessons?”
This surprised a laugh out of me.
“Excuse me? I’m a numbers person, not a Hollywood wannabe.”
“Sometimes acting classes can help people who are nervous in front of an audience. They can lessen your nerves and help you relax.”
“Really?” I tried to picture myself in the Actor’s Studio and failed. “Tough enough standing up in front of ten people in my own office. I don’t think I could handle a big class in front of strangers.”
“Just a thought.” He shrugged before turning over to grab a remote that turned the gas fireplace down to a lower setting. The room grew darker.
“How about you? You’ve been pretty busy this week yourself. How’s your work going?”
Trey tugged the sheet over us, reaching behind me to be sure I was fully tucked in. My heart squeezed inside my chest at his sweetness. He drew me closer so that he cradled my head on his biceps.
“I’ve got almost all of my clients working now. That guy I dragged to the show at Backstage—Eric Reims? He’s going to snag a big part next week. I can feel it in my gut.”
“Really?” I tried to recall the actor’s face, but my memories of that night centered around the man in bed next to me.
“Yeah. The casting department on the film is nuts for him and the director just got back to me that he wants another meeting.” Trey nodded with satisfaction, as if that was all the proof he needed. “Once Eric snags this, I just have two teenagers that I need to find work for.”
“So your entire talent agency represents the actors you originally hired for that film your father axed?” I’d read extensively about Trey’s business dealings when I’d prepared Sphere’s reports for Fawn. I knew the basics about the blowup with his dad.
“Plus a few others I’ve met since then. But they’re all working now except for those last two kids. Once I find them solid jobs I can move on.”
A cool breeze blew through the open French doors, making the flames in the fireplace waver and pop.
“And open the film company you don’t want anyone to know about.” I couldn’t resist brushing my cheek along the warm skin of his inner arm. Amazing that hard muscle could make such an enticing pillow.
“Yes.” He tensed and I peered up at him to see his expression. “Although now I’m having second thoughts about what my first project should be, since my father purchased the rights to a story similar to the one I wanted to make—”
He stopped himself from whatever he’d been about to say, his jaw clenched tight.
I tried another approach. “Why do you think he does stuff like that? I told you that my mom has always been tough on me too. But she’s never actively...thwarted me.”
A perfectionist by nature, my mother had always been disappointed in what she perceived as my perpetual flaws. The stuttering was only one example. My lack of ambition, my wardrobe, my long bangs...there were plenty of
things she found not to like. But while she complained about those faults, she didn’t want to see me fail.
Odd that anyone’s parent would.
* * *
TREY TOOK HIS time answering. He wasn’t sure how much to share, for one thing. He was also surprised that she’d asked him such a question.
Most people wanted to know more about his father, the wealthy independent filmmaker who’d made his mark on the industry after being raised by foster parents in a humble part of Oakland. Thomas Fraser was an American legend—a real-life embodiment of the American dream. It was a theme he’d revisited plenty of times in his films, too. His dad was charismatic and loved by the media, no matter that he’d been a hard parent.
“It has to do with him being a self-made man.” He’d heard plenty about that growing up. “He’s afraid that if he doesn’t challenge his kids, we’ll be soft. He never believed in allowances when we were young, and he doesn’t believe in giving us anything now that we’re grown.”
Not even a credit on a film Trey worked hard on. Not even an acknowledgement of a job well done.
He shifted on the bed to lie on his back, drawing Courtney with him. She propped her elbow on his chest and rested her head in her hand. Her dark hair pooled on his skin, spilling onto his hip and arousing awareness in spite of the fact he should be sated. For now, at least. But even talk of his dad couldn’t dim the afterbuzz of the greatest damn sex of his life.
“Maybe he thinks he’s helping. Or maybe he’s followed that behavior pattern so long that he doesn’t know how to relate to you any other way.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “Then again, that could be my own years of therapy talking.”
He hated the idea that Courtney’s mother had driven her to those lengths, but she seemed comfortable with that part of her past. Far more comfortable than he felt about his dad.
“I’d be surprised if there was any way my father could view his actions as helpful.”
“People can rationalize a whole lot of things. You’re a filmmaker of sorts. You ought to know we are each the hero in our own dramas, right?”
He nodded, intrigued by this woman. What had started out as strong physical attraction became more interesting by the moment.
“So your dad probably thinks you need him to succeed.”
Trey found that hard to believe, and yet...it sure as hell was a kinder explanation for his father’s actions than he’d ever credited the old man with.
“Maybe. But I tend to think he’s just obsessively competitive.” Trey sighed and folded the pillow under his head so he could see her better. “I know he believes our mom spoiled us—which was impossible since we didn’t see her more than a few weeks a year—and that it’s a father’s job to be tough on his sons.”
“Wonder how he would have been with a daughter.” She traced idle circles on his skin and he thought about halting this conversation with a kiss.
And more.
“Difficult to say.” Although he guessed it would have been more of the same. Refusal to praise any accomplishment. Continually pushing her to strive harder in life.
“Your brothers aren’t married?”
He stroked her hair. The warm skin of her shoulder.
“No.” He couldn’t picture either of his siblings settling down. They enjoyed the bachelor thing too much.
And after this night with Courtney, Trey was strongly reminded why he needed to make some time in his life for women too. More specifically, time for Courtney. She was...amazing. Memories of her dancing for him, spinning around the patio in sheer veils, would be etched into his brain forever.
“Did you ever come close?” Her throaty whisper was another kind of touch altogether, the sound revving him up again. Already.
“What?” He’d lost the thread of the conversation invivid images of how they could spend the rest of this night together.
“M-marriage,” she clarified, clearing her throat as she stumbled over the word just a little. “Has anyone ever tempted you?”
He wished like hell he’d kissed her before the talk turned in this direction. He was pretty sure he couldn’t get the “M” word smoothly out of his mouth, either.
“Once.” He definitely didn’t want to discuss this. Crossing his fingers, he tried flipping the question around. “How about you?”
She frowned, lowering her lashes to hide her pretty eyes from him. Was she hurt that he hadn’t shared anything about Heather? He was already regretting the abrupt conversational turnabout. No matter that he’d wanted to keep things uncomplicated between them, he owed her more than a terse one-word answer after what they’d shared.
But then Courtney met his gaze and smiled.
“Me? Are you kidding?” She flopped back onto the bed beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Definitely not the marrying kind.”
10
LIES. LIES. ALL LIES.
I crept through the house the next morning in search of coffee, wondering how I could have concocted such a bald-face fabrication about not being the marrying kind. What had happened to me since I met Trey that I was behaving like a completely different person?
The early morning sun spilled into the kitchen from a panel of high windows with eastern exposure. A sleek sideboard near the breakfast nook contained all the coffee essentials in plain sight, from a state-of-the-art java maker to a sugar container.
I’d already showered and dressed in the T-shirt and shorts Trey had given me in the middle of the night when we’d raided the kitchen for a snack. We’d fed each other Lucky Charms and tried to turn the shapes into a hieroglyphic-style language. I’d had fun spelling out naughty things on his naked abs right before I... Well, suffice it to say, I’d tried to pay him back for the immense amount of pleasure he’d given me in bed.
Judging by his reaction, I think I accomplished the task fairly well.
Now, waiting for the coffee to brew, I padded barefoot around the huge kitchen. Trey had chosen this place for us last night because of the private patio and the views.
I had to admit, the other half lived well.
“Sneaking out on me already?” Trey’s voice startled me as he entered the kitchen.
Whirling around from where I’d been daydreaming at the picturesque window, I took in his shirtless appearance. He did have washboard abs. Fawn had been one hundred percent correct.
“I might have if you didn’t have any coffee,” I teased, pointing to the pot, where a curlicue of steam drifted out the top. “But I’m a prisoner of caffeine. Now you won’t get me out of here until that cup is ready.”
“Excellent news.” Trey stalked closer, a pair of old jeans riding low on lean hips.
It was all I could do not to lick my lips.
“Mmm.” Distracted, I tried to remember the Lucky Charms code for, “Let’s get naked.”
“Can I make an observation?” He pulled two mugs out of a cupboard overhead and set them on the counter.
Something in his tone triggered a bit of wariness. He sounded more serious this morning. That put me on edge because I wasn’t ready for this to end. Hadn’t we enjoyed an amazing time together?
Hadn’t I worked hard to keep things uncomplicated?
“Umm, sure.” I smiled until my cheeks hurt.
“You don’t stutter around me. Especially not lately.”
“Oh. Right.” I hadn’t been expecting that. I relaxed a little, taking a seat on the bench at a built-in breakfast nook. I drummed my fingers on the French country table.
“Have you noticed?” He pulled out the carafe and filled the mugs.
“Actually, I don’t stutter much around people I’m comfortable with these days.” Although, just thinking about my stutter made my tongue feel a little sticky, like it was going to trip over itself any second. I forced myself to speak slower. “It has more to do with new situations or new people—if I feel any pressure or worry.”
He frowned. “So back when we first met...I was making you nervous?”
I remembered sort of fibbing about that to him, saying I hadn’t been nervous. But what did it matter now?
“I...” I took a deep breath as he put the sugar bowl and a spoon in front of me. “I liked you.”
My cheeks heated and I felt ridiculous. As if it was big news that I’d been crushing on him.
“You say that in the past tense.” He sat across from me and stirred sugar into his coffee. “What’s changed?”
I felt as if I was missing something in this conversation. What was he driving at?
“I guess I feel more comfortable around you now that—” How did I put this? “I mean, it seems you kinda like me, too, if last night is any indication.”
He put down his spoon with a laugh.
“No secret there.” He studied me with his golden brown eyes as if I was a puzzle to solve. “What I guess I’m getting at is this—if you can find ways to make yourself more comfortable in your job, why can’t you take over the role that Fawn has at Sphere?”
I nearly choked on my first sip.
Coughing, I had to put the cup down. Yes, this feminine grace of mine was one of many reasons why I didn’t have Fawn’s job.
“Trey, I’m not an account rep. I barely got through my interview at Sphere, I was tripping over my words so much.” It was mortifying to remember. “I could never meet with new people all the time and sell them our services.”
“So leave the sales to someone else.” He covered my hand with his, his olive skin a contrast with my pale fingers. “But your financial advice is genius. That email you sent me outlining ways to ensure I have start-up cash for the next phase of my business model was brilliant. You should be a highly valued member of that staff.”
He spoke with such sincerity that I almost bought into it. But then I remembered that the “me” Trey knew was a hybrid Courtney/Natalie mix. A bolder version of myself. An illusion I’d cooked up on a stage. I didn’t bring that same confidence into the rest of my life.
I took a slow sip of coffee as I thought about how to frame my reply.
