by Noelle Adams
It was when she was in a tank top and running shorts, her hair in a ponytail and her face flushed with exertion that he almost forgot who she was and who he wasn’t. It was in those rare moments when she let down her guard that he let himself imagine for a minute that she was a regular girl—albeit blindingly beautiful—who he could ask on a date and have everything go from there.
Not gonna happen, he reminded himself sternly.
Several seconds passed, but no one answered the door. Frowning, Deck checked his phone even though he was sure he had the time right. Sure enough he was even a couple minutes early. He didn’t see Mira or Claud’s cars in the driveway, which meant Jane should be ready. He rang the bell again, telling himself she was probably upstairs fixing some imagined flaw no one else could see.
When a full two minutes passed with still no answer, Deck called Jane’s phone, his stomach twisting uneasily when his call went to voicemail. Jane was a rarity in Hollywood—a reliable actress. Though when he’d first started working with her, she’d certainly had her diva moments—her wedding in the Caribbean had nearly cost him and the staff of the resort that hosted the event their sanity—she’d pretty quickly realized that acting like a spoiled brat and a flake might not ruin her career, but it wasn’t going to help.
In all the years he’d worked with her, she’d never changed her plans without consulting him first. Pushing aside any concerns about invading her privacy, Deck keyed in the code to unlock the front door.
“Jane?” he called, his stomach twisting tighter when she didn’t answer. Could someone have broken in? He’d chosen the state of the art security system himself and overseen the installation, but that didn’t mean Jane, or one of the many people who came and went from her house every day didn’t occasionally forget to turn it on.
He called her name again and started up the stairs when he heard the faint sound coming from direction of the kitchen. He jogged down the marble hallway, the sound of conversation growing louder as he got closer. He got to the kitchen, with its gleaming restaurant worthy appliances and spotless stone countertops, and didn’t see Jane anywhere. What he’d thought was a live conversation was two entertainment reporters yapping on the TV.
“Jane,” he called again, louder this time, and was about to head into the adjoining dining room when he heard a muffled sob.
He circled the island and found Jane crumpled on the floor, glass shattered all around her as her shoulders heaved with sobs. He hunkered down next to her, careful to avoid the glass as he gently cupped her chin and raised her face to look at him.
Tears streamed from her eyes, catching on her mascara to form black tracks down both cheeks. Her nose was red, her lips swollen. Deck felt a squeezing pressure in his chest. The last time he’d seen her like this had been the night she’d lost Ryan’s baby.
Whatever was going on, it had to be bad.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, regretting his tone when she flinched at the sharpness.
She shook her head.
“Okay, then let’s get you off the floor,” he said, gentling his tone as he helped pull her to her feet. She wobbled unsteadily and fell against his chest. Glass crunched under his shoes, and Deck instinctively slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her off her feet. Against his better judgment he held her like that, tucked up against him as he carried her the few steps to the sofa and loveseat that comprised a sitting area on the other side of the breakfast table.
He sat down with her on the sofa, intending to put some distance between them but, but she was huddled up against him like a kitten in a storm, and he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. “What’s going on?” he asked. God she smelled good, he thought, bracing himself against the urge to bury his face in her hair and take a long, deep inhale. An exotic mix of expensive perfume and products, and underneath the warm, woman scent of her skin.
Her voice was muffled against his chest, and he forced himself to concentrate on her words, to no avail. “I can’t hear you Jane,” he said unable to keep himself from stroking his hand up and down her slender back. “What’s wrong?”
Jane tilted her head back, her face a tragic mask. “She’s pregnant.”
He shook his head, it didn’t compute.
“Katya,” Jane clarified. “She’s pregnant.”
His hand stilled on her back. “Aw, Christ, Jane, I’m so sorry.” He didn’t even think about it, just gave over to the urge to wrap his arms tightly around her and cradle her against him as he sat back against the cushions. Though he’d never encouraged sharing confidences, anyone who spent time with Jane knew how badly she’d been trying for a baby. Deck had been there when she’d miscarried that second time, was one of the only people other than Jane and her doctor who’d even known she was pregnant.
Even that asshat, Ryan hadn’t known.
And while Deck knew Jane well enough to believe her when she said she wasn’t spending nights crying over Ryan, he knew this had to cut her to the very core. He didn’t know what to do other than to stroke her back while her tears soaked the front of his shirt. For several moments he just held her, trying to ignore how good the soft weight of her felt against his chest, the silk of her hair brushing against his jaw.
She was suffering a serious emotional trauma, he told himself sternly, and she wanted comfort, nothing else. Unfortunately his body couldn’t seem to get the message, every circuit going haywire at having her pressed up against him, the hot puff of her breath against his neck making his blood pump thickly through his veins.
She shifted against him, the slide of her leg against his making his cock swell against the fabric of his pants. She let out a soft, shuddering breath, reminding him once again that it wasn’t appropriate for him to be popping wood over a client who was having an emotional meltdown.
After a few more torturous moments she said something, but he couldn’t hear her with her face buried against his chest. “Huh?” he said, and tried to focus on her words, not on how warm the skin of her back felt through the thin silk of her dress.
“She’s so s-skinny,” Jane said, looking up at him with wide, tear-drenched eyes, then broke into another fit of sobs.
Deck knew to tread carefully; it was no secret Jane was self-conscious about the weight she’d put on in the past year. Personally Deck thought Jane had never looked better—hell, she could stand to put on another five or ten as far as he was concerned. But in a business where the ideal shape for a woman was a lollipop with fake boobs bolted on, his opinion didn’t hold much water.
The fact that Katya’s waifish proportions were often publicly compared to Jane’s taller, more athletic frame didn’t help matters. With that in mind he chose to go on the offensive. “Way too skinny if you ask me. She looks like a stiff wind would crack her in two.”
“I know,” Jane wailed and sobbed even harder.
Her next words made him realize the error of his approach. “She looks like skeletor, like there’s no way she can support another human, and yet she managed to get pregnant and make it through the first trimester.”
Deck ran his hands helplessly over her heaving shoulders.
“How can she look like that and be pregnant, and I can’t keep one past six weeks, even though I got all fat—”
“You’re not fat,” he bit out.
“Yes I am,” Jane said angrily.
Deck gave an inward sigh of relief. Like most men, he’d take an angry woman over a crying one any day of the week. “The hell you are.”
“Are you kidding me? Feel this!” Jane grabbed his hand and put it on the curve of her hip.
Instinctively his hand closed around the curve, his breath hitching at the feel of soft flesh yielding to the pressure of his fingers. Christ, how many times had he imagined wrapping his hands around her hips like this, holding her still for him while he fucked her deep and hard.
His cock thickened another inch. He told himself to move away to take his hands off her but his body was blocking all o
f the logic his brain was trying to send down. “Jane, you have a gorgeous body,” he said, hoping she didn’t notice how thick his voice sounded.
“I didn’t say it because I’m fishing for compliments.” She blushed and shifted uncomfortably. “But that’s nice of you to say.”
“I mean it,” he said. “You look, and feel”—his other hand drifted down to close around her other hip in emphasis—“amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said, giving him a watery smile. She slid her hand up his chest to curve around his neck. “And thanks for letting me cry all over you.”
“Any time.” The smooth, cool feel of her fingers against the side of his neck was like torture, sending a jolt of heat straight to his cock. Jesus, he needed to get up and away from her without her noticing the now obvious bulge in the front of his pants.
He needed to get away from her before he did something really stupid.
In the next breath, it was too late.
Two
Minutes ago, Jane had been crying, so sad she felt like her world was ending. Now all she could think about was Deck, his big, strong body against hers, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of her dress, warming her to the very core. The rich masculine scent of him flooding her senses.
It was too much, the feel of Deck’s hands closing around her hips the way Jane had imagined so many times. The heavy-lidded, hot look in his eyes. The way his full mouth moved when he told her she was gorgeous.
She leaned up, closed the distance between them and pressed her mouth against his. He stiffened, and she had a split second of terror that she’d totally misread the situation. Oh God, what was she doing? Deck had never given the slightest indication he was attracted to her, he was just being nice and she was totally pitiful—
All thought fled as Deck’s hand came up to cup the back of her head, holding her in place for a deep, hungry kiss. Heat rushed through her at the first thrust of his tongue, the hot slide of it against hers sending a rush of wetness between her legs.
He pulled her onto his lap until her knees rested on either side of his hips. Through the silk of her dress, she could feel the pressure of him against the curve of her ass. Thick and insistently hard, leaving no doubt that he wanted this at least as much as she did.
At last. At last. It echoed through her head as she sucked and licked at his mouth, drinking in the taste of him, pushing his jacket off his shoulders so she could feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt.
His hands were busy too, running up and down her back, her sides, the curve of her waist. She gasped as one big hand closed over her breast, making her groan in frustration when the padding of her strapless bra kept her from feeling the firm swipe of his thumb over her nipple.
Never taking her mouth off of his, she reached up and fumbled with the silk-covered buttons on the left shoulder that held her dress up, frustration bubbling in her throat when the tiny buttons eluded her shaking fingers.
Big hands reached up to brush hers aside. She felt a rough jerk, then a popping sound as the shoulder strap gave. She spared a moment of regret that Roberto Cavalli would likely never lend her a dress again, but then decided it was worth it as the bodice had barely pooled around her waist before Deck was reaching up to jerk her strapless bra down with it.
He reached up, cupping her with his big hands, squeezing, kneading. He groaned appreciatively at the feel of her, sending an electric jolt straight to her core as his fingers pinched and teased the rock hard tips.
Heat flooded between her thighs as he traced hot, sucking kisses down her neck and across her chest. His mouth closed over one sensitive tip, sucking hard, making her cry out. She moaned his name, her fingers threading through the thick silk of his hair as he sucked and licked at her nipples.
She rocked her hips, shifting against him until the ridge of his cock was right where she wanted it, thick and hard against the throbbing heat of her sex. Every pull on her breasts sent a jolt of sensation to her core. Combined with the delicious friction of him against her swollen clit, it had Jane on the verge of coming apart before they’d even gotten all their clothes off.
“Wait,” Deck said, lifting his mouth from her breasts and stilling her hips with a firm grip.
Jane gave a little moan and tightened her fingers in his hair in protest. While grinding Deck on the couch in her kitchen hadn’t been on the list of the extensive fantasies she’d concocted about him over the years, it felt so damn good—better than anything she’d imagined— she was more than ready to run with it.
Deck, it seemed, had other plans. He abruptly rose from the couch, and Jane felt a purely feminine rush of pleasure as he lifted her like she weighed nothing and urged her to wrap her legs around his waist. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to dry hump you on the couch like a horny teenager when there’s a perfectly good bed upstairs,” he muttered, his voice tight with a need that mirrored hers.
He carried her through the foyer and up the staircase, stopping every so often to pin her against the wall and kiss her like he needed it more than his next breath. By the time they got to her bedroom Jane was so turned on she was shaking with it, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
The fine cotton of his shirt rasped against the hyper sensitive tips of her breasts as her legs slid down his to touch the floor. Her fingers went to work on the studs of his shirt while he got rid of her bra around the waist and the belt holding her dress up. His shirt slid off his shoulders in the same moment her dress puddled at her feet.
They both gasped at the first skin on skin contact, Jane pressed against him wearing nothing but a scrap of lace that barely qualified as a pair of panties.
He lifted his mouth from hers, holding her gaze as he slid his hand around the curve of her waist, down the front of her stomach until his fingers rested along the stretchy lace waistband of her underwear. She watched his amber eyes turn molten as his fingers slid inside, over her mound until he cupped her sex.
Her breath caught in her throat as he parted her with long, blunt tipped fingers, his satisfied groan rumbling through her when he found her slick and ready. He traced her slit, coaxing another rush of moisture from her body. His fingers parted her and brushed over her clit with the barest pressure, but it was enough to make her gasp and quiver and clutch at his arms for balance. “Deck,” she murmured, a plea.
He slid his hand from her panties and pushed her gently onto the bed. She was so shaky it didn’t take much to send her toppling. Her mouth watered at the sight of him looming over her, her eyes eagerly taking in every detail of his bare, muscled torso.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d seen him in perfectly tailored suits and form fitting t-shirts but she’d never seen him completely bare-chested. Like everything else with Deck, the reality was infinitely better than she’d ever imagined.
Rock hard muscles shifted and bunched under tan, smooth skin. There were a couple of spots where the flesh was pale and slightly puckered, scars that reminded her he wasn’t some Hollywood pretty boy but a hardened warrior.
His chest was covered with the same soft, dark hair that dusted his forearms. Through it she could see the outline of a tattoo on his left pec that looked like a shield with two crossed arrows. The triangle of hair on his chest that tapered into a silky dark line that bisected his rippling abs before disappearing below the waistband of the pants hanging from his narrow hips. No manscaping for Deck, she thought, shivering at the remembered sensation of her nipples pressing up against that hard, hairy chest.
She’d worked with the hottest men in Hollywood, men who trained for hours a day while subsisting on egg whites and chicken breasts.
None of them could hold a candle to Deck. He possessed the kind of pure male perfection actors in her business only wished they could achieve.
She suddenly became aware of the fact that while she was looking at him, he was staring equally hard at her. She was suddenly, painfully aware of her near total nakedness, and the extra pounds sh
e was carrying, on brutal display thanks to the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows that took up one wall of her bedroom.
She shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wishing there was a way she could reach the remote that controlled the blinds and close it without making a show of it. The movement seemed to bring his attention to sharper focus, and she inwardly cringed, cursing herself for her lack of self-discipline and inability to adhere to her nutritionist’s eating plan.
Deck let out a strained sound as he toed off his shoes and put one knee on the mattress and came down over her. Her breath caught as his hand splayed over her belly and his mouth hovered over hers, but didn’t touch.
“What is it?” she finally whispered.
“I’ve thought about getting you naked and in bed with me so many times. Now that I do, you’re so goddamn beautiful I don’t even know where to start.”
All thoughts of self-consciousness fled as she felt the faint tremble of his hand against her stomach. “Everything has worked so far,” she said as she looped her arms around his neck. “Why don’t you just keep going and see what happens.”
***
Pleasure roared through him as Jane pulled him in for a kiss. He loved the way her lips parted so eagerly for the thrust of his tongue, loved the hot little sounds she made in the back of her throat as his hand swallowed the bare curve of her breast.
Despite what she said, he was having a hell of a time keeping himself together. But like he’d said, he’d come up with thousands of scenarios involving getting Jane naked and under him over the years, and no way in hell was he going to ruin it by going after her like some crazed teenager in the first rush of puberty.
But God, it was so hard when the reality of being with her was so infinitely better than anything he could have imagined. She was beautiful, he got that. Her body was beyond insane, and Deck had seen enough of her in person in skimpy bikinis and on screen in a bra and underwear to have a pretty good idea of what she’d look like fully naked.
