SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Gina's heart clamored against her breast. An X-rated production? A hot, sultry night?

  "I can handle anything you dish out," she told him, even though she was suddenly scared out of her properly behaved wits.

  * * *

  Gina gazed at herself in the mirror. Could she pull this off? Could she actually wear this gown in public?

  The seventies style looked like something Tara Shaw would have donned in her heyday. The white fabric clung to Gina's body in a slim, simple line. But that wasn't the problem. The halter dress left her back completely bare. Which meant that she'd forgone a bra—something she'd never done before.

  What was wrong with her? Was she trying to compete with a young Tara Shaw? Prove to Flint that she was as daring as his former lover?

  Gina checked the clock, and her heart did a somersault. Flint would be here any minute.

  She scrambled around the apartment for her shoes and her wrap. And the evening bag containing her stomach medicine.

  She nearly tripped putting on her heels, then ran to the mirror for a final inspection.

  And that was when she saw one nipple staring at her. Good grief. She looked like a car with a burned out headlight.

  Should she arouse the other nipple? Or try to make the erect one recede?

  Tilting her head, she frowned. She had no idea how to turn off the shining headlight, so she closed her eyes and rubbed her thumb against the shy breast.

  And suddenly an image of Flint invaded her mind—that wild, dream-induced image.

  Moonlight bathed him in a hazy glow. Water fell from the sky. The wind blew rain against his face, his arms, his naked chest.

  As he moaned his pleasure, she toyed with his fly, working the damp zipper, brushing the hardness—

  And then the intercom sounded.

  Gina's eyes flew open. She rushed to the door and pressed the button. "Yes?"

  Flint's voice came over the speaker. "Are you ready?"

  "No. I mean, sort of. Not quite." She needed a moment to breathe, to gain the confidence to face him. Both nipples were painfully aroused. "Wait for me on the first floor, and I'll meet you there."

  She buzzed him into the building then raced to the mirror and slipped on a wrap that complemented her dress.

  A quick glass of wine would take the edge off, but she feared it would irritate her ulcer. Abandoning the idea, she gave herself a few minutes to calm down.

  When she opened the front door, she nearly bumped into Flint.

  Cool and collected, he wore a classic black suit, a crisp white shirt and a slim black tie. She detected European cologne and a dash of peppermint, and she assumed he sucked on a breath mint.

  She closed the door behind her. "You were supposed to wait for me downstairs."

  He flashed a rebellious grin. "Since when do I listen to what you tell me to do? Now take off your jacket and let me see your dress."

  "It's a provocative gown," she told him, trying to sound casual. "It'll get me noticed."

  "Let me be the judge of that." He reached for the jeweled buttons on her wrap.

  "I'll do it." Fidgeting with the sequined jacket, she removed it, did a quick twirl to show him her exposed back and tried to cover up again.

  "Hold on. Wait." He snagged the wrap, leaving her vulnerable to his eyes.

  Those hot, amber-flecked eyes.

  She put her arms at her sides, wishing she hadn't worn a braless-style gown. As he zeroed in on her protruding nipples, she clutched her handbag.

  Say something, she thought. Don't just stand there and stare. Don't remind me that I fantasized about you in front of the mirror.

  He moved closer, and she fought for her next breath. "May I have my jacket back now?"

  "No." He draped the sequined wrap over the banister. "I want to look at you some more."

  "You're making me nervous, Flint."

  "I know."

  He moved even closer, and she shuddered. "Relax. We're supposed to be on the verge of becoming lovers. You can't jump every time I touch you."

  He slid his hands into her hair, and she battled a bout of dizziness. "What are you doing?"

  "Loosening a few pins." Strands of hair fell, curling around his fingers. "There," he said. "Now you're perfect."

  She couldn't imagine how she looked with half her chignon falling down. Tousled, she imagined. As if she'd just tumbled out of bed.

  He stepped back and gave Gina her wrap. They took the elevator, and the ride to the first floor seemed to take forever.

  "Do you think anyone has ever made love in here?" he asked.

  "I doubt it. I mean, no." Her sisters wouldn't do something that like that. Would they? Of course not. Rita and Maria were proper girls, like her.

  "We should fake it sometime." A boyish grin tilted his lips. "Pretend we're making out in here."

  "That isn't funny." The automatic gate opened, and she bolted out of the elevator, her nipples still protruding like bullets.

  * * *

  Flint and Gina walked to his car. He opened the passenger door and watched her slide into the Corvette.

  A moment later, he climbed behind the wheel and latched his seat belt. Gina sat beside him, her hair tumbling around her face. She turned to look at him, and his blood went hot.

  Her lips were painted red, just like his car.

  The 1963 Sting Ray offered sleek, smooth lines, a split-window design and a fast, fuel-injected ride. The lady, he thought, gave him an even bigger thrill.

  He wanted to kiss her, to taste that luscious mouth. But he couldn't, not until they were in a public forum. The seduction was supposed to be for the press.

  Flint started the engine, shifted into gear and pulled into traffic. Soon he sped through a yellow light, making it across the intersection before it changed to red. Red meant stop. But tonight, he decided, thinking about Gina's lips, it meant go.

  "Have you heard about this play?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Yes, but I hadn't planned on seeing it."

  "Why not?" He stole a glance at his date and noticed her hands were folded anxiously on her lap. "Because of the nudity?"

  "I suppose. I mean, I don't know. I prefer musicals."

  He grinned. She was so damn proper. In some ways that turned him on. He liked the idea of corrupting her, even if it was for show. "Hair is a musical, and in the production I saw, the cast took off their clothes. Of course, that wasn't exactly erotica." He ran another yellow light and tossed an important detail of their scandal at her. "Speaking of erotica, I arranged for us to pose for a portrait."

  Her voice jumped. "What?"

  "Kerry's husband is an artist, and he agreed to do this. It'll be great publicity for him. And for us, of course. He'll take some sexy photographs to sketch from. But before he gets a chance to decide which shot to use for the painting, the pictures will be stolen from his studio and sold to the tabloids." Flint kept his eyes on the road. "We'll be the talk of the town."

  Gina's breath rushed out. "Sexy photos? You can't mean that."

  "It's part of the scandal. A big part of it."

  "Why didn't you tell me this before now?"

  Because she wouldn't have agreed if she'd known about it in the beginning. "I didn't want to spring everything on you at once."

  She crossed her arms. "I'm not doing it. No way am I going to allow you to circulate those kind of pictures of me."

  "They'll be pictures of us, not just you."

  "I'm not taking off my clothes in front of you or Kerry's husband. So forget it."

  "You won't be naked. You'll be wearing lingerie. And Kerry will be there to help you style your hair and touch up your makeup." He pulled into the theater's parking lot. "You don't have a choice, Gina. You've got to do this. It's an important part of the scandal. It will generate all sorts of press."

  "I don't care. I'm still not doing it."

  "The hell you aren't." He stopped for valet service, waiting behind other cars. "You promised you wouldn't back out, even if
things got a little rough. And I'm holding you to that promise."

  "You tricked me."

  "I did what I had to do." He met her riled gaze. "This is supposed to be one of those impulsive, whirlwind romances. So it's only natural that I would commission a portrait."

  "Why? Just because Kerry's husband is an artist?"

  "No. Because I collect erotic art, and you're my obsession. We're supposed to be falling in love. Even if we're not right for each other."

  She shook her head. "People don't fall in love in two weeks."

  "People in lust do. Sometimes they don't know the difference."

  Suddenly Gina seemed shy. She glanced down and toyed with her handbag, fingering the jeweled clasp. "I don't think I can pose like that."

  "Yes, you can. We both can." Flint couldn't help himself. He had to touch her.

  When he reached out to smooth one of the stray curls from her face, she looked up, and they got caught in a quiet stare.

  He brushed her cheek, absorbing the soft, satiny texture of her skin. How could an ice princess feel so warm? So sensual? So sweet and angelic?

  "What will be you be wearing?" she asked.

  He withdrew his hand. "In the pictures?"

  She nodded.

  "Jeans, no shirt and no underwear, I guess. Kerry's husband said something about me unbuttoning my pants. You know, kind of far down."

  She chewed her bottom lip. "When are we supposed to do the shoot?"

  He studied her mouth, her teeth, the way she nibbled her lip. "In two days. So we'll be sleeping together by then. Or pretending to," he clarified.

  "I guess it could happen tonight. I've never made love on a first date, but this is different. Since we won't really be … doing it."

  "I should probably hang out at your apartment after the play. Just for a few hours, so it seems like we couldn't resist each other. Is that all right with you?"

  "Yes," she said, as their eyes met again.

  A horn honked, and Flint realized he hadn't moved up in line to take his turn. A uniformed valet waved him forward, urging him to pay attention to something other than the beautiful woman with whom he was faking an affair.

  * * *

  The theater was built in Romanesque architecture, with stone columns, a mosaic ceiling and ornamented walls.

  The lobby featured plush carpeting and several crowded bars. As Gina and Flint milled through the grand room, her stomach flipped and flopped, and the evening had just begun.

  He leaned into her. "Let me help you with your wrap."

  "All right," she said, knowing he expected her to remove the only protection she had.

  She unbuttoned the sequined jacket, and he stood behind her. His breath stirred against the nape of her neck, making her much too warm. The instant she was free of the wrap, her nipples brushed the clingy fabric of the halter dress.

  "You're so beautiful." Flint still stood behind her, only now he touched her skin, sliding a finger down her spine, teasing bare flesh.

  This was part of the game, she thought. Part of the public scandal. But his caress was real. And so was her reaction. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, tingling with sensations she hadn't known she possessed.

  He put his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. Her rear bumped his fly, and he tugged at her earlobe with his teeth.

  Hundreds of people filtered through the lobby, talking and drinking, enjoying the cocktail hour before the show, and all the while Flint had his hands and his mouth all over her. His fingers, she noticed, were dangerously close to her aroused nipples.

  "Would you like a drink?" he asked against her ear.

  She managed a shaky yes and told him to get her a glass of white wine. Not because she wanted to ply her ulcer with alcohol, but because she needed something to calm her nerves.

  "I'll be right back." He headed to the bar, and she smoothed her dress and clutched her jacket, wishing she could cover herself.

  In two days she and Flint would pose for pictures. Erotic photographs.

  Dear God. What had she gotten herself into?

  "Gina?" A familiar, feminine voice spoke her name. "Is that you?"

  She glanced up and saw Morgan Chancellor, the business associate who'd given her the scoop on Flint and Tara Shaw. "Hello, Morgan. Of course, it's me."

  "Oh, my. You look simply ravishing."

  "Thank you. I'm on a date."

  "Yes, I saw your escort. You're with Flint." Morgan glanced in the direction of the closest bar. "I guess you two are hitting it off."

  Gina fidgeted with her wrap. "He's an intriguing man."

  "Yes, he is." The socialite lowered her voice to a discreet whisper. "And I can tell you've been kissing him. Darling, you need to fix your lipstick. It's terribly obvious."

  "Is it?" Struggling to play her part, Gina reached into her purse and removed a compact. She hadn't been kissing Flint. She'd been fretting about those upcoming photos, chewing anxiously on her lips, then licking the lipstick from her teeth.

  She reapplied the racy red color and smiled at Morgan. "I couldn't help myself."

  "I don't blame you a bit. But be careful. He'll take you for a walk on the wild side."

  "That's the idea. To be quite honest, I'm tired of being a good girl. And I need a diversion, something to help me forget about the trouble at Baronessa."

  "Then you found the right guy. And he chose the perfect event. I've heard this production is absolutely decadent. Which is why I couldn't stay away. Of course, I'm here with some girlfriends. My husband isn't comfortable around this sort of thing."

  Neither am I, Gina thought.

  Flint returned with her wine. He greeted Morgan and slid his arms around Gina's waist.

  "I should get back to my friends," the redhead said. "You two enjoy your evening."

  Flint smiled. "Thanks. We will."

  As Morgan walked away, he nuzzled Gina's neck. "Did you miss me?" he whispered.

  She took a gulp of wine, then turned in his arms. "Maybe we should find our seats." Her knees had gone weak, and she needed to sit.

  "Okay, baby."

  He stroked her cheek, brushing it tenderly with the back of his hand, and for a moment, she almost wished the affection was real.

  Flint Kingman was a damn fine actor. But his mother had been a Hollywood starlet, so acting was in his blood.

  As they located their seats, Gina wondered if she should tell him she'd purchased a movie his mother had costarred in. She'd watched the film three times, awed by the young woman's beauty. Flint had inherited his mother's stunning cheekbones, her natural sex appeal, her sly, flirtatious smile. He was, without a doubt, Danielle Wolf's son.

  And then, of course, there was his scandalous affair with Tara Shaw. She imagined that had shaped Flint into who and what he was, as well.

  Gina turned to look at him, and suddenly a strange thought hit her. Had he truly made love to Tara? Or had their relationship been a publicity stunt? Something to boost the aging actress's career?

  "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

  "Nothing," she said. Nothing but his ex-lover. Or his fake ex-lover. With Flint, anything could be a lie.

  Within thirty minutes, the theater was full. As the lights dimmed and the curtain opened, Gina stared at the stage.

  The opening scene stunned the audience. A young woman began to undress in front of a mirror. When she was completely naked, she closed her eyes and touched her nipples, slowly, seductively, whispering a man's name.

  Gina nearly gasped. She'd done the same thing this evening. She'd stood in front of a mirror, thinking about Flint.

  Smoke filled the stage, and a man appeared. It was a dream sequence, Gina realized. But that didn't stop the dream man from taking the flesh-and-blood woman into his arms.

  And teasing her with foreplay.

  Gina knew they were only acting. But their performances affected her nonetheless.

  Heat pooled between her legs. An erotic chill raced up her
spine. She felt what the actress was feeling—fire, moisture, a prelude to sex.

  And when Flint moved closer, she knew the scene aroused him, too. Suddenly the stage went dark. There was no light, only the sighs of lovemaking, the whispers of a dream.

  In the blackness, Flint ran his hand along the side of Gina's dress, pressing against her rib cage, the fullness of her breast, her bare arm.

  She turned her head, and he kissed her.

  Hard.

  So hard, her breath rushed into his.

  The woman on stage was climaxing, making throaty little sounds. Lights flickered on and off, flashing naked images of the actors, but Flint kept kissing Gina.

  As he delved into her hair, he wrapped his hands around the curls that fell and tugged her closer.

  His tongue took hers over and over. He was hot and demanding, rough and insistent. He made her want; he made her ache. Yet somehow, he made her part of him.

  Overwhelmed with pleasure, she kissed him back, uncovering a flavor so rich and forbidden, she hungered for more.

  In the next instant, light flooded the stage, and the woman was alone.

  Gina pulled away and stared at Flint. She could see the shadowy outline of his face, and she knew he was her dream man. Her fantasy. The actor who would disappear when their scandal ended.

  Heaven help her, she thought. She was trapped in a torrid affair that wasn't even real.

  * * *

  Five

  « ^ »

  Flint stood in front of Gina's living room window, staring out at Boston's North End. They'd just returned from the theater, and he couldn't get his emotions in check.

  "What should we do now?" she asked.

  Kiss, he thought. Touch. Make love. Suddenly he wanted the affair to be real. He wanted to sleep with Gina, to have a wild, passionate, fire-induced fling with the ice princess and get her out of his system.

  "Nothing," he said. "We don't have to do anything."

  "Should I make some tea? It's late, so maybe we should have a herbal brew. How about chamomile? I have homemade muffins, too."

  He turned to look at her. She still wore the backless white dress, and her hair still tumbled from its confinement. They'd kissed over and over during the play and during the brightly lit intermission, creating a public scene. And now she was suggesting a spot of chamomile and a plate of leftover muffins. Hell, it might as well be tea and crumpets with the queen.