by Jill Shalvis
Organized chaos ensued as the crew moved out. Rafe walked up to Emma.
“Some fantasy, huh?” she said softly, running her hands down her leather pants. “I’ve never worn anything like it.” She let out a startlingly alluring smile tinged with shyness. “I liked it.”
God, she was something. Beautiful. Sexy. Adorable. And he wanted, quite badly, to haul her into his arms and tell her what he liked, which was her naked, in bed, panting his name.
“Want to continue the fantasy?”
She looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s take the bike out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah.” He lifted the keys from his pocket. “It’s a friend’s. Come on.” He had no idea why he was coaxing her into this. Maybe to drive himself a little more crazy.
Or maybe to see if she was just as crazy.
Either way, she waited for him, waited while the crew finished cleaning up, waited until they were alone on top of the world.
He got on the bike and handed her the helmet. The engine roared to life as she climbed on behind him. She plastered her long, willowy body to his, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her lush breasts into his back.
He drove her into the night, with the wind in their faces, with the stars and the moon for light, with nothing for music but the wild beating of his heart—and hers, which he could feel palpitating against his back.
The dark, curvy roads were perfect for his mood and he leaned into each turn, loving how her arms felt surrounding him, loving how she settled her chin on his shoulder to see. He could turn his head, look into her smiling eyes and know she was enjoying this every bit as much as he was.
Eventually they landed back at the same spot on the top of Mulholland Drive. He braced the bike upright with one leg, feeling her body lean into his trustingly, warm and pliant.
“So,” she said softly.
“So.”
“Only three shots left.”
“Yep.”
“Had any luck enjoying your impending retirement?” she asked.
He stared down into the city lights and let out a small laugh. “I bought a plant.”
“A plant.”
“A houseplant. I’ll actually be around to water it.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “That sounds…domestic.”
“One houseplant sounds domestic?”
“I don’t have any plants,” she said quietly. “I work too much and forget to water them.”
“That’s you.”
She was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.” She sighed. “So what else? There’s Puddles, right?”
“I wanted a puppy,” he said. “And I ended up with a crotchety cat.”
She was quiet for so long that he craned his neck to look at her. “What?”
“I’d forget to feed a cat, too.” She shook her head. “I hate that about myself.” In a gesture that was as slight as it was telling, she pulled away from him. “I’d better get home. I have a long day at work tomorrow.”
He’d been hoping for something else from her entirely, but he wasn’t sure what. Another long, incredibly sensual night? How could he want that when she wasn’t what he wanted at all?
He didn’t know, but he did.
But he still just drove her home.
18
EMMA ENDED UP SPENDING much of the week at the studio, as they were working up storyboards for the next six months’ worth of plots. Normally she didn’t have much planning control, but in the past few weeks she’d really delivered in the wild-and-sexy department, and the “suits” were feeling generous.
And, quite frankly, they were curious as well, wanting to see what she could come up with next. She had lots of scenarios planned in her head, using such props as a pool or a Harley-Davidson, and maybe even a trip to the islands. Just thinking about it made her grin.
And ache.
Because she doubted she’d ever forget how she’d gotten such ideas or the man who’d given them to her. She hadn’t heard from him and she knew that was her own fault. She’d pushed him away.
Funny thing, though—during the long hours, surrounded by suits and the director and the other writers, all of whom lived and breathed this soap opera world, suddenly she couldn’t remember why she did.
Why did she work around the clock for a television show? Was it the respect and love of her peers? No. Was it the money? A resounding no.
So why?
She had the terrible feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was because she had nothing else in her life, so she relied on work.
On Monday, there was a crisis. One of their favorite female leads wanted out of her contract to take a movie deal, and everyone was up in arms. Emma took it in stride. No biggie, they could kill her off.
On Tuesday, one of their teen males fell off his bike and broke both legs. Again everyone fell apart. Emma offered to write him into a coma.
On Wednesday, the union grumbled about a strike. On Thursday, an hour of film was lost. By Friday, the place was just about crisis-overloaded.
And yet she felt nothing but the oddest sense of detachment.
On Friday afternoon, it occurred to her that she hadn’t heard about any more photo shoots, specifically October and November, which she knew were to take place over the weekend. Thinking that was strange since she usually knew by Thursday what was expected, she wrote herself a note to call Amber that night.
And she refused to let herself dwell on the fact that the reason she felt so curious was that she knew she had only three excuses left to see Rafe.
Just as she thought that, Amber entered her office wearing a hot-pink sundress and a grin. “Hey, sis.”
“Hey. I was just thinking about you, wondering if you’ve heard anything about this weekend’s photo shoot.”
“Yep.” She plopped into the chair, tossed back her mane of hair and revealed a hickey on her neck.
“New boyfriend?”
Amber laughed. “Stone.”
“I thought he was a one-time thing.”
“Make that a two-time thing—Nope, scratch that, it’s been three times now.” Amber waggled her eyebrows. “And talented as he is, I’m thinking of make it four, just for fun.”
“The shoot,” Emma said, not wanting to hear details about her sister and Stone. “What have you heard about the shoot?”
“It went fabulously.”
Emma blinked. “Went? As in past tense?”
“They called the other day, and I couldn’t reach you. For October we did a bubble bath scene, and then we shot November right afterward. I had a choice this time of costume. Can you believe that Stone let me pick? A red or black negligee on this cool bedroom set. I chose the black because it sets off my tan so nicely. And Rafe finished in less than hour, so I must be getting even better than I thought. There’s only one shot left now, tonight in Malibu. Anyway—” she hopped up “—just wanted to tell you the good news.”
Emma couldn’t think past the fact that she’d just lost two of three chances to be with Rafe. “Good news?”
Amber tried to look cool but couldn’t contain her grin. “I got a part on a pilot for the fall schedule. It’s a comedy.” She let out a little scream of joy. “Can you believe it?”
“Amber, that’s…amazing.” Emma laughed and hugged her sister tight. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I know, I am, too. And given how generous I’m feeling, I think Stone just might get lucky for that fourth time soon. Maybe even tonight.” She danced toward the door. “I think I’ll just go out to Frederick’s of Hollywood and find something suitably outrageous to wear under my dress. Come with?”
Emma thought of the work she had left to do and shook her head.
“You know, I’ll never understand why you do what you do when it takes all of your time. Look at me—I make a lot more money than you do, and I have at least twice the spare time. You work too hard, Emma.”
“Yes,
I know. I—” But she had to laugh, because Amber was already gone.
Emma got back to work but couldn’t concentrate. She kept picturing herself in the negligee Amber hadn’t chosen—the red one—posing for Rafe.
RAFE LAY ON A FLOAT in his pool, letting the sun bake him while the cool water lapped at his body. Only one shoot left, and all the prep work was complete. After years of working night and day, lying here on a weekday with nothing claiming his time felt incredibly decadent.
“Meow.”
Peering out of one eye, he took in the cat sitting a good three feet back from the edge of the pool, watching him with distaste. “Go do what you do. Nap or something.”
“Meow.”
Ah, hell. He drifted over to the edge. “All right. Come on over here.”
The cat eyed the water and lifted her nose.
He waggled his fingers, and with a sigh that said she was clearly queen and simply humoring him, she came a little closer, just enough that he could reach up and scratch her beneath that raised chin.
Immediately her eyes closed and a rumble came from her chest. She purred all the time now, and slept on his feet at night so that he couldn’t even feel them when he woke up in the morning.
He’d always dreamed of a puppy, a big, sloppy one that would show him affection and blind devotion. “But somehow,” he murmured, “you work, too.”
As if tired of his pampering, she simply turned away, tail raised to the sky, paws practically pointed as she strutted off as if she could no longer be bothered.
What could he do but laugh?
“Great, you’ve gone to the loony bin already and you haven’t even officially stopped working yet.” Stone, who’d apparently let himself in, dove into the pool. Surfacing near Rafe, he sighed with pleasure. “Man, that felt good. I’m done in the darkroom with those last two shoots.”
Those last two were still a sore subject for Rafe. They hadn’t been with Emma, and when he’d realized he had Amber standing in front of him in a black negligee, he’d gone in one heartbeat from taut anticipation to a frustrated edginess.
Amber had been surprisingly helpful and relatively quiet as well, letting him do his thing in a timely fashion. She’d actually wanted to please them. “Them” being mostly Stone, but Rafe appreciated it, nonetheless.
He was afraid he was never going to see Emma again.
“Did they come out okay?” he asked Stone now.
“Just as good as the others. Impossible to tell we have used two entirely different models.”
He’d be able to tell. Why hadn’t Emma come? He could have seen her in that red negligee—somehow the red would have suited her better than the black Amber had picked.
“You could call her, you know,” Stone said, flopping over in the water to float on his back.
“Who?”
“Who?” He laughed. “Emma, who.”
“I don’t need to call her.”
“Why can’t you just admit you fell for her? So she isn’t Martha Stewart, big deal.”
“I’m not looking for Martha Stewart.” “Really? What are you looking for?” Stone rolled his eyes when Rafe didn’t—couldn’t—reply, and dove under the water to swim laps.
Leaving Rafe with only his own doubts for company.
THAT EVENING, Emma decided she’d had enough. She’d been working nonstop for days, running on caffeine and little sleep.
She sat in a meeting surrounded by suits, bleary-eyed, feeling as if she’d let her life pass her by.
She knew they’d be here all weekend, and for the first time in…well, ever, she had somewhere else she wanted to be.
A photo shoot in the Malibu hills. It wasn’t a sudden urge to be a model that drove her. In fact, after this fantasy calendar shoot was over, she intended to never be in front of camera again.
Nope, what drove her was the need to see this thing through with Rafe. She hadn’t expected her desire for him to increase with each passing day and she certainly hadn’t expected that desire to be more than physical.
But the physical want alone was going to kill her.
She needed him.
She wondered if he felt the same. She had to know. She put her hands on the table and rose.
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
“I’m out of here,” she said.
“What?” Several suits said this in unison, staring at her as if she’d grown wings.
Maybe she had.
“I think my eighty hours so far this week is sufficient.”
“But…” The executive producer blinked. “We’re not done.”
“I know, but I am.” Gently, because they all looked confused, and really, she would have felt the same way not too long ago, she stopped to explain. “I need a little break.”
“But we still have to get your pages for—”
“You’ll have them. I’ll e-mail them later tonight.”
“But you never need a break,” said a shocked producer.
“I know.” But she needed one now.
THE HILLS OF MALIBU were still warm and beautiful when Emma arrived for the shoot. She pulled into the driveway of the house that had been rented for its private beach, and thought maybe she should use this location for her show, too.
She wondered what Rafe would say when he saw her. Would his eyes light up, would he toss her that slow, sexy-as-hell grin that weakened her knees?
To her shock, this shoot was already under way. At the back of the house, wearing a sunshine-yellow one-piece swimsuit and lit by the stars, the moon and a few strategic spotlights, stood her sister, modeling on the deck. Emma couldn’t hear the words of the photographer, who kneeled with his back to her, but she didn’t have to. She remembered exactly how his low, raspy voice sounded, how arousing his softly uttered directions were, how the silky nuances made her want to give him whatever he asked for. She looked at the way his shirt stretched taut over broad, sleek muscles and wondered if he still bore the marks of her fingernails.
And then Amber tossed her head back at something he said, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Tough to watch, isn’t it?”
In surprise, Emma turned and found Stone standing there, looking at her with a mixture of sympathy and mutual misery. “What?”
“I know what you’re going through. The unreasonable jealousy.”
Emma tried to laugh, but it stuck in her throat. “It’s so stupid.”
“I know.” Stone watched as Amber pulled and adjusted her costume until her breasts nearly popped out of the suit. Then she turned her back to the camera, revealing how high she’d pulled up the thong back, which allowed them to see…just about everything.
Stone’s jaw bunched and jumped. “Excuse me,” he said to Emma. “Hold it!” he called out to Rafe and Amber, both of whom turned in surprise. “The wind is getting too fierce. Let’s wrap.”
Rafe glanced around in bafflement. “What?”
“It’s windy, Rafe,” Stone said, and, striding forward, he grabbed a white fluffy robe from Jen’s hands and flung it around Amber’s shoulders. “Far too windy to work.”
He waved away Jen and another assistant, instead leading Amber himself. As he did, Emma heard Amber say, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What the hell is wrong with me?” Stone asked with a harsh laugh. “I’ll tell you what the hell is wrong with me. I just learned something about myself.”
“Yeah? What’s that—that you’re an ass?”
“No.” Stone’s jaw tensed further. “That I don’t like you showing off for everyone. I want you to only show it off for me.”
Amber stumbled and might have fallen if Stone hadn’t been holding her up. She stopped and stared at him. “What? What did you just say?”
Instead of answering, Stone hauled her up to her toes and kissed her—kissed her hard and deep, by the looks of it.
Emma winced for him, expecting Amber to step back and slap him, maybe even drop-kick him to the
ground, but instead Amber clung to him for more.
When Stone pulled back, chest heaving, eyes dark, he said, “I hate what you do. I hate that you always take jobs that require so little clothing.”
Amber let out a surprised laugh and put her hand to her mouth. “My God. It’s more than sex. You really like me.”
Stone blew out a breath. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
“Well, guess what?”
Stone looked wary. “What?”
“I like you back. And guess what else?”
“I’m feeling a little weak, Amber. Maybe you could just tell me.”
She beamed. “I just got a comedy pilot for TV.”
“A comedy?”
“Yep. Know what that means? No more stripping. I get to keep my clothes on from now on.”
Stone hauled her back into his arms. “Except with me,” he growled, and he kissed her again. Then he led her away.
In shock, Emma watched them go. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. A man had tamed her sister. A nice man. A normal man.
Emma was thrilled for Amber. She was also…sad. She wanted that. She wanted what Amber had managed to find for herself.
A man to want her, a man to want her for keeps.
She had let work take precedence, so much so that she’d pushed away all the men who might have been interested. She was consumed and too much of a perfectionist.
But even she knew those weren’t the only reasons she was alone.
The truth was, she’d never been interested enough to have a man hang around. Until now.
She was interested now, and in only one man.
Then she looked up and found that one man.
19
ALL RAFE HAD WANTED TO DO was get the shot finished and be done. Yes, he would rather have worked with Emma, but it had been Amber’s gig from the beginning and there was nothing he could do about that.
Emma wasn’t in his world—neither the world he was leaving nor the world he was heading toward.
And yet, there she stood, alone and quiet, watching him.
