by Jill Shalvis
He felt a little unnerved to find her looking at him as though someone had shot her puppy, so he moved around the equipment that an assistant was putting away and walked toward her.
She didn’t run, but she looked as if she might be on the verge. She looked unsure and unhappy, and his heart cracked as he gazed at her.
Having no idea what he would say, he kept moving toward her.
Her eyes were huge, her fingers clasped together, and, as she did when she felt unsettled, she was nibbling on her lower lip. He wondered, Did she feel any of what he did? How could she not?
One thing he could see was the fear beneath the nerves, and he understood that all too well. With a hope that was startlingly intense, he increased his pace, and when he was about ten feet from her she did something not so surprising.
She whirled and ran. She bunched up her skirt a little in her fists, hitting the sand running, her peasant-style blouse fluttering around her torso, her long flowing skirt brushing her calves and knees.
“Emma, wait!”
When she didn’t, he whirled back to the assistant and Jen, both of whom were watching the second show in as many minutes, looking utterly captivated. “Jen—”
She lifted a hand toward the equipment. “I’ve got it.”
Knowing he could leave the expensive camera and equipment without worry, he started after Emma.
This part of Malibu was all private beach, but there were also jagged rocks and bluffs that made it impossible to see more than the immediate stretch of sand before him. Following Emma around one rock larger than his entire garage, he found himself in a small cove, completely buffeted from view by the bluffs.
Emma stood right at the water’s edge, her back to him, her shoulders heaving with exertion with each breath.
“Emma.”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn toward him.
“The crew is going to be talking about tonight for a while to come,” he said.
“I didn’t meant to make things difficult for you.”
“You know I don’t care about that.”
Bending, she picked up a rock and chucked it as far into the pounding waves as she could, shielding her eyes against the moon’s glow to try to see the rock as it hit.
“Why did you run?”
She picked up another rock. “Because I’m a writer who can’t seem to articulate her feelings.”
For a man used to provoking feelings in people with his work, he hadn’t done such a great job articulating his, either. “What’s going on, Emma?”
She reached for another rock. “I’m happy for Amber. For the first time in her life, she’s in a good place. She’s got a job she actually wants and a man to boot, one who will be good for her for a change.”
Sensing her loneliness, maybe because it matched his, he moved up behind her. A strand of her hair whipped in the wind, catching on his jaw. Her skirt entwined in his legs, making them feel as if they were touching even though they weren’t.
“So you’re happy for Amber. That’s why you ran.”
“I ran because I had all these strange feelings rushing through me, with jealousy leading the pack, and I didn’t like what that said about me. And then I looked up and saw you, and…”
“And…?” Though she had Don’t Touch signs all over her, starting with her stiff shoulders and the way she still hadn’t turned to look at him, he lifted his hand and stroked her arm, stroked up and down, and then entwined their fingers.
“And I wanted you,” she whispered, squeezing his fingers. “I wanted you to follow me.”
“For sex on the beach?”
After a slight pause, in which he held his breath and his heart didn’t beat, she nodded.
“Yes.”
He felt a flash of disappointment, because for that one moment in time, he’d wanted to hear something else entirely. He turned her toward him, shocked to find her eyes swimming in tears.
“Hey,” he said softly, and he cupped her face. A teardrop hit his thumb. “What’s this?”
She shook her head and slowly wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth to his. “I don’t want to talk,” she murmured. “I want to feel.” Tossing back her head to study the sky, exposing her slim throat and thrusting her breasts to his chest, she said, “It’s a beautiful, glorious night and I don’t want to be alone.” Then she looked at him with her soul in her eyes, breaking his heart. “Tell me you still want me.”
He stared at her, into her beautiful, wet eyes, into the face he dreamed about, at the body he wanted more than anything. “Yes. Yes, I still want you, but—”
She put her fingers to his lips and then slowly ran them over the sensitive flesh, back and forth, her eyes dark and promising. “No buts.”
Right. No regrets, no overthinking…Just living for the moment, at least when it came to this woman. He dragged his mouth down her throat, nibbling, tasting, licking, absorbing her gasp of pleasure.
She sank her fingers into his hair, holding his head close as he worked his way over her collarbone and toward a breast. “Yes.”
They sank to their knees in the sand. She needed, he needed, and beneath the glorious midnight sky, they were going to fulfill those needs. Even as a small part of her realized this was only a momentary fix for the strange and inexplicable…loneliness coursing through her, she didn’t care.
Because Rafe kissed like heaven. He tasted like heaven.
He made her feel as though she was in heaven.
The cove was protected and extremely private. No one else could access it, except through the house they’d rented for the shoot, but so great was her hunger for him that shamelessly, she didn’t even care.
He pulled his shirt over his head, laid it out behind her and then followed her down.
There was something about the soft, giving, still-warm sand beneath her and Rafe’s hard but giving body above her. She nearly cried out in pleasure from the contact. Pulling his head to hers, she kissed him, kissed him long and deep and hard, kissed him until all her thoughts scattered like the wind around them.
Bracing his weight on his elbows, he framed her face with his hands, sweeping her hair out of their way. “You’re so beautiful, Emma.” As if painting a picture, he ran a finger lightly over her lips, her jaw, her throat, her shoulder, until her entire body throbbed for his touch.
And then he slipped off her onto his side. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised when she murmured a protest, continuing his exploration of her body with his fingers.
She arched up, ran her hands up his arms, over his chest. “Rafe. Hurry.”
“Getting there.” Unbuttoning her blouse, he spread the material wide and then did the same to her front-clasp bra, baring her to the dark night and his equally dark gaze. Cupping a breast, he teased the tip with his thumb, coaxing a thready moan from her throat just before he bent to suck her into his mouth.
Sliding her fingers through his hair, she held his head close to her body, tossing back her own. Above her the stars glowed, while Rafe made her body do the same. His fingers danced down her quivering belly, then slowly bunched up her skirt, baring first her lower legs and then her thighs, all while his mouth continued to suck and nibble at her breasts. His tongue laved over the very tip, over and around, and then he used his teeth, lightly scraping her sensitized flesh until she could hardly stand it.
His fingers skimmed up past her panties now, so that she felt the cool night on her belly. He ran his fingers over the silk of her panties.
Her legs fell open for him.
His fingers took advantage of that, tracing her right down the center and then slowly back up, this time slipping beneath the silk. His knuckles grazed her bare flesh, ripping a shockingly needy sound from her throat.
At that, he set his big hand on her inner thigh and urged her legs open even farther, then gripped the crotch of her panties in his hand, dragging them aside enough to fully expose her to the night air.
He tore his mouth
away from her breast to look down at what he’d done, letting out a rough groan. “This I’ve got to have.” And he leaned over her, kissing first one inner thigh and then the other, and then right in between. She gasped his name and arched up.
“Perfect,” he murmured, and he lowered his head again, gently outlining her with his tongue.
Beyond rational thought now, she fisted her hands in his shirt at her sides and let him take her.
And take her he did. He used his tongue, he used his teeth, he used his fingers as well, and she thrashed beneath him, finally reaching for the zipper on his pants, needing him inside her.
“Come first,” he whispered, holding her off. “Stop holding back and come for me, Emma.”
“I’m not.”
But actually, she was, if only because a small part of her was so afraid this wasn’t going to be enough, that she could have sex with him every night of the week and it wouldn’t ever be enough…
Surging up, he lay at her side and pressed his mouth just beneath her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.” As he said this, he slid a long finger into her.
She stifled a cry. “Rafe.”
“That’s right, just me.” He added another finger as he used his teeth lightly on her throat, bathing the little love bites with his tongue. “The man who wants to drive you out of your mind tonight beneath these stars. Go crazy for me, show me everything. Let it all go.” His fingers eased in, then pulled out, while his thumb worked magic on the spot designed for his touch. In and out. More thumb. In and out.
The anticipation came from so deep down that she didn’t know how to turn away from it. Desperation had her gripping his wrist, holding him in place, even though he crooned softly in her ear, wordless little murmurs that promised he was staying where he was.
“Emma.” His thumb circled again, and she whimpered an inarticulate answer. “Come for me…”
It started in her toes, the shudder that ripped through her, the cry that tore through her lungs and burst out of her as she did just that.
She lost some time then, maybe a moment, maybe more, as she drifted slowly back to her senses. She heard him tear open a condom and forced her eyes open, just in time to watch him roll it down the length of him. There was something incredibly sensual about seeing his hands on himself, and then even more when he sank into her.
“Oh,” she breathed in wonder as her body began to tighten again. “Rafe…”
“Yeah. Again,” he demanded, eyes narrowed, face fierce with concentration as he began to move.
She left her eyes open, though it was a struggle, watched his emotions chase one another across his face as he pistoned his hips against hers, taking her to a place she’d never been before, to a place she’d never known existed.
EMMA DRIFTED AWAKE to find herself cradled against Rafe’s warm body, the cool night air drifting over them, his fingers lightly stroking her arm.
“Hmm,” she sighed. Then her eyes flew wide open and she sat all the way up. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“Only for a moment.” He sat up and swept a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re tired.”
Extremely. She’d been working too hard, and thinking even harder, so sleep had been difficult, but—
“Come back to my house with me,” he said. “We can just go to sleep or watch a late movie, whatever you want to do.”
Go back to his place…That would be lovely. If she hadn’t promised to have her pages done. “I’m sorry, but—”
“But you have work.”
“Only a bit.”
For a few moments he lay there looking up at her. Then in one fluid motion he got to his feet. He was still shirtless, and his temper was all the more magnificent for it.
“That’s all right, Emma. You go back to your work.”
“I will,” she said quietly. “But I’ll be done by—”
He lifted a hand. “No explanation required. I don’t need an excuse.”
“I’m not trying to excuse anything,” she said tightly. “I’m just trying to tell you I can come back.”
“Don’t worry about it. I get that you live for your work. I get it loud and clear. So go on, go back to it, go back to your boring, workaholic life.”
She could only stare at him, at a complete loss in the face of his anger.
“Go on,” he said, and he waggled his fingers for her to go.
Well, damn him, anyway. Maybe she was a workaholic, but she sure as hell didn’t need him to throw it in her face. To make it sound like it was awful and horrible and…boring.
“Goodbye, Rafe.”
He turned away, shoved his hands in his pockets.
And without another word, she walked away.
20
AFTER THAT NIGHT, Emma worked like a demon. The studio didn’t protest, they loved it. Two weeks into her mad-woman writing schedule, they gave her a bonus and offered to renegotiate her contract, saying the pages she’d been giving them were her best ever. Emmy-award winning, they all vowed.
She read between the lines with the best of them. They wanted to guarantee that she kept up the pace yet didn’t get lured away by another show.
But after another week of the grueling schedule, with her eyes perpetually red and strained, her body falling apart, her nails chewed down to the nubs, she wondered what it was about her that she found it so impossible to change.
She’d wanted something different, something more. Even Amber had managed to get that something more. In addition to her new TV pilot, she had a man in her life, a real man.
Emma sighed. What made that all so hard for her?
She had one meeting left for the day. The studio was going to hire another junior writer and, as part of the interview process, wannabe scribes would come in one at a time and pitch their ideas.
After that, she could go home to bed.
Grabbing a large coffee for the meeting, which promised to be long and excruciating, she glanced at her reflection in the glass. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held there precariously with two pencils. She wore leggings and a large T-shirt. Amber wouldn’t have been caught dead looking like this.
She looked about as different from the model she’d pretended to be as she could get.
Entering the conference room, she slouched down in a chair, thinking no one outside this place would recognize her, not her sister, not Rafe—
Nope, she thought as her heart constricted without permission, I’m not going to go there. To make sure she didn’t, she dove into the tray of cookies in the middle of the conference table. Boring? Is that what he’d said her life was? Ha! This wasn’t boring. She grabbed another cookie.
Chocolate always had been able to solve everything. Today she was going to put it to the test.
“YOU’RE…WHAT?” Stone stared at Rafe in disbelief. He’d just shown up at Rafe’s house, wearing a damn shit-eating grin that assured Rafe his best friend had been getting lucky on a regular basis.
He intended to get lucky himself. He hadn’t slept well for weeks, until last night. “I’m going after her.”
“You’re going after her.” Stone blinked. “Emma? Hollywood writer, workaholic Emma?”
“Yep.” He stepped outside, pulled Stone out as well, and locked his front door.
Stone, mouth hanging open, watched Rafe walk past him toward his car. “You’re going to get Emma.”
“You’re sounding a bit like a parrot.”
“But…” Stone looked confused. “I thought she wasn’t the one.”
“I was wrong.”
“So what are you going to do, kidnap her from work?”
“I’m going to try something new.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to tell her how I feel.”
“Oh.” Stone thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “It was a new technique for me, as well.”
“And it worked for you,” Rafe pointed out.
“It sure did.”
“The
n, wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re going to need it,” Stone added.
THEY’D HEARD SO MANY PITCHES, Emma’s head was going to explode. No one writer had stood out, and they were beginning to think the entire process was going to be a wash.
Emma still sat at the conference table. Her mug had been filled over and over and, as a result, she felt jittery. Maybe it had been the cookies and caffeine and no lunch, but her head hurt and she wanted a nap.
She rested her head on the table. “Let’s send whoever’s left out there home. It’s not worth it.”
“A few more,” someone else decided and yelled “Next!” to the assistant standing by the door.
Emma lifted her head just as a tall, dark and heart-stoppingly handsome man walked into the room.
Rafe.
“Hello,” he said in a hauntingly familiar voice. He lifted the clipboard he held. “I’m here to pitch a concept.”
“Go ahead,” said the suit on Emma’s left.
Emma sat there with her mouth open. What was he doing? Why was he here? And why, oh why, did he have to look so…kissable? She’d done her best to get over him. She’d done her best not to think about him every living, breathing second. She’d nearly succeeded, too. In fact, she hadn’t thought about him in at least four whole minutes.
And now here he was, in the flesh, looking at her with so much emotion in his eyes she could hardly stand it. What is he doing?
Rafe cleared his throat and, instead of reading from a paper as everyone else had done, put his clipboard behind his back and looked right at her. “My concept is simple. It’s a relationship concept.”
Oh God.
“What I’m envisioning,” he said, “is a man and a woman, in the perpetual struggle to find not only themselves, but love.”
Around her, a few suits nodded, interested.
Emma could hardly breathe. She didn’t know what the hell he thought he was doing, but she couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t—
“It opens with a man,” Rafe said. “He has his heart set on breaking free from his too-busy, too-hectic, too-controlled lifestyle. He wants to settle down away from all that. He wants to, for once, have the time to indulge in an affair of the heart.”
