The Blitzed Series Boxed Set: Five Contemporary Romance Novels

by JJ Knight

  My hands run along the silky bedspread. “I was super jealous of that girl when I saw it.”

  Blitz lies down on his side, his head propped on his hands. “At what point did you go looking up this gem?”

  “After the first class with the wheelchair ballerinas. The second day I knew you.”

  “Ah. So you were stalking me already?”

  I punch him lightly on the chest. “No!” Then, “Okay, maybe.”

  He grabs me around the waist and pulls me down on the bed. In a flash, I’m trapped beneath him, his knees on either side of my hips and his face looming over mine in the low light.

  “Well, guess what?” he says.

  “What?”

  “I never saw her again, and this bed was never used.”

  I laugh. “Poor forgotten bed.”

  He reaches between us and unsnaps the top of my jeans. “Oh, no, not forgotten at all.”

  My eyes go wide and I glance around. “Here?”

  He jerks the zipper down. “Oh, yes. Right here.”

  His mouth captures mine. I’m feeling a touch of panic. I mean, it’s a big space! And people will be arriving for the contract meeting! Directors. Producers. Hannah. Uggh. Hannah. And Bennett!

  But then his hand slips into the open jeans and I forget all that. His mouth is hot on me, still tasting of pie, and I groan as he revisits all the knowledge he has of my body, his fingers deep inside me.

  I gasp against his mouth. My hips rise to meet him. His thumb works my little nub, and my body can’t help but respond.

  “I love this,” he whispers against me. “And I love you.”

  He lifts his body and slides his hand out of me. Air hits my belly as he jerks my jeans down. “More naked or less?” he asks.

  I glance around, my courage returning. The last girl on this bed bared herself in front of a studio audience.

  “All the way,” I tell him.

  I don’t have to say it twice. My jeans and panties are gone, my shoes flying. The red light disappears as the sweater flies over my face.

  Jerry forgot to pack a bra, so that’s it. I’m as naked as that girl.

  “Lie back on the bed,” Blitz says.

  His face is intense as he looks at me. I obey, shifting back until I’m in the center, then I lie down.

  “Oh, this is gonna make me lose it way faster than I want to,” Blitz says. “Spread those thighs for me.”

  I brace myself up on my elbows and do as he asks, my legs sliding luxuriously over the cool silk bedspread until my ankles reach either side.

  He lets out a long exhale and pulls his sweater over his head. He kicks off his shoes and unfastens his jeans. “I don’t know what I want to do first,” he says.

  “Make it up as you go along,” I say. He’s outrageously hard, coming at me like a jungle cat, low and stealthy.

  He crawls over my body, and I’m reminded of the dance he did with the girl, before she got naked. I hook a knee around his waist and slide around him. Now I’m straddling his back.

  “Love it,” he growls, and he gets it. We’re dancing the way we sometimes do, naked, no music, all intensity and sex.

  He kneels, partially sitting now, and reaches up to grasp my arms. With a sharp pull, he sends me falling toward the satin.

  He leans down and licks my belly, his hair tickling my skin. Then he moves down, slipping his tongue between my thighs.

  My back arches, and my body is seized by him. Everything is a swirl, the red lights, the satin, now rumpled in disarray. His mouth, his fingers, and I’m lost, spiraling up, my muscles tensing. He sucks hard and I just let go, over the top, my voice lost in the huge room, saying his name, Benjamin, Blitz, my love.

  He brings me down carefully and moves his mouth to my belly, kissing my skin. He lets my breathing slow, inching forward until his erection presses against me.

  “I’m going to take you so damn hard,” he says, his voice gravelly and low.

  Then we hear it.

  The pop of the door.

  “And this is where many of the props are kept,” says a loud female voice.

  “Shit,” Blitz says. He yanks the satin bedspread off the mattress and scoops me up.

  I can’t even say anything in my panic. He dashes to the back side of the volcano and shoves his knee against a latch.

  A back section pops open.

  “Will we reuse any of these?” another female voice asks.

  We duck inside the tall cavity of the volcano. Blitz turns and closes the door. It’s pitch black in here.

  “Who is that?” I whisper.

  “Taya, one of the producers,” Blitz says. “I don’t recognize the other.”

  Blitz spreads the bedding on the cold floor and pulls me against him. “They might turn on all the overheads.”

  And sure enough, white light suddenly appears above us through a hole in the top of the volcano. It’s still dim inside the prop, but I can see the shadowy figure of Blitz.

  Naked Blitz.

  Naked me.

  In a volcano.

  “It’s fine,” Blitz says. “They aren’t going to come in here.”

  “But our clothes are out there.”

  He lets out a quiet laugh. “True. Maybe they won’t notice.”

  God, the things I end up doing with Blitz Craven.

  He runs his hands along my back and shoulders, massaging my anxiety away. We hear the muffled sounds of the women talking, but from inside the prop, we can’t make out the words.

  I can feel Blitz behind me, still hard as a rock. After a minute or two of waiting, his hands stray from my back to my belly, and up to my breasts. “God, you are one hot thing,” he says into my hair. “Please don’t ask me to stop.”

  I couldn’t if I wanted to. His hand reaches around for me, and I fall forward, propped on my hands. My fingers clutch the satin as he works me again.

  “Can’t resist this,” he says, his voice strangled. He bumps against me from behind, then he slips inside and I gasp, my hair falling forward, my body on fire.

  He works me carefully, his fingers tight around front, his body giving me long easy strokes.

  I’m going to lose it again, I can tell. The air is warm and my breasts are tingling. Blitz is trying to stay silent, and so am I. But he picks up speed and I’m with him, pushing back, leaning down, wanting it hard and fast, and just like that I’m gone again, biting my own forearm, trying to be quiet.

  Blitz’s face is buried against my neck, his own groans muffled. We breathe in tandem, still locked together, as the voices outside get a little louder. Now we can actually hear words.

  “Some of these pieces are almost iconic for the show, like this volcano,” one says.

  “Agreed. We’ll definitely hang on to this.”

  Then silence, and the voices are muffled again.

  Blitz pulls away from me. We sit together on the satin.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to sit here?” I ask.

  Blitz flicks his watch face. The circle lights up in the dark. “Five minutes until the meeting,” he says. “I’m guessing they’re probably on their way out.”

  He’s right, because a few seconds later, the white light goes out. It’s pitch black inside the volcano again.

  I sense Blitz moving, then I hear a click, and I spot a rectangle of red light where he’s opened the back of the prop. I scramble for it, dragging the bedspread with me.

  Blitz waits outside, strong and magnificent standing in the surreal glow. I almost want to take a picture.

  “Are our clothes still there?” I ask.

  “I can see your white sweater glowing,” he says. “I think we’re good.”

  We swiftly gather our things and pull them on. “I guess they were scattered enough that they didn’t figure it out,” I say.

  “If they did, they let it go,” Blitz says. “We’ll see when we walk in the meeting.”

  God, the meeting. I try to manage my hair. It’s all over the place, hair-
sprayed to hell. As I step into my flats, I run my fingers through it and rapidly tame it into a fat bushy braid. I don’t have a tie, so I just hold the end, looking around.

  Blitz tosses the bedspread roughly on the mattress and we weave back through the props. I spot an arch of fake flowers and bows and walk up to it, jerking one of the loose pieces until several inches of ribbon comes free. I tie it around the bottom of the braid.

  I guess I’m about as good as it gets to go into this meeting.

  Chapter 6

  I decide to be late. After Blitz shows me the door to the boardroom, I move on to a bathroom to fix myself up. I simply cannot walk in there with crazy hair and smelling like sex.

  In the mirror, I untie the braid and create an updo that tucks in on itself. With a little water to turn the hairspray into glue, it holds.

  When I’m clean enough and smell like soap instead of Blitz, I head back out, anxious to find out what will happen to the show.

  I can hear strident voices before I get to the door.

  “Blitz, don’t throw away everything you’ve done over this!” That one is Hannah, sounding as perturbed as she did in the limo.

  “Stop trying to force my hand!” Blitz shoots back.

  I pause outside the closed door. For a second people talk in lower tones, so I can’t hear anything else. Then a voice I know well. Giselle, the red-haired finalist. “You played dirty for two seasons! Now we’re going to!”

  What is she doing here?

  I shove hard on the handle. The door flies open so fast it smashes into the wall on the inside.

  A dozen well-dressed, perfect people all turn to look at me. I see the three finalists first, still in their getups from the hostile takeover they attempted at the DVD shop this morning. And Blitz’s manager Hannah, of course.

  Then Blitz, red faced and as angry as I’ve ever seen him.

  Then our friend Bennett, looking subdued.

  The rest I don’t know, all wealthy looking, some in suits, others in expensive casual wear. I spot two women that I figure were the ones who were in the prop room earlier.

  “Look who decided to show up,” Giselle says. “The little bitch who thinks she can ruin all of us.”

  My face flushes hot. Blitz gets up and comes over to me. “This is out of hand,” he says. “And I’m not going to submit Livia to it.” He takes my arm as if we’re going to leave.

  “Don’t walk away or we’ll sue you into your next lifetime,” one of the men says coldly. “You have obligations to your financial backers, the network, and the staff.”

  Blitz pauses. I squeeze his hand, trying to pull myself together. “It’s all right, Blitz. Let’s hear them out,” I say.

  Giselle laughs. “Oh, that’s rich. As if you are in charge.”

  One of the women says quietly, “Giselle, don’t talk yourself out of the picture. These are negotiations, not ultimatums or blackmail.” She flashes a stern look at the man who threatened to sue.

  Bennett stands up. “So glad to see you again, Livia. It’s always a pleasure. Please, take my seat.”

  I notice that there isn’t a chair for me.

  “We’ll stand over here,” Blitz says. “Because I want to make it clear that I’m prepared to walk.”

  “You’re always so dramatic,” Hannah says. “We’re not proposing anything that preposterous.”

  Bennett sits back down. “Let’s sort this out now that Livia is here. It concerns her.”

  Blitz puts his arm around me and holds me tightly by the waist. We stay by the door.

  “What’s on the table?” I ask, hoping I sound faintly businesslike.

  The threatening man speaks up. “Bennett proposed a new format for the show focused on you and Blitz, not unlike the three episodes planned for the contest winner. Meet the parents, wedding plans, and so on.”

  My belly quavers. “I don’t think my parents would agree,” I say, glancing up at Blitz.

  I can’t involve them in any way. They aren’t even speaking to me, but I don’t want to tell these people that.

  “They’re not even engaged,” Giselle spits out. “And happiness and bliss was never a selling point for the show. It’s the competition.”

  “So you can whore yourself out,” Blitz snaps.

  I squeeze his hand again. I’m starting to see why he nearly lost his show over a Tweet about her. She really gets to him. I’ve never seen him like this.

  “If I may,” Bennett interjects. “After the finale, everyone expects Blitz to be with Livia. She has her own fan base, and a dozen Twitter handles have already appeared for her. I say we get her on board, build a show around the two of them, and ride out the contract.”

  A friendly-looking older man sitting next to the finalist Mariah reaches his hand out to the center of the table to get their attention. “I believe,” he says, “that some form of compensation should be offered to the finalists for loss of income and publicity associated with the unscripted ending of the show.”

  Bennett speaks again, his face calm below his perfectly trimmed hair. His suit is flawless. He seems totally in control. It’s obvious he manages situations like this every day.

  “It isn’t clear who the winner would have been. I’m aware we planned a dance around Mariah, but in all honesty, there were sets prepared for Giselle and Christy too. Blitz had the final say, and we agreed at this very table that he could make a last-minute choice based on the live events of the evening. So all contestants had an equal chance of losing, and the publicity they received after this unscripted finale was greater than it would have been if they had simply lost.”

  The lawyer sits back. Mariah frowns.

  “What we don’t know,” Hannah says, “is what the future of Dance Blitz should be. We have a very popular franchise here, and we need to proceed carefully.”

  One of the women speaks up again. “I am not on board with a bland show about a couple in love. I don’t think Livia is a strong dancer, and she can’t carry the numbers.”

  My face flames hot, even though I know it’s true.

  “If we keep the competition aspect, then what are they competing for?” Bennett asks.

  “It has to be dramatic,” the threatening man says, his face blustery red. “There’s no point in driving it into the ground.”

  “Just let the girls have it,” Blitz says. “They can do a Bachelorette and look for a male partner. I don’t care. Just leave us out of it. I’m only dancing with Livia, and that’s final.”

  With that, he leads me out into the hall.

  We walk a ways down before I work up the courage to ask him how he’s doing.

  “That was open season on me back there,” he says. “They can figure out what they want with the show. They can sue me. I don’t really care if I ever work in this town again anyway.”

  We pass through the exit and crunch across the asphalt. The studios are quiet, although there is some activity several buildings down. Blitz punches angrily at his phone. “Trying to get the driver,” he says.

  It’s mid-afternoon and beautiful out, sunshine and white clouds. It doesn’t match Blitz’s mood, though, and I just walk alongside him, trying to be a calm to his storm.

  I don’t know what the producers can do to him, but Bennett is definitely on our side, and a couple of the others seem as though they could be reasoned with. Surely we will all find a way to work it out.

  Chapter 7

  We had planned to stay in LA through Monday, but when we arrive at the hotel, Blitz gets on the phone with his travel agent and manages to book a flight for that evening.

  “I’m sick of this city,” he says as he tosses clothes into a suitcase. “Everybody is in it for fame and glory and nobody cares about anybody else.”

  I walk carefully around him, picking up my own things and painstakingly folding them in a perfect arrangement in my bag. I know he doesn’t want to do the show anymore. I’m with him on that. But something about the finalists is really getting to him.


  We’ve really only been together a couple of months. I’m not sure how to handle the rage version of Blitz. I wonder how much of him I haven’t really seen.

  “We have lots of time before we have to leave,” I say. “Sit with me.”

  Blitz sighs and plops onto the bed next to me. “I’m sorry, Livia. I’m not doing so well with people forcing me to make long-term commitments I don’t want.”

  “It’s all right,” I say. “That would get to anybody.” I hold on to his hand. “What is so bad about doing the show?”

  “It would be a huge fake,” he says. “I would have to dance with those girls and pretend to be considering them. It was hard enough when I was half-interested in a few of them. It will be impossible now.”

  He presses his fingers against his eyes like he’s tired. “I’ve made my own bed here. I know it.”

  “Giselle really made you mad,” I say. “Big-time mad.”

  “She’s the queen of manipulation,” he says, his voice edgy. “I don’t even know what she wants, just to be noticed, to make headlines, or what. It definitely isn’t me. She was banging half the crew and trying to get in the pants of Tom.”

  “Tom?”

  “The red-faced producer who threatened to sue.”

  “Oh, that lovely man.”

  “Right. He’s trying to show he has balls by pushing me around. I’m sure she was probably blowing him in the bathroom before the meeting started.”

  “If all that is true, then they should be happy wrestling the show from you and leaving us out of it. Let the girls have their revenge auditions for male dancers of their own.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll go for it. The first season of The Bachelorette killed it, but after that, it just dropped like a stone.”

  “Well, then they should kill it with these girls, right? First season.” I stand up, pacing the room. “It’s perfect. Lots of drama. Dancing. Scandal. We don’t need to have anything to do with it!”

  Blitz leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “There’s a lot of money at stake here,” he says. “A huge show. I don’t know what they’ll do.”