by Lori Foster
He could shoot some film for Sophie and send her back to New York with a full portfolio strong enough to get her a few call-backs, at least, if not actually book her some jobs. He didn’t need to go there himself, didn’t need to return to that life.
But when she started popping up again, making it clear she wanted to revive her career, his name was bound to come up, if only in relation to who had photographed her post-scarring. Then the questions and curiosity would begin.
Mac MacGregor … whatever happened to him?
I heard he OD’d…
I heard he’s living under a bridge …
I heard he moved to Idaho and joined a cult …
The worst speculation, though, would be if they remembered the truth—that his life had spun out of control due to drug and alcohol abuse. He’d dropped out of society to go into rehab and then hadn’t been able to hack it sober.
Not that he’d ever tried. He’d gone straight from rehab to small-town Pennsylvania without bothering to return to New York or even attempting to reclaim his old life.
Why? he wondered now.
But he knew the answer: fear.
He was afraid that if he went back to New York and started doing what he used do, hanging out with who he used to hang out with, he’d fall right back into past destructive habits. Wasn’t that what they’d drummed into him during his recovery? That if he wanted to stay clean and sober, he needed to stay away from all the places he used to use and all the people he used to use with.
The funny thing was, thinking about returning to the city either with or soon after Sophie didn’t make him crave his old lifestyle. He didn’t have a sudden urge to reach for the bottle or order a glass of wine with his dinner. He wasn’t wondering how far from the restaurant he’d have to go to score.
But he did miss his old studio. The accolades that had come with his work. And he realized suddenly that he’d missed Sophie.
She was more than beautiful; that was the outside packaging and didn’t even scratch the surface of what made her genuinely attractive. She was also funny and quick, always ready with a witty observation about their surroundings or the people seated near them in a restaurant.
From the time they’d been together before, he also remembered that she had a big heart and compassionate nature. She loved animals and children, and had always been volunteering her time or name to worthy causes.
She apparently wasn’t letting her desire to get back into modeling affect her appetite either. As soon as they’d been shown to a small corner booth at Luigi’s, the lone Italian restaurant Summervale had to offer, she’d grabbed the menu and practically recited it to their waiter. She started with a spaghetti appetizer, was currently plowing her way through a plate of eggplant parmesan with the help of several slices of garlic bread, and had been making noises about how delicious the tiramisu sounded.
“You must have the metabolism of a hummingbird on crack,” he muttered, taking a conservative bite of his own three-cheese lasagna.
Her eyes widened at his mention of the word “crack,” and she swallowed hard, making the tendons of her throat rise and fall erotically.
“It’s all right,” he said, allowing a ripple of real laughter—the first he’d experienced in months—work its way up from his diaphragm. “I’m allowed to say ‘crack.’ The rule is that you’re allowed to talk about something as long as you used to be addicted to it.”
He said this with a straight face, and for a minute she merely stared at him. Then she seemed to get the joke and chuckled right along with him.
“Very funny,” she told him, taking a sip of her water with a lemon wedge squeezed in before digging back into the lightly breaded eggplant. “But I happen to know you had more expensive tastes when it came to the junk you put into your body.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with a wry twist to his lips, “I had a very discriminating palate.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured softly, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Your taste couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you did choose me once or twice.”
A jolt of desire raced down his spine and pooled in his belly like heat lightning. She was looking at him as though she were remembering every moment they’d spent together with their clothes off. Or most of them anyway. There had been a few times they hadn’t gotten that far.
And damned if he wasn’t remembering, too.
He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position now that his jeans seemed to have shrunk a couple sizes in the area of his crotch.
“We were good together, weren’t we?” he ventured, wondering if their few scattered encounters had impacted her as much as they had him.
His bedroom had practically had a revolving door back then, and he was sure he hadn’t been her only lover either. But she’d stuck in his mind more than any of the others, and a deep, dark, sadistic part of him hoped he’d stuck in hers as well.
Sophie smiled across the table at him, a soft smile that teetered between angelic and wicked and went straight to his soul.
“Yes, we were.”
She plopped the last piece of her entree into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He watched the motion of her mouth, her lips, the sleek line of her throat, and felt himself grow even harder beneath the white cloth-draped table.
Washing down her meal with a sip of water, she set the glass carefully aside and then added, “I wonder if we still are.”
Mac nearly swallowed his tongue. His heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer, and if he’d thought his jeans were tight before, it now felt as though his fly was trying to strangle his penis like a boa constrictor out for blood.
“That’s part of the reason I came to you,” she continued when all he could do was sit across from her and gurgle like a brain-dead zombie. “I didn’t want just any photographer to shoot my portfolio and help me get back on my feet. I want someone I have a connection with. Someone who can really understand what I’m trying to do and who’ll care about the pictures he’s taking because he knows how important they are to me.”
He had to clear his throat a couple of times, but finally managed to say, “So we’re not talking about retesting our compatibility with sex?” He knew he sounded petulant and more than a little disappointed, but … dammit, he was disappointed. And horny as all get-out.
Their waiter returned to the table just then, interrupting their conversation and keeping him from getting a much-sought-after answer to his question. The waiter took their empty plates and asked if they were interested in coffee and dessert.
Mac passed, knowing he was too tense to eat another bite and that caffeine probably wasn’t the best thing for his already elevated blood pressure. Sophie, however, flashed a toothsome grin and requested a nice, large chunk of the tiramisu she’d been fantasizing about since they walked in the door.
As soon as the young man left them alone, she turned her attention back to Mac. Shrugging a slim shoulder, she murmured, “Who says the two have to be mutually exclusive?”
four
Mac’s gut clenched even as he admired her ability to jump from one thing to another without missing a beat. And thank God. He’d much rather discuss the possibility of spending a few hours with her doing the horizontal mambo than mascarpone-layered and coffee-liquor-soaked Italian desserts.
“I’m going to try really hard not to launch myself across this table and attack you right here and now,” he told her matter-of-factly, then sort of ruined the effect of that promise by leaning forward menacingly.
“That would be good,” she told him, not the least intimidated if the smile playing at the corners of her lips was any indication. “This is supposed to be a family restaurant, after all.”
He growled, using his elbows to drag himself toward her another inch.
“What I’m thinking about doing to you right now is not rated G for all audiences,” he practically snarled.
“No,” she said simply, “G definitely isn’t high enough in the alphabet for w
hat’s going through my mind either.”
His nostrils flared and lust pounded in a white-hot wave through every cell of his body. “Soph, ”he grated in warning, as close to spinning out of control as he could ever remember.
And then the damn waiter showed up with her dessert, breaking into the riotous sexual tension swirling around them thick as a funnel cloud.
With a curse, Mac fell back in his chair. His arousal hadn’t lessened, not one freaking iota, but he could tell by the way Sophie was poking her fork gently into the soft edges of her cake that they weren’t getting out of here anytime soon. She was going to enjoy every bite to the fullest, playing with her food the same way she was playing with him.
Before the waiter could disappear again, Mac asked for the check. At least then, the minute Sophie finished scarfing down the last ladyfinger crumb from her plate, he could grab her hand and drag her out of the restaurant, out to his car. He didn’t know what would come after that. He hoped it would be hot and sweaty and not require underwear, but he didn’t know if that was actually where this was going.
While she took minuscule bites of cake, worked them around in her mouth for what seemed like an eternity, and then swallowed with small, stroke-inducing groans, he decided he should find out for sure what was going on between them. If she was teasing him, working him into a lather just to get him to help her with her portfolio, then he wanted to know up-front.
Oh, he might still fuck her, let her believe there was a chance he’d shoot some film for her before kicking her to the curb. And if not …
Wow. If not, he may very well be in big-ass trouble.
“So what if I say no to the photos?” he asked, tossing the question out there without warning, without preamble. “Just flat-out no. Does that mean sex is off the table?”
She studied him for a moment, continuing to chew as though he was no more or less interesting than the sugary end to her meal. And then she opened her mouth and socked him in the stomach for maybe the dozenth time since waltzing back into his life.
“I wasn’t planning to have sex on the table. At least not this table.”
His cock jerked behind his fly and his balls started to throb. “Stop messing with me, Sophie,” he bit out, not sure he could take much more before exploding … and he wasn’t certain it would be in the good way.
Setting down her fork, she pushed her plate away and laid her hands lightly on the edge of the table. “I’m not messing with you. Teasing you, maybe, but not because I’m trying to be cruel. I like you, Mac, and even though I didn’t come here with the intention of reviving our relationship, I have to admit that it’s crossing my mind now.”
“Do you want me, Sophie?” he blurted in a low, passion-laden voice.
She licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I’m not sure it’s the smartest thing ever,” she responded slowly, “but yes, I think I do. And before you ask again, my answer would be the same whether you agree to help me with my portfolio or not. Happy?”
Freakin’ ecstatic.
He hadn’t known until that moment what his decision was going to be concerning that, but suddenly he found his lips parting and the words spilling out. “I’ll shoot your new portfolio,” he said with a sharp nod of his head. “And it’s not just because you’re going to sleep with me.”
A spark of humor lit her green eyes. “I am, huh?”
Another sharp nod. “Oh, yeah. If you ever finish putting away enough food to feed an army, that is.” He dipped his gaze to her empty dessert plate, wondering if she intended to pick it up and lick it clean with her tongue.
With the corner of her lip twitching, she did him one better. Licking the tip of one finger, she ran it across the plate to pick up stray crumbs and sauce, then popped the digit into her mouth.
Mac’s eyes were glued to those lips surrounding her index finger and sucking slightly, and he nearly came in his pants.
“That’s it,” he growled, the sound barely audible from between his tightly gritted teeth.
The chair almost toppled as he lurched to his feet, but he just didn’t care. Rounding the table, he grabbed Sophie by the hand—the one not still in her mouth, doing erotic, mind-numbing things to his equilibrium—and pulled her up, dragging her with him straight out of the restaurant.
She gave a tiny yelp, followed by a low, throaty chuckle, practically running to keep up with his long, determined strides. Ten feet from his Jeep, which was parked at the curb, he hit the button on his key fob to unlock the doors. Two feet away, he reached out, yanked her door open, and all but shoved her inside. Stalking around the front of the vehicle, he climbed behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and pulled into traffic, cutting off a small red sedan and almost causing an accident he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with.
“Well, that was certainly an entertaining exit. Imagine the whispers and speculation running rampant through that restaurant right now.”
Mac heard the amusement threading through Sophie’s voice, but damned if he could find it in him to join her. He was too tense, too wound up, too desperate. And he didn’t give a shit what a bunch of strangers in a restaurant thought of him or her or their hasty departure.
“Either you’re going to get a lot of curious new customers in the next couple of weeks, or everyone in town is going to start taking their own family portraits with those little disposable cameras,” she added with a teasing note.
“Let them,” he growled.
“So where are we going?” she asked. And then she reached across the console and laid her hand on his jean-clad thigh. The muscle there jumped, as did the one higher up, throbbing for escape from behind his zipper, and he nearly ran them off the road.
Muttering a colorful curse beneath his breath, he jerked the wheel and eased the Jeep back between the white lines.
“My place,” he told her.
If they made it that far. Swear to God, if he saw a dead-end street or wooded turnoff where they weren’t likely to be arrested for indecent exposure, he was going to take full advantage. The idea of leaning across the seats, shoving her skirt to her waist, and taking her up against the door was almost too tempting to resist.
But mental images were nothing compared to flesh-and-blood Sophie, who seemed determined to send him off the deep end.
She gave his leg a gentle squeeze. “And what will we do once we get there?” she asked so innocently, she might have been inquiring about his favorite flavor of ice cream.
A growl rattled in his chest, and his knuckles went white on the steering wheel. He could tell her. Oh, could he tell her. Explicitly and in no uncertain terms.
But he’d prefer to show her, and in just a few more miles, a few more minutes, he would.
At the sound of his self-control quickly nearing the breaking point, she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek. The fingers on his thigh slid a few millimeters closer to ground zero, sending his temperature skyrocketing.
“Good things come to those who wait, you know,” she murmured just below his ear.
Taking one hand from the wheel—which wasn’t entirely safe at the speed they were traveling—he covered hers where it rested on his leg. It took all of his effort to move it away rather than toward his throbbing erection.
“I don’t want good,” he told her, tires squealing as he made a sharp left onto his street. “I want freaking fantastic.”
“That’s quite a bit of pressure to put on one sexual encounter.”
They were at his building. The Jeep shot into the rear parking area like a bullet until he jammed on the brakes, sending them both lurching toward the dash, then slamming back in their seats.
Mac cut the engine, palmed the keys, and turned to pin Sophie with a smoldering glare. Hooking a hand around her neck, he yanked her close and whispered, “Not really, since I’m counting on a hell of a lot more than just one.” Then he took her mouth in a long, voracious kiss that threatened to set the inside of the car on fire.
Wh
en he finally found the strength to pull away, they were both breathing hard, and all Mac wanted was to dive in for seconds. Instead, he let his arm drop from her nape and said, “Out. Now.”
Without waiting to see if she would do as he’d commanded, he opened his door and crossed the gravel lot to the rear of his studio. A back staircase led to his apartment on the second level, but even though it was probably only ten or twenty steps away, it might as well have been miles.
Unlocking the back entrance to the studio, he turned to see if Sophie had, indeed, gotten out of the Jeep, and found her only a few inches away.
Good girl, he thought. Followed a split-second later by, Thank God
He grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her forward, closing the gap between them, then snaked an arm around her waist, holding her flush to his chest. Their lips meshed as he walked her backward into the building, kicking the door closed behind them.
five
The inside of Mac’s studio was dark, and he didn’t bother turning on a light. Not that it mattered, since Sophie’s eyes drifted closed more often than they were open.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look at Mac or see her surroundings, but simply that she was overwhelmed by the sensations roaring through her system. His kiss jellied her knees and melted her bones … and her brain wasn’t far behind.
She’d always been attracted to Mac MacGregor, no doubt about it. He was a good-looking man, with his tall, lean, muscular build and the spiky blond hair at such contrast with the tan of his skin. The first time she’d met him, her stomach had done a little flip-flop, and his handshake had caused a zap of electricity to skitter down her spine.
And though they’d traveled this road before, the sparks were still there, stronger and sharper than ever.
Thank goodness, she thought as the door slammed shut behind them and he turned her again, backing her up against the hard, flat surface.
She hadn’t come here for this, had meant only to ask Mac for a favor that might help her resurrect her career. But getting the chance to be with him again, like this … well, it was an unexpected, but very welcome, perk.
