by Tracy Ewens
Meg gave in to the sensations racing through her and decided there were no more questions. She was going to sleep with him. If it turned out to be a mistake, she would pick herself up and move on.
“I should probably warn you since you’re mostly experienced in pretending to have sex,” she said. “I can get kind of wild.”
“I believe that.” He followed her lead as she opened the bedroom door.
“I enjoy sex.”
“There is a God.”
She laughed again. That was twice in less than fifteen minutes. It didn’t matter how long she had him or where this—whatever this was—went. She was falling in love with him while he still had his jeans on, so by the time those hit the floor, her heart and her body were not turning back.
Chapter Eighteen
Meg was in nothing but her underwear and West almost fell to his knees. He was the one nervous now, so through a thick haze of lust, he managed to find his sense of humor. “Underwear this time.”
“Barely,” she said, running her fingers along the thin pieces at her hips. She grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt, pulled it off, and threw it to the floor. As they moved closer to the bed, West noticed a scar on her side and ran his finger along it. Her body tensed and her hands stilled on his bare chest, which was a shame.
“Barbed wire,” Meg whispered. “It was stupid.”
“And you’re intimidated?” He leaned down to kiss the scar and slid her underwear to the floor. “I want to hear the barbed wire story, but first…” He filled his hands with her body. Meg’s eyes closed and West imagined there weren’t many people allowed this close to her scars.
He got rid of his boxers and took her to bed. Their bodies at first shivered in the cool sheets but quickly warmed as he traveled over her. Skin so soft beneath the smell of coconut and the salty outdoors, that by the time he touched another scar on her thigh, he’d lost the ability to think.
He brought her up gently, and when he couldn’t take it for one more touch, he grabbed protection off the nightstand and slid into heat as her body rose to meet him. Her hands moved over him as if she sensed every need and met it with more than he could have imagined. He took his time, desperate for one more sigh, but when his name fell off her lips, he completely lost his mind.
There would always be the physical part of sex. A release in being stripped down and yearning for a touch, but Meg was a mind and a body West had never experienced before. When he took them both over for the last time, he knew he would never be able to go back to one without the other and all the questions that came with it. What he told her in the car was true: she’d ruined him.
Meg lay across his chest hours later, running her hand up the bend of his arm. No tattoos. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. West’s body was a work of art, part of how he made his living. She supposed tattoos defined a person too much for make-believe. Glancing out the bedroom window, she knew it was Friday and the sun was still up, but for the first time, she had no sense of time and didn’t want anything other than the man beneath her.
“Barbed wire?” he asked.
She nodded into his chest. “It was a calf.”
“A cow?”
“A baby moose. We were in Alaska and when we spotted him, he was tangled up in barbed wire.”
West touched her hair, held her to him as if he sensed her pulling away.
“We’re supposed to leave things as they are. It’s an unspoken rule. Well, a rule yelled at a photographer when she steps over her professional boundaries.”
“Would he have made it out without your help?”
“No.”
“Then how were you supposed to leave him there?” His chest rose and fell.
“It wasn’t my place. I should have left him and if he died, that was his path.”
West leaned up to look at her. “That’s bullshit. Barbed wire isn’t natural, someone put it there.”
“That was my argument.”
“After that nasty gash in your side, did he get away?” He lay back down.
“He did, but his leg looked broken. He probably didn’t make it, although we did see him hobble back to his mother.”
“So, if he did die, he wasn’t alone.”
“True.”
“I think that’s incredible.” His chest tightened when he leaned up again, as if he needed to see her.
“Well, you are alone in that opinion. The guys I was with reported me, and let’s just say my assignments dried up for a while.”
“Isn’t compassion part of your job? If you don’t connect on some level, can you truly capture them?”
Thinking back to when she told him it was only fair if he was dense, Meg realized the universe smiled down on Westin Drake because the man was far from stupid.
“We do connect on some level, but as observers. We do not participate.”
“Sounds cold.”
“It’s for their survival. We are not part of their world, and they can’t ever become dependent or comfortable. It’s damaging.”
His hand stroked up and down her back.
“Did you ever see Old Yeller?”
Meg shook her head, finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than his touch.
“Don’t.”
“Okay.” She climbed up his chest until they were eye to eye. “Is the acting that bad?”
“It’s not the acting. The dog dies. Worst movie of all time. My dad loves it. Calls Old Yeller the best movie ever made.” He scrunched his face in dramatic disagreement. Meg sat up, taking a part of the comforter with her.
“One afternoon, I think we were off school for the summer and he was in charge while my mom was at work.”
“What does your mom do?”
“She’s a bookkeeper. Works for the only accounting firm in historic Petaluma. My dad is a contractor, so his hours are more flexible.”
Meg nodded and tried not to look surprised. It was a stretch for her mind to imagine that the Westin Drake of big billboards and magazines grew up in a neighborhood, let alone that he had two hardworking parents. She’d imagined him eternally polished, born to a glossy family, but that was silly now that she was next to him in bed. He’d been more than a polished picture even when she’d first seen him in the conference room.
“So, we came in for lunch after riding our bikes. Kraft singles and sausage on crackers, guaranteed. It’s the only lunch my dad knows how to make. I must have been eight or nine. We were all ready to head back out when Dad decides we should watch a movie. Why are you smiling?”
“I just am. Go on.”
“He tells us it’s about a dog. We had two dogs at the time, so we were all psyched. Popcorn, the dogs next to us on the couch. It was a good day to be a kid.”
“I bet.”
West shook his head. “Two hours later we were all bawling. Not a dry eye. We kept doing that guy thing where you look up or away with your eyes wide, hoping the tears will disappear before they fall.”
“Girls do that too.”
“Nothing worked. It was a disaster. My mom came home and we were still crying.”
Meg laughed but covered her mouth. “Sorry, it’s not funny.”
He pulled her under him. “It is funny now, but at the time, man it was rough.”
She looked up at a face she’d never seen before. His guard was gone. No lights, no camera, and no paparazzi. It was intoxicating, and she could tell by the warm creases at his eyes and the soft curve of his mouth that happy was his natural state.
Meg had known people who were miserable and faked happiness. West was the opposite. He layered indifference or polish over his happy. She’d been given a secret, a full view of his happy. He kissed her, pulled them under the covers, and she felt a deep need to keep the man behind the glossy finish safe. They would need to leave the Tony Bennett bed eventually, but for right now she held on.
Chapter Nineteen
Meg woke to West watching her sleep and stroking the hair off her face. The weight
of his stare was that of someone having a complete conversation all by himself. She pulled up on her elbows and asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“You.”
“Why aren’t you asleep?” She looked down and noticed he was on top of the covers and fully dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt. “Why are you dressed?”
“Disappointed?”
“Incredibly.” Meg pulled one of the pillows close. “I had another dream about you.”
“Yeah?” He leaned in and softly kissed her neck. “Was I wearing a poncho?”
She swatted his shoulder and then kissed him gently. The smell of warm morning man caressed her from head to toe. She held back the comforter and motioned for him to come back to bed.
“It’s still dark out.”
“I want to take you somewhere,” he said.
She yawned. “What time is it?”
“Four thirty. We need to get going.”
“Can’t we go back to sleep and order up pancakes or cinnamon buns much later?”
He shook his head and Meg finally sat up, still wrapped in the warmth of down feathers. “Please don’t tell me you’re an early-morning runner. If you are, I am no longer your BFF and I will not be joining you.”
“Get up,” he said, playfully pulling at the comforter Meg clutched like a child who didn’t want to dress for school.
“No. I want to go back to bed.”
“You don’t. There are some jeans and a sweatshirt right here.” He patted the foot of the bed. “All you have to do is put these and your hiking boots on. I promise it will be worth it.”
Meg crawled forward and lifted the clothes. “Where did you get these? Oh God.” She sat back on her knees in animated shock. “Do you have a little store for women when they come over and you rip their clothes off?”
West laughed and dropped her boots by the bed. “Yes. You’ve figured me out.”
She lay back down, wondering where anyone needed to go at four thirty in the morning.
“Towner bought them for me. Don’t ask how the woman works her miracles. She’s the concierge and you can meet her later. But we are wasting time. Get up, or I’ll have to carry you there.”
“I am not a morning person.”
“How can that be? Don’t you capture the best shots at sunrise?”
Meg finally climbed out of the bed. She thought about wrapping the sheet around her body, but he’d visited every curve multiple times last night. There was no point in being modest now. Besides, she felt satisfied and sexy. She didn’t want to cover that up.
“Yes, but animals have the decency to wait for the sun.” Meg walked to the bathroom.
“You sure look like a morning person.” He pulled her back and kissed her stomach.
Mischievous eyes looked up at her, and the last thing Meg wanted to do was get dressed.
“You’ll be a morning person after this. I promise.” His hands slid from her body.
“What is with you and the confidence all the time?”
He took her hand and led her inside the bathroom.
“Oh, I’ll bet there’s an assortment of toothbrushes in here too.” She was teasing him and so happy it didn’t feel real.
“Only one, but it’s pink since you’re a girl. Please hurry up. There’s a car waiting. Think of poor Vince who had to get up early to drive your perfect ass all over town. Now, get in there, you, before I lose control of myself and you ruin my surprise.” She breathed into her hand and rolled her eyes. No one had good morning breath.
“Are we walking?” she asked, following him back out of the bathroom.
He turned her back toward the room. “Go.”
“Fine.”
Meg brushed her teeth, got dressed, and then sat on the couch to tie her boots. Whoever Towner was, she had an excellent eye. The jeans fit her perfectly. Just as the bed beckoned her back, West threw a puffy black jacket at her. Resigned to meet the crisp morning, she took a baseball hat off the hook by the door and pulled her hair through the back.
“That was quick,” he said.
“What can I say, I’m all about quick. There’d better be coffee and breakfast on this adventure. I’d hate to scratch your pretty eyes out.”
“There will be.” He tipped the brim of the hat back and pulled her in for a kiss that was starting to feel familiar. She knew his taste now and the slow campfire burn of his heat. As her knees began to buckle, West pulled back and put her cap back into place. She was sure her face was completely giving her away and there was no point in hiding her feelings from him anymore. She was trying to formulate something to say when he took her hand and pulled her into the service elevator.
Vince dropped them off at the entrance to the Golden Gate Bridge, and before Meg could mention that the bridge was closed this early, the arm of the gate rose and he drew her into the tendrils of fog as they twisted through iconic red steel. She had to remind herself they were in the middle of a city. Apart from the occasional car horn, it was silent. She could see nothing but West’s arm and shoulder as they moved through the fog and farther onto the bridge.
Meg instinctively reached for her camera and realized she had nothing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been caught without her camera. Sliding her hand into the pocket of West’s coat, she could now hear the water below them. It wasn’t waves or lapping as she had noticed before. There was a rumble below them, as if the bay wasn’t a morning person either and the fog was carefully stirring the current awake.
Meg guessed they were about a half of a mile onto the bridge when West stopped. She still couldn’t see him and was reminded of when she noticed the fog from his agency’s office window. It seemed so intimidating at the time, but now that she was in the middle of it, instead of watching from a distance, it was simple and so beautiful. Moving her hands through the condensation, she heard West’s voice as he materialized in front of her. She wiped her face, damp with moisture, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“How did you do this? It’s closed.”
“There are perks.”
“To being one of the sexiest men alive?”
“Look at you waking up. No. Perks to being friendly. Ryder let us in. He was a crowd extra when we shot some scenes on the bay for the last Throttle.”
“And he works the bridge?”
West nodded and touched his lips to hers, as if he couldn’t wait another minute.
“We became friends,” he said, easing out of the kiss.
He played with a strand of her damp hair.
“How long do we have?” She turned to keep walking but he held her in place.
“The bridge opens at seven.”
She pulled his arm and West finally budged. The fog grew even thicker as they continued. Meg glanced over at him a few times and could barely make out the sharp lines of his face. It was as if she was pulling him deeper into a thick forest instead of standing on a famous bridge. Still so quiet and unclear, it reminded her of watching photo paper float in the developer. Everything starts white and then the exposure appears through the ripples of water. About a mile onto the bridge, she stopped this time.
“Thank you.”
He held her without a word, the steady rhythm of his chest practically in sync with the water below.
“This is your best adventure by far. I grew up in this city and never saw it, or at least I’ve never noticed the details. I was missing the corners, so thank you.”
He rested his chin on top of her head. “Yeah well, I live for the corners. You’re welcome. Forgive me for getting you out of bed early?”
“I do, but after you feed me. I would be interested in an encore on that extremely large bed in the Tony Bennett Suite.” She took his hand and continued walking.
“Well, he did write the song,” West said.
“How does that one go again?” Meg looked coyly over her shoulder.
“Nice try. Everyone knows the song.”
“Do they? Because I can’t seem to reme
mber.”
“If I sing it while we finish walking, will you stay in the Tony Bennett bed with me until Sunday?”
She nodded as the end of the bridge came into sight. “You know music really… motivates me.”
“Is that so?”
West, whose hair was now soaked and sexier than anything she’d seen in his movies, belted out a rather impressive performance of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” complete with snapping.
Her sides hurt from laughing by the time Vince opened the car door.
He was in love with her. It was the simplest and most complicated thought all rolled into one. He’d assumed he had it all figured out when he was waiting outside her apartment, but he didn’t have a clue. Meg naked and giving a part of herself to him almost destroyed him. And when she’d said she was motivated by music, the heat in her eyes was enough for him to break out in song. Imagining her back in his bed, panting his name, had him dropping his fork with a clatter while they finished up breakfast.
Meg crooked her head to the side. “You okay?”
West grinned and picked up his fork. How was he supposed to answer that question? No, Meg, now that you mention it, I’m not okay. Every time I look at you I want to crawl farther inside. Should he say that in the middle of a busy diner? It was sure as hell how he felt. He dropped his fork again and went to stand but banged his leg on the table instead. The dishes jumped.
“We need to go.” Tossing some money on the table, he heard the faint murmur of voices. Shit.
He’d been so wrapped up in wanting to peel those jeans off her body that he hadn’t even noticed the sun was up and they were now surrounded by people.
Meg was still sitting and smiling up at him until her eyes drifted below his waistband. She dipped a finger in the syrup that had pooled on her plate and sucked her finger into her mouth. West managed to stand as the rumbling of an audience he could feel watching them grew louder. Camera phones were now out and flashing while Meg continued her demonstration of sugar porn.
“Time to go,” he said, a little more urgent this time.
“Oh, sorry. Should I leave the tip?” she asked as she stood slowly.
