by Lily Kate
“No kidding.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. “I just wanted to give you a proper hello.”
She grins back. “Well, I missed you, too.”
“This week has been excruciating.”
Because we’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the next seconds seem important, essential. Underneath the rampant desire electrifying the room, there’s a note of nervousness in the air.
These past few months we’d been running on excitement, on intensity so strong it raced through us like kindling. We’d kept ourselves safe, protected from rushing into things too quickly by setting up shields and precautions. Now, we’d run out of excuses. If we were going to continue this song and dance, we were going to finish it, once and for all.
I inch toward her for another kiss, but she gives the slightest shake of her head.
“The others,” she murmurs. “The staff.”
“Private dressing room. We’re alone.”
“God, then yes.”
I inhale her words, clipping the end of her response. Her hands slide behind my back, her fingers cool against my skin. Goose bumps prickle my body in anticipation.
She tastes like buttercream cupcakes, all bright and delectable. A treat to be savored, and savor I do. Long, slow kisses until I can’t handle the wait any longer.
“How do you look so beautiful after traveling all day?” I lift her onto the dressing table, her arms still swung around my neck. She opens to let me stand between her legs and nuzzle in against the soft skin of her neck. “This weekend took too long; I need you so badly.”
“I need you too.”
I’m treated to a view of her back in the mirror, and the only thing wrong with it is her clothes. There are too many of them. Hair swishes in golden lines, her figure outlined like the silhouette of an hourglass as I gently remove the leather jacket.
Bare flashes of skin from her shoulders appear, and I brush my fingers there, closing my eyes at the shot of lust it sends spinning through my veins. She points her chin upward, eyes closed, and initiates a hungry kiss.
She parts her lips, teasing me with a taste. Her legs rise to wrap around my waist and her arms tug me toward her until I’m forced to rest an arm on the mirror so as not to bowl us both over.
She pauses, her hands trickling down my sides. “Your body is out of this world.”
The tips of her fingers against my bare skin make me flinch. Apparently, I have a sensitive rib cage.
“Am I tickling you?” A grin breaks onto her face, and she moves her fingers faster, toying with me, until it’s too much. Her eyes light up with the question, and it’s adorable.
Adorable, never a word I thought I’d use to describe Jocelyn Jones. When she looks at me through those gorgeous eyelashes, the light blue underneath so bright, I can’t help but want to tuck her into a special place in my heart and keep her, protect her, for all of infinity.
Instead, I tease her back, nipping at her neck, behind her ear, until she squirms closer against me, her shoulders shaking with laughter. I’m pleased to realize her pants are made of some flimsy material, leggings almost, and my hands have full access to her figure.
“Are you sure you want to do this shoot?” she murmurs against my neck, once the teasing subsides and the threat of more hovers over us. “We could go back to the hotel. I mean, underwear is overrated, right?”
She reaches down to toy with the band around my waist, but on the way her knuckles brush against my stomach, and I stiffen. If I needed her before, I was wrong.
The feel of her hands against me is enough to bring out animal instincts that’ve been dormant for ages. This time, when I pull her close, it’s no longer a gentle exploration.
“Screw underwear,” I tell her. “Let’s go to the hotel.”
“But—”
Her argument is interrupted by a knock on the door.
“One minute,” I growl to the intruder, sounding almost murderous. I take the ensuing silence to hold Jocelyn’s chin in my hand and tilt it toward me. “Don’t think this conversation is over.”
The moment is broken by a second knock, and I reluctantly let her go. She straightens herself out, pulls the door open and slips outside. Jocelyn makes a disgruntled noise of surprise, and I poke my head out a second later.
“Andy?” I frown at the man standing there. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter 33
Boxer
“What do you want?” I ask, closing the door behind him as Jocelyn eases away. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I know the producers,” he says vaguely. “Since I was in town, I thought I’d stop by and see you.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“No.”
“Ah, I see.” He casts a casual glance over his shoulder, his eyes following the same path Jocelyn took on her exit. “You’re busy.”
“I have plans,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice even. “I’m getting dinner with friends.”
“I see.” Andy shoves his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit, sounding just as oily as his slimy hair gel. “Which friends?”
He moves to stand in front of the dressing table. While he’s waiting for a response, his eyes flick up to where there are distinct fingerprints against the mirror. Under my breath, I curse. He’s putting things together.
“An old girlfriend lives here,” I blurt out. I’m practically bellowing at him, trying to draw his attention away from the fingerprinted mirror. “We have plans tonight, if you catch my drift.”
“Good man.” Andy turns around, claps me on the shoulder. “I hope she’s worth it.”
“She is.”
I must answer too sharply because he turns to me and watches my eyes.
“Interesting,” he murmurs finally. “Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He may be a piece of slime, but he’s smart enough to have succeeded so far. If he links Jocelyn and I together, the person who’ll be hurt most is her. It’s because of this that I agree to lunch.
“Have a car pick me up,” I say grudgingly.
“Which hotel?”
I give him the name and address, and he nods, then takes his overdue leave.
It’s good, I tell myself, turning back to the mirror. I’ll have time to meet with Rumpert tomorrow, squash out whatever weasly little idea he’s got brewing, and get on the plane home. Jocelyn won’t have to be any the wiser.
When the sound of Rumpert’s footsteps fade in the distance, I stand and slam the door behind him, the echo bouncing off the walls, the ceiling, and back to me. Then, I yank the door right back open.
“Hey,” I call down the hallway to whoever’s listening. “Can we get this thing going? I have plans tonight.”
Chapter 34
Jocelyn
During the shoot, I’d stood in the wings and watched, alternating between a keen interest in what was happening on camera, and biting my nails wondering what had drawn Andy Rumpert cross country to bother us here.
Surely, if he guessed at a relationship between myself and Boxer, he’d feed it to the wolves. I can only imagine the headlines: Ice Queen Melts for Star Recruit!
My heart thuds at the idea that Andy Rumpert could turn something so good, so promising into a weapon. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be downright livid. For now, I’m somewhere in between.
By the time the shoot has wrapped, I’ve vowed to push thoughts of Andy out of my head. I can’t do anything about him now, and I’ve waited so long for this evening that I won’t let Rumpert ruin it; I’m stubborn, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
Boxer showers, changes, and joins me in front of the studio. Keeping things chaste with a kiss to my forehead, he follows me as I direct him to a waiting car and issue the driver instructions to bring us to our hotel.
Our hotel.
It still sounds so strange. For a
hot second, I had debated getting a room of my own just in case, but Boxer had put the kibosh on that. Which leaves us with one room. One night. Eight weeks of torturous build up.
“You did great.” I squeeze Boxer’s hand as the cab pulls away from the curb and heads down the street. “Congrats! It will make for a perfect campaign.”
“Why’d they ask if I skipped a dentist appointment?” Boxer asks so quickly that I must look dumbfounded at the change in subject. “The producers asked me about my tooth, and I had no clue what they were talking about.”
I lower my gaze to my hands. “Oh.”
“So, you do know about it.”
“When I first got the gig for you,” I began with a sigh, “the producers suggested I look into getting your tooth fixed. This was months ago.”
Boxer doesn’t respond but I can see him running his tongue over his front teeth.
“I just... I didn’t follow through. I should’ve told them, I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I don’t really know.”
He cocks his head to the side, surveying me. “If we weren’t dating, would you have forced me to make an appointment? Be honest.”
I don’t need to think for long. “Yes. I mean, I wouldn’t have forced you, but I would’ve strongly recommended it.”
“What changed?”
It’s been so long since I’ve paused to actually think. About anything, really. I reach out, my fingers grazing down his chin, but he doesn’t pull his lips into a smile, so I retract my hand.
“I couldn’t ask you to change, even something so little. Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”
Boxer’s hand grasps mine. Once it’s in his clutch, he doesn’t let go, pressing a soft kiss to my palm before guiding it to rest on his leg. Then he raises his eyes.
“I’m not perfect,” he says, meeting my gaze. “I’m a mess, Joss. Even my teeth can’t manage to stay unbroken. I’m bruised and chipped and whatever else, but this is all I have to offer. I wish there were more for me to give.”
I swallow, but it’s a challenge.
“Don’t ever apologize to me for that.” I shake my head.
“I’m broken, too,” I tell him. “I was shifted from one foster home to the next until I found myself on my own. Nobody wanted me.”
He brings his hand to my cheek, rests it there, and pulls me in for a kiss, though it can hardly be called that. It’s light as mist, almost a curiosity, and when he finally pulls away, I’m left wondering if it happened at all.
“Puzzles start out whole,” he begins. “Then they’re broken. But the thing about puzzles is that when the right person comes along, they can put all the pieces back together again.”
“Do you want to pick up the pieces of me?” I’m more hopeful than I want to admit. My breath stills in my throat.
“That’s not what I meant.” He gives me a sardonic sort of smile. “You’ve already put me back together.”
I smile, reach for his hand, and wait out the rest of cab ride in a test of self-restraint.
I moderately pass the test, but Boxer fails in a glorious fashion. His hand creeps up, again and again, higher and higher onto my thigh until I am forced to move it back to my knee. I don’t care if the apocalypse comes tonight, I’m letting Landon Boxer take me to bed if it’s the last thing I do.
Boxer finally forfeits with the hand thing and instead slips his arm over my shoulders. He settles for a lazy kiss, a precursor for the rest of the evening. If the appetizer is any signal about the main course, then I’m in for a treat.
When the driver announces that we’ve arrived at our hotel, we’re both startled. Boxer stumbles through an overzealous tip before we continue his stumbling through the front door, past the front desk, and into the elevator.
I had stopped by the hotel after arriving in town today, checking in and retrieving the key before ever going to the studio. Boxer’s luggage had already arrived here, shuffled over by a PA from the set. We had nothing left to worry about except each other.
As soon as the elevator doors close, with only the pair of us inside, Boxer takes charge, pressing me against the wall and covering my body with his own. He’s magnificent—his long torso toned by years of intense athletic training—and it’s a joy to run my fingers over his shoulders, down his chest, to the lip of his pants. He’s taut with muscle everywhere, hard and lean and tough.
His lips, however, are everything but. Soft and sensual, when his tongue slips between my lips, exploring, teasing, the taste of what’s to come, it’s enough to make me molten lava in his arms.
It’s been so long since I’ve let passion take over, since I’ve been recklessly in love, and it’s exhilarating. I’d bet that if I jumped off a building tonight, I just might fly.
We’re on the verge of spontaneous combustion by the time we reach the door to our room. Boxer hastily attempts to slide the key into the slot, and on the third try, he gets it unlocked.
“This is nice,” I say out of formality, surveying a suite that would impress royalty. My eyes still land on the most incredible thing in the room—him. I sigh and brush my sweaty palms against my pants. “So, how are we going to do this?”
For a long moment, he stares at me with a completely blank expression.
I clap a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like...” I give up, letting a hand clasp against my forehead. I close my eyes. “It’s been awhile for me, if you can’t tell. I’m rusty.”
At this, Boxer unfreezes and throws his head back to laugh.
The tension has broken, and the remaining silence is an easy one—a pleasant, contented silence. Until his eyes flash from periwinkle bright to something darker, and the air inherits a sense of urgency.
“In answer to your question...” He steps toward me, suddenly commanding. Amusement lines his words, but there’s something primal underneath. “I’m going to hold you, kiss you, and now, if it’s okay by you, I’d like to bring you to the bedroom and relish every inch of you.”
My heart is racing. My breath—I’m not even sure if it’s there.
He pulls me into his arms and lands a tempting kiss just on the edge of my mouth. “I’m going to savor every moment with you. Every touch, every word, every look.”
He scoops me into his arms, carrying me from the living area to the bedroom, bringing alive a playful mix of exploratory kisses and joyful caresses. Of sweet touches and weighty glances. Of sizzling tension and lazy enjoyment.
He eases me out of my jacket one arm at a time. He inhales sharply as it falls to the floor.
“Let me see you,” he says, spinning me around like a slow dance. When I come to a stop and rest against his chest, our eyes lock and hold. “More,” he says gruffly.
I help with my top, but he manages to slide my pants down all on his own, leaving me in a state of undress that precious few men have ever seen. I’ve dated plenty of men; I haven’t gone home with most of them. Sex complicates things. I’m not a fan of complications.
Tonight is different. He’s different. We’re different together.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, his eyes roving over my skin. “Perfection.”
Framed by the elegant hotel room, modern black lining every surface and trimmed by deep mahogany on the desks and furnishings, he looks like he’s stepped into a scene from a movie. His shirt has vanished, leaving me with a delicious view of his chest—wide and muscled, his arms sturdy to lift me like a pencil.
This is the stuff fantasies are made of, I think, as he lowers his mouth to mine. Except for one thing—this, here, is my reality. It must be reality because it’s better than anything I could’ve possibly dreamed.
“Your pants,” I murmur, as he deepens the kiss. “They’re still on.”
I’m not eloquent, but it does the trick. We struggle together to get his slacks off, and it’s a show of teamwork to accomplish this without someone toppling over. We each sigh as they fall, discar
ded with the rest of our orphaned clothes on the ground.
Finally free, he covers my body with his. I’m blanketed by his sheer, delicious mass, and I don’t care if I ever breathe again. This is perfection, even if he’s slowly relieving me of all the breath in my lungs.
My hands come around to his back, my nails digging in as he shelters me, warms me from all sides. I find his hair, my fingers locking tight as I lean to him. “I’m nervous.”
“About what?” he murmurs. “Am I hurting you?”
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” I say, holding him close even as he attempts to pull away. “I’ve never dreamed I’d find this sort of relationship. It’s too intense.”
“I did,” he says bluntly. “I wanted to find love so badly that I was willing to sacrifice everything for the wrong person.”
“I don’t want you anymore, I need you. When I’m not with you, I think of you all the time. Life feels half lived when you’re not next to me.”
“I know,” he whispers, those blue eyes so achingly gentle. “You ruined me a long time ago, Jocelyn Jones. I was just waiting for your heart to catch up.”
“Well,” I choke out a half-laugh. “It has.”
He watches the rainbow of emotions pass over my face like a storm. “Are you crying? Don’t cry. This is supposed to be a happy night.”
“I’m not crying,” I say. “I hate crying.”
“Joss,” he whispers. “You don’t need to be scared. I’m not going anywhere.”
I gasp as he lowers his head to my neck; the conversation is over. He warms me in a trail of kisses that lead past my throat and down to my collarbone, then my chest.
His hands work the whole while, skimming down my sides, tracing my curves like a map. I sink into the moment, trying to remember every touch, every movement, though it’s impossible. He moves in a well-orchestrated symphony that can’t be separated into pieces.
When his mouth ravages mine, hot and aggressive, it turns into a war between us, a war to hold back words, emotions, every last bit of self-control—if we have any left. Should one or both of us collapse, it’ll change everything. We’ll collapse into something that’s joined and united, together. My hips raise, his hand sliding underneath to hold me against him. Chest to chest, core to core.
