The Jock

by Jaid Black

  Indeed, Gwenyth mused, the Vantrys had seen to everything so far. They had treated her well during her last assignment, but this time around they were sparing no expense in seeing to her comforts. It was a nice feeling.

  Not because Gwenyth’s hotel suite was large and elegant or even because of the first class treatment she’d received since stepping off the plane this afternoon. That had been nice—very nice. But Gwenyth was a simple person of simple tastes.

  The real reason she was basking in the star treatment the Vantrys were bestowing upon her was because it was a symbol of the fact that she was truly making it in her own right. Her name wasn’t taking second stage to Verlene’s any longer, the way it had been when she’d first formed Jones & Jones with Grandmama. Respect for her own unique abilities, Gwenyth decided, felt extremely good.

  Gwenyth smiled after the bellhop as she watched him take his leave. Once the door to the suite was firmly closed behind him, she did another quick check on her photography equipment to make certain that nothing had been damaged during the trip upstairs. Certain all was as it should be, she plopped down onto the bed and reached for the phone to call home and let Willy and Verlene know she’d made it to LA in one piece.

  “Fine, sugar. Call me tomorrow to let me know how it went. I have a proposal I want to go over as well.” Verlene bit the tip of her pen as she stared at the sheet in front of her. “Looks like Martel was so pleased with your efforts in the ‘Kiss me’ line that he wants Jones & Jones to come back and catalog his ‘Touch Me’ line after the new year.”

  Gwenyth squealed excitedly into the telephone connection, causing Verlene to chuckle. “Really? He said that?”

  “Uh huh. And Martel’s newest collection is huge, sugar. We’ll have to work together on this one.”

  Gwenyth smiled sentimentally. “That’s wonderful news, Grandmama. We haven’t gotten to work side-by-side in over two years.”

  Verlene agreed. “I know it. I believe Granddad is going to join us this time around since the entire shoot will last two or more weeks from start to finish.”

  Gwenyth clicked open a pen laying on the desk next to the bed and began to absently doodle on a notepad the hotel had left for her use. “Where is it located at this time?”

  “Aix-en-Provence.”

  Gwenyth’s voice turned wistful. “A beautiful village. Perhaps the loveliest in all of France, which is saying a lot. I’m certain you and Granddad will enjoy spending time together there.”

  “I’m certain we will as well. Do you think Sam will enjoy it?”

  Gwenyth’s face flushed. She cleared her throat, but her trill tone gave away her racing heart. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Verlene chuckled. She clucked her tongue in a gesture of mock exasperation. “Sugar, we all know. We have eyes, you do realize.”

  Gwenyth frowned into the phone. Her grandmother was obviously referring to Sam’s proprietary behavior toward her at Harry’s campaign dinner. The memory of the way he’d possessively monopolized her presence should have annoyed her. Instead, it caused this ridiculous warm feeling to trickle through her veins. “I do realize.”

  A charged silence followed. Finally, Verlene broke it, albeit hesitantly. “What do you plan to do, sugar?”

  Gwenyth sighed. “I just don’t know,” she admitted morosely.

  “You’ve always loved him, sugar.”

  “I know.”

  “But?”

  Gwenyth audibly blew out a breath. “But I don’t know that he feels the same way about me.”

  Verlene snorted rather inelegantly.

  “I’m serious, Grandmama.” She tapped the pen impatiently on the notepad. “He’s never come out and said that he feels anything other than just lust for me.”

  Verlene was silent for a moment. And then, “have you given away the milk yet, Gwen?”

  “Grandmama!” Gwenyth’s cheeks flamed. “I refuse to discuss such an awkward topic with you!”

  “Uh huh. You’ve given him the milk.”

  Verlene sighed deeply, inducing Gwenyth’s blush to brighten further. “Are you disappointed in me, Grandmama?” she asked quietly.

  “Heavens no, Gwenyth Marie! You know I’d be the last person to balk at a little tussle between the sheets.”

  “But?”

  “But please Gwen, don’t bring home any fatherless calves, hm?”

  Gwenyth winced in reaction. She could understand her grandmother’s concern. “I’m on the pill. Don’t worry about that, Grandmama.”

  Ten minutes and a lecture on responsible sexual practices later, Gwenyth hung up the phone and lifted the room service menu from the cradle of the desk. Ravenous was the only word to describe the hunger pangs gnawing at her belly. She hadn’t eaten much on the plane, seeing as how airline food had never been high on her list of must-haves.

  Gwenyth’s concentration on the room service menu in front of her was broken when a pounding on the hotel room door jarred her attention. Sighing, she rose to open it. The pounding grew louder, causing her blood to all but boil over. Agitated, she called out a couple words of warning. “I’m coming!”

  The pounding resumed.

  Gwenyth gritted her teeth and stalked toward the door. Halfway there, she came to a sudden halt. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. The pounding wasn’t coming from the front door. It was coming from a connecting door, from the suite next to her own. Curious, and more than a little anxious, she walked apprehensively toward the door that connected the two suites. “Yes?”

  “Open up, Cupcake.”

  Sam.

  Gwenyth’s heart beat accelerated to a degree she found annoying. And damned if those little butterflies didn’t start flickering around in her belly again. What was he doing here? “Sam?”

  “Open up!” he bellowed. “Now!”

  Gwenyth’s jaw dropped open in shock. Shock soon evolved into annoyance as she glared at him through the closed door. She crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  “Gwenyth Marie! Open this door before I break it down!”

  Gwenyth’s facial expression went from glaring to scowling. “Why should I? And what are you doing here?”

  “Open. The. Door.”

  Gwenyth winced at the ice in Sam’s voice. She had no idea why he was here or why he was so worked up, but she sensed that now was not the time to ask him to work on his communication skills. “Oh alright,” she relented, however reluctantly. Unlatching the deadbolt, she slid the connecting door wide open. “Now, what are you doing here and why are you so angry?”

  But Sam wasn’t paying her any attention. He stalked into the room and scanned the suite thoroughly. Growing more and more agitated as every second ticked by, Gwenyth marched over to the center of the room where Sam stood glowering down at her and did a little glowering of her own. “What has gotten into you!?”

  “Who were you talkin’ to in here?” Sam’s voice was calm and controlled, but each word was bit out with unmistakable menace.

  Gwenyth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed in annoyance. “My grandmother, you Neanderthal.”

  “Neanderthal!” he growled.

  Gwenyth’s arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Just what do you think you’re behaving like?” She gestured with one hand across the expanse of the suite. “You start pounding on my door, scaring the hell out of me I might add, then you come stalking into my room, not even bothering to say hello, then all but accuse me of having an affair with Grandmama!”

  Sam’s face colored. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled. He kicked the floor with the toe of his shoe, suddenly feeling defensive. “But I did see a situation just like that on Jerry Springer once. In fact, I—” At Gwenyth’s narrowed eyes, he blushed again and shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  Gwenyth took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. Her bare toes tapping impatiently against the carpeting, she balled her hands into fists and gl
ared at Sam. The mentally counting thing wasn’t working. “What,” she ground out bitterly, “are you doing here?”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed defensively. His hands flew to his hips. He clenched his jaw and regarded her sullenly. “I came for you!”

  Chapter 10

  “Now, would you care to explain what this is all about?”

  Sam inwardly flinched at the incredulous look smothering Gwenyth’s face, but outwardly he managed to retain his cool. Sweet Jesus, he could hardly blame her for wanting to rip his face off. He still didn’t know what had possessed him to fly off the handle like that.

  It’s called jealousy, Tremont.

  Sam frowned at his own musings. He’d never, ever acted this ignoble over a woman in his life. Here he was trying to lure Gwen toward him and all he was succeeding in doing was scaring her away. And now, on top of everything else, he was going to have to break the news to her that he was her lead man for this week’s photo shoot at Vantry Sportswear. How was he to go about doing that?

  Sam decided that a placating smile was as good a place to start as any. “I apologize for bargin’ in here the way I did, Cupcake.” He threw in a beguiling bat of the eyelashes for effect. “Can you forgive me?”

  Sam gulped in dismay when Gwenyth’s eyebrows rose a disbelieving notch. She wasn’t falling for the eyelash batting routine at all. Well that was just great. Now how was he going to get out of this? And how was he ever going to explain himself to Gwen when he wasn’t exactly certain that he understood why he’d done what he’d done to begin with?

  When Sam had heard Gwenyth’s sweet voice carrying through to the connecting door, his stomach had clenched, wondering who it was she was in there talking to. Had another man accompanied her to California? Was it Trevor? Was the candy-ass lawyer in her suite even now, seducing her, touching her body the way Sam had?

  And then, sweet Jesus, when the talking had ended and a gut-wrenching silence had ensued, it was all he could do to keep from crying. The things that had gone through his mind hadn’t been pretty. They’d been devastating.

  At that point, higher level reasoning hadn’t existed. Thoughts of his own precarious position and how he was going to explain his presence in LA to Gwen hadn't factored in. The only thing that had gone through Sam’s mind was breaking down the door, killing whatever male was on the other side of it, and carrying Gwenyth off to the nearest dungeon where he could lock her away and keep her from all other males forever. Sweet Jesus, he was a goner.

  Sam realized from the look on Gwenyth’s face that she was expecting to hear the truth in its entirety and would accept no less. But there was no way on earth he was going to admit to the intense pangs of jealousy he kept experiencing, so he prepared himself for verbal battle and offered her the piece of the truth that he was ready to give her. “I’m Vantry’s lead model for the men’s swimwear line.”

  Whatever Gwenyth had been expecting to hear, that hadn’t been it. Her eyes widened in shock as she searched his face. “You’re what?!”

  Sam swallowed nervously. “I’m Vantry’s lead model.”

  “B-but… no.”

  Gwenyth dragged in some much needed air as she dazedly floated to the other side of the suite and plopped into the nearest chair. Just how in the world was she supposed to spend her time in California figuring out what she wanted if Sam was here with her the entire time? And half naked in a swimsuit no less! That last thought set her teeth on edge. “I can’t believe you’re just now getting around to telling me this,” she gritted out.

  Sam followed her across the room and took the chair next to Gwenyth’s. “I didn’t want you to get angry with me, sweetheart.”

  “I see,” she bit out. “And you want me to get angry with you now?”

  “Of course not.” Sam sighed like a martyr. “Gwen honey, I made this commitment to Vantry Sportswear before you and I started sleepin’ together.” That much was true. Sam smiled at Gwenyth as he took her hand and pulled her from the chair next to him and onto his lap. “Let’s not fight over something neither of us can get out of, okay baby?” His hand sought out her nipples to flick them back and forth, reminding her of the affect his touch had on her senses. “We’re both obligated to fulfill our contracts, Gwen.”

  Gwenyth’s betrayer of a heart actually had the nerve to feel crestfallen. Sam hadn’t come to LA to be with her after all. He’d come to fulfill a contract. A contract neither one of them could get out of without serious financial consequences.

  Her belly coiling with need, Gwenyth luxuriated in the familiar pleasure only Sam could give to her as his hand continued its ministrations. The next thing she knew, her top was on the floor and Sam’s mouth was latched onto one erect nipple. Whimpering, she turned in his lap to give him better access and splayed her fingers through his midnight black hair. “I still need time to think, Sam.”

  Gwenyth cried out from deprivation as Sam’s mouth left her puckered flesh. She sighed in relief when his lips clamped down on the other one and suckled. “I mean it, Sam,” she breathed out. “One last time and then we’re not having sex until I figure out what’s best for us.”

  Sam was paying Gwenyth’s words no attention whatsoever. “Whatever you say, Cupcake,” he mumbled as he lifted his head briefly to latch back onto her other nipple.

  A minute later, Gwenyth sat naked in Sam’s arms. Five minutes later, she lay sprawled out beneath him, taking each of his thrusts as they were awarded to her. “Quit fightin’ me Gwenyth Marie,” he whispered thickly as he stroked in and out of her wet flesh, “you belong to me.”

  As Gwenyth climaxed for what felt like the hundredth time in three days, Sam’s words flowed over and through her. She wanted to belong to him. God help her she did. But she also wanted him to love her.

  * * * * *

  Gwenyth nodded her thanks to the receptionist at the front desk of Vantry Sportswear as he handed her a plain white envelope with her name neatly typed on it. She glanced absently for a return address, and then, unable to locate one, stuffed it into her duffel bag as she glided toward the elevators.

  The photo shoot was going amazingly well, all things considered. The models were delighted with how smoothly things were progressing and the Vantrys were certainly pleased with her efforts. In fact, the only person who seemed to be less than thrilled with Gwenyth’s work—or, more to the point, with Gwenyth in particular—was her Prima Don of a lead model. The man was driving her crazy with his demands.

  Sam wouldn’t pose unless the lighting was just so, nor would he model a swimsuit unless it “called to him.” There was even an incident two days ago when Sam had refused to remove his shirt, claiming he’d had a psychic premonition warning him against it. Gwenyth was this close to strangling him, thereby giving credence to his claims of bad karma.

  What in the hell was wrong with Sam? Gwenyth wondered, not for the first time in the past three days. It was as if he was doing everything in his power to deliberately sabotage the shoot. And her career in the process.

  The ironic part of this whole sordid business was that, while Sam had been doing his damnedest to be a total nuisance to her, Gwenyth had used the sexless past three days to sort out her feelings. Her conclusion: she was definitely in love with the big Bozo. Bad karma, bitching, and all.

  Gwenyth had done a lot of thinking since that last night of shared passion when she’d first arrived in Los Angeles. Since then, she’d taken several long walks, swam lots of laps in the hotel pool, and drank even more pots of coffee. And although she had given up the ship so to speak and admitted her feelings for Sam to herself, she had also realized that Sam probably wasn’t at the same place she was mentally. It was quite possible that the man wouldn’t know he was in love with her until she hit him over the head with it.

  So be it.

  Gwenyth had arrived at the conclusion that if she wanted something badly enough, and she did indeed want Sam’s love, then she wasn’t above waiting for it. She’d notch up her chin and weather his uncertain
ties until he realized he loved her back. She could only hope he realized it very soon.

  Gwenyth slipped inside of the opening elevator doors and pressed the button that would take her to the fourth floor. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be working with the Prima Don today. This morning’s shoot was to be done with Etienne, an extremely fine looking French model who was a hell of a lot more cooperative than Sam Tremont. Etienne did what he was told to do—no more, no less. Gwenyth was beginning to think that deference wasn’t necessarily a bad quality in a man.

  After arriving at the fourth floor and saying a brief hello to Julie Gantz, makeup artiste extraordinaire, Gwenyth made her way outside where the once paved terrace had been transformed into a garden of paradise for today’s shoot with Etienne.

  Etienne looked, as always, impeccably handsome. His dark hair and eyes went sinfully well with his tanned, muscular physique. The six foot three, one hundred ninety pound model was reading a book of Chaucer and sipping from a glass of white wine, while three assistants oiled down his perfectly honed biceps and torso.

  “Bon jour, Etienne.”

  Etienne glanced up from his reading of medieval poetry and gifted Gwenyth with a dazzling, pearly white smile. “Salut, Gwen! Ça va, ma chere?”

  “I’m great. How about you?”

  “Bon.”

  Gwenyth inclined her head with a smile. It would be nice to work with someone cooperative today, someone who wasn’t out for her blood. Funny that the man she loved fell into the latter category. “Are you ready to get started?”

  Etienne closed his book with a small thud and tossed it onto the nearest chair. “Absolutely.”

  Gwenyth knelt to the floor and opened up her duffel bag, pulling out two new rolls of film in the process. She remembered the letter the receptionist had handed to her after spying a corner of the envelope shoved into the back of her bag. It was probably nothing. Probably another of Sam’s notes demanding some new change in the schedule for tomorrow’s shoot. Perhaps he’d had another of his stupid so-called visions.