by Cindy Dees
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“No, you’re not. You freaked out when I touched you.”
It wasn’t quite that dramatic, but he didn’t seem interested in listening to her protests. If she were more of a shark, she would play on his sympathy and get him to woo her romantically. But lies weren’t her style. “I swear, Jackson, I’m okay. Go ahead. Put your arms around me again and let me prove it to you.”
Very carefully, he stepped close to her.
“How tall are you?” she muttered, craning her head back to stare up at him in the dark.
“Six foot three.”
“Isn’t that huge for a movie star?”
He shrugged and rested his hands cautiously on her waist. “I guess it’s tall. I never have to worry about my female leads being taller than me.”
She smiled a little and reciprocated by putting her hands on his waist. “See? I’m fine.”
“So it wouldn’t bother you if I moved one of my hands up your back like this?” he murmured.
“Uh, no.” Shivers were spreading outward from the slow glide of his fingers, threatening to shatter her into a million pieces. But other than that, everything was hunky-dory.
“Can I cup the back of your neck like this? Your hair feels like warm silk on the back of my hand.”
“Yeah. Sure. That’s, um, great.”
“Do you mind me moving a little closer to you?”
A little closer? His clothes brushed against her dress from her shoulders to her knees. Something akin to a magnetic field emanated from him and enshrouded her, energizing her from head to toe. Dang. What was that? Charisma? Raw, animal sex appeal? Whatever it was, she could see why he had become a movie star.
He stared down at her, his eyes black pools in the shadows of his face. Even wreathed in darkness like this, he was beautiful. It just wasn’t fair. His mouth was less than a foot from hers, and she could taste the fine wine on his breath. She hadn’t been able to drink any of it because of the painkillers she’d been given, but she savored the hint of it, anyway.
The—whatever it was—zinging between them built until she thought she was going to explode. His eyes actually glowed a little as he stared down at her.
“Say something,” she whispered. “You’re making me nervous.” Not nervous in the way he was going to think she meant, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“My grandmother likes you.”
“I like her, too. I’ll bet you I could convince her we’re dating.”
He exhaled a gust of silent laugher. “You could convince me without too much trouble.”
Ana blinked up at him in shock. Her? Him? Her and a movie star?
“Talk to me, Ana.”
Her mind was completely blank. The notion of the two of them as a couple knocked words completely out of her brain.
She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Kiss me.”
Oh, no. Where on earth had that come from?
His head bent down toward hers. “If you’re sure, I won’t say no.” He was actually going to kiss her!
Her stomach leaped and twisted while she tried to think of something clever and casual to say back to him that wouldn’t make her sound like a moron.
His mouth touched hers very lightly. It wasn’t tentative in the least, merely very tightly controlled. Careful. Intentionally gentle. Ana shocked herself by surging up into him like one of the waves pounding the rocks behind her. His lips were as hot as the rest of him, scorching her mouth as they moved restlessly, obviously interested in deepening the kiss, but unwilling to do more.
She opened her mouth hungrily, and when he didn’t act on the invitation, she caught his lower lip between her teeth and bit down on it enough to get his attention.
“Well, then,” he breathed. And then his tongue plunged carnally past her lips. She met his tongue with her own, and they swirled together, wet and hungry.
Her arms looped around his neck, and one of his hands simultaneously slid down her back to the indent of her waist. He dragged her up against him until her toes barely touched the sand. Another kind of heat pressed against her belly, hard and demanding through the zipper of his jeans. He turned to the side, taking her with him, and pressed her back against a wall of cold, hard rock. “You okay?” he asked roughly.
Her entire body strained toward him, toward the fire of his hard body surrounding her. Oh, yes. She was more than okay. Her hands slid down his chest, down to his waist. Tugged at his shirt. Ahh, skin. Her palms flattened against his ribs, sliding around to the slabs of muscle that defined his back. The same muscles that had surrounded her in safety earlier.
He tasted of the wine he’d sipped at the end of the meal, sharp and heady and masculine. His mouth lifted away from hers, then kissed its way across her cheekbone. Across her jaw, her neck. Her shoulder. And then his kisses trailed across her collarbone toward the low neckline of her dress. He nipped at the higher curves of her breasts. And heaven help her, she ran her hands into his hair and pulled his head down to her breasts more tightly.
“I wanted to do this all the way through dinner,” he muttered.
“And I wanted you to do it.”
“The way your nipples puckered up made me crazy....” His teeth closed on one of the offending body parts through her dress, and she gasped at the pinch, her breast arching up into his mouth hungrily.
His hand closed on her rear end, pulling her hips up against his erection snugly. She didn’t recognize the wanton woman she’d turned into all of a sudden. Her right leg wrapped around his hips and he ground his hard-on lightly against her core through that thin little thong that did nothing to dull the delicious sensations exploding through her.
“What are you doing to me?” she gasped under the roar of the surf.
He made an incoherent sound in the back of his throat that managed to convey both laughter and possessiveness. Apparently, whatever it was, she was doing the same thing to him, too.
“You’d better tell me to stop right now, Ana. Or this is going to turn into something more pretty damned fast.”
“Don’t stop, Jackson.”
Chapter 5
But, to Ana’s vast chagrin, he did stop. He pressed his forehead against hers, and she was gratified to feel his chest rising and falling heavily.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” he groaned.
She pulled back from him, staring hard. “Why does that make you afraid?” she demanded.
“Because it means I’ve got to be strong for both of us.” Slowly and deliberately, he took a tiny step back from her. Unwrapped her foot from around his waist and set it down in the cold sand. Grasped her wrists and unwound her hungry fingers from around his neck.
Disappointment—and embarrassment, dammit—rolled through her. “You don’t want me?” she asked in a small voice.
“Ana, I want you so bad I can barely stand up. But you’ve had a hell of a day, and I’m not a big enough schmuck to take advantage of you in your vulnerable emotional state.”
“I’m not in a vulnerable emotional state!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, you are. You’re just in too much shock to realize it. But you would never throw yourself at me like this if you were yourself. It’s okay. I’m not angry. I get that you could have died today, and you’ve decided you owe me for rescuing you in part.”
She stared at him, aghast. Is that why he thought she’d thrown herself at him? “Is that the only reason you kissed me? Because you thought I was needy?”
“Well, uh, no—”
“You son of a bitch! Don’t you ever pity kiss me again. You understand? Never. I don’t need anyone’s pity, and I certainly don’t need yours!” She whirled away from him and stormed up the stairs. About halfway up, she ran out of breath, and she had
to huff hard to keep her quick pace all the way to the top.
Those were not tears in her eyes, and even if they were, it was only the salt spray and the night breeze making her eyes water. She rushed into the house and headed straight for her bedroom. Out of respect for her hostess, she didn’t slam the door behind her, but boy, did she ever want to.
She flopped across the bed and burst out in tears into her pillow. She sobbed for about five minutes, until it occurred to her that she was actually throwing a hissy fit.
Weird. She never did hissy fits. It wasn’t that she had a thing against them. Lord knew she wanted to cry and scream and indulge in drama sometimes. She’d just learned over the years that they didn’t accomplish anything. Life was hard enough without giving herself a runny nose and red eyes on top of everything else.
But she’d truly had a close call with danger today—three close calls if she counted whoever had shredded her clothes at the studio. Her first impulse was to tell Jackson about the petty vandalism, but it was undoubtedly just one of the jealous Barbies getting even with Ana for getting to audition with Jackson, not to mention she didn’t want to come off as a whiner to him.
Her mugger hadn’t taken her purse with her wallet in it, so she had access to her financial resources, as meager as they were. With the pittance in her bank account, she needed to replace everything that had been destroyed in the motel room. Unfortunately, Serendipity didn’t strike her as the kind of place that would have a thrift store. She sighed at the prospect of emptying her bank account over toothbrushes and cheap granny panties. It just wasn’t fair. Maybe she could call the bank and skip a student-loan payment....
The cost of all the things that had to be replaced threatened to overwhelm her. Tomorrow. She’d deal with it tomorrow. She would make a bunch of lists, prioritize them and then purchase what she could afford. Nice and orderly, one step at a time. And eventually, her life would come back under control. Jackson Prescott would move on with his movie and go back to ignoring her, and she would get on with her life. Alone.
* * *
Jackson was never going to get to sleep. He couldn’t for the life of him get the feel of Ana’s curvaceous body nor the sweet-tart cherry taste of her mouth out of his head. It didn’t help that she was in bed not twenty feet away from him, just on the other side of the door adjoining their two rooms. He’d figured giving Ana that room would cause Minerva no end of delighted speculation about who this girl was to him. But now, he was having serious second thoughts about his decision.
Even the easy rhythm of the ocean outside failed to lull him to sleep tonight. Hell, it always knocked him out. It was part of why he’d moved up here, away from the hustle and bustle of L.A. He couldn’t get enough of the sound and smell of the ocean.
A cry from Ana’s room brought him bolt upright and out of bed in a single bound. He tore through the door, ready and willing to kill whoever was hurting her.
Her bed, a four-poster affair with a wrought-iron frame supported by the pickled-pine bedposts and white gauze draped romantically over it, was wreathed in shadows. Another cry came from the bed. Ana. In distress.
He moved over to the bed silently, on the balls of his feet, hands outstretched. His brothers were the trained killers in the family, but he’d learned a thing or two shooting fight scenes in movies, and he was big and strong. He’d break the bastard—
“Nooo...” Ana moaned. “Lemme go...” Her head tossed back and forth on the pillow like she was struggling to escape an invisible attacker. She was alone in the bed. He released the breath he’d been holding.
“Ana,” he said gently. “Wake up.”
“Nooooo...” Her entire body got into the act, thrashing back and forth, tossing off blankets and sheets like they were ropes tying her down. Well, hell. He put a knee on the edge of her bed and leaned over to touch her shoulder. “Wake up, Ana. You’re having a nightmare.”
Her fist flew up at him from the tangle of sheets. He threw a hand up and barely managed to catch her wrist before she clocked him in his already swollen nose. Damn, she was fast.
And apparently, she didn’t appreciate having her arm restrained. She struggled wildly, one of her knees grazing his groin, and her other fist swinging up at him. Out of hands he could use to keep her from killing him, he resorted to stretching out half on top of her to hold her down...and remove his crotch as a target for her flailing limbs.
“Ana,” he grunted. “Wake. Up.”
She lurched up against him hard, her breasts smashing against his chest. Jeez, she felt so sexual writhing against him like this it was damned near impossible to keep his mind on waking her from her nightmare.
“Get off me—” she shouted. “Oh.” She subsided beneath him as quickly as she’d erupted before. “Jackson?” she mumbled groggily. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I was trying to wake you from a nightmare.”
“Then why are you on top of me?”
“You tried to hit me. I was trying to defend myself without hurting you,” he ground out. He was vividly aware of her body beneath his, molding to him sensuously and cupping him in all the right spots.
“Um, Jackson? What are you wearing?”
Shock blasted across his brain. He mumbled in massive chagrin, “Uh, that would be nothing.” And furthermore, she was wearing a T-shirt and not much more if the miles of sleek legs entwined with his were any indication.
“Well, okay, then,” she breathed.
She sounded intrigued by his nudity. If he stood up right now, he was going to display just how turned on he was by their little wrestling match, and embarrass them both quite a bit more than they already were.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “What were you dreaming about?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled evasively.
And truth be told, it really wasn’t any of his business. He was just worried about her after her day from hell. He rolled off her and propped himself up on one elbow beside her. But he kept an arm and his knee thrown lightly across her to hide his...reaction...to her.
“How are you really doing, Ana?” he asked quietly.
She sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t figure out who would mug me and trash my room like that. And there was this little thing at your studio...” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“What thing?” he asked in a deep, soothing voice.
“It’s probably nothing.”
“If it’s giving you nightmares, it’s not nothing. Tell me about it.”
“After my audition with you, I went to the locker room to clean up and someone had trashed my clothes.”
“Like thrown them around?”
“No. Like sliced them to ribbons.”
“Any idea who did it?”
She shook her head in the negative, her silky hair rubbing against his cheek. It smelled like vanilla. “I wouldn’t want to make any unfair accusations. But one of the blondes was mad that I got to audition with you and was pretty bitchy about it afterward.”
He asked soberly, “Would you recognize her if you saw her again? We’ve got head shots of everyone who auditioned.”
“It might not even be that girl. It could have been anyone.”
“Not on my crew. Adrian and I have handpicked all the key personnel.”
“It was probably meant as a joke.”
He reached up with his free hand to push her hair off her face. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t you worry about it.” Of course, finding and firing whoever had cut up her clothes might have nothing to do with whoever had jumped her at the motel. He would find that bastard, too. And he would do considerably worse to that guy than getting him fired from his job.
“Don’t fire anyone on my account,” she declared in alarm. “But it’s nice of you to offer.”
“Neither Adrian nor I
will tolerate stuff like that on our set. It’s a done deal.”
She sighed. He couldn’t tell if it was in relief or exasperation. He went with relief. Silence fell between them. Did someone really have it in for her? Whoever had trashed her motel room had been seriously pissed off. Pissed off enough to try again? She’d already claimed to have no enemies that she knew of. Who, then?
He realized with a start that his free hand was absently stroking her hair. “Think you can go back to sleep now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Sweet dreams.”
He rolled out of bed and strode from her room quickly, his rear end burning with embarrassment as he flashed it at her in all its naked glory. Please God, let her not be looking at it. Or if she was, please let her like what she saw.
Chapter 6
When morning came and Ana woke, she stretched deliciously. There was a reason she felt so wonderful this morning—
Oh. Right. Jackson had come into her room, naked, to wake her up from a nightmare. Aye Chihuahua. He’d even been gentlemanly enough to stick around and talk her down off the emotional ledge of her dream after she’d woken up.
Not that he had to coax the topic of the nightmare out of her subconscious. She remembered it perfectly well. It was the same nightmare that had haunted her for two years. A toxic combination of terror and hatred surged in her gut, and she took a huge breath, held it for a count of five and let it out slowly.
Exhale the fear. Release the anger. It’s over. Past. Holding on to old emotions does no good in the present. She went through the well-worn litany by rote. She might have consciously conquered the trauma, but her subconscious stubbornly refused to get with the program.
Crap. She had a ton of stuff to do today. She didn’t need to be paralyzed by flashbacks all darned day. She threw back the covers and jumped out of bed energetically. The air was cool, and the morning sun shone brilliantly off the calm ocean outside. Lord, she could wake up to that sight every day for the rest of her life. No wonder Minerva refused to sell the place.
