“How did you end up with your show, Brody?”
“You really want to know? I’ll give you the PR version, then the real story, how’s that?” He leaned back against the headboard, getting into story-telling mode. “My Variety bio has me as a rags-to-riches guy. I hitched to L.A. the day after I graduated high school, took every job I could get—delivering dry cleaning, landscaping, gofer to the stars.
“A gig as vacation fill-in on a hot radio talk show led to my own radio show. A thousand pitches to a thousand producers got me a shot at Doctor Nite and here I am.”
“And the real story?”
“Pure luck and good friends. I told you I made friends with everyone in school, right? So a friend got me into a hot fraternity at UCLA and we made money putting together parties. After college, I would get calls from all over the country from frat brothers and their friends wanting to know the hot bars, where the women were, all that.”
“So you were a human Fodor’s guide?”
“You got it. I had friends in the industry, too, who introduced me around. A friend of a friend got me a pitch meeting. More friends worked the angles—especially the sister of a network exec I was dating—and, poof, I had Doctor Nite. The truth is…” He leaned over to tickle her ear with a whisper, “I slept my way to the top.”
“Come on. You were smart, you had talent.”
“I was lucky.”
“Luck is the meeting of preparation and opportunity.”
“It was right place, right time, right people.”
“I guess you get to tell it the way you want, but you seem to go out of your way to belittle yourself, Brody.”
“In this business, you have to keep your ego in check. Success turns on a dime. I can’t forget for one minute that the only difference between me and the guy watching my show from a bar stool, machine oil under his nails, debts up the butt and tons of regrets, is a few lucky breaks.”
“That’s very humble of you.”
“You start believing your own PR and you end up facedown in your custom pool, too drunk to lift your head and save yourself.”
“Wow, Brody. That’s quite…profound.”
“I’m a deep guy. Don’t sell me short. I could surprise you.” He grinned at her.
“You already have,” she said, aware that her opinion of Brody was shifting by the minute.
“Glad to hear it. So, that’s me. What about you? What keeps you going when things go wrong, JJ? Besides your love of pain?”
“You mean when the big interview falls through at the last second, the rental equipment breaks when you’re miles from a city, the grant money is too little or too late or includes a script rewrite?”
“Exactly.”
“Sometimes I wonder.” She smiled, then got serious. “I guess it’s when flashes of truth burst out in a piece. Doing a documentary is like being a detective after clues or like the Inuit carvers who release the animal they believe is already in the wood.”
“That’s a cool image.”
“See, you go in with a plan, of course, a theme and a framework, something you want the audience to get, but it always changes. You have to stay open. You can’t be stubborn or you’ll miss what’s really there.”
“You? Stubborn? I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah, well. It happens. My tendency is to draw quick conclusions. But I can be wrong. Like with Lost Childhood, I thought the issues were lack of funds and bureaucracy. Then I spent weeks in a foster home and shadowed some caseworkers. I saw the situation through the eyes of the kids, the foster parents and the social workers themselves.”
“And that wasn’t it?”
“Lack of money is the overarching problem, sure, but what’s equally serious is burnout and overload—caseworkers and foster families trapped in an overextended system, doing their best, but stretched too thin. The cracks have to show.”
“Sounds like an important message.”
“It was heartbreaking. I went with a foster mom on a field trip taking her fosters to prison to visit parents serving time.”
“They let you film at the prison?”
“I had to do some fast talking, let me tell you.” She told him about introducing the officials to the kids, working her way into their confidence through mutual acquaintances and just never giving up. She talked so long her throat grew dry.
“I’m going on and on, Brody. I’m sorry. I get carried away talking about this.”
“I like seeing you all fired up. Your eyes are glowing. I admire your passion.” He paused. “I’d like to feel that way.”
“You love your show, don’t you?”
“Sure,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. There was something more here, something he wasn’t ready to say. “So did your foster care movie change the world?”
“Hardly. Other than a few screenings, no one’s seen it.”
“But you won festival awards.”
“Awards don’t guarantee airtime. I couldn’t get a distributor. Everyone liked the piece, but it was either too local or too grim to buy.”
“Bummer. What about this new project? The one you’re interviewing me for? It’s on…dating?” He looked at her questioningly.
She couldn’t tell him her real angle. Not yet, anyway. The better she knew him, the more complicated that angle became, which made her stomach twist.
“It’s got a commercial hook, that’s the point. A movie that no one sees is like one hand clapping. There’s substance to this one, too, though. I promise you that.”
“Look, I’m the last person to criticize you for being commercial.” He leaned in, touched her cheek, trying to cheer her. The warmth was so nice. “Which reminds me, I promised you an interview, didn’t I? Why don’t we do it now? We have time.”
“Now?”
“Sure. It would give us something to do besides what I can’t stop thinking about.” He brushed her arm with his finger, making her shiver.
“Good point.” She sighed. He was right and this was exactly what she needed. She just felt so dreamy and aroused…. She forced herself to focus. “Let’s do it.”
“You have a way with words,” he murmured.
“You know what I mean.” She slid off the bed, away from temptation, determined to make the most of this chance.
“Where do you want me?” Brody said, still lying down, teasing her still.
“Where do I want you? Please. Don’t make this any harder.”
“Oh, it couldn’t be any harder,” he said, low, meaning it exactly how she took it.
Her knees sagged. “Brody…” She fought to stay strong. “Sit up maybe. The painting behind you is nice.” She turned the light on the nightstand to its brightest setting, fighting the way her fingers trembled.
He sat for her. “Look okay?”
“You look great.” Almost edible. Her heart was hip-hopping in her chest and she was glad to have something to do besides fall on the man and claw his clothes off.
“So what do you want me to talk about?” he asked.
She turned on the camera before setting it on the tripod to catch any early gems. “Your show, your dating advice, what your fans tell you. Whatever comes up.”
“I like how subtle you are,” he said. “And how tricky. The way you slip in and out when you work, almost invisible. Like, for example, you’re already recording me, aren’t you?”
She jerked her head up, caught cold. “Does that bother you?”
“It shouldn’t. It’s how the game is played, right?”
“Good.” His words relieved her deeply. He probably wouldn’t even be surprised about the secret taping. “I appreciate your suggesting this. You could be doing a lot of other things.”
“We both could,” he said, and she felt the familiar heat burn through her. “The Pleasure Master X awaits us in my room.” He wagged his eyebrows, clearly teasing her.
She laughed, grateful for his playfulness. “So, Brody, Doctor Nite is the top show on your network. What do you t
hink accounts for its success?”
“That’s easy. I talk about what’s on men’s minds.”
“And that would be…?”
“Sex, of course. Sex is always on men’s minds. Every seven seconds, isn’t it, that a man thinks of sex? So we talk about clubs and sports and beer and cars, but the point is always sex.”
“And your approach to sex is…?”
“Sex is a game. My job is to help guys be better players.”
“To score?”
“To score, sure. That’s the point, after all, isn’t it?”
He was giving her perfect lines. “And that makes dating…?”
“Dating is the pregame show.”
“It sounds more like a war. Women are the enemy, trying to trap men into marriage. Men must avoid capture at all costs.”
He laughed. “All I know is what my guys tell me and, believe me, they’re not asking me how to, quote, take it to the next level, unquote.” He winked.
“Talk about that a bit, would you? You encourage men to stay single?” As an aside, she added, “If you could repeat the question for me, so we don’t need my voice in the final cut.”
Brody nodded. “Do I encourage men to stay single? I encourage them to get what they want from life. If they don’t want to be dragged into a mortgage payment and a minivan, they should stay clear of the R word.”
“You’re something of a role model, aren’t you? For younger men? Say teenagers?”
“Hold on.” He honed in on her, warning in his tone. “My show is clearly labeled adults-only. If a kid sees me as a role model, something is wrong at home. As for teens watching my show, that’s what the V-chip is for, people.”
“Certainly. That makes sense. And certainly the bulk of your audience is over twenty-one. There’s a bar game, isn’t there, that guys play? Would you describe it?”
“Yeah. Supposedly whenever I say the line, ‘The Doctor is in,’ people drink a shot. Any excuse to get smashed, I guess.”
“You’re being modest, Brody. Men revere you. You’re an icon. Do you feel you’re shaping a trend? Or at least contributing to it? The idea that men should shun commitment?”
“Am I shaping a trend? Am I an icon? Hardly. I’m just doing my job, entertaining my audience. They seem to like it so far.”
“And you? Do you like what you do?”
“What’s not to like?” Tension sparked in his eyes and made his cheek muscle flicker.
“Doesn’t it get to be too much?”
He grinned at her. “Come on, you’re talking to Doctor Nite here. Too much is never enough.”
Okay, he was fully into his role. “So, what’s next for Doctor Nite?” she said, letting him plug his show.
“Who knows?” he said, then paused for a breath. “We’re working on Europe. London, Paris, Amsterdam. Lots of possibilities there.” He suddenly looked utterly done in. She was startled by the change. He looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. Or certainly Europe.
“You look tired, Brody.”
“I am,” he said, trying to smile.
“Shall we pick this up another time?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“No. Thanks. That was a great start.”
Brody got up from the bed, looking preoccupied, his eyes far away. What had bothered him? Going to Europe? Whether he loved his show? She was dying to find out.
“I should head to my room, catch a nap before tonight.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and fidgeted. Something crackled. A candy wrapper probably. He moved to the door.
When she met him there, standing close, he smiled, studying her face, the weary distance erased again. He touched the side of her head, then tapped the scrunchie that held her hair. “You mind?”
“Go ahead.”
He tugged away the band and fluffed her hair around her shoulders. “When I’m close to you like this I want to have my hands all over you.” He traced her arms with his fingers, lingering on her skin, watching her reaction in her eyes.
“I know,” she said, wanting to lean into him, her body so eager she had to fight to keep from shaking. If he kissed her, she wouldn’t want to stop him. “You should go,” she said, opening her door with a trembling hand.
“You learned a lot about discipline in Bondage School.” He reached into his pocket, she assumed for his key, but something else fell to the floor.
She bent down to get it and so did he. She saw it was a strip of brightly colored condoms. She picked them up, caught a sweet smell and sniffed. “Fruit flavors? Banana. Strawberry. Orange. Hmm. Where did these come from?”
“They were in the gift basket in my room,” Brody said, grasping one end of the strip and standing with her.
“You got condoms in your gift basket?”
“You think Doctor Nite gets cheese and crackers? There were also body paints, flavored lubricant, a thong and an erotic video. The savvier hotels give me theme baskets hoping for a mention on the show.”
“But you brought these to my room.” The strip crackled between them. Or maybe it was the air. Her heart thudded in her ears. They stared at each other across the protection they’d needed the night before.
“Be prepared, right?” He tugged on the strip, coming away with the banana one, which he rolled over his knuckles like a magician’s quarter.
“You don’t strike me as the Boy Scout type,” she said, the reality of what was happening sinking in, the strawberry and orange condom dangling from her fingers.
“If we’d had these last night…” he said.
“You’d have been inside me,” she finished and their eyes connected along a line of invisible fire.
“Damn,” he breathed, his eyes dark except for a hot white spark in the center. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He was trembling, holding back, she could tell. “I want you so much. You’re making me crazy.”
That made her feel so powerful, so sexual. It was all too much. She’d never felt this way before, never wanted a man so much. Lust pounded through her like a giant, irresistible tidal wave. “Maybe we should finish what we started,” she said, knowing how dangerous those words were. “We only had the appetizers, right?”
“Appetizers?” He looked utterly confused.
She grabbed his shirt with both hands, the condoms crinkling as she tightened her grip. “And we owe ourselves the whole meal.” She yanked him close and kissed him, turning him so his body slammed the door shut, acting wilder than she’d ever behaved with a man.
“So we know what we missed, right?” Brody managed, kissing her back, his tongue sweeping her mouth. Totally getting it.
“Just this once,” she mumbled, then went back to kissing. They kissed for long moments, stoking the fire to a roar. Jillian knew that if she paused for one second, let one sensible thought enter her head, she’d lose her nerve.
Brody sensed this, too, judging by the way he gripped her bottom, lifted her and walked her backward to the bed. When she hit the mattress, she let herself fall, bouncing on the tropical flowers that covered the quilted spread.
Brody went at her clothes, then his, stripping her so smoothly she hardly knew how she ended up naked. She didn’t want to think about all the practice he’d had. She was just grateful there’d been no fumbling with clasps or buttons or hooks or belts. Here he was, warm, erect and bare to her touch.
His chest felt so good against her breasts, and he moved one thigh between her legs to nudge her sex. She locked her knees around that thigh and slid up and down, getting a rush of sparks and stinging fire.
They shifted slightly to the side and Jillian ran her hands down Brody’s back, around the curve of his backside, loving his smooth skin and firm muscles. Her heart was going a mile a minute.
He stroked her bottom, his mouth on her throat, his erection an insistent pressure against her belly. He kissed down her neck to her breasts, sliding his tongue around each nipple in turn, sucking, pressing, sending charges of electricity everywhere, zipping and zapping a
nd making her jump.
This was going to be so much better than the appetizers.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. The words thumped through her mind like a heartbeat. Brody’s fingers kept moving, varying their pressure and stroke—soft and teasing on her stomach, firm on her bottom, delicate on the underside of her arm and down her sides. His tongue pressed the flesh beneath the swell of her breasts and she felt alive and hot and desperate.
Ohohohoh…mmmmmyyyy.
He was turning every inch of her into an erogenous zone. Her hips pivoted and her sex tightened, ready to explode. She was about to come and the man hadn’t even gotten inside her yet.
She threw out an arm, feeling for the condoms she’d dropped. There. She clutched at the two still connected.
Brody pulled back the covers, opening the bed, and helped her between the cool sheets.
“Strawberry or orange?” she gasped.
“Lady’s choice.”
“Strawberry,” she said, tearing it open with her teeth, thinking they might need the orange and the banana, too, which had fallen to the floor somewhere. No. They’d made a deal.
“Just once, right?” she said, reminding herself, too. Maybe it wouldn’t even be that good, the sex.
Yeah, right.
Brody didn’t speak. He didn’t seem able to. He was flushed, his eyes shiny with the same hunger she felt. This seemed the only thing they could do.
He sheathed himself before she could even attempt one of the approaches the women in the segment had demonstrated—putting the condom on with their lips, rolling it down superfast or super-slow, with tongue or without. She was just glad the thing was on.
Hovering over her, holding himself up by his strong arms, Brody stilled. “You sure about this?” he said huskily. He wanted her to be certain. He wasn’t allowing this to be a mindless coupling, a frantic act. How annoyingly mature of him.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Thank God.” She knew Brody had been with dozens of women, but he looked at her as if he’d never wanted a woman this much.
She lifted her hips and opened her thighs to him.
He eased into her body with slow care and when he looked at her, the strangest sensation shot through her. I know you. There you are. As if he were someone dear she’d once had and wanted again.
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