We made our way through the crowd to the back of the room where a cropping of high back chairs and bookcases were. An older woman, perhaps in her fifties, stood near a man who looked suspiciously like Wes. He also was tall with blond hair, except this distinguished gentleman in a dark grey suit that complimented his wife’s pale pink dress was built like a linebacker, unlike Wes who had the leaner build of a regular swimmer-slash-surfer.
“Mother, Father,” Wes approached the couple. The older woman had pale blond hair, almost white, and startling blue eyes. Her lips were full like her son’s and coated with a mauve lipstick that paired well with her skin tone and coloring. Her hair was pulled into a severe French twist and pearls hung from her neck and ears. Her look was classic elegance.
The elder Channing clapped his son on the back. “Son,” he said with a note of pride. His mother promptly air kissed both cheeks, which normally would seem really pretentious, but then she held his cheeks in both hands and smiled warmly at her son.
“I see you went with my pick,” I heard her whisper and turn towards me. The nerves I had prior to meeting up with Wes were back—with a vengeance. The mother picked me out? I mean, I knew that she and Aunt Millie were acquaintances, but that’s kind of strange for a mother to pick out an escort for her son. It kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Wes turned to me and brought a hand to my back. The skin-on-skin contact sent a jolt through me. I’d forgotten the entire back of the dress was open aside from the crisscrossing two-inch beaded straps at my shoulder blades. The rest was completely open to the waist. His hand burned white-hot where his fingertips traced small circles. I shivered and stood closer to him without even being asked.
“Mother, Father, this is Mia Saunders, my date,” he grinned and I held out my hand. “Mia, this is Weston Channing, the Second, and my mother, Claire.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Channing.”
Wes’s mother crossed her arms over her chest and put her hand up to her cheek. She was blushing prettily and smiling so wide I felt as though she was internally laughing at a private joke. His mom leaned into his father’s side. “Isn’t she breathtaking?” She winked at me and shook her head.
“Um, thank you?” I offered and his father laughed.
“It’s good to meet you, Ms. Saunders.”
“Oh, Mia’s fine.” He tipped his head and chin.
Apparently, the conversation was over because he turned away and grabbed Wes’s arm. “Now Son, tell me about this latest project you’ve got going. I hear they want to offer you three percent of the budget. That would net you only three million when they’re bringing in several hundred million on your last Honor series. You’ve got to up the ante,” his voice boomed with a heavy timber.
The Honor Series. Weston Channing, the Third wrote the flipping Honor Series! Holy fuckballs! His movies have been the biggest hits—huge— since the first one, Jeramiah’s Honor, released three years ago. There’s been one each year. His inventive way of mixing a soldier pursuing the love of their life with copious amounts of blood, violence, explosions, patriotism, and some wicked hot love scenes have made for epic movies with record-breaking box office numbers.
“...they’re going to give me ten percent of the overall budget and directing opportunities,” Wes’s deep rumbling voice broke through my haze. Right when I cleared the cobwebs after realizing I’d been contracted for the month with movie royalty, a couple of women came up behind Wes.
The two vultures were waiting patiently for him to notice them. One was twirling a lock of her bottle-blonde hair and wearing a god-awful gold, strapless dress with her plastic boobs pushed up to maximum capacity. I scanned her outfit and cringed. She was so skinny, every one of her ribs was visible. The brunette standing next to her wasn’t much better. Fake boobs—one actually looked bigger than the other—because I could see almost every inch of them through the whisper thin fabric of her glued on dress. Her nipples had hardened, and I wanted to let her know that she needed to rub her tips and warm em’ up before she embarrassed herself, but something told me that she wanted them that way.
Show time. Gotta earn that hundred thousand dollar payout. Even the thought of that much money going to Blaine every month made me want to hurl. Once my father was better, I was totally going to kick his ass for getting into a situation once again!
“Hey honey, I think there are some people over there,” I pointed randomly to the other side of the room, but gestured with my eyes to look behind him. Wes caught my less-than-covert eye movement and looked over his shoulder. Bimbette one and bimbette two promptly pushed out their fake ta-tas in greeting then puckered their fat, collagen-infused lips.
Wes simply hooked an arm around my waist. “Always keeping me in line, thanks.” He nuzzled my cheek, and I grinned.
“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it!” I practically bounced with glee, my tone so fake and put-on.
Wes leaned forward and placed a warm kiss on my neck, then inhaled. “Mmm, thank you,” he whispered just under my ear. He was so close I could feel the warmth from his lips graze my neck before he pulled away.
“Mia and I will see you at the charity ball next week,” he said.
His mother surprisingly got right into our space, as in, barely a foot away. “No, no, no, that just won’t do. I want to spend more time getting to know Mia, dear.” She smiled one of those mom-smiles that actually make you feel like there’s nothing more precious in the world than you standing in front of them. Of course, I never really had that, but if I did, I’m sure it would look just like Claire Channing.
Wes stiffened next to me. “Mother...” he warned.
She smoothed her hand down his lapels and buttoned one of the buttons on his shirt. I giggled under my breath as she fretted over him. “Oh honey, relax. I know Mia’s just a friend. So no harm in bringing her over for Sunday brunch, now is there?” she asked using a tone that I knew carried a whopping dose of guilt trip. Momentarily, I wondered if she was Catholic. My grandmother used to have that same tone and it was usually followed up by a phrase taken directly from the Bible.
Wes sighed and shook his head. “We’ll be there. Same time?” he queried.
“That’s my good boy.” She air kissed both of his cheeks then turned to me and did the same.
We walked toward the bar once more. “I need a drink,” he said leading the way.
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You do always do what your mom says!” I laughed. Once we got to the bar, I moved over close. “Mama’s boy!” I shot into his ear.
“Oh shut up. I’m seriously questioning the sanity of agreeing to this. I could have gone with a brainless Barbie doll, you know.” One eyebrow rose sharply, his lips in a mock scowl, but his eyes gave him away. They were filled with humor and were sparkling green.
I moved to take another pot shot at him, but I wobbled on my spikey heels. He caught me against his body. I rested my hand on his shoulders as he placed his arm around my waist.
His eyes went from a normal Crayola green to a bright forest green in an instant. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but lick mine in return. The warmth of his hands at my bare back seeped into my skin. It’s as if the entire room melted away when I was in his arms. I could feel his heart beating against my chest.
**Thump thump**, **thump thump**, **thump thump**
“You’re trouble,” he pinched his lips together and leaned closer. We were less than six inches apart, right in the middle of a business cocktail party standing directly in front of the bar where everyone could see us.
“And you’re a mama’s boy!” I went with deflecting the situation and backed up and out of his embrace as quickly as my new shoes would take me and shuffled onto a stool.
“So that’s how you’re going to play it, huh?” he grinned and brought a long-fingered hand up to his chin where he stroked his thumb and forefinger along his jaw. “Game on, Ms
. Mia.”
Chapter 4
When we got back to the house later that evening, I feigned being tired and practically ran to my room, shutting and locking the door. I’d waited by the door, straining to hear through the wood if he was going to follow me. As much as I wanted to be with him, as in between the sheets, I really should keep distance between us. I hadn’t had enough time to talk myself out of becoming emotionally attached to Wes. He was so nice, down to Earth, made a point to include me in business related conversations even if they were pretty casual. It would be wise for me to remember my place. I was nothing more than the hired help.
Then again, why couldn’t I have fun? I was an adult, he was an incredibly hot, willing man. We were young and had the better part of a month to be around one another. If tonight’s sexual chemistry was anything to go by, I’d bet my bike that he was stellar in the bedroom. It would do me well to get a good rogering, loosen me up. It had been a year since I’d had sex and my vibrator wasn’t cutting it anymore. I needed that physical connection. A warm, male body.
I stood in the center of the room looking around at all varying shades of white. The bed looked like a white fluffy cloud. I bet it was comfortable, too. Wes didn’t seem like the type of guy to skimp on the luxury fabrics for his guests. No, he’d make sure everything was just so. Walking around the room I debated my next move. He was out there somewhere. According to the clock on the nightstand, it was very late. One o’clock in the morning. We’d had a great time. I made a game of counting how many times a gold digger approached him, and how many times I’d gotten the stink eye. Twenty-four. He had twenty-four admirers in one evening. It made complete sense why he needed to hire a buffer. If he actually spent any length of time talking to those women, he wouldn’t have made contact with any of the producers, directors, or actors he had gone to the event to see.
And Wes was perfectly in his element. He moved around the room like oil swirling through water, slinky, liquid, and never co-mingling longer with one person than another. I was pretty sure there was a method to his madness, but I didn’t ask. I just followed along and played buffer. When a stick with boobs approached, I’d turn, introduce myself and make it a point to touch and lean on Wes enough that the woman would scowl and slither away like the snake she was. They all were. Aside from Wes’s mother, Claire, I did not meet one decent woman. And very few over the age of twenty-five. It seemed as though older men in the business liked to have a piece of eye candy attached to them. The women just stood by their side with vapid eyes staring out the windows as they teetered on spiked heels and sipped absurdly expensive champagne. Probably to the point where they spent the evening completely stoned off the booze but not so much that they were shitty.
I guess if you thought about it, I wasn’t much different. Technically, I was by Wes’s side for the same reason they all were. Money. I needed it, and whether or not they needed it or wanted it, it really didn’t make a difference. Having put those thoughts together, I felt a sourness hit my gut, twitching uncomfortably. That high from the evening left me in a rush of disgust.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking through the darkened house. When I reached the living room, I moved to a hallway I hadn’t seen before. There were a single set of double doors at the end. Pressing my ear to the door I could hear the sound of a television. Surprising even myself, I knocked.
“Come in,” I heard Wes say.
On a deep inhale, I opened the door. He sat leaning against the headboard of a massive sleigh bed. The room was dark, cave-like with a lit fireplace on one side of the room and on the other a wall of glass windows with what I suspected was an ocean view, knowing which side of the house that window faced. The curtains were mostly closed. Manly, heavy looking wood furniture dotted the walls. I looked over at the TV, and it was paused on what looked like a soccer game.
Wes didn’t say anything when my gaze finally made it to his. He hadn’t moved an inch, either. The skin of his bare chest glowed a golden brown from the light of the fireplace as he reclined in only a pair of pajama bottoms. Christ, he was a work of art. The firelight flickered off the hills and valleys of his muscled abdomen, and defined pecs making me salivate. My heart started pumping so hard in my chest I was sure he could hear it, too. Instead of going back to my room, pretending I had to ask him something or feigning I was lost, I lifted my hand up to the halter clasp on my dress and tugged.
In one swift movement, the dress fell to the floor in a heap of purple silk. Wes gasped as I moved the hair that had fallen down the front of my body and shifted it behind my back. I stood perfectly still in nothing but a black lace thong and the stilettoes.
“Come here,” Wes’s voice was deep and strained. The easygoing tone he’d had earlier when we met and throughout the evening was long gone. In its place was control, desire, and lust. My three favorite things.
With effort, I walked cat-like to the side of the bed stopping two feet in front of him. I could feel the heat of the fireplace lick across my skin, warming it. As Wes’s gaze traced every inch of me, my nipples tightened painfully while the space between my legs softened. With every tiny flick of his eyes over a curve, a naked edge, my clit throbbed, ached, begged to be touched.
“Turn around,” was only the second thing he’d said to me since I’d walked in. I said nothing. Still in my heels, I pivoted on the balls of my feet, presenting him my backside. He growled low in his throat at seeing my bare ass.
The fire’s heat warmed my naked front and just when I thought I would die from anticipation, a feather-light caress started at the nape of my neck and moved slowly down my spine, touching each bump and ridge. I gasped when I felt the same heat from the front hit my back, only it wasn’t the fireplace. The smell of ocean and man permeated the air around me, and I closed my eyes. Soon that light touch got harder. Wes’s hand held my biceps and pressed me back into him. Skin-to-skin.
I could feel his breath on my neck as he pushed my hair to one side. His other arm wrapped around my body with one strong hand clasping over a bare breast just as his lips touched the sensitive column of my neck. I couldn’t help it. I whimpered the moment his thumb and forefinger plucked at the erect tip, sending ribbons of excitement scuttling through every nerve ending.
“Sweetheart, we need to set some ground rules.” His voice was a grumble against my skin. He swirled his tongue over the ball of one shoulder and bit down.
I moaned. “Ground rules?” I barely made out the words, while enjoying his talented fingers as they tugged and elongated each peak. My body was on hyperalert, his hands massaging and cupping each globe while those relentless fingers gave each nipple the most beautiful torture.
“Rule one: We’re going to have an insane amount of sex this month.” He pressed hard on each tip simultaneously. I cried out in bliss, the heat between my legs soaking the wisp of fabric I was wearing.
“And that’s a rule?” I said breathlessly leaning further back into him, grinding my ass into his thick erection. Sounded like a damn good rule to me.
Wes groaned and then retaliated by twisting each nip, perfectly adding just the right amount of pleasure and pain.
“Rule two is when we’re together like this, it’s only me and you. The entire month we’re monogamous.”
I bit down on my lip and focused on swiveling my hips pressing against what I could feel to be a pretty impressive package. “Agreed.”
Both hands moved off my breast for a moment then they were back, though somehow wetted. They slid smoothly around each areola and I melted, barely able to stay in a standing position.
He must have sensed the instability and moved to lock an arm around my waist but kept up his sweet seduction of my breasts. Jesus, the man was my new hero. If he kept this up, I’d come without ever being penetrated. I leaned an arm back and clasped him behind the neck, arching into his hand, wanting so badly to kiss him, but his lock on my waist and the firm pressure of his front against my back prevented it.
“Rul
e three: We never sleep in the same bed. We do not want to confuse this with something it’s not. I like you, Mia. A lot. I wouldn’t want to hurt you by making you believe I was in a position for a relationship. Understand?”
The hand that was around my waist shifted and crept low, very low, until he was there, right there where I wanted him most.
“Oh, fuck yeah, I understand,” I said and pushed my hips into his twirling finger. And I did understand. We wanted exactly the same thing. Friendship and physical release.
He chuckled against my neck, the puffs of air stirring my hair. Out of nowhere he flipped my body around, sank to his knees, and yanked down my panties. They were stuck at the ankles where I had neglected to remove my heels. As I locked eyes with his, he opened me with his thumbs, flattened his tongue, and went to town on my clit.
“Oh, oh, oh.” I was relegated to monosyllables and nothing more.
Between licks I could swear he started talking. My brain was having a really hard time paying close attention, but finally he pulled away and I zeroed in, gripping his hair and trying to push him towards my aching cleft. “Rule three:”—his eyes twinkled and he inhaled my scent then licked his lips like he was enjoying the finest delicacy and was about to feast. “Never fall in love,” he said with a grin then sucked the throbbing nub into his mouth and flicked his tongue against the tip.
I almost fell over. I leaned back, and he helped me into a position where I was lying on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, and opened wide, him in between them. “That might be impossible…” I whispered as his tongue drove into my sex. I was right on the edge when he stopped in the middle of a perfect combination of tongue and finger action. I groaned loudly.
“Excuse me,” he said, voice tight with a razor’s edge.
I gripped his hair and did an ab curl up to my elbows. “Relax, Wes. I’m in love with your fucking tongue. Now stick it in me and make me come so I can return the favor.”
January (Calendar Girl Book 1) Page 4
