“About me doing the show or about Meagan’s plan or—”
“About all of it, but you in particular.”
“I see,” he drawled. “Well. Why don’t we work on that when you come back to New York two days from now?” His voice was low, sensual.
Her body instantly reacted, heating up. His scent ever-present. “I’ll only go back to New York if you take the job.”
“That sounds like an incentive to me.”
The way he said the words rushed over her and panic set in. She was going to wind up caring for this man, and either get hurt or ruin her career. “We can’t see each other on a personal level. Not when we have to work so closely together. Had I known any of this was going to happen, I would never have started this.”
More thick silence filled the air. “Okay,” he agreed finally.
Okay? “Okay?” Her voice quivered and so did the muscles in her stomach. She didn’t know why. She did know why. She didn’t want to admit why.
“Isn’t that what you wanted me to say?”
No, but it was the right answer, even if she didn’t want it to be. “Yes.”
“Fine then. I’ll let you go. We both have big days tomorrow.”
She inhaled. “Okay.” She really hated that word.
“Good night, Darla,” he said softly, and hung up.
She stared at the phone, emotion welling in her chest. And she didn’t know how it happened, but she punched redial. “That’s it?” she demanded when he answered. “Good night?” He laughed. “Don’t laugh, Blake.” He laughed again and she repeated, “I said—”
“Don’t laugh. I know. I already told you that I’m crazy about you, Darla. That hasn’t changed. But I’ve yet to hear you make one statement that says you feel the same about me. I’m no glutton for punishment. You want this to be all business, we’ll make it all business.”
She didn’t know what to say. She liked him. She wanted him. She was just so damn…conflicted. “Okay.” She hung up before she defined what she was saying okay to. Hung up! She pressed her hand to her face. Could she make more of a fool of herself with this man?
14
BLAKE HAD TAKEN THE HOSTING job. Now, three days after hanging up on her new coworker rival former lover, Darla was back in New York and about to see him for the first time since then. With a garment bag thrown over her shoulder, she stood outside the twentieth-floor studio of renowned photographer to the stars, Frankie Masse. He was shooting the promos for Stepping Up.
She reached for the door but pulled back, nervous not because Frankie had been an intimidating and bossy man during her solo shoot at his studio the day before, but because of Blake. Yes. She was, without question, ridiculously nervous about seeing Blake again.
“Is the door locked?”
Darla jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice. “Blake.” Her hand balled on her chest at his presence, suddenly finding him so close she could reach up and touch him. And she wanted to. “I didn’t hear the elevator. You scared me.”
His blue eyes swept over the ivory suit that Frankie had requested her to wear. He wore a black suit himself, the dark color a dramatic contrast to her lighter one. The expression on his face was both intimate and familiar, perhaps mimicking her own. He was remembering—just as she was, she had no doubt—how intimate and familiar they’d been together. She had been thinking a lot about Blake, and not just about the pleasure-filled moments in that hotel room. But also about their banter on the plane and the way he’d come to her rescue with Lana. The way his eyes danced with mischief at times when someone else’s would burn with anger.
“You must have had something pretty intense on your mind,” he suggested, his voice a gentle caress—a knowing caress. “Because the elevator creaks like an old man with arthritis.”
“I guess I did,” she admitted, realizing exactly what was bothering her and what she had to do. “About the phone call the other night—”
“When you hung up on me?”
Her lips thinned. “You hung up on me first.”
“I said, ‘Good night.’ You just said ‘Okay.’”
“Because you said, ‘Okay.’”
His eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say?”
She wet her lips, his eyes following the movement. Heat pooled low in her belly. No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted him to say and that was the problem. Or maybe it wasn’t really a problem. Maybe she was needlessly making it a problem. She wanted to just say that to him, to talk to him. That brought her clarity. She trusted Blake enough to tell him how vulnerable she felt and that meant something. It meant he was worth taking a risk on.
She drew in a breath and let it out. “What I wanted, or rather, what I want—” she started to say, but the elevator creaked open as loudly as he had claimed.
“Is the door locked?” Meagan said from behind Blake.
“Saved by the proverbial bell,” Blake said softly, before stepping to the side to greet Meagan. “We just arrived. We were about to go inside.”
“Excellent, then,” Meagan replied, waving them forward. “Let’s get snapping those photos. I’d like to actually give myself and Darla a chance to relax before we head to Chicago at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning.”
“Of course,” Blake said, expecting Darla to step away from him. Instead, she leaned in, looking him in the eyes.
“You keep assuming I need, or want, to be saved.” She threw open the door to the photography room, just as she had opened the door to the possibilities between herself and Blake.
* * *
TIME TICKED BY SLOWLY WHILE Blake waited on Darla to be out of hair and makeup for the photo shoot. He was thinking about their exchange in the hallway. Thinking about how much he wanted it to be enough. Enough to take her home with him tonight. Enough to hold her again—if not now, sometime soon. Enough to take the risk to get to know her better.
He shifted from foot to foot and leaned against the wall framing a massive window overlooking the city. He’d seen the heat in Darla’s stare, the desire glinting in the depths of her beautiful green eyes. Desire. Lust. An attraction that they seemed to generate when they were anywhere near each other. But he’d also seen her hesitation to answer his question about their phone call. She didn’t need saving. She wasn’t any more certain about him than she had been before. And the thing was, he was on uncertain ground of his own. Blake had never felt this way about a woman and he didn’t know if that made it important that he press her now, or just the opposite. Maybe he needed to back off, to let her run. A few of his father’s words echoed in his mind. Son. You never want anything that doesn’t come honest.
Blake scrubbed his jaw. Damn it. He didn’t want anything that wasn’t honest from Darla—anything not genuine. He couldn’t push Darla. He wouldn’t push her. It had to come honest. They had to come honest.
“Let’s get started,” Frankie shouted. “Blake and Darla, I need you in the center of the room.”
Blake shoved off the wall to find three of Frankie’s staff members gathering nearby, while Meagan stepped away to take a call on her cell. Frankie waved Blake to a twelve-by-twelve squared-off area floored with white tiles and enclosed by hardwood, umbrellas and cameras. Darla appeared at the opposite edge of the set.
Her gaze swept over him and came to rest on his face. She actually managed to scald him with a look of pure lust in the same instant that she damned him for apparently making her do so. Would she ever figure out her feelings for him?
“Okay, Blake and Darla,” Meagan said, shoving her slim phone back into snug, faded jeans. “One of the studio bigwigs is in town, and he and several of the show’s top sponsors want to meet us all for dinner.” She eyed her watch. “They made reservations for seven, which is going to make it tight for me to get home and change. If either of you have a reason to get us out of this that they’ll buy, speak up now, please.”
“Ten years in this business has taught me to say ‘yes’ as often as possible,” Blake commented. “
There will be more important times when you’ll have to say ‘no.’”
“Considering I’m with a competing network,” Darla said, “I don’t think it would get me brownie points to miss this.”
“You work for both networks,” Meagan corrected. “I wish you’d start feeling like you belong here.” She grinned. “Blake, I really don’t like how right you are, but okay. Dinner it is.” She cast Darla a wistful look. “We’ll have time to sleep on the plane.”
“Have you flown with Darla?” Blake asked, disbelievingly. “Because she won’t be sleeping—and neither will you if you’re sitting next to her.”
“Right,” Meagan said drily. “Yes, I have, and you make another good point. Sorry, Darla. I might need to get my seat changed.”
Darla sighed. “I understand. Send a new victim, I mean passenger, my way. I’ll torture them so you can sleep.”
Blake and Meagan started laughing, but so did Darla, just as she had in the hallway when she’d tripped, even in front of Lana. He liked her lack of airs, her willingness to be herself and to not take herself so seriously.
“Are we ready to get this moving?” Frankie asked testily.
Meagan stepped out of the way. “They’re all yours.”
“Both of you cross your arms in front of your chests,” Frankie ordered immediately, “and stare each other down in challenge.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem for us,” Blake said, refocusing on Darla and doing as Frankie directed.
“Not a problem at all,” Darla agreed, mimicking his stance by folding her arms in front of her chest, her slim jacket defining her petite waist and flaring out to accent her womanly curves.
Frankie started snapping photos. “Good,” he shouted, showing more excitement than Blake thought the man had in him. “Good. Darla. Step closer to Blake.”
Darla didn’t move. Blake arched a brow. “Thought you didn’t need to be saved?”
A look of surprise flashed on her face, as if her hesitation had been instinctive and she hadn’t realized what she’d done. She stepped forward. “I don’t. In fact, I’d venture to say that if anyone needs to be saved, it’s you.”
“Love the anger, Darla!” Frankie shouted, as if she intended her attitude for the camera.
“Anger?” Darla repeated, still looking at Blake.
“You do sound pretty angry.”
“I’m not angry,” she insisted. “I’m not. I’m—”
“Conflicted,” Blake supplied.
“Not anymore,” she corrected.
“You seem conflicted to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Closer to each other,” Frankie yelled. “I want you almost toe-to-toe, and Darla, give him another prickly stare.”
“Prickly,” Darla repeated, turning toward the camera. “I was not prickly and I’m not angry.”
“Look at Blake!” Frankie ordered.
Darla jerked her gaze back to Blake, looking like a scolded child. He laughed. She glared.
“That’s the anger I want,” Frankie approved. “Closer, though. Closer.”
“You laugh at the most inappropriate times,” Darla scolded. She inched forward, leaving no room for Frankie to complain now that the tips of her high heel shoes were touching the tips of Blake’s shoes.
He could smell her perfume, floral and soft. “Says who?”
“I imagine everyone who’s experienced it.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. Maybe that’s your way of hiding from whatever it is that’s being said.”
“Hiding?” he said. “You’re accusing me of hiding?”
“That’s right. Hiding.”
“Back to back,” Frankie directed. “Backs touching, arms folded in front of your bodies again.”
Darla turned. Blake laughed and rotated, then stepped backward, bringing them into direct contact. The connection delivered a jolt of awareness he’d foolishly been unprepared for. Heat sizzled a path through every nerve ending he had.
“Still laughing?” she challenged with a soft taunt for his ears only. She was feeling it, too—the sizzle. The heat.
Blake lowered his voice, ready to taunt in reply. “I didn’t run into the bathroom and lock the door.” He expected a quick jab back. He didn’t get it.
There was a moment of silence, a thickening of the air, before she said, all signs of taunting gone, “I regret doing that. I regret it a lot.”
The emotion he heard in her confession and radiating from her body language caught him off guard. “Don’t,” he started. “Do—”
“Lean back farther. Both of you,” Frankie interrupted, and the instant they complied, a slew of pictures followed. Another pose, then another. Frankie kept the camera snapping until he sent them to opposite sides of the set to allow his crew to set up props.
A minute or two later, Blake was sitting in an office chair, while she sat on top of a desk, her legs crossed. Her long, gorgeous legs, he noted. “Roll the chair closer to Darla,” Frankie directed Blake. “Darla, I want you to spike that high heel into his chest.”
“No!” Meagan said, laughing. “They have a history with shoes and I’ve already lost one host to an injury.”
“I’ll be gentle,” Darla promised, grinning at Meagan before fixing Blake with a mischievous look. “Though, it’s awfully tempting to give him a little roughing up.”
“Hurts so good,” Blake assured her, motioning to her foot. “Bring it on.” He rolled a little closer to her.
“Wait.” Frankie motioned to several crew members, before giving Blake and Darla his back to huddle with the others. Blake seriously doubted that they were talking about a camera lens, but he knew an opportunity when he saw it.
Blake rolled the chair around so that only Darla could see his face. “About the bathroom—” he started.
“I ran,” she finished for him quietly, glancing toward the others to make sure they still weren’t paying them any mind. “I started freaking out about my job and—”
“And that’s okay,” he said, meaning it. He could barely contain the urge to touch her, but he was all too experienced with the camera to know it too easily captured what you didn’t want captured. “It was an honest reaction to an honest emotion.” Their eyes locked and held for several silent moments. “Honest is what I’m looking for. And I promise you, no matter how much this business defies you believing it, you won’t get anything less from me.”
Surprise lit her expression, her eyes softened from bright to light green. “I believe you.”
Blake felt the warmth of her growing confidence. He’d never wanted a woman like he did this one, and it was all he could do to remind himself that this was a tiny step forward, not more. Not enough. Not yet.
“Let’s go,” Frankie said. “Darla. Spike that heel onto his chest. Gently, please. Save the rough stuff for later.”
Darla’s tongue darted over her red lips. “Later it is.” She pressed her heel to his chest.
Instinctively, Blake’s hand went to her calf.
Darla shivered, and he was pretty sure he shook on the inside. And only from a small, simple touch. Darla’s claim of “it’s complicated” came to his mind and he amended his thoughts. There was nothing simple about what this woman did to him.
“No touching!” Frankie ordered. “You aren’t supposed to like each other.”
“We don’t,” Darla assured Frankie, staring intently into Blake’s eyes.
Blake took his hand away. “Not at all,” he agreed.
Blake had promised himself when he’d ended that phone call with Darla back in Denver that he would take things slow with her from here on out, that he would backtrack and make up for rushing too fast out of the gate and into bed. But as he sat there, her skirt riding high on her toned thighs, her delicate knees opened just wide enough to tease him, his cock mercilessly stretched against his zipper and he knew he was in for a rough ride. Oh, yeah. He was definitely in for the rough stuff later, when he might be the one to wal
k away from a chance to use those five condoms. Because he would, because he had to, if he wanted more than sex with Darla. And he did, he realized with certainty. He did.
Tonight would be a test of his willpower, which he’d always considered solid. Until Darla.
15
EVEN THREE HOURS AFTER the sexually charged photo session, Blake’s body still hummed with awareness, with desire, for Darla. It didn’t seem to matter that she sat across but several seats down from him at the rectangular table of the happening uptown Italian eatery. She was nowhere near close enough for him to accidentally touch her or to draw in that delicate floral scent of hers.
“Excuse me,” the stuffed studio shirt he’d been talking ratings with said when his phone rang. “I’ve been expecting this call.” The man pushed to his feet and headed in search of privacy.
For the millionth time since arriving at the restaurant, Blake’s gaze gravitated toward Darla, where she chatted stiffly with Mark Mercer, another studio exec whom Blake both knew and disliked. Mark was also enjoying Darla’s time far too much for comfort. Blake wasn’t sure who he was more irritated with, though. Mark, for managing to sit next to Darla. Or Darla, for clearly enjoying his company.
“Well, thank you, gentlemen, but it’s time for me to head back to the hotel.” Meagan rose to her feet as various members of the group followed. Finally, this little piece of hell was over, Blake thought, as he stood up with the rest of their party.
“Can I share a taxi with you?” Mark asked Darla. “I think we’re going in the same direction.” His tone was friendly and casual, but the look in his eyes was the opposite. Blake found himself sucking in a quiet breath and holding it, waiting for Darla’s reply. Darla would say no. He knew she would say no. If, he added silently, he hadn’t misjudged her ambition.
“Sorry to have to decline,” Darla replied, sounding as if she meant it in a tight, forced kind of way. “I actually have a friend from out of town meeting me here for drinks in a few minutes.”
Air escaped from Blake’s lips and his muscles relaxed, telling him just how important her response had really been to him. Only then did he allow himself to admit the truth. In the back of his mind, worry had been alive and well. Worry that Darla’s need to please everyone associated with Stepping Up would spell trouble.
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