Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  For a moment, I'm surprised. I expected a few responses when I typed that to him. I wouldn't have been surprised if he signed off at the first sign of any emotional, serious talk. It wouldn't have been out of character if he made some dirty joke or blew it off with some offer of sexy times. But, I definitely did not expect Lee to respond kindly with understanding advice and what appears to be patience.

  Now that I think about it, he’s been surprising me a lot lately. He stayed to help me with my hangover. He cooked me breakfast when he could have just left after sex. He ate me out without expecting anything in return. Okay, no. Don't go there. I squirm in bed and start typing again.

  I wish I could do those things. I really do.

  We'll see how long he sticks around to help a random stranger who committed an injustice towards him and his business only a couple of days ago.

  What's holding you back?

  I drum my fingers against the keyboard. I'm afraid.

  I never, never would have said this out loud, let alone out loud to Lee. And yet I typed it, knowing he doesn't know it's me, with barely any hesitation. I didn't break out in hives. I didn't turn red in the face or run away screaming from my laptop. Thank goodness I didn't smash it. I need it for work.

  It's okay to be afraid, Lee types. But if you let it control you, you'll be missing out on all the wonderful things life has to offer.

  Control? I've always thought of myself as completely and entirely in control of myself. I've prided myself on my self-control, my restraint, my guiding rationality. But maybe that really isn't control? Maybe Lee is right. I've just been using it as an excuse to stay safe in life, to not get hurt. Is fear controlling me?

  How do I stop it from controlling me?

  I wait anxiously for the ding of my computer. I keep expecting a notification that Lee has signed off. I prepare myself for the possibility that he's fallen asleep or left to meet up with a date and I'll never get a response. But a few seconds later, the message box blinks with the dots that tell me he's typing.

  You have to have something worth letting it go for.

  I stare at the words on the screen.

  It's not something. No, that's the wrong word. It's someone.

  What in your life, Lee types, would you regret not going for if you let fear control you? Keep that in your mind. And leap.

  I rub my eyes that are tearing up. I'm tearing up because I think I know what that one thing is, who that one person is. But can I leap? Can I close my eyes, let it go, and leap?

  My computer dings again.

  Love will help you conquer fear. If you love something, it's more important than fear.

  I lean over to my nightstand for a tissue and type to Lee. Are you ever afraid of anything?

  I can't imagine Lee being afraid of anything. His go-to mode is to leap.

  The little dots flash in the instant messenger. I'm surprised it's taking so long. It only takes a moment to type n-o. Maybe a smidgen longer if he’s going with h-e-l-l n-o.

  Everyone has something they're afraid of. Everyone has a mask they wear to hide behind.

  A mask …

  I realize I've been moping and focusing entirely on myself. I keep telling myself Lee is brave and bold and confident, but this is a vulnerable side I haven't seen before. I guess the internet helps him out being honest, too.

  I start typing and stop. I shouldn't say this. I'm stepping into water that is surely too deep. But I want to. I want to say it. I type out half of it and slam the “Delete” key.

  Jenna, self-control. Yes. Good choice. Smart choice.

  But wait. Lee just said I'm letting my fear control me. If I hold the thing I want in my mind, if I hold the image of Lee in my mind, I want to type it. And I don't want to stop myself from typing it.

  I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I type as quickly as my fingers will fly and hit the “Enter” key before I can talk myself out of it.

  Maybe we can help each other.

  I slam the screen shut, toss my laptop, gently, onto the floor, flip off the lamp light, and duck under the covers. I’m new to this no fear, leaping thing. I’ll look tomorrow when I’ve refilled my bravery tank.

  Baby steps.

  14

  Lee

  I nod to Jenna’s doorman and pause when he gives me a strange wink. “Going up to see your attorney, sir?”

  “Um, she's not my attorney.” Well, not technically, anyway. I mean, she’s my friend. My lover. And she happens to be an attorney who’s giving me legal advice about the blogger, but only because she is the blogger…

  “Oh, is she a chef today?” The doorman winks again.

  “What?”

  “Don't worry, sir. Your secret is safe with me.”

  I have no clue what he's talking about, but it seems like a road I don't want to go down so I nod and give him a thumbs up. “Excellent.”

  I hurry away, glancing back as I walk to the elevator. If I were a doorman, I'd probably drink on the job, too. As I step into the elevator he throws me a thumbs up and he almost looks ... jealous?

  Shaking my head, I clear whatever that was from my mind and try to organize my thoughts. I'm not exactly sure what reaction I'm going to get from Jenna after what I’m about to tell her. I brought some Kleenex in case there's tears. I'm wearing sneakers in case I need to run away. I have chocolate on hand, because chocolate heals all.

  After messaging with her last night, I made up my mind. She's never talked so openly with me in person before. And I've never realized she had these fears. Jenna in a suit is just about the scariest thing in the world to me. There’s not a single thing that woman can't accomplish in her tight pencil skirt and fitted jacket. If I was a criminal she was trying to put away, I'd admit to the crime right then and there in the courtroom, just because of the sight of her standing there in her suit.

  But last night, it was such an eye-opening experience for her to reveal what she did, especially after running right out the door of my restaurant. What she told me through the messaging, thinking I didn't know it was her, put everything into context.

  She didn't know it, but I think she was talking about me. So, yes, part of the reason I came up with this plan and decided to tell Jenna is selfish. I want to be with her. Seeing her vulnerable side last night just confirmed it. And it breaks my heart that this fear has been holding her back. Not just from me, but from life.

  So, I'm going to push her a little bit. For her sake. And for mine.

  It may earn me a trip to the hospital, but I'll risk it. I'll risk it for her.

  I step out of the elevator and do a quick couple of jumping jacks and burpees to loosen up my muscles. Should I need them, of course.

  As I get closer and closer to her apartment door, my steps slow down. Doubts enter my mind. Maybe this isn't smart. Maybe this is pushing her too far. Maybe I should just wait for her to come to me. Maybe I should just turn around, sprint right back to the elevator before it closes, and take a shot of whatever the doorman was drinking this morning.

  I stop myself, because that would be the very definition of hypocritical. Here I am asking Jenna to be brave and take a leap and I'm running away?

  I knock on her door, so I can't escape now.

  “It's open!” Jenna shouts from inside.

  How many times do I have to tell her to lock the door? Though if she'd locked the door that night she was in the tub, we probably wouldn't have had sex that night and I wouldn't be here about to do this, so maybe it's not really that big of a deal.

  I open the door and don't see Jenna in the living room.

  “Jenna?”

  “Lee?”

  Her voice comes from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, it's me.”

  I walk in and find her cooking over the stove. Her face is scrunched up in concentration as she tries to flip what appears to be a poorly cooked crepe. She looks adorable hunched over the pan, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, as she tries to slide the spatula underneath
the floppy crepe.

  “Fuck, damn it, shit. Fuckface, fucker, goddamn motherfucker.”

  Well, I picked a marvelous time to come poke at this angry bear.

  “Um, hey, how's it going?”

  She growls and dumps the pan’s burnt contents into the trash. The pan clatters as she shoves it back onto the stove top. She turns to me, and I try to hold in a laugh. Her hair is a mess, falling out of her bun into her face and eyes. It's frizzed from the heat and her face is red and glowing. Splattered batter is all over her shirt and sweatpants.

  “What's up, Lee?”

  Yeah, if I were smart I’d dart right back through that front door, and not say another word.

  “Making crepes, huh?”

  “Does it look like I’m making crepes, Lee?”

  She shoves her batter-covered hands against her hips and glares at me.

  “Do you see the platter of delicious, Nutella and strawberry filled crepes? Do you want one?”

  A tiny chuckle escapes my lips before I can stop it, and Jenna’s hands become fists.

  “Lee, this isn’t funny.”

  “I’m sorry, Jenna. But you just look … I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve been up since seven this morning trying to cook a simple crepe and they’re either clumpy or burnt or mushy or – I can’t even remember all the ways I’ve failed.”

  She collapses onto a barstool in a pathetic heap. I just want to wrap my arms around her, put her on a plane to Paris, and eat every crepe I can find in the city naked in bed with her. But I know Jenna would bite me if I touched her right now.

  “Can I, um … can I help you?”

  I start to inch back towards the door in case she hurls something, but she looks up at me and moans: “Please help me, Lee.”

  I suck in a relieved breath before pushing up my sleeves and moving to wash my hands in the sink.

  “Do you have any champagne?”

  “I don’t need champagne. I need crepes.”

  “Well, if we’re going to make crepes together, based on the mess you’ve managed to make so far, I’m going to need champagne.”

  I peek over my shoulder and Jenna seems to weigh my words before nodding and walking over to the fridge.

  “You’re in luck, my friend,” she says, smiling as she spins around with a bottle.

  She pours us each a mimosa as I quickly remedy the batter she destroyed. I’m not going to tell her crepes aren’t that hard to make. I like my balls attached to my body. This is actually working to my advantage. I’ll feed her some scrumptious crepes, earn some brownie points from that. She’ll be rocking a nice little buzz, as will I, from the mimosas. And then I’ll just ease in with my plan.

  “Sorry for losing it there a little bit,” she says after I’m done cooking. She looks up at me sheepishly from over her loaded plate of crepes. We’re sitting cross-legged on the carpet in her living room. She has a little smear of Nutella on the tip of her nose.

  “It’s just I wanted to try something new and I crashed and burned.”

  Something new. I feel a flash of pride inside at the thought that maybe my words last night are partially the reason for this foray into cooking new foods.

  “You didn’t crash and burn, Jenna.”

  “I sort of did.”

  I laugh. “Okay, maybe a little bit. But you’ll do better next time, now that you know. What recipe did you use, by the way?”

  She pushes a strawberry across her plate. I wait for her to answer, but oddly, she just pretends she hasn’t heard and continues to push around that same strawberry.

  “Jenna?”

  “Yes?”

  I laugh when she looks up, pretending to be surprised. “What recipe did you use?”

  “I, well, I…”

  The rest of what she says I can’t hear, since she mumbled it quietly.

  I lean forward. “What?”

  She mumbles again, maybe a tiny bit louder.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  I’m stretched over the plates and champagne glasses, my face right up against hers. Up so close I lick the Nutella off the tip of her nose and smile at her blushing cheeks.

  “Jenna Harrison, what crepe recipe did you use?”

  I finally hear what I suspected was the answer.

  “I didn’t use one,” she admits.

  I kiss the tip of her nose and sit back down. I shake my head as she watches me.

  “What?” she says.

  “I’m just… well, I’m rather stunned. What brought this new, daring Jenna about?” I ask her.

  She shrugs and acts nonchalantly. “Just wanted to try something new, I guess.”

  I watch her eat the strawberry, and I know she isn’t trying to do it seductively, but damn. Just hot damn.

  She catches me looking at her, and her eyes grow hooded. “Do you want to know something else ‘new’ I’d like to try. If you’re up for it?”

  I came here to tell her something, something important, but the look in her eyes when she picks up the bottle of champagne and plate of strawberries has my mind going blank. She stands and looks over her shoulder at me as she walks toward her bedroom.

  “You coming?” she asks playfully. “Or am I doing this by myself?”

  I nearly break her plates as I toss them into a hasty stack and sprint with them into the kitchen. They clatter against the sink as I drop them into the soapy water. I make sure the stove is off, because, well, it’s Jenna and then I walk as slowly as my racing heart will let me toward her bedroom door. It’s cracked open and I ease it back.

  “Damn,” I whisper.

  Jenna has stripped off her dirty t-shirt and sweatpants and stands in front of her bed completely naked for me. Her hair, falling out of her messy bun, skims her exposed collarbone. My eyes trace the line of her shoulder down to her perfect fingers. I can see her breasts rise and fall with her breathing, which I can tell she’s struggling to keep even and calm. There’s nothing to hide behind. Nothing to duck in cover under. I know this is a step for her. I know she did this for me. She lifts her eyes shyly and smiles. In her hands she fidgets with a tie. A tie I realize is mine.

  “You forgot this the other night.” She blushes and I see her toes curl into the plush rug. “I found it under my bed.”

  Her hips sway as she takes a step closer to me and I so want to reach out to touch those smooth curves. But I let her come to me.

  “It’s pretty much ruined, I think,” she continues, studying the silk tie that glides between her fingers. “I don’t think you can wear it again, if I’m being honest.”

  I can see the mixed emotions on her face. There’s a hesitation, a hint of fear. There’s that flash in her eyes, the quiver of her jaw, the quick bite of her lip that means she wants to run. She wants to dart back to her sweatpants and shirt, throw them on, and make some biting joke to push me away. She wants to hide from me. And not just her body. Her mind. Her soul. Her heart.

  But there’s something else there when she glances nervously up at me. Though her jaw quivers, it is set firm. Though she bites at her lip, her mouth is also pulled up into a dangerous smile. The flash in her eye isn’t just from fear, but from determination. She’s afraid, but whatever she is going to do, she’s decided to do it. I know that streak in Jenna. It’s her middle finger to the fucking world. It’s her ‘get out of the way or get run over’ face. It’s her bold side that makes me shiver.

  “I think it may be able to serve another function though,” she says.

  I remain silent and wait. Her feet step between mine and her nipples graze my chest. She looks up at me with wide, vulnerable, dark, bold eyes. Her voice shakes when she speaks, but there is no doubt in her words.

  “I want you to tie my wrists to the bed frame.”

  I can tell for her this isn’t just some kink. It’s her letting go. It’s her giving up that control she clung to like a security blanket. It’s a risk, a leap, a blind step. She’s trusting me to catch her if she falls.

  �
�Lay down on the bed,” I say, my voice soft, but commanding.

  There’s a moment of hesitation, but she does as I say. My tie pools on her stomach beneath her heaving breasts, nipples hard. Leaning against her pillow, she watches me as I tug my t-shirt up and over my head. I hear her breath catch as I pull down both my pants and my underwear. My cock twitches at the sight of her before me twisting my tie between her fingers.

  Those fingers will soon be stretching for something, anything to hold onto. Those hands will soon be above her head, shaking. Those wrists will soon be bound and she’ll be tugging against my tie to free herself so she can touch me, move me where she wants me, take control. But my tie won’t give.

  I walk around the bed and her eyes follow me as I stroke my dick. She wants this. She asked for it. This was little Jenna Harrison’s idea. Thinking about that is all it takes to get me fully hard.

  “Put your hands above your head,” I say. “Yeah, hold them right there. Good, just like that.”

  Her eyes follow mine as I reach for my tie. I snake the end over her nipple and she squirms and bites her lips, but keeps her hands where they are against the arch of the white metal frame.

  “Good,” I whisper as I slide the tie behind the frame. I twist it between her wrists and then around them both. “Good.”

  She shifts so she can get a look at her wrists bound to her bed as I add one more knot.

  “Give it a test.”

  The muscles in her arms strain as she pulls and the tie holds firmly. Her eyes flash in excitement and I lean over to kiss that skin behind her ear that I’ve found is oh, so sensitive.

  “Good,” I whisper and she shivers.

  I want to tell her that she can trust me, that I’ll protect her, that I’ll always protect her, but the thought of saying that out loud scares the shit out of me so I brush my hand across her cheek with as gentle a touch as I can. Her arms tremble in anticipation already and I want to tell her that I’m here, that I’ve always been here, that I never, never want to leave, but that’s too damn real and so I kiss a line along the inside of her arm up to her wrists and in turn kiss the tip of each of her fingers.