A groan escapes from my lips, my breath becoming shallow as tension builds deep in my belly.
He leads me to the bed and rolls me over onto my back as he continues to play with me, his expert fingers taking me to new heights of pleasure. He trails kisses down my body, across my breasts, down my tummy. He slides my legs apart, kissing me, teasing me with his tongue.
My head lolls back, my body driven by a passion I’ve never felt before.
Boys, they’ve all been boys before.
I let out a gasp. “You’re going to make me . . .. Oh, god.” I’m breathless, on the edge.
“That’s the general idea,” he replies, a wicked grin on his face.
He licks me again, slipping his fingers inside me until I arch my back and call out, my body crashing into intense orgasm.
I lie quivering, catching my breath. He slides himself back up my body until his face is above mine and pulls me into a long, luxuriant kiss.
I slip my hands down his back, feeling his firm, muscular butt, the delicious weight of his body on mine. All I want is to have him, deep inside me.
“Do you have a…?” I ask.
“Don’t move.” He pushes himself off the bed and I miss him. I actually miss him.
He returns with a condom packet, which he hastily rips open. “Here.” He hands it to me, kneeling before me on the bed.
I roll it over him as my body clenches in anticipation of him pushing himself inside me, filling me.
I lie back on the bed, spreading my legs. He positions himself above me, looking into my eyes, his breathing coming short and sharp. Within moments he’s inside me, making me gasp. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him into me as far as he can go. Deeper, deeper, deeper.
Oh, god oh, god oh, god oh, god.
I grab his butt and rock my hips backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, slow and deliberate.
He lets out a deep, low groan.
Our rhythm speeds up, becoming more intense, frenetic as I dig my nails into his back, driving him into me, revelling in the feeling of him deep inside me. He groans again, clutches me and drives hard into me, quivering in my arms.
We lie panting, slick with sweat, thoroughly satiated, my limbs weak.
After a few moments, he rolls off me and pulls me onto his chest. “That was incredible,” he says, kissing my head.
“It was.” I kiss his chest, feeling his muscles with my fingertips, still quivering.
I’m pretty sure I couldn’t stand up right now if my life depended on it.
We lie together, skin on skin, recovering, until our breathing returns to normal.
He pulls me in for a soft and tender kiss. “Grace, there’s something about you I find hard to resist.”
Blushing, I return his kiss, desire washing through me once more. “There’s no need to resist me, you know.”
He rolls me onto my back, trails his hand slowly down my belly until he hits his target. “And I praise the good Lord for that.”
Chapter 15
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I wake up with Sam’s arm wrapped around me, his body spooned behind me. Groggily I turn to look at him. His hair is a mess, his face in morning stubble. His lips are parted, his breathing slow and steady.
I want to pinch myself. I had sex with Sam Montgomery.
My body tingles as I think of all the things we did together last night. Of how his body felt, his smell, his taste, of the things he did to me, bringing my body to heights of arousal I’ve never known before.
Being with him was everything I had fantasized about—and more.
His arm begins to feel heavy, draped across my body. Carefully, I lift it off, placing it back on the bed, and slide over to the side of the bed. I freeze as he groans and shifts in the bed. He doesn’t wake.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My skin prickles in the cool room, away from Sam. I lean down and pick Sam’s discarded shirt up off the floor, slip it on and pad across the soft and springy carpet to the bathroom. I glance back at Sam, still sound asleep.
I close the door and peer at my reflection in the mirror. My eye makeup is smudged, my hair in knots, and I have more than a hint of stubble rash around my mouth.
All in all, I look like I’ve had a good seeing to—which is, of course, precisely what happened last night.
I splash my face with water, swiping cottonwool under my eyes to remove the remnants of last night’s makeup.
Looking a lot less like less attractive Frankenstein’s twin sister, I regard my reflection once more.
Even though last night was more than amazing, how will things be between us in the cold light of day? Am I a fling, a bit of fun for him, to be forgotten when he moves onto the next willing partner?—someone who probably won’t be as difficult to get into bed as me?
Will he return to his regular life, leave me as a happy memory?
Or does he want more?
Do I want more?
I shake my head. What am I thinking? Of course I want more. Where Sam’s concerned, I want everything and the kitchen sink.
But how can we be anything but a fling, no matter how we feel? Sure, he said I was different, that he hasn’t been able to get me out of his mind.
Is that enough?
I close my eyes and let out a heavy breath. There have to be a gazillion reasons why he wouldn’t want to start up anything with me. The biggest one has to be he’s a famous actor. Women adore him, want to sleep with him. Hot, beautiful women, women any man would need superhuman strength to resist.
How could I ever compete with that?
Plus, he lives in another country. He’s only here for work before he goes back to his real life.
I let out a long sigh, my shoulders slumping. God, this is hard.
I leave the bathroom and slip back into bed with Sam. His hand slides over my tummy and he pulls me into him so we’re lying facing one another.
“Morning, beautiful,” he murmurs without opening his eyes. He moves a hand up my back. He opens his eyes. “What are you wearing?”
“Your shirt. I was cold when I went to the bathroom.”
He opens his eyes and lifts the covers off me, his eyes scanning my body. “Mmm, very sexy. Can I take it off you?”
I glance down and notice he’s already standing to attention. A shot of excitement sears through me.
I sit up and slowly unbutton the shirt, enjoying him watching me, his eyes darkening with lust.
So what if this is just a fling? He’s incredibly hot and sensational in bed. I need to make the most of this and forget my worries.
Tomorrow can wait: for now, it’s all about us.
* * *
I’m as nervous as a rabbit at a dog park when I reach Jessica’s home later in the morning. After taking some time to do ‘damage control’ as Jessica called it, she’s asked me to meet her at her house to discuss where we go from here.
I take a deep breath and knock on the glossy green door. A moment later a tall man with a kind face, brown hair and glasses answers it. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Ah, yes. I’m Grace Mortimer. I’m here to see Jessica.”
His face breaks into a welcoming grin. “Of course. I’m Ben, Jess’s husband. Come on in.” He ushers me through the door.
“Thanks.”
“You’ll find her down there in the dining room, surrounded by every type of fashion paraphernalia you could imagine.”
I laugh. It sounds false, even to my ears. I follow Ben down the passage, my heels clunking on the polished wooden floorboards.
“Here she is. My fashion mogul,” Ben comments as we walk through the door to the dining room.
“Hardly,” Jessica protests. They share a look, smiling at one another. “Grace. Good to see you.” She stands up and pecks me on the cheek.
“Hi,” I murmur, relieved she doesn’t look set to throttle me.
“Why don’t you sit here.” She clears a spot amidst the accessories and assorted clothes and I sit down.
“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Ben says, pulling his wife into a kiss. “See you tonight.” He places his hand on Jessica’s belly for a fraction of a second as they grin at one another.
“Bye, Grace. Nice to meet you,” he says to me.
“You too,” I reply.
He disappears out the door.
Jessica sits back down. “Right. Let’s get down to it.”
I take a deep breath, ready to deliver the speech I rehearsed in the car on the way here.
“Jessica, I have to say something.”
She looks up at me, expectant. “What is it?”
“Now that you’ve had time to think since the interview, I figure you probably want to let me go. And I want you to know I’m okay with that, and I totally understand. You’ve had time to think now and I’m sure it’s for the best. For you. And for Estil. Probably not for me, but I’m a big girl. So, yeah, I think that’s about it. To sum up, you can fire me, I will completely understand. And in fact, I think I might judge you a little if you don’t fire me. Not that I would judge you, of course. No way. You’re great.”
Verbal diarrhoea, anyone?
Jessica purses her lips. Here it comes. And I deserve it. I know I do. If I hadn’t kissed Sam under the tree at Cheryl’s party, none of this would have happened. I would have done the fashion segment on Wake Up New Zealand, got on my plane, and headed home. Job done—zero drama. “I’ll be honest with you, Grace. What happened on TV can’t happen again. No matter what state I’m in, I’ll be doing the television segments from now on.”
I nod, swallow hard.
“Not that it was your fault. Well, other than the fraternising with a client part, of course. But we’ve been over that.”
“Yes.” I look down, hope she doesn’t notice my blush as Sam and me ‘fraternising’ with one another in his bed only hours ago flashes into my mind.
“I’ve spoken with Cheryl Greenacre. She actually said sorry to me about the way she treated you and asked me to pass it on.”
I guffaw.
“I know it’s not much, but it’s something. Move on from it, Grace. That’s my advice. The damage is done and it can’t be un-done. Anyway,” she says, signalling the end of the topic, “you’ll be pleased to know the amount of publicity we’ve had from that show has been phenomenal.”
My eyes widen. “Phenomenal good or phenomenal bad?”
“Good. Great, in fact.” She grins.
“Really?” I squeak, relieved.
I’d expected Jessica to have made a designer voodoo doll of me by now, sticking pins into it at her leisure-not this.
She laughs. “Really. Grace, you put Estil on the map.”
Relief rushes through me. “Oh, my god. I was convinced you were going to fire me.”
“Fire you? I should be promoting you. Look at this.”
She swings her laptop around, showing me her calendar. “Appointment after appointment. And look here. I’m meeting with New Zealand Fashion magazine to discuss becoming their stylist with my own column and everything.” She beams at me.
I let out a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. “That’s such a relief!”
She laughs. “We have a lot of work to do. That is, if you still want to work for me?”
“Are you joking? I would love to.”
“Good, because I’m going to need you more and more. You see I’ve got some news…” she trails off, grinning from ear to ear.
“What is it?” My mind flashes to the way in which her husband touched her belly. “You’re pregnant?” I guess.
She nods, positively beaming. “I am.”
I leap out of my chair and give her a hug. “Oh, Jess, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. We’re thrilled. We hadn’t known it was going to happen this fast, to be honest. I’m still feeling unwell, mostly in the mornings. Now I know what it is now I’m not stressing about it.”
“So, no exotic Mongolian worm?”
She laughs. “No.”
“You know my sister’s baby is about due?”
“I heard that.” She pauses. “Send her my best.”
“I will.”
“So, let’s get down to it. I’m going to need you to pick up some slack now and then we need to work on a plan for down the track when I’ll doubtlessly be the size of a bus.”
“Surely just a minivan,” I jest.
“Ha! Yes, just a minivan.” She grins at me. “I can tell this is going to work out just fine.”
* * *
I decide to risk going back to my apartment to collect some supplies. Although I didn’t actually spend the night at my parents’ house I’m officially hiding out there until things settle down—and until story-hungry journalists stop hanging around my apartment building. Plus, being within one hundred feet of Tiffany right now is up there with having an anaesthetic-free root canal.
As I drive through the city my mind inevitably turns to Sam. We’ve had one night together—incredible as it was. But it was only one night. What happens now?
Falling into his arms was so easy this morning, making me forget any worries I have about him and me. Let’s face it: focussing on a hot, naked guy is always better than obsessing over things in front of a mirror in the cold light of day.
But now? Cue: obsessing.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get the fact that Sam is famous out of my mind. Of all the reasons for us not to have a relationship, this seems to be the biggest one. I’ve never dated a famous person before. They’ve all been ordinary people, like me. It feels like such a . . . problem.
I sigh, shake my head. I’m probably getting way too ahead of myself here. It’s been one night. That’s all. I need to just go with the flow, forget about what may or may not happen in the future.
If it’s a fling then it’s a fling, and I should simply enjoy it.
I clench the steering wheel, my heart heavy. I like him. A lot. I want so much more than a short fling with him. I haven’t felt this way about a man since . . . ever.
The realisation scares me half to death.
I park my car down the street and check the front entrance to my apartment block. There are two men standing out front, one of them smoking a cigarette, both with cameras slung around their necks. I don’t need to be Nancy Drew to see they’re journalists.
I slink quietly down the alleyway towards the back entrance. I glance around: it’s deserted. I punch in the lock code and slip through the door, my heart racing, ecstatic I’ve slipped in unnoticed. I marvel at how stupid those journalists are not to have had someone positioned at the back door. Isn’t that the very basics of surveillance?
I hear laughter as I arrive at my apartment door a couple of flights later. Immediately I know it’s Tiffany: I’d recognise that traitorous cackle anywhere. With my hand on the doorknob I take a deep breath, preparing to face her and whomever she has her claws into now.
I raise my chin and purse my lips as I walk through the doorway, letting the door bang shut behind me.
My mouth drops open as I take in the scene. Tiffany is lounging on our sofa, looking relaxed and happy. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkling as she laughs.
Sam is sitting opposite her, looking equally cheery. He turns to face me, as I stand, agog, at the front door.
“And here she is now.” He pushes himself up and strolls over towards me, smiling as though he hasn’t just been cavorting with the enemy.
I try to speak. Words fail me. My eyes dart between an approaching Sam, grin plastered across his handsome face, and Tiffany, still sitting on the sofa, looking like the cat’s pyjamas.
“It’s good to see you, Grace,” Sam whispers as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a kiss.
Sam’s here? In my apartment? Whatever happened to keeping us a secret?
I’m too shocked to respond, barely able to move. I give him an awkward pat on the back. “Hi, err, Sam. I… err… what are you doing here?”
He has a twinkle in his eye as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“You came to see me,” I repeat like a robot. I whisper through clenched teeth into his ear, “Aren’t we meant to be, you know, a secret?”
He chuckles. “It’s okay, Grace.”
Shocked, I reply, “It is?”
Tiffany yawns loudly. My eyes dart to her and I watch as she stands up and stretches like a cat. She runs her fingers through her hair, loosening it out. With her micro mini shorts and tight singlet top she looks like a soft porn actress.
I narrow my eyes at her. She shoots me a defiant look as she saunters towards us, pausing by the kitchen table. She picks up what looks like a brown, furry creature.
“You actually looked pretty good in this, you know, Sam.”
She picks up the creature and slips it onto her head. So, it’s a wig, not an animal.
She giggles. “How do I look?”
Sam smiles at her indulgently. “Not bad, actually.”
Tiffany adjusts the wig, tucking her hair inside it.
My eyes dart between Tiffany and Sam again. Did I step into some sort of alternative universe when I walked through the door? When exactly did Sam and Tiffany become all buddy-buddy, joking around with wigs? I watch as Sam adjusts it on Tiffany’s head. She grins at him, laughing.
Yes, this is definitely The Twilight Zone.
I need to sit down.
Sam lets go of my and picks up a cap and pair of sunglasses from the table. “This is how I got here unnoticed. The old wig and glasses routine.”
I look down at them in his hand, dumbfounded. My eyes whiz back to Tiffany. She’s still preening, wearing the wig.
“Sam’s a great guy, Grace. You’re a lucky girl.” She pulls the wig off and shakes out her hair, once more returning to the land of Amazonian goddesses.
“Thanks, Tiff.” Sam grins at her, taking the wig.
“Shall we go?” Sam asks me. He squeezes my shoulder, bringing me back to earth. “We have that thing, remember?”
Falling for Grace Page 14