The Talented Mr. Maxwell

by Julia Harlow

  “Maybe it’s the same one you cast on me.” She took a sip of Asti, savoring the light, bubbly explosion on her taste buds, so unlike the syrupy, sweet Limoncello she’d had earlier with Luke. Dorrie could feel Grant staring at her, his brilliant blue eyes following every move she made, and she had to do something before they started tearing each other’s clothes off.

  So she stood up and slid the laptop out of her tote. Sitting down in an armchair across from Grant, she propped the tips of her sandals on the coffee table and settled the laptop on her thighs. “Okay, let’s start with ‘Early Life.’”

  The sour expression on his face caused her to laugh out loud. “Something wrong, Grant?”

  He blinked several times and took a sip of his wine, sinking back against the cushions. “I had something else in mind.”

  “You always seem to have something else in mind. But there’s a deadline looming, and we haven’t even started. I need to have something to report to Arianna when she checks up on me tomorrow.”

  His full lips formed into an irresistible pout. “Fine.”

  “Maybe I should start with this: ‘Grant Maxwell has a habit of pouting when things don’t go his way.’”

  “I do not.”

  “You most certainly do.” She couldn’t help but giggle.

  “If you insist on doing this now, then let’s get it over with.”

  “Oh, that’s a great attitude, Grant. Listen, if we get a good start in the next couple of hours, then maybe we’ll do something else.”

  “Couple of hours? I’m hungry now.”

  “It’s not even five thirty. Can’t you wait a bit?” She wiggled her toes and watched as he rolled his eyes and then slouched down on the love seat.

  “Can’t we order up some sandwiches or something?”

  “Why are you trying so hard to avoid this?”

  “My life is so boring.”

  “To you, maybe, but not to all your fans the world over. And not to me. If we just get started, then we’ll order up something. I promise to make this as painless for you as possible. Okay, tell me about where you were born and where you grew up.”

  He muttered something under his breath that Dorrie couldn’t quite make out, but it sounded a lot like “bloody hell.” Then he propped an ankle on his knee and sighed, shaking his head.

  “I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, but only lived there for a year before my dad was transferred to England. I grew up in a working-class neighborhood northeast of London with my parents and brother. I was always big for my age and had the body type to be muscular, so I played sports in school. But I never felt like I fit in. I was a loner.” Dorrie’s fingers were going as fast as she could make them move over the keyboard. It was as if the floodgates had opened up.

  “I always felt awkward around girls, so I didn’t interact with them or have girlfriends until I was much older. I hated the way I looked. Still do. I hate my nose, my lips, and my hair. I don’t have much self-confidence.”

  He unfolded his tall frame from the love seat and wandered to the mini bar, taking out two jars, one of roasted almonds and the other of stuffed olives. He strode to the window and gazed out.

  “My grades weren’t good enough for the career I’d hoped for. I wanted to be a doctor, but had to settle for marketing.”

  Dorrie interrupted him. “That’s hard to believe. You seem very intelligent to me.”

  “Not as far as the schools I attended were concerned. So I studied marketing but got nothing out of it. Everything I’ve learned about business I’ve learned since I graduated.” She heard the thunk of the pressurized lid on the almonds opening and watched as he popped one in his mouth. She stopped typing to watch him, all long legs and tanned forearms sprinkled with dark hair. He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and it took all her considerable willpower to continue.

  “Go on.”

  He opened the olives and offered her one. She shook her head, determined to forge ahead.

  “Well, one of my roommates at university entered me into a modeling contest. I had no idea he’d done it. But he’d taken some photos of me and sent them in along with the entry form. I got the call and, honestly, had no one to go with me. My roommate was far too shy and refused to go. So I went alone, and somehow I won.

  “But it wasn’t at all the straight-up trajectory you might think. I was big and tall with bulging muscles. The look at the time for male models was anything but. Skinny, waifish, ‘heroin chic’ models were all the rage. I can remember going out on a call and hearing the fabric of the jacket rip when I tried to put it on. Pretty terrible.

  “All I could get at the time was catalogue work. It paid a decent amount, but it wasn’t what I wanted. No challenge, no creativity at all. So I did that for a while and then one day just told my agent I was done. We had a big row about it. But, as you’ve noticed, I’m pretty stubborn. I even walked out on a lucrative contract once because they wanted to cut my hair in a style I didn’t like.” He shook his head, ate another olive, and then tilted more almonds into his mouth before sitting down on the arm of her chair.

  “I’m still hungry, Dorrie, starving, in fact.” His voice sounded husky. Two fingers trailed down her bare arm and covered her fingers, stopping her progress on the keyboard. He lifted the laptop and set it on the coffee table before returning to Dorrie, picking her up and carrying her to the bed. His teeth scraped her earlobe as he whispered in her ear, “I’ve thought about this moment all day, getting you naked and sinking into you.” His words and warm breath in her ear caused her to shiver.

  She spoke breathlessly. “I can’t believe you’d want me after having those stunning models draping their slim bodies all over you.”

  “Would you like cozying up to an ironing board? Instead of all your soft roundness? Fuck, no. And I want substance on the inside as well as on the outside of a woman. You, my lovely Dorrie, have both.” He took her mouth in a searing kiss that whisked all away her awareness except for his mouth on her. He sucked her full bottom lip and traveled kisses down the column of her neck as his hands found the hem of her blouse and deftly lifted it over her head. Pulling back, his eyes lingered on her breasts, her peaked nipples visible through the thin lace of her bra. He lowered his head and licked the silky swell of her breasts as his fingers worked to undo the clasp around her back.

  For her part, Dorrie was too enthralled with the myriad sensations of his mouth, breath, and fingers on her to do anything more than stand still. But she wanted to touch him. Everywhere. So she got on her tiptoes and licked his throat, tasting his salty essence. She flicked her tongue over the little dip at the center, taking time to swirl it around. Grant had stopped breathing and was holding stock-still. Continuing to lick the base of his throat, she pulled out his T-shirt and reached to feel the smooth skin on his back, fingering the outline of his muscles. She loved the effect she had on him and unsnapped his jeans with one hand while the other moved up his back. He shuddered. She slipped her fingers inside his jeans and grasped his huge hard erection. He jerked beneath her fingers.

  Grant came out of his sensual trance with a pulsing urgency and quickly undid the button on her khakis, peeling them down her legs and holding her steady as she stepped out of them. She stood in only her lacy panties, and his eyes flickered over her lower body then back up again.

  “God, you’re the most luscious woman I’ve ever seen.” She lowered herself down as she slid off his jeans. He stepped out of them and then kicked them away. Standing back an inch or two, he drew in a deep breath and ghosted his hands over her shoulders. She knew he was trying to slow down the pace for her. This was too deliciously erotic to be rushed.

  His hands slid over her shoulders and across to cup her breasts gently. He smiled when she sucked in a sharp breath; he obviously remembered how sensitive her breasts were. With a feather light touch, he teased her nipples, rubbing around and around the hard buds. She felt the wetness in her panties and threw her head back as he continued the slow ministrat
ions to her nipples. The sound of her throaty moan echoed in the room.

  Dorrie wanted him naked, so she slid her fingers inside his briefs and worked them down and off. The sight of him naked was more than she could stand. She wanted to touch and lick every part of him. All at once. Her body molded to his, feeling his hard thighs and thick erection press into her. Her breasts rubbed against the tickly hair on his chest. Her fingers laced around his neck and pulled his head down so she could tease his mouth with little kisses at the corners, licking his bottom lip and sucking on his tongue.

  “Christ, Dorrie. I want you so badly.” With that, he scooped her up, laid her on the bed, stripped off her panties, and spread her legs open. He gazed down at her ready and waiting for him, her chest moving up and down with quick little pants. His azure eyes were now dark with desire as he ripped open the foil on the condom package.

  He placed his hands on her thighs to hold her open, and with one pivot of his hips, he sunk into all her hot, wet tightness. And groaned with sheer pleasure. Then suddenly stopped.

  “Why’d you stop?” Her question was almost a moan.

  “Give me a sec. You feel so fucking good I’m about to . . . uh . . . come right . . . now. Too soon.” He gasped and sank down on her and started moving slowly, her hips matching his pace and moving up to meet him. With one quick move, he rotated them so that she was on top, never breaking contact.

  Dorrie loved to be on top. Loved to control the friction and the tempo. So she sat up a bit, pulled her long hair over one shoulder, and grinned down at him. “Now you’re talking. You just be a good boy and lie still. I’ll do all the work.”

  Her hands slowly spread over the tight muscles on his abdomen, her fingers tracing the ridges. But then his hands cupped her breasts, and her head went back at the delicious feel of him kneading her breasts and squeezing her nipples. She started moving up and down on his length as he continued to play with her nipples, one hand sliding up her back to urge her closer so he could suckle them. Her body moved faster on him, unable to slow down, feeling so tightly wound and desperately in need of release.

  His hands moved to her bottom, grasping the full, round cheeks as he thrust up inside her. So much for him lying there and letting her do all the work, Dorrie registered in the haze of heated need. She sank down on his chest, kissing his neck and breathing in that wonderful Grant scent. She wanted all of him. Now. She worked the base of his cock against her clit, harder and harder and sensed how close he was, his cock feeling thicker and hotter. Inside her. His chest was slippery with sweat against hers, and she felt the vibration of the moan deep in his chest as he started to come, his fingers digging into her behind, thrusting up into her with quick jerks of his hips. She let go and came, her body pulsing, the spasms reverberating through her body on and on as Grant clutched her against him, trying to get his breath back as if he’d run a marathon, and soothed her at the same time by caressing her and murmuring sweet words in her ear. Their hearts pounded in their chests.

  Neither of them wanted to move. Ever. Except it was now dark out and they were both starving.

  After Grant finagled with the kitchen about which dishes they could do well for room service, they took a shower, tenderly washing each other in the large Italian-glazed shower. Grant coaxed her head back and lathered her long waves, massaging her scalp and inhaling the citrus-scented shampoo. She did the same for him after he lowered himself onto the built-in tiled bench.

  When they both were wrapped in terry cloth robes, they heard a soft rap on the door. Dorrie reached for his arm before he could answer and shook her head, whispering, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  He frowned down at her. “They already know I’m here. I’m the one who called room service.”

  “Let’s at least try to be discreet. You wait in the bathroom.”

  “I’m not waiting in the fucking bathroom!”

  “Please, Grant. Just do this for me.”

  He grudgingly acquiesced, muttering, “This is bloody ridiculous.”

  They dined at a round table on the balcony overlooking the Gulf of Salerno. The table was elegantly set with a pink tablecloth, white candles, and a mix of fresh pastel flowers. Dorrie thought she was in heaven as she tasted the array of delicious dishes: fresh tomatoes with mozzarella, zuppa di pesce, lemon risotto with prawns, and linguini alla vongole. In between bites, she coaxed Grant to talk more about his younger years. She could tell he knew exactly what she was doing, but he indulged her, pouring himself another glass of Pellegrino, and chatting easily about how he had always loved dogs but his parents would never let him have one.

  Sometime after their late supper, Grant announced that he was going to work out in the hotel gym.

  “Now? It’s after ten.” Dorrie couldn’t hide her surprise, looking forward to cuddling with him in bed and much, much more.

  “I fit in a workout whenever I can and haven’t worked out today. It won’t take long. Why don’t you meet me in my suite at, say, midnight.”

  “Why don’t you come back here when you’re finished?”

  “I’ll need a change of clothes and have to be ready to work early in the morning. So, my room?”

  “Oh, all right.” He pulled her up from the chair she was lounging in and gave her a long, heated kiss.

  “I can’t wait.” He re-dressed in his jeans and T-shirt and left after kissing the tip of her nose.

  Dorrie used the time to catch up on her texts and emails and planned to work on Grant’s biography, now that she had some actual material to work with.

  First, she emailed her grandmother about Amalfi, the amazing hotel and countryside, and sent along a few of the photos she’d snapped with her phone. Then she opened an email from Arianna and wondered what the PDF attachment could be.

  Dorrie:

  A report of an alarming nature has come to our attention. Mr. Everhard and I have learned from a confidential source that you are engaging in a most inappropriate relationship with Mr. Maxwell. I have attached a copy of the Omni Publishing Moral Code of Conduct.

  Regardless of Mr. Maxwell’s wishes, if you do not immediately desist in this activity, you will be terminated from Omni Publishing.

  Please carefully re-read the policy, sign, and return it to me.

  Arianna DuPres

  Senior Director of Publishing

  Omni Publishing Corporation

  New York City, NY

  Dorrie slumped into the nearest chair. What could she possibly be talking about? What confidential source? She’d been as discreet as possible. Who had seen them and who would have contacted Omni? She racked her brain, her stomach churning, and her forehead beaded with perspiration. Surely not someone from the hotel. Why would they care? No, it had to be someone who knew both her and Grant.

  Only one person came to mind: Luke Parker. Had he followed her into the hotel and watched as she and Grant entered the elevator together? He could have used that to contact Omni with nothing else to go on than the fact that she and Grant had gotten into an elevator. But he might have taken another elevator up to her floor and spied on them as they argued in the corridor and kissed outside her room. Remembering what Grant had said about Luke detesting him and the fact that she might have bruised Luke’s ego a bit earlier today, she decided it must be him. Luke would probably relish causing trouble for her and Grant by tattling on her to Omni.

  She headed out onto the balcony and stared at the bright stars dotting the indigo sky and breathed in the sea air she so loved. What was she going to do?

  Her feelings for Grant had deepened to a frightening level, offset only slightly by the lure of financial independence in a career she loved. Grant Maxwell’s biography was her ticket to a future for her and Blanche. She could finally pay her grandmother back and give her the peace of mind she so deserved. They would be secure. That Blanche spent sleepless nights worrying about Dorrie and what would happen when Blanche was too old to work was no secret to Dorrie.

  So she went
back inside, sat down at the desk, signed the morals policy, and returned it to Arianna.

  Chapter 8

  The entire time Grant lifted weights and gutted through rounds of sit-ups and push-ups, he thought of nothing but Dorrie. Every few minutes or so, memories of her sweet, voluptuous body caused his cock to stiffen, so he worked out harder and looked forward to midnight when they could be together for the whole night.

  Grant’s few previous relationships had been with an actress, a singer, and a model. Although each one started out promisingly enough, he realized before long that these liaisons were largely built on the physical relationships. The three women were beautiful, no doubt about it, but they were also self-centered, demanding, and he found he either couldn’t meet their needs or didn’t want to, not that he blamed them. He knew full well that he was not much of a boyfriend. He was focused on his career and would rather have spent time on assignments than with any of them.

  But Dorrie was different—the complete opposite—unaffected, natural, challenging, and so much fun to be with. He could even imagine a future with Dorrie, something he’d never done before.

  So it was with happy anticipation that he showered and dressed for her arrival at midnight. The depth of his feelings for her might have concerned him, but he was becoming more and more certain that Dorrie was “the one.”

  His cell rang at twelve fifteen.

  “Where are you, sweet thing?”

  “We have a problem, Grant.” Her voice had a nervous edge to it.

  “Whatever it is, we can fix it. Come up to my room and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I can’t. Someone’s been spying on us and notified Mr. Everhard and Arianna DuPres at Omni about our . . . our liaison this afternoon. It could have been Luke Parker. I probably bruised his ego earlier today, and he definitely doesn’t have warm feelings toward you. He must have been lurking in the shadows somewhere and saw us outside my room. He knows I’m writing your biography.”