Kick It Up

by Carol Ericson

  In two steps Simon rounded the kitchen counter and pulled her into his arms. They crushed the lilies between them, and their sweet fragrance matched the sweetness of Simon’s lips as they possessed her own.

  ***

  Simon ran his hand down Jessica’s smooth back, bared by her flirty cocktail dress. To hell with talking. The flower petals trembled with each beat of her heart. If she’d been disappointed by his suggestion to stay in and talk instead of hitting the club scene, that disappointment just melted like chocolate in a pocket...and tasted twice as sweet.

  When he finished feasting on her mouth, he landed a kiss on the tip of her nose and snatched the flowers from her hands and stepped back. She parted her moist lips as if in protest, reaching out for him with her arms.

  “Let’s continue this in more comfort.” He plucked the petals from the expensive bouquet and dropped them on the floor, backing up toward her cozy living room. He ended at the edge of her sofa, a blazing trail of red, pink, and orange petals strewn between them.

  She slid her high heels off and followed the path he’d laid for her, her bare feet scattering the lilies as she came to him. He restrained an impulse to grab her and ravish her on the spot. Instead he flicked the skinny straps off her shoulders and landed a series of kisses along her collarbone. She sighed. He imprinted his lips in the hollow of her throat, and she murmured something incoherent but totally understandable.

  He reached around and slid her zipper down, which stuck on a wisp of material. So much for his image as a smooth operator. He yanked at the zipper, and she murmured, “Leave it.”

  Tucking his hands beneath her bum, he urged her forward so she could feel how much he wanted her. The silky material of her knickers caught on his rough palms, and he rotated his hands in circles. That had an unexpected effect as she jumped and wriggled in closer, pressing against his erection.

  “Oh God, Simon, I’ve wanted you for so long.” He knew that. He just couldn’t figure out why she’d held him at arm’s length for two excruciating, blue-balling weeks.

  Now he had another burning question. What had triggered this opening of the floodgates?

  She hooked her leg around his to nestle in closer to the bulge in his jeans, and any other questions that might have come to mind just dissolved in the molten lava running through his veins.

  He peeled the top half of her dress down to her waist.

  Her breasts, unencumbered by a bra, tumbled into his waiting hands. He dipped his head to one rosy nipple and circled the very tip of his tongue around it, tasting sweet, milky lotion.

  “Oh, that’s, that’s...” She arched her back, her words cut off by a husky moan.

  He tugged the dress with the uncooperative zipper over her hips, and she gave a little shiver in her red knickers. Not as mindful of his zipper as her own, she clawed at his fly and yanked it open. His black, cotton briefs felt three sizes too small as Jessica ran her hands over his cock.

  He toed off his shoes and kicked at his jeans now entangled around his knees. In another one of those smooth operator moves, he fell backward onto the sofa, but he hooked an arm around Jessica’s waist to take her with him.

  Giggling, she plopped into his lap, her soft breasts crushing against his chest. He aimed a kiss at her smiling lips but landed one against her eyelid instead as she bent her head to watch the progress of her fingers tripping along the edge of his briefs. When she scooped him out, caressing him in her palms, he slammed his head against the sofa cushion feeling ready for take-off.

  She toyed with him until he grabbed her wrists to put an end to the exquisite torture. Then he shifted her body so that she straddled him, her silky thighs wedging against his.

  He leaned forward and slipped his wallet out of his jeans. He held up the condom between two fingers.

  “Eureka.”

  “You keep those handy for all the hotties hanging onto you in the clubs?” Her legs tightened against his, and her kissable mouth formed a thin line.

  “I would.” He ripped the foil with his teeth. “But those hotties keep mysteriously disappearing or winding up too pissed to stand up straight or getting soaked with sprinklers.”

  She clapped her hands over her mouth, her green eyes sparkling like bits of glass on the pavement. “You know about that?”

  “I’m a little slow, but I finally caught on.” Instead of being mad at her for sabotaging his sex life, he grinned and waved the condom under her nose. “Care to do the honors?”

  She did the honors, and then he did the honors.

  As she felt the heavy press of his weight on her body, it blocked everything else out of her mind—her anger at her father and Evan, her desire for revenge, even her guilt over using Simon as a pawn in her schemes. Almost.

  He drove into her while tickling her shoulder with his warm lips—the savage and the sweet. Her fingers traced down his strong back, and she dug her nails into his muscled buttocks, urging him deeper, harder. She deserved the savage for her deception, but he held back.

  His lips moved from her shoulder to her breast where he teased her nipple with his tongue. She bounced up against him as she felt a tingling in her toes. The tingling meandered up her legs and turned into trembles.

  He kissed her mouth and whispered, “I want to make sure you come back for more this time.” Even if he hadn’t invaded her mouth with his tongue, she wouldn’t be able to respond. The sheer longing in his voice took her breath away. He wanted her, Jessica Jones, not Jessica Brett. And, oh, she wanted him right back.

  A current of pleasure zapped through her body, and she wrapped herself around Simon to share the moment with him. Her moment set off his moment, and he gasped as his body bucked over hers.

  The violence of his reaction sent them tumbling off the sofa and onto the floor where she landed on top. He plucked a pink lily petal from her hair and traced her jaw with its tip.

  She’d come back for more, all right. Again and again.

  “What did you want to talk about, Simon?” She kissed a trickle of sweat running between the slabs of muscle on his chest.

  He trailed the flower petal up her thigh and along the cleft of her bottom. “I forgot.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Gemma’s gaze tracked back and forth across the smoke-filled room, searching for one familiar face among the tattooed, multi-pierced crowd. She took a taxi to the club Jessica had mentioned earlier today and even used Jessica’s name to get in. That’s where her plan came to a screeching halt.

  A man with a pierced eyebrow and a row of silver rings along his ear jostled her, spilling beer on her jeans.

  He said, “Sorry,” only it came out “thorry” because of the metal stud drilled into his tongue.

  She lifted a shoulder and flashed him one of her dimpled smiles, but he never got the full effect because he’d already turned away. She frowned, dousing the dimples. Maybe if she got a tattoo, she’d fit in a little better here.S omeone tapped her shoulder, and she spun around.

  A curvy blonde in a tight black dress with motorcycle boots smiled and held out a drink. “Aren’t you Simon Bosford’s sister, Gemma?”

  Gemma nodded. Her brother’s influence reached into broader circles than she imagined. She took the sweating, salt-rimmed glass from the woman and sniffed the contents.

  The tangy citrus smell tickled her nose.

  “I’m Megan.” The woman extended her hand, a business card pinched between two long acrylic fingernails.

  “I’m a friend of Jessica’s. We work together for Simon’s agent, although I haven’t met your brother yet.”

  “Nice to meet you, Megan.” Gemma glanced at the card embossed with the gold letters CSM, and her shoulders relaxed. She sipped the sweet-tart drink through the salt. “Any friend of Jessica’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Is Jessica here?” Megan narrowed her eyes and swiveled her head around the club.

  “No.”

  “Is Simon here?”

  “N-no. They had some business
to discuss tonight, so I went out on my own. I do it all the time at home.” Actually, she’d never gone out by herself before, and she heartily welcomed Megan’s friendly face. Walking into a club solo was harder than she’d expected, especially a club like this.

  “So do I.” Megan clutched her arm and squeezed. “Are you here to see Excrement?”

  “Excrement?” Gemma wrinkled her nose. Had she missed some hot new club activity?

  “They just signed a record deal.” Megan gestured around the room with her glass and knocked it against someone’s shoulder. She licked the liquid that sloshed onto her fingers. “That’s why it’s so crowded. I have a couple of backstage passes if you want to join me. I sort of got them through Jessica. Excrement’s lead singer, FredX, is a friend of Jimmy Doe’s from Lot 49, and, well, you know Jessica was married to Jimmy, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah, I knew that.” Gemma shrugged as if Jessica’s marriage to a rock star was ho-hum. Megan’s association with Jessica was making Gemma feel more comfortable by the minute.

  “Do you want to go backstage with me?”

  “Sure, right now?”

  “No, when the band’s between sets. They’re coming on at eleven, so we can head back there around midnight.”

  “That sounds brilliant.” Gemma worried her salty bottom lip. She’d feigned a headache earlier, so hopefully Simon wouldn’t bother to check on her when he got home.

  “Do you want another margarita?”

  Gemma glanced at her half-full glass. She didn’t drink much when she went out with Simon and Jessica because they didn’t drink much. Simon put on a good show, but his outrageous behavior didn’t come from alcohol—not any more. When she attempted to order a third daiquiri one night, Simon shoved it back toward the bartender and ordered her a club soda instead.

  “You don’t need that, Gem,” he’d said, “Too much booze will land you in trouble.” Yeah, he should know, but why couldn’t he let her find out for herself? He’d become way too bossy since moving to the States. His nickname was supposed to apply to the football pitch, not her social life.

  She tossed back the rest of the drink and handed the glass to Megan. “Thanks, I’ll have another.” Megan squeezed through the crowd back to the bar, pulling Gemma along with her through the sweaty bodies reeking of musky perfumes and cigarettes. Megan ordered two more margaritas.

  “Let me get these.” Gemma fumbled with her bag to pull out some bills.

  “No.” Megan held her hand out and tossed some money on the bar. “My treat for Jessica’s friend and Simon’s sister. Let’s head toward the stage. The band’s coming on in ten minutes.”

  When the band members swaggered onto the stage, Gemma’s jaw dropped. They looked...bad. Bad in a good way. Just the kind of blokes Dad would hate. He’d always encouraged her to date students, clean-cut boys with futures and university degrees in hand, not microphones.

  The first howl from the lead singer electrified her, and she thrashed her head in time to the dissonant beat.

  The singer worked himself into a frenzy and threw himself off the stage. Gemma joined the crowd to catch him. As the sweat on his bare chest skimmed across her upheld palms, she let out a whoop fueled by a rebellious spirit, too much tequila, and her new-found friend.

  ***

  “Late night, Boss?” Isaac saluted Simon as he crossed the lobby with a jaunty step.

  “Yeah, late night.” He never kissed and told...unless he, and the woman in question, wanted the publicity.

  “You don’t look any worse for wear.” Isaac crossed his arms over his chest and kicked his feet up on the desk, a big grin lighting up his face.

  He didn’t feel any worse for wear. Spending the entire night with Jessica had energized him. When they’d finished making love on the floor among the flower petals, they roused themselves to go out and pick up dinner at the Indian place. After eating, they continued their explorations, this time with lips and mouths hot with spicy curry. Made for some interesting sensations.

  “I feel great.”

  “You better. Don’t your practices start next week?” Isaac’s words punched him in the gut. Being with Jessica had catapulted him into Neverland. A place where he forgot his shortcomings and anxieties. A place where Jessica’s parentage and her secrecy about it didn’t matter.

  “Yeah, they do, and I’m more than ready. What better way to prepare than with wine, women, and song?” He grinned so hard, his cheeks hurt, but Isaac answered him with a frown. When did Isaac become so judgmental?

  Simon made it to the elevator and slumped against the wall. Christ, he had to figure out what Brett and Casellas really wanted from him. If they expected a committed athlete in top form, why had Jessica, the boss’s own daughter, encouraged his high profile and nightly skirmishes with the paparazzi? If Brett and Evan had planted her as a spy, what was her mission? If it was to keep him out of trouble, as she’d claimed at first, she’d failed miserably.

  He snapped his fingers as the elevator doors opened on his hallway. Maybe they’d ordered her to keep him under wraps but she’d fallen so much under his spell, she couldn’t help but follow his lead even it meant pissing off her father and losing her job. That scenario tasted so much better on his tongue than the little, bitter pill of Jessica as a spy for the enemy camp.

  He slid his key in the lock and pushed open the door.

  He followed clinks and clanks to the kitchen, hoping Milla was here early to make some breakfast. Instead of finding his short, dark housekeeper, he found his short, blonde sister. His stomach rumbled in protest.

  He tossed his keys on the countertop, and Gemma jumped about two feet. She jerked her head around. “You scared me.”

  “God, you look bad.” He held his hands in front of his face to blot out his sister’s ratty hair, greenish complexion, and dark circles under her eyes. “Don’t breathe on me.

  Practices start next week.”

  With trembling hands, she poured half a bottle of limegreen sports drink in a glass, spilling half of it in the sink.

  “Why are you drinking that at this time of the morning?”

  “As you’ve already kindly pointed out, I’m sick. I just threw up, and I’m in danger of doing it again.”

  “Well, make sure you get to the bathroom because Milla will blow a fuse if you barf in here.”

  “Thanks for your concern.” Gemma groaned and tossed the empty plastic bottle in the sink. She scrambled across the kitchen floor and called over her shoulder before hitting the stairs. “Evan Chase called you. He’s back in town.”

  Simon almost followed Gemma upstairs, but he didn’t have any breakfast in his stomach to lose. Despite getting answers he might not want to hear, he looked forward to clearing up any misunderstandings about what his agent and the Waves expected of him.

  Two hours later, fed, showered, and shaved, Simon pulled his Ferrari up next to a Hummer in the slots reserved for CSM. The elevator sped up twenty floors to CSM’s offices overlooking Century City.

  His Bruno Maglis felt right at home as they sunk into the plush, peacock blue carpet in the reception area. A glass wall shimmered behind the perky receptionist as she looked up from her computer screen.

  “Evan is expecting you, Mr. Bosford. I’ll give him a buzz so he can come up and lead you back to his office.” She waved at the glass bricks behind her. “It’s kind of a maze of desks back there.”

  “Thanks, luv.”

  She dimpled at him and punched a button on the phone. “Evan, Simon Bosford is here for your eleven o’clock.”

  “He’ll be right up.” She smiled at him before returning to her computer.

  Seconds later, Evan strode around the glass wall, hand already extended. “Boss, how the hell are you? Welcome to L.A. and sorry I wasn’t here to ease the transition.” Simon passed a critical eye over Evan’s Hugo Boss suit, fitted neatly across his broad shoulders. He had a stylishly shaved head, gleaming liked buffed leather, and a diamond stud in his left ear that scr
eamed mid-life crisis.

  “No problem. Jessica took good care of me.” Evan’s brows shot up to the edge of his bald pate, but he kept his mouth shut on the subject. Keeping his hold on Simon’s arm, he pulled him into the offices of CSM.

  Evan must be doing something right. The room buzzed with activity. Employees with phones pinned between their ears and shoulders, tapped on keyboards. Clusters of people gathered in conference rooms with glass walls. A woman dashed across the bull pen area, waving a sheaf of papers in the air.

  A few heads swiveled around as Evan led Simon on a zigzag path through the chaos. A sexy blonde in the corner caught his eye and moistened her lips. He recognized the look and the predatory glint in her overly-made-up eyes. He flashed a grin before Evan propelled him into a large, private office—no glass walls here. The dark, rich smell of cigars hung in the room, doing battle with Evan’s cologne.

  Autographed photos of athletes adorned the walls, and a wet bar beckoned from the corner.

  “You have quite an operation, Evan.”

  “We try.” A smile curled his lip, and he folded his hands on top of his mahogany desk.

  “So why didn’t you tell me Roger Brett was the silent partner in the Waves?”

  Some indefinable emotion flickered in Evan’s dark eyes. He must be one kick-ass negotiator with those flat, opaque orbs.

  “Roger told me you guessed after he made an appearance at the fund raiser the other night.” Evan spread his large, spatulate hands on his desktop.

  “Everyone guessed, and I wasn’t the first. I didn’t even recognize the name until the other players told me his identity.”

  “That’s why I didn’t bother to tell you. Wouldn’t have made a difference, would it? I told you the silent partner had deep pockets. That’s all you needed to know. Besides, until the fund raiser, Roger chose to keep his ownership of the Waves a private matter.”