He handed her a pen. With their gazes unflinching, he clicked the button at the end of the pen and the inky point poked out, ready. Ready to make this contract official, put all its stipulations in play.
She took the pen from his hand, and their fingers touched. Electricity charged through her veins. One sweep of her hand on the bottom line would lock her into this episode of a TV show, give Rosie’s Bridals a better chance, a future for her store, her legacy. But, too, it would seal her into not touching this man on the sofa next to her, the man whose thigh was just inches from hers, whose eyes were on her. She eyed the pen, slipped her thumb up to the button, and felt the springy pressure of it on her skin. Heart racing, lungs immobile, she did what she had to do. She retracted the point and put the pen down on the coffee table.
“Not yet.”
“I’m sorry?” His eyes held hers.
“I’m not ready for this contract to be signed.”
Understanding showed bright in his eyes. His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. His chest lifted and fell in a deep breath. His Adam’s apple dipped, rose. “Neither am I,” he said.
One tiny little move and Darius drew her into his arms. They were strong arms, and they held her tight. She felt delicate, feminine. His eyes asked if she was sure, and she responded the only way she knew how. She claimed his mouth in a bold kiss, enjoyed every millisecond of the zoom it sent through her system. She opened her mouth, welcomed him, and pressed closer.
A low groan sounded from deep within his throat, and their kiss intensified. He pulled her with him as he reclined onto the sofa, and before she knew it, she was on top of him, her chest crushed to his chest, her hips calling to his. There was no contract, no show to worry about, no inherited store to think about. There was just this. This man, this pirate who was proof positive she was not nuts and there was chemistry between two people that was purely organic. Later, she’d worry about what would happen beyond this moment. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t think. She would only feel.
Darius squeezed a hand between their pressed bodies and fumbled with the button to her jeans. She broke their kiss, and in the lamplight of his living room, she pinned his gaze. Were they doing this? Yeah. Yup. Yessiree.
Rylee pushed herself up, her legs straddling him. His hands nimbly undid the metal button of her Levi’s and drew the zipper pull down slowly as the teeth opened, welcomed, revealed the patch of fabric of her panties. Blue with white polka dots and an appliqué of a slice of watermelon. When she’d purchased the packet of five panties at the discount department store, little had she known they’d be seen and even fondled by the most appealing man she’d ever laid eyes on.
Darius ran the pad of his thumb over the appliqué of the watermelon slice at her hip. His thumb moved back and forth and then trailed downward. His thumb pad circled round and round, massaging the fabric. She thumped low inside, and her hips responded to the movement by a slow roll, round and round like a dance. She arched her back, tilted her pelvis forward, and continued the slow roll of her hips. Finally, Darius moaned again and sat up, gripped her hips with his mighty hands, and peeled her garments away.
In a flurry of greedy hands, their clothes were off and covering the cushiony carpet in a haphazard pile. With mouths locked, breaths rapid, their kiss was hungry, raw, and relentless. His hands travelled over her eager skin, pausing to massage, knead, caress. She kissed his neck, bit into the flesh of his shoulder. She breathed him in, burrowed into the patch of hair of his chest.
With unrelenting need, Rylee allowed herself to take and be taken. He slipped inside her, the fit complete, satisfying, perfect. Her hands gripped the taut mound of his bottom, and she wrapped her legs around him as they moved together, slow and then fast, deliciously maddening. As he bucked in release, her fingernails dug into his flesh as her own dizzying pulsations overtook her. She wouldn’t allow any thoughts to crack into the liquid bliss of this moment. No. Tonight was for this, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rylee stood in front of the mirror in Darius’s sleek black-and-white-tiled bathroom. Her hair was a crazy whirl that stuck out from her face, and she looked a bit clownish with her mascara coloring the skin under her eyes with black half moons. Her eyes, though, were what compelled her, and she could not look away. What did you do? The eyes taunted her. What the hell did you do now, Einstein?
Fully-dressed and her face washed, she opened the door to the bathroom and slowly walked down the hallway to the living room. Darius was there in his jeans, no socks or shoes, his shirt unbuttoned. He had placed two new cups of coffee on the table and a bag of Oreos. He lifted the package when she came into the room and gave it a little wag.
“Hungry?” His grin was shameless.
“Uh, it’s getting kind of late.”
He dropped the bag onto the coffee table and pointed to the steaming cups of coffee. “Come here, Rylee. Have some coffee.”
Inside her head the taunts continued. Now what are you going to do, smart aleck? How was she supposed to be around this specimen of manhood and not think about what they just did? She swallowed hard and stepped closer to him, careful not to touch, and accepted the coffee cup he extended her way. “Thank you,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes.
He sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Have a seat.”
She didn’t move.
“Come on. Sit.”
She was reminded again of the poodle she’d managed to lose in the woods. That damn dog didn’t listen for shit, and that sucked. So, like a good poodle and against her better judgment, she sat next to Darius. Yet she continued to avoid his gaze.
“Rylee.” The way he said her name was as if he were the parent and she were the toddler who had just written on the dining room wall with her crayons, a practice she’d enjoyed back then but had outgrown years ago. “Are you regretting this?”
“Are you?”
He blew out a lungful of air. A hand raked through his jet-black hair, which she knew now was softer than it looked. His dark gaze implored her.
Inside she zoomed as she’d never zoomed before. Her insides took the ride, up, down, and again, an elevator on crack.
“What I regret, dear girl, is that we can’t do that again.”
“Ha-ha. Well, I think we just complicated everything.”
“Tell me how.”
“For one thing, we have to be in each other’s company day in and day out, and we are going to be expected to act all professional and everything. I don’t know about you, but I’m not much of an actor. I can’t be responsible for behaving like this.” She waved her hands back and forth between them. “This stuff didn’t happen.”
“Look,” he said. “I like you. Obviously.” He uttered a laugh, and just like that, her mind’s eye gave her an up-close-and-personal glimpse of what they must have looked like rolling around like baby pandas in this very room just minutes ago. Somebody, stab me.
“You’re not helping.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“Please don’t laugh. I’m wondering if your balcony is high enough for me to effectively leap right off it to end my misery.”
“Okay, come on. Granted, the timing of our meeting is personally less than ideal, but think about what is ideal regarding our meeting. I’m going to help you keep your grandmother’s bridal shop up and running, give a whole new life to the place. And you’re helping me keep my TV show on the air. It’s perfect.”
Perfect? Was that what this pirate was all about? Were one-night stands his norm? Well, she passed the couch test. That was one consolation. She couldn’t logically be mad at the guy because, in truth, she was the one who kissed him first and what followed had been all okay, more than okay, the freaking halleluiah of all okays. So all she had was herself to blame. As freaking usual.
“I’m going to go.”
“Um, we still need your signature.” Darius reached for the pen and the pages of the contract.
�
��Of course.” Rylee took the pen and scribbled her name, unable to see through a sudden blurring of unbidden tears. Crying was uncalled for. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known that this was a one-time roll in the hay. Why, though, did she feel so lousy? Sad. She felt sad. It was like suddenly finding just what you were looking for and realizing the prize wasn’t meant for you. She blinked away the tears.
His hand moved to her arm, fingers warm on her skin. And why would you think touching me would make things better? Do not put your skin on my skin anymore.
“We should have thought this through, huh?”
She met his gaze and twisted her mouth into a sideways bunch. “Yup.”
“Oh boy, I’m—”
“Don’t.” She didn’t want him to say he was sorry. Don’t be sorry. As much as it sucked that tonight was a one-time memory, she couldn’t look at it as something to apologize for. She suspected that when she was eighty years old and rocking in her rocking chair, hopefully still drinking vodka, she would remember this night. But, God help her, she couldn’t tell Darius that.
“Tell me how I can help make this easier.”
She blew out a long breath. What the hell. “Open the Oreos.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A hand shoved aside the curtain to one of the dressing cubicles, the rings moving across the aluminum rod with an annoying metal-on-metal screech. On her knees Rylee looked up from her task of painting the baseboard. A zip of annoyance shot through her. The camera guys had only been in the shop for a couple of hours, and already she wanted them gone. Technically, she wanted the whole deal gone, behind her. Over. And the fact that Darius was treating her as if she had a bad case of leprosy—well, that was just ducky.
But the person standing behind her was not a cameraman or anybody else from Wirth More. The whole crew had taken a lunch break and had gone out for sandwiches. This was Kit filling up the space with her eyes wide and just short of googly. Kit was into the whole let’s-be-on-TV thing, and her gung-ho attitude only served to feed Rylee’s ire.
Kit tugged the curtain closed behind her and pressed her knuckles to her hips.
“What?” Rylee stood from her kneeling position, paintbrush still in hand.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kit’s voice was a whispered rasp.
“You don’t have to whisper. They’re out for lunch.”
“I don’t understand what’s up with you.”
“Nothing,” she shot, hotter than she’d intended. “I’m doing my job. I was told to paint the baseboard molding, so I’m painting the baseboard molding.”
“You’re acting, I don’t know, mad. Are you mad?”
Rylee blew out a puff of air. “No.”
“What, then?”
“Maybe I’m not all yay about this TV crap like you are. That’s all. I’m doing what I have to do.” She saluted her paintbrush. “See?”
“These people are here to help us, Ry. Lighten up.”
“Oh, you mean like you and that giggling you’ve been doing? Since when do you giggle?”
“I don’t.”
Rylee harrumphed. “Wait till they play back the footage, friend. You’ll see. You sound like a twelve-year-old invited to her first boy-girl party.”
Kit shrugged. “That pirate of yours is pretty funny. He seems really nice too.”
Rylee opened her mouth to speak, then snapped her jaw closed. “I need to finish painting.”
“It’s about him, isn’t it? Oh my God, Rylee. I get it. You don’t hate these people. You’re crushing on the pirate.”
She let the paintbrush fall to the drop cloth and grabbed Kit by the upper arms. “Will you please keep your voice down? They could have sneaked back in.”
They stared at each other for a long moment and, finally, Kit spoke. “It’s no crime to like the guy, Rylee.”
“Yes, it is,” she said to Kit’s screwed-up face. “Remember there’s a contract in place that says no fraternizing whatsoever or we lose the money and Darius loses his job. So, yeah, it’s a crime.”
“Wow. Okay. You know what, though? I’m thinking about his behavior now. Is this why he’s been interacting with everybody but you?”
A flush of heat climbed up her cheeks, and her mouth went dry. Her swallow was sandpaper. She couldn’t look away from Kit’s inquiring stare.
“Did something happen between you two?”
“Kit…”
Kit sucked in her breath. “You didn’t, you know, screw him or anything, did you?”
Rylee sighed aloud. “To. The. Wall.”
“Hey,” a voice called. It was one of the crew. It sounded like Donald, the short guy with the Santa Clause beard. “We’re back. Anybody here?”
“Yes,” Rylee called out. “Kit and I are here painting.” She bent down and gripped the paintbrush. She jabbed it toward her best friend. “And don’t try lecturing me, dammit.”
“Lecture you,” Kit scoffed. “I’m dying for details.”
“Nope. Not saying anything.”
“Well, at least tell me one thing. Was it worth it? I mean, did you feel that elusive zoom you talk so much about?”
Rylee looked up at the ceiling. “I’m still zooming.”
“Who’s zooming?” The curtain to the dressing cubicle opened, and there stood another one of the camera guys, the one named Jimmy with glasses, a salt-and-pepper goatee, and an easy smile. “Paint fumes getting to you, ladies?”
“Ha.” She feigned a laugh. “I guess so.”
“Well, you’ve got to keep that curtain open, darlin’. Okay, the boss wants us to take some more footage of you at work. You ready for this?”
“Sure.” She stole a glance at her friend. “Ready.”
****
It was still alive in Darius. Technically, the experience with Rylee hadn’t broken any of the network’s rules. The paperwork hadn’t been signed yet when they had decided to get busy. But the fact that the ink was on the line now and that it meant hands off for a period not less than three years bothered him more than was comfortable. The night had been hot, good and hot, but what rolled around his mind and travelled down to his chest was the look on her face as they sat together on his sofa, silence between them except for the sound of the cellophane bag of cookies that their hands intermittently reached into. Among the crunching sounds, the heaviness of never again hung in the air like a bow of pine laden with snow.
He remembered the way dark chocolate cookie crumb clung to her lip, the way her teeth scraped the white icing off the dark disk of the cookie and her tongue closed over it. Her pretty mouth working to devour the confection just about did him in. A smile threatened his lips at the memory of Rylee jutting her hand up to him without pulling her eyes from her task of eating an Oreo. Her accusation, “I can see you watching me,” and the order, “Keep your eyes to yourself.” The best, though, had been her “I really only came here for the cookies.”
Rylee MacDermott was a paradox. She hadn’t once acted as if he alone had been responsible for their ill-timed romp. She even managed to laugh as they ate cookies on the couch, did her best to muster some levity. But now in the light of day with his crew here in her store and Rylee’s employees flitting about, all he could think of was wanting to kiss her, to suck that soft lower lip of hers into his mouth and claim it.
“Darius, you got a minute?” Jake stood in front of him, knuckles pressed to his hips.
“What’s up?”
“Can you talk to this chick? Liven her up a little or something?”
“Is Rylee too stiff?”
“Not if we were shooting a drywall commercial. But she’s not showing us anything that we need. I know just what the big guns are going to say when they see what we’ve shot. They’re going to ask how the audience is supposed to feel her need for our show to rescue her. There’s no fire in this person, Darius.”
Wanna bet? Darius forced his mind away from just how much fire that woman could produce. “Okay. I’ll talk to her.”
“Really? Good.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got the perfect plan for the happy-ending bit.”
The thought of pulling a fast one on Rylee gave his insides a wringing. “What have you got in mind?”
“We’re going to have the gowns neglect to arrive.”
“No.” Venom shot through Darius’s veins.
“What do you mean no. Thanks to you, my friend, the dresses are going to show up just in the nick of time.” Jake jabbed his shoulder with his fist. “Wirth More’s own superhero.”
“I just don’t think that’s necessary. I mean, the show’s going to be good without having to pull that stunt.”
Jake shrugged. “You want a second season, don’t you?”
Darius could not tamp down the thought of his father moving from the warm cocoon of The Memory Center all because his only son couldn’t get his act together.
“Yeah. “
“So full steam ahead, then. Now go talk to her and loosen her up.”
He managed to catch her eye, something he’d avoided all day, and they were beacons of warning, an opposite traffic light. When it came to Rylee’s eyes today, the compelling green meant stop.
“Can we talk for a second?” He motioned toward the stockroom and proceeded as though she had already agreed.
****
Rylee took a deep breath and entered the stockroom. Darius in his crisp chambray shirt, cuffs rolled up to the elbow, big fat silver watchband on his dark wrist, made keeping her eyes from feasting nearly impossible. She tried blinking away his appeal and felt like a human Morse code machine.
“Hi.” His mouth was a slant.
“Hi.”
“You doing okay?”
“Sure. Fine. Why?”
“Rylee, come sit.” He motioned to one of the metal stools at the worktable.
She came closer but did not sit. She saw the way his black jeans stretched over his thighs, spread, as he straddled one of the stools. Oh God. She blinked an SOS. “Is there a problem?” Besides the fact that she wanted to sit on his lap and take that metal stool for a spin?
Saying Yes to the Mess Page 13