An electronic ping sounded from what seemed like a great distance, and Hugh lifted his mouth from hers. “I don’t care if I see this damned play, but you deserve to.” Before she could tell him she didn’t care about the play, either, he had shifted his delectable body away from her and turned to face the door.
An older woman dressed in a black usher’s uniform, with a pile of programs resting in the crook of her arm, stood just outside the elevator, her expression a mixture of awe and shock.
“Good evening,” Hugh said without any sign of embarrassment. “We’re going to Box C.”
“I know . . . of course,” she stuttered before composing herself and gesturing toward the luxuriously carpeted and wallpapered corridor. “This way, Mr. Baker. We’re honored to have you with us this evening.”
Hugh put his hand on the small of Jessica’s back to allow her to go first. When it slid lower to rest on the upper curve of her buttock, she had to swallow a gasp of arousal. Hugh had always been clever at touching her in ways that seemed acceptable to the public eye but that sent her nervous system into a paroxysm of lust.
The woman led them to a paneled door, pulling out a key on a long chain attached to her belt to unlock it. Inside was a tiny antechamber with two spindly gilded chairs, hooks for coats, and another door set in the red velvet-covered wall. “Enjoy the show,” she said, handing them each a program. “If you need to leave, you can open the door from the inside. When you want to return to your box, I’ll be outside with the key.” She stood silent for a moment, as though she were debating something.
“Would you like an autograph for someone?” Hugh asked with a smile.
“Oh, yes! My nephew is crazy about your Julian Best movies. He would be so thrilled.”
Hugh took a program from her stack and pulled a silver pen from his pocket. “What’s his name?”
“Eric with a C,” she breathed, watching Hugh scrawl over the cover. When he handed her the signed program, she nodded approvingly. “Thank you for your graciousness. May I say that I know several actors who should take lessons from you on how to behave toward their admirers?”
“I appreciate that,” Hugh said before he closed the door.
“How did you know that’s what she wanted?” Jessica asked.
He sighed. “I’ve seen that look on a thousand faces. They have someone to whom they want to give the gift of my autograph, but they don’t want to impose or seem unsophisticated. Since I appreciate their generally good intentions, I like to give them what they’re hoping for.”
For a moment, she cupped his cheek with her palm. “You’re a surprisingly nice movie star.”
He snorted. “That was more insult than compliment.”
“Take it any way you want.” Jessica gave him a quick slant of a smile.
His look went hot. “I’d rather take you.”
His words were like a torch tossed onto a pile of dry kindling. Her body was immediately engulfed in flames of wanting.
She glanced around the closet-sized, windowless room with its two closed doors, one locked by the usher, the other leading to the private box for watching the play. “Is anyone else sitting in the box?” Her voice sounded almost muffled as it was absorbed by the thick, luxurious fabric on the walls and the plush carpeting on the floor.
A look of puzzlement narrowed his eyes for a split second, and then comprehension dawned. He had her against the velvet-covered wall before she even registered that he was moving. But before he did anything more than hold her there with a light pressure, he said, “Tell me this is what you meant for me to do.”
“Yes,” she said, bringing her hands up to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I’ve lost my mind, but this is what I want.”
“Jess,” he breathed, his gaze on her fingers as they traveled down the front of his chest, yanking the buttons out so she could flatten her palms against the lightly furred surface of him. She spread the silk open and kissed his pecs, his nipples, and the triangular indent at the base of his neck, inhaling his scent as she drank in the feel of his skin against her lips.
“Jess,” he said again, his voice like sandpaper. When he flexed his hips into her, she felt the rock-hard length of his erection.
The ache between her legs intensified. “I want to keep touching like this but with you inside me,” she said, working her hands down between them to his belt buckle.
He pushed her hands aside and practically tore open his belt and fly, releasing his cock with a shove of the waistband of his boxer briefs. She started to reach for him, but he was already yanking up her top and freeing the button at her waistband. He jerked down her zipper before kneeling to slide her trousers down to her ankles, holding them while she lifted first one foot and then the other. He parted her thighs and curled his fingers around them while he kissed his way up to her crotch, pressing his mouth to the thin lace covering her clit and flicking at it with his tongue.
Lightning seemed to streak through her body, sizzling across her nerve endings and hardening her nipples to points of pure sensation. She dug her fingers into his shoulders to anchor herself.
“More?” he asked, his breath a caress through her panties. “Or inside you?”
“I don’t know.”
His laugh was partly a groan as he ripped her panties down to her ankles so she could kick them away. He stood and slipped a finger inside her, his eyes on her face as he stroked in and out. Tension tightened in her belly, and she grabbed his wrist. “No, your cock inside me.”
He produced a condom from his back pocket. “Thank God!” she said on a wave of relief.
“I’m a quick study,” he said, rolling it on.
He bent and hooked one hand behind her knee to pull it up to his hip, opening her. She guided his cock into position and nearly came when he thrust up into her. The hollowness was filled and stretched but still aching for more. But he didn’t move, just impaled her and stayed seated deep inside.
Her bare behind was pressed hard against the soft wall covering, her clit was pressed against the base of his cock, and she was filled with his hard length. “Oh, yes,” she gasped. “Yes, like this.”
“Raise your arms,” he commanded as he tugged up the hem of her top and peeled it off over her head. Her bra followed, and his hands were on her breasts. First he cupped them against his palms, so sparks seemed to shower through her chest. Then his fingers were on her nipples, rolling and tweaking until her hips moved with his touch.
“My turn,” Jessica said, leaning forward and tonguing his flat nipples while she traced the striations of his abs with her fingertips. His muscles rippled under her touch, and his breath rasped in gusts over her head, stirring her hair.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he said, seizing her other knee and lifting her off the floor completely, her back braced against the wall, his hands holding her legs against his waist. He began to move inside her, building fast to a hard, plunging rhythm. Her orgasm seemed to hit every muscle in her body, and she clenched around him, both inside and out, squeezing her thighs around his waist, digging her ankles into his butt, and clutching his shoulders with her hands while her body bowed hard into him.
He drove into her again, and she felt his climax pumping within her while he uttered her name on a cry of completion.
Then his weight was against her, using the wall to hold them locked together. His heart thundered against her chest, and the scents of aftershave and sex enveloped her. “Jess,” he said. “Oh God, Jess.”
His cock softened, and he shifted his hips to slip out of her, the small movement sending a gentle ripple of pleasure through her belly. “Ahh,” she sighed.
He lowered her still-booted feet slowly to the carpet before he stepped back to rake his gaze down her body. “You are so incredibly sexy in nothing but boots and a necklace.”
She realized she was naked and he was fully clothed but for an open shirt and fly. “Why are you so much better at undressing me than I am at undressing you?” she asked, looking a
round for her panties.
“Practice.” He gave her a wicked grin and scooped up a wisp of lace from the corner before handing it to her.
Suddenly she remembered that he was the legendary Hugh Baker, fantasy lover of women everywhere. Which meant that she had forgotten it while they were having sex against the wall. He’d been just Hugh, pleasuring her with his mouth and hands and cock. Nothing more than a man she wanted to touch and be touched by.
That was dangerous thinking. He was not just Hugh. He would never be just Hugh again.
By the time she had pulled on her trousers and shrugged into her shirt, Hugh was put back together without any sign that he’d just had explosive standing sex. Grabbing her purse, she rummaged around to find her brush.
“Let me,” he said, holding out his hand.
“You’re going to fix my hair?” But she handed him the brush.
“I’ve spent a lot of time with stylists,” he said, taking her shoulders and turning her around so her back was to him. Delicious tingles danced over her scalp as he stroked the brush down through her tangled tresses, stopping to unravel the occasional knot with deft fingers.
“I think I might have another orgasm right now,” she said, her eyelids fluttering closed so she could savor the pampering. There was a moment’s stillness before she felt his fingertips on her scalp, massaging ever so gently. “That, yes,” she said on a happy exhalation.
“You see, I remember how much you loved to have your hair brushed.” His voice was a low rumble close to her ear. “Although you weren’t quite as vocal about it then.”
A confusion of emotions and memories tumbled through her. The times she would come home from work and Hugh would sit her down on a kitchen chair, put a glass of wine in her hand, and go fetch her brush from the bedroom. Not only did he brush it until she sagged into boneless relaxation, but then he would braid it, the gentle tugging on her scalp an extended pleasure.
But he’d stopped doing it after his career began to take off. Instead, he would comment on her lack of makeup or suggest that they shop for a new outfit for her to wear to an upcoming Hollywood party.
She shoved the corrosive thoughts back into the dark corner where she tried to corral the guilt and pain from the end of their relationship.
The first lilting notes of a waltz drifted into their velvet antechamber, making it seem as though they were enclosed in a small, exquisite music box. “The play’s starting.” She could hear anticipation in his voice.
“Then let’s go see it.” She stood and took the brush from him.
“Intermission can’t come soon enough,” he said with a hot smile, but he opened the inner door for her.
She stepped through to find herself in a small box looking down on the stage. Four velvet-and-gilt armchairs were set in a precise arrangement, with two at the front of the box and two behind. Hugh leaned past her to shift the two front chairs to the side. “Sit here next to me,” he said, indicating one of the back row chairs. “I don’t want to be seen. It might distract the audience from the play.”
She sank onto the cushioned seat while his fame pressed down on her shoulders like a fifty-pound bag of kibble. She eyed him surreptitiously in the dim glow cast by the spotlights trained on the still-closed curtain. It struck her as awful to be that famous.
He seemed to sense her gaze, because he reached out and took her hand, resting it on her chair’s arm, his fingers tucked around hers.
The curtain went up, and his grip tightened slightly as he leaned forward, his attention on the stage.
She tried to keep her focus on the drama playing out before them, but after about ten minutes, she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning slightly, she watched as Hugh mimicked a gesture one of the actors had just made. He must have been trying it out to add to his own repertoire. He’d said at dinner that the young actor cast as the lead was brilliant. It seemed that Hugh was willing to learn from him. Her respect for his dedication to his craft surged, and she squeezed his hand.
Hugh swung around to catch her watching him and lifted her hand to his lips for a brief but potent kiss. However, his attention went back to the play almost immediately. Jessica angled herself in her chair so she could watch him and the action on the stage at the same time. Several more times he imitated movements, but on a couple of occasions he shook his head and frowned.
When the curtain came down for intermission, Hugh rose and pulled her up with him. “Let’s go someplace more private,” he said with a wicked smile as he led her through the door to the antechamber.
But reality had laid a cold blanket on her reactions to him. When he wound his arms around her, she braced her forearms against his chest to hold him away. “I want to know what you didn’t like about the play.”
His eyebrows drew down. “What I didn’t like?”
“You shook your head a couple of times. Why?”
“Good God, I don’t remember or care right now.” His gaze drifted to her lips. “I have better things to do.”
She shook her head. “You were copying gestures, which was fascinating. But I’m curious about what earned your disapproval.”
His grip on her eased slightly as he thought. “The moment when Finn sees Catriona for the first time. I thought he reacted wrong. He doesn’t give a damn about anything other than possessing her body, but he played it as a mooning, love-struck boy. It was too soft and emotional for the ruthless man Finn is.” He focused on her again. “Now can I get back to possessing your body?”
Before she could stop him, he brought his mouth down against her neck, sipping at her skin. Her body forgot all about the burden of Hugh’s celebrity and ignited with the same pure lust Finn had felt for Catriona. But she kept her arms between them. “Isn’t it hard to be so famous?” she gasped out as electric desire ricocheted down into her gut.
Hugh grunted and drew her earlobe in between his lips.
“Oh, Hugh, there!” She tilted her head so he could have better access, and he responded by tracing the whorls of her ear with his tongue.
All the words she’d planned to use as a barrier between them evaporated, and she found herself straddling his lap while he sat on one of the little chairs and drove up inside her. His hands massaged her breasts, winding the tension tighter and tighter until her orgasm crashed through her. He kept still as her muscles clenched around him but then burst into a whirlwind of motion, driving hard and deep until he climaxed with his mouth open over her nipple, his groans vibrating against her.
She dropped her head to his shoulder while the aftershocks spun through her in exquisite succession. As she sat splayed over his thighs, she wondered idly how Hugh managed to short-circuit her good judgment, her modesty, and her sense of self-preservation. Yet she couldn’t regret the indulgence. It had been too long since she’d felt this kind of soul-searing abandon. Since she’d given him back his ring, in fact.
That thought made her sit up.
“What’s the rush?” Hugh asked, putting his palm behind her head and pressing her back toward his shoulder.
“I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
“Of course,” he said, his hands going to her waist to lift her off his lap and set her on her feet. He traced down her cheek with one finger. “The line should be gone by now.”
She stood a moment to take in the length of him sprawled in the spindly chair, the black silk shirt hanging open from his shoulders to expose his sculpted chest, his fly unzipped with his still partially erect cock resting in the nest of dark hair, his eyes glinting with almost bemused satisfaction. Any photographer would sell his soul to capture Hugh Baker in this pose.
Grabbing her panties, she dressed quickly. “How long until the play starts again?” she asked as she scooped up her purse.
Hugh glanced at his watch. “Maybe another five minutes. It depends on what’s happening backstage.” He smiled. “That’s the fun of live theater. Disaster is always imminent.” He began to button his shirt. “You
don’t have to worry. When you’re in a box, you can come and go at any time.”
“I don’t want to miss a minute of the play, though.” She opened the door as little as possible to slip out, just in case anyone was lurking in the corridor, hoping to spy a famous audience member. When she dashed into the bathroom, what she saw in the mirror made her swear. Her whole face and neck were rosy with the flush of sexual satisfaction, her lips were swollen and her lipstick smeared, and her hair was a crazed mass of waves. Anyone who saw her would know exactly what she’d just done.
After a glance around to make sure no one in the restroom was paying any attention to her, she repaired the damage to her hair and makeup. There was nothing she could do about the glow that colored her skin or shone in her eyes, so she stayed in the shadows as she darted back to the box and knocked on the door.
“I missed you,” Hugh said, capturing her in his arms as soon as he let her in. He was bending to kiss her when she put her hand across his mouth.
“I put all my face paint back on so I don’t look like I just had sex in a theater box. Don’t mess it up,” she said.
He chuckled against her palm and then flicked it with his tongue, the warm, moist touch sending a tingle down her arm.
“Stop it,” she said, pulling her hand away.
“Tempted?” he asked with a wicked look while he slid one hand down to squeeze her behind before he turned to open the inner door.
The curtain music ended just as they sat down.
Jessica felt guilty, because Hugh didn’t respond to the play as he had in the first act. Instead he was attentive to her reactions, which led her to focus on the show more closely.
By the time the curtain came down again, she had tears streaming down her cheeks. “That was amazing,” she said, accepting the little package of tissues Hugh pulled from his breast pocket so she could mop her face. When the audience surged to their feet for a standing ovation, Jessica joined them. Hugh stood as well but faded back into the shadows of the box so his face was hidden.
Second Act Page 15