Scandalized!: Risqué Business

by Lori Foster

  “I also wanted to check and see how you are doing with the reviews,” he lied, not sure himself why he needed to hear her voice. “Isn’t the first one due up on the site tomorrow?”

  Her hesitation was an almost tangible thing. As if she knew he was full of bullshit and wasn’t sure if she wanted to call him on it or not. Luckily, since he had no backup excuse, she just made a humming noise.

  That breathy little sound sent Nick’s already edgy libido into overdrive. It was the same sound she’d made when he licked his way up her body.

  “I’ve finished the review of The Michelangelo Effect,” she told him. “As a matter of fact, I was just giving it a final read through before I send it in.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Read the site in the morning.”

  “You sure? I could give you some pointers, maybe a few tips from a writer’s perspective,” he teased.

  “Right. Because our opinions on what makes a good story are so similar,” she shot back.

  Nick considered that for a second. “You know, other than your romanticized view of intimacy—” which his mother consistently proved a nightmare “—they probably are.”

  “My views aren’t romanticized,” she protested.

  He grinned. Perfect. He settled into the pillow and let himself get lost in the conversation. After a forty-five-minute debate on the topic, she finally admitted he was right. They did have similar ideas on what it took to make a story rock.

  Nick wasn’t sure how he felt now, though. Amped and enthused to write, definitely. But just a little worried. It had been a challenge to justify his view. Her opinions were well thought out and solidly backed by enough supportive arguments. It made them hard to refute.

  Which didn’t bode well for this bet of theirs.

  “Did you finish your business there in New York yet?” Delaney asked after he’d gone silent.

  “Almost.” Nick hesitated, then, not sure why, admitted, “I need to take care of a few things for my mom, they’ll require a painful lunch at least, a few miserable dinners at worst.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her words soft and, well, sweet. Not judgmental at all, or even surprised. “Parent issues are rough, aren’t they?”

  Nick gave a bitter laugh.

  “You’ve got issues with your parents?” he asked, not willing to admit how easily his mother could emotionally manipulate him. After all, he claimed not to believe in emotions.

  “I suppose they could be called issues, although it’s definitely one-sided.”

  “Your side or theirs?”

  “Mine. I lost my mom when I was little. My father…” She trailed off. Her sigh was heavy enough to make him wish he could reach through the phone line to give her a hug. “Most of the time I doubt he’s aware of my existence. He’d be shocked that I feel we have issues.”

  “So you don’t see much of each other, I suppose.”

  What he wouldn’t give to say the same about his mother. Or to not feel the guilt he did at making that wish.

  “Actually, we usually see each other a few times a week, at least,” Delaney told him, pulling him out of his dismal reflection of his family drama and back to their discussion. “Or, I should say, we’re in proximity of each other. My father isn’t known for seeing much of anything. To him, I’m pretty much invisible.”

  Invisible? Delaney? The concept boggled his mind. How could a woman so vibrant not be noticed?

  “He must be blind,” he said. Realizing the irony of their situations, he gave a bitter laugh. “You know, I’d give a lot to be invisible to my mom. Even for a few months. I could use the break.”

  “I can’t imagine you ever being invisible,” she said softly. There was an odd note in her voice, pained and sad. “There’s an indefinable quality that some people have that commands attention. For others…not so much.”

  Nick didn’t get it. Delaney definitely commanded attention, especially his. She must mean someone else. But to ask would delve into that emotional stuff he was so determined to avoid. So he kept his mouth shut.

  “Your qualities definitely command my attention,” Nick teased after the silence grew uncomfortable. He said it to relieve the tension, but he realized, he wasn’t joking. “Why don’t we talk about those for a while? Make my night, Delaney. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  DISTRACTED FROM HER self-pity over her relationship with her father, Delaney giggled. She’d never had a naughty phone call with a guy before.

  She glanced down at her fuzzy red sweatpants and AC/DC T-shirt. She felt like a fraud talking to him in her normal, frumpy persona, but she figured she’d call it a test of how deep the makeover actually went. After all, he’d liked her fine naked, maybe he’d be just as interested over the phone if he didn’t have a clue her sweats had a hole in the threadbare seat.

  “I’m not wearing much of anything,” she hedged with a breathy little laugh.

  “Are you in bed?” Before she could answer, he made a noise and said, “Of course you’re not. You said you were going over the review.”

  A twinge of guilt snapped at the back of her neck. Delaney had planned to read the first of his book picks in her office so she could keep it strictly business. But she hadn’t been able to get Nick out of her mind enough to settle in and get serious about reading. Finally up against the deadline, she’d fallen back on the tried-and-true, and brought the book, her laptop and her Pepsi to bed.

  Delaney glanced at the book she’d just finished reading. A rich jewel-toned cover, with the image of a famous statue, it was on the bestseller lists. It was an interesting choice for her first review, and yes, she’d been a little too distracted with thoughts of Nick to give it her full attention.

  But she’d read it when it had first been released, so she was comfortable with her review. With a quick glance at her laptop screen, Delaney hit Send.

  Now she could focus on more important matters…namely this intriguing discussion. Whether phone sex qualified as a step toward Nick acknowledging the power of emotion in a sexual relationship or not, she’d figure out later.

  “As a matter of fact,” she slowly told him, as she closed her laptop and set it on the floor before curling up on her side, “I am in bed.”

  “Exactly how little are you wearing?” His voice took on a husky timbre that sent shivers straight to her core. He’d sounded just like that when he’d told her how he was going to kiss her body, where he was going to kiss it. He’d had that tone as he’d told her how to pleasure him.

  That tone made Delaney wet.

  “How little would you like me to wear?” she countered. “Keep in mind, it’s a little chilly in here. I need something to warm me up.”

  Delaney snickered at her dorky response, but hey, she’d never done naughty phone-talk before. Since Nick laughed, too, she figured she was doing okay.

  “How about you?” she asked. “What are you wearing?”

  “I’m dressed,” he admitted. “I was trying to write and hit a brick wall.”

  “Sounds…hard,” she said with a little laugh. “Maybe I can help you through it?”

  “You want to help me?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked. I could be helpful, if you gave me a chance.”

  His laugh was pure naughtiness.

  “You’d be surprised at how helpful you might be. I’m stuck on a sex scene. Wanna talk dirty with me?”

  Delaney blushed. She couldn’t help it. The man had pressed his face between her legs and made her come, but the idea of talking dirty embarrassed her. Crazy.

  “You might want to get comfortable,” she suggested to buy time while she tried to figure out exactly how one did dirty talk.

  “I’m never comfortable around you,” he admitted. “Especially when there’s a chance of sex, even if it’s only verbal.”

  She gave a little whimper, then winced. But he heard it and laughed.

  “Just imagine I’m there, lying next to you,” he sug
gested. “Pretend I’m watching you.”

  Nervous but already turned-on at the idea, Delaney rolled to her back and closed her eyes to visualize the scenario. “What are you watching me do?”

  “You’re combing your fingers through your hair. I’m watching the light glint off the silky strands.” He waited, clearly expecting her to do it. Delaney licked her lips, then, with a sigh, unclipped her hair and ran her fingers through it. As she did, she imagined him next to her. Pretended his fingers were there, too.

  “Your fingers trail down your throat and you arch your back.” It was like he was reading to her, his writing voice coming through loud and clear. It made Delaney feel like she was listening to—acting out—one of his books. “With both hands, you cup your breasts. Lift them, Delaney, lift them for me to see.”

  As if in a trance, she did as he instructed. Her breath shuddered and she gave a moan as her fingers warmed her breasts through the worn cotton of her T-shirt, brushed over the pebbled nipples.

  “Yeah, baby,” he murmured in a hoarse tone. “I can picture you, your pale skin creamy warm. I’m imagining myself lying there, watching as you trail your nail around your nipple, circling tighter and tighter until you can scrape it across the hard pointy tip. I’m thinking of you giving me that look from your big brown eyes, the one that begs me to touch you, to taste you.”

  Delaney squirmed, pressing her legs tight together, and let out a sound at the images.

  “It’s an exquisite torment,” Nick continued, “watching, knowing how your nipple would taste, but not letting myself touch you.”

  “What’re you doing?” she asked in a whisper. “While you imagine me, knowing I’m touching myself, what are you doing?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to do the same thing.” The images he’d painted vivid in her mind, Delaney tweaked her hard, aching nipples between her fingers, using the texture of her T-shirt to add to the exquisite torment. Her breath came in little pants as she imagined it was his fingers touching her. That he was there watching her.

  “I want you to be hard thinking of me,” she said in a husky whisper. She needed him to be as turned-on as she was. Needed to know she could make him feel just as wild. “I want you to be so turned-on you have to come.”

  Nick groaned. “Make me, babe.”

  “I need to touch myself,” she groaned. “I’m imagining it’s you, your hand, your fingers inside me.” Desperate for some form of release, she smoothed one hand down her belly to the waistband of her sweats, then pushed aside the loose elastic and combed her fingers through her curls. As dampness coated her hand, she gave a soft moan.

  “Tell me,” he begged hoarsely. “Take me with you.”

  Delaney swallowed twice before she could get the words out. “I’m sliding one finger inside myself. Two, now,” she told him. “I’m wet, hot. Swollen.”

  Nick’s groan blew her inhibitions to bits. Delaney flicked her finger over her swollen heat, biting her lip.

  “I’m pretending you’re here next to me,” she said, her voice strained, “I can imagine you, all thick and hot and hard. It’s such a turn-on knowing that’s for me.”

  “I’m hard,” he admitted, his voice low and husky. “I’m wishing it was your hand wrapped around me, moving faster and faster.”

  “I want you, need you. My fingers aren’t enough, I want to feel you. Tell me what you want to do to me,” she begged.

  Sentences got shorter, words became choppier. Delaney could barely keep enough focus to talk anymore. One hand working her nipples, she worked her wet core with the other, sliding her fingers over, around and inside, always imagining it was Nick.

  When he gave a long moan of pleasure, she let it take her over the edge. Her fingers, slick with her own juices, flicked at her clitoris once, twice, then she flew. Color exploded behind her eyes, her pants became little mewling sounds of pleasure. From far away, she heard Nick’s voice telling her how good she was.

  Finally, like floating on a soft cloud of exhaustion, she drifted back down.

  “You’re incredible,” he said.

  She felt incredible. Empowered, strong, like she could do anything. She’d never been so aware of her physical self before this. Before the makeover and Nick. And not, she told herself, just because it was great sex. She could have that by herself, although Nick’s coaching was obviously a good thing.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased with a sleepy laugh. “And I have to ask, did that help?”

  His laugh was rich and wicked. “Babe, that helped more than you know.”

  “I meant with your story.”

  He paused, gave a little hum, then said, “Yeah. Actually it did. I’m going to write, you sleep.”

  She was already halfway there, so she just murmured an agreement.

  “Sweet dreams,” he said softly, satisfaction clear in his voice.

  “’Night,” she mumbled as she clicked off the phone.

  Delaney settled into her pillow, a smile on her face. With her body sated and warm, she knew she’d be dreaming of what had just happened. Over and over and all night long…which was very sweet indeed.

  *

  NICK WATCHED GARY’S face for any hint of what the agent thought, obsessing like he hadn’t done since his first book. God. What was he thinking, trying to write this kind of crap? He knew better. But talking to Delaney, listening to her, he got this insane feeling of hope.

  It would probably ruin him.

  “Well?” he asked, unable to stand it any longer.

  “Chill,” his agent instructed. The older man pointed to the minifridge in the corner of his office without looking up from the manuscript.

  “It’s rough,” Nick explained. “I didn’t polish or anything, I figured I’d get your feedback before I went too far with it.”

  He’d been so desperate to write when he’d gotten off the phone with Delaney. The desperation came from being inspired by her, rather than the frustration he often felt when he talked to his mother. He’d been blown away when he’d finished the scene. That, friend, was emotion. At least, as close as he’d ever gotten. Maybe he could pull this off? Have it all? Make his editor happy, pacify the fans and still keep Delaney around, screw the bets. It was a little scary how much the idea appealed to him.

  When Gary didn’t even acknowledge him, Nick got up and stalked over to the fridge. He rifled through the contents then slammed it shut. He opened the snack cabinet disguised as a file drawer and pawed through it until he found a Snickers bar. But he was too amped up to eat. He tossed the candy back in the cabinet and started pacing.

  “Dude, what is your problem?” Gary finally asked when he tossed the printed pages to his desk. “You’re more nervous than a virgin on her wedding night.”

  Nick pulled a face. “Cliché alert.”

  “Right, which is why I’m not the writer here.” Gary poked one meaty finger at the stack of papers and lifted a bushy gray brow. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No. I just want to know what you think.”

  Gary leaned back in his chair and stared at Nick over his steepled fingers. It was his thinking pose.

  “I think…”

  Nick wanted to beat the man upside the head with his own desk blotter. But he knew from experience it wouldn’t do any good, so he just growled.

  “I think you’re on the right track,” Gary finally said.

  “That’s it? On the right track? I wrote…” Nick poked his finger at the manuscript and made a face. “I wrote emotion there. That’s more than the right direction.”

  “No, Nick. You wrote one of the hottest love scenes I’ve ever read here. And I have to say, probably the first scene you’ve ever written that can be actually called a love scene, rather than sex.” Gary shook his head and shrugged. “It’s great. It’s deeper than you’ve ever gone, it’s strong. You’ve bridged that typical distance you maintain in intimate scenes, which takes your writing to a whole new level.”<
br />
  “But…?”

  “But, it’s one scene. The emotions, the promise of it, they aren’t in the rest of the manuscript. Not yet. Put them in and we’re in business.”

  Nick felt just as confident of pulling that off as he would have if Gary had asked him to give birth to a litter of rabid dogs.

  *

  FASCINATED BY THE play of the candlelight washing her face in a golden shimmer, Nick watched Delaney laugh from across the table. A weird kind of joy filled him at her pleasure. She was so different than the women he’d known. Honest, no games, what you saw was what you got. It was refreshingly seductive. Maybe he’d have an easier time weaving emotions, at least surface ones, through his story than he’d thought.

  “Do you ever get fans stalking you, like movie stars?” she asked. They’d been talking about a Wake Up California guest with a habit of stalking her favorite TV stars until she got their autograph.

  “Stalking?” Nick mulled. “No. I’ve had a few who write regular fan mail, that kind of thing. Once at a book convention I had a woman waiting outside my hotel room. But she just wanted me to read her manuscript.”

  Delaney gave him a long, considering look and shook her head. “Nah, I don’t believe that was all. That might have been her excuse, but I’m betting she wanted more than your opinion.”

  She had, but Nick wasn’t the kind to brag so he just shrugged.

  He tilted his head toward the dance floor, where couples were wrapped around each other in the dim light.

  “Dance?” he asked.

  Her gaze wove over the couples and the band, then back to him. “We never did finish that last dance, did we? I guess I owe you one.”

  “I don’t know about owing me, but I’d love to have you in my arms. And since you really seemed to want dessert, that’s the only way it’s going to happen in the next little while.”

  Delaney grinned and winked as she set her napkin on the white linen next to her plate. “The best of all worlds. Good food, decadent chocolate and you.”

  He stood and held out his hand. When she rose, he stepped closer, infinitesimally, so she brushed against his chest as she rose up. He gave her a slow, wicked smile to let her know it was deliberate.