by Julie Kenner
Before he could analyze her look, she blinked and straightened, leaving only a put-out expression. “So why are you going up to the rooms?”
He stifled a grin, amused by her efforts to change the subject. “Just heading home.”
The elevator stopped and the conventioneers stepped out. He moved toward her, taking advantage of the space they left. A thin veneer of hurt and anger surrounded him every time he got near to her. But despite that—or perhaps because of it—the need to touch her almost overwhelmed him. He fisted his hands at his sides. He wasn’t going to. It was becoming a matter of principle; he was going to build up his touches until they were both insane with need. Of course, he was close to that point already, a fact that left him a little concerned about the wisdom of his plan. But he didn’t intend to back down now.
“Home?”
“Something wrong with that?”
Her forehead creased, and he moved nearer, the floral scent of her perfume driving him a little insane. “You live here? In the hotel?”
“Moved in a few years ago.” He didn’t mention he’d moved in after she’d left town.
He propped his hand on the wall behind her as he leaned closer. “Besides, I’ve got everything I need here. A little kitchen, a living room…” He ducked his head until his lips grazed her hair, hoping he was driving her as crazy as he was driving himself. Summoning every ounce of willpower in his body, he resisted the urge to taste her earlobe. “A bedroom.”
“Oh.” She stepped backward until she was pressed against the wall, but couldn’t escape the circle of his arm. “I, um, why?”
He shrugged, not comfortable examining his reasons. “Seemed easier than mowing the lawn. Keeps me closer to work.” He spoke with a light tone, but she squinted, as if she knew she wasn’t hearing the full story.
The elevator stopped on fifteen, and Ken was grateful for the reprieve. A woman wearing a terry-cloth robe over a bathing suit stepped on. “Could you hit the pool level, please?”
Since they had company, Ken stepped back, releasing Lisa from the circle of his arms. She rushed to push the elevator button, clearly relieved to have reclaimed some personal space. Lord, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to reach out and pull her close and demand answers. Wanted to possess her, body and mind, until the hurt melted and the fury faded and he had his heart back.
Stepping further back, he curled his hands into fists, concentrating all his energy on keeping control. Tim was right. He was playing with fire, and he was the one that was going to get burned.
The elevator stopped on eighteen, and the woman for the pool got off. Alone, they stood there, not looking at each other, the air practically crackling between them, until they reached the twenty-fourth floor and the elevator doors slid open again.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I forgot to hit your floor.”
“No problem. I can find my way home.”
She draped the bag over her arm and straightened the strap on her purse. “Well, this is my stop.”
As she passed by him, he caught her arm. “Lisa.”
She turned, eyes wide and curious. “Yes?”
“Wear the dress.”
Her lips twitched, and her gaze drifted over him, her examination so slow and thorough he hardened under the caress of her gaze. After a moment she blinked, then moved into the hallway, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Maybe I will,” she said with a shrug. “For you, maybe I will.”
“DO YOU HAVE AN UPDATE for me?” Even from across the country, Winston’s voice sounded crisp, clear and no-nonsense.
“I’ve only been here a day and a half.” She’d been debating wearing the dress when he called, and now she pulled the bedspread off and wrapped it around her naked shoulders, not wanting to talk to Winston in her underwear.
“A lot can happen in a day. I locked in two locations in San Francisco this morning. Nice town, San Francisco. If you don’t come through for me, looks like I’ll be spending some time there—and finding someone else to be my producer.”
Her stomach lurched. She couldn’t let him pick San Francisco. She needed this too badly. She hesitated only briefly, then took a deep breath and took the plunge. “The truth is, I made a deal with Harper.”
“It’s all set? You got the restaurant?”
She crossed her fingers. “I’m meeting him in an hour to go over the details.” Not exactly a lie.
“And the rest of the locations?”
“Ken’s going with me to scout a few later tonight.”
He grunted. “Well, I’ve got to give Greg credit. Looks like you were the best man for the job.”
After he said goodbye, she took ten deep breaths, wondering if the fates were going to punish her for spinning little white lies. Not that she’d said anything truly inaccurate. But she hadn’t exactly left Winston with the full picture. Hadn’t mentioned, for example, that the deal still needed to be sealed—with herself.
She shook her head, determined to be Scarlett O’Hara and deal with that tomorrow. Right now she had enough to deal with—such as figuring out what exactly Ken wanted. And deciding what the heck she was going to wear while he took it.
She dropped the bedspread and headed back toward the mirror. She’d already put the dress on and taken it off five times, and now she really needed to make up her mind and get her makeup on or she was going to be late.
Making a face, she ran her hands through her hair, feeling frazzled and anything but in control. She couldn’t blow this. She couldn’t. Hell, Winston thought the deal was locked in. He was probably already packing his bags and making reservations at his favorite Los Angeles hotel.
She gave her reflection a long, steady look. “But it’s not a done deal until you meet his conditions.”
Thinking about what that meant, she ran her hands over her breasts and her stomach, closing her eyes as she imagined Ken touching her. He wanted to, that much she knew. She’d seen it in his eyes at breakfast and again in the elevator. He wanted to touch her, wanted to make love to her. But she’d also seen anger buried beneath those icy-blue eyes.
Ken might want her—but he also wanted her to pay.
Wondering exactly what the price would be, she licked her lips as she ran the material of the dress between her fingers. Silky and seductive, the dress made her feel feminine and powerful. After only a moment’s hesitation, she slipped it on, the material as soft as a lover’s touch. She twirled in front of the mirror, realizing she wasn’t a whole lot more dressed wearing it than not wearing it.
She knew he was angry—that was more than clear. But there’d also been a hunger in his eyes when she’d gotten off the elevator at her floor, as though he was imagining her in the dress—and out of it. Truth be told, she liked knowing that hunger was for her. She hadn’t felt feminine in a long, long time. And despite the bizarre circumstances, the feeling was intoxicating.
Closing her eyes, she sat on the edge of the bed, her body thrumming from the memory of the way his face had looked before the elevator doors had slid closed. The slight curve of his lips, the dark passion in his eyes.
With a sigh, she grazed her hands lightly over the material, feeling it caress her thighs, her skin warming despite the coolness of the fabric. Her nipples tightened, and she stroked her hands upward, cupping her breasts as she teased her nipples with her thumbs, all the while imagining Ken’s mouth, warm and wet, laving her breasts.
Moaning, she lay back on the bed, knowing she should stop, but not wanting to. Her body burned, her breath coming rough and jagged. Ever since she’d seen him, she’d been tense, her libido out of control, and now she wanted the release, needed it, even. Needed to get it out of her system before she saw him again and did something she’d regret.
There wasn’t much to the top of the dress, and she slipped her hand under the material. Her nipple was tight and tingly, and she stroked it lightly with the palm of her hand, her touch little more than a tease. She imagined Ken’s hands on her, and the sensations
rippled through her, the warmth filling her belly and pooling between her thighs. His imaginary kisses trailed down her body, teasing her thighs, urging her legs apart.
She trembled, entirely lost in the moment except for the tiny part of her that wished she weren’t thinking of him.
Dipping her fingers down, she touched herself, her fingers stroking the material of the dress along the apex of her thighs. She sighed, the sound low in her throat. Arching her back, she grazed the tips of her fingers up her thigh, sliding the material up her leg, needing to feel the cool rush of air as the material drifted over her. Her fingers traced the edge of her panties, then trailed over the damp silk at the crotch.
She imagined Ken leaning over her, his lips near hers, his rough hands stroking her sides, his body hard against hers. The air did nothing to cool her burning body, and she rubbed her fingers in a circle over the damp material, her breath coming faster and faster until she came with a gasp, her body warm and trembling as she curled up into a little ball, trying to keep a hold on some tiny bit of the ecstacy.
As she was hugging her knees to her chest, sanity returned, and she wondered what the hell she’d just done. And why. She felt better, yet somehow she felt worse—not to mention scared. In just a little bit she’d see him again. Had she gotten him out of her system? Or had she only primed the pump?
“You’re a mess,” she whispered.
It was true. And she knew one other thing for certain—no way was she going out with Ken Harper wearing that damn red dress.
“SO WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Lisa asked.
They were in his Jaguar, the top down, and he turned to get a better look at her. She hadn’t worn the dress, and he’d felt a twinge of disappointment when he’d seen her standing in the lobby wearing a knee-length denim skirt and a simple T-shirt. She still looked sexy as hell, but he’d been hoping that she’d wear the dress because she knew he wanted it.
She’s not doing this to make you happy, Harper. She’s doing it to get what she wants. Business. Only business.
And wasn’t that always the way? An invisible band tightened around his chest as the inevitable, infuriating truth set in—Lisa was there because she needed something. Just as she’d left five years ago because he couldn’t help. Now she was back because he could.
Dammit.
He resisted the urge to pound his palm against the steering wheel, instead gripping the wheel so hard he was probably going to leave permanent indentions.
She was there for business, and he was there to exorcise the past. Not romance. Not love. Not even a date. He needed to remember that. Needed to keep it foremost in his mind before he lost himself again.
“Ken?” She was twisting her hands in her lap. “Did you hear me? Where are we going?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Don’t you have to work tonight?” A nonanswer.
“Nope. I’m all yours.” He should be working. Not only were Sundays usually busy, but he and Tim made a habit of going over the specials for the next week every Sunday night.
He flashed her a relaxed grin, then reached out and closed his palm over her clasped hands. “Besides, I am working.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, delighting in the softness of her skin. “We’re scouting locations, remember?”
“Right.” She shivered slightly. Good.
“Cold?” he asked, certain her shiver had nothing to do with the temperature.
“A little. The ocean air.”
They were cruising south on the Pacific Coast Highway toward Santa Monica. Beside her, the sun had begun its nightly descent into the ocean, and a wash of orange and purple filled the sky, reflecting off the gold of her hair. It was a beautiful, magical tableau, and he wanted to hold the moment close to his heart.
But it was all an illusion. They weren’t lovers out for a twilight drive. Instead she was sitting next to him, her mind probably going a million miles a minute as she wondered where he was taking her…and what was in store for her once they got there. He wondered how long she could hold out before she asked again.
“Ken…”
Fifteen seconds. He stifled a grin as he turned to her. Her hair was blowing free, and he tucked a strand behind her ear, the tiny moment of intimacy tightening the band around his heart even more. “You’ll see when we get there.”
“Hmm.” She turned in the seat to face him better, then tied her hair back with a rubber band she’d dug from her purse. “Will you tell me if I guess?”
He answered the tease in her voice with a slow smile. “You want me to tell you if you’re cold, warm…or hot?”
“Yes, well, um…” She shifted in her seat again, frowning at the countryside. “Are we stopping in Santa Monica or going farther south?”
“Where would you like to go?”
“You’re the one calling the shots.”
He took his eyes off the road long enough to look at her. “Am I? I wasn’t completely sure.”
“Trust me,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m completely at your disposal.”
“How nice for me.” He’d pitched his voice low and was rewarded by the spot of color that touched her cheeks.
She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “Do you plan to let me in on what you’ve got in store for me? Or is that as much of a secret as where we’re going?”
“I thought you liked surprises.”
“I thought I did, too. But this one’s got me a little on edge.”
In that case, he’d already accomplished at least part of his mission. “It’s just dinner, Lisa. And I’m not the Marquis de Sade. Just relax and enjoy the drive.”
ENJOY THE DRIVE. Lisa leaned back in her seat, wondering how he expected her to do that without knowing what he had planned. She was completely at his mercy and flying blind.
And considering her little episode in the hotel room earlier, she was also more than a little…well, on edge. She wanted to keep as much control as possible, and he wasn’t helping by keeping her in the dark.
Scowling, she cast him a sideways glance. “Not even a hint?”
He reached over and flipped on the radio, fiddling with the dial until he found an oldies station. He didn’t say a word, just started humming along with a Beatles’s song.
Frustrated, she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. Ken could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and she knew better than to try to drag out information that he didn’t want to reveal. Still, she wished he’d say something, anything. She’d agreed to his absurd condition, and that meant that tonight she was his. Part of her couldn’t believe she’d agreed to such a trade, and another part of her—the bigger part, if she wanted to be honest—couldn’t wait to get started with the bargain.
The road curved, and they had to part company with the beach. She watched, trying to pay attention to where they were, as he maneuvered the streets of Santa Monica. Adorable stucco bungalows lined shaded streets, set back just far enough from the main roads for a little peace and quiet.
Lisa took a deep breath. Even several streets inland she could taste the salt of the ocean in the air, and once again she was struck by how much she’d missed Los Angeles. She’d always assumed she’d live in one of those little bungalows, fighting traffic every morning to get to the studio before the phone started ringing.
Years ago she’d thought Ken wanted the same thing. At the time he’d been renting a three-bedroom house just off Wilshire with an orange tree in the backyard. He’d loved the house, even though he never had time to spend in it. And it was for that reason that his news that he’d moved into the hotel had not only surprised her, but concerned her.
She wondered if he’d given up his plans to open a diner, too. She almost asked, but she was pretty sure he had. Surely another Ken Harper restaurant would have made the news. But she’d never heard about a diner.
“You okay?”
Real concern reflected in his eyes, and she nodded, deciding not to ask about the diner. Their arrangement might be sexual,
but that didn’t mean it was personal. Not anymore. It had quit being personal the night she’d caught the red-eye to New York five years ago.
“I’m fine.” She conjured a smile. “It’s just…just that I always loved this neighborhood.”
He rested his palm against the back of her neck and rubbed lightly. “I remember.”
“Oh.” She frowned, flustered. “Right. Of course.” She turned to squint at him as a new thought occurred to her. “Is this coincidence, or are you trying to throw me off balance?”
His fingers stroked upward, soothing her tense muscles. “What do you think?”
She couldn’t look at him. “I’m not sure what to think anymore.”
“Then don’t think. Just enjoy.”
“I’m not supposed to enjoy. I’m supposed to be working.” And she was so on edge, not knowing what to expect, that enjoyment didn’t seem within the realm of possibility.
“Just relax,” he said, reading her mind, as usual.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Know what I’m thinking.”
His magic fingers grazed the back of her neck, warm and tempting. Her nipples peaked, straining against the thin lace of her bra, and she silently cursed, telling herself it was the cool evening air and not the result of Ken’s touch.
“I know you, Lisa.” He took his hand away to shift gears, and she felt herself relax, even as a blanket of disappointment surrounded her. “I’ve always known you.”
“Do you? Because I don’t think I know you.” The Ken she remembered was solid and dependable. Sexy, yes, but not seductive. Had Ken changed? Had she? Or was she reacting not to him, but to the situation?
“Did you ever know me?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Of course.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead she looked out the window so that he couldn’t see her expression. Had she focused so much on her work that she never really got to know him?