by Jami Alden
She flipped over on her back, trying to ignore the awareness that made every nerve ending tingle. She could feel him through the paper thin walls, his heat, his masculinity, surging over her, overwhelming her with memories of the single, sultry night they’d shared.
As though with a will of its own, her hand trailed down her belly, lifting the hem of her pajama top so she could feel her own smooth skin. She remembered Gabe’s callused fingertips sliding over her, drifting up her ribcage to capture the soft weight of her breasts. His dark, fathomless eyes had flared with heat as he’d pulled her dress off her shoulders, revealing her to his gaze.
“Your nipples are the same gorgeous pink as your lips,” he murmured, sucking and licking one into his mouth. His thumb slid inside the lace edge of her panties, brushing over her clit in a matching rhythm. “I wonder what color these beautiful lips are.” His thumb traced the dripping seam of her sex, teasing the entrance of her body with shallow thrusts of his fingers.
Reggie’s thumb and forefinger pinched at her own nipple as wet heat pooled between her legs. God, it had been so long since she had been touched, since she had been fucked. Her other hand slid into her panties, fingers sliding into her damp, swollen folds. Her clit was a firm, throbbing bud, dying for the touch of the man sleeping on the couch less than twenty feet away.
Her breath hissed at the first touch of her sensitive skin, and she nearly came at the first brush of her finger. But as much as she needed the release, she wanted to slow down, savor it. It was pathetic, masturbating while the man she craved was so close by, but she couldn’t face another rejection. So for the first time since Gabe had reappeared in her life, she allowed herself to relive every look, every touch, every stroke.
He gazed down at her as she lay sprawled on the bed, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Damn, darlin’, you’re about the sweetest piece I’ve ever seen.” His drawl thickened with every syllable. “But I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t treat you properly.”
From what she could tell, there was nothing “proper” about their behavior, but she wasn’t about to argue as he started dropping soft moist kisses down her neck and across her collarbones.
She twined her fingers in his hair, tugging insistently until his mouth hovered over her rock hard nipple. The harsh, hungry sound he made as his lips pulled firmly sent a jolt of heat straight to her pussy. The hot, rigid length of his cock burned against her inner thigh, and she squirmed in anticipation of feeling his thick length buried inside her.
“Sweet thing, you taste so good I hardly know where to start.” He lavished attention on her breasts, alternating almost rough sucking with gentle, teasing lashes of his tongue. Oh God, she wanted—needed to—feel that skillful tongue on her pussy. Tugging at his hair, she guided his head down her belly.
“You read my mind.” He landed a wet, sucking kiss just below her belly button and slid her panties down her legs. “Mm, you smell like peaches.” With a purely male sound of satisfaction he stroked his thumbs against her plump lips, spreading her wide for his hungry mouth.
Reggie circled her clit with her middle finger, wishing it was Gabe’s tongue flicking against the turgid flesh.
She nearly came at the first touch of his tongue, lapping at her clit before slipping down to probe her drenched slit.
She dipped her finger inside her throbbing pussy, imagining it was his thick cock pressing deep.
He soaked the plump head of his cock in her juices, stretching her wide as he sank into her with one powerful stroke. “Honey, you’re so tight and sweet,” he moaned, increasing the pace of his thrusts as she hitched her legs over his hips, opening herself more fully. “Your pussy feels so good, squeezing me like a tight little fist.”
No one had ever talked to her like this, in such graphic terms, and she would have been embarrassed if she hadn’t been so turned on. Sharp moans erupted from her chest in tandem with his thrusts. He reared up and grabbed her hips, driving into her in a hard, circling rhythm that made her thrash against the sheets and claw at the slick skin of his back.
Her fingers stilled on her clit as she sought to hold her orgasm at bay, just for a few more seconds. She wanted to draw it out, relive the memory of him fucking her deep and hard for just a little longer.
He stilled his thrusts, watching her with hot, dark eyes as he traced his thumb against her lower lip, pressing it inside her mouth for her to suck. Then he settled that moist thumb in the slick folds of her pussy, right where they were joined. He held himself deep, impossibly deep inside her, grinding as his thumb circled and pressed against her throbbing clit.
“Open your eyes, Gina.” A long slow slide, a stroke of his thumb. “Open your eyes and look at me when you come.”
Her finger increased the pressure on her clit, every nerve pulsing as she imagined him watching her again. Her eyes drifted closed and she bit her lip against the cry working its way up her throat. She was coming, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t the same without his thick cock driving inside her.
But unless Gabe walked through the door, it would have to do. As the last tremors of her climax receded, she rolled to her stomach, willing herself to sleep.
Gabe had nearly drifted off when the soft noise penetrated the haze of near sleep. He slipped off the couch and padded toward Reggie’s door. There it was again, a soft, high sound, a hitch of her breath carrying through the thin plywood door. His cock went instantly hard as he remembered her making a similar sound, only louder, when he had sucked her clit into his mouth for the first time.
Easy there, big boy, he admonished his cock, she’s most likely having a bad dream. But her door had only been closed for about five minutes, hardly enough time to go into REM sleep and dream. He put his palm against the door, applying the lightest of pressures. It opened a few inches.
Moonlight spilled over the bed, and Gabe nearly fell to his knees at the sight that greeted him. Reggie’s eyes were closed, her teeth clamped down on her lower lip as she fought to stifle the little sounds working their way out of her throat. One hand had disappeared up her shirt, the other down the front of her pajama bottoms, and from the way she was squirming around, she was showing herself a very good time.
He held his breath, afraid he’d groan if he let it out. He wanted to dive on the bed, strip off her clothes and replace her hands with his own. Her movements stopped, and he froze, half afraid, half hoping she’d realized he was watching. Then she’d beckon him over to the bed, spread her legs wide to show him how wet she’d made herself, all in preparation for the real thing.
Then she started again, her hand moving in sure, deliberate strokes. She arched up into her hand, fucking herself with a steady rhythm, his cock pulsed a matching beat. His fingers itched to feel her soft, slick flesh, to feel the tight, muscular grip of her pussy closing around him like she couldn’t get enough. She uttered a stifled cry and stiffened, and his heart pounded in his ears. He was so hard he hurt, wanting with every cell in his body to join her in that bed, to see if fucking her could possibly be as good as he remembered.
Instead he watched her get herself off. Her body relaxed in post-orgasmic satiation. Gabe knew he should move, should walk away before she saw him standing in the doorway. Instead he stared, cock aching, as though willing her to open her eyes. If she turned those big brown eyes on him, he had no faith in his ability to practice self-restraint. He’d be a dead man.
His stomach curled in anticipation as she shifted to make herself more comfortable. Instead of turning toward the door, she rolled onto her stomach without opening her eyes, completely oblivious to his presence in the doorway.
Muttering a vicious curse, he slunk back to the foldout couch, his hand wrapped around his aching cock. He flopped back on the foldout bed, wincing as a metal bar nearly severed his spine through the flimsy excuse for a mattress. He’d thought the training he’d gone through for Special Forces was hard. But tailing Reggie Caldwell without touching her was going to be the longest month and a half of h
is life.
Chapter Six
Biddy Lee Hughes gave new meaning to the term Guest from Hell.
Miss Biddy Lee was the owner and operator of Biddy Lee’s Teahouse, a restaurant in Savannah, Georgia, that dated back to the Civil War. And from the looks of her, so did Miss Biddy Lee herself. While she might yet hold the secrets to perfect buttermilk biscuits in her little blue-tinted head, her short-term memory had pooped out somewhere circa 1989.
At first everything had seemed fine. By the time Reggie and Gabe arrived, the crew was set up and ready to go. Biddy’s rinse and set curls were picture perfect, and she smiled up at Reggie with a pearly white set of dentures.
The trouble started when they started preparing Biddy’s special family recipe for Shrimp and Grits. Reggie asked her how the recipe came about. What started as a story about the shrimping boats turned into a half-hour-long, rambling story about how Biddy didn’t like crackers in her soup. Meanwhile, she’d only managed to chop half an onion and the butter had burned.
Carrie pulled her aside. “Reggie, you’re going to have to take over.”
A little flutter of panic bloomed in her belly. “But I don’t know the recipe!” Though all recipes from the show needed to be tested and verified by the Cuisine Network kitchens before being posted on the show’s Web site, Biddy Lee’s assistant had been adamant about not giving it out ahead of time. As a result, beyond the basic ingredients spread out before her, Reggie had only the vaguest idea of how they were all put together.
Carrie gave an impatient shake of her wild red mane. “This happens sometimes. That’s why we need a strong host to carry the show. You’ll have to wing it.”
Reggie closed her eyes and said a little prayer. She was a strong enough host to save the segment from a crappy guest, dammit. Wasn’t grits the American South’s version of polenta? She’d made that a thousand times.
That in mind, Reggie started putting the ingredients in the Dutch oven heating on the stove top. Every so often Biddy Lee would ask her who she was, and Reggie would ask her what she should do with whatever ingredient was at hand.
But then, in the middle of it all, Biddy Lee wandered off. Reggie turned her back to stir the pot, and Biddy Lee walked out of the kitchen, into the dining room, and promptly asked one of the waiters to bring her a glass of sweet tea.
When Carrie tried to coax her back into the kitchen, Biddy Lee cheerfully claimed to have no idea what she was talking about, and that it was time for her lunch. That it was five o’clock in the evening seemed to make no difference.
Now Reggie slumped in a chair that one of the crew had thoughtfully provided. A glass of sparkling water appeared in front of her. Icy, fizzy water adorned with lime never looked so delicious.
“You looked like you could use it.” Gabe’s low, velvety voice washed over her like a balm. Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. “I would have brought you a beer, but I figure you need your wits about you.”
Reggie gulped gratefully at the cold drink. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
He crouched next to her chair. “It’s getting late.”
Reggie looked at her watch and groaned. There was no way they were going to make their flight to Memphis. “I better call Natalie.”
“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Gabe asked.
Reggie shrugged. “Hell if I know. I’ve only ever been in the studio.” She never thought she would miss the close confines and controlled environment of the Simply Delicious set so desperately. “I feel bad for Jeremy, though.”
Jeremy, the line producer who had booked Miss Biddy, was busy getting a new asshole torn by Carrie. “How could you not have realized she was senile when you talked to her?” Carrie’s small, wiry body vibrated with fury.
“Her assistant said she was a local celebrity, one of the best-known cooks in the region,” Jeremy protested.
“So you never talked to Biddy Lee herself?”
“No, but—”
“Of course her assistant is going to say she’s wonderful. She wants the free publicity for the restaurant. From now on, you talk to the talent first, and at least make sure they’re mentally capable of filming a segment.”
Jeremy hung his head, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Somehow they got through the rest of the shoot. After a snack, Biddy Lee was moderately more lucid, and with Reggie’s guidance they managed to come up with a finished dish that would suffice for the “ta-dah!” shot at the end.
And Gabe, bless his heart, ate his share without protest and proclaimed it the best Shrimp and Grits he’d ever tasted.
Natalie went over Reggie’s schedule one last time with Tyler. She stole a glance at the clock. She’d been here for forty-five minutes already. How many times did they need to review it?
It was ridiculous that she could feel claustrophobic in his office. Tyler had a spacious work/living loft in South Beach, and his huge windows provided a glorious view of the Bay Bridge. But still she felt short of breath, crowded by him even in the large room, his spicy cologne permeating every breath she took.
“For the fourth time, yes, you can book a signing in Dallas at seven P.M. Why do we have to keep going over this?” She hated the snappish tone in her voice. But even though she and Tyler had settled into a moderately friendly working relationship, she always felt on edge around him.
“Because I need to make sure I have Reggie’s most up-to-date schedule before I confirm appearances,” he explained patiently.
“All I’ve changed are the hotel bookings—”
“Which I still need,” Tyler interrupted.
Natalie ran a frustrated hand through her hair. How was she supposed to explain tactfully that Gabe had instructed her not to give Reggie’s hotel information to anyone, including Tyler? Her cell phone rang. “It’s Reggie, gotta take it.”
Reggie told her about the Miss Biddy Lee catastrophe and their subsequent delay. “I’ll get you on a later flight,” Natalie said. “How was mom?” She winced as Reggie relayed their dinner conversation. “Nothing ever changes. You’re a fat loser and I’m a stupid loser. Speaking of which, are you working out? Remember, the photo shoot is a little over a month away.”
She said good-bye and hung up, startled when she met Tyler’s icy blue glare. “What?”
He merely shook his head, saying nothing.
Great. Now he thought she was a jealous bitch, compelled to put her sister down because of her own insecurities. Sadly, he wasn’t far from the truth. She tried to stop herself, she really did, but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from making sly digs at Reggie’s expense. Reggie, with her affable good humor, always laughed it off. Natalie convinced herself that Reggie knew she was joking. Besides, it wasn’t like Natalie didn’t get her own fair share of criticism from her mother and the endless stream of casting directors.
And while Tyler seemed to appreciate her sometimes cutting sense of humor, clearly her remarks about Reggie made her look petty and mean-spirited. No wonder she seemed to be the only woman in San Francisco he didn’t bother to look at twice.
Needing to escape his suffocating presence, she said, “Can we wrap this up? I have another meeting to get to.” For some reason she felt compelled to redeem herself. “I’m going to meet with Max to pitch my own show for the Cuisine Network.” See, she had no reason to be jealous of Reggie, because soon she’d have a show of her own.
He couldn’t keep the stunned disbelief off his face. “You? Doing a food show?” He didn’t even bother to choke back a laugh. “What are you going to talk about? The many virtues of Diet Coke?”
Natalie tightened a grip around her can of said soft drink. Usually she enjoyed their teasing banter, but that hit a little too close to home.
Shaking his head, Tyler continued, “I don’t know if you realize this, but the most popular women on Cuisine Network are the ones who actually look like they eat.”
“What about Reggie?”
Tyler shook his head. “As you so kindly poi
nt out to her at every opportunity, while Reggie is relatively thin in real life, on TV she looks like a normal, healthy weight woman. And she’s attractive enough to draw in the minority of male viewers.”
“I bet guys would like me,” Natalie retorted, knowing she sounded pathetic.
“Maybe,” he conceded, his voice laced with doubt.
She sat back with a frown. What did Tyler know, anyway? Max liked her idea well enough to take a meeting with her. He wouldn’t bother if he didn’t think it was at least worth a shot.
She pushed herself back from the desk and gathered up the papers. “I’m meeting Max at Reggie’s apartment in half an hour. I’ll call you later to give you any schedule updates.”
As she reached for the doorknob he called out to her. She turned, surprised to see a faintly uncomfortable expression on Tyler’s face. “Uh, I just wanted to say good work getting that contact’s name at Good Morning America.” He laced and unlaced his fingers. “We never would have gotten Reggie’s story covered if we hadn’t been able to call him directly.”
As she walked out to where she’d parked Reggie’s car, she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t Tyler’s compliment that had raised her mood a good ten degrees.
The little bitch was trying to hide from him. He’d nearly trashed his house the other night when he found out his message hadn’t reached her in Boston. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be, and he had no way to find out without causing suspicion. She must have changed hotels. No doubt at the behest of that big goon she had shadowing her like a faithful rottweiler.