by Sarina Bowen
Wrapping up. Wait for you or go home?
Shit. How late was it?
A quarter after nine, which explained the sudden growling of her stomach and the dark sky outside the hotel-room windows. The whole room was in shadows except for the puddles of warm light around the desk lamp and the bong lamp on her side of the bed. Hmm. Cozy.
She tapped out her reply.
Home. I’m still justifying every nickel.
Make sure you charge him by the hour.
Get out of here. See you tmrw.
She dropped the phone next to her on the bed and laid down on her side, pulling a pillow under her head so she was elevated enough to look at the man whose attention she’d held for hours.
Nick was still lounging in the desk chair across from her. It seemed as though his attention was wandering from their talk, too. Or else he would have scolded her to stop texting with Clarissa. When he didn’t blink, but just kept staring at her feet, which were clad in black knee socks with hot pink pirate skull-and-crossbones on them, she realized that he wasn’t distracted at all. He was incredibly focused. On her feet. Which was a little strange.
She suddenly felt self-conscious about being sprawled out and horizontal on his bed. And she couldn’t stop thinking about all the interesting things that could be done on beds. While wrapping your hands under the bottom edge of the headboard, trying to get a grip on something, anything, that would hold you in place while your body felt as if it was flying off the surface of the earth. She lifted her eyes.
Nick wasn’t watching her feet anymore. His gaze was locked on her hands, which she’d unconsciously slid over her head, on top of the pillows, until her fists bumped the headboard.
She inhaled sharply when Nick pulled his feet off the bed and stood up.
Reflex propelled her to sit up, but his sharp words stopped her.
“Don’t move.”
She put a lockdown on her knee-jerk reaction to do the opposite of any command given to her with such arrogance when he knelt with one knee on the bed, planting his hands on either side of her calves. He pinned her with his gaze as he crawled onto the bed over her, his body caging hers without touching it at any point. With every breath, she was aware of how the rise of her ribcage narrowed the distance between her breasts and his chest. Barely moving her hands, she curled the tips of her fingers under the solid wooden edge of the headboard.
The room was quiet and still and dark except for the two lights shining yellow against the night. Nick’s voice was barely over a whisper when he spoke.
“You’re done with your lecture, yes?”
She swallowed and saw him watching her throat.
“Yes. At least—”
“Yes was enough.” He dropped down and laid his body on top of hers from shoulders to ankle. He was still bracing himself on his elbows, so she didn’t think she could blame her inability to breathe on the pressure of his weight on her.
“I’ve got something else in mind at the moment, and you won’t need to do any talking at all.”
Chapter Seven
The silence of the room settled on her skin like a blanket. Like the weight of Nick himself, layered over every inch of her.
She let herself sink into it for a moment, let the silence and the weight take her deeper into this moment, so she wouldn’t ask herself any hard questions and would just let her body speak for her.
She pressed her hips up against Nick, vividly aware now of the hard press of his erection against her thigh. He wasn’t doing anything at all, neither moving against her nor speaking a word, but the never-wavering focus of his eyes on hers and the insistent presence of his body, hard against every inch of her softness, were conspiring to make every tiny hair on her skin come alive to sensation. A gathering heat drew her awareness to the space between her legs and she spread her thighs a little, wanting to cradle Nick’s sharp hips between them.
“Hold still.”
His words were sharp. The heat in his eyes held even more of an edge.
“Um, yeah,” she said, and rocked her hips again, because sometimes it was impossible to do what she was told. “See, I’m not sure that’s a good idea actually.”
“Shhh.” Nick leaned to one side, bracing his weight on his left elbow and hip, his torso and right leg still draped territorially over her. With his right hand, he started to trace her skin with a light touch, moving from her wrist, still up by the headboard, down her arm, ribcage, hip and thigh. Then he just as slowly dragged his hand all the way back up over the path he had just traced and began again.
He wasn’t touching anything the tailor hadn’t run his hands over while fitting her for the bridesmaid’s dress for her sister’s wedding, and yet every inch of her was turned on and shivering, her mind anticipating the drift of his touch up and down, up and down, until she felt his hand on the next stretch of clothing-covered skin he would be stroking before he even got there.
Anticipatory touching. Mmm, lovely.
Her grip on restraint slipped a little.
Her grip on the headboard didn’t.
She inhaled deeply, hoping to clear her head, only to realize she was breathing in the scent of him, the sharp Nick Drake smell of lemons and spice and total control. It made her dizzy for a moment and she turned her head, tucking her face against his chest as she tried to remember why this was a bad idea.
Opening her eyes again, she focused on the buttons of his starched shirt, practically pressed to her nose. A businessman’s shirt. To go with the businessman’s suit. For a man of business.
Business. Right.
That was the problem.
Instead of pushing him off, she bucked a little to get his attention. She was enjoying the long strokes of his hand on her a little too intensely, much like the sensation of being pinned to the mattress by his body.
He looked down at her with a small grin playing on his mouth.
Which really worked for him.
She tried to focus on her objections to him, to them.
“As much as I’d like to be doing this same exact thing, except, you know, naked…this is a bad idea.”
“Why’s that?”
“If I have to work for you—”
“I thought we established that you don’t technically work for me at all.”
“Yeah, well, if I don’t work for you, then you sure did a damn fine imitation of a cranky-pants boss calling an employee on the carpet for a total grilling.”
“Cranky pants?”
He reared back and frowned down at her, clearly offended.
She pressed her lips together and tried not to giggle. Hoped he couldn’t feel the twitching of her stomach muscles as she swallowed her laughter in a couple of sharp exhales.
“If the cranky pants fit, buddy…”
“I’m not your boss.” She scoffed at him, but he continued speaking, ignoring her noises of protest. “I’m not. But I am someone who can shut this whole thing down if I don’t get the answers I’m looking for. And you were the weak link I could use to get those answers.”
Irritation burned in her cheeks. Weak link?
She bucked against him a little harder and got even more pissed off when he barely moved.
“I’m not weak, you asshole.”
“I didn’t say that. You’re just the only one whose vulnerabilities I knew well enough to exploit.”
She wasn’t sure why, but that actually made her feel better. She stopped trying to get out from under him. “That makes you a bit of a bastard, but at least you’re not calling me weak.”
“My mother isn’t easily swayed from her whims, and this is certainly one she’s passionate about. For the moment. But if I need to sit her down and tell her she’s flushing her money down the toilet and will be left with nothing except some old playbills and a reputation as the laughingstock of the Gold Coast, she’ll listen.”
“See, now that’s a problem. Because if you shut this show down, I’d be pissed. And I would take it very personally.�
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“Aren’t we lucky that you’ve assured me that there isn’t a single potential problem you can’t handle?” He grinned down at her.
She locked eyes with him. As much as she was torn between wanting him in bed and being unwilling to accept the possibility of him roadblocking her professionally, there really wasn’t a contest. Nick Drake fascinated her and she clearly had a hard time keeping her hands off him. And vice versa. But in the end, if she had to choose, she’d pick her company and her professional career every time. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe in love conquering all. At least not for longer than a show lasted. Because nothing lasted forever.
She had spent her life watching “show” relationships spring up in the first weeks of production, only to die just as swiftly once the show ended. Of course that hadn’t stopped her from thinking her own backstage love affair was different when she was dumb enough to let it happen…
Everyone thinks they’re the exception to the rule.
But you never were the exception, were you? It hadn’t been a week after the curtain dropped on their show that she’d caught Damian in bed with the lighting director of his next production. What killed her was that he wasn’t even that good at set construction. But Damian had been the only child of one of those insanely rich families up in Lake County and his ability to throw money into a production’s sets from his bottomless credit limit had given him an automatic lock on every production. And, yes, Damian had been a particular bastard. “But the show’s over, babe,” was surely not the way most theater couples ended things. Still, Maxie didn’t need to be taught a lesson twice. Show relationships were just that…show. Never real.
And rich guys with money were trouble on a gold-plated platter.
She and Nick might have been thrown together by this so-far-less-than-perfect production, but once it was over, they’d have nothing in common and no reason to spend time together.
Of course, they both had reasons for wanting to keep the show running smoothly for as long as possible. His were financial. Hers were professional. Maybe this crazy connection between the two of them could last longer than most, but she was still certain it would end. So it couldn’t be more important to her than her professional standing.
She wasn’t about to allow for any confusion about that. Not any confusion at all.
“I take what I do extremely seriously, Nick.”
He didn’t answer for a moment, just nodded. No teasing, no grin. “I know,” he finally said, looking straight at her. “And I take you seriously. If I didn’t, somebody else would be in this room right now.”
Goddamn it. Just when she thought nothing could lighten the mood. She pressed her lips together and tried not to giggle.
“Seriously? You’d be stretched out on the bed running your hands all over someone else?” She blinked up at him. “I’m almost afraid to ask who.”
She could tell the exact moment when his brain began, without his permission she was sure, to shuffle through the other senior members of the team, slotting them into this picture.
He jerked his head back and shuddered in revulsion.
Yup, that’s him picturing Heitman in my place.
She lost it.
Laughter poured out of her, filling the shadowed corners of the funky hotel room until the atmosphere brightened. She laughed and laughed and somewhere along the line Nick dropped his head against her and snorted at the ridiculousness of it all, too. He wrapped his arms around her in a giant hug as his laughter eased with a loud sigh against her ear.
“Damn. I really like you.”
And her heart, no shit, skipped a beat.
She felt it in her stomach, which hit the floor and bounced back up to settle somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, a whole lot of organ action for a woman who took pride in never flinching. Ever.
She dropped a hand down to rest on his hair, combing her fingers through the over-long strands, so dark they looked almost black against the lighter skin of her hands.
“I like you, too,” she whispered. Maxie knew he heard her because he didn’t move a muscle. Just held her and breathed against her neck for a minute. The moment felt heavy, as if she’d just confessed something more serious than not despising the man for whom she was effectively working and with whom she’d already had more than one moment of burn-the-house-down passion.
But someone had to break that moment and she was relieved when Nick did, at last, by dragging his mouth up the side of her neck until his lips brushed the edge of her ear. His breathing made her tingly.
“So what you were saying before, about this being a bad idea—” He pulled his hands out from under her, shifting the hug into something more sensual as he pressed her arms against the headboard yet again.
“I’m not sure I’ve changed my mind.”
He leaned in close to her, watching her mouth, her eyes.
“See, now, I think it’s a good idea. A very—” his lips brushed her right eyebrow “—very—” the tip of her nose “—very good idea.” The edge of her chin. “I’ll just have to see if you are open to persuasion.”
She couldn’t help herself. Nick Drake was an expert at persuasion.
His hand resumed its meandering path along her side again and when it hit her hip, she arched her back, pulling the hem of her shirt loose from her waistband. Just like she’d hoped, his hand slid under her shirt instead of over it and the warmth of skin on skin froze both of them for a moment.
“Ahhh.” Her breathy exhale as his fingers flexed on her waist for a moment, squeezing and releasing before falling between them.
“I see what you did there.” He didn’t sound particularly displeased.
She waited to see what he was going to do. Having just scolded him for something that hadn’t even happened yet, and then schemed for his hand to find its way up her shirt, she wasn’t entirely sure which way she wanted him to go.
Talk about sending mixed signals. It’d serve you right if he got up off this bed and left the room, you stupid girl.
“How about this: I’m going to touch you now. You tell me if you want me to do anything more.” His voice was a low rumble she could feel vibrating from his chest into hers. “Unless you ask for it, it won’t go any further.”
He started to touch her waist, hand rising high enough to count the lower bones of her ribcage before dropping back down, fingers tracing a pattern she couldn’t figure out on the ticklish skin of her side, until she nearly squirmed in frustration. She waited for him to move his hand elsewhere, only to realize after a couple of minutes that he wasn’t planning to shift from that one over-stimulated spot.
“That’s it?” She nearly groaned out her frustration. “That’s all you’re going to do?”
“Maxie, you told me to stay away from you, and then you wanted my hand on your bare skin.” He left off stroking her waist and drew a line to her belly button with one fingertip, circled and dipped in for a moment before returning to the slow rub of the skin at her waist. “If you want something else, you know what to do.”
She battled herself for a moment, caught between common sense and the overwhelming need to have his hands on her.
Stupidity and a willingness to suffer through future regrets won by a mile.
“Touch me. Please.” She closed her eyes as she said it, feeling too vulnerable to look at him when she spoke.
His hand gripped her waist tightly for a moment before letting go. His lips skimmed the length of her jaw, the day’s-end stubble on his cheek scraping against her skin as his lips wandered up to her ear.
“Touch you where?”
She groaned out loud as his hand stayed put at her waist. His breathing was magnified in her ear until it matched the rushing pulse of blood in her veins. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access to her neck and he obliged her by testing his teeth with a nip on the skin there.
“Fuck. You’re killing me.” She wanted to squirm. She wanted something to happen. Anything. He licked
at the spot that stung from his tiny bite. “Anywhere. Touch me anywhere. Please.”
When his hand slid higher up her shirt and over her breast, she strangled a Hallelujah! shout in her throat. Then she cursed her bra as she lost the skin on skin warmth of his hand that had been pleasing her so very much.
Damn it. Why wasn’t she dressed like a braless hippie chick today? Poor planning.
Nick must have been hit with the same frustration, because a second later he pushed her bra up and off her breast. She wasn’t in love with the way the underwire was digging into the upper part of her chest, but when his hand closed over her entire breast, her hard nipple tucked against his palm as he cupped her fully, she forgot to care.
“Yesss.” The word hissed out of her on a sigh.
With a wordless grunt, Nick slid his hands under her shoulders and pulled her to sit upright. She opened her eyes as he stripped her shirt off over her head, popped the clasp on her bra and pushed it down her arms and off. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown, when he laid his hand on her sternum and pushed her back down to the mattress.
He slid both hands up her bare arms, pushing them back above her head, grinning as he manipulated her until she tucked her fingers under the edge of the headboard again, wrists and hands buried in the pillows at the head of the bed. The position naturally arched her back, lifting her breasts up, putting her on display for him.
“Now what?”
She’d already lost track of what they could possibly be talking about. Honestly. She was half-naked on the bed. He should consider that a green light.
“Now what, what?” She knew she wasn’t making much sense, but if he would just focus on getting his hand on her breasts, she would be more than happy. You’d think a high-powered businessman would have more of a one-track mind.
He laughed and she realized that she’d said that last bit out loud.
“Oh, I’m only thinking about one thing right now, you can rest easy. But I told you, if you want it, you’ll have to ask for it.”