Exposed to You

by BETH KERY

  Excitement tingled in her flesh, sending teasing tendrils all the way to her clit. She slid her fingers beneath her panties and found herself wet. Eyes clamped tight, she imagined Everett looking down at her while his cock pounded high inside of her. He was telling her to take it all—all he had to offer, all she could take . . . and then more. She was powerless, a quaking bundle of clamoring nerves and naked flesh. He was ruthless, demanding more, fucking her like he planned to start a fire with the friction of their straining bodies and was close to ignition . . . so close.

  She cried out shakily as orgasm shuddered through her, a hot, delicious rush that temporarily crowded out her anxieties and uncertainties about getting involved—no matter how briefly—with a man like Everett Hughes.

  * * *

  She woke up with so much stiffness in her muscles, she knew she needed to add some vigorous exercise to her to-do list. Otherwise, she’d grow tense and rigid as a board from all this nervous anticipation.

  After her morning jog and yoga routine, she showered and stood before the mirror, nude. She ran her hand along her chest, neck, armpits and groin area, searching for swollen lymph glands, experiencing the daily dread of what she might find, but determined nonetheless. Then she quickly, efficiently completed a breast exam. She’d been diagnosed with a type of B-cell lymphoma and was now in complete remission. She’d seen how cancer could spread, however. Her mother had been riddled with it by the time she died. That fear was what motivated her daily obsessive checking.

  She was taking her vitamins when she heard her buzzer ring. It must be Seth, she thought as she hurried toward the foyer, tightening her robe around her. Her uncle had been busy with a few publicity interviews and a demonstration of his craft at a local college yesterday, but maybe he’d decided to stop by and see if she wanted to do breakfast.

  “Hello?” she said into the intercom.

  “Hello, Joy?” came a bright female voice. “It’s Katie Pierce. I met you yesterday at the coffee shop?”

  “Oh, yes . . . hello,” Joy said, amazed. What could Everett’s sister be doing here?

  “I hope I’m not stopping by too early. Rill and I are staying with a friend who lives just around the block.”

  “Not at all. Come right up the stairs. I’m in number three,” Joy said, pushing the button to release the lock on the front door. A few seconds later, Katie swept into her foyer wearing shorts and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail.

  “I did catch you at a bad time. You were showering. I’m sorry,” Katie said, her green eyes flickering over Joy.

  “No, I don’t mind if you don’t,” Joy assured her, waving vaguely at her robe. “I went out for a jog this morning and it was already stifling outside. I would have thought that storm we had yesterday would have washed away the humidity, but it seems to have made it worse. I was drenched by the time I got home, so I hopped in the shower.” She paused, noticing the garment bag Katie was holding in one hand. Katie looked where she was staring.

  “Oh . . . I brought these for you,” she said, holding up the bag. She must have noticed Joy’s dumbfounded expression. “A few dresses? For the premiere tonight? Everett called me early this morning before he went for a round of publicity interviews at the Four Seasons Hotel. He was very grouchy. He can’t stand those things. Anyway, he asked me to bring by some dresses for you. I hope one of them works.”

  Embarrassment swept through her when she recalled Everett’s and her terse, charged conversation on the previous day in the coffee shop. He had taken her initial excuse for why she couldn’t attend the premiere literally. In her shock over the unlikely unfolding of events, she’d completely forgotten about his suggestion that she borrow a dress from his sister.

  “I’m sorry, Katie. Everett mentioned something about borrowing a dress, but I didn’t think he was serious,” she said, flustered.

  “It’s sort of hard to know when to take him seriously, isn’t it?” Katie replied airily as she glanced behind Joy into her apartment. “I’m one of the few people on the planet he can’t BS, though.”

  “Is that right?” Joy asked warily.

  “Bullshitting is just another word for acting, isn’t it?” Katie asked, meeting Joy’s gaze and grinning. Her brow creased as if she’d just evaluated what she’d said and found it wanting. Her smile faded and she rolled her eyes. “Oh . . . that sounded all wrong. Everett is going to kill me. I just meant brothers tend to BS their sisters as a matter of course, and sisters tend to see straight through it. So you can take it from me. He’s serious about you.” She tilted her head and studied Joy with interest.

  Joy cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine why. We hardly know each other.”

  “Everett’s a creature of instinct. It’s why he’s such a great actor. Most people live by reason. Everett lives by his wits, and there is a difference.” She shrugged. “I could tell he was interested in you when he talked about you last year. It doesn’t happen often, that I sense he’s interested—really interested—in a woman, so it stuck in my head. I could also tell he was disappointed when I asked him about you a few months later and he said you’d disappeared from his radar, despite the fact that he’d been sending out signals that he wanted the opposite.”

  I’d disappeared into the grim, day-to-day battle of fighting cancer, Joy thought. She took a step back, disconcerted not by Katie’s frankness, but by what she’d implied. Everett had suggested he was interested in Joy to his sister, and that wasn’t his normal MO? Frankly, she didn’t know how to make sense of that.

  She was reading in to Katie’s comment. That must be it.

  “Please, come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, waving Katie into her apartment.

  “I’d love one. I like your place,” Katie said as she followed her.

  “Thanks. It’s coming along. I’m doing a little here and there, decorating on a budget. Here . . . let me take that,” Joy said when she turned around and realized Katie still carried the garment bag.

  “Why don’t I show them to you while you get the coffee?” Katie suggested.

  “Everett really did misunderstand. I didn’t expect you to bring over dresses—”

  “Do you have a dress to wear?”

  “No, but I’m going shopping later this afternoon.”

  “See if one of these doesn’t work for you first, then.”

  Joy opened her mouth to protest, but Katie was so natural and down-to-earth, it seemed churlish to continue to contradict her. Katie and Everett not only had the golden good looks in common, Joy realized; they also were both sublimely comfortable in their own skin.

  Joy poured them both a cup of coffee while Katie draped the garment bag over one of her counter stools and unzipped it.

  “These gowns are from my days in Hollywood working as a tax attorney. I used to represent a lot of old-school movie stars—or old coot movie stars, as Rill would put it. I’d have to attend a lot of boring soirees and fund-raisers.”

  “You don’t practice law anymore?”

  “Oh, yes . . . well, in a manner of speaking. I’m now a county employee, and only part-time at that. No more designer gowns for me, at least not on the scale I used to buy them,” Katie said ruefully as she tossed the garment bag on another stool. “You know, I’m excited for Everett’s new movie, but I can’t wait for this premiere to be over and done so Rill and I can get back home.”

  “Where’s home?” Joy asked at the same time she held up a sugar bowl and creamer, her brows raised in a query.

  “Just the cream, thanks. Vulture’s Canyon, Illinois. Pretty odd name for a town, isn’t it? It’s entirely fitting, trust me. Smack dab in the middle of the Shawnee National Forest. Wacky artists, isolationists and weird characters abounding. I’m proud to call it home. When I’m away from Daisy for too long, I start to feel like I’m missing a vital organ. I even miss Barnyard,” Katie murmured under her breath as she whisked several dresses into the air. She noticed Joy’s confused expression.

  “
Daisy is our little girl. She’s only five months. Barnyard is our dog, even though Barnyard thinks the entire town is his family. This is my first overnight stay away from Daisy. She’s staying with a good friend in Vulture’s Canyon—Olive Fanatoon. Olive takes excellent care of her, but . . . well, it’s hard being away. I miss her like sin. Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup Joy offered her. She took a sip and set it on the counter. “Okay, see if any of these appeal. Candidate number one—a little strapless chiffon number.”

  Joy eyed the gown that featured a ruched sweetheart bodice, a metallic floral print and a pink sash. It was fun, flirtatious and very sexy—gypsy haute couture.

  “It’s darling. It’s also made just for you, Katie,” Joy said honestly.

  Katie peered at the dress as if she were seeing it for the first time. “Do you think so?”

  “You’d look great in it with your hair down and a pair of dangly earrings.”

  “Hmm, maybe you’re right,” Katie said, giving her a bright smile. “Guess I bought it for a reason. Okay, bachelorette number two—she may look simple, but once you get her on, she packs a punch.”

  Joy made a sound of admiration when she saw the elegant, sleeveless white gown with layers of white beads and sequins and a graceful scooped neck. One thing was for certain: Katie’s gowns were far and away beyond what Joy could have afforded. Could she really borrow something so exquisite?

  “It’s stunning,” Joy murmured.

  “It is nice, but I’m leaning toward candidate number three. Perfect for a hot summer evening. With your coloring and figure, it’d be a showstopper,” Katie said, whipping around another gown. Joy gasped.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, instinctively reaching across the counter to touch the gown. The delicious fabric descended from a single twisted shoulder strap, falling in lustrous folds of tangerine fluid satin.

  “It’d set off your tan and skin, and here’s the kicker,” Katie said walking around the counter and turning the gown. “It looks sedate, but it has a slit in the back that shows major leg action. I should have known you were a runner when I saw your legs yesterday in the coffee shop. The crowd will be left ogling in your wake.”

  Joy laughed. “I’d rather do without any ogling.”

  Katie waved her free hand. “They’ll be stunned speechless. You’ll never know it happened. What do you think? Everett will love it.”

  “He will?”

  “He loves color on a woman. Hates a washed-out palette.” She nodded toward Joy’s paintings mounted in the dining room. “I’m assuming those are your work?” Joy nodded. “Then I see you agree with Everett about color.”

  “It is incredibly vibrant and rich-looking,” Joy murmured, sliding her hand along the decadently soft folds.

  “Try it on?” Katie asked, twitching the dress temptingly in her hand.

  Joy hesitated. She wasn’t much for glitz and glamour. But something about the dress—something about the idea of Everett seeing her in it—appealed to her. Maybe it was because, like Everett, the dress didn’t speak to her of pageantry and drama, but of vibrancy, sensuality . . . the risks and rewards of living.

  She met Katie’s sparkling eyes.

  “Are you sure, Katie? What if I spill something on it?”

  “I’m not worried. I have a crack dry cleaner. Please say yes. I’m dying to see you in it.”

  Joy bit her lip uncertainly and again touched the fabric, allowing it to seduce her. Katie grinned triumphantly when she took the hanger from her hand.

  * * *

  At ten to six that evening, Joy suspected she was on the verge of a panic attack.

  She pushed a button on the remote control and the television in her bedroom switched off. It had been a mistake to turn it on. A local news station was doing red-carpet coverage of the Maritime premiere. Hundreds of people were congregated on Illinois Avenue. Guests were already arriving, flashing glittering smiles at the cameras and fans crowding behind waist-high barriers.

  She felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball. A woman used to clipping coupons, doing her own sewing, and scouring her own floors didn’t wander into the world of the golden people without some major anxiety. It would have been bad enough for Joy to attend the premiere with her uncle and a few friends she knew from his special effects makeup company, but Joy had gone and made it worse. She’d agreed to attend the high-profile event with Prince Charming himself.

  She placed her hand on her chest and forced herself to take a long, slow breath. The feeling of her breast draped in rich satin sent the alarming reminder through her that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Katie had insisted she didn’t need one—the fabric was ruched around her breasts, hiding the contours of her nipples. No one could tell that the only thing she wore under the gown was a tiny thong.

  But Joy knew.

  She felt naked—no, worse. The rich fabric slid and caressed her skin every time she moved, creating a sensual friction, a hyperawareness of her sensitive body.

  She inspected herself in the full-length mirror. It was difficult to find flaws in her image. Her insecurities were just beneath the surface. The dress fit her to perfection, its flowing lines seeming to make love to her feminine curves, skimming and suggesting as she moved versus clinging obviously. She’d been fortunate in being left with a relatively innocuous reminder of her chemotherapy. The single strap that tied at her left shoulder covered her small port scar. She rarely wore much makeup, but knew the dress called for some dramatics. She’d focused on her eyes. The result was a smoky, seductive look.

  Her one criticism of her appearance was the lack of her long mane of chestnut brown hair. It would have looked perfect with the dress. She’d combed back her short hair for a sophisticated, simple look. She touched the strands on her neck, hating them, longing for her tumbling tresses . . . wishing for the confidence she’d possessed before her cancer diagnosis.

  The loss of her hair had brought back so much to her—shaving her mom’s head as a mother and daughter ritual on three different occasions, putting on the act that shopping for a wig was fun. No wonder Samson’s hair had meant life and vitality in the myth. She suspected every cancer patient and survivor understood the analogy.

  The buzzer going off made her jump.

  “Hi,” she said into the intercom in her foyer a few seconds later.

  “Hi.”

  Reality shuddered through her at the sound of his deep voice.

  “I just have to grab my purse. Do you want to come up, or should I come down?”

  “I’ll come up.”

  She pushed the release on the downstairs lock. A few seconds later she swung open the door.

  “Wow.”

  He’d said it, but he’d stolen the word straight from her mouth.

  “You look wonderful,” she murmured, her gaze gliding over him. It fascinated her how he could epitomize shabby insouciance one moment and elegant male sophistication the next. Maybe it was just because he possessed an amazing body that he could wear anything; apparel was just a negligently donned accessory to the man beneath it. He wore a classic black tux, white dress shirt with wing collar, points tucked behind a black bow tie. His hair looked neat for once, combed back in glossy waves. The overall look was immaculate and utterly masculine.

  His eyes gleamed as they moved over her, making her self-conscious in an entirely different way than she’d felt just moments ago.

  “I’m glad you chose the tux over the bowling shirt,” she said, grinning.

  “I’m still partial to your jean shorts,” he murmured as his gaze roved over her belly and breasts, “but this dress has its charms. At least it does on you.” He met her stare, his eyes warm. “You’re beautiful.”

  She didn’t know what to say. If it’d sounded like flattery, it would have been one thing. It hadn’t, though. The compliment had sounded candid and a little amazed.

  She turned, anxious to hide her embarrassment. “I’ll just get my purse.”

  She return
ed a moment later carrying the gold clutch that matched her high-heeled sandals. She noticed his raised eyebrows.

  “What?” she asked, approaching him. He cupped her hip in his palm. She focused on his small, teasing smile and the way her heart raced at his touch, letting his charm and her excitement silence her anxiety.

  “Have you seen what you look like from the back? Are you trying to kill me or what?” he murmured.

  She laughed, and then shocked herself by drawing nearer, letting the front of her body brush lightly against him. She craned up and pressed her lips to his. By the time she took a step back, he looked like she’d slugged him instead of kissed him.

  He also looked pleased . . . and aroused.

  “You’ll just have to stay beside me all night and never fall behind. I have no malicious intent in mind,” she murmured.

  “Are you kidding? And let all the other guys have the pleasure of seeing the best pair of legs this side of the Atlantic?” he asked with a look of mock scandal. He took her hand and opened the door wider, urging her to walk ahead of him. “I don’t think so. Not when those legs belong to my date.”

  Maybe it was something in the way he’d said it, but remembering those words gave her a sense of newfound security. No matter how crazy and temporary this thing with Everett was, he clearly wanted to be with her tonight. Even when their limousine passed the security check and proceeded down Illinois Avenue—people were packed like sardines on either side of the street—the spell lingered. It was Everett and the other artists who had created Maritime’s night. She knew—better than many—how much meticulous detail and hard work went into such a gargantuan production. She was proud to be there as his guest.

  Besides, if you think for a second anyone is going to pay attention to you when you’re with Everett Hughes, you’re so flattering yourself.