If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  His playful nature combined with his sexy chiseled jaw sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. Whitney craved this feeling—the feeling of infinite possibilities when meeting a man for the first time, a man who stirred something within her. In recent years, Nolan was the only man to make her feel this way, and so she quietly celebrated this new development and what it could mean for her ability to walk away from her ex once and for all. Perhaps that’s why she was willing to take such a professional risk. Charlie represented freedom from Nolan’s grip, and nothing, not even a huge bonus, meant more to her than finally releasing herself from his grasp.

  That evening, she made a point of making Charlie wait. When the elevator opened ten minutes past the hour, Whitney glanced down at her watch and smiled. She strolled to the expansive and stunning lobby complete with its fifty-foot-long ceiling mural. Charlie sat in the center of the lobby, leaning back into his armchair, checking his phone and looking ridiculously hot in his dark jeans and black polo shirt. His eyes raised to meet hers as she approached, her heels clicking against the marble floor. He stood to greet her, kissing her on the cheek. His expression, a combination of shock and satisfaction, surprised her.

  “You showed.”

  Whitney tilted her head. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

  Charlie took her hand in his. “I wasn’t sure. You seemed hesitant this afternoon.”

  She nodded in realization. “That’s the thing . . . this”—she moved her hand between them—“isn’t the best idea.”

  “Because of the show?”

  Whitney nodded.

  “Is there some sort of rule?” He looked confused. “I don’t remember signing anything in the release.”

  Whitney smiled, knowing he had no intention of dropping the issue. “Technically, it’s allowed, but I’m supposed to stay impartial, so . . .”

  “Maybe I should quit?”

  “Don’t be silly. You have a real shot, don’t waste it.”

  He shrugged. “Somehow I think you’d be worth it.”

  Butterflies stirred in her belly. “That’s sweet, but I’m serious. Can you handle this? Can I count on your discretion?”

  Charlie wrapped his arm around Whitney’s waist, pulling her close. “You can count on me for many things, love. Discretion is one of them. I promise.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “But I do think you’d be worth it. I could walk away right now with no regrets.” There was something about his tone that left her longing for more. Was he serious or just being his playful self? Who would walk away from such an opportunity?

  His hand tightened around her waist, pulling her close as his eyes bore into hers. The air whooshed from her lungs and her voice cracked as she spoke. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Not yet, that’s true. But that’s what tonight is for, isn’t it?”

  “Fine.” She bit her lower lip and raised a playful eyebrow. “After tonight, you’ll decide what you’re going to pursue. Me or the show.”

  Their eyes locked and the electricity between them was almost overwhelming. Every nerve in her body was awake and intrigued by this sexy and charming man.

  “Deal.” He released her, taking a slight step back. “Shall we?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I promised you a tour, and there’s only one place to start.”

  “Holy shit.” Whitney’s breathing was ragged and her spine tingled. There was nothing but glass above her and Charlie’s heads, to their sides, and beneath their feet on the Ledge of the skydeck of Willis Tower, the eighth tallest building in the world. One hundred and three stories above the ground, Whitney marveled at the scene before her.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Charlie said. “My brother brought me here a month ago and I couldn’t believe the view.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. We can see the entire city from up here.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I thought I’d be terrified”—Whitney swallowed hard—“but I’m not at all. It’s exhilarating.”

  Charlie laughed and pulled her close to his side, her hip rubbing against his muscular thigh. She wondered if he could hear the intense pounding of her heart. “I got you.”

  “Are you always such a thrill seeker?”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows, looking like a guilty child with his hand in the cookie jar. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head. “Life’s too short to watch your life go by. You gotta get in there, shake things up, get your hands dirty.”

  Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulder “My thoughts exactly. You know, I think we may be quite the pair.”

  A satisfied smile crossed her lips as she continued to gaze at the city. “We’ll see.”

  A moment passed as the two surveyed the city from the small glass box 103 stories in the sky. “Time for a drink?” Whitney asked, noticing a line forming behind them inside the safety of the tower.

  “First, we need to capture the moment.” Charlie removed his phone from his pocket, and he and Whitney shifted their bodies to take a selfie with the glorious view of the city behind them. Whitney leaned her forehead into his shoulder and he pulled her in tight as they smiled in unison.

  If her first hour with Charlie Hutchins was any indication, she was in an awful amount of trouble.

  “Oh my God, stop! I’m gonna pee my pants.” Whitney’s eyes were pressed tight as she gripped Charlie’s sinewy arm.

  “I’m serious, love. I’ve got millions of them.”

  After learning that U2 was Whitney’s all-time favorite band, Charlie spent the better part of the hour ripping Bono to shreds, convincing Whitney that the majority of Brits couldn’t stand his holier-than-thou attitude. To illustrate his point, he rattled off joke after joke at the singer’s expense.

  “I love him, stop! Seriously, stop.”

  “One more,” he chuckled, taking a sip of his vodka on the rocks. “Just one more, c’mon.”

  “Okay.” Whitney cleared her throat, placing her hands on her hips. “Just one more and that’s it!”

  “Right, okay. What’s the difference between God and Bono?”

  “I don’t know.” Whitney drained the last of her French martini before placing the glass on the counter of the hotel bar and bracing for the punch line. Earlier, Charlie had caused vodka to fly out of her mouth. She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  “God doesn’t wander around Dublin thinking he’s Bono.”

  Despite her admiration for the singer, she couldn’t keep her laughter in. Holding on to the bar, the muscles of her abdomen ached from the loud, hearty laugh that filled her body from her head to her toes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Although she was pretty sure her alcohol consumption had more than a little to do with her boisterous laughter, Charlie was nothing if not entertaining, that was for sure.

  Charlie signaled the bartender to replace Whitney’s empty glass. “Seriously, his head is shoved so far up his own pretentious arse it’s not even funny.”

  “That may be true, but he supports dozens of charities and has helped millions of people.”

  “But he’s still a pompous prick.” Whitney’s mouth dropped and Charlie continued. “I’m sorry, but it’s time you knew the truth. He’s full of shite.”

  “My love is unwavering, sir. I’m afraid you can’t sway me, no matter how charming you may be.”

  Charlie leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  Her breath caught as she took in his crisp scent. His hair smelled of citrus and his breath of dry vodka. Her eyes moved to focus on his full lips—never had a pair of lips invited her in the way Charlie’s did. Ever so slowly, she closed the gap between them until their lips were almost touching.

  “Maybe it is,” she whispered.

  Charlie accepted her challenge immediately, pressing his lips to hers and pulling her hips from the barstool. Whitney dug her fingertip
s into his short hair as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her small waist. Her chest heaved as she lost herself in the warmth of his mouth, the tenacity of his lips, and the grip of his fingertips underneath her lacy top.

  The simple clearing of a throat brought her back to reality. “Whitney, may I speak to you, please?”

  Whitney pulled herself from Charlie’s embrace and turned to face Chris, who stood with arms crossed in front of his chest. His lips were puckered in exasperation and his eyes were narrowed. An empty feeling in her gut warned her this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation.

  Lightly, she touched Charlie’s arm before smoothing down her blouse and skirt. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  She and Chris walked to a quiet corner of the bar “Listen, I know what you’re gonna say—”

  “Don’t make me be the bad guy, Whit. C’mon, you know this is a bad idea.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Just be smart, okay? I have a lot riding on this show.”

  That last sentence annoyed her. Chris knew how seriously she took her work with the network. It was always her top priority. “And you think I don’t? I’ve got a huge bonus riding on this!”

  “Then act like it.” Whitney watched as Chris glared at Charlie. “Grow up and do your job. I’m going to bed.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes, still irritated that Chris thought she was being unprofessional, even if it was the truth. “You do that.”

  Chris shook his head and Whitney’s heart sank, knowing he was disappointed in her. She had a reputation at the network for not only taking life by the balls, but also doing whatever (or whomever) made her happy at the time. She’d had plenty of one-night stands, boyfriends, and Mr. Right Nows, but none of them had ever jeopardized her career. What was wrong with her?

  Even though there was no guarantee Charlie would even make it past the next round in the competition, Whitney knew Chris was right. Her behavior was flippant. Reckless. She had to be smarter, had to prevent her impulsive side from threatening the success of the show. Despite her attraction to the former rugby player, Whitney’s job would always come first. Always.

  A hand wrapped around her waist and the smell of citrus consumed her senses. “Everything all right, love?”

  She turned to face him, taking a definitive step back, removing his fingers from her waist. “Everything’s fine.” Whitney considered calling it a night and sending Charlie away with a handshake. Then she saw the heat in his eyes and the rebel inside of her, combined with the rush of adrenaline and alcohol racing through her veins, took over. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “I’m in room 310. Meet me there in ten minutes.”

  “I can’t get enough of you,” Charlie murmured into Whitney’s neck. His tongue drew circles against the sensitive spot below her ear. The heat of his mouth against her skin was enticing, sending an electrical current throughout her entire body. They’d just entered her hotel room and already she was ready to have him inside her. God, what was this man doing to her?

  “You’re wearing entirely too many clothes, don’t you think?” he said, that accent driving her wild.

  “Let’s fix that.”

  Charlie wasted no time in stripping Whitney of her clothes. His agile fingers unbuttoned her blouse quickly before he tossed it behind him. Whitney laughed as he moved on to her skirt, finding the zipper immediately. It dropped to the floor and she stepped from its grasp, wearing only her most provocative black lace bra and panties. She bent one knee, reaching to remove her red heels.

  “Wait.” His voice was low. She froze. “Keep them on.”

  Whitney smirked, pleased with his idea. Sex in heels was sensuous, and with the right man, incredibly arousing. Overtaken by the desire building within her, Whitney pulled at Charlie’s pants and boxer shorts and lowered herself to her knees, wanting to please him.

  To her delight, Charlie was already hard and ready for her. She licked the tip of his cock, taking it into her mouth, running circles over its round head. She pulled away gently and Charlie groaned.

  “Now I know why you’re so cocky.” She stroked him with her hand as they locked eyes.

  Charlie moaned and threw his head back. Whitney smiled before taking him back into her mouth. Up and down, she moved her mouth, sucking gently as she pulled him in with each stroke, knowing she was pleasing him with each movement.

  “Mmm,” Charlie murmured, and his obvious pleasure urged her on. “Bloody ’ell, you’re amazing.”

  His hands moved to clutch her hair, pulling gently on her scalp. After several more delicious strokes, he pulled harder away from himself, forcing her to release her grasp on him.

  “Not like this,” he said, his eyes hooded and dark. “I want to be inside you. Now.”

  “Do you have something?” As captivating as Charlie Hutchins was, there was no way she was having unprotected sex. She knew better than that.

  “Of course.”

  Whitney removed her bra and panties while Charlie retrieved his wallet. She kept her eyes glued to his as he ripped the foil package open with his teeth. Once it was open, he handed it to Whitney.

  “Put it on me.”

  Whitney was a self-assured woman who didn’t take orders from anyone . . . outside of the bedroom. In the bedroom it drove her absolutely wild to be told what to do—and so far, Charlie was turning her on with his dominant attitude. Slowly, she rolled the condom onto his length.

  “How do you want me?” she asked.

  “Turn around.”

  “And?”

  “Climb on the bed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Whitney winked, crawling onto the bed, remaining on all fours.

  “Grasp the headboard.”

  Whitney did as she was told. His fingers glided through her long, curly hair until he grasped all of it within his fist and pulled ever so slightly. Whitney hissed, enjoying the slight sting in her scalp, just as Charlie slammed into her, thrusting his hips against her backside.

  “Oh my God,” she said, her knuckles white as they clutched the wooden headboard.

  “Too rough?” Charlie asked, his grip easing on her hair.

  “No,” Whitney insisted. “I love it, don’t stop.”

  “God, you’re amazing.”

  Charlie thrust again and again as Whitney held on to the wood, moaning with pleasure. Within seconds, his hand moved around her hip and onto her most sensitive spot. With each thrust, he stroked her, and the combination was almost too much for Whitney to handle. Her orgasm shot through her entire body and she screamed out in pure pleasure.

  Hearing her come, Charlie gripped her hips, digging his fingers into her skin and thrusting harder and deeper until he cried out above her, then pulled back and sank his chin into the curve of her lower back. His hands reached to cover hers against the wood before they sank into the bed below. Out of breath, Whitney turned and buried her forehead into the nook between his arm and chest. He kissed her shoulder between labored breaths.

  “Wow” was all he said before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Go away,” Whitney muttered, keeping her eyes pinched shut as she rolled over and pressed a hand to her aching temples. The hotel’s crisp linens swooshed beneath her naked body and sunlight streamed through the expansive windows. Unable to stop the painting on the wall from spinning, she closed her eyes tight, realizing just how hungover she must be. She opened one eye to glance at the alarm clock just as the knocking resumed.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “I’ll get it, love.”

  She felt her king-sized bed shift from the weight of another person. And then footsteps.

  Love?

  With a jolt, her eyes opened wide and she sat up with a start, pressing the sheet to her chest and staring at the corner obstructing her view of the hotel door. She wasn’t alone in her room at the Palmer House Hotel. She’d gone home with someone . . . someone with a delectable voice. She pushed through th
e pounding pain in her forehead to focus on the night before. Groggy and sluggish, her brain wouldn’t cooperate, but tiny glimpses flashed in short bursts of memory: a handsome grin, way too many martinis, laughing so hard she almost peed her pants. She could almost remember his face . . .

  “Who the hell are you?” she heard coming from the hallway. It was a voice she would recognize anywhere.

  Nolan.

  Her stomach flipped and adrenaline rocketed through her veins. What in the world?

  “Charlie Hutchins. Um, you look familiar. Aren’t you—”

  That’s right! Charlie, the hottie from auditions.

  If Nolan hadn’t been waiting for her on the other side of the door, she’d have taken a moment to bask in having scored the ridiculously hot contestant with the rich, buttery voice and charismatic smile. But there was no time for that. Instead, she had to focus on her angry ex fuming at her door.

  “Boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend.” She could hear the anger boiling over in Nolan’s booming voice. “Whitney!”

  Whitney scrambled from the bed, quickly grabbed a robe, and rounded the corner to see two sets of confused eyes upon her, though Nolan’s confusion was overshadowed by his rage. His cheeks were red, the muscles of his arms tense, his hands balled into fists. His lips were flat in a hard line as he glared at Whitney. Charlie, wearing only his jeans, ran his hand through his hair and tilted his head to the side, looking back and forth between Whitney and Nolan.

  “Boyfriend?” She scowled at Nolan. “Riiiight.”

  Charlie turned toward Whitney, his blue eyes gleaming in the morning sun. His expression changed from confused to protective, and his hand stayed firmly on the side of the door. “Do you want me to take care of this?”