Whitney’s face flushed with embarrassment, second-guessing why she’d revealed that memory.
“It’s silly, I know—”
Wes squeezed her knee. “It’s not silly at all. Your memories are important—they’re part of you. It’s important to hold on to them.”
“I guess remembering him has always been too painful. He left pretty soon after that carnival, left my mom for his old flame, moved back to Jersey, and started another life with a new family. I got birthday cards and phone calls at first, but over time they just got less and less frequent. By the time I was eight, we had no contact.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t let it bother me. We all make our choices and he clearly made his.” Whitney shook her head, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “Well, this got serious way too fast. Let’s talk about something else. What about you and your brothers and sisters?”
Wes paused, staring at Whitney with sober eyes. She stirred in her seat, feeling naked, exposed. Of course, there was a part of her that loved feeling this way with him—vulnerable, open. But the other part, the part that was comfortably set in her ways, wanted to maintain her distance, keep her walls up, protect her heart.
Wes scratched the stubble on his chin. “Everyone lives within a fifty-mile radius.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, meaning it. She wished her mother lived closer to L.A. “I’m always amazed by big families who stay so close.”
“I’m closest to my sister Ginny. She and I are the loners of the bunch. Driven more by career than love.” He cleared his throat, looking away briefly. There was more to that statement. Much more, she felt it in her gut. There was something Wes wasn’t sharing, but she wasn’t ready to ask. They’d only just met. There was time for such things to be revealed.
“I get it,” Whitney agreed.
Wes’s hand moved past her knee, approaching her thigh. She parted her legs just slightly, inviting his touch. “Yeah, I guess you do, Hollywood.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Seriously? Are you actually calling me that?”
“If the shoe fits . . .”
“Whatever,” she giggled. “I’m not offended, I’m proud.”
“You should be.” He moved closer, still stroking the skin of her thigh. “You’re a success.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning closer. She was ready for the sensation of his lips on hers and she didn’t want to wait any longer. The past few weeks had been agonizing enough. Having him on her sofa, his fingers making feathery strokes against her hot skin, was torturous.
Wes shifted, closing the gap between them, one hand still on her thigh, the other behind her neck as he leaned in. “You’re the reason I’m here. You know that, right?”
She swallowed hard, holding her breath, awaiting his kiss. She said nothing, but nodded, staring into his eyes.
“You’re all I can think about,” he continued, placing a kiss just below her chin, and then another, and another, as his lips created a path to her ear. He sucked on the sensitive skin, making her squirm. “Your face, your hair, your eyes, your attitude. You haunt my dreams.”
Her breath quickened, her nerves tingled as she listened to his whispers.
“I’ve waited for this. For you.”
“Me too.” Guilt swarmed her belly, remembering her encounters with Charlie since leaving Montana. There had been no proclamations of love or exclusivity—it was way too early for that. But still, she felt as if she’d somehow betrayed him. She pushed the guilt away, determined to enjoy the moment with Wes. But the guilt turned to humor—her classic defense mechanism. When she felt herself succumbing to her vulnerability, she managed to inject humor into any scenario to retrieve her control.
“I don’t know. I mean, do you know enough about me yet? Do you know everything?” she teased, reminding him of the reasons he’d turned her down in Montana. “Enough to see me?”
He removed his lips from her neck and hovered above her. She expected a laugh, but instead his eyes were dark with passion. He traced a finger from her forehead to her chin. “No, there’s so much more I want to learn. But I can’t wait any longer. I want you, Whitney.”
His lips pressed to hers with a voracity she craved. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him close. Luscious strokes of his tongue sent shivers to the tips of her toes, and arousal stirred within her. He pulled away and wrapped one arm around her back, the other beneath her knees. In one swift moment, Wes lifted her from the couch. She gasped as she hovered over the furniture.
“Where’s your bedroom?” His voice was deep, demanding, determined.
A satisfied smile crossed her lips. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”
With one swift movement, he hoisted her over his right shoulder like she imagined he’d carry a saddle to a horse. She laughed as they entered her bedroom, but the humor quickly left the room when he lowered her gently on the soft duvet and swiftly tugged off his thick leather belt. As Whitney watched him toss it to the floor, her fingers ached with the need to touch him. She rose to her knees, grabbing a condom from her bedside table. Like a cat, she crawled to the edge of the bed and removed his soft cotton T-shirt from his chiseled abdomen before dropping it to the carpet below. She dragged her fingers along the cut edge of his muscles, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. She released the button, and then the zipper.
He took her hands in his, shaking his head. “You first.”
With no complaint, Whitney ripped her shirt from her body and threw it over Wes’s shoulder. He reached down, bracing her by the knees, and flipped her to her back. She howled with laughter as her head hit the soft mattress below. Slowly, he pulled her pants from her body, then her panties. When she was completely naked below the waist, he licked his lips, staring down at her.
“Beautiful.”
Before Whitney could respond, he hoisted her forward, so her ass hovered over the edge of the bed. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling the heat of his breath against her thighs. His fingers traced along her entrance, sending a shockwave of electricity to the most sensitive spot of her body. She craved him, craved the feel of him against her. She wanted nothing more than to feel his lips, his tongue there . . . right there.
“Oh my God,” she moaned as his fingers and velvety tongue continued to tease her. Soft, feathery touches—not enough to satisfy, only enough to entice and tantalize every nerve of her body. She squirmed beneath him, her body begging for more.
Her voice joined her body, pleading with him to put an end to the agony. “Please, Wes. Please.”
Finally, he answered her demands, pressing his tongue to her clit with new determination. She arched her back as he grasped her hips, licking and stroking until she came apart. She screamed his name as he forced her over the edge. She writhed beneath him as her orgasm continued, the longest she’d ever experienced, her entire body tense as he continued to press his lips to her most sensitive spot, riding out the orgasm with her.
“Okay, okay,” she said, squirming beneath him, laughing. She was overwhelmed by the incredible sensations pulsing through her body. “No more. I can’t take it.”
Wes pulled away, crawled onto the mattress, and hovered above her, brushing her frazzled hair from her forehead.
“That was . . . I have no words,” she said.
He smiled, then kissed her neck. “We’re not done.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, struggling to catch her breath. “I know. I want to make you feel like this. Just like this.”
She rolled him over, straddled him, and ran her hands down his firm pecs and abs. His biceps flexed as he held her hips in place. She quickly realized she was no longer holding the condom she’d had earlier. “Oh shit, I must’ve dropped the condom.”
Whitney searched the duvet, to no avail. There was no foil packet to be found. “Oh, screw it.” She lunged forward to the head of the bed, reaching into her drawer once again to retrieve protection. “Come here, Cowboy.�
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Wes chuckled before stalking toward her on his hands and knees, still in his jeans and leather boots. He lay next to her, pulling her to straddle him once again.
“Where were we?” she asked, sliding down his legs to remove his boots. She grasped the rugged leather, then placed them gently on the floor. She then climbed back to Wes and tugged on the waistband of his jeans. She shimmied them down, revealing his rock-hard thigh muscles. She squeezed one, then the other, in awe. “God, you’re solid.”
After removing his jeans completely, she focused her attention on the bulge beneath his cotton boxers. She cupped him in her hand, feeling him shudder beneath her touch. She dragged her fingers against the cotton, grasping the waistband before slipping them down past his toes. She took in the sight of him, already hard and ready for her.
“Mmm.” She bit her lip, raising both eyebrows. “Quite impressive.”
She ripped the condom wrapper open and slid it down his shaft. He grasped her hips as she eased herself down on him. He moaned beneath her, closing his eyes briefly before locking gazes with hers.
“You feel amazing. Just as I knew you would.”
Ever so slowly, she moved above Wes, feeling her muscles tighten around him, savoring the feel of his fingernails digging into her hips as he matched her thrusts with his own.
Holy shit. I can’t believe it!
As much as Whitney had always enjoyed sex, she’d never experienced multiple orgasms. But as she pumped her hips against Wes’s, she felt a familiar sensation building within her. She quickened her movements, thrusting again and again, the heels of her hands digging into his chest.
“Oh God, oh my God, I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna . . .” Whitney cried out once again, this orgasm even more consuming, more intense than the first. Her muscles contracted around Wes, sending him over the edge. His eyes closed tight as he pressed his head into the pillow, groaning with pleasure as he found his release.
Whitney collapsed on his chest, completely spent and in awe of what Wes was able to evoke in her body, something no man had ever been able to do. They remained together, still connected, until Wes excused himself to use the bathroom.
No passing of the condom. Thank God.
When he returned to the bedroom, Whitney lay comfortably underneath the sheets, the Egyptian cotton clinging to her every curve. He stopped.
“What?” Whitney asked.
“I just like looking at you.” He climbed into bed, then propped himself up with one arm. “You, Hollywood, are something to see.”
“I was hoping that name wouldn’t stick.”
“Don’t fight it.” Wes kissed her on the nose and stroked her arms with the pads of his fingers. “So let me ask you something, was it worth the wait?”
“Are you kidding me?” Whitney cracked up, wide-eyed. “Um, yeah, that was worth years of agony. I’ve never had multiples before. That was my first time.”
“Get used to it.” She loved his self-assured nature. His cockiness was well-warranted and sexy as hell.
“I think I can manage that.” She smiled, tracing her fingertips against his full lips. “Are you hungry? It’s almost dinnertime.”
“I’ll cook for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t have much in the fridge.”
He smirked. “I’m pretty resourceful.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Seriously, let me cook you dinner. It’d be my pleasure.”
“All right, but no refrigerator judgment,” she conceded, flipping around to face the other direction, pressing her back to his chest.
He laughed. “I promise.”
“Let’s lie here just a bit longer, okay?” she said. “This is nice.”
“Of course.” He stroked her back and kissed the nape of her neck. “As long as you like.”
They lay in silence. The only sounds were the sporadic buzzes of her phone, and she had no desire to check her messages, voice mail, or anything else that might require removing her full attention from Wesson Rancourt. Everything and everyone else could wait.
“I don’t know how you do it. Seriously, you’re a magician or something.” Whitney took another bite of the frittata Wes had whipped up, wearing only his boxer shorts, while she drank wine and watched him cook, enjoying the view. Once he’d finished creating their meal, they sat together, on the worn leather stools of her breakfast bar, enjoying the goat cheese, sausage, and scallion frittata.
He shook off the compliment. “Nah, it’s easy. I’ll teach you.”
“Or you can just cook for me all the time,” she said with a wink. Wes offered a smirk before leaning in to kiss her, allowing his lips to hover gently over hers for just a second. That simple movement stirred desire in her belly.
“Tempting,” he said, raising both eyebrows before placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Very tempting.”
When they’d finished their frittatas and fruit, Whitney hopped to her feet and cleared their place settings. “I just remembered, I have cheesecake in the fridge.”
“My favorite,” he said with a grin. “Did you make it?”
“Yeah, right.” Whitney laughed as she removed the half-eaten turtle cheesecake and can of whipped cream from the fridge. She placed them in front of Wes. “As much as I love food, cooking isn’t my specialty. Although I can make you the best kale smoothie you’ve ever had in your life.”
Wes laughed as Whitney passed him the spatula. He pressed the metal into the thick cake drizzled in caramel and chocolate sauce. “We may need one after this.”
With a grin, Whitney popped the top of the whipped cream and sprayed a large swirl on Wes’s slice of cake before placing an identical puff of cream on her own. When Wes dipped his fork into her slice of cake, she raised an eyebrow.
“Hands off,” she teased. “That’s mine.”
He offered her a sexy grin as he tsked. “Not so fast.” He leaned his elbow on the counter, presenting her with the fork topped with delectable, thick cake and cream.
“Such a gentleman.” She opened her mouth and Wes eased the fork to her tongue, his eyes glued to her pink lips. She wrapped her lips around the fork, slowly pulling all of the creamy cake from the cold metal. “Mmm.”
Wes shook his head, his piercing eyes still focused on her mouth as she licked her lips. “There is nothing sexier than watching you eat.”
“Oh really?” she asked, dipping her finger into the pillows of whipped cream, and scooping a small cloud onto the pad of her finger. “I can think of something.”
Whitney stood, tipping her wrist back to display the cream on her finger while she eased Wes’s boxers from his hips with her other hand. His breath hitched as the cotton moved down his legs and landed on the floor. Whitney dragged the cream along his already hard shaft, circling the tip before placing her finger into her mouth, swallowing the remnants of sweet cream on her skin.
Leaning forward, she licked and stroked him, tasting the sweet flavor of the whipped topping while savoring the feel of his arousal. His fingers were lost in her tousled hair as she took him into her mouth, sucking gently as she lowered herself to the base of his cock.
“Whitney,” he hissed between his teeth. To her surprise, Wes pushed gently on her shoulders, and in response, she pulled away, wondering if she’d somehow done something wrong. No one had ever complained about her abilities in that department before . . .
I swear, if this man passes up a blow job for a piece of cheesecake, I’m gonna lose it.
With dark, hooded eyes, he stripped her of her cotton bathrobe, sliding it from her shoulders and down to the floor. Whitney smiled in response.
“I want all of you,” he murmured before taking her nipple into his mouth, caressing the other breast with the warm tips of his fingers. He squeezed gently, making her shudder at his touch. With his other hand, he traced an invisible line from her chest to her most sensitive spot, stroking her gently. Whitney ea
sed her head back, closing her eyes, allowing his touch to consume her completely. Feeling herself growing closer to climax, she shifted her hips, allowing him access as she wrapped both arms around his neck. His teeth bit down ever so gently on the taut skin of her nipple just as her orgasm claimed her body. She pulsed beneath him, clenching the skin of his neck.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered. “Oh my . . . God.”
“Wrap your legs around me,” he growled. She did as she was told as Wes grabbed the can of whipped cream and carried her back to her bed, placing her gently on the already rumpled sheets. He retrieved another condom from her drawer, passing it to her. She happily obliged, rolling the condom onto his length, which still had remnants of whipped cream.
She wrapped her legs around his waist as he eased himself inside of her, filling her completely. “You feel so good,” he said, his voice smoky and warm.
His eyes locked with her own and with each thrust, Whitney matched his movements with her hips, moving in sync until he closed his eyes tight, threw his head back, and moaned with his release. He collapsed on top of her chest, and she stroked his hair, breathing in his scent.
“Sorry about dessert,” she said, her voice breathy from exertion. “I have trouble controlling myself around you.”
Wes released a satisfied laugh. “You’ll never hear me complaining.”
“Still hungry?” she asked. “I promise I won’t devour you again . . . or then again, maybe I will.”
Wes gave her a devilish grin as he reached for the can of whipped cream. “Well then, in that case, I’m starving.”
Whitney arrived on set just before filming began. Sixteen kitchen stations were scattered across the set. Each chef would have access to a prep station with knives, cutting boards, and other cooking equipment. Next to their prep stations were stoves and ovens. A common area featured eight expansive stainless steel refrigerators, four sinks, and six deep fryers.
“I love the smell of cooking oil in the morning,” she said, nudging Chris, who was pacing near the craft services table. “What’s up with you?”
“Nerves.” He brushed her off, still pacing.
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