by Shayla Black
At the thought of warm spray sluicing all over Cutter’s bulging, solid body, she swallowed back desire.
The door wasn’t shut completely, as if he’d wanted to keep one ear open in case she needed him. If she leaned a little closer, she could peer through the crack in the door and see him naked and soaping up and . . . She bit her lip to hold in a sigh. Yeah, she might see everything she ached to, but if the shoe was on the other foot, she’d be furious if he violated her privacy. Shealyn knew exactly what that felt like and she couldn’t do that to him.
With a grimace, she tiptoed back, intending to start coffee and sip her first cup until he emerged from the bathroom.
The sound of someone colliding with the tile and a muffled shout had her rushing back. Had Cutter, like her granna, somehow fallen and hit his head? Gashed open his skull? Suffered a concussion?
The nightmare of that terrible morning last Christmas replayed in her mind as Shealyn pushed into the bathroom and spotted Cutter through the steam swirling inside the glass stall. When she caught sight of him, she stopped short, covering her gasp with her hand.
He wasn’t unconscious on the floor. Oh, no. He was very much erect—in every way—fisting his cock in harsh, rapid strokes as he growled out her name in a rough chant. His biceps and forearm bulged. Water beaded on his sun-darkened skin. He tossed back his head in pleasure. Shealyn forgot to breathe.
Every sculpted inch of his body looked like a work of art as he froze in ecstasy—all except his hand. That picked up the pace as he cursed out his orgasm with a roar, his body shuddering, his face full of unguarded desire.
Oh, dear god. That was the most sexual, arousing thing she’d ever witnessed in her life.
Shealyn’s entire body flashed hot. She couldn’t breathe. The urge to shuck her pajamas and rush into the shower, touch him, kiss him, whisper his name in a plea that begged for his passion tore at her self-control. Everything about him made her ache for more.
But she’d shoved in on Cutter during a private moment he’d never meant for her to see. He’d closed the door to keep her out. Oh, he’d left it cracked just in case she needed him or something unthinkable happened. But she’d panicked. And she’d violated his personal space and time.
Dread and regret splashed a chill onto her lingering heat.
With his eyes still closed, he turned his back to her, lifting his face to the spray. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. Maybe if she backed out quietly, he would be none the wiser. She’d keep silent so he wouldn’t feel as if his privacy had been breached. She would save them both the embarrassment.
When she tiptoed backward, his voice stopped her cold.
“You leaving now that you’ve seen what you wanted?”
Mortification slid through her. Shealyn shut her eyes. She deserved the jibe. Hell, she deserved worse. The only thing she had to offer him was an apology.
“I’m sorry. I-I made a mistake. I thought I heard—” She sighed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. “But clearly you didn’t fall or hurt yourself or . . .”
Cutter didn’t say anything, merely rinsed the remaining soap from his body. Her tongue was tied and nearly hanging out of her mouth as he cut off the water and yanked on the towel he’d tossed over the glass. He wrapped it around his waist, then emerged in a cloud of steam, his dark eyes narrowed and focused on her. He’d given himself an orgasm moments ago, but Shealyn still felt a thick swirl of sexual tension between them. It gripped her lungs, set her trembling. It made her wet.
“You didn’t leave once you knew what I was doing,” he pointed out.
“By the time I realized, it was too late.”
“You didn’t want to leave.”
Shealyn sighed. No sense compounding a mistake with a lie. “I didn’t.”
“I’m not angry, upset, or embarrassed. But you can’t have it both ways, sweetheart. You either want me or you don’t. Only you can make that choice.” He shouldered his way past her. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in thirty.”
He was annoyed. He was also right. When she’d said no, he’d backed off immediately. Mooning over him now must look as if she was somewhere between fickle and indecisive. The truth was, she’d never been so confused about a man. Cutter Bryant was everything she’d ever sought—and he’d come at the worst time in her life.
“Wait.” She dared to wrap her fingers around his wet, hard biceps. “I’m sorry. Dreadfully, truthfully, completely sorry. It was an honest mistake . . . that I didn’t rectify when I should have.”
He paused. “Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” An awkward silence ensued, and she tried to fill it with small talk. “Did you sleep last night?”
“No.” His eyes narrowed. “Jonesing to hear that my blinding lust kept me awake and led me to masturbate in your shower to thoughts of you?”
Shock and desire both seared her. She hadn’t expected to hear anything so direct. “That wasn’t why I asked but . . . I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy knowing that.”
“What do you want?”
From him. To happen between them. She didn’t misunderstand his question. “I don’t know. I’m not free to have any sort of relationship except a temporary, very secret fling. If the public thought Tower and I didn’t share a true, mad, forever love, you know the show’s viewership would drop. My career might end as quickly as it began. More to the point, I don’t know if I can handle entanglements, even temporary ones. But I also know that I’ve never wanted any man as much as I want you.”
Cutter rushed her, backing her into the bathroom counter. He leaned until he loomed over her, bracing a hand on either side of her hips. His face hovered inches over hers. “I shouldn’t touch you at all, but I can’t seem to stop wanting you. I’m fine with a short, secret fling, if that’s what you want. But make up your mind, little girl. If we get into bed for real, you’ll be mine for as long as I’m here. No blowing hot and cold. No touching anyone except me.” He grimaced. “Whatever happens with Tower will be purely for show and utterly meaningless.” Suddenly, he backed away. “We better finish getting ready and go.”
“You’re right.” About everything.
She needed to think—about Cutter, her blackmailer, her past . . . and her future. About how she would feel if she sent Cutter home come Monday without knowing—at least once—how it felt to be in his arms.
CHAPTER 8
Cutter glanced at his phone. Four P.M. He wished he had some idea how much longer they’d be at the sound stage today. It was getting harder to stand on the sidelines and watch Shealyn prance around her scenes in lingerie that rendered his self-induced pleasure this morning utterly useless. Thank god for the shadows, because he’d been mostly hard for hours simply from looking at her.
Jesus, if she said yes to him, he had a hundred reasons not to crawl into her bed. It wasn’t smart professionally. It muddied his already murky waters personally. But damn it, he couldn’t find the fucking mental will to think about anything except Shealyn and how badly he wanted her.
Tower was having his makeup touched up again before they started take ten of a scene in which Dylan intended to bow to his wife’s demands and oust Annabelle from his record label—and his bed—but Shealyn’s character wasn’t above strong-arming him emotionally and swaying him sexually.
Cutter had not enjoyed watching her kiss Tower and tousle the sheets with him on day one. But now that he knew what she tasted like, how she smelled and felt and responded when she was genuinely aroused? Seeing the man touch her was as enjoyable as someone peeling the skin from his flesh. Cutter’s only consolations were that Shealyn wasn’t excited by her co-star at all, and he knew Tower loved someone he shouldn’t.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated. He withdrew it to find a call from Logan Edgington. Cutter stepped deeper into the shadows, away from the hubbub of the shoot where no one could see or hear hi
m. “Hey. Got good news for me?”
“I wish I could say I did. As you suspected, there are no cameras on that baseball field. There are a couple in the parking lot, facing the scenic overlook. That’s it. I had Stone hack in. He didn’t find anything except a nice view. Sorry.”
Cutter sighed. “I didn’t expect different, just hoped. I need my run of shitty luck to end. After our asshole attempted murder last night, I could use a break in the case.”
“Shit, you didn’t mention that in your texts. Seriously? Okay. I’m working the angles over here. I called Thorpe bright and early. Callie couldn’t shed any light on what Shealyn might have told Jolie, but she wants to make sure you know you’re invited to their Christmas party.”
Cutter smiled faintly. He’d met the dungeon owner’s beautiful, bubbly submissive a few times, shortly after she’d married his buddy, Sean Mackenzie. He didn’t know how the relationship with Thorpe, Callie, and Sean worked, but from all appearances, the trio seemed happier than ever since they’d had a baby boy. “Thanks. I’ll let her know I intend to be there.”
“She also says you’re welcome to bring a plus one.”
“Thanks.” Maybe Brea would feel like going, though her upbringing had been so sheltered he didn’t know how she’d respond to the crowd who held high-octane jobs and practiced kink. It had been a bit of an eye-opener for him at first, too.
“Anyway, Thorpe swore he’d put a call in to Heath to ask him to pump Jolie for info. But it might take a few days for him to get answers since Heath and Jolie are newlyweds. Apparently they’ve tuned out most of the world because he’s often, um . . . pumping her.”
Cutter laughed at the visual. Then it hit him that if he and Brea got married when this assignment was over, people would expect them to be similarly consumed by each other. How was he going to make that work, especially if he continued to burn so hot for Shealyn? Of course, once this job ended, she’d send him back to Sunset and move on with her life. At best he would indulge in a few stolen days as her secret lover, but she wouldn’t want anything more from him. He couldn’t give her more, anyway. He was no one to her. But he was important to Brea. Granted, his adopted sister didn’t care who or what he might do with another woman. So if he spent a forbidden night or two with Shealyn, he’d probably go back to Louisiana on Monday, tuck his memories away, and stay home with Brea, drapes drawn, while his Netflix queue got a hell of a workout.
“The sooner you can get the information the better. I have no way of knowing how long I can contain this situation. I haven’t told Shealyn yet, but I’m pretty sure her blackmailer knows where she lives. I saw fresh footprints outside her window last night. They definitely belong to a man, probably wearing combat boots. I don’t think the gardener left them because whoever did, the son of a bitch was looking right into her bedroom.”
“Damn. You need a place to lay low while things cool down?”
“I might,” Cutter admitted. “Got one, just in case?”
But would that really keep her safe? Even if he could protect her at night, her assailant probably knew where she worked. It wasn’t as if Shealyn could postpone filming without potentially losing her job.
“In L.A.? Not without making a few phone calls.”
“I’ll talk to Shealyn, too. Maybe she’s got some ideas. We don’t need somewhere secure as a vault, just someplace no one would think to look for her.”
“I agree. Keep me posted. If things get too hot, call me. We’ll devise another strategy.”
“Thanks. You got anything on the picture I sent?”
“Of that guy with the loopy grin who looks like he’s got sex face? I’m working on it now. If he really is former military, like the tattoo suggests, it should be a quick turnaround. If he’s one of those posers who’s pretending he served his country for attention, it will take longer.”
His boss spit the words, and Cutter didn’t fault him. Assholes who played make-believe about their time on a battlefield, defending their country, should be fucking ashamed.
“I’ll wait to hear from you. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. How’s it going there otherwise? Ms. West all right?”
“Shealyn was shaken up last night. She’s used to people following her around with cameras, shouting questions. She wasn’t at all prepared for anyone trying to do her in with their car.”
“Yeah. I was lucky that Tara was already working for the FBI when she and I stepped into a mission together. She’s a tough woman, not easily rattled. But Shealyn is a different breed. Once you got her to safety, how did you handle her?”
Just a guess, but Logan wouldn’t be too happy to hear that, instead of simply keeping sentry, he’d almost taken her to bed. “She . . . um, didn’t want to talk about it much. I asked her a few more questions, sneaked that picture I sent you. She was afraid to be alone, so I hung closer than normal while she got some shut-eye.”
Logan paused as if carefully mulling his words. “Shealyn West is a beautiful woman . . .”
His statement led to exactly the place Cutter didn’t want to go with his boss.
“Obviously. What are you saying?”
“Be careful.”
Cutter gripped the phone tight. “This blackmailer and his accomplice won’t get the drop on me.”
“That’s not what I meant. On the job, being a professional means you don’t get to be a man.”
Shealyn and Tower began to get into position for the next take. Hair and makeup did a drive-by on her. One of the assistants he’d seen buzzing around circled again and snapped a full-body still of her to give fans some insider scoop on a social media site. She sent the camera a sultry smile, all wrapped in an expression of white lace and innocence. She looked like a scantily clad wet dream.
Cutter’s cock went from hard to harder.
Until he realized this picture would be on the Internet for public consumption. That bothered him more than he had a right to let it. It also told him that he was getting awfully tangled up in her.
“It’s probably too late,” he admitted.
“Fuck. You’ve managed to get in too deep with her in four days? That’s totally unlike you. Where’s my cool, detached operative?”
“Don’t jump my case. You weren’t so impersonal on your mission with Tara a few years back.” The pair had reunited a decade after their high school fling. His boss hadn’t been anywhere near chaste or detached on that assignment. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Logan cursed through the phone, but didn’t refute him. “What about her relationship with the steroid junkie who stars on the show with her? All fake?”
“Just between us? Yep.”
“I should send in someone else.”
Cutter did his best to keep the growl from his voice. “Don’t. She’s skittish and I’m establishing trust with her. She needs to feel safe—”
“One-Mile can do that. He won’t fall for her.”
It was all he could do not to reach through the phone and inflict bodily harm on Logan. “If you put that bastard within five feet of Shealyn, I’ll rip your balls off, set them on fire, and shove them down your throat while they’re still flaming.”
“Whoa. So . . . this isn’t a simple case of starlet worship and adrenaline-induced lust. Motherfucker,” he breathed. “You better not let this get messy and public. And don’t let your dick rule your head. It can be fatal.”
“I know. I won’t,” he vowed. But when it came to Shealyn, Cutter wasn’t sure how much control he really had over his dick—or any other part of him.
Logan grunted as if he was wholly unconvinced. “I’ll get back to you when I know something.”
“Thanks. I won’t fuck this up.”
They rang off, and Cutter watched while everyone except Shealyn and Tower vacated the shot.
After Tom’s shout and the jarring click of the clapboard, the c
amera started rolling. Cutter didn’t pay attention to Tower at all. Instead, he stood behind the cameraman and watched the sultry sway of Shealyn’s hips as she delivered her seductive lines to the actor.
For a moment, she shifted her stare directly at Cutter. Their gazes locked. He felt the jolt of their connection through his entire bloodstream.
“Would you really kick me out of your bed, out of your life, when I can make you feel so good? When there’s no man I want more?”
She might be reciting prewritten dialogue to Tower’s character, but Cutter had no doubt she meant those husky words for him. Desire zipped up his spine, seared across his skin. How fucking long before they would be alone? Before he could find out if he would really have the chance to touch her again?
Too long. Especially because he’d spent all morning inquiring with some of Hunter Edgington’s connections on the West Coast about getting Shealyn’s Bel-Air ranch wired for security. That wouldn’t really deter her blackmailer from getting in, but it might slow the guy down enough to give Cutter and Shealyn a fighting chance. He already had three bids to complete the work. He needed to comb through each, ask questions, determine the best course, and get the work scheduled before he considered dropping his clothes, seizing her lips, and losing himself inside her.
He hoped tonight wouldn’t be as long and tortured as the last, when Shealyn had cuddled up to him for warmth, half naked, her breasts pressing into his ribs, her legs tangling with his in her sleep. He’d been miserably hard all night.
The feel of her had forced him to take matters into his own hands. He hadn’t expected her to barge in on his self-pleasure in the shower. He certainly hadn’t expected her face to flush, her rosy lips to part, her stare to fixate on him as he climaxed for her.
Knowing that she watched him because she wanted him had aroused Cutter like nothing ever before. If she was really willing to take him as her secret lover, then maybe the night wouldn’t end in frustrated desire, but with him buried inside one of the most beautiful women in the world, making her his—at least temporarily.