Devoted to Pleasure

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Devoted to Pleasure Page 15

by Shayla Black


  “He’s never come on to you before?”

  “Not once. He’s always had Norah on a pedestal, and I’m not his type. So I never thought . . .”

  Cutter raised a brow. “Not his type? He’d have to be either blind or dead to think that.”

  His consternation made her laugh, and Shealyn really needed something to smile about. “You’re good for my ego, but Tower has always liked women who are a little more reserved and petite. He likes feeling ‘bigger’ he told me once after a bottle of tequila. And he likes cultured women so he can feel more caveman. Norah is the assistant curator of a museum in Boston, where she and Joe live. She buys her shoes in the children’s department because she wears a size four.”

  “In other words, he wants to be the man who conquers and controls the castle and he wants someone pretty to decorate it?” he commented as he pulled into rush-hour traffic.

  “When you put it like that, Tower sounds like a pig. Since I’ve known him for a couple of years, I know he isn’t. Everything he said today comes from his insecurities.”

  “What does he have to be insecure about? Money, fame, and looks. At least I suppose women find him attractive since they throw themselves at him.”

  “You wish you were in his shoes?” Shealyn bet the camera would love all the sharp angles of his face and the broad strokes of Cutter’s body. Women would love them, too.

  “Nope. I’d rather stare down the barrel of an enemy combatant’s weapon.”

  “Wow, that’s saying a lot. Why?”

  “I don’t need millions of dollars to be comfortable. Fame sounds terrible. Why would I want people gawking at me when I’m not much for the spotlight?” Cutter shrugged. “I’ve never given too much thought to my looks, so when I overheard Tower say something this morning about his coconut milk facial yesterday, I just . . . couldn’t.”

  Shealyn laughed. “Tower is sensitive about aging.”

  “Seriously? What does he have to be insecure about? Or are you making excuses for his behavior because you’re his friend?”

  “Maybe a little.” She sighed. “I know he’s always in a bad place mentally after seeing Norah. This time was so much worse. A baby changes everything.”

  “Sure does,” he agreed, navigating traffic.

  “The truth is, sometimes even Tower doesn’t want the spotlight anymore, not deep down. But I think he stays for his ego. He lost his heart to Norah at sixteen. The moment she met his younger brother, she looked right past Dean and fell for Joe. Since then, he’s doubted his attractiveness, masculinity, and appeal. I think it’s the reason for the bodybuilding and the high-profile gigs, all the opportunities to be seen. He’s quietly shouted to Norah all these years ‘look at me.’ And she never has.”

  “And now she never will.” Cutter shook his head. “Hmm.”

  That hum was southern-man speak for something between what a shame and what a stupid bastard. Shealyn couldn’t argue.

  “He came off like an ass today, but he usually has a good heart that’s in the right place.”

  Cutter’s scowl said he didn’t quite believe her. “How does Norah not have any idea that her brother-in-law would do anything to have her? Except, of course, stab his brother in the back. I commend him for that restraint.”

  “I know, right?” she returned ironically. “Honestly, I don’t know how she hasn’t figured it out, but I’ve only met her a handful of times. Still, I know she’s not stupid.”

  “Maybe she’s just blind. But she obviously loves her husband, so maybe she simply doesn’t want to see.”

  Shealyn nodded. “That probably has something to do with it. If she admits the problem . . .”

  “She has to deal with it.”

  “Exactly. And now she has her pregnancy and a coming baby to worry about, so she has even less motivation to recognize Tower’s feelings. I’m actually worried for her. Sure this baby has the potential to drive a wedge between the two brothers, but you saw how tiny she is. I have no idea how her body is going to carry a fetus to full term. My granna swears there’s a reason women have hips, and when God made Norah, he was awfully stingy in that department.”

  Cutter cast her a heated glance. “I can think of some other mighty fine reasons for hips.”

  To grip during sex. The image of him clutching hers as he settled between her legs and plunged deep inside her made Shealyn’s heart skip and stutter.

  She pictured him thrusting into her as he pierced her with his dark, intense gaze, face flushed, sweat dripping, his slow, rough strokes ramping up her ache for more. She squirmed in her seat.

  Cutter repressed a smile. “Something I say get to you?”

  She cleared her throat in reply. “You mind helping me grill dinner tonight? The housekeeper went to the grocery store today, so we’ll have lots of meal choices.”

  He accepted the change of subject easily and agreed. Small talk ensued. In the back of Shealyn’s mind she kept turning one question over and over: Did she want to cross the ever-thinning line between them and take Cutter as a lover? Her body did, and she hadn’t been able to resist flirting with him today. Her head was less sure. It was awfully soon after the Foster debacle—at least for her. Was she ready? Could she really trust him? Should she even be caring about all this in the midst of danger and blackmail?

  On the other hand, how could she stop herself from wanting him?

  “You okay?” Cutter asked, breaking into her thoughts. “I lost you there for a minute.”

  When Shealyn blinked, she realized they were pulling up to the guard gate outside her neighborhood. Barney, who took the night shift, was waving to Lance, whose day had just ended.

  “Fine.”

  He let that lie go and rolled down the window. “Evening, Barney. See anything unusual last night? Lance mention anyone suspicious lately?”

  “No.” The security guard bent further to look her way. “Ms. Jarrett came by yesterday. Lance told her you weren’t home, so apparently she turned around and left. Don’t be surprised if she calls you soon.”

  “Was she alone?” Cutter asked.

  “She was. I don’t think she could fit anyone else in that sleek red sports car of hers.”

  “True.” Shealyn smiled fondly. “Thanks. I’ll get in touch with her.”

  With a nod, Barney let them through the gate, and Cutter drove up the hill to the house. As soon as he pulled into her gravel driveway, he turned off the car and made no move to get out. Instead, he scanned the yard. “When did you last talk to Jessica Jarrett? Why would she come in the middle of the day when she must know you’re filming?”

  “I talked to her last week. We were supposed to get together, but . . . something is up with her.”

  “Like blackmail?”

  “I know you think she has motive, but Jessica is too flighty. I can’t imagine her carrying off anything as diabolical as this scheme. Besides, she had no way of knowing I intended to shop in that boutique on that night, much less be able to set up in advance to shoot the video.” Casting Jessica in the guilty role sounded an awful lot like a conspiracy theory. “What I meant is, she’s had a prescription pill problem in the past. I’m worried. I need to check in with her soon. I haven’t been a very good friend lately.”

  “You’ve had your own challenges,” he defended her.

  “I have, but she’s basically alone. Her family doesn’t have a lot to do with her. They disapprove of her Hollywood dreams. I actually feel sorry for Jessica. She didn’t get much attention as a kid—she was the baby of a big family—and to make up for that she seeks constant adoration from the public. Being with her was exhausting at first, but when I figured her out, I treated her with more compassion. She can be a lot of fun, too.”

  Cutter didn’t respond, merely nodded and reached for the door handle. Shealyn had the feeling he was examining her every word and coming to his
own conclusions. He did that a lot, and she’d love to know what he was thinking, especially about the two of them.

  When she moved to let herself out of the SUV, he stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Tell me what you want from me tonight.”

  Bodyguard, friend, or lover?

  “Everything.” No matter how much she told herself that getting involved with him wasn’t smart or that she wasn’t ready or that this couldn’t lead anywhere good, her body didn’t care. Her foolish heart seemed quite willing to jump into disaster, too.

  She was probably going to regret this later. Right now, she didn’t care.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Completely. Our time is short, and I don’t want to waste any more of it.”

  Cutter didn’t smile at her, but she sensed her answer pleased him. “Let’s go. I want to be inside you.”

  Her breath caught as they slid out of the vehicle and shared a glance rife with combustive heat. Once they made it to the front porch, he snatched her house key from his pocket, then scanned the yard once more before he opened the door.

  As he entered, he withdrew his weapon from its holster and scanned the foyer. “Just making sure the house is safe. Until last night, someone only wanted to take your money, not kill you. Now I’m feeling more cautious. Step inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t move until I come for you.”

  She nodded and watched Cutter creep through the house, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. She lost sight of him as he wound into the dining room and presumably the kitchen beyond. Long minutes slid past. As the sun set, she found herself standing in shadow. Her first impulse was to cross the room and turn on a light. All the lights, in fact. Danger made her nervous, and she couldn’t shake the feeling she was in a heap of it. But if someone had broken into her house, flipping on a lamp would be like giving the bad guy a beacon to follow.

  She stood shivering, waiting, worrying for what seemed like a decade. Finally, she heard confident footsteps and saw lights illuminating one after the other all over the family room and kitchen. Cutter appeared a moment later.

  “The coast is clear.” He held out his hand to her, and she was glad to see he’d already holstered his gun.

  Shealyn took his hand, instantly feeling safer because he touched her. “Want dinner now?”

  He cocked his head as if food wasn’t his first priority, but she had barely eaten all day. She’d been too nervous, agitated, afraid, excited. In the span of a few days, her whole world had turned upside down. And now, Cutter seemed like the only solid person she could hold on to.

  “Let’s get you fed.”

  Maybe he realized that she needed to unwind or was more than a little nervous about taking him as a lover. Foster had just . . . happened. A hug had led to a caress that became a kiss, which turned heated. She and Cutter were agreeing to have sex with their eyes wide open. In fact, after last night she had a feeling he would insist on having her assent every step of the way.

  “Okay.” She followed him into the kitchen, set down her purse, then reached for a glass. “You want wine? I’ve got a great pinot noir, some cabs, a merlot or two. I even have some sauvignon blanc and chardonnay, if you’d rather have white.”

  He raised a brow. “Do I look like a wine sort of guy?”

  No. He looked rugged and manly, like the sort who would drink a beer . . . or if the situation called for it, he’d toss back straight scotch. But she couldn’t resist the chance to tease him.

  “What does a wine sort of guy look like?”

  “I don’t know any. Kind of hard to change out the magazine on your AR15 if you’re holding a delicate stem in one hand, you know?” When she laughed, he went on. “Of course spending years at a time in a country where booze is completely forbidden, you learn to do without.”

  “So no wine for you.” She poured herself a glass of the pinot noir and swirled it before taking a swallow. “I didn’t learn to drink vino until I moved here. I was barely twenty-one, and I’d only ever had a few sips of champagne at a wedding. I’d certainly never been drunk. I thought my first year on Hot Southern Nights was going to kill me. Gary, the show’s original director, was an alcoholic, as you know. So everything was cause for celebration. I think we shot that first season half wasted. After he left, Tom cleared out all the booze, and the set became far more sober. It’s both good and bad. I’m clearheaded during the day . . . but work is way less fun,” she teased. “Now, I drink a glass or two at night to unwind. What about your first brush with overimbibing?”

  He reared back with a grimace. “Cage and I had too much Fireball with the rest of the football team after a game one Friday night. I don’t even remember getting home. But I do remember Mama standing in the doorway, ready to tan our hides with her wicked tongue if we didn’t start behaving like decent men and stop living up to our father’s reputation. After that, Cage and I were more careful. Something about being the kid of an alcoholic, you either follow in their footsteps or you want almost nothing to do with booze. My brother and I ultimately chose the latter.”

  She nodded, feeling vaguely guilty. She’d meant to start a light, playful conversation. Instead, here they were, discussing something personal and likely painful. “Sorry. I relate, if it helps. My mom was a drug addict. After she got pregnant by her high school boyfriend and had me, she left home. We moved to Houston. She found another boyfriend who got her pregnant again and hooked her on drugs. Before Maggie was born, he left. She delved even deeper into the drugs after that. I remember trying to wake my mother up one morning because my sister was crying and crying. Nothing worked.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Not quite four.” At the sympathy on his face, she ducked her head and sipped her wine. Otherwise, she’d never get through this. “Shortly after that, she found yet another boyfriend, also a drug user. He told her that he’d stay around but only if she got rid of her kids. I remember overhearing the conversation and being afraid my mother would abandon us. I knew her priorities. Even at that age, I’d figured out she valued her high more than her daughters. The next morning, she packed us up and left us with Granna. I cried when she drove off. It was the best thing that ever happened to us, but also the most hurtful.” Wasn’t she a bright ray of happiness tonight? “So I’ve never taken drugs in my life.”

  “That’s also why you hesitate to let people close, even with those you consider friends, like Tower and Jessica. It’s why you’ve hesitated to trust me. You’re generous and giving, but you don’t want anyone under your skin. You’re afraid to open up and give others the power to hurt you.”

  Cutter was so perceptive it was painful.

  Shealyn forced on a sassy smile. “Guess you figured me out.”

  “I’m not looking to use the information, just understand you,” he assured. “This blackmail scheme . . . it’s seemingly been perpetrated by someone in your life, and as much as you hate it, that reinforces all your distrust.”

  Why did he have to be so right? “Are you a soldier or a shrink?”

  “To be a good soldier, sometimes you have to be a decent armchair psychologist. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I would never do it consciously, but sometimes what you don’t know about people can lead you to step into a mess.”

  True. He seemed very perceptive and considerate . . . if she could accept him at face value. “What about you? My guess is that you’re a hero because your father wasn’t and you feel as if you have to make up for him.”

  “Close.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “I refuse to be weak like him.”

  That made sense, and she admired him wanting to be a better man.

  They’d both had rough childhoods and now found themselves in somewhat fish-out-of-water positions. He didn’t belong in the Hollywood swamp, and she didn’t understand the danger closing in around her.

  “Well, now that we’ve psycho
analyzed each other, fish, chicken, or steak?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Is that really a question?”

  It took her a moment to understand his meaning. “You’re a southern boy. Of course you want red meat.”

  “Damn straight.”

  She giggled. “I almost never have it anymore. I miss it.”

  “It’s good for you every now and then. Sticks to your ribs.”

  “That’s what my papa always says.”

  “Smart man. Where’s your grill, sweetheart?”

  She guided him out to the patio and pointed to the built-in grill outside the door, beside a seating area and a fire pit.

  As he fired up the propane and let the barbecue heat up, she leaned against the railing, sipped her wine, and looked out over the city. It was familiar to her . . . but it would never be home.

  Cutter approached behind her, hands lightly encircling her waist. Before she could speak, he brushed the hair over her shoulder. His breath on the back of her neck made her shiver as he hovered over her skin.

  “Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure? No reservations?”

  This was it, the point of no return. Even knowing that wasn’t going to stop her from diving in headfirst and drowning.

  “None.”

  His grip around her waist tightened. He sidled closer, until his thighs brushed the back of hers. His chest covered her back. His thick erection nestled against her butt. Shealyn thought she might melt under the scorching heat of her desire.

  Then his lips swept up her nape. He followed with a finger down the side of her neck, toying with a soft, sensitive spot in the crook. His tongue trailed just behind. She shuddered, then drew in a jagged breath. Less than thirty seconds under his hands and she was already jittery and aching.

  “Cutter?”

  “Sweetheart?” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “Want me to stop?”

 

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