Watching You

by Leslie A. Kelly

  She scrunched her brow. “Are you the reason Sharon asked Liza to bring me that day?”

  He didn’t even try to deny it. “I wanted to see you again.”

  “But why? Please tell me it wasn’t because you’re a perv like Sid.”

  “I wasn’t fascinated only by your body.” He paused. “Wait, Sid is a perv?”

  “World class.”

  “He made you feel uncomfortable?”

  “Hell, you made me feel uncomfortable earlier, the way you were staring at me.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.” He wasn’t exactly apologetic, but he did sound sincere. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  She lifted a hand to her throat, brushing the tips of her fingers in its hollows. “Oh.”

  He stepped closer, until she felt the brush of his pants against her bare leg. “And now?”

  She couldn’t reply at first, caught in the web of magnetic power surrounding the man. Having to tilt her head back to look up into his face, losing herself in that intense stare, she couldn’t even remember the question. “Huh?”

  “Are you uncomfortable now, Jessica?”

  “Jess. Uh, everybody calls me Jess. Or sometimes JJ.”

  “I don’t.”

  Okeydoke. “No, I’m not uncomfortable now.” Liar. “I suppose I’m confused.”

  “About?”

  “About why you’re so interested in me.” It couldn’t be personal, could it? But what else would he want? What else did men ever want?

  He reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand. “You have a face made for the camera.”

  Realizing he was explaining why he’d been watching her, she shoved away a hint of disappointment that it wasn’t because of any sexual attraction. Was he scouting for talent, looking for some young, fresh face to put in his next film? Well, the famous director was definitely doomed to disappointment.

  Snorting, she tossed her head. “Sorry to tell you this, but I have the acting ability of a pig on steroids.”

  His hand fell, his eyes widened, and his mouth creased into that big, white, devastating smile. There it is. God help me, there it is.

  She fell. Immediately. Instinctively. Fell into something she’d never experienced in her life and couldn’t yet identify. But it was potent.

  She shivered, unable to help herself, both excited out of her mind, and for some reason, utterly terrified. When laughter—real, genuine laughter—emerged from his lips, she lost her last coherent thought. He was gorgeous when still and serious. Laughing and smiling? Lord, the man was simply intoxicating. She couldn’t resist him if she wanted to. Oh, how she hoped he didn’t want her to.

  “Crap,” she whispered, knowing any walls she might have wanted to build between her and this so-far-out-of-her-league man had crumbled into dust, whether he wanted her just for her nonexistent acting ability or for something more…personal.

  “Do you always say the first thing that comes to your mind?” he asked.

  “I’d much prefer to say the last thing, but those comebacks often occur to me hours after the original conversation, when there’s nobody to say them to.”

  His laughter deepened. “Happens to the best of us.”

  “Oh, right. I find it hard to believe you don’t always get the last word.”

  “Very rarely.”

  “With your job? Come on, Director Winchester. That’s a wrap—were there ever three more glorious words in creation?”

  His tone dry, he replied, “Some women might choose another three.”

  “You’re not pregnant?”

  “I want you.”

  “Those are pretty good, too,” she snapped off, before she realized he was being serious. Very serious. There was no laughter now, only pure intensity. And heat. Oh, heavens, the heat.

  He wanted her. This remarkable, incredibly sensual man, wanted her. It wasn’t about a love affair between her face and a camera; he was suggesting a far more intimate relationship.

  He stepped toward her. She tried once again to step away from him but realized she was blocked by a broad, highly polished mahogany table and could go no farther. But he could come forward, and he did, moving so close she could feel his body heat, though he wasn’t touching her at all.

  She glanced toward the large window overlooking the dark beach and the churning blackness of the sea. Someone could be standing out there, watching them in the softly lit room. But honestly, she didn’t much care. How could she when this gorgeous, perfect man was about to touch her?

  He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, sliding his fingertips into her hair. Moving again, until one leg slid between hers, he dropped his other hand to her hip and pulled her close. He didn’t stop at her hip. Reaching around her body, he scraped his fingertips down the vulnerable vertebrae, to the base of her spine.

  Shuddering, Jess closed her eyes and dropped her head back. “How did you know?” she whispered, moaning through the words.

  “Know what?” he asked as he leaned closer, close enough for his breaths to fall soft upon her skin. Close enough for her to lose all sanity, all clarity.

  Focus. She stared up at him. “How did you know if you touched me there I’d melt?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “Because you quivered and arched your back when I was staring at you from across the room earlier.”

  Just like that, with a glance across a crowded room, he had discovered something about her no lover ever had. This man saw things others did not, visualized the world in strange, sharp and perceptive ways. He had recognized her in the statue, had seen through the casual, quippy chatter and zoned right in on the woman who had been thinking about his hands and his mouth and his body since the minute she’d felt his attention on her in the gallery.

  His fingers dipped lower, caressing her skin, teasing the curves of her rear, even as he pulled her hard against his body. She sucked in a gasp, shocked at the strength of him, every bit of him hard and powerful.

  And then he was kissing her. That warm, wonderful mouth was covering hers, and she had one second to believe it before her entire world went up in flames.

  Chapter 4

  Jess had gotten her first kiss when she was eleven. Early bloomer, one might say, though one would be wrong. It wasn’t exactly her choice, but rather the forceful demands of an older foster sibling. Thank God he hadn’t gone any further.

  Since then, she’d decided kissing was one of those skills you really had to work on because not everyone could do it right. In her experience, most men actually did it badly, all thrust and no precision, all brute demand and no subtle seduction. Reece, though…Reece was again the exception to the rule. Because, oh, dear lord, he was the world champion of kissing.

  Jess forgot she was being kissed by a Hollywood legend. All she knew was that in the arms of a sensual, seductive man, every other thought was pulled from her head except that this must be what heaven felt like.

  His perfect mouth, a mix of strength and softness, melted against hers, both asking for and demanding her surrender. His lips were soft and supple for a man who seemed so rigid, and she whimpered as he coaxed his way inside. Sweeping his tongue against hers, he teased her, tasted her, and she loved the warm, wet, give-and-take. Then he grew more serious, more demanding, hungrily exploring every corner and crevice of her mouth.

  He tasted of fire and scotch. She was burned and intoxicated.

  If she were in a regular world—in her normal persona, not surrounded by erotic art, not wearing a designer gown, not a little tipsy from one strong drink—she might have been able to keep this whole thing in perspective. But perspective was the last thing she wanted right now. This didn’t need to make sense, and she didn’t have to know what would happen next or what it meant. For once, she was simply going to enjoy herself.

  He pulled her closer, until they were glued together from chest to thigh, all her softest parts meeting his oh-so-very-hard ones. He was a tall man, but not a brawny one, and every inch of him was firm
and rippling with muscles she could feel pressing against her. His hand still cupped her jaw, and he tilted her head to the side, demanding more—as much as she could give. She welcomed him, meeting each rapacious plunge of his tongue with a thrust of her own.

  Jess was reborn, coming to life in his arms, his kiss awakening something inside her she hadn’t even realized had fallen dormant. Or had never flowered at all. She’d always been sure of herself, where she stood, what she liked, what it took to reach her on a deep, intimate level. It was a place no man had ever really found his way to or even cared enough to try.

  Reece did. He plumbed into her, discovering her like an adventurer on expedition to a new, uncharted land. She lost herself in him completely; there was no man other than this one, no other world outside this room. His kiss was magnetic, the fingers on her back stroking her to an insane level of excitement. Her sighs of pleasure turned into helpless whimpers when he let go of her face and traced his knuckles down her throat, the thumb brushing against the hollow. He stopped at the deep V of her dress, and she arched toward his touch.

  “Please,” she whispered into his mouth, letting him know he didn’t have to stop at all.

  “Please what?”

  He was going to make her beg, wasn’t he? Always in control, leading her to the precipice but insisting she be the one to jump off. He wouldn’t push her or pull her. She was on her own.

  “Please keep touching me” was as far as she would leap.

  It was enough. He caressed the inner curves of her breasts, revealed by the low-cut dress, and she made no effort to stop him when he began to kiss his way down, following the path his hand had taken. Dropping her head back, keeping her fingers twined in his hair, she let the table support her. She arched toward him, dying as his hot mouth pressed kiss after wet kiss down her throat, until his smooth jaw brushed against her breasts. Then he was nudging the fabric over.

  She remembered one second too late what she was wearing beneath the dress.

  “What in the hell is that?” he asked.

  Realizing immediately what had shocked him—and it wasn’t the, if-she-did-said-so-herself, nice breast he’d just revealed, she groaned. “Oh, crap.”

  “What have you done to yourself?” he growled, his jaw as hard and rigid as the plaster used in Liza’s artwork.

  “Whoops. Sorry. I forgot,” she said, trying to sound light and unconcerned, though embarrassment clawed at her. “It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever worn these dumb things. I never imagined somebody else would be undressing me tonight.”

  Or that she’d be so disappointed he’d stopped.

  Yeesh, so much for out of her league and not gonna happen. She’d been ready for the full-court press and some bits of gluey plastic had interrupted the play and blocked the hoop.

  He straightened and pulled away. Swallowing hard, she couldn’t decide if she was furious or glad this was ending as quickly as it began. Maybe both. She was furious she’d let herself go so fast and so far, but was glad it hadn’t gone so far she’d have to do the walk of shame through her best friend’s big art opening.

  Or maybe she was furious it had stopped at all, and glad she got to be in this man’s arms at least once.

  She quickly discovered, though, that it was not over. Her unfortunate choice of undergarments hadn’t entirely killed the moment. Because, without saying a word, Reece reached for the thin straps of her dress, which draped over each shoulder, and pushed them off. She gasped as both sleeves dropped down her arms, taking the front of her dress with them. The blue silk was stopped from falling all the way off her only by the curves of her hips. The cool, air-conditioned room brought goose bumps to her nearly bare, very vulnerable, upper half.

  And then his warm fingers were on her, tugging at the fabric, and the dress hit the floor.

  Too surprised to react, she could only stand there as he studied her. His stare was frank and deliberate, raking across her, top to bottom, in long, slow strips, his expression not only approving but covetous. Goose bumps? Ha. She suddenly feel incinerated where she stood. Jess instinctively wanted to cross an arm over her breasts and another down between her legs, in an Eve-old pose of modesty.

  But she didn’t. No. She stood there and let him look at her, let the warm hunger rolling off him wash over her. His obvious appreciation was arousing, thrilling. Never in her life had she been more thankful the cut of her dress hadn’t allowed her to wear Spanx, and that her panties were jet black, lacy, and sexy as sin.

  Unfortunately, she was not as sexily clad up top.

  His attention returned to her chest. “Those are the most appalling things I’ve ever seen.”

  Tossing her hair, she arched a brow, trying not to think about being naked but for her high heels, a few triangles of lace, and a couple of angled pieces of rubbery tape—in front of a man she’d met an hour ago but had fantasized about for a decade. “Actually, I’ve been told I have pretty nice breasts.”

  “They’re gorgeous,” he snapped. “But those”—he gestured toward the two coverings, through which her dark nipples were easily visible—“are an abomination.”

  “Have you seriously never seen a woman wearing these?”

  “No. Never. Why in God’s name would you?”

  “This dress couldn’t be worn with a bra, and I can’t very well go braless.”

  “Yes, you can. And the next time you wear something like that, you will.”

  All because he said so? Yeah, right. As if he’d know, or care. “I’m too busty.”

  “Trust me, there’s no such thing,” he said, the voice as dry as dust.

  “As my mom used to say, gravity will inevitably defeat perkiness.”

  “Enough,” he said, ignoring the basic truth. “Get them off. I want to touch you.”

  Her heart jackhammered at his demand. The feminist within her rebelled. She should protest. She’d never had a one-night stand, hadn’t had sex in a year, and she’d had absolutely no intention of sleeping with the man when she came up here with him. Who the hell did he think he was, making such an assumption?

  But the devil on her other shoulder reminded her of another truth: She’d been fascinated by Reece Winchester for a long time. Now, having met him, she wanted him like a junkie wanted her next high, and she might never have a chance like this again. Jess felt as if she were being torn in half, want warring with wisdom. She couldn’t say if the smart feminist was going to win this internal struggle…or the little devil was.

  “You want me, too, I know it,” he growled.

  Unable to deny it, she tried to deflect. “I barely know you.”

  “Your body knows everything it needs to.”

  “You know my body so well, do you?”

  He gestured toward the statue, reminding her he did, indeed, know her body very well.

  “This is crazy, Mr. Winchester,” she insisted, trying to be strong, even though she knew she was close to consenting to a life-altering interlude. But it might also be something she would regret tomorrow, when she was not under the influence of one Flaming Orgasm and desperate for another, of a very different kind. “I’m not one of your Hollywood bimbos who will bend over when you say you want to insert tab A into slot B.”

  “I never said anything about tabs and slots, Miss Jensen,” he said, edging closer, crowding her. He swallowed, his throat working, and she saw the tension in his form, as if he was holding back a storm of raging want. “I’ve been obsessing over you for weeks. I thought I could wait for you, get to know you. But the truth is, I can’t.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at something in the far corner of the room and frowned. She couldn’t see what he was looking at. Whatever. She wasn’t sure her brain would process anything except that tall, sexy body standing right in front of her. Especially since she kept hearing obsessing over you for weeks.

  He’d really been wanting her for so long?

  Yes, she really thought he had. The desperation was unmistakable. She had the fee
ling if she refused him, he’d walk over and toss the statue out the second-story window.

  That would be a darn shame. Someone walking on the beach below could be hurt. She wouldn’t want someone’s injury on her conscience.

  She still knew this was a bad idea, and that she should at least try to resist. “Um, taking these things off would be easier said than done,” she said, gesturing toward the stick-on bra. She hadn’t exactly said yes. But she hadn’t said no, either.

  He apparently viewed her words as a plea for help. Without another word, he reached for the sheer tape, tugging at the top corner. The stupid glue was incredibly strong, and in his efforts, he pulled at her skin. When she winced, he immediately stopped.

  “Did I hurt you?” Although his voice was gruff, she heard concern in it.

  “A little. I think NASA invented that glue—it’s superstrength. And, to be honest, I can’t remember how to get them off. I might have to use baby oil or something. The directions are on the package at home.” She was not exaggerating. If he wanted her as much as he said he did, he might have to live with the boob tape.

  “I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t carry baby oil in my pocket.”

  A saucy inner voice almost asked if he had lube—he certainly seemed to jump at sexual opportunity pretty quickly. But she stayed quiet. Especially because she didn’t like the thought. Was he always this fast with seduction, or was she a rare exception?

  Who was she kidding? The question was ridiculous. There was nothing unique about her. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” she said.

  “Jesus, I’m thwarted by a sticky chastity belt.”

  She couldn’t help snickering.

  “You think it’s funny?” His voice was low, his eyes narrowed, and he focused one hundred percent of that intensity on her.

  “Yeah, it’s kinda funny,” she said. “I mean, it could be worse. It’s not literally a chastity belt.” She shuddered, picturing the sticky stuff on her more sensitive parts.

  He shook his head slowly. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor, Jessica.”

  “At least one of us has one,” she mumbled, feeling like she was baiting a bear.