Watching You

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Hearing Alan Bent was now back, and teaching students, made him sick. He’d have to do something about that.

  “Sir? We’ll be arriving in ten minutes,” said the driver over the car’s intercom.

  Jessica stiffened. Her eyes darted around, as if looking for an escape. She’d been just as nervous when he’d picked her up. For a few minutes, she’d been distracted by their conversation. Now her nerves were apparently stirring up trouble again.

  “It will be fine. Relax and try to enjoy yourself.” He shrugged. “If nothing else, you’ll get fodder for your stories. I certainly do whenever I’m around this crowd.”

  She gulped. “What if people look at me and think I’m your mistress? They’ll say you hired me because we slept together.”

  “But you’re not.” She could never be called anything as sordid as mistress. “And I didn’t.” She earned her job. “And we haven’t.” Shit.

  “They’ll think I am.”

  “No, they’ll think I’m a damned lucky man.”

  Her glare said he hadn’t helped matters. “I thought the point was to throw some water on the gossip, not gasoline. Aren’t we going as boss and intern so people will believe that’s why we were alone together the other night?”

  He couldn’t prevent a tiny smile at her optimism. Jessica had high expectations for herself, and, apparently, for others. It was something else he liked about her. He only hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed if those expectations were crushed beneath the Brunello Cucinelli loafers and the Manolo Blahnik slingbacks.

  “I will introduce you as a promising screenwriter, my new intern, replacing Walter, who a lot of them knew last year.” Whether they believed it was another matter.

  They won’t. Not when she looked like that.

  “I have to admit, though, I might have overestimated how effective it will be.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

  He let his gaze travel over her, from soft waves of lush red hair draped over smooth, milky-pale shoulders. Her soft breasts pushed up to create tantalizing cleavage. The rest of her was equally perfect, straight down to her painted toenails peeping out from the bottom of the gown that hugged every generous curve of her body. “Look at you.”

  “There’s no mirror,” she snapped, her anger rising.

  “You’re stunning.”

  The compliment did not appear to help. “I’m hot. There’s a difference.”

  A loud laugh burst from his mouth—he simply couldn’t contain it. “Sure. Totally different thing. Do you really not know you make men weak in the knees?”

  “Don’t make me punch you.”

  She certainly knew how to take a compliment. “Look, I’m known as someone who’s dated a few attractive women.”

  Her lips pursing, she blew out a raspberry sound.

  “So mature.”

  She blew another one, louder this time. His laughter deepened. “I’m not bragging, believe me. I’m single, I’m watched, and you’re an amazingly gorgeous woman. Come on, did you really believe us being seen in public together was going to stop the gossip?”

  She punched him. Literally punched him. Hard. “You lying jerk.”

  “Maybe I deserved that.” Rubbing his upper arm, he added, “All right, I admit it. I didn’t want to come here alone tonight.”

  “Why didn’t you call the latest Playboy Playmate?” She hopped to the opposite side of the car and rapped on the glass partition. “Is this soundproof? Tell him to stop. I’m getting out.”

  Reece followed her, shifting to the other leather bench seat and sitting close. Their legs were pressed together, as were their hips. He felt the heated, angry breaths leaving her mouth. Her eyes glittered in the soft interior lights of the car, and her cheek flexed as she clenched her jaw. No way was anyone going to believe he didn’t want her.

  “I know I should say I’m sorry. But I can’t regret spending more time with you.”

  Slowly shaking her head, she replied, “I thought you weren’t going to arrange and direct things anymore. Not going to decide what happened between us.”

  The words hit a lot harder than the punch. He hadn’t considered it that way, because he had, indeed, brought Walter to various events last year, especially when he had to speak.

  But she was right. He’d manipulated her without even intending to. Was it his go-to response? Had he been acting this way for so long it was second nature? “Damn.”

  Silence stretched between them. She wasn’t banging on the partition to try to get the driver to stop the car. Nor was she relaxing against him. She merely studied him, staring into his face, as if trying to crawl inside his head, to the dark places he concealed from the world. If she’d actually seen them, she probably would have leapt out of the moving car to get away from him.

  “You weren’t trying to manipulate me this time,” she finally whispered.

  Had he been? Even he didn’t know. He did know one thing, though. “Not intentionally.”

  “I guess it’s your default reaction.”

  He suspected she was right. Being in control, preparing for what might come at him, and doing whatever was necessary to get the resolution he wanted was the way he’d lived his life since his mother checked out of reality.

  He’d told her Jessica he was going to back off and let things go where they would. Minutes ago, he’d said it was her play. Now he realized he’d loaded the dice before he’d handed them to her, not even realizing he was doing it. “I’m an ass.”

  “Finally something we agree on.”

  “I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing at the corners. Self-examination was pretty damn wearying, which could be why he generally avoided it. “It seems I always have to apologize to you.” Which he rarely did to anyone.

  “You wouldn’t have to if you’d stop doing stupid things.”

  Easier said than done, considering he often didn’t even realize he was doing them. How did you break the habit of most of a lifetime? “I’ll try.”

  The intercom buzzed. “Five minutes, sir.”

  Five minutes until he dragged her into a place she didn’t want to be, with people who might not treat her the way she deserved to be treated. No.

  “Let’s skip this and go out for pizza.” He pushed the intercom button to tell the driver to take them somewhere else—anywhere else.

  “Stop.” Feeling a touch as soft as air, he looked down.

  Her fingers rested on his hand, and she gently stroked until he loosened his clenched fingers. It suddenly hit him: She was comforting him. The woman could be as tough as nails, as sarcastic as a comic, as alluring as a siren. But there was softness in her, such kindness. Even vulnerability, though she didn’t like to let people see it.

  “Oh yes, we are going,” she said. “You deserve recognition for the good you’ve done.”

  “They can mail me the plaque.”

  “Forget it, mister. I spent a lot of time on your speech, and it deserves to be heard.”

  He found a smile. “Please don’t make me practice it for you again.”

  Her laughter cut through the last of the tension hanging over them, and he could only look at her—the sparkle in her eyes, the curve of her lips.

  God, she was beautiful. More, she was lovely, inside and out. The gleam of the woman he’d seen through the camera of the gallery all those weeks ago was nothing beside the brilliant light of the real Jessica. The hours he’d spent with her had taken the self-protective layers off her. The further down under her shell he got, the more fascinated he’d become.

  He didn’t think about games, or directing the action, or setting up the scene, or even his promise to let her make the call. Everything other than a deep need for her flew out of his mind. So he leaned over to twine his fingers in her lush hair, pulling her toward him for a kiss.

  Her eyes flaring in surprise, she drew in a shocked breath, but didn’t pull away. Their mouths came together, and they had no breath except that which they shar
ed.

  A half second later, her lips parted, and her body melted against him. He remembered this mouth. The taste of her. The feel of her. But everything about the night they met had been deliberate, a planned seduction. She would probably accuse him of being clinical about it, and he would deserve the accusation. Now, however, there was nothing beyond the need to explore her, to swallow her laughter, to draw her close, to blow away artificial barriers. To know her.

  She tilted her head, inviting him deeper, and their tongues stroked and slid, all heat and hunger. Lifting her arms, she twined them around his neck, arching into him. Reece groaned at the press of the body that haunted his dreams. He reached around her waist and lifted her onto his lap. She didn’t straddle him—not in that dress—but she did immediately moan and writhe against him when she felt how hard he was for her.

  No time. Fuck my life.

  “Reece,” she groaned against his lips, “we can’t…”

  “Just a kiss.”

  They stopped talking, stopped thinking, taking what they had for all it was worth.

  A kiss. Simple and sexy and hot, but not leading to anything else. Not when they were at most three and a half minutes away from the hotel where the banquet was to be held.

  He intended to spend three of those minutes in her mouth.

  She was strawberry-sweet, and the tiny sighs coming from her throat made him want to kiss his way down it. He instead focused on the moment, what he could have—her lips, her tongue, her warm exhalations, and the softness of her curvy ass on his lap. They gave and took, languorous and slow, savoring the journey, for lack of a final sexual destination.

  And then the car pulled up to the glitzy hotel and stopped. They had arrived. Loaded with regret, he dragged his mouth away from hers, watching her slowly open her eyes and blink a few times. They looked at each other, and he watched for her reaction. He didn’t know what to expect. Resentment? Anger? Hunger? Maybe she would acknowledge they were heading down this path despite their own spoken intentions?

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes dreamy, soft and luminous.

  Gratitude? Hell, that he had not expected. “Only you,” he said, shaking his head.

  She stiffened. “Only me what?”

  “Only you would thank a man for a kiss, when the truth is, every guy here tonight is going to wonder what it would be like to have you in his arms.”

  She wriggled off his lap. “I wasn’t thanking you for the kiss.” The shift of her eyes said she was lying. “I was thanking you for distracting me. Picking a fight, and then apologizing.”

  Was that what he’d done? If so, he had to remember how to do it again.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been nervous about tonight. You helped me forget about it for a while, that’s all.” Her voice trembled on the word all. “So, thanks again.”

  As her chin went up, and she lifted her gaze to meet his, Reece smiled. He leaned toward her and kissed the little bump on her nose—the perfectly imperfect one. “Liar.”

  Her jaw fell, but before she could respond, the door was pulled open from the outside. Reece exited, glad he’d gotten the last word.

  Or…maybe not. Because as he bent in to offer her his hand, she snapped, “I should have bitten your tongue.”

  This time, he didn’t smile. He threw his head back and laughed as she stepped from the car to stand before him.

  Flashbulbs turned twilight into noon. Voices yelled questions. The moment—his laugh and her striking face as she emerged from the limo—would be on every tabloid next week.

  She realized it, too, and stiffened. “Oh my God, there are cameras everywhere.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, moving close and putting a hand on the small of her back.

  He hadn’t done it consciously, but when he felt her quiver beneath his fingertips, and remembered why he’d bought her this dress, he couldn’t regret it. He’d meant to lend her support as she walked her first paparazzi gauntlet. Again, though, he’d managed to distract her, and could hear her tiny moan of pleasure as he stroked the delicate bones of her spine.

  Christ, how long was it going to be until he could taste that sweet spot?

  “I’m ready.” Her head went up as they walked the red carpet to the hotel entrance. She painted on a pleasant expression and straightened to her full height. In those shoes, she was almost eye level with him. They would be well matched for tonight’s obligatory dancing. They also lined up pretty damned spectacularly in other ways, in more private settings.

  Tight pants. Shit. Get it together.

  Velvet ropes held back fans and photographers, and although Jessica managed to make herself look used to the attention, he stayed close, knowing nobody was prepared for this carnival atmosphere their first time out. He’d had to deal with it as a kid, and only because he’d usually had his family with him had he been able to get through it.

  “Almost there,” he said as they reached the entrance and were greeted by a doorman. The shouts for autographs faded behind them as they got inside. “You okay?”

  “Nope,” she said as they followed elegantly scrolled signs directing them toward the gala.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “Frankly, I’d rather be slinging beers at the beach.”

  “Frankly, I’d rather be there with you.”

  Following signs to the ballroom, they went slowly. From the corridor, he could hear the roar of conversation, the swell of laughter, and the tink of glasses. He already knew the room was filled with the same people, who attended the same parties, playing the same roles. They were hoping to be noticed, make the right connection, charm the right director.

  They thought he was one of them. Maybe he was, in a way, considering he was here under pretenses as false as their own—looking only for their money, not their company. Maybe they all deserved each other. Him included.

  Jessica, though, was an innocent. He hoped he didn’t live to regret this. Bringing her here and introducing her as an employee had been the excuse. Wanting her on his arm had been the reason. But how it would affect her hadn’t been part of the thought process until minutes ago, and he’d felt like crap about it since she’d called him on his bullshit excuses.

  “So many people,” she whispered.

  “Keep telling yourself it’s a performance,” he said. “Everyone here is acting their part. All you have to do is the same.”

  “Pig on steroids, remember?” she said.

  “It’s exactly like Liza’s opening night. Just people wanting to be part of the next big thing.” Feeling her tension, he continued, putting it in terms she would quickly grasp. “You’re writing a scene in your script, and it’s not working. The characters aren’t doing what you want. You have to figure out what’s wrong.”

  “Okaaaaay. Your point?”

  “Getting there.” Patience was not this woman’s strong suit. “To really get into their skin, to make them come alive on the page, and, later, on the screen, you have to walk in their shoes until you are absolutely certain what they would do next. You have to act it out.”

  She stilled, watching him closely.

  “Is the room dark, or is it bright? What do you hear?”

  “I hear rich people.”

  He ignored the dry quip. “Would she walk down the steps, or would she run? Does he hand her the money or throw it at her feet?”

  She was getting the point. “Does she slap him across the face or kick him in the nuts?”

  He hid the horror every man felt at such a threat, not doubting this woman could—and probably had, given her background—made good on it a time or two. “I think you’ve got it.”

  “So…they’re all characters acting out their own individual scenes.”

  “Every one of us is. You watch them, remember it’s all fiction, and play your own role.”

  “You are a director. So who are you playing?”

  “Spoiled, rich jerk?”

  A twinkle in her eye, she replied, �
��I thought this was fictional.”

  He shook his head. “Jesus, woman, direct hit. Who do you think I should play?”

  “Spoiled, rich asshole?”

  Man, she was good. “A double whammy. Three times and I’ll be lying dead on the floor.”

  Jessica giggled, a light, musical sound at odds with her husky speaking voice. It was pretty damned cute. He’d seen her aroused, seen her snarky—a lot. He’d seen her sexy, funny, a little tipsy, and scared to death. But what he saw now was pure enjoyment.

  She was having fun. She’d begun to lower her guard and trust him to get her through the night. Physically? Yes. She’d allowed her defenses to fall more than once around him. But this light, relaxed flirtation, when they both knew it couldn’t go anywhere, given the place, was something new. He liked it.

  “Okay, one more chance to figure you out, huh?” She thought about it some more. “Liza and Em have been calling me Cinderella for days.”

  Meaning she considered him Prince Charming? Nice.

  “So how about you be the stern king, sitting high above everyone, all judgy, watching the ladies competing for your son at the ball.”

  He should have known. “You are so hard on the ego.”

  “I think yours gets stroked enough.”

  Her eyes shifted, and he knew she was thinking about how her words sounded. About what she might stroke for him. He didn’t call her on it. Since his dick was already rock hard, and probably pushing out the hem of his tuxedo jacket, he would be risking fire.

  “You’d better take care if you’re playing the girl who loses her shoe. If one of those falls off, your roommates will lock you out of your place until you find it.”

  She tossed her head. “No, as Liza discovered earlier, I’m Jessica Rabbit.”

  Of course she would never choose a sweet, innocent princess. “Naturally.”