Take on Me

by Sarah Mayberry

  At last, she felt as though she had said goodbye to the life she might have had with Greg. She’d let it go. Apart from the sting of humiliation from that awful day at the church, she regretted nothing. She’d loved him. Now she didn’t. It was over. His visit had brought her the closure she needed.

  But the acknowledgment that things were well and truly over with Greg forced her to face a more dangerous truth that had been making itself at home in her heart for the past month. There were no more excuses to hide behind.

  She was falling for Dylan.

  It wasn’t just about sex. It had never really been just about sex. His charismatic attraction went way beyond the physical for her. He was the smartest person she knew, and incredibly talented. She admired the steely drive and determination that had helped him to turn around the bad hand life had dealt him. And, yes, he was the best lover she’d ever had, or could ever imagine having. When she was with him she felt like the most desirable woman in the world. He challenged her, excited her, amused and touched her. He made her feel alive in a way she’d never felt before.

  And he wanted nothing from her but sex.

  Tucking her feet beneath her on the couch, she acknowledged that she’d been a fool to sleep with him again. Deep inside, she’d known she was in danger, and she’d tried to resist. But the chemistry between them was so hot, and her feelings for him so deeply entwined with her childish crush on him that she’d been a sitting duck.

  He was irresistible. And only a very foolish, self-destructive woman would continue to indulge her taste for something so addictive. Because Dylan wanted only one thing from her—her body. He’d told her so over and over—and she was a fool if she didn’t believe him.

  For the first time in what felt like a long time, everything was very clear in her mind. She knew what she had to do.

  Now she had to find the strength to do it.

  DYLAN KEPT ONE EYE ON the clock from the moment he arrived home. One hour. Two. Full night descended, and still Sadie didn’t call. What was keeping her? He’d told her to call him. He was worried about her, wanted to know that her asshole of an ex hadn’t twisted her in knots or put a big guilt trip on her. So what was taking so long? Surely she wasn’t still talking to the jerk?

  By ten he was grinding his teeth to powder as darker thoughts plagued him. Images of Sadie and her blond ex fighting tooth and nail, then sinking to the carpet to enjoy a passionate bout of make-up sex. The thought of another man touching her slender body was enough to boil his blood.

  By eleven, he was officially going crazy, and he reached for the phone—only to put it down again as he imagined what he’d say if Greg picked up on the other end. Only when the clock hands were twitching ever closer to the witching hour did he give in to impulse and dial her number.

  She sounded sleepy—exhausted—when she answered the phone after several rings.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.” He practically growled at her. “You said you’d call.”

  “Oh. Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Are you all right?” he forced himself to ask when instead he wanted to demand an accounting of every second since they’d parted.

  “I’m fine,” she said. There was constraint in her voice, and jealousy twisted through his gut like a snake.

  “Look, if he’s still there I don’t want to cramp your style,” he said stiffly, ready to end the call.

  “You’re not,” she said. “And he’s not. We talked for a few minutes, then he left. I’ve been…working through some things.”

  The tension in his shoulders faded and he unclenched his jaw. So, Blond Adonis hadn’t smooth talked his way back into Sadie’s bed. Yet.

  “What did he want?” He rolled his eyes at his own unsubtlety. He was coming across like a nosy neighbor or a cranky parent. Or a territorial lover. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” he quickly added. “It’s none of my business.”

  She was silent for a beat, then she said very quietly, “Thanks for calling, anyway.”

  Her voice sounded husky, as though she’d been crying. Now he really wanted to know what had gone down, but he’d already blown his chance. He also wanted to smooth away the small frown that he knew beyond a doubt was between her eyebrows right now, and hold her in his arms until she relaxed into sleep.

  “Try to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said gently.

  “Okay. ’Bye.”

  He lay awake staring at the ceiling for a long time after ending the call, unable to stop thinking about her. If the ex hadn’t turned up, she’d be curled in his arms again. He felt as sulky as a kid deprived of a favorite toy. But it was more than that. He felt…edgy. On guard. Not unlike the territorial lover he’d impersonated during their phone call.

  Which was ridiculous—because Sadie wasn’t his. He’d made it more than clear to her that he wasn’t interested in a relationship.

  Punching his pillow into shape, he told himself to let it go. He had a week of plotting ahead of him and he needed a clear mind. He hadn’t let anything distract him from work and his career for a long time. And now was definitely not the time to start.

  Despite himself, however, he wasn’t thinking about work when he finally drifted off to sleep—his dreams were full of a certain tousle-haired woman with toffee-brown eyes and a body that he couldn’t seem to get enough of.

  He was first into the building the next morning, and he tapped away distractedly on his notebook computer until he heard her brisk step in the foyer. Like an overwound Jack-in-the-box, he sprang up from his chair and strode out to meet her. Immediately, he felt ridiculous, as though he was racing to see her or something, and he forced himself to alter course and dawdle by the photocopier so that when she finally saw him he looked as though he was doing anything other than wait for her.

  “Hi,” she said, and he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Uncertain because of something to do with what had happened between them? Or uncertain because of what had happened between her and Blondie?

  “Hi.” Because he hated not knowing where he stood with her, and because he still felt cheated out of having her in his arms the previous evening, he locked gazes with her and made a slow approach. “You sleep well?”

  She shook her head slightly, then shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Yeah? I have the perfect cure for insomnia,” he said.

  Her eyes widened as she realized what he intended, but by then his fingers were already sliding through her hair as he angled his mouth over hers and pressed his body against the perfection of her curves.

  She tasted of minty toothpaste and freshness, and he tightened his grip on her hair and deepened the kiss as desire licked along his nerve endings. One touch, one kiss, and he wanted her. Rational self out the window, he began backing her toward his office. She went willingly, groaning and moaning softly as his hands discovered her body once more, but when she brushed against the door frame of his office she stiffened in his arms.

  “Dylan,” she murmured against his mouth, turning her face away from his kisses.

  Even though everything in him burned to show her that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, he backed off.

  “Let me guess—Claudia will be here soon?” he said lightly, determined not to mention her damned ex again.

  “Greg asked me out for dinner on Friday night,” she said, hands dropping to her sides.

  “And you’re going?” he asked. A tight feeling stole into his chest. He told himself he was angry with her for giving her jerk ex a second chance when he so patently didn’t deserve one.

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, he must be a real silver tongue,” he said. Even to his own ears he sounded like a petulant teen.

  She flinched, then frowned. “It’s dinner, that’s all.”

  “And we all know what happens after dinner.”

  What was wrong with him? It was as though some other man had control of his tongue all of a sudden—some bitter, jealous guy with an ax to gr
ind.

  “That’s not true, Dylan. You and I never made it to dinner,” she said in deceptively dulcet tones. “We were too busy having sex on your desk, as I recall.”

  Shooting him a furious look, she brushed past him and strode toward her office. Dylan lifted his eyes to the ceiling and cursed his own stupidity. Shoving the hair back from his forehead, he took off after her.

  “Sadie, wait,” he said.

  Her pace slowed and she finally turned to face him. The jut of her hip and her single raised eyebrow warned him he’d better talk fast.

  “I’m sorry. I was worried about you last night. I know this guy did you over pretty good. I suppose I was feeling protective.”

  The cool expression in her eyes thawed.

  “He wants to get back together,” she admitted.

  “What do you want?” he asked. He told himself it was none of his business what she decided—he had no claim on her. Had spent his entire adult life avoiding having claims on women, in fact.

  “I don’t know. I now understand why he didn’t show. I don’t like it, but I understand it. But I don’t know if I feel the same way about him anymore.”

  She lifted her eyes to his then, and he caught a flash something soft and gentle and hopeful inside her. Something tentative and infinitely fragile. And even as part of him gave a primal roar of triumph that Greg had been vanquished, the other part of him froze in its tracks and became very, very cautious.

  He wanted Sadie in his bed. He desired her enormously, couldn’t stop thinking about her. But he wasn’t the man to offer her love and marriage—and that was what that vulnerable, hopeful, soft look was all about. He wasn’t stupid. Emotions were his stock-in-trade, the tools and materials he used to craft the television dramas that had made his career. Sadie was beginning to think beyond sex. And he didn’t have anything else to offer.

  His thoughts slid to the film script he’d completed recently, and to the other partially fleshed-out ideas crowding his computer. Next year, he had a tentative arrangement to work with an up-and-coming director on a movie, shadowing the guy’s moves so he could start to learn some behind-the-camera craft. Once he was confident he wouldn’t look a fool, he’d start working on a deal to direct the low-budget script he’d had in his bottom drawer for the past few years. Then there was the production company he wanted to set up…There was too much undone in his life yet for him to even consider settling down. He wasn’t ready yet. Not by a long shot. He’d spent so much time being the dumb kid, he still had a lot of ground to cover. He had plans, dreams, goals. He couldn’t even think about tying himself down before he’d conquered every challenge he’d set for himself.

  “I guess the only thing you can do is wait and see,” he said slowly. Noncommittally. Cautiously.

  She stared at him for a long moment. Then her gaze dropped and her expression became shuttered.

  “Yes. I guess you’re right,” she said.

  She smiled, a polite gesture that didn’t reach her eyes. Then she retreated to her office.

  Making his way to his own turf, Dylan tried to name the strange sensation that had darted through his belly as she’d smiled her tight little smile and turned away.

  He’d felt as though he’d fumbled something very important. He shook his head sharply before sitting behind his desk. It wasn’t his place to judge what Sadie decided to do. It was her life, after all. There was nothing between him and Sadie except sex. Great, sweaty, noisy, earth-shaking sex, but still only sex. It was her decision, end of story. It was none of his business.

  But when he saw her talking to her ex-fiancé at the local café at lunchtime, it felt very much like his business. He stopped on the other side of the street and stared as Greg reached for her hand and talked earnestly. She didn’t drag her hand away or slap him or even shake her head. She listened. She didn’t take her eyes from his face once.

  Jesus, she was actually considering taking the jerk back!

  Dylan couldn’t believe it. Until that moment, he’d had himself convinced that she was in no danger of making such a huge, monumental mistake. But he’d seen it with his very own eyes. She was giving the jerk a second chance.

  He forced himself to go on his way, but for the rest of the afternoon his attention was shot to hell. He was good for about three minutes’ work before his thoughts once again cycled back to Sadie. It really burned him up that Biff-the-amazing-disappearing-fiancé thought he could wander back into her life and pick things up where he’d left them. And that Sadie would even consider letting a bastard like that back into her life…

  In Dylan’s book, any man who was self-centered enough to leave Sadie to face a church full of friends and family on her own was a sniveling, crawling, yellow-bellied lowlife. There was no excuse big enough, sincere enough, tragic enough to make Greg’s no-show acceptable. In short, the putz didn’t deserve Sadie, and would never make her happy.

  Half a dozen times he fought the urge to march into her office and demand that she tell Greg to take a long walk off a short pier. But Dylan was the last person who could offer her romantic advice. The parameters of their relationship did not include cozy heart-to-heart chats about her future. And any attempt to change those parameters would send the wrong message Sadie’s way—and he didn’t want to hurt her. More than anything, he didn’t want to hurt her. That was what this was all about, after all.

  It wasn’t until the end of the day that he found the solution to his dilemma. A slow smile spread across his face as he considered the idea from all angles and decided he liked what he saw.

  Sex was the cornerstone of his relationship with Sadie. He knew without asking that the fire between them burned hotter, faster, higher than anything she’d ever experienced with Greg. Clearly the guy was wrong for her, for a whole bunch of reasons—and Dylan had until Friday night to prove as much to Sadie. Pushing himself out of his chair, he strode toward her office.

  ONE MINUTE she was writing up her notes on last week’s block, and the next Dylan was sitting on the corner of her desk and leaning too close.

  “You busy tonight?” he asked casually.

  She pulled back in her chair a little, trying to put some distance between them. As though that was going to diminish her feelings in some way.

  “Um…not really,” she said.

  She gave herself a mental slap. Why hadn’t she told him that she was busy? She couldn’t keep seeing him. She should have told him as much when she’d arrived for work this morning. But for a ridiculous moment there, when he’d asked about Greg, she’d hoped. She should have known better. Dylan had never lied to her about how he saw their relationship.

  “Good. I was thinking I could cook for you. Have I ever told you about my hot tub?”

  “No,” she said.

  She hadn’t had any problem meeting Greg and telling him her decision at lunchtime today, and she’d almost married him. So why was she having so much trouble drawing a line under her fling with Dylan? It should be easier, not harder.

  Steeling herself, she straightened her shoulders. It was time to be smart.

  “Dylan, I don’t think we should—” She broke off as he smoothed a hand up her arm. A wave of heat ricocheted its way around her body, warming every extremity before settling between her thighs.

  “It’s on the deck—completely private, no one can see in,” he said, gliding his hand up onto her shoulder and rubbing at the hard ridge of her trapezius muscle with his thumb.

  His hand on her skin felt incredible. Her eyelids dropped to half-mast and she tried to marshal her thoughts. But somehow the image of Dylan, naked and hard in a hot tub, kept popping into her mind.

  “Nice?” he asked, deepening the massage.

  “Mmm.”

  Sliding off the desk, he moved to stand behind her so that he was massaging both of her shoulders. She gave a small whimper of helplessness as her muscles melted and her nipples sprang to attention.

  “That’s better,” he said. She shot a look upward an
d saw that he was enjoying an unfettered view down the neck of her top.

  Very aware that they were at work, she shot a glance out into the main office, but it was after five and most of the staff had gone for the day.

  “Relax. Enjoy,” Dylan murmured.

  She knew she should tell him to go, let him know her decision. But an energy-sapping, resolve-dissolving lassitude was settling over her. Suddenly, the only thing she could think of was that she wanted him, needed him.

  Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to the slope of her shoulder.

  “Come to dinner,” he said.

  He slid his hands over her shoulders and down into the neckline of her T-shirt. She let out a mew of pleasure as his palms covered her breasts. She knew she should be worried about a million things—her professional reputation and emotional health being at the top of the list—but all she could do was close her eyes and shiver as his thumbs found her nipples.

  “Come to dinner,” he whispered in her ear.

  Despite all the reasons not to, her lips formed a single word.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  His hands stilled abruptly as he withdrew from her top.

  “Great, I’ll see you at seven,” he said as he headed for her door.

  Sadie stared after him, suspicion narrowing her eyes. Why did she suddenly feel as though she’d just been managed?

  HIS HOME WAS NOTHING like she’d expected. She’d anticipated hard edges and dark colours, but he’d filled his contemporary cliff-top home with fifties-era furniture with clean lines in warm, bold oranges and reds. The walls were neutral, decorated with beautifully mounted retro movie posters. Other movie memorabilia was also on display—an old clapperboard from MGM, the lens from a camera, and in the corner an ancient theater light bounced light off the ceiling.