by Cindy Dees
It was as if the two of them took their work and their relationship and mixed both in a smoking-hot mash-up they totally lost themselves in. In reality, it was more a case of neither of them being able to control their reactions to one another. At all.
It took a while, but eventually, through superior strength and size, Jackson subdued her. She thudded to her back on the floor with him straddling her hips suggestively. His eyes blazed with passion, and her belly burned just as hotly for him.
And then he wrapped his hands around her throat. It made sense in the fight scene, but all of a sudden, real panic ripped through her. She tensed and froze. And abruptly Jackson realized what he’d done.
“Oh, God, Ana. I’m so sorr—”
“Cut!”
Humiliated at panicking like that, Ana looked away from Jackson’s stricken stare.
“That was spectacular,” Adrian declared, grinning from ear to ear.
Jackson threw his leg off her hips and stood up. He offered her a hand, which she ignored, and climbed to her feet by herself. She was so embarrassed at losing it like that she could hardly see straight.
Not to mention that blatant display of lust. At least their show seemed to have temporarily silenced the gaping crew. Of course, she’d just sexually assaulted Jackson in front of them all. On film. In revealing bodysuits that left nothing to the imagination.
Speaking of which, Jackson was gritting his teeth and seemed in an inordinate hurry to sit down in one of the tall canvas chairs offstage. Oh. A raging hard-on in a stretchy bodysuit must suck.
“Playback?” Jackson gritted out.
One of the computer guys obliged, setting up a laptop on a tall table in front of Jackson. The technician pulled up the digital recordings of the scene and commenced replaying all four shots in split screens on the monitor.
Ana leaned on one arm of Jackson’s chair to watch while Adrian leaned on the other. It looked like a can of lurid green paint had fallen over the set of a porn movie as the two of them went at it like animals on-screen.
“God almighty, that’s hot,” Jackson muttered under his breath.
She nodded, too embarrassed to speak.
Jackson added, “If anyone asks, Adrian, we were just acting.”
He might as well have stabbed her in the belly with a machete. “Right. Acting,” she managed to mumble in agreement.
Adrian was, in a word, delirious about their performance. He went on and on about how fantastic the scene was, even better than yesterday’s, and something inside her cracked. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand here and listen to Adrian rave about their chemistry and how the lust and desperation between them leaped off the screen.
She whirled and left the set, mumbling something inane about having to go to the restroom. Her stomach heaved and she had to break into a run to make it to the toilet before she barfed her entire breakfast into the commode. It had just been Jackson. Yes, he had put his hands on her neck, but he would never, ever harm her. It was okay. She was okay.
Dammit. She was supposed to be past all this reaction-to-her-attack stuff. It had been years, for crying out loud. The shrinks had said she might have flashbacks for the rest of her life, but it had been a long time since she’d had one.
She flushed the toilet and stared down at the swirling water, frowning. Was it just being in a relationship of sorts—as broken as it might be—with a guy that was triggering this? Was she really that freaked out over Jackson grabbing her neck for a few seconds?
An ominous foreboding took root within her and grew with every second she stood there staring down into the damned toilet. She was in trouble. Big, big trouble.
Chapter 12
When Ana got back to the mansion, she headed straight upstairs to take a shower. She stepped into her bedroom—
What on earth?
Was she in the wrong room? The furniture was all gone, the carpet torn up and a pair of men hard at work building some wooden platform thing on the far side of the room. She backed out into the hallway to check her location. No, this was her room. Or at least it had been when she’d left the house this morning.
Was Jackson kicking her out of the house? Stunned, she headed for the stairs and met Minerva coming up them.
“Oh, there you are, dear! I’m so excited about the new project. I’m going to need a lot of help from you with it, of course. Are you surprised?”
That was a word for it. She managed to mumble, “Where’s my stuff?”
Minerva waved a hand “Oh, that—” She broke off when Jackson’s voice greeting Rosie in the kitchen drifted up to them. “Perfect. I can show both of you at the same time.”
“Jackson!” Ana shouted. “I think you’d better come up here.”
He came on the run, bounding up the stairs three at a time. “What’s wrong?” he demanded sharply as he joined her and Minerva at the top of the stairs.
“Your grandmother has another surprise for us.”
On cue, Minerva turned and headed down the hall toward the back of the house. “Come with me, kids, and let me show you. You’re going to love it.”
“Christ. Now what?” Jackson grumbled under his breath.
Ana rolled her eyes at him. “That would be exactly the appropriate tone of voice to take, based on what I’ve already seen.”
Minerva threw open Ana’s former bedroom door with a flourish. “Voilà! The new nursery for your son!”
Jackson screeched to a stop in the doorway. “What the hell have you done, Gran?”
“I’ve decided to convert this room to a nursery for my great-grandson. Your bedroom is plenty big enough for the two of you, and it has the best view in the house. I know you love that room, Jackson. So I figure you two can use it as your bedroom and then this adjoining room will make for a perfect nursery.”
Jackson’s mouth opened. Closed.
Yup, Ana knew the feeling. She was pretty damned speechless herself. Minerva dismissed the workers for the day, and Ana watched in dismayed silence as the carpenters packed up their stuff and left the room.
As soon as they were gone, Minerva blithely ignored her and Jackson’s shock and launched into an enthusiastic guided tour of what some interior designer, whose name Ana didn’t catch, had come up with for the room. Vaguely, Ana registered where the crib would go, how the antique rocking chair Minerva was having restored would sit by the window, and something about a daybed. Ana went into mental overload and tuned out entirely when a changing table entered the woman’s narrative.
Finally, Minerva drew breath long enough for Ana to get a word in edgewise. “Minerva, this is...spectacular. You really, really shouldn’t have. But in the meantime, may I please know where my clothes are?”
The older woman laughed gaily. “They’re all moved into your room with Jackson, of course. Rosie and I took care of getting you settled with him today. It really has been sweet of the two of you to use separate bedrooms while you’ve been here, but this is the twenty-first century. I’m totally fine with the two of you sleeping together. You’re in love and expecting a baby together, for goodness’ sake.”
Ana’s gaze snapped to Jackson, and his snapped to her, as well. Her body went first cold, then hot, as she stared up at him. What was that expression lurking in his stare behind the shock? Dismay? Betrayal? Sheer horror? Whatever it was, it rendered his beautiful eyes a turbulent, muddy color. In love. Expecting a baby. She didn’t know whether to wish it true or guffaw with laughter. Or maybe cry.
Jackson spun away from her abruptly. He demanded incredulously, “You moved her into my room?”
Minerva strolled past him, pausing long enough to pat his cheek fondly. “You’re welcome, dear. There’s no reason for you not to sleep with your girlfriend. This is your home, too, after all, and the two of you are consenting adults. And speaking
of which, how about I give the two of you a little time alone together to take in the new nursery and talk over the design? If you want to make any changes to the layout, now’s the time before we get too far along with the renovation.”
And with that salvo, she left the nursery, closing the door behind her.
Ana stared at Jackson, so bombarded with emotions she didn’t know which one to react to first. Finally, she said in a small voice, “Wow.”
Jackson replied drily, “Welcome to Hurricane Minerva.”
“She definitely is a force of nature.”
Jackson just shook his head.
“You’ve got to talk her down off this delusion of hers before it goes too much further.”
He frowned, matching her expression of concern. “I’ve never seen her like this. She seems genuinely convinced of this whole baby thing. You haven’t said anything to her to lead her on...”
“Of course not!” Ana exclaimed. “Speaking of which, where am I going to sleep tonight?”
He exhaled hard. “You might as well bunk in with me. Knowing my grandmother, she’s had Rosie strip the sheets and blankets off of every other bed in the house. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past her to do a bed check and chase you into my room if you attempt to crash anywhere else. She’s determined to throw the two of us together.”
Ana was pensive through supper. How in the hell was she supposed to spend the night in the same room with Jackson and not end up having sex with him again? As frustrated as she was with his inability to get in touch with his feelings, there was no denying the chemistry between them. It was freaking incendiary.
Jackson seemed to be laboring under the same question. As the sun dropped low in the west, he asked her abruptly, “Wanna go for a ride, Ana?”
She retorted wryly, “Gonna take the Hugster out for a spin?”
He scowled. “No. The Harley. Thought I’d head up the coast. You interested?”
Was that sexual innuendo intentional? His eyes gave away nothing as her gaze collided with his. “Sounds fantastic,” she murmured.
She suspected he had an ulterior motive. Like getting out of the house and out of earshot with Minerva to have a serious talk about how they were going to deal with his grandmother.
* * *
Jackson jumped up from the table, antsy to get out of the house, whose walls were closing in on him mercilessly. He grabbed Ana’s hand and dragged her through the mansion almost at a jog.
When they reached the garage, he passed her a helmet and started the Harley. As it rumbled to life, she threw her leg across the seat behind him and snuggled up against him. His usual Harley hard-on was noticeably harder than usual as he headed north on the Pacific Coast Highway.
It was a cool evening and the sky was darkening rapidly to midnight-blue. Venus was a bright and steady light overhead, and the ocean was restless and black on the rocks below. But nothing could distract him from the way Ana’s chest rubbed against his back, or the way her hands twined low around his waist. He fantasized about her hands dipping lower to caress the bulge in his jeans, and his hard-on grew even more uncomfortable.
They passed through a few enclaves of stupidly rich celebrities and moguls, continuing north until the houses fell away and it was just the two of them, the bike, the first stars of the night and the ocean. He opened up the throttle and let the bike fly. Ana’s thighs tucked up underneath his and her arms wrapped even more tightly around his middle. They moved in perfect unison, synced to the bike’s swaying turns and straightaway accelerations. All of it turned him on until he could barely sit upright.
Ana leaned forward and shouted in his ear, “Look!” She pointed off to their left, and he followed the direction of her outstretched finger. In the new moonlight, a school of porpoises raced along the coast, flying through the water nearly as fast as the Harley was skimming along the highway.
She laughed in exhilaration as he adjusted his speed to pace the porpoises’ joyous leaping and rushing through the surf. The bike hit a bump, and her lips accidentally touched the back of his neck. At least he assumed it was accidental. Either way, he about jumped out of his skin. Worse, her hands had been dislodged from his waist and landed on the upper reaches of his jeans’ zipper.
Fantasies floated through his head of her hands sliding lower, slowly undoing the zipper tooth by tooth...working their way inside his fly...grabbing his...
He broke off for fear of crashing and killing them both in his raging lust. His fists tightened on the handlebars, and the bike roared forward as his right hand twisted the throttle convulsively.
Her fist would slide up and down his shaft, and his hips would surge forward into her hands. Her fingers would trace the length of him and then... Oh, yes...creep lower...
The bike swerved a little and her fingers retreated to his waist. He swore to himself and steadied the bike.
He wanted to be inside her so bad he could hardly see straight. His fantasy was going to get them both splatted all over the highway if he wasn’t careful. He spied a scenic overlook sign and nearly cried in relief. He slowed the bike and turned off the highway. He parked the bike at the highest spot in the lot, overlooking a mighty cliff with huge waves crashing up against it. Salt spray peppered his face. The velvet blanket of night to settle gently around them.
He reached behind his back with one arm and snagged Ana’s waist the same way he had earlier in their fight scene. He pulled her around in front of him, straddling the metal gas tank between his thighs. Her legs draped over his, and the position was overtly sexual. Her breathing hitched and accelerated as she took off her helmet.
The bike idled, rumbling beneath them as he pulled her hips closer. She shocked him by rocking her pelvis forward, bringing her own jeans into contact with the bulge barely containing his raging flesh.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” she murmured. “The second you put your hands on me, crazy things start happening inside me.”
“Where inside you?”
“Down low. Deep in my belly. And, um, lower.”
“What things happen? Tell me.”
Her gaze slid down and fixed on a point somewhere on his chest. “Things start throbbing,” she whispered. “And getting hot. And wet. And, um, swollen.”
“Mmm. I know the feeling well.”
A convertible honked several times and a bunch of kids shouted their approval as the vehicle sped past. Ana jolted, and he merely grinned at her and kept her seated firmly on his lap.
“What do you want, Ana? Right now. In this moment.”
“I want...I want to pull down your zipper and take off my pants and feel you inside me. Filling me. And...and making love with me.”
Without comment, he grabbed her left leg and swung it across the bike in front of him. “Take off your jeans, baby.”
“Really?” she squeaked.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not chicken, are you?”
“Oh, you did not just dare me,” she declared, laughing.
“Did so. I double dare you.”
Her gorgeous eyes glinting with humor, she shimmied out of her jeans and panties and threw her leg back across the bike while he unzipped his jeans. His male flesh leaped free eagerly.
“Ooh! That’s cold!” she squealed as her rear end came into contact with his bike.
“Get off the metal gas tank, Einstein, and try riding something a little hotter.”
She swatted him on the upper arm as he lifted her hips in his big hands. Slowly, slowly, he lowered her onto him. After the cool twilight air, her body was scalding hot. He groaned aloud at how good she felt, gloved tightly around him.
She rocked her hips experimentally. He groaned, and she sighed blissfully. She did it again. In a few seconds, she had set up a lazy rhythm of rock, retreat and impale that was going to drive him s
tark raving mad in about thirty seconds. His entire body tightened sharply in need and he sucked in a hard breath.
He pulled her down onto him and held her still while he fought to regain his composure. It felt so damned good to be buried in all her wet, hot, tight heat, he could sit here all night like this. He rocked his hips forward and down, and used his hands to spread her cheeks as he planted her pert little behind on the gas tank. The vibrating gas tank.
She lurched hard into him. “Ohmigosh, Jackson.” She cried out as her first Harley orgasm slammed into her harder than the waves crashing into the rocks below.
“Ride it, baby,” he groaned. “Ride me.”
Her whole body shook around him as another orgasm slammed into her almost immediately after the first one. She rocked on the bike and on him, completely lost in the engine’s rumble, the pounding surf below and him surging into her.
He grinned and revved the engine. Her hips undulated faster and harder as a one-hundred-fifty-horsepower chrome-and-steel vibrator worked its magic on her body. She cried out again, her internal muscles clutching at him as if she was never going to let him go.
She groaned, her face buried against his neck. “Ohman, ohman, ohman, ohman,” she moaned in a desperate, endless prayer to the Harley gods. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. Hell, her coming apart all over him was just about the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt.
He revved the throttle hard, and the massive engine beneath them roared like a lion. Ana threw herself onto his erection like a warrior impaling herself on a sword, and he surged up into her with a mighty roar of his own. His orgasm exploded out of him like a rocket and he shouted his pleasure, the sound torn away by the wind and surf and flung to the dark heavens.
Ana collapsed in his arms, sucking wind like she’d just sprinted a mile, her head lying on his shoulder limply. He held her boneless body close. Good grief, he knew the feeling. He felt like a wrung-out washcloth. She’d pulled every drop he had to give from his soul.
Slowly, slowly, she rejoined the living. Her lips moved softly against his neck. Her hands crept around his waist. Her chest lifted and fell in a contented sigh.