He felt a rush of pleasure at the prospect of writing about her. It was the adrenaline of the moment, no doubt, but it was also JJ, standing there looking a little bleary, but stubborn as hell. She just made him smile.
“He’s gone?” she asked.
“There’s no sign he was ever here. Maybe he packed up and left. Hard to say. Come on.”
As he walked JJ to her room, his mind flicked through possibilities. What the hell was on that DVD that someone would use force to take it? He would call Kirk in the morning and find out. He was home from the hospital and would hopefully be clearheaded enough to fill Brody in.
Meanwhile, would the gunman come back looking for him? Was JJ in any danger? He’d protect her at all costs, though he hadn’t used his black belt in more than a decade and what use was a roundhouse kick against a 9-millimeter anyway?
Back in the room, he checked again with security. They hadn’t found the guy, but the hotel was clear. Brody was free to return to his room.
“The guy’s gone. The hotel’s supposedly safe.”
“You’re going back to your room?”
“I should, don’t you think?”
“Maybe not.” She wore the steamy, woozy look of a woman who’d had a tad too much to drink to tamp down her lust. He knew that look. Loved it, actually. Had enjoyed many happy hours because of it. Did it get any better than hot sex with an eager, uninhibited partner?
Maybe. That was the point, wasn’t it? There had to be more. You found one special person and built a connection. Sex was part of it, sure, but not the whole enchilada. Just the salsa, maybe.
“Will you be able to sleep?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Not feeling like this.” The room was dim and smelled of her, laced with the dangerous smoke of liquor. He had his own arousal to deal with.
He’d always had a big appetite. He’d been the Godzilla of sensation, stomping through life, taking big bites of everything. Giving back, too, of course. The women he took to bed wanted more from him, never less. But he needed to curb his cravings, hone in on what was valuable, what counted, what really mattered.
Her eyes shone, her color was high.
Did she have on panties under that goofy robe?
Forget it. That was the old Brody. The new Brody made good decisions, considered implications. The new Brody didn’t screw his camerawoman just because he felt like it, and she felt like it, and they’d been through a dangerous adventure together.
If he tasted her heat, dipped into her warm body, he wouldn’t be walking away soon, not without leaving something of himself behind. Something he needed to hang on to.
“Maybe we could…talk?” she said, blinking at him.
“Talk?” he said, thinking about her pink body underneath the blue fuzz. He wanted to touch and taste and explore. Need thickened the air between them.
“You can maybe tell me about the real Brody Donegan. How about that?” Her eyes pinned him to the wall, not letting go.
He swallowed hard. “Sure. I guess.”
He’d been dying to find out what was under her robe, and she was hot for the contents of his brain. Great. He hadn’t told his crew what was up; he certainly couldn’t tell a virtual stranger, no matter how irresistible. He had the feeling the gunman was a kid with a water pistol compared to JJ on the hunt for a story.
He had to keep her from getting his.
6
THIS WAS PERFECT, Jillian realized, proud she’d resisted throwing herself at Brody. The thrill of the robbery and Brody’s kiss had erased her exhaustion, and now she would get her interview after all. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m good.” Brody pulled a chair between the two beds and patted the mattress for her. “Get comfortable and let’s see if we can put you to sleep.”
While she fixed herself a Coke, she was able to reposition her camera to capture Brody. From this distance, the low light meant a grainy image, but she’d have decent sound.
Back at the bed, she leaned against the fat bolsters, one foot on the floor to stabilize herself, fighting what was left of the alcohol in her blood. And the lust. She couldn’t forget that. “So, tell me,” she said, tilting her head at a teasing angle, “does Brody Donegan think marriage is death for men the way Doctor Nite does?”
“I don’t know,” he said, clearly not wanting to say. “Most men feel that way, don’t they?”
“Somebody’s marrying all the women wearing wedding bands.”
“Marriage is a girl thing. Why else are there dozens of bride magazines and not one called Groom?”
She had to laugh. “You make a good point. However, men are happier in marriage than women. Poll after poll says so.”
“And you believe them?”
“Marriage is a good deal for a man. Even the women who hold full-time jobs handle all the domestic details. Face it, we all need a wife—someone to cook and shop and book the dentist.”
“You’ve thought about this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’ve read a lot. For men, marriage has a great upside.”
“Ah, but look at the downside. Stuck sleeping with the same woman for the rest of your days?” He pretended to shudder.
“So get creative,” she said.
“You read about that, too?”
“I have ideas,” she said, pleased that she was able to tease back, even as the exchange made her pulse race.
Brody hissed in an aroused gasp. Good. She’d had a sexual effect on him. “Men have a biological imperative to sleep around,” he said, settling back into the argument. “It refreshes the gene pool. For a man, fidelity is unnatural.”
“Oh, please,” she said, realizing they’d strayed from Brody’s story. “That sounds like Doctor Nite talking. What does Brody think?” Playfully, she tapped her toe against his knee.
He caught her foot in his hand, sending an explosion of heat up her leg, straight to her sex.
“What are you doing?” she breathed.
“Helping you relax,” he said, and squeezed the top of her foot in a way that made her want to moan. “That okay?”
“I don’t know….”
“Feels great, doesn’t it?”
She could only nod. Yanking her foot away would be rude, right? It would make the physical gesture seem too big a deal.
“There are thousands of nerve endings in your feet. According to reflexology, I’m actually rubbing your organs.”
“My…organs?” She’d moaned after all.
He laughed softly. “Sure. There’s a whole reference chart. I believe this is your kidneys.”
“My…mmm…kidneys?”
“And this is your stomach.”
“I definitely feel it there.” Butterflies were staging a riot in her belly, throwing chairs around and setting fires. “Where did you learn this?” she asked faintly.
“We did a show on massage once.”
“Doctor Nite and massage? Had to be full release, right?”
“Now, now. It was therapeutic and very cool.”
“Oooh.” She tried to make that a comment, but it was obviously a reaction to what his fingers were doing. She needed to focus on her interview, get to the point, but this felt soooo good. “So, go on. You were telling me what you think…about what I said….” Whatever that was.
Luckily, Brody remembered. “Okay. I don’t get why women want men in the first place. We’re pigs. Scratching our balls in public, glued to the game all weekend, dropping Doritos down the couch cushions, leaving the toilet seat up.”
“I’m with you so far. Why do we want you?” She paused. “Okay, I can think of one reason.”
“There’s that. Yeah.” He sighed. “So have sex with us when you’re in the mood—we always are—then live a satisfying life on your own, in peace. No barbells in the den, no pizza stains on the Persian, no thousand-dollar 900-number bills.”
She could only laugh. “You’re making more and more sense.” He was digging in deliciou
sly and she felt shivers move all along her body. “What organ is that?”
“Your heart, I think. And this is your…pancreas…and this—”
“Oooooh. I know what that is.” An electric charge had turned her clitoris into an aching knot of need. Any second her hips would start moving on their own, seeking relief.
She should stop him, but if she ripped her foot away she’d seem pathetic, as if she were so horny that someone rubbing her toes could make her come. Which was exactly what would happen any minute if he…didn’t…stop…now.
Thankfully, he did, but only to grab the other foot from the bed and start on it, sliding his chair closer. She fell back against the pillows as a shivery wave of pleasure moved through her. She’d soon puddle on the bed and dribble to the floor at his feet. The man was that good.
She had to think, think, think. Instead, she moaned, sounding as close to ecstasy as she could get without his fingers on her spot. Worse, her camera was recording this moment. She would erase it, of course, as soon as she could move.
Brody Donegan clearly knew what he was doing on the human body. If he could turn her bones to jelly with a little foot massage, think what he could do to the rest of her.
It boggled the mind. And other parts.
“So, what do you have against men, JJ?” Brody asked her, dragging her from her haze.
Reluctantly, she blinked him into focus. “Nothing.” Not at the moment anyway. Or at least not this man. “Some of my best friends are men.”
He laughed and she liked it. She liked even more than he was now running his thumbs along the muscles at her shinbone, sending thrilling chills along her nerve endings, like a harpist stroking strings in a cascade of beautiful notes.
She forced herself to argue a point. “I’m not happy about the male fixation with youth, beauty and Double Ds, that’s for sure.”
“We can’t help checking out the goods, JJ. Besides, plenty of flat-chested women with junk in the trunk convince guys to put rings on their fingers and SUVs in their garages.”
He dug into her calf muscle now and it felt like easing into a hot bath, quivery and melty and deliciously sensual.
“Until the guy takes off with the secretary half his age,” she inserted, “and leaves his wife with stretch marks and no child support.”
“Men suffer, too. It’s no fun to be judged by your bank account, the car you drive or your biceps.”
“You poor, poor dears,” she said, grateful that the debate managed to distract her a little. What he was doing to her muscles should be illegal.
“Society is easy on men,” she continued. “Think of all the trophy wives. The breast implants, the BOTOX. The fixation on beauty in magazines, TV, movies. Look at the epidemic of anorexia among teen girls. Hell, they had to set weight rules to keep runway models from starving themselves to death.”
“Is this about you being fat as a kid? Because I would have been all over you in high school.”
“I doubt that.” She tried to laugh, but she was abruptly yanked back to her teen self, when she’d felt trapped in her chubby body, fighting to shine her personality through her eyes, as if through the bars of a cage.
She’d been friendly and interesting and fun, but guys wanted her for a study partner or to play video games or shoot photos with. Being the only girl in her crowd without a boyfriend had stung, no matter how she pretended not to care. College hadn’t been much better.
“You didn’t know me then,” Brody said, his eyes holding hers, looking so sincere. “I was weird. Class clown with odd hobbies. I collected vinyl records of obscure Jamaican artists and built an entire World War II battleground using toothpicks…Don’t ask.” He laughed, shaking his head at himself.
“Making friends with everyone was a self-defense move. I figured the more people liked me, the higher the odds that when I showed my loser colors, I’d still have crew left.”
“It’s hard to imagine you that way,” she said.
“Everyone’s insecure in high school, JJ. Whether you’re fat or skinny or have a twelve-inch dick or the original Toots and the Maytals’ recording of ‘54-46 Was My Number.’”
“I guess that’s true.” She was startled that Brody had dredged up a long-ago misery in her life and made it seem not so bad. But they were talking about her again, not him. The foot massage made it so hard to think.
Her whole body was softening, loosening, feeling better and better. Hotter and hotter, too, of course. And Brody looked so appealing in the golden glow of lamplight. There was a beauty mark on his cheek, and he had impossibly long lashes over dark eyes that burned into her. She could see his pulse throb in his neck, could smell his cologne, hear the rustle of his shirt when he moved.
“Enough therapy for me, Doctor Nite,” she said. “Let’s talk about you. Doesn’t the way you live make you feel…empty?”
He rubbed away, not answering for long seconds. “Doesn’t everyone feel empty sometimes?”
She didn’t answer, giving him a silence to fill.
“My life is full. I’ve got a great job…plenty of money…friends…fans…all the sex I could want….”
“So what are you doing here in my room?” That wasn’t the question she meant to ask at all; it had just slipped out.
“Rubbing your feet?” he offered softly.
“That isn’t my foot, Brody.”
He looked at his hands, which now squeezed the muscles just above her left knee. “True.” He raised his gaze to hers. “At the moment, I’d rather be here than anywhere else. This is fun, right? And I’m helping you relax.”
“It’s more than fun and I’m not a bit relaxed.” Her tone showed how aroused she was, she knew. She wasn’t even sorry.
“You want me to stop?”
The correct answer was yes, but her eager, aching body yelled, Don’t you dare. If he moved his fingers upward a few inches, her body would tell him exactly what she wanted. She was wet and swollen and needy. She couldn’t speak.
“Because I want to make you feel good,” he said. He didn’t look weary or bored, that was certain. He seemed as riveted by the moment as she was. That meant something, didn’t it?
It meant enough, evidently, because her hips rocked upward in search of relief, desperate to scratch her inner itch.
In response, Brody slid his hands up both thighs, slowly, slowly, holding her gaze. He paused, nearly touching her, but not quite, waiting for the final word from her.
Please, her quivering body begged.
Couldn’t they slip into this moment, escape into the physical need pulsing between them like a heartbeat? Why not?
Looking him straight in the eye, she opened her thighs.
Brody made a sound of pleasure and touched her clit with one finger. She gasped, electrified.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned, as if that caused him pain. He ran his finger down the length of her swollen place, back and forth, slow, then quick, catching her, making her surge, startling her with the rush of sensation.
Shamelessly, she pushed at him, wanting more, grateful when he slid a second finger to the other side of her clit. When he gently pressed it between his fingers, she was startled to feel her orgasm erupt, burst forth, like swollen fruit so ripe its skin split with relief. She cried out, almost yelped. Sensations rolled through her body and she rocked against Brody’s fingers, panting, trembling, feeling as if she were burning to ash.
When it was over, she opened her eyes and saw he was smiling lazily down at her. He cupped her mound gently with his palm. “That was nice.”
She managed a gasp and a nod.
“Been a while?”
“With a person, yeah.” She’d taken care of herself often enough, but hadn’t been with a man in months. Somehow, saying that to him wasn’t embarrassing at all.
“Wish I’d been inside to feel that,” he said, running his palms along her thighs, massaging gently, reaching under to squeeze her bottom—softly, taking his time, making warmth lap away at her
insides.
“Me, too,” she said huskily. “That’s where I want you now.”
Brody was shaking, which surprised her, as if he hadn’t been with someone in a while, either. Maybe that made this right.
As if being wrong would stop her now. She wanted more and she was going to get it. She leaned forward to start on Brody’s shirt, but she’d only managed two buttons when he pulled it impatiently over his head.
She ran greedy fingers across his bare chest, his skin so warm it was like toasting her fingers before a friendly fire.
Brody pushed open her robe and cupped her breasts, then leaned down to touch each nipple with his tongue. Each tightened and ached, while heat pulsed along her nerves. Reading her reaction, he changed from tonguing to sucking her nipples deeply into his mouth.
She arched into the wet suction of his mouth, rocking her hips against his erection. She needed him naked so she could see him, hold him, get him inside. She reached for his fly.
“I got nothing,” he breathed.
She gripped him through the thick cloth. “You have plenty.”
“I mean condoms. Not on me.”
“Condoms?” Damn. How had she skipped that step? She’d been derailed by the man and the moment. “I don’t have any, either.” Why hadn’t she nabbed extras from the condom factory when she’d shot tape?
Shot tape? And her camera was on this minute! A stark reminder of how wrong this was. She fought to clear her head, to stop this before they’d gone too far.
“Who needs condoms?” Brody asked and slid his tongue down the middle of her trembling stomach.
Huh? Too dazed to move, she could only feel him moving down her body, slipping his hands over her ribs, cupping her hips….
Oh. My. Word. The man was going down on her. In her experience, oral sex came after the compulsories, after you knew each other better. Certainly not the first time.
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