She was paralyzed, though, unable to object, completely pinned by his body—and, heaven help her, his mouth. When his moist breath heated her pubic area, she moaned. He ran his tongue along the line where her curls began, teasing her, then digging in to where her flesh parted and her swollen clit waited, greedy for more, as if it hadn’t just burst with pleasure moments before. She bucked into the wet pressure, her thighs trembling, her body shaking, her knees liquid.
Brody held her legs in place, taking charge, promising with his mouth that he would make it all better.
And he was making it better. Waaaay better.
Soon she was writhing and crying out as he slid his tongue up and down, edging deep, then attending to the hot knot gearing up to explode again.
“Oh, oh, oh.” She made odd noises, jerking like a puppet, but she didn’t care; she was so caught up in the hot glory, the surge of pleasure that rolled through her, swept her off a steep cliff into wild heaven.
Long seconds later, when she finally quieted, Brody slid up her body and kissed her mouth. Tasting herself on his lips was so intimate. But it felt right. Familiar. Despite the fact that Brody was nearly a stranger and her employer besides. Worse, a documentary subject. Somehow, none of that mattered.
“That was…amazing,” she said.
“It was, wasn’t it?” He smiled, then kissed her neck. “I had a great time.” He was planning to leave? Without his own climax? No way.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. A man who had sent her to the moon twice in a few effortless minutes was not leaving her room without an erotic ride of his own.
Jillian pushed up and rolled Brody onto his back, then knelt on either side of his hips, naked, sitting tall, feeling supremely sexual.
She leaned forward to undo his fly, each button a sharp pop in the quiet room.
“Great idea,” he said, folding his arms behind his head to watch her tug down his jeans and boxers, and reveal him, erect velvet, ready for whatever she wanted to do with him.
She took him in her hands. He felt good, warm, promising.
He reached up to cup her breasts, heavy and swollen, the nipples still tender. But that was too distracting, so she grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the mattress.
“What’s this?” He grinned up at her.
“A little something I picked up in Bondage School.”
“Mmm. Whatever you say, Mistress JJ.”
She leaned forward, sliding against his penis, loving the thickness of him, wishing for a condom so she could take him inside her body and they could move as one.
Except maybe this was better. They were playing at sex. This wasn’t the real deal, the physical union, the couple thing. Maybe, when the haze cleared, she wouldn’t blame herself too terribly for succumbing to the moment.
She let go of his wrists and trailed her nails along his chest as she moved down his body, digging in so he would feel the slight stab. Reaching his groin area, she wrapped her fingers around his penis.
He sucked in a breath, and a smile of anticipated pleasure spread across his face and lit his eyes.
Moving herself into position, she closed her lips gently over the head of his cock, then tightened them, sliding down slow and careful, feeling him against the back of her throat.
He shuddered in appreciation. “Oh, yeah.”
She moved up and down, experimenting with pace, with tongue pressure, making her lips tight, then loose. He tasted warm and lightly salty, and she pushed her tongue against the veins that curved around his shaft.
He brushed her hair away from her face. “I want to watch you move.”
“Mmm.” She ran her tongue around the head of his penis, giving him a show, enjoying acting sexy, knowing he liked this because of how he moved in her mouth. While she licked, she used her hands at the base of his shaft, squeezing gently, urging him closer and closer to climax.
He gripped her hair with both hands and groaned.
She loosened her throat to take him deeper.
He moved faster, in a rhythm that told her he was nearly there. She sped up, giving him steady suction, getting into the dance of it, coaxing him to the brink, closer, closer. Then over.
He came, a warm spurt in her mouth, and she swallowed it right down. This felt so human, so basic, so right. She let him slip from her mouth and rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the thud of his heart, licking the last of his essence from her lips.
Brody pushed his fingers into her hair. “Wow,” he managed, his breathing ragged.
She smiled, running her fingers along his rib cage, noticing how great she felt, how happy, how relaxed.
Until regret hit like an icy wave in the face.
She felt Brody tense at the same moment. His breathing went so shallow she couldn’t hear it. He was thinking so hard she could almost feel it. He was wondering if he could escape, no doubt, or whether she expected him to stay the night or, God forbid, cuddle.
She smiled, knowing that she could relieve his mind. She lifted her head and patted his chest. “You need to go.”
“I do?” He looked startled.
“You need your sleep. We both do.”
“But I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’m a big girl, Brody. And if you’re worried about the guy with the gun, he’s long gone. I won’t let anyone in, I swear.”
“Sure, but I…”
She reached down to grab his jeans and shirt from the floor and tossed them to him. “That was great, but it’s almost two.” She put on her robe, suddenly sad, wishing she’d lain in his arms a bit before proving this was no big deal to her. Sometimes she had too much discipline for her own good.
Brody stared.
“Go on. Get dressed. I sleep better alone.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s better for you, too. I’d probably knee you in the nuts in my sleep. You know, payback for all womankind?”
Slowly, he stepped into his pants and pulled on his shirt, doing up the two buttons with those incredible fingers that had done amazing things to her body….
She could feel herself melting, so she decided to speed things up. She sat on the end of the bed and did up his fly. She patted him through the jeans, then looked up at him.
He still looked doubtful and a little nervous.
“You’re afraid this is a trap? That I really want you to stay? I don’t play those games, Brody.”
“I know.” He relaxed, let out his breath. “And I like that about you. You’re honest and direct. No bullshit.”
“Exactly.” She pulled away from his fingers and tightened her robe to reinforce her point, wishing she were as serene as she was pretending to be. She led the way to the door, fighting a wobble in her legs.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. “And we won’t let this affect our work, either. It was just…what?…tension relief?”
“It was a hell of a lot more than that.”
That made her feel better. “But it was just a blip, a slip. We just erase the tape.” Which she would do immediately, now that she thought about it. She hoped the card in her camera had filled up long ago. “Forget it ever happened.”
He smiled, looking so sexy, smelling so good. “Can I just say that was amazing?”
“I guess that’s allowed.” Her own emotions were confused. Delight and worry and longing tumbled together like clothes in a dryer, sleeves and legs and socks and towels tangled in a warm and messy mass. By morning, when she saw him again, she’d have it straight in her mind.
He leaned in to kiss her, but she gave him her cheek. “Better start forgetting now,” she said.
Brody sighed and she had the feeling he didn’t really want to leave. “Throw the security bar and don’t let anyone in, okay?” He pushed her hair from her cheek, one side at a time.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, liking his concern. That would be a cool thing about being in a relationship—knowin
g there was a person in the world who thought of you every day, worried about your well-being, cared about how you’d slept, how you felt, wanted you to keep your doors locked and not talk to strangers.
They said good-night and she closed the door behind him, regret returning like a wise old friend. She’d made one mistake after another tonight, starting with the ice room kiss, followed by the foot massage, then opening her thighs to his touch, then getting naked…. Bad decisions like a series of dominoes click, click, clicking away until they’d made love to each other with their mouths, the biggest mistake of all.
Now the bed seemed too empty and she could still feel his fingers on her skin. Plus they’d only had an appetizer, not the full five-course meal of naked, sweaty, consuming sex.
What would that be like? Her heart pounded. She had to get over this. By morning for sure. By morning she’d be back to normal. She had to be.
7
OUTSIDE THE DOOR, Brody considered going back into JJ’s room. He was still worried about the gunman, right?
Nope. He’d decided to be honest with himself. The truth was he just wanted to wrap his arms around her warm, spice-scented body and make love to her until they headed for the airport in the morning.
Bad idea. Very bad. Thank God JJ was a sensible person. One of them had to be. Brody headed back to his room, still feeling the silk of her skin on his fingers, the rough honey of her voice still in his head.
Maybe that wasn’t a full screwup. Maybe it was merely the last hurrah of the old Brody out for a good time. JJ was not his usual bedmate, however. She had forever in her steady green eyes. And, to be honest again, he hadn’t felt like the old Brody. He’d felt completely new. Different.
He plain liked her. He liked that she wasn’t impressed by his celebrity, that she called him on his shit, that she didn’t cater to him. He was sick of people always kissing his ass.
Speaking of kissing…did that woman know how. The memory of her mouth on his cock made him fall back against the elevator wall, the air completely gone from his lungs.
It wasn’t technique. He was sick of that, too. He knew all the tricks and toys and turns of the tongue. So much of the sex he’d had lately had been a performance—both of them going through the motions. Enjoying it, but not fully present.
JJ had been so there. He’d been there, too. He’d felt young and new at it. Maybe he was making this up. It couldn’t be that great….
He suddenly wanted to go back and find out. He was out of condoms, though—another sign he’d lost interest in sex. He could bribe the desk clerk to snag him some from the gift shop, then bang on JJ’s door and really make love to her.
They’d just had a taste, after all. A taste. He’d loved hers. And he wanted more. His finger hovered over the L button.
Leave it alone. You got off easy, pal.
What had she called it? Tension relief? Lord. He’d gotten about as much relief as a sip of bicarbonate on a stomach full of jalapeños. He should be happy she was so easy about it.
With a sigh, he raised his fingers to the number for his floor and sailed upward.
Why the hell was he so fixated on her anyway? To prove himself to her? She didn’t approve of his show or him, that was obvious. Which bothered him. He wanted everyone to love him, and he worked at it. Maybe that made him a bit of a chameleon, morphing into a shape that pleased the person he wanted to impress.
Worse, he’d wanted to confide in her. He’d almost told her he was sick of Doctor Nite, that he did feel empty, that he wanted to get back to who he was.
If he even knew anymore.
JJ wouldn’t have laughed or jeered. He knew that about her. She would have listened hard, serious and aware, and encouraged him, rooted for him, wanted what he wanted for himself.
He wanted to know her story, too. She’d spilled that bit about being fat as a kid, but secrets percolated behind the deep green of her eyes and, suddenly, he wanted to know them all.
Inside his room, his message light was flashing, so he clicked into the message center, half expecting to hear from hotel security or, maybe, Lars Madden.
But it was Eve. Just checking on you, Brode. We missed you tonight. But I scored cool places to hang in San Fran. Call me back. You know I’m here for you. Always.
He should never have let Eve know he was bored. She was trying way too hard, hounding him, trying to keep him too busy to ponder his navel or his future. She was psyched about Europe, where they’d head next. He didn’t dare stick around that long or he’d lose his nerve. He couldn’t sign a new contract no matter what the network offered. Saying no to all that money would be tough. It was a hell of a lot easier to be rich than poor, and he hadn’t socked away much in the past two years.
It was late, but he was too restless to sleep. So, he’d work on Night Crimes as he’d intended, make like he hadn’t been weak and stupid. Erase the tape, like JJ said. God, she was sensible.
He sat down at his laptop, fired it up and scrolled to where he’d left Trent Lager—outside the warehouse on the pier, listening for the drug smugglers to make the deal.
What would Trent be hearing, feeling, seeing, smelling? Brady closed his eyes to imagine. Waves slapping the pier? Seagulls? At night? Did seagulls cry at night or did they sleep? What did it smell like? Fish, tar, old wood? He was lost.
Maybe he was too flipped out to write tonight.
Then he remembered the P.I. he’d decided to add and a shot of pleasure sent his fingers flying. What about this P.I.? What was her name? Not JJ. How about Jane? A simple name for a complicated woman—a smart-ass who rolled her big eyes, green as moss, at Trent and called him an arrogant SOB. He began to write: I’d like to get her in the sack, Lager thought, as he’d thought many times about the curly-headed P.I. with the soulful eyes, the secrets in her heart and a right cross he never wanted to tempt his way.
Brody woke with a start, his face pressed on the laptop keyboard, the screensaver fish scooting placidly across the screen. He rubbed his face, bumpy from the keyboard. He hoped to hell he hadn’t shorted the wiring with drool. His watch said eight, and sun streamed across the bed from the open curtains. It was late enough to call Kirk about the DVD.
Moving the computer disturbed the screensaver and his document appeared. He’d only managed a few lines of text about Lager’s lust for his P.I., who favored tight red dresses, before dropping off to sleep. He’d dreamt about the P.I., too, except in his dream, she’d worn a fluffy blue bathrobe.
He smiled, shook his head at himself, then decided to find out what had made that DVD worthy of armed robbery. It took three tries before Kirk finally picked up. “I wake you?”
“No. I’m good.” Kirk sounded foggy. “I’ve got physical therapy soon. Crack of dawn. I hate that.”
“You doing okay?”
“Everything’s chill. Hoarding the Percocet.” He suddenly got more alert. “You deliver the DVD okay to Madden?”
“Not exactly. That’s why I called. Something weird happened. I gave the DVD to Madden and he shoved it into this briefcase and rushed me out of the room before I could ask about a receipt. Did he pay you, by the way?”
“Yeah. Up-front. Sorry I didn’t mention that.”
“So I went back to ask about it and I see this big guy forcing his way into Madden’s room with a gun.” He explained about the wrestling match he’d witnessed.
“No. Wow.” Kirk took a harsh breath. “Shit.”
“No kidding. So hotel security didn’t catch the guy. I went to Madden’s room to see if he was okay and he was gone.”
“He checked out, probably.” Kirk took a couple of nervous breaths. “But it’s all good, right? We delivered the video. If he lost it, that’s on him. We’re out of it.”
“What the hell was on that DVD, Kirk?” Brady tried to be patient, to coax out the truth. He could tell there was more to the story from Kirk’s voice.
“Maybe he just wanted the briefcase?”
“Imitation leather? I doubt
it. And the timing makes it obvious what he was after. What’s the deal, Kirk? I could have got my ass capped here.”
Kirk groaned. “There might be a problem, okay? But I had no idea it was a big deal or I would never have dragged you into it. You have to know that, Brode.”
“What’s on the tape, Kirk?”
“Remember the poker party last month? After the reshoot? You were playing chess with that stripper?”
“The one in the nurse costume? Candy Stripe? Yeah.”
“She was topless, bro.”
“Whatever. She was a damn good chess player.” It was a measure of how jaded he’d become that he was more interested in her moves on the chess board than her lap dances at the party.
“Remember all the suits who were there?” Kirk asked.
“Sure.” Brody’s suite had been crowded with people he didn’t know, but that was normal. The Doctor Nite blog posted where he was taping, and fans often located his hotel and tracked him around the city, eager to be on the show or buy him a shot.
The party Kirk mentioned had included some high-powered types—CEOs, politicos, Japanese and German businessmen, if he remembered right.
“I shot video for the dancers, remember? That was the freelance job. For their Web site. But, the thing is, I guess I also caught this political guy getting a lap dance. There was coke, too, I think. The guy’s name is Jed…Bascom. Yeah. Bascom. He’s in Congress or a judge or whatever.”
“What does he have to do with Lars Madden?”
“Madden works for him. So Madden calls me up and says Bascom wants a copy of what I shot. As a souvenir. For grins, he says. I’d given the footage to the strippers, but luckily hadn’t dumped the rest of the clip, so I said, sure, I’d burn a DVD. And the money was very, very good.”
“And that didn’t make you suspicious?”
“I’m in hock for the new camera and I was about to lose the Porsche. You know how it is.”
“Yeah.” Kirk tended to live on the razor’s edge of financial viability. Brody wasn’t that big on IRAs himself, but, unlike Kirk, he knew to look a gift horse in every relevant orifice. “All he wanted was a copy? As a souvenir? I’d think he’d want to destroy every inch of that footage.”
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