by Regina Kyle
She took a tentative step toward him before remembering what she was there for. Jasper. Where was that darned cat?
Holly scanned the room and found him coiled at the foot of the bed, ready to spring onto Nick’s outstretched legs. “C’mere, Jasper,” she pleaded softly. “Come on, boy. I saw some Manchego cheese in the refrigerator. Your favorite.” He might be lower on the evolutionary scale, but he sure had expensive taste in treats.
Unmoved by the bribe, the cat leaped with unexpected ease onto the bed, landing inches from Nick’s pillow. With a swish of his tail, the cat circled a few times before settling into the crook of Nick’s arm, his cocky orange head tucked under Nick’s chin and one paw extended across his sculpted rib cage.
Lucky cat.
Holly held her breath, waiting for Nick to stir. But the guy slept like a stone. She tiptoed to the bedside and reached for the cat, ignoring the devil on her shoulder telling her to oh so casually brush against Nick as she did. She had to get Jasper out of there before Nick’s allergies kicked in. She couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than him waking up sneezing and finding her gawking at him like one of his obsessed fangirls. Not exactly how she’d planned to start her day.
“That’s it, boy,” she crooned softly, getting close enough to graze his soft fur with her fingertips. “Just a little bit farther and we’ll go get some of that nice overpriced cheese....”
“Any farther and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
Holly jumped back at the sound of Nick’s voice, deep and gravelly and early-morning sexy. The movement startled Jasper, who dived off the bed with a form worthy of Greg Louganis and stalked out of the room. Not that Holly blamed him. She’d be pretty upset, too, if someone got between her and a nearly naked Nick.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Nick rumbled, interrupting her thoughts. He raised himself up on one elbow and pinned her with those velvet eyes. “I’m certainly not complaining. It’s not every day a guy wakes up to a pair of beautiful breasts in his face.”
“Hey,” she retorted, crossing her arms in front of her chest to hide the fact that her nipples were threatening to poke holes through her top. “It was my breasts or the cat’s butt.”
He rolled to his back and stretched, making the muscles of his chest and arms ripple. “I definitely got the better end of that bargain.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She swallowed, her mouth dry. The man was even more lethal in the predawn hours, with his hair all mussed and his eyes sultry and heavy-lidded. “I’m not planning on getting you up like this every morning.”
He shifted his hips to one side. “I’m sure I can come up with some alternative but equally enjoyable ways for you to...get me up.”
“Pig.” She grabbed a pillow from the floor and tossed it at him.
He grinned and deflected it easily. “I was talking about breakfast in bed. Soft music. Shiatsu. You’re the one with your mind in the gutter.”
“Dream on. This is a landscaping and garden center, not Club Med. And since you’re up, you might as well be useful.”
“I can be useful.” He swung out of bed and stretched again, sending her heart rate into overdrive. “Very, very useful.”
“How about you put on some clothes so we can get to work?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” In two steps he reached her, one hand snaking around her back to draw her to him, the other tugging her flannel work shirt from her jeans. “How about you take off some clothes so we can play?”
He slipped his hand under her shirt, letting it travel slowly up her rib cage until it cupped her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple through the cool satin of her bra.
“I... We...can’t.”
“Give me one good reason why not.” His voice dropped even lower and he leaned in to tease the tender flesh of her earlobe with his lips, making every nerve ending in her body buzz.
“I’ll give you two.” She fixed her eyes on a poster of David Ortiz over Nick’s shoulder. It was that or bury her face in his chest and breathe in that warm, sleepy, sexy smell that was totally Nick, totally irresistible. “My parents.”
“So we’ll be quiet. I’m up for the challenge.” His lips traveled down her neck to her collarbone and she sagged a little against him. “Are you?”
“I... Oh.” She broke off on a low, lingering moan when he nudged the collar of her shirt aside and nipped her shoulder, then followed it with a soothing kiss.
“That’s it.” He smiled against her skin. “Let go.”
Something bumped the back of her thigh and Holly realized he’d backed her up against Gabe’s desk. She put a palm down to steady herself and heard the clatter of one of Gabe’s trophies falling to the floor.
“Shh.” He nudged one leg between hers, sandwiching her between the desk and his hot, hard, not-quite-naked body. His lips continued their torture, his warm breath fanning her neck as he spoke. “Remember. Parents. Quiet.”
“I’m not sure I can stay silent when you do that.”
“Do what?” His thumb brushed her nipple and she moaned.
“That.”
“Yes.” He lifted his head and she whimpered at the sudden loss of his mouth. “You can. Let me do this. Let me please you.”
With an almost inaudible groan, he kissed her. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a question, an invitation for Holly to accept or deny. He started slow, outlining her bottom lip with his tongue for a long, agonizing moment, then finally letting his mouth settle over hers.
It was an invitation she couldn’t refuse.
Holly threw her arms around his waist and threw herself into the kiss, any thought of resisting him obliterated by the slick slide of his tongue on hers, the rasp of his thumb on her nipple, the press of his growing erection against her hip. Kissing him was like Christmas, Mardi Gras and a good hair day, all rolled into one.
He abandoned her breast and slid his hand down to the waistband of her jeans, popping the button free and lowering the zipper. She widened her legs, allowing his fingers to dip inside her panties. She was throbbing as he teased and taunted, coming close to her swollen clit but never touching it.
She pried her mouth from his, panting. “Nick, please.”
“Please what?” He plunged the tip of one finger between her wet folds then withdrew it, leaving her breathless and needy.
“You know what. Stop messing around.” She reached for him through his boxers. “I want you inside me.”
“I want that, too, sweetheart.” He thrust into her hand. “Do you feel how hard I am? But ladies first.”
He circled her entrance one last, torturous time before working two fingers inside. She arched her back and pushed against his hand.
“That’s right, baby. I know you need it. Take it.” He flicked his thumb over her clit as he continued to move inside her, bringing her to the brink.
Her head dropped back and she grabbed onto his arms, her nails digging into his biceps. “Oh, God, Nick. I’m going to come.”
His fingers slowed. “Just remember. Quiet, Holly. No one can know. You’re in control.”
She swallowed hard and nodded.
“Good. Now look at me. And come.”
He resumed his movements, fingers pumping in and out, his maddening thumb teasing her with the skill of a virtuoso. Her eyes widened and she came in a heated rush, burying her face in his chest to drown her cries.
Nick withdrew his fingers, wrapped his arms around her and held her, leaning down to brush a soft kiss across her temple. “You’re trembling.”
“Give me a minute.” She breathed him in. Warm. Sexy. Nick. “It’ll stop. I hope.”
“It’s okay. I love seeing you like this. Watching you come apart. Knowing I’m the one who got you there.”
A knock at the door, followed by her mother’s voice, made both of them startle. “Are you up, Niccolò? I thought I heard voices.”
Damn. So much for whispering. Her stomach clenched like a guilty teenager, caught with her p
ants down. Or open. Not that she’d been the kind of kid to sneak a guy over. That was Noelle’s territory. Holly was what her sister would call a late bloomer.
She prodded Nick, mutely urging him to respond. “Uh, yeah, I’m up, Mrs. Nelson.” He scrambled for his jeans, lying in a heap on the floor, while Holly cowered near the most convenient hiding place—the closet—refastening her own pants and straightening her shirt. “Just, um, talking to my agent on the phone.”
“Isn’t it a little early for a business call?”
“You haven’t met Garrett. The man doesn’t sleep.”
“As long as you’re up you might as well come downstairs and have some breakfast. I made pancakes and sausage.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be right down.”
“Oh, and have you seen Holly? Her father could use some help outside.”
Double damn. She shot Nick a panicked look. He appeared equally dumbstruck, and she said a silent prayer for him to call on his acting chops to deliver a convincing lie.
“Um, no, I’m, uh, still in bed. But I’d be happy to pitch in. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Niccolò. Now hurry and come eat before it gets cold.”
Her mother’s footsteps retreated and Holly slumped against the dresser, breathing a sigh of relief before turning to Nick. “Seriously? Twenty million a picture and that’s the best you could come up with?”
He shrugged on a Van Halen T-shirt. “What can I say? Improvisation was never one of my strengths. But I more than make up for it in...other areas.”
Holly blushed at the reminder that barely seconds ago he was giving her one of the best orgasms of her life, while she was almost fully clothed. One heated glance from Nick and her look-don’t-touch rule, along with her ability to form coherent thought, had flown out the window.
Not again. If she was going to survive this whole experience with her heart intact, she needed to set some boundaries. And the best way to do that was to stay as far away from Nick as possible until the theater reopened and they could get back to business. It wouldn’t be easy when they were sharing the same house, but it was necessary, seeing as she had the willpower of a vampire in a blood bank when it came to him.
“I’ve got to get downstairs before my father sends out a search party.” She smoothed her hair and crossed to the door, hoping her swollen lips and flushed cheeks wouldn’t give her away to her parents. “Are you coming?”
Too late, she realized the huge opening she’d given him. “Not this morning, apparently.” With a wolfish grin, he adjusted himself and zipped up his jeans, following her out of the room. “But I’ll take a rain check.”
* * *
IT WASN’T EASY to woo a girl when you were ankle-deep in cow manure. Or was it horseshit? Whatever. All Nick knew was that a week that had started off great had turned to crap. Figuratively and literally.
He’d barely seen Holly in the two days since that morning when she and the tata twins had given him that spectacular wake-up call. Oh, sure, they had meals together, along with her parents. And he’d caught her peeking at him when he was working outside with her dad in the afternoon, when the sun was high and he’d taken his shirt off to beat the heat. But time alone together? Nada. She was back to her avoidance strategy, and the woman was harder to pin down than a casting director during pilot season.
“You about finished there, Niklas?” Holly’s father rounded the corner of the greenhouse, startling Nick back into motion with the fertilizer.
“Yes, sir.” Nick bent and scooped up a shovel full of compost from the wheelbarrow next to him. Anything to avoid facing the father of the woman he’d been picturing naked, a man so well-mannered and respectful he insisted on calling Nick by his full name in Swedish. “This is the last bed.”
“Head on up to the house when you’re done. Elena’s made fried chicken and potato salad for lunch.”
“Will do.” Nick spread the mixture around a Dr. Seuss–looking plant with a tall, thorny stalk and clusters of purple berries that Nils had called devil’s-walking-stick. He turned to shovel up another load.
“And make sure you find Holly. She’s been looking for you.”
Nick paused in midshovel. Holly? Looking for him? But before he could ask why, her father had disappeared, leaving as quickly as he’d come.
He finished in record time, anxious to get back to the house and find out what Holly wanted with him. Had she heard from Ethan? Was the theater cleared? Or maybe there’d been another “incident.” Good or bad, it had to be something to do with the show. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in any more between-the-sheets action.
Not that that was going to stop him from trying.
She was in the kitchen getting lunch on the table when he found her. Her hair was shoved under a weather-beaten Red Sox cap and she wore no makeup. An apron over her usual work outfit—jeans and a faded flannel shirt—proclaimed her Too Hot to Handle.
Damned if she wasn’t.
“You wanted me?” he asked, making his way over to the sink to wash his hands.
Her cheeks reddened, letting him know she hadn’t missed the double meaning. “In a manner of speaking.”
She set down a huge platter of chicken in the center of the table. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that it had been hours since he’d eaten breakfast. He grabbed for a chicken leg and she smacked his still-damp hand away. “What gives?”
“Change of plans for this afternoon.” She took off her apron and hung it on a hook by the refrigerator. “You’re off the grunt patrol.”
“I can’t say I’m not grateful.” Nick rolled his shoulders back and tipped his head from side to side, trying to soothe his sore muscles. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he was no stranger to manual labor, but it had been a while, and landscaping was damn hard work. A lot more demanding than waiting tables or bartending, his primary modes of support before he’d struck gold with Trent Savage. “But why?”
She plucked a piece of chicken from the platter and bit into it, humming softly in appreciation. A rivulet of juice dribbled down her chin and she wiped it away with the back of her hand before answering him. He found it hard to focus on what she was saying.
Jesus Christ. What the hell was wrong with him? He was used to having silicone-enhanced actresses throw themselves at him, whom he could fend off with one hand tied behind his back. But one innocent, food-induced moan from Holly, and he was a goner.
Somehow her words broke through his lust-filled haze. “We’re going back to school.”
13
FROM THE WINGS, Mr. Traver cleared his throat to get Nick’s attention and tapped the face of his watch.
“Looks like we have time for one last question.” Nick glanced at Holly, sitting on the auditorium stage next to him in a molded-plastic chair identical to the one he occupied, for confirmation. She shrugged and nodded her head as if to say, Go ahead. This one’s all yours. He surveyed the sea of shining, eager faces and raised hands in his former teacher’s Intro to Drama class, finally settling on a skinny boy with an unfortunate cowlick who looked like a blond Harry Potter.
“Third row. Blue shirt. Glasses.”
“Me?” the boy squeaked.
“Yes. What’s your name?”
“It’s Kevin, sir.”
“And what’s your question, Kevin?”
“I wanted to know...” He tugged at his collar. “The way you’ve described it, your role in this play is, like, so different from your movies. And from you, unless, I mean, assuming you’re not, like, a wife-beater or anything.”
The class tittered and one boy in the back row not so discreetly coughed “loser” into his hand. Mr. Traver poked his head out from behind one of the curtain legs, but Nick waved him off. “I think I know where you’re going with this, Kevin. But I’d like to hear the rest of your question, if it’s all right with the peanut gallery.”
The cougher squirmed in his seat, and a beami
ng Kevin continued, “How do you, like, identify with a character who’s such a scumbag?”
“So, basically, how much does it suck being the bad guy after years of playing the hero?” The class laughed again, this time with Nick instead of at Kevin. “In all seriousness, that’s a good question, one it took me a long time to figure out. Every actor’s process is different. For me, it’s about digging deep, finding something redeeming about the character beneath the ugly surface. No one’s black-and-white, all good or all bad. Although I’ll admit the good’s buried deeper in some than others.”
Like Holly’s ex. And his father.
“How about you, Ms. Ryan?” a girl piped up from behind Kevin. “Why’d you write about domestic violence?”
Shit. Nick figured the last thing Holly wanted to talk about was how close to home this play hit for her. “Sorry, but I think we’re out of time, guys. Thanks for—”
“It’s okay,” Holly said, surprising him. He was even more shocked to see her on the edge of her chair, light dancing in her green eyes and looking almost giddy with anticipation. “The Lesser Vessel isn’t just about spousal abuse. It’s about making what you think is the right choice—the safe choice—and having it turn out horribly wrong. It’s about having the judgment to recognize you’ve made a mistake and the courage to make it right. And I think that’s something we all experience at some point in our lives.”
“Kind of like pulling a U-ie?” a smart-ass in a red hoodie yelled.
Holly found the boy slinking in his seat and nailed him with her gaze. He slumped even farther and pulled his hood down over his face.
Attagirl.
“More like making amends, if they’re due, then starting over. And getting it right this time.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, then shut it, nodding a little to herself.
She was right. She’d said it all.
“On that note,” Mr. Traver interrupted, joining them onstage, “time to wrap up.” His eyes darted from Nick to Holly and back again. “Any parting words of advice for these budding thespians?”
“I think Nick’s better equipped to answer that question than I am,” Holly said, biting her lip, probably as amused by Mr. Traver’s formality as Nick was. Another thing about good old Stockton that hadn’t changed in fifteen years.