“The door is kind of cold against my back,” she said. “And unless you have a condom handy, this isn’t the right spot.”
He chuckled and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the small living space. His futon bed was against the wall, folded into a sofa, and one end of the room was given over to a computer and camera equipment. The walls were full of photographs, some framed, others simply tacked up. But she didn’t look at them, only the bed mattered. The air smelled of steam and spruce bath gel, freshly washed male. But when she was right up next to him the musk of their combined bodies’ arousal took over, and, entranced, she let him pull her to the futon.
In a second, he had it flattened into a bed, and he tumbled her down, his large body on top of hers.
This moment had taken place in her fantasies any number of times in the past six days, but her mind couldn’t conjure the weight of him pressing her down into his bedding, the completely overwhelming sensation, the way his mouth tasted of spearmint, how his tongue flicked against hers.
He slid down and, ravenously, took one of her breasts into his mouth. She arched into him, practically orgasming at the long-lost sensation of a man suckling her.
“I can’t believe it, your breasts are actually real,” he gasped before licking across one nipple. “I didn’t know real women were actually built like you.”
Her hands clutched at his hair, then moved to his ears. They were so soft, and he moaned against her when she dusted her fingers around the inner whorls. Then he moved his lips to her other breast and she could do nothing but ride out the pleasure. She was so far gone that she didn’t even hear the condom unwrapping, just felt the blunt pleasure of his entrance. It sent her spiraling, lost to sensation with the first thrust inside her. She never wanted this to end.
~
Dion heard beeping. He sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and picked up his phone. Just the morning alarm. Hearing a soft sigh, he turned his head and saw Kasee, fast asleep beside him, her hair spread out on his pillow. No wonder his neck ached. He’d just passed out, sex drunk, flat on the futon after their third round. She’d been eager and generous, the kind of lover no man in his right mind would walk away from. Not for the first time, he wondered if her ex-husband Keith was so cold that he’d engineered his on-camera affair just for the sake of increasing his celebrity. Had he intended the consequence to be a divorce from his beautiful first wife?
Even in sleep, she looked perfect. Her profile had all the right angles. Free of makeup, how beautifully molded her cheekbones were, how straight her nose. She didn’t need makeup tricks to look this good. Even her real lashes were fantastic.
Stealthily, he slid from the covers and padded to the opposite side of the room to pick up his camera. He stepped in close to her and bent to one knee, then snapped off a few shots. Yes, he was right. Perfect. He pulled out the card from his phone and inserted it into his computer. He made a few quick adjustments with photo editing software, then uploaded the three best shots to his agency.
By the time he had finished, Kasee still hadn’t stirred. So, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He brushed his teeth then stepped into the bathtub and tilted the shower spray into his face, stretching his arms to the ceiling.
He yelped when he felt warm arms circle his waist from behind. “Kasee?”
“Did you sneak another girl into here while I was sleeping?”
“No.” He squeezed her hands. “Where is your car, by the way? You don’t want it to be towed.”
“I wasn’t planning to spend the night when I parked.”
He shut the spray off. “We’d better go look.”
She was blinking when she turned around. “So I shouldn’t shower?”
He shrugged. “Do you care if you’re towed?”
She yawned, giving him a view of her pretty pink mouth and pearly teeth. “Okay, no shower.”
He helped her step out, then wrapped a towel around her to catch the few droplets she’d managed to catch on her skin, then grabbed his robe and wrapped it around himself. Five minutes later he was dressed. He brought her clothing and her purse and handed them to her. They were out the door in under ten minutes, holding hands.
“You’re surprisingly low maintenance,” he told her as they reached the front door.
“Give me five years. So far my skin is aging well, but it won’t last.”
Despite the bright morning light, he couldn’t see a single flaw on her. “Do you think it’s worth it? All the work women do to try to keep forty looking thirty, thirty looking twenty, and so forth? All the worry?”
“I think it depends on a lot of factors. You can lose your career if you don’t look right. It’s a real thing. And if you marry someone who is obsessed with image, you can lose your marriage, too.”
“So if you start shallow you pay the price?”
“I don’t think that’s fair.” She blinked in the sunlight. “If your calling is to be a TV journalist or an actress or something, maintenance is the price you pay. The marriage issue is a little more problematic, but everyone risks falling in love with the wrong person. And people change.”
“Did Keith change?”
Kasee pulled Dion around the block and pointed. “There’s my car.”
“Good, it’s still there. Did you get your keys?”
“Yes, I have everything. I’m sorry our morning had to end so abruptly.” She paused against her car, putting her hand up to shield her mouth. “I didn’t even drink any water, so don’t try to kiss me.”
“I’ll buy you a spare toothbrush today,” he promised. “And I can tell you where to park so we don’t have any trouble.”
She nodded. “Keith changed, of course he did. We started dating eleven years ago, but I always knew he was into appearance. It’s just that at twenty, I didn’t know anything would ever change. He was my first love.”
“But not your last.”
She smiled at him, and in the morning sunlight, all signs of age were bleached from her face, making her look like that innocent twenty-year-old again. At thirty-one, she still had that perfect, high-bottom Jennifer Aniston-in-Friends-Season-One body, and he could easily see her as a coed. “No, I don’t think he was my last.”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “See you later. Thanks for the wonderful night.”
She fished her keys from her designer purse. He waited on the curb, patting his pockets to see if he had any cash. He found a five-dollar bill in one pocket of his cargo pants. After she drove away he walked half a block to a coffee place and got a black coffee and an apple fritter, then walked home, every muscle loose and relaxed, all right in his world.
Five minutes later, he was back in front of his computer. He lifted the lid off his coffee and put the cup to his lips. He relaunched his agency website and loaded his email program, checking to see what rumors the day would bring. But what he did see made him very happy. A reality show blog had already bought one of his Kasee photos.
“Good way to start the day, money in the bank,” he said out loud. Kasee would get a kick out of it. She was news again, just like she’d wanted.
~
Kasee booted up her laptop a couple of hours later. She needed to check her production messages and see where they were shooting next. Wriggling uncomfortably on her desk chair, due to the unaccustomed activity of the night, she opened her email and started reading her emails. Brock’s assistant had sent her links to three blogs. The first two were yawners, just notices that the show was filming again with a mention of the major players and old photographs from season one. But when she opened the third one she saw red.
Where had the blog gotten that picture of her sleeping, without a lick of makeup on her face? The post had insider information about her appearance with Dion. Not only did they have the photograph, they had news that only a few people involved in the filming would know.
She printed out the entire article, using up her color cartridges as the printer printed the photographs
. What was Dion up to now? Was he just blindly selling off every piece of her life that he could? She dropped her head into her hands. Had she developed even worse taste in men during her thirties than she had in her twenties?
Fuming, she thrust the still-damp sheets into a folder, shoved her feet into ballet flats, and went out the door. Back to Dion’s, to tell him what she thought of him.
Damn it! And the sex had been so good, too. How was she going to spin this situation now? Had she just dumped herself back into Humiliation City? What was wrong with her?
Chapter Five
Kasee had the phone to the intercom unit for Dion’s building lifted to her ear before she realized he wasn’t likely to still be there at eleven in the morning. But she called anyway, and felt a little zing of electricity when he answered. The kind of zing telling her that her body was remembering their sexual chemistry better than her brain was remembering she was angry with him. “It’s Kasee,” she said, deliberately flattening her voice. “We need to talk.”
He unlocked the front door of the apartment complex for her without responding verbally. It buzzed and she pulled it open. She blanked her mind as she went up the elevator. Maybe she wouldn’t remember what she had to say, but at least she wouldn’t be jumping him either.
“Hi,” he said after he opened the door.
She refused to let herself peruse him, to remember how he tasted. His muscular arms, the pecs that molded the worn and almost too tight T-shirt he wore had no impact if she didn’t look.
“Did you leave something here? Do we need to run to a shot for the show?” he asked.
“I need to come in,” she said, not answering his questions.
“Okay.” He stepped back, confusion evident on his handsome face.
She walked in, hoping the studio didn’t still smell of their lovemaking. But the air was fresh. She saw the windows opposite her had been opened to the spring breeze. No sign of his traitorous activities was visible. Everything looked much the way it had been three or four hours ago, except that the futon had been folded back into a sofa, the sheets and blankets placed neatly on one end.
“Do you want to tell me why you did it?” she asked, her voice cracking on the last word.
“The photo, you mean?”
“Sure, the photo.” So he wasn’t going to deny it. Though, what had really bothered her was the insider information. She’d looked cute in the photo, once she got past the rage of being photographed without the armor of makeup on.
He offered her a shy smile. “Sorry. It’s how I process. Taking those photos made you feel real to me.”
“And selling them? Does that make it feel even more real?”
“I thought it was proof of our relationship. I’d have thought you’d be happy that one of them sold so fast. You’re back. Only a week ago you were begging for me to take your picture.”
Not for the first time, past foolishness came back to haunt her. “I see your point, but things have changed and we need to renegotiate.”
“You want the money? Or half? Or to stop paying for Johan’s caregiver?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I don’t care about the money, but I do care about the show.”
He frowned. “What?”
“We have to manage promo more carefully from now on, because most of the publicity needs to happen when the show airs,” she explained. “You pulled the trigger much too soon.”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t think about that.”
“It’s at least eight months before the show will come out. There’s a long gap.”
His cheek jerked. “Rats. Well, that explains why you showed up here without a camera crew. I figured any time you’d want to argue with me you’d want to document it.”
Yikes. “I guess there’s a part of me that feels this is real, even just one week into it. Like this discussion is too private for television.”
“Right.”
She cleared her throat. The conversation was going the wrong direction. “Look, Dion. Take all the photos you want, but bank them, and we’ll decide what to try to sell later. And don’t give any more interviews, okay? Save it for the show.”
He frowned. “I didn’t give any interviews.”
“Did you read the blog? They had tons of insider information. No one should even know who you are yet.”
He shook his head sharply. “Show me.”
She sat down at his computer and pulled up the website. Dion read over her shoulder, his hands on the back of her chair.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, straightening. “That photo was just filler. The article was the meat.”
“So?” She put the accusation back in to her voice, though she’d lost her certainty.
“Not me. Not at all. Only Jorge knows about us in my circle and he doesn’t know half of that stuff, about the dinner party and what Stephanie said and everything.”
She rubbed her eyes again. “I’d better call Brock then. Either the rest of the cast or someone in the crew is letting too much leak too soon.”
“It might be Lizzie, since she was willing to gossip to me privately about you.”
“Good to know. She probably isn’t paid much. It could easily be her.”
“I’d never be so boastful, claiming you’re in love with me or anything like that,” Dion said.
She swiveled in his chair. “Why not?”
“You don’t know where I come from. I’m not like you. My family would never be suitable TV fodder.”
“I guess you saw the scenes of my parents comforting me when I found out about Keith’s affair?” she asked.
“Yeah. Your parents are great. My mom doesn’t even have all her teeth, plus she’s rarely sober, and I’d never let Johan be exploited by a camera.”
“I’ve got no intention of that. I suppose it’s possible anyone’s close associates could be pulled into a show like this, but if you don’t go looking for trouble, it shouldn’t come to your family. Just don’t ever talk about them on camera or to the other cast members.”
“I think you should meet them,” Dion said.
She couldn’t read his expression. “Why?”
“You need to know who I really am.”
“I’m a little confused about that,” she admitted. And also, why was it so important to him?
He nodded. “Got anywhere better to be right now?”
“No, I’m all yours.” She glanced at the futon, almost longing for him to take her there, instead of somewhere she sensed was a raw wound for him.
“Cool.” He picked up his keys from a lumpy pottery dish on top of his monitor. “Let’s go meet the rest of the Hamilton family.”
~
Dion’s temples still ached as he stood outside the VIP entrance of the Baltimore Arena with Johan. A British supergroup was doing one of their mega tours and they always attracted celebrity concert-goers. He was hoping to photograph some A-list Hollywood types who were shooting scenes next week in Baltimore for an action movie.
His mother had been on her usual bad behavior that afternoon. He never called ahead; it just gave Sherry time to build up a head of steam and a list of reasons she needed more money from him. Even at not yet four in the afternoon, she’d already been weaving when she walked and had to hold onto furniture to keep herself upright. Who knew how many times she’d filled her cup with “tea,” her favorite brew of Earl Grey and gin. He often brought her lemons, hoping she’d squeeze them in, adding at least a little bit of healthfulness to her drink.
Johan’s school bus arrived right at four. He was in his third year of high school, having missed a year due to surgeries he’d had as a child. As soon as he saw Dion, he’d raced up the front steps of his mother’s small house, his backpack bouncing on his back, and run into his big brother’s arms. He wore a T-shirt Dion had given him for Christmas, and it had a chocolate stain down the front.
When Dion had looked over at Kasee, she’d had a frozen smile on her face as Sherry urged her to take a st
ained tea cup. Kasee had attempted to wave it away, then finally took it. When he’d introduced Johan to her, his brother had shaken Kasee’s hand so vigorously that the “tea” had slopped all over her expensive designer sweater.
Kasee had pretended to ignore the stain, but she’d plucked at her sweater for the rest of her visit. Meanwhile, his mother hadn’t even noticed the big brown blotch. A normal mother would have been offering a towel, a fabric stain remover, something. Instead, Sherry just settled back into her padded armchair, pointed Johan to a plate of Oreos next to the smelly sofa, and gone into an inebriated daze.
Dion had attempted to fetch a glass of milk for his brother, but the milk in the refrigerator was expired. He needed to start having groceries delivered again. His mother didn’t spend her food stamps sensibly. When he’d told Kasee he needed to walk down to the market to pick up a few things, she’d stayed behind, but as soon as he’d returned, he’d taken his new lover and her frozen smile right out of there, not even bothering to pay attention to what Johan had been showing her.
“I think that’s Julie Bowen,” Jorge said, breaking Dion from his reverie. “Two o’clock.”
Dion lifted his camera toward the blonde and took a few shots. Julie Bowen was more likely to sell than the photos of Tori Amos he’d taken earlier. “Ah, here we go,” he said, as a group of football players stepped out of a limousine. “Here are my people.”
~
“Ugh,” Kasee said, hanging up her house phone and returning to her cell phone. “I can’t reach Dion.”
“Did you try sending him a text?” Brock asked.
She heard the clink of ice cubes on glass. The producer must be day drinking again, unless it was iced coffee. “I’ll do that when I hang up with you, but I think I’m going to have to go stag. Why didn’t you give me more notice than this?”
“It took us this long to receive permission to film around the African art collection at the Baltimore Museum of Art.”
Wild Irish: Wild Image (KW) (A Charisma series novel, The Connollys Book 1) Page 7