by Tara Wyatt
Maybe her body was trying to tell her something her stubborn brain—or was it her heart?—was refusing to accept: that she could be vulnerable with him, and it wouldn’t blow up in her face and leave her collecting the scattered shards of her heart. He’d already seen her at her most vulnerable, at the mercy of whoever was trying to scare her, and he’d taken her vulnerability and cradled it in those big strong hands, protecting her and making her feel safe and secure.
Maybe it was time to explore another kind of vulnerability.
I think you’re incredible. His words from earlier echoed through her, strengthening the shimmering strands of trust arcing delicately between them.
“I don’t really eat sugar,” he said, setting his phone down on the island and leaning back on his palms. His shirt clung to his muscled frame, and she believed him. You didn’t get the body of a Greek god with cupcakes.
“Never?” she asked, and began peeling the wrapper from the cupcake, the accordion folds popping out rhythmically.
“Not usually.” He licked his lips, his eyes darkening slightly. “Maybe you should take one to Rory.” He tipped his head in the direction of the living room.
“Rory can get his own cupcake.”
Sean arched one eyebrow. “So you guys aren’t…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the question. Sean cared if she was single or not. And he seemed a little jealous that she might not be. She squared her shoulders, feeling suddenly both light and bold.
“Rory’s just a friend. I’m single.” She swiped her finger through the icing on top and sucked her finger into her mouth. His lips parted slightly as his grip tightened on the island, his knuckles almost white. “It’s very good,” she said sweetly, once again holding the cupcake out to him.
“I don’t doubt it.” His voice was low, a little rough, and he cleared his throat. She stepped closer to him and set the cupcake on the island. As she reached past him, her breasts brushed his chest, and she didn’t step back. Instead she laid her hands on the island on either side of him, close but not touching. She looked up at him, trying in vain to read the expression on his face.
“But you don’t want the cupcake?”
He took a breath, and her breasts pressed into his chest again. And then his hands were on her, circling her waist and pulling her against him. Big and strong and warm, they felt so good on her, as though she could melt into a puddle of bliss under his touch. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t alive and fully awake. He smelled so good, a lingering hint of aftershave clinging to his skin, blending with the clean-laundry smell of his T-shirt. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and breathe him in, but couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from his face. When he spoke his voice was still low, and a little strained. Heat flashed in his eyes.
“It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s that I shouldn’t have it. Trust me, there’s a difference.”
“You can’t always deny yourself what you want.”
“No, but in this case, I have to. Cupcakes are…off-limits. No matter how much I want one.” His grip tightened, and he pulled her more firmly against him.
Oh, sweet Jesus. He was hard, thick and big, his cock straining against his jeans and pressing firmly against her hip, and try as she might, she couldn’t suppress the tremble coursing through her. He was just as affected as she was. So why was he holding back, telling her no?
The tips of his fingers grazed the top of her ass, and even through her jeans, she could feel that touch searing through her, tying up her insides into ridiculous knots of lust and need. Like a sunflower stretching toward the sun, she arched up onto her toes, her eyes glued to his mouth. Just one kiss. One little taste of that gorgeous mouth. His breath was warm against her face, his eyes hooded.
Cold air swirled around her as he set her away from him and stepped away, pushing a hand through his hair. A pained look flashed across his face, his brow and jaw tight. “No, Sierra.”
She stood glued to the spot, trying to understand. “Why?” Realization flashed through her. “Oh, God. You’re not single, are you?” Her voice was barely a whisper. Sean didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in a serious relationship. She’d just assumed, with the chemistry between them, the flirting…shit.
He sighed heavily and shook his head. “No, I’m single.” He shook his head again and planted his hands on his hips. “You’re a client, and I can’t cross that line.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, suddenly mortified at the way she’d just come on to him. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I just thought…,” she stammered, her face on fire. Her skin hurt, shame and regret crackling over her. She felt like a creep who’d sexually harassed her bodyguard.
He stepped back toward her and eased her hands away from her face. She trembled slightly, ready to come out of her skin with how much she wanted him, with how much every single touch nearly undid her. “Don’t be.” He held her eyes with his. “You didn’t misread anything, I promise you. But you’re a client. As much as I might want…” He trailed off and his jaw tightened again, the cords of his neck straining visibly as he fought for control. “Everything, it can’t happen.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and fierce, matching the hot intensity shining in his eyes.
She nodded, trying not to sink into the disappointment threatening to suck her under like quicksand. “I understand.” She couldn’t ask him to compromise his professionalism just to satisfy the lust swirling between them.
He cradled her face, his thumbs tracing lightly over her cheekbones. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded, loving the friction of his hands against her cheeks. “I understand,” she repeated, disappointment and the tiniest sting of rejection eating up all the oxygen in her lungs. She felt a tiny part of herself curl away.
He studied her for a second longer with those deep-brown eyes before releasing her. “Go. Enjoy your friends.”
She backed away, nodding weakly, before making a beeline for the powder room. Safely shut away from everyone, she forced herself to suck down several deep breaths and then splashed cold water on her face.
A jumble of emotions swirled through her, all blending into each other until she didn’t know how to feel. Disappointed. Rejected. Embarrassed. And yet she knew, somehow, that his working for her wasn’t the only reason he was holding back. He’d wanted her. She’d felt how turned on he was. But she’d also seen something in his eyes. Given the number of walls she put up around herself, she was pretty good at recognizing them in others.
After patting her face dry, she emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly more together despite the wet heat still pulsing between her legs. She sank down onto the couch beside Alexa, snagging a handful of pretzels.
“Hey, you OK?” asked Alexa, rubbing a hand over Sierra’s arm. Sierra just nodded and chewed, managing a half smile around her mouthful of pretzels. She’d known Alexa almost as long as she’d known Chloe. The youngest member of their little group, Alexa had played Sierra’s younger sister on Sunset Cove, and unlike Sierra, she was still acting. The Fairfaxes were one of the most famous Hollywood families, on par with the Barrymores, the Hustons, and the Fondas. Alexa’s father, Jonathan, had won his second Oscar last year.
“OK, now that everyone’s here, I’d like to propose a toast.” Rory stood with his tumbler of scotch clutched in one hand. “To our lovely birthday girl. May the next year bring you happiness, health, and success.”
“And a hot, well-hung boyfriend.” Taylor winked as she raised her beer bottle.
“We love you, Chloe. Happy birthday,” said Sierra, and they all clinked their glasses against Chloe’s, who stood and hugged each of them tightly.
“I’m so glad you were able to make it, Rory.” Chloe gave Rory’s shoulder a squeeze. “I thought you were supposed to be in New York.”
“I’m headed back tomorrow. Filming got pushed back a couple of days, which worked out great for me. You know I hate to miss a girls’ n
ight.”
“You do make a pretty great girl,” said Taylor.
“He’s an honorary girl!” Alexa scrunched up her nose, clinking her glass with Rory’s.
Rory batted his eyes and settled back on the couch. “Why, thank you. This doesn’t mean I have to start shaving my legs, does it?”
They all laughed, and once again Sierra felt grateful to have each of them in her life.
“How’s your album coming, Taylor?” Sierra asked.
Taylor took a long pull on her beer before answering. “Don’t ask. Everything I write comes out wrong, and that’s when I can write anything at all. I sometimes think winning that damn Grammy was the worst thing that could’ve happened. Now I’m too up in my own head about everything, and I know I’m putting way too much fucking pressure on myself. But I don’t know how to unwind, get out of my own way…”
Taylor trailed off as Zack walked quickly through the room on his way to the kitchen, probably to check in with Sean. Sierra didn’t miss the way Taylor’s eyes tracked him, traveling up and down his body as he walked.
“No,” said Sierra, pointing at her. “Behave.”
Taylor held up her hands in defense. “I’m behaving. For now.” She glanced toward the kitchen before leaning forward, her forearms braced on her slender thighs, a mischievous smile tipping her mouth up. “He’s pretty hot, though. I make no promises of behaving in the future.”
Sierra just shook her head and smiled. Taylor was going to do what she wanted anyway, and they were all adults here. Mature adults, fully able to control themselves.
She’d just keep telling herself that until it felt true.
* * *
Sean stood in the kitchen, hard as concrete and trying to get his heart to ease out of his throat. Fuck, that had been close. He’d been about half a breath away from kissing her senseless. He’d never kissed a client before, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. He was thirty-five years old, dammit, not a horny teenager, and he needed to get a handle on himself. As tempting as she was, he couldn’t let himself get distracted. And yet he knew there was more to his hesitation than distraction.
He couldn’t fully explain it, but there was something about Sierra that appealed to him on pretty much every level. Yeah, she was sexy, but it was more than that. She was smart, and unwilling to back down in the face of harassment, and she took her work seriously. She was funny, and cute, and he felt so fucking good around her. Something about her just made sense to him. He felt completely torn, struggling to reconcile his need to protect her with his need for her.
It wouldn’t be so difficult if the attraction were only physical. But it wasn’t. He could fall for her. And that was something he wasn’t looking for. A complication he didn’t need in his life.
He paced to the edge of the kitchen, his gaze darting repeatedly to the tray of cupcakes still sitting on the counter. He turned away from them.
“Ugh, I saw Jack’s stupid interview on TV the other day. I don’t understand how someone can be so charming and so repulsive at the same time,” said Taylor, and Sean paused, feeling only slightly guilty for eavesdropping.
Sierra laughed. “Ha! It’s called politics.”
“You did the right thing,” said Alexa. “He never supported you or your work. I don’t care how hot he is, he wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Thanks. I’m inclined to agree,” said Sierra. “We started off so great. I thought maybe…we had a future. That I’d found something worth hanging on to. And then he turned out to be such a colossal asshole. I still feel so stupid for falling for his whole act.”
Rory chimed in. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. He didn’t treat you right. I’m glad you broke up with him.”
“Me too. God, he was pissed. I think he was surprised that I actually left him.”
“He’s spoiled and rich, and used to getting what he wants,” said Chloe. “It doesn’t matter how pissed off he was. Dumping him was the right thing to do.”
“I still think you should tell the cops about him,” said Taylor, and Sean stood up a little straighter, a chill creeping down his spine. “He told you you’d regret breaking up with him. And now this creepy shit is going on, directly related to your work at Choices, which he always hated.”
Sean slipped farther back into the kitchen, his mind buzzing. He drummed his fingers on the island, feeling restless. He picked up his phone and checked his e-mail, then dialed Antonio’s number, pacing slowly through the kitchen as he listened to it ring.
“Detective Rodriguez,” Antonio answered, his voice brisk.
“Hey, man, it’s Sean. You have a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to know if you’d made any progress or found anything interesting with the Blake investigation.”
“We’re still looking into Sacrosanct. They’ve been active in San Francisco, and we have confirmation that they’ve set up a branch here in LA. Can’t link them to anything yet, even though my gut tells me that they’re behind this.”
“You remember the other night, we talked about how Sierra dated Jack Nikolaidis?”
“Sure.”
“Apparently he was directly opposed to her work with Choices, and when they broke up, he threatened to make her regret it.”
“Oh, really? Huh. Well, isn’t that interesting,” said Antonio, and Sean could almost hear the wheels turning from his end of the phone. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“I’ve got one of my guys doing a little discreet digging too. Thought it would be worth mentioning. I know he’s popular, but I’ve heard rumors that he isn’t quite what he seems. Bribery. Corruption. Maybe worse.”
“Nikolaidis might be the media’s golden boy, but everybody shits somewhere. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“No problem. Thanks for looking into him. The sooner we get this wrapped up the better. I want these assholes caught.” No one messed with his girl and got away with it.
Fuck. He was thinking of her as his girl, and damn if that didn’t feel good.
He ended the call and, with a quiet growl, snagged a cupcake off the tray and headed for the guesthouse.
Chapter 9
Sean popped the last bite of cupcake into his mouth as he closed the door to the guesthouse behind him, sucking a bit of icing off his thumb. He locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. They landed with a loud, echoing skitter, the sound jarring in the dark silence. Pushing a hand through his hair, he flicked on the lights, illuminating the small space. The guesthouse was laid out like a bachelor apartment, albeit a really nice one, with large windows, hardwood floors, granite countertops, and a walk-in shower worthy of a five-star hotel. A walk-in shower that was calling his name, and he yanked his shirt over his head as he walked toward the bathroom at the back of the space.
He tossed his shirt on the queen-size bed nestled into the far right corner, hidden from the living room with sliding glass panels. He was already missing his California king. His feet hung off the end in a queen, and he’d woken up this morning sprawled across the mattress diagonally on his stomach, the sheets twisted around him, the muscles in his back and shoulders complaining loudly.
He shucked his jeans, socks, and boxers, tossed them on the bed, and padded naked into the bathroom.
As the jets of hot water cascaded over his tense shoulders, he tried to relax, knowing Zack was on duty in the house tonight, doing regular sweeps of the property and monitoring the security cameras. Trying to convince himself that concern for Sierra’s security was the main reason for the tension radiating through him.
Fucking hell, but he’d wanted to kiss her. That he’d been able to pull away had been nothing short of miraculous.
Tilting his face up to the spray, he closed his eyes and let the water wash over him. He adjusted the knobs, making the water as hot as he could stand it. Even though he’d done the right thing, he’d seen the pained look in her eyes as he
’d moved away from her.
But he couldn’t get involved with a client. It was unprofessional, and he needed to focus on protecting her. He couldn’t do that if he was letting his dick do the thinking.
And yet…he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face as she’d stared up at him, her green eyes dark, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. Mentally he rewound the situation, allowing himself the luxury of imaging the outcome if he’d let things play out differently.
He’d have kissed her, gently at first, almost teasing, before slipping his tongue into her sweet little mouth and kissing her hard and deep. He’d have slipped his hands under her ass and lifted her, her legs sliding around his hips, his throbbing cock cradled against her. He’d have laid her down on that island and stripped her shirt over her head. He’d have buried his face in her delicate neck, tasting the skin there before traveling lower, palming her small, perfect breasts as he traced the outline of her nipples through her bra with his mouth. She’d arch up into his mouth, and he’d suck her deeper until she writhed beneath him, her legs still hooked around his hips.
He looked down at the bar of soap in his hand and shook his head. And then he slicked it over his palms.
He braced his forearm against the wall of the shower while his opposite hand slid down between his legs to grip his hard cock. As the spray from the shower pounded his shoulders and back, he stroked himself, one long, slow, teasing pull. His balls were heavy and ached for release, despite the fact that he’d already satisfied himself that morning before his swim. He’d woken from a dream about Sierra, almost painfully hard.
In the dream she’d slipped into the guesthouse in the middle of the night, completely naked, and had begged him to fuck her. Begged him, pleaded with him, told him she needed his cock inside her now. He’d bent her over the edge of the bed, hands spanning her small hips, and had lined himself up with her hot, slick entrance, ready to thrust into her, when he’d woken up.