“Caught out by my voice probably. I should’ve been more careful,” he said.
Any couple who were showing the world they liked each other a lot.
She stood in the shelter of Haydn’s arms, leaning into his body. He had his cap pulled low and his head down, angled towards her, blocking most of her face from view. Had she been able to see his smile then it would’ve snatched the breath from her lungs.
That smile was tinder to make knees weak, to set a heart on fire. It was the smile that launched a laugh. The crinkle of cheek, the uptick of lips, and a glimmer of teeth, they all came before the deep-voiced articulation of mirth. She knew that smile originated in his eyes, before he lowered his lids as if he had already given away too much and wanted to keep a thought secret. She knew it ended in a dimple.
She loved that smile.
It wasn’t the one he used on stage at the conference or in the restaurant. Now that she’d seen this smile, she knew his public smile, while freely given and oozing warmth, had a smooth, practiced look to it. It had all the gloss and loveliness that the camera loved, that Hollywood banked on, but there was a distance in his wide-open eyes even as they met yours, and his features remained symmetrical. As if he knew he could dazzle, and he didn’t want to unleash that on the unsuspecting. As if every smile given in public had a professional tax on it and cost him something of his soul.
The smile captured on Haydn’s face in the bridge climb photo wasn’t safe for public consumption. It was the one he used when he wasn’t being watched, when he was enjoying himself and wanted you to know it. It wasn’t balanced or fixed. He would wrinkle his nose and shutter his eyes. She’d seen it above her in bed, and on the dance floor and beaming at her from inside his fake beard. It was her smile. A gift. Different, separate, goofier and spontaneous, and so extraordinarily sexy it dissolved all the anger inside her chest.
“The others are being auctioned,” he said. “We only have a description of them.”
His “people” had learned about them from a tip-off. All shot from behind, no full face, Haydn in profile. Rick was sure the leak came from the boatyard and the photographer was on a balcony of the hotel near the dock.
“I knew this kind of thing happened. I was aware all weekend how careful you were to avoid it, knowing when you could take a risk like the restaurant and the ballroom and when you couldn’t. You thought we were safe. You don’t seem mad.”
“Rick is furious. Hassan feels like he let me down.” Haydn turned away, going to the dresser across the room and putting his back to her. “My agent will quietly seethe. I’m inured to it. It’s part of the job.” He was withdrawing.
“I would never sell you out.”
“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to fundraise. Hassan is on standby to take you home whenever you’re ready.”
He didn’t believe her. “You said you trusted me.” She needed to see that smile again—her smile—before she left and had to make do with the other one the world knew.
He turned and leaned against the dresser, arms folded over his chest. “I trust you won’t tell lies. That’s not who you are. It’s a lot of money, Teela. Extra publicity won’t matter to me, and you could donate what you make to charity.”
The weekend was over. Being papped and learning how she could profit from having simply spent time with Haydn drew a line under their differences. She’d seen their time together ending in quite a different way, in hopeless lingering kisses and final hugs repeated, in unfathomable tenderness. None of this was Haydn’s fault. He didn’t even have to tell her about it or offer bizarre investment advice. He’d be gone before the photo story appeared.
“I don’t think I’m ready to go yet.”
“Are you sure?” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t want to coerce you into staying. Shouldn’t have stalked you to your office, even though that worked out.”
Coerce was a more intense word than beg. This wasn’t the same playful, intimate mood as cuddling on the yacht. Haydn was well aware of the power of his position relative to hers. He held all the cards and nothing she did, not even shouting from the rooftops in a tell-all sex-weekend expose that the Sexiest Man Alive had toe jam, halitosis and trouble getting his one inch up, could hurt him.
And yet for all that. He was tense. The veins on his forearms popping as he locked them down tight over his chest. His brows angled down. Waiting for her to decide.
“If you still want me? We have a few hours, but I need to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“I haven’t stopped wanting you all weekend.”
The words. The way he said them, with a voice gone dark and thick. The way he looked at her. As if he might not stop wanting her after they were done. It made her body feel lush and tropical-storm alive.
“Then what are you doing all the way over there?” she said.
He visibly unlocked his body. Eyes opening wider, shoulders lowering, head straightening and arms dropping to his sides as he made for her in long, sure strides, a hand out to cup her face.
She’d get her private smile to take away and she’d pack it with her other memories in a stay-fresh section of her mind to have forever.
The coercion was all on her side.
TWELVE
“You do things to me,” Haydn murmured as he took Teela’s face in his hand, cupping her cheek and sliding his fingers into her hair as if it was forgiveness.
She tipped her head back. “Good things?”
Bad things. Like wishing the weekend wasn’t over. Like wishing they could play happy couple together a little longer. He kissed her neck, running his nose over her skin and breathing in hotel soap and her own indefinable scent that made a fine thread of thrill run under his skin, lighting up pleasure sensors all over his body.
“Sexy things,” he ground out, pressing her closer. Other things he couldn’t quite put a name to.
“That’ll do,” she said.
She deserved more.
Of all of his companions over the years, Teela was the least likely to enjoy the drama of being papped. But he’d had to find out if she had another side. If she’d ultimately see the value in this weekend as a commercial proposition.
Several now-estranged members of his family had. One or two deranged co-stars, girlfriends and acquaintances from his pre-stardom days, plus a physiotherapist who told such out-and-out lies, Haydn had sued him to shut him up rather than risk there being any hint of his common-garden variety knee injury being a deterrent to being cast in an action movie. And those were the ones he remembered being an issue.
Offending Teela hadn’t been fun. Holding back from her made him feel that chilled sense you got when you walked into an overly cold room. It was a sense of foreboding. He didn’t like it at all, especially as he’d been delighted to find her still in the suite when he’d convinced himself she’d take the opportunity for a clean exit, stage left, in the normal manner of someone who had a life to get on with that he had no part in.
She deserved a lover, a partner who had her back, supported her ambitions and dreams.
He’d considered not telling her about the photos. They only had a few hours left together and he didn’t want to spend them dealing with the grubby side-hustle of fame. He wanted to get his arms around her and whisper naughty, hot words in her ear and hear her husky laugh, feel her body relax into his at the same time as she twitched with anticipation.
That was the way they should end the weekend. Cocooned from the reality of the world and wrapped up in each other. It wasn’t detachment, but it would feel a fuckload better.
He could’ve had one of his team reach out to Teela with advice once they knew which media organization bought the shots. That would’ve been efficient, helpful and a way of manipulating her by strongly suggesting she keep her head down and didn’t call attention to herself.
It was also cowardly lion stuff and Teela deserved to know there was a significant amount of money to be made for very little effort, even if it
meant they ended on that low. He wouldn’t have judged her ill for it. It’s not like they meant anything to each other beyond the bedroom.
Even if they looked like they could. And who knew better than he did how deceiving looks could be?
That Facebook photograph. He should’ve known it was being taken for one thing. Not being aware of paparazzi with sniper-like long-range lenses was a daily hazard. Not being aware of a phone camera pointed at you from two foot away was reputation threatening.
He liked this woman who was hanging around his neck as their tongues tangled. He liked her a fucking lot. It was all over his face on that bridge. It would be all over him now, if she knew how to read him.
He’d been entranced by Teela since the moment on the balcony when he’d craved a few minutes alone and found himself not irritated not to be. He’d been delighted by her ever since, even when she was mad at him. People mostly got mad at him for effect, for some game they were playing, not for real.
He was also touched by her loyalty when she didn’t owe him anything.
There were a few hours of the evening left to enjoy each other’s company and send her off right, the way he should have four nights ago.
Four nights ago, she was a reminder he no longer smoked when he was stressed. She was serendipity in a wet dress and ruined shoes. She was racoon eyes and a smart mouth and the kind of distraction he hadn’t realized he ached for.
Tonight, she was integrity and decency, safety and family. Entirely unexpected.
Tomorrow she’d be regret.
And that was unexpected too.
If she lived stateside, he’d suggest they see each other again. Not an arrangement, he wouldn’t want to tie her to something as crudely casual as that, but friends. Inevitable benefits, because they’d not been able to keep their hands off each other. The longer they’d spent together, the more he’d wanted her. It usually worked the opposite way. Hot and heavy trickled down from pleasantly engrossed to no thank you, via that was nice and sure why not. With Teela, after a whole weekend, sex was still gut-tightening excitement and he wasn’t anywhere close to done with it.
And as she deftly undid his belt and zipper and dealt with underwear to wrap her hand around him, it appeared she wasn’t either.
“Oh fuck, that’s good.”
“Undress,” she said. “I want you naked. Now.”
He almost went down on his ass trying to unlace his shoes. She’d left him so light-headed. No wonder he didn’t want to let her go. He’d called her easy and that was another reason. It was a poor choice of word. Where was a script editor when he needed one, but she was easy. Made no demands, had no expectations. Hadn’t asked him for anything except time and attention he was more than willing to give. She wasn’t a passenger either. Most of the things they did this weekend had happened at her suggestion.
And she’d leave like she came into his life—inconveniently.
“You okay down there?” she said, standing above him, feet planted wide, wearing only her panties.
Finally, shoeless and balanced on one knee, he wrapped his hands around her thighs and pressed his face into her belly. “I admit to struggling.”
“I can see that,” she said fingers in his hair. “Would you like some help getting rid of those trousers?”
He helped himself to two handfuls of her ass and a mouthful of her mound.
“Oh God. Are you going to—”
Reduce her to gasps and groans. Yes, yes, he was. These panties had to go. The question was how? While he considered that, he hooked them to the side to get his mouth on her and when she bent her knee, he nudged her to indicate she should put it on his shoulder. That made things more accessible. Opened her up. Gave him room to work. He kept one arm around her butt to help her stand and licked inside her, zeroing in on her clit and giving her the pressure she loved.
“Haydn, that’s. Oh. Oh. Please.”
It took no time to make her shake. She came with a sharp inhale, both hands in his hair and her head thrown back. The view he got, her breasts pressed together in the prism of her arms and bouncing, her body shuddering as she flooded his mouth, there was nothing better, except the way she folded to her knees across his, jerked against his cock and sealed her lips to his.
He got lost in kisses drenched in lust and urgency, in the smell of her, the taste, the roll of her hips, the pulse of his own need, thundering in his ears.
And they still had a pants problem. Hers. His.
All the time in the gym paid off when he clasped her under the thighs and lifted her as he got to his feet. The bed was half a room away. Teela was curled around him like a koala on a tree and he would’ve made it there if not for getting tangled in their discarded clothing and the dragging hem of his trousers. He stumbled, dropped to a knee, and her weight, his momentum pulled him forward until he braced his good hand on the floor, holding Teela suspended off it with the other.
The whole disaster was accompanied by her shriek and the ripping of something that felt like the seat of his trousers.
“Hi,” he said, nose to nose with her. Teela’s feet were crossed over his back and her arms around his neck. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Nope. I have a dire need.”
“Sounds awful.” She tried to look serious and failed.
“Not sure I’m going to make it.”
“Make it where?”
He lowered her to the carpet, kissing her laughing mouth, then her throat, chest, sternum, belly as he got rid of her panties. On his haunches, looking down at her lovely body, he answered, “To the bed.”
When she held her arms out, he just about dove into them with his underwear wrenched down and his ruined trousers somewhere round his knees. Whatever finesse he’d possessed headed for the hills when she put her hand in his briefs.
“Need some help with those?” she said, her head lifted to look down their bodies.
“Much obliged,” he replied as she used her feet to push the clothing down his thighs, making it easier to get rid of.
That’s when she got a look at his dire need; thick, straining, the head flushed, a winding blue vein visible, glistening with pre-cum. Her mouth fell open and she yanked on his shoulder, opening her thighs wider, her hips lifting.
There was a moment of pleasure so intense he almost dropped his whole weight on her when he entered her, his eyes closing and his head too heavy for his neck.
“Fuck, you feel good.” He rested his forehead on her collarbone, his chest heaving from the effort of remaining still when he wanted to pound her into the thirty-ninth floor. “Is this going to work for you?” If he wasn’t careful, they’d both end up with carpet burn.
If he wasn’t careful he was going to fall in love with her.
“Everything you do works for me.”
Oh fuck.
That was the end of teasing, fumbling around, of any restraint. He braced on an elbow and a hand, creating space between them to watch as he powered into her. Slow at first, each thrust making him hiss, and then mindlessly so that it took Teela’s nails in his arm to make him aware she was shuddering through a second orgasm. When she clamped down on him, he let go with a roar. He had enough energy left to drop and roll, bringing her on top of his body before he near passed out.
It took a while to get his breath back. For Teela’s to even out. For him to feel the unyielding hardness of the floor, despite the plush carpet, under his back. And realize he still had his socks on.
He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, trying to find words to express how he felt. Problem number one was his mind was completely empty. He kissed the damp hair on the top of Teela’s head. He felt great, wonderful. They’d just had sex worth ruining a favorite suit over. Problem number two was that he wanted to shift from the floor to the bed and fall asleep with her in his arms and she didn’t want that. Not enough functioning brain cells left to think that dilemma through. It was simpler to lay here with his eyes closed a
nd enjoy the press of her body and the way she drew patterns on his chest with her finger.
“I should say goodbye,” she said.
He went from half asleep to full dress rehearsal in the time it took for her to sit up. “You don’t have to.” Oh, eloquent, that was going to make an impression. He sat. What was wrong with his tongue? He’d been able to get it to perform on her body, but his usual persuasive manner had gone for a surf.
“I really do,” she said. “I had an amazing weekend. But I’ve got a full week ahead and I need to get a good night’s sleep.”
“If I promised to let you sleep, undisturbed . . .?”
She put her hand to his face, her thumb caressing under his eye. “I couldn’t promise I would.”
Fair enough. Get it together, man. He got his feet working, stood and gave her his hand, bringing her to stand beside him. “You’re an amazing person, Teela.” Yeah, that was empty. Hugging her close didn’t fill the void. “It was a pleasure to spend time with you,” he said to the top of her head, grateful not to have eye contact. “Thank you for showing me your city.”
And that was that, except for walking her out.
She disappeared to the bathroom and he drank some water, took his socks off, shoved sweats on and rang Rick. When she came out dressed and brushed, he handed her a small box with the logo of the hotel boutique on it.
“Needed to keep my promise.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Open it.”
The gesture was worth the expression on her face and her laughter as she opened the box and parted the tissue paper to reveal a replacement pair of blue panties for the ones he’d torn with his teeth.
“You said I wasn’t allowed to rip them.” He shrugged. “Least I could do was replace them. Now you have a matching set again.”
“Thank you.” She closed the lid on the box. “Thank you for making me feel desired, beautiful. That hasn’t happened in a long time and I needed it.”
One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive (The One Book 1) Page 13