by Karina Bliss
“Yeah,” he stared at her, disoriented. “Fun.”
As soon as the metal doors closed, she kissed him, sliding her hands under his T-shirt and across the planes of his stomach, up to the nipple ring. She gave it a light tug and the sensation went straight to his groin. Smiling into his eyes, she whispered teasingly, “Everyone should get a happy ending.”
Zander felt dazed. His survivalist instinct suggested it would be a great idea to think about all this, but then she skimmed a hand over his cock, restricted in his jeans, and he groaned, growing hard again. Her face was flushed, her lips rosy, and her expression wickedly playful as she stroked him.
“I expect you’ve made out in an elevator before?”
“Yeah.” But it wasn’t you.
“I haven’t.” She unzipped his fly.
His little puritan, his buddy, his biographer put her mouth on him. Shocked, seduced Zander fumbled behind for the handrail and gripped. “I’m in trouble.”
He didn’t know he’d said it aloud until Elizabeth paused to look up at him. “You want me to stop?”
Conflicting impulses darted around his brain. “No.”
By the time they tumbled through the door into Zander’s suite, they were both panting.
“I want to do everything,” she said, hot and sweaty and wild, a devil-woman. “This is such fun.”
Fun. Right.
Naked, she was beautiful with a sweet curve of waist, small, rounded breasts and womanly hips. She spread her legs for him with a wanton’s smile and a touch of intellectual coolness that was so essentially Elizabeth, he lost his mind.
He loved the way her eyelashes fluttered closed when they hit the sweet spot, the way she softly bit her lip to stifle a moan. Rolling on his back, Zander brought her astride him.
“I know what you’re doing,” she accused, breathing hard.
“Doing?” he said innocently.
“You’re showing off.” Her gaze lost focus as he lifted her hips, slid her down again. Oh yeah, just so. Elizabeth curled her fingers over his shoulder, lustful and savage with her hair a riot of tangled red. “Two can play that game.”
“Give me what you’ve got, babe.”
She slid her hands up his chest, traced the savage edges of his tattoo, with fingers and tongue. Zander shivered and surrendered.
She did nothing differently from other women he’d had sex with, and yet the experience seemed completely new. Because it was her.
He began experiencing the same sensation he got performing—the boundaries between himself and the audience blurring and dissolving until they were—
Zander invited Elizabeth to call a halt anytime if she was having second thoughts.
She told him to shut up and concentrate.
In desperation, he talked dirty.
Elizabeth talked dirty right back.
He joked, “Don’t fall in love with me now.”
Doc laughed and told him he was safe.
She broke him down piece by tiny piece until Zander couldn’t catch and contain every feeling that didn’t fit with how he lived. Until every touch released new, deeper emotion. And every emotion connected him to her.
When he was conscious of nothing but the catch of her breath, her heat clasping him, the scent of their sweat and the drum of his heartbeat, Elizabeth leaned forward. Her siren’s hair falling around him in tendrils of red, she looked into his eyes. “Come for me,” she ordered.
Powerless to resist her, he did.
Chapter Eighteen
Kayla peered tipsily at her phone and pulled a face. “Jared.” She switched it off, emptied her shot glass and reached across the table to squeeze Stormy’s hand.
Stormy tried not to wince. It was already bruised from Dimity’s grip through the roller coaster.
“I’m really sorry you’ve been caught in the middle of all this,” Kayla said with drunken earnestness. “You’ve been so wonderful with our kids. And if I go home early, you lose your job.”
Stormy’s heart sank. The argument must be more serious than she’d realized. She’d noticed her employers weren’t getting on, but… “Do what you have to do. I’ll be fine.”
Kayla’s grip tightened. “Are you sure?”
“No, she’s bloody not,” Dimity interrupted. She added water to her pastis and the transparent amber liqueur turned milky. “Stormy needs more than a few weeks as a nanny for it to have any impact on a resumé. And stop drinking so fast, this stuff is upwards of forty percent proof.”
Stormy shuddered, recalling the aniseed taste of the French spirit, and sipped her craft beer. She had been tucking into a shared platter of hors d’oeuvres, but Kayla’s remark had killed her appetite.
Dimity was right; she needed this job.
“Harden up, both of you,” the blonde continued. “Kayla, don’t make rash decisions when you’ve been drinking, and Stormy, stop shooting yourself in the foot.”
“My God, she’s a female Zander,” Kayla muttered.
Dimity overheard. “Thank you,” she said crisply. “Don’t blame Jared for not answering his cell, he probably couldn’t hear it. You know how noisy promo functions are. And he’s not the type to hold a grudge and deliberately ignore your messages.” She looked pointedly at Kayla’s cell, but staring into the bottom of her empty shot glass, the brunette missed it.
“I want him to have fun,” she said. “I know how hard he’s worked for this. How hard we’ve both worked. But can’t he have some of that fun with his family? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“For heaven’s sake, anyone would think you two have never fought before.”
“We haven’t.” Kayla swiped Dimity’s pastis and took a gulp. “At least not like this.” Tears brightened her eyes. “I feel like he’s leaving me behind.”
“Oh, honey,” Stormy said earnestly, “I’m sure that’s not—”
“For heaven’s sake it’s just the alcohol talking,” Dimity interrupted impatiently. “And you can have fun with us, Kayla.”
“Okay.” Kayla shot a startled look at Stormy. Why are you out with her?
Stormy still wasn’t sure. Which reminded her… “You’re sure Elizabeth seemed cheerful when you left?” she asked her employer again.
Dimity had ripped into Elizabeth immediately after staggering off the roller coaster. “Stormy and I are ditching fun times and recovering in a bar, and you are not invited. In fact, I may never forgive you for this.”
Elizabeth had departed with a smile saying her work was done, but still…
“Fine,” Kayla frowned. “Why wouldn’t she—”
“Puis-je vous offrir un verre, belle?” The guy who interrupted was suave, stylish and smiling at her and Stormy didn’t have to speak French to recognize an invitation.
She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I’m married.” When he looked confused, she said to Kayla. “Show him your ring, cherie.” Trying not to laugh, Kayla held up her hand.
“Je suis ouvert d’esprit?” he said hopefully.
Stormy waited for Dimity’s translation.
“He says he’s open-minded.”
Still smiling, Stormy fluttered her fingers. “Au revoir.”
He tried his luck with Dimity, who dispatched him in French.
“I’m guessing by his sullen expression you weren’t suggesting he ‘have a nice evening,’” Stormy commented. “Can’t you at least try and save other people’s feelings?”
Dimity finished her drink before answering. “Non.” She slapped the shot glass on the table. “Whose round?”
“I’ll go.” Kayla found her purse. “Since I’m the only one who doesn’t get hit on.”
“You want to be hit on?” Stormy ventured.
She grimaced. “Only to repair a bruised ego.”
In her rush to get to the cocktail party, Kayla had forgotten to bring her ID and when she’d told security she was Jared’s wife, the guy had laughed and told her to “Se perdre, dondon.” Stormy wished Dimity hadn’t translated that
phrase. Get lost, fattie. Little wonder she was upset.
“You should have phoned me,” Dimity said. “I would have authorized entry. And fired that son of a bitch.”
“Next time,” Kayla replied politely. Dimity would have been last on her list of Good Samaritans. Instead, Kayla had phoned Stormy in tears and ended up here.
Though “here” wasn’t such a bad place to drown your sorrows. They had decent views of the quartier from their corner window and the dim interior of the Parisian bar was a seedy and glamorous mix of gilded mosaics, velvet lamps and battered baroque furniture.
“So yeah,” Kayla added wearily. “A little male attention might counter the humiliation of being dismissed as a tubby fantasist.”
She gasped as Dimity went behind her and started untying the halter on her dress. “What are you doing?”
“Demonstrating a sad truth.” Dimity retied the halter straps higher and tighter and Stormy understood and started to laugh.
Kayla glanced down at her elevated cleavage. “They look like two apples bobbing in a barrel at a county fair.”
“Enjoy the harvest festival,” Stormy advised. “I had to buy breasts like yours.”
Dimity returned to her chair. “Now go order another round, but don’t bring any of your admirers back with you.”
Stormy nodded agreement. “This is a girls’ night.” It struck her that she hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in meeting guys since Las Vegas. And not because she was pining for Zander. Being in his orbit again—even on the sidelines—reminded her how exhausting it had been trying to keep up with his relentless energy. She suspected she’d glamorized their relationship after their breakup. When she’d had his attention she felt like a princess but when his attention moved on she’d been closer to a doll, waiting for reanimation. And how screwed up was that? Making Zander’s casual affection her reason for being?
“Wow,” she said reflectively, sipping her beer, “I think I’ve moved on.” She looked at Dimity, who was cutting herself a sliver of creamy Brie and topping it with a salty olive. If she was eating real food, then Kayla wasn’t the only tipsy—or troubled—one.
“So, tell me more about your mother.” Dimity’s admission of vulnerability had been as shocking as seeing a panty line on Wonder Woman.
“She’s such a victim, I can’t stand it. She won’t drive, she won’t take a single step toward building a new life. I get the horrible feeling she believes that if she’s helpless enough, Dad will come back.” Moodily, Dimity cut a bigger slice of Brie. “It’s easier to kill myself working for overtime bonuses and throw money at her than make her cry with another confrontation. I’m hopeless on sympathy.”
“No kidding,” Stormy said dryly.
“I know I need a life,” Dimity admitted, pushing the platter over. “I’ve just forgotten how to have one.”
“And I want a career.” Stormy spread some pâté onto a cracker as they watched Kayla and her cleavage being chatted up at the bar, by no less than three men. “I thought it was marriage and kids, but not yet. I’d love to keep working as a nanny while I night-school my GED and study for a childcare qualification.”
She’d been talking to herself mostly, but noticed Dimity staring at her with an unfathomable expression, and shrugged, embarrassed. “That probably sounds super easy to you, but I have no real schooling. I was brought up by a woman who relied on her boyfriends for cash handouts—it was either feast or famine in our house.
“All I had was my looks and by God, Momma expected me to use them like she did. That was how I thought life worked. Considering where I started from, wanting a GED is a miracle.”
“The fact you still have a nature that’s sweet and hopeful and gentle is the real miracle,” said Dimity and for once there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her tone.
“Thank you,” Stormy said, touched.
“Can I give you some advice?”
She braced herself. “Go ahead.”
“Relax, I’ll try and put this nicely.”
If anything, that only made Stormy more nervous.
“I went to a party once as a porn star.” Dimity cut a sizeable wedge of cheese. “I padded my bra, added a platinum wig and I swear I was under siege all night. I said to guys, ‘You understand these are fake, right?’ Didn’t matter.”
She looked at Stormy. “I was channeling an image they associated with sex. Not their fault. Men and women have been programmed—by the media, by rock videos, by lingerie ads—to associate sexuality with someone who looks like you.”
“You’re suggesting I get rid of the implants?”
“I think your boobs are standing in your way—literally.” She gestured to Kayla at the bar. “Look what happens with an accentuated cleavage. Maybe soften the platinum. You wear contact lenses right?”
Stormy nodded.
“Start wearing spectacles to interviews. Remember, we’re also programmed to think someone with glasses is a brainiac. Bring your brand in alignment with who you really are.”
“I’ll think about it.” Posing naked for a men’s magazine was less threatening than being herself.
Kayla returned with their drinks, flushed with success and possibly more alcohol.
“Feel better?” Stormy asked.
“Temporarily,” she answered gaily.
“Then let’s toast the now,” Dimity suggested.
As they tapped glasses, a cute guy stopped by their table and grinned at Dimity. “Caught the American accents and got homesick. Saw you and wondered why I ever left. Can I buy your next drink?” He reminded Stormy of a Labrador who’d come across a wolf and mistaken it for another dog.
As Dimity bared her teeth, Stormy mouthed, “Be nice.”
She sighed, then gave the guy a smile so dazzling his face lit up in the afterglow and even Stormy and Kayla blinked. “I’m so sorry,” she said sweetly, “but I’m with my girlfriends. You would make my night by displaying both gallantry and intelligence and leaving without another word.” He started to speak, she held up a hand. “Doing so would leave me forever wondering whether I was a fool to let you go. Staying would confirm the opposite.”
Their fellow American stared at her. “You’re one weird chick,” he said and walked away.
“So I’m told.” Dimity cut a slab of Brie.
Kayla dug Stormy in the ribs. “She called us her girlfriends,” she whispered. “Does that mean we like her now?”
“I think,” Stormy said thoughtfully, “that maybe we do.”
* * *
“Good morning, all.”
His biographer’s cheery voice sliced through the breakfast chatter in the private dining room set aside for band and crew. Zander’s muted response got lost in more enthusiastic replies.
Sure, Elizabeth had agreed they’d play it cool, but holy hell, the sex…the emotion last night. He’d been shaken by it.
Picking up a plate from the buffet table, she took her time over the selection of French pastries—croissants, pain au chocolat and baguettes.
Swallowing another gulp of green tea, Zander shoved his uneaten poached eggs aside and returned to signing the several dozen Rage T-shirts for some radio station giveaway—a chore he’d meant to finish last night.
He felt kind of exposed this morning…unsettled. Like he needed to try on a few attitudes before adopting the right one.
Somehow Doc had misrepresented herself. He felt that strongly and was resentful of it, though fairness obliged him to admit it was unconscious on her part. She’d presented herself as cautious, sensible and conservative, then stormed into his personal space and planted her flag before he’d realized he’d left his flank exposed.
Zander tried to put his indignation down to exhaustion. They hadn’t gotten much sleep and he had a full day of promo, meet and greets, interviews and sound checks, culminating in another concert tonight. But one of those interviews was with his biographer and he realized he was actually nervous about it.
Something had changed
against his will and his will wanted it back. Equilibrium, proportion, the brick in the wall…whatever the hell “it” was.
“I slept through the alarm,” he heard Elizabeth tell Dimity as she joined his PA at another table. “So how was the girls’ night out?”
Her demeanor was no different, that was good. Dimity launched into the blow-by-blow account of adventures Zander had already heard about and he tuned out until Elizabeth laughed her husky laugh and said, “You didn’t…really?”
Glancing over, he saw her polishing off a sizable breakfast. He looked at the congealing eggs on his plate and frowned. If he was unsettled, shouldn’t she be too?
And she was in looks, glowing, vibrant—sex really agreed with her. She caught him staring. “Excuse me a second,” she interrupted Dimity. “I need a quick word with Zander.”
Shit. He bent to his work, intensely conscious of her vanilla and cinnamon fragrance as she arrived beside him. He finished scrawling his signature before looking up to the same warm, friendly, open smile she gave him every day. So why did it hit him in the solar plexus today?
“Good morning. Just confirming our interview in your suite at ten?”
All business, Zander nodded.
“Great. See you then.” He watched the sway of her hips as she walked away.
“Wait up.” Doc turned and he braced himself. “It would suit me better if we reschedule for the afternoon.” A reminder that he was a busy guy with multiple demands on his time was important for both of them. Separation of personal and state. And, okay, he wasn’t ready to be alone with her. “I have a sound check at the stadium at two. Come along and we’ll interview during the drive.”
“Sure.”
No fuss, no drama, the Doc was a woman of discretion. But while he trusted her in public, Zander worried about what she expected of him in private.
He might have raised hopes last night—inadvertently—in the heat of passion. All that postcoital cuddling… He’d fallen asleep in her bed, for God’s sake. A tactical error that was bound to give a woman ideas.
Come to think of it, he wouldn’t put it past her to jump him the second they were alone. If last night had proved anything, it was that Elizabeth wasn’t shy.