Exhausted, David climbed into the limousine, collapsed next to Maria on the seat facing the back window, and watched Authorzilla rummage around in the mini-fridge for a drink. In ten seconds flat she’d poured Scotch on the rocks for herself and Uri without bothering to ask if David wanted one, which he did,even though it was only eleven in the morning. But she also didn’t ask if Maria wanted anything, which surprised him because Maria was as precious to Anastasia as The One Ring was to Gollum.
After she’d taken a huge swallow, Anastasia had the nerve to glare at him over the rim of her tinkling glass. “Happy now, are you?”
Itching for a fight—he’d never hit a woman before, but in Anastasia’s case he’d be happy to make an exception—and developing the headache of all headaches due to Anastasia’s cloying flower perfume and Uri’s musky cologne, each of which battled for dominance in the small space, he nonetheless tried to remember that this woman was important to Essex House, the firm, Ellis and, therefore, to David.
“Excuse me?”he asked pleasantly.
“I nev-ah wanted to do that bloody show, did I?” she cried.
Beside her, Uri nodded his silent confirmation. With today’s black ensemble and wide-eyed, solemn expression, he looked like someone had died. Actually somethinghad died today. Anastasia’s career. Struggling to keep that in mind, David kept his mouth shut and let the old bat vent.
“You call yourself a publicist,handing me over on a silver platter for that nobody to make fun of!” Waving her arm for emphasis, Anastasia sloshed most of her scotch out of the glass and down her hand. “And now they’ve taken my little joke to Molly all out of context, haven’t they? Made me look like a ruddy witch in front of the whole country, haven’t you? What’ve you to say for yourself? Name one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you right in your lovely arse and—”
“How dare you?”
The quiet fury in Maria’s voice caught them all by surprise, and they turned, as one, to gape at her. Sure enough, that familiar, white-hot anger flashed behind her brown eyes, and David winced, grateful that for once she wasn’t angry at him.
Thunderstruck, her bottom jaw hanging open as if a fluffy pet bunny had dropped fangs and sunk them deep into her wrist, Anastasia stared at Maria and didn’t speak.
Maria scooted to the edge of her seat and pointed at David. “You should be down on your knees thankingthis man,” she told Anastasia in a heartfelt, fierce tone that astonished and touched David. “He worked his fingers to the bone getting you on that show. He put up with youand your nonsense, he put up with Uri,and he put up with all the other purple-shirt-wearing stooges you’ve got kissing your butt twenty-four hours a day. He worked with your publisher,he worked with those producers—” her voice shook with fury “—he did everything he could to get you on the New York Times’s list except bribe people to buy the awful book.”
Anastasia paled under all her spackled makeup. Uri gasped at this blasphemy and clapped a hand over his heart. David put a hand on Maria’s arm to stop her before things got any worse, but she threw it off, her rigid body vibrating with anger.
“And how do you repay him?” Maria continued. “Do you thankhim? Do you treat him with respect?Do you manage to be a nice human being for a lousy ten-minute TV segment? Hell, no—”
Anastasia made an outraged sound.
“—you make an ass of yourself on national TV! You attack Molly, America’s tragic sweetheart whose jerk of a husband walked out on her, and now everyone in America with a TV hates you! We couldn’t giveyour book away now if we had an outbreak of diarrhea and all the toilet paper factories in the world went belly up!” Maria shouted. “And now you have the nerve—the gall—to blame David? Well, you know what? Over my dead body!You know what else? You’re fired!”
Another joint gasp from Anastasia and Uri.
“Maria,” David tried.
She ignored him. “That’s right! You’re fired! Ellis Johnson Public Relations wouldn’t represent you if you were the last heifer on earth!”
Panting now, Maria broke off and silence reigned for a long, pregnant moment. The limo rolled to a stop and David had a fleeting glimpse of the hotel outside his window.
Maria and Anastasia stared each other down, both tense-shouldered and wild-eyed. David had the feeling that with the slightest provocation they’d both leap for each other’s throats. Finally, Anastasia puffed out her chest.
“How dare you?” she thundered. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Yeah,” Maria said without missing a beat. “Anna Buckley from Queens. So why don’t you lose the fake British accent, darling?”
Five seconds passed while David struggled not to laugh and resisted the urge to high-five Maria.
Then all hell broke loose.
They’d planned on having a three-martini celebratory luncheon with Anastasia, then flying back to Cincinnati in the early evening. All those plans flew out the window. After separating the snarling, furious women, David sent Maria to her room. With her out of the way, he took Anastasia and Uri to the hotel bar, plied them with liquor, un-fired Anastasia and, basically, begged for her continued business.
“I’ll think about it, darling,” Anastasia said, clutching Uri’s arm as she got off the elevator and headed down the hall toward her room. “Uri will do my chart for me, and then we’ll let you know.”
“Great,” David said, hovering between the open elevator doors and staring after them.
Anastasia swayed dangerously and, with a deft move, Uri swept her arm around his neck and supported her as she staggered a few steps. How such a tiny man could support such a huge woman, David couldn’t imagine. Uri looked back over his shoulder, caught David’s gaze and gave him the thumbs-up signal, which David returned. David sent up a feverish prayer that Anastasia didn’t stumble and fall onto Uri, flattening their only hope like a pancake, and that the stars lined up and did whatever the hell it was they were supposed to do.
When they’d gone, David punched the button for Maria’s floor and seethed with anger.
Now that the initial thrill of seeing Maria knock the dragon queen off her throne had worn off, he was really pissed. As if his job with Anastasia wasn’t hard enough without Maria “firing” her and making things worse. Why couldn’t she have controlled her temper a little better, like hehad? God knew he’dwanted to give the old cow the heave-ho from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but had he? No. He’d kept his eyes on the prize, been a professional, and thought about all the money Anastasia brought to the firm. Now what were they going to do? If the stars didn’t behave and Anastasia left the firm, both he and Maria would have a whole lot of ’splainin’ to do to Ellis.
Fuming, he got off the elevator and stomped down the hall to Maria’s door, upon which he pounded with his fist. For a couple of seconds he didn’t hear any noises inside her room, and then there was a gentle thunk, as if she’d pressed her palms against the door to look through the keyhole. But she didn’t answer and he knew she’d decided to play possum to see if he’d go away.
She should know better.
“I know you’re there, Maria.”
More silence, and then, with a loud sigh, she unlocked the door and cracked it open. He saw a sliver of her flashing eyes on the other side of the brass bars of the dead bolt, which she obviously had no intention of unlatching.
“I’m not in the mood—” she began.
“Open the damn door,” he snarled.
That did it, of course. Cursing, she slammed the door in his face, jerked the bolt off and flung the door open again. Relieved, he strode past her, down the narrow hall and into the deluxe room that was both the mirror image of his own and yet a million times more inviting: table with chairs on either side, entertainment armoire, sofa, lamps, nightstands, paintings and queen-size bed with luxury duvet and sheets. The curtains were drawn, but one of the lamps provided a warm glow, and so did the little flickering candle—leave it to Maria to travel with all the comforts of home—on the night
stand. The scent was something fruity, he thought, maybe peaches—but much more fascinating was the steamy scent of lemons and flowers coming from the open bathroom door, as if…as if she’d just…showered.
Turning slowly, her perfume fogging his brain and blocking all clear and logical thought, he took a good look at Maria for the first time. She hovered in the doorway, well out of his reach, wearing a tiny little white-silk robe that left every inch of her smooth legs bare and barely covered the triangle at the top of her thighs. The vague, dark delta was visible through the thin fabric, as were…as were…
His gaze traveled higher, above the knotted belt, to the tantalizing outlines of her breasts. His groin tightened, diverting even more blood from his poor, floundering brain. Staring openly at those sweet, lush curves, he tried to remember why he’d come even as he willed Maria to respond, to show him some sign, to feel one millionth of the lust that pulsed, hot and furious, through his veins. While he watched, her nipples hardened, giving her away, exerting an irresistible pull over him.
“Nice robe,” he said, taking a step toward her.
“Thanks.”
Flustered, a telltale flush staining her cheeks, she crossed her arms over her chest, blocking his view. Thwarting him. He didn’t like it, nor did he like the violent rush of blood through his veins, filling him with that delicious heat only she could generate, or the fact that Anastasia’s public-relations problems suddenly seemed comically insignificant.
“What are you doing?” he said with all the bravado he could muster.
Raising her chin, she stared down her nose at him in open defiance. “I wastaking a shower.”
“I see that.” Sweeping a hand wide to encompass the entire cozy scene, including that silly candle, he sneered at her. “You fire our biggest client, call her names, then come up here to treat yourself to a day at the spa while I have to clean up your mess? Does that seem fair to you?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? You threw me out of the limo.”
“You could act like a professional. Pretend you care about our clients. How’s that?”
“I didn’t know taking a shower to relax after a hard morning and caring about clients were mutually exclusive. My mistake.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
They glared at each other.
“You may be interested to know,” he said, trying, and failing, to deal with his anger and frustration in a constructive manner, “that while you were up here with your little soaps and lotions, making yourself smell good and whatnot—”
She made an outraged sound.
“—I was down there in the bar begging Anastasia not to fire us. Right now she’s off having Uri do her chart, and as long as Venus and Neptune haven’t collided or imploded or anything, we may have a fighting chance of keeping her.”
“Wonderful.”
“No need to thank me,” he barked.
“Oh, really?” she cried. “Well, there’s no need for youto thank me,either.”
“Why on earth would Ithank you?”
Her incredulous gaze shot to the ceiling, as though she needed divine intervention for dealing with him and all his nonsense. “For sticking up for you,” she said. “For defending you to that hag.”
A beat or two passed, and then there was a subtle but powerful shift in the air between them. Just like that, the conversation no longer had anything to do with Anastasia and everything to do with the four years’ worth of unfinished business they needed to resolve. Quick to take advantage of this opening, he took a cautious step closer.
“Why did you defend me?”
“I have no idea. Especially since I’m sure you couldn’t wait to get on the phone and tattle on me again to my father.”
“I didn’t do that,” he told her, edging closer again. “And this has nothing to do with Ellis.”
She backed away, looking wary and hyperalert now, as though she were a cat trapped in a corner by a dog and she wasn’t quite sure of the dog’s intentions. “I’ll just…I’ll just get dressed. Maybe you could wait for me in the lobby, and then we can have lunch and talk…”
She seemed to lose her train of thought as he stared at her, or maybe she could tell from his face that nothing short of a nuclear strike would get him out of her room now. Turning and clutching the edges of her robe together at the neck, she hurried to the door and put her hand on the knob.
David vaulted across the room, reached over her shoulder and slammed the door shut before she’d opened it an inch. Much of the fight seemed to go out of her. She stiffened and then sagged, leaning until her forehead rested on the door.
“Please leave,” she whispered.
“I can’t.”
He couldn’t. Not when they’d come this far and he needed her so desperately. Not when his tense, rigid flesh screamed for her to touch him and put him out of the agony she’d caused. Not when he knew she wanted him, too. Not wanting to let her go, but not wanting to force her, either, he settled for leaving his arm over her shoulder and his palm pressed to the door without touching her.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she whimpered.
“Doing what?”
“Trying to get me in bed.”
“Because I want you.” Shuddering with the want and with the effort not to bury his face in that thick, fragrant hair, he forced the words out of his tight, dry throat. “And you want me. Don’t deny it.”
“This isn’t about wanting—”
“It’s all about wanting. And needing.”
“I…I said goodbye to you. I let you go. We both know it’s—”
Something deep inside him began to come unhinged. They were not over,and probably never would be. And there was no way he’d stand here and let her lie to both of them.
“Nothing’s over,” he said with much more calm than he felt. “And you’d better not ever say that to me again. Okay?”
She didn’t answer. For the longest eight seconds of his life, only the sounds of their harsh breathing broke the room’s absolute silence.
Finally she raised her head. “I’m so scared.”
He knew what the admission cost her, how much it must hurt, but he wanted to leap with joy, to shout from the rooftops. They were so close. If only she would come a little further, trust him a little more.
“I’m scared too, baby. But we have to try. We have to try.”
There was another long silence while he waited to see what direction his life was about to take. He became aware of his shaky knees, tight gut and throbbing jaw. He wondered what he would do if she didn’t agree with him, and what he’d do if she did. And then, when he thought he couldn’t take the tension of waiting another millisecond, she turned inside the half cage of his arm.
That brilliant brown gaze, still shy but warm now, and hopeful, locked with his. When she smiled, he wanted to shout with relief and joy, to fall to his knees in gratitude. He waited, desperate to hear her say it and confirm that what he thought he saw wasn’t just a beautiful hallucination.
“Let’s try.” With deliberate slowness, she untied the belt and pulled it open to reveal the generous, heaving globes of her breasts with their dark, hard nipples, her tight, flat belly and the triangle of curls he so longed to reclaim. Stepping closer, she reached for him. “Let’s try.”
Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Moving closer, rubbing her breasts against the scratchy starched linen of his shirt to relieve some of the ache, acutely aware of the liquid heat pulsing between her thighs, Maria kissed him. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue and his hips as one, lashing her to him, stroking her, loving her, watching her.
When breathing became impossible, she broke away, gasping. She raised her heavy eyelids and studied him as she ran her hands through that wavy, fascinating gray hair at his temples, which was a new addition since she’d last loved him.
“What’re you smiling at?” he asked gruffly, holding back his own smile.
“Who
gave you all these gray hairs?”
He laughed, pulling away just enough to unbutton his shirt and throw it and his undershirt to the floor. His chest, hard and silky-soft, gleaming and rippling, came into view, inviting her hands to stroke and her lips to kiss.
“You did,” he told her as she dipped her head to lick and suckle one flat brown nipple. “Missing you for four years.” He cried out as she nipped him, tightening his hands around her head to lock her in place. “I’m lucky I have any hair left.”
She reached lower and undid his belt and zipper with lightning speed, desperate to see, and touch and taste. Watching his eyes darken and enjoying that sudden catch in his breathing, she caressed him, her hand rubbing over his hard, heavy length. When that did nothing to satisfy her fiery need to re-learn everything about him, she dropped to her knees and slipped her fingers beneath the elastic of his silky striped boxers to stroke, cup and grip him. He groaned as her mouth closed over his ripe head, savoring him, and she felt his thrilling struggle for breath as his belly heaved above her.
“Ah-hh, Maria, what’re you doing?”
Savoring her power, she sucked and rubbed until he couldn’t take it any more. Crying out, he broke free and scooped her up into his arms, his hands sliding under her robe to her bare skin, his face dark and intent. He swung her around and lowered her to the bed, but when he straightened to take off his pants, she discovered she couldn’t let him go, not even for a minute.
“David,” she whispered, afraid suddenly. He’d left her before, and she hadn’t seen him for four years. What was to stop him from doing it again? She grabbed his wrist and held it, too anxious to worry about being clingy and needy. Still, looking up into his face, she hesitated. Fear won out in the end.
“Don’t leave me again, okay?” she begged. “Not again. I couldn’t…It would…kill me.”
His glittering gaze, white-hot with passion, softened. He pried her fingers loose, flipped her hand over and, holding her gaze, pressed his lips and tongue into her palm and then up to her wrist, nuzzling. “Shh,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”
Sweeter Than Revenge Page 20