by J. Kenner
And for what? I don't even know if he's going to hire me. Or if he's going to apologize for smacking down that drunk and embarrassing me, much less ordering me outside like I'm a recalcitrant teenager.
I pick up my pace, my speed increasing along with my irritation. As I approach, he stands up straight. His mouth moves, as if he's going to speak, but I don't let him. Instead, I poke him in the chest with my index finger. "You owe me a grand," I say. "Probably more, but I'll settle for a thousand. In cash. Tonight."
I expect him to laugh. Or at least to ask me what the hell I'm talking about. Instead, he reaches up and folds his hand around mine. His palm is warm, and though this isn't an intimate touch, my stupid, traitorous hormones are reacting as if it were. As if we were the old Kelsey and Wyatt, holding hands on the far side of the golf course where no one could see us, least of all my father.
Roughly, I wrench my hand from his. "A grand," I repeat.
"Get in the car," he says.
I tilt my head, then cross my arms over my chest. His eyes follow my movements, and as I watch, the corner of his mouth lifts, and that tiny movement softens his expression. I feel my skin heat, because I wasn't expecting him to so overtly check out my breasts.
Then my blush deepens, as I realize he's not checking me out at all. Instead, he's reading my T-shirt.
"Dance like nobody's watching," he reads, then looks at my face with the kind of intensity I remember only too well. The kind that sends shivers through me. "Is that what you were doing in there?" he asks. "Dancing for yourself?"
I force my feet to stay planted on the asphalt. I want to run from the heat I see in his eyes. Because it's dangerous, I know it is. And yet I need him, and if I run, I'll only be hurting my brother.
I draw a breath, fix my eyes on an illuminated gas station sign shining somewhere behind him, and say very softly, "No."
"Look at me, Kelsey."
I do, my jaw set as I force myself to maintain eye contact.
"Tell me," he says.
"You know the answer." I'm proud that I've managed to disguise the tremor in my voice. "This was an audition, wasn't it? Who do you think I was dancing for?"
His throat moves as he swallows. "Get in the car."
"Pay me."
"I haven't hired you yet."
"A grand," I say, circling back to my original demand. "We both know I would have won. And we both know that you messed that up for me."
I cross my arms again, and this time I'm determined not to be waylaid by whatever he says next. He surprises me, though, by not saying anything at all. Instead, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and peels off ten hundred dollar bills.
"Right," I say, because I'd actually forgotten how casual money must be in his family. "Chump change to you."
I expect a sarcastic reply, but he simply extends the bills. I reach for them, and as I pull the cash away, his hand closes over mine, the money held tight between our two palms. "I pay my debts, Kelsey," he says. "Always."
I'm unnerved, but I'm not sure if it's because of his touch, his words, or the tone of his voice. Whatever it is, I tug my hand free, and this time he lets the bills come with me. I quickly shove them into my purse, the clatter of an adding machine filling my head.
Only fourteen thousand more to go.
The thought hits me like a surgical strike, pulling me back to reality. And the reality is that I need a lot of money. A lot of money.
That thousand he shafted me out of isn't the prize I care about, and I shove the bills back at him. "Actually, forget the grand. I want the job." I nod toward the club. "I think I proved myself."
"Is that what you think?"
I stiffen, unnerved by the sharpness of his voice, a steely blade cutting right through any past--any connection--we may still have. "You saw me dance," I say defensively. "You know I can strike a pose. You know I can look alluring." I swallow, my cheeks burning. "And you know I can strip down and not turn away from the camera--or from the eyes behind it."
His expression hardens. "And if I was looking for a woman willing to flaunt her tits so some poor slob can fantasize that she'll take him home and fuck him like a porn star, then you'd totally land the job."
Without even thinking about it, I reach out and slap his face.
Then that same hand flies to my mouth to cover my own gasp of surprise. I cringe and step back, certain there will be retribution. That he's going to grab my shoulders. That he's going to slam me against the side of the car and demand I apologize.
He does none of that.
Instead, the stiffness leaves his body, and he draws in air as he drags the fingers of both hands through his hair. "Oh, hell, Kelsey. I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing to say."
I'm so surprised by the admission that I take a step toward him, and the irony is that I want to make him feel better.
"It's okay, really. And I don't think your work is sleazy or anything like that. That's not why I wanted you to see me dance here." I don't have to work to make my words convincing. Whatever else is going on between us, I would never lie about the impact of those spectacular, provocative photos. "Your work--Wyatt, those pictures are incredible. They're honest and real, and the women you've photographed are . . ."
I trail off with a shrug, because how can I say that I want to be like them. "Maybe I shouldn't have done this. But you made me so angry. All I really wanted was for you to see that I can handle the job."
"And you thought this would convince me?"
"Well, um, yeah."
"Hmm." He starts to circle me, and I instinctively step away, protecting my blindside by putting his gigantic SUV behind me.
"You can dance, but I'm not hiring a dancer." His words are low, almost as if he's talking to himself. But his eyes are on me with every word. "Still, you have the look I want. The persona, too. And you damn sure have the attitude."
"Like I said, I can do this."
"You definitely proved that you can push past your comfort zone. I'll even go so far as to say that not only are you absolutely fucking perfect for my show, but that no other model has come close."
There's a sharpness to his words. An anger. One that I'm certain has roots going back twelve years.
"But here's the thing." He stops circling me and instead comes straight toward me. I inch backward until my rear bumps the cool metal of the door. "So what if all those things are true? So what if you're perfect? Because even with all that going for you, how can I trust that you'll see it through? I only have a few weeks to wrap this up, and I can't be wrong. So you tell me, Kelsey. How can I trust you? How can I be certain that you won't bolt midway into the shoot? That you won't leave me hanging?"
That you won't break my heart?
He doesn't say that last out loud, but I hear the words clearly in my head. I swallow the knot in my throat and blink rapidly, trying to stave off a flood of tears. I messed so much up. So many people, so many lives, and all because I reached for more than I should have.
And maybe I should stop pushing and just walk away. I'll get the money somehow. If I have to, I can sell my Mustang, although it would kill me to do that. After all, Griffin painstakingly rebuilt it for me, and it would just hurt him all over again if I parted with it. Even if I was selling it to help him.
But walking away isn't an option. Not anymore. Now it's not just about me. It's about Wyatt, too. About everything he's been saying.
He needs me.
Maybe I can never make up for the way I hurt him twelve years ago. But I can help him now. And while that may not be everything, at least it's something.
"I won't run," I promise. "I don't know how to make you trust me. All I can do is tell you I mean it and hope that you believe me."
His eyes bore into me, as if he's trying to read the truth on my soul. Then he rolls his neck and starts pacing in front of me, his body as tense as a wild cat about to spring.
But even though that's the impression I have, I still gasp when he does exa
ctly that, lunging toward me and caging me against the side of the Navigator, his arms on either side of mine. His body dangerously close.
"Why?" he asks.
His mouth is so close that his breath warms me, and the scent of whisky is strong enough to be intoxicating. For the first time, I wonder how long he was in the club before I noticed him. Did he sit at a table and drink while the other girls danced? Did he enjoy them? Or was he there only for me?
"Answer me," he demands, the heat in his words pulling me from my thoughts.
"I told you. I need the money. Please, Wyatt. Let me go."
"Why?"
"You're making me feel claustrophobic." That's a lie. I feel uncomfortable, yes. But not like that. What bothers me is the way my body is reacting to him. The way that, despite everything, I want him to lean in just a little closer.
"I meant, why do you need the money?"
"Oh." Bitter mortification sweeps over me. "That's really none of your business." I lever myself away from the car, as if I'm going to shove past him. "You want to get out of my way?"
He uses his whole body to push me back, so that now I'm completely flat against the car, and he's pressed against me, body to body. I feel my pulse kick up, and I have to clench my fists in order to fight the unwelcome urge to lean my head forward and kiss him.
"You're making it my business," he says, lifting one hand off the car so that he can run a lock of my hair through his fingers.
"Tell me, Kelsey. Why did you walk through my door? What kind of trouble are you in that you need money so fast?"
"I just do. What does it matter why? I need fifteen thousand, and I need it before the end of the month."
"So that's all this is about?" His fingertip traces the curve of my ear, and I can't hide the shiver that cuts through me.
"That tickles," I say, as if that's all I'm reacting to. As if his touch isn't really affecting me at all.
"It's just about the cash?" He shifts his touch from my ear to my collarbone, exposed by the V-neck tee I'm wearing. "You're not looking for publicity?"
"Publicity? For what? Why would I--"
"I could lend you the money," he continues, putting his hand back on the car so that I'm fully caged once again.
"You won't," I counter. "And I wouldn't take it if you did. I don't want to be in anyone's debt, much less yours."
"Why not mine?"
I meet his eyes dead on. "Because you hate me."
He flinches, and for a moment he's completely silent. Then he slowly takes his hands off the Navigator and steps back, freeing me.
"I don't hate you, Kelsey. It would probably be easier if I did."
"Oh." I glance down so he can't see the tears that prick my eyes. I blink, then draw a breath to steady myself. Only when I'm sure I've got it together do I look back up at him. "Does that mean you're giving me the job?"
He exhales. Loudly. "Fine. You want the job? It's yours." He takes another step back and looks me up and down. "We start tonight."
I push away from the car, then stand rigid. "Tonight!"
"You have somewhere else to be?"
"I--no. Tonight it is."
He nods, apparently pleased with my acquiescence. "I can't be wrong about this, Kelsey. So I have some conditions, and they're non-negotiable. You don't want to comply, you walk away now. Is that clear?"
I nod firmly, hoping I look more certain than I feel.
"You saw the prints at the studio. The nature of my photos. They're not porn, and they're not snapshots from a strip club," he adds, aiming his thumb toward X-tasy. "But there is an edge to them. A raw sensuality I'm trying to convey. Do you get that?"
Once again, I simply nod.
"And that means I need you to wear what I tell you and pose how I direct. Agreed?"
"Of course," I say, a little confused. Because how else would this go down?
"Good. You have to do what I say, Kelsey. Like I said, that's non-negotiable."
"Well, yeah. Isn't that pretty obvious? I mean--"
"In front of the camera," he interrupts. "And in my bed."
I gape at him. "You're joking."
"I assure you I'm not."
"But . . . why?" I don't know what else to ask. More than that, I don't know what to think, what to feel. I know I should slap his face and storm off, but somehow, I can't quite manage.
"Why?" he repeats. "You already know why." He takes a single step closer. "I'm punishing you, Kelsey. Exactly like you said in my studio earlier today.
"I'm punishing you," he repeats, as I stand there mute and confused. "But you can still walk away if you want to. I'm leaving this entirely in your hands. You know my conditions. Now ask yourself what you want. And then ask yourself how much you want it."
He walks to the driver's side, opens the door, then pauses before sliding in. "I'll be in the studio. You've got one hour to make up your mind."
Then he slams the door and starts the car, and I'm left standing like an idiot in the parking lot wondering what just happened--and what on earth I'm going to do next.
11
Twelve years ago
Wyatt watched her, his body tightening with a combination of excitement and nerves, as she continued to unbutton the dress. The style reminded him of one of his grandmother's old movies, with a fitted bodice, a narrow waist, and a skirt that flared.
It suited Kelsey perfectly. Sweetly feminine, but with a definite allure. But right then, what Wyatt liked most of all was how the buttons went all the way from cleavage to hem. Because, holy shit, watching her fingers move over each of the flower-shaped buttons was like watching his most anticipated Christmas present unwrap itself.
Her fingers were at her waist now, so that the bodice of the dress parted in a way that made his jeans feel too tight. She wore a plain white bra that was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, and that included all the lacy bras--and Photoshopped models--in the Victoria's Secret catalog.
But what really made his mouth go dry was the moment when she reached the button at the hem. Because that's when she parted the dress, revealing her perfect dancer's body in that unassuming bra and matching cotton panties.
"You're amazing," he whispered, as she let the dress fall to the floor, then crossed her arms, as if trying to hide. He moved closer, and he could hear the way her breath stuttered as he gently took her wrists and drew her arms away from her body.
She made a little whimpering sound, and he leaned in, quieting her with a kiss. He was afraid she'd be too nervous, but the moment his lips touched hers, he could feel the fire in her. She opened her mouth to him, letting him explore and taste her. And when she tugged her arm free of his grip and slid her hand around to cup the back of his neck, he knew that he'd won her completely.
He kissed her, long and deep, his hands on her shoulders and back as he held her close to him, the pressure of her body against his driving him absolutely completely crazy. "Kelsey." Her name was so sweet. He never wanted to stop saying it. "Kelsey, please."
"I--" She cut herself off with a little swallowing sound, and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped. Then she nodded, and Wyatt knew that it wasn't just Christmas, but also his birthday and Valentine's Day and every other holiday all rolled up together.
"You're perfect," he whispered, as he reached around to unfasten her bra. He felt her stiffen, but then relax as he stroked her skin, sliding the strap down her arm and then pulling the bra free.
He let it drop from his fingers as he reached up to cup her breast, thrilled by the way she moaned and pressed herself into his palm. "Wyatt," she whispered. "I want to, really. But I'm not--"
He couldn't bear to hear the words, and so he closed his mouth against hers again, persuading her with his touch rather than words. He wanted her to melt into him, to let him touch her and explore her. To feel the power that came with making her crazy.
And, yeah, he wanted to be her first.
"Please," he said. "Kelsey, you know we both want to."
<
br /> She clung to him, her sweet body soft and warm against his, and he stroked her skin, hardly believing that this absolutely perfect girl was in his arms. "Okay," she said, and he about ripped his shirt to pieces trying to get it off in a hurry.
He toed off his shoes and peeled off his jeans, then took her hand and led her to the bed. He kept his briefs on. He was so damn hard he was afraid if he took them off he'd come right then, and he really, really didn't want that.
He slid onto the bed, then held out a hand for her to join him. She did, her breath coming fast, her skin flushed. She was spread out beside him, propped up on her elbow as he ran a fingertip over her, wanting to explore every inch of her. Wanting to take his time.
But damned if he could manage. The moment she whispered, "Kiss me," he was lost. He closed his mouth over hers, and he cupped his hand on her breast, then slipped it lower and lower until he found the band of those panties. He slipped his fingers inside, then almost exploded when he felt how incredibly wet she was. And then almost lost it again when she moaned and spread her legs, her hips arching up as if in demand.
He broke the kiss, wanting to see her face, and she nodded at him. "Please," she said. "I want to."
He swallowed, suddenly nervous, then pushed his briefs down, freeing his cock. She glanced down, then bit her lip.
"I'll try not to let it hurt."
"It's okay. I know it will. Do you have a condom?"
"Yeah. Oh, yeah." He scrambled off the bed and got one, then put it on while she watched. Then he met her eyes, and she nodded. Slow, he reminded himself. And he tried. But she was so responsive. So soft. But when he couldn't hold back anymore, she cried out, begging for him to stop, and he felt like a complete jerk.
He started to pull out, but she put her hand on his back. "No.
Oh, please, no. Just give me a second." And so he stayed still until she told him to move, and this time, she moved with him, and then he went and blew his wad, and made it end all too soon.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't--you're just--oh, hell. I just wanted you too much."
"It was wonderful," she assured him. "Can we do it again?"
He grinned, and told her they could. And since he needed a little time, he spent it kissing every inch of her, until he was hard as stone and she was so, so ready.
They did it once more after that, then she curled up in his arms and they talked for a while.