As soon as I’m inside the apartment, I close the door behind me and force myself not to shake. Bill shouldn’t scare me—he shouldn’t. I know the man. Once upon a time, I even loved him, or at least I thought I did.
But now not only is he hurt, he’s certain he’s got the moral high ground on his side. And I’m afraid that Dallas is so intent on taunting the man who used to sleep with me that he’s going to make some verbal misstep and somehow reveal to Bill his role in all of this.
What will Bill do when he finds out that Dallas is behind Deliverance? That Dallas and his team are interrogating Colin in an East Harlem cell?
I cringe, realizing that my concern isn’t if Bill will make that discovery, but when.
Oh, god, I hate this. I truly hate it.
And right now, I want to move, but to where? I want to act, but how? It’s all well and good for Dallas and me to say that we will carve out a life together in the world, but we still have to attack that fundamental question of how exactly that’s going to happen.
Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that taunting Bill isn’t getting us closer to that goal.
Frustrated, I move away from the door, my entire body feeling like lead pushing through pudding. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. Apparently being unconscious for more than twenty-four hours doesn’t count as quality sleep. Couple that with the fact that I’ve been up all night, and I guess my bone-deep weariness makes sense.
I don’t want to sleep, though. I want Dallas, and I’m heading for the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee when my phone rings. Liam gave it back to me as Dallas and I left Deliverance, and the sound, so unfamiliar after a few days without it, makes me jump.
I fumble inside the small purse I’ve been carrying with me, then frown when I see the caller is Joel, who is producing the adaptation of my book, The Price of Ransom, for film. I consider ignoring it, but then take the plunge and answer. At the moment, dealing with Hollywood is probably a hell of a lot easier than dealing with reality.
“Joel?”
“Janie, sweetheart, where the fuck have you been? I’ve left messages? I’ve sent emails? What? You fall off the planet or something?”
“Or something,” I admit as I set the phone on speaker and put a cup under the Keurig. I glance again at the time. “Why are you calling so early?” It’s three hours earlier in LA, and I know from experience that Joel rarely rolls into the office before ten.
“What? I can’t touch base with my favorite writer?” He chuckles, as if that is the cleverest thing ever said. Then he clears his throat. “Seriously, Janie, the new pages are brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I only have a few notes.”
“Great.” I don’t actually mean that. I’ve learned that in Hollywood, everything is said in code and double-talk, and a “few notes” probably means a massive rewrite.
“And Lyle may have a few issues, too.”
I’d been reaching for my freshly brewed coffee, but now I pull my hand back as slowly as if a snake were coiled in front of me. “Issues?” I repeat, remembering what one of the reporters had shouted about Lyle turning down the lead. Which, considering Lyle is rising fast in Hollywood and is already one of the most bankable stars, would be disastrous.
“I thought he loved the book,” I continue. “And the script. Your last email said that he was completely in love with everything I’ve turned in.”
“Baby, baby, baby. He does love it.”
“Then what are we talking about?”
“You just let me handle this. Lyle’s a sweetheart. He adores you.”
“But?”
“But you need to leave this to me.”
“You’re not making me feel better.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “Should I call him? We’ve talked. I thought we clicked. Maybe it could help?”
“I’m on it, Janie. I’ll figure a way to turn this shit around. We’ll use it, if we have to.”
“Use it? Use what?”
“I won’t let this deal go south. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”
I ignore his condescension. “Joel, are you saying—” I draw in a breath. “This is about me, isn’t it? He’s pulling out because of me and Dallas.” Never in a million years would I have dreamed that the gossip about me and Dallas hitting the press would mess up my movie deal.
“I’m not saying a damn thing, sweetheart. And you’re not worrying. You write notorious books. You’ve got a notorious reputation. Baby, we are all over that shit.”
Notorious.
We ended the call but when Dallas walks in a minute later, I’m still mulling over that word—and the situation.
Can it be true? Could the media bullshit surrounding Dallas and me really destroy my most lucrative and high-profile deal?
And how the hell had I not even considered that this might happen?
“Jane? What’s wrong?”
I actually laugh, because how am I supposed to pick the best answer to that question? Bill, work, Colin. Honestly, the list is pretty much endless.
I settle on just shaking my head. “Joel called. Just bullshit with the screenplay.”
Dallas studies me, but says nothing. Instead, he takes my hands and pulls me close. I sigh deeply and snuggle against him, wanting to just get lost here in his arms. “Baby, you’re dead on your feet.”
I tilt my head back and offer a weak smile. “I am,” I admit, then rise up on to my tiptoes to brush a kiss over his lips. Because though I’m tired, sleep isn’t what I want or need. “Please, Dallas. Bring me back to life.”
“I can do that,” he says, then releases me as he takes a step backward. “Take off your clothes.”
The shift from gentle to commanding surprises me, but also excites me, and the no-nonsense authority in his voice makes my pulse pick up tempo.
“Jane.” His voice is stern. “Now.”
I feel the impact of his words between my thighs. A wild heat builds inside me, and I’m eager to simply surrender and let Dallas take charge. I’m wearing jeans and a silk tank top under a Prada blazer. I take the jacket off first, and toss it carelessly aside. My arms are bare now, and the air against my skin is almost as erotic as the way Dallas is now looking at me.
“Jeans next,” he says, and I comply, slowly unbuttoning the fly and then wriggling my hips to slide off the denim. I’m wearing a thong, and I take it down with the jeans. Since I kicked off my flats as I entered the apartment, my feet are bare, and I step out of my clothes and take a step toward Dallas.
I’m half-naked now, wearing only my tank and satin bra. I lick my lips as I take one more step in his direction.
“Stop,” he demands. “Now spread your legs and close your eyes.”
I do as he says, feeling vulnerable, exposed, and wildly turned on.
For a moment, there is silence. I hear only my own breath and the faint hum of the air conditioner. I imagine him watching me. My nipples erect under the thin tank. My pussy wet and throbbing for him. I’m already desperate for him, and he hasn’t even touched me.
I wait as long as I can stand, and when he still says nothing—when the urge to slide my fingers between my legs and satisfy this building ache becomes overwhelming—I whisper, “Dallas?”
“Shhh,” he says, his voice coming from behind me. I feel him take the hem of my tank, and I lift my arms as he pulls it over my head, then tosses it aside.
“Dallas…”
“No talking,” he says as he frees me from my bra. “No moving. No anything. Not unless I tell you to do it.”
“Okay,” I murmur, then jump when his palm lands hard on my ass, the sweet sting so surprising and arousing that tremors of electricity shoot through my body to gather at my core, a precursor to a full-on orgasm that will surely bring me to my knees.
“Did I ask you to answer?”
I almost respond aloud just so that he’ll spank me again, but instead I shake my head.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice coming from in front of me. “Now spread your legs. That’s it,” he says when I comply, and I hear his soft, slow intake of breath before he says roughly, “Christ, that’s hot. Your nipples hard. Your areolae dark, just waiting to be sucked. And your pussy—baby, I like that you wax for me. Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to slide my hand over your cunt and feel how wet and slick you are?”
“Yes.” I can barely get the word out, I’m so turned on.
“But I am touching you,” he says, and now his voice is soft. He’s moved silently toward me and is whispering into my ear, the soft caress of his breath like a kiss. “My hands are cupping your breasts and my thumbs are teasing over your nipples. They’re so hard, and I flick them lightly with my fingernails.”
I startle as he says that, and I swear I actually feel his touch. I open my mouth to cry out his name, but then remember the rules and press my lips together.
He chuckles. “So obedient,” he says, and as he speaks, he strokes a soft finger from my core to my clit, and I tremble, my pussy clenching in a futile effort to draw him in, to have him fill me.
“Your reward for being so good,” he says. “Do you want me to touch you there more?”
“Yes,” I beg shamelessly. “Please, Dallas. Please.”
“I am. Don’t you feel me? The way my fingers play with your clit? The way I’m standing right in front of you, the cotton of my shirt brushing your sensitive nipples as my hand cups your mound. I’m sliding my palm over you, baby, and you’re so wet, and it feels so good, and you’re holding on to my shoulders because your knees are so weak you can’t stand up on your own.”
I say nothing; I can’t remember if he’s asked me a question.
“Answer me, Jane.”
“I feel you,” I say, and I do. I can imagine his touch, the light strokes, the heated tease. The way he plays me so perfectly because he knows me so well.
“I’m on my knees now, baby, and my hands are on your hips. Tilt forward for me,” he demands, then says, “That’s it,” when I comply.
“Can you feel my tongue?” he continues. “How I’m stroking you, teasing you? And oh, baby, you taste so good.”
It’s incredible, but I can feel it. Not only that, but my body is reacting to it. That telltale tightening in my thighs. The way my skin prickles, as if I’ve gone outside in a lightning storm. That’s Dallas, a storm upon my senses. And I can’t help but think that any man who can take me this close to orgasm without even touching me definitely deserves his reputation as the King of Fuck.
“I want you to come for me, Jane,” he says, and though I want to—though I’m so wildly, wonderfully turned on—I’m not sure I can cross that line.
“Now,” he orders, and as soon as the word is out of his mouth, I feel the soft brush of his breath between my legs, teasing my clit, mimicking his touch. I imagine that he’s leaning in, ready to put his tongue on me, to close his mouth over me.
I imagine that…and I explode.
As I do, my legs really do go weak, and the world seems to spin out from under me. I keep my eyes closed because he hasn’t told me to open them, but I can feel the world falling away from me.
And then I’m caught, captured in a bridal-style carry in his arms, and his lips are on mine, and he’s murmuring to me. Telling me I’m exceptional, I’m beautiful, I’m the most amazing woman he has ever known.
“And you’re mine,” he says. “How fucking incredible is that?”
His words make me smile, and I snuggle against him. I’m completely sated, and I feel thoroughly fucked, and it’s weird, but at the same time it’s not because this is Dallas, and he has always had a magical effect on me.
He takes me to the couch and I curl up against him as he pulls a blanket over us. “What about you?” I murmur, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“Believe me, baby, I’m just as satisfied as you are.” He brushes my hair off my face and kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes again as he uses the remote on the coffee table to turn on the stereo. It’s a classical station and so soothing, and I close my eyes and simply drift, happy to have released the burdens of the day, even if for just a little while.
I don’t know how long I stay like that, my head resting on his shoulder, my naked body pressed tight against him, with only a light blanket over me. I feel remarkably well taken care of, like something precious to him. Something fragile, a small voice in my head adds, and I can’t help but frown.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Dallas says, because he never misses a trick.
I consider lying, but since I almost left him over secrets, that would be wildly hypocritical. So I tell him, and he just shakes his head.
“You’re far from fragile,” he says. “If you were, you couldn’t have put yourself back together all those years ago.”
“Have I? I mean, I spent my adult life in various self-defense classes and it didn’t do me a damn bit of good when that bitch tased me.”
“Anyone can be a victim to a determined attacker.”
He’s right—I know he’s right—but I still feel argumentative. Probably because when I think about the attack I still feel scared. Vulnerable. And that’s not a feeling I like.
Purposefully, I shift the conversation. “You haven’t told me about what happened out in the hall with Bill.”
“Not much to tell,” he says. “He’s worried about you, jealous of me. And,” he adds with a hard edge to his voice, “he seems suspicious about where we were at the crack of dawn.”
Immediately, I stiffen. “Do you think he suspects something? About you? About Deliverance?”
“I don’t know.” He shifts, rolling over a bit so that we’re face-to-face. “But I will say that he’s the last person I want to talk about while we’re naked.”
“Oh, really?” I start to trail a finger down his chest. “So what do you want to talk about? Or do you want to talk at all?” I ask as I follow the arrow of hair down his lower abs to his cock.
I see the heat flare in his eyes and bite my lip in anticipation of round two. He reaches down, and though I expect a sensual touch, he surprises me by closing his hand over mine.
“I want to know what put that look in your eye when I came into the apartment. What did Joel tell you? Are our shenanigans wreaking havoc with the financing?”
I grin at the word “shenanigans,” but have to nod. “Joel says he’ll handle it. Apparently Lyle has some issues. Apparently they’re with us.”
“You met him, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. We got along great.”
“So talk to him now. This movie is important to you?”
“You know it is.”
“Then go after it. Don’t wait for Joel to work it out. You want Tarpin, go after him.”
I consider that. “I am good at going after men that I want,” I say in a teasing voice. “I went after you and got you, didn’t I?”
He chuckles, and I feel the vibration rumble through me. “Yeah, well you already had me. I was just in denial. So were you, for that matter.”
“Until I decided I couldn’t live without you.”
“Well, go to Los Angeles and do the same with Tarpin. Except,” he adds with a wry grin, “not exactly the same.”
“You’ll come with me?”
“Baby,” he says, flipping me over so that I’m on my back and caged between his arms. “I’m always with you.”
