Exposed to You (8 page)

“Would you like me to bring your entrées now, Mr. Hughes?” the waiter asked.

“We’ve had a change of plan. Would you mind packing up our food to go?” He glanced at Joy, his eyebrows raised. “If that’s all right with you?”

“Yes, I’m not very hungry anyway,” she murmured. She busied herself with unfolding her wrap, keeping her flushed face averted from the waiter. Seeing a total stranger standing there, just feet away from where she’d just been sitting with her breasts exposed, bringing herself to climax, brought it all home to her.

What other shocking things could Everett encourage her to do? She recognized that the answer was
a
lot
.

And what does it matter?
she asked herself as she took Everett’s hand a moment later and he led her out of one of the rear doors of the restaurant. He could be with any woman on the planet, but he chose to be with her—if only for this brief moment of time.

Joy was a realist, that much could be said about her. Life had taught her again and again that escape from an often harsh world was not a possibility. But life could be beautiful, too, and exciting, even if those moments were ephemeral.

She followed Everett into a warm summer night. The long, black limousine glided up to the curb like a magical carriage. Everett glanced back at her. A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead. He smiled, and she smiled back.

She might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

Six

“Would you like to eat together, or would you rather just call it a night?” Everett asked when Kenny brought the limousine to a halt in front of her apartment. He’d had his arm around her the entire ride home. She’d been a little stiff at first—did she imagine he was going to try to screw her in the back of the limo? After what he’d done at the restaurant, that may have been precisely what she’d thought.

Still, he couldn’t regret it. Seeing Joy so aroused that she’d forgotten caution and wisdom and taken a risk had been important to him for some reason. Only when they were a few blocks away from her brownstone did she lower her head and snuggle against his chest.

She lifted her head now. He tried to make out her expression in the dim light, but once again, he felt as if the gate had been closed. It was hard to believe she could be skittish around him after the way she responded to him sexually. Was she just cautious, or was Joy reserved to the point of shyness? He thought the answer might be both.

“I’d like to eat, if you would. I mean, if you’re not too tired,” she said.

He brushed her bangs off her forehead. Her face looked still and mysterious, cast in bluish light from the streetlights and shadow.

“I’m not too tired,” he said.

“Then why don’t you come up?”

He paused to tell Kenny and Roger he’d take a cab back to the hotel and then exited the limo with Joy. Once they were inside, he set the bag the Capital Grille had packed for them on her dining room table.

“I’ll set the table. Where are your plates?” he asked, removing the jacket of his tux and hanging it on the back of a chair.

She glanced around from where she’d been setting her purse down on the counter. She looked surprised. Obviously, she hadn’t thought he’d been serious when he asked her if she wanted to eat with him.

“In there,” she said, pointing to one of the cabinets.

“The lobster smells fantastic. It should still be hot.”

She stood by the counter, her wrap clutched around her waist. Her cheeks still carried the telltale signs of arousal. Her lips still looked swollen from the way he’d ravaged her mouth. He forced his mind onto his task and opened the cabinet she’d indicated.

“Do you want to go change?” he asked as he loosened his bow tie. He opened a couple drawers, looking for silverware. “Might as well get comfortable.”

“Okay. I think I will, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d prefer that you were as comfortable as possible,” he replied as he found the silverware and grabbed a couple forks and knives. From the periphery of his vision, he saw her waver for a split second before she headed toward the hallway.

She really couldn’t figure him out, he thought wryly as he set the plates and silverware on a couple placemats on the table. He couldn’t imagine why. His feelings on the matter seemed a lot more clear-cut and obvious than Joy’s.

“Try some of the lobster tail,” he told her a while later, holding up a mouthwatering-looking bite of perfectly poached lobster coated in butter. She’d come out of her bedroom a few minutes before looking like a summer day in a simple peach-and-white cotton dress that tied at her shoulders. She parted her lips and he slid the fork between them. He stopped himself just in time from sharing in her groan of appreciation. She smiled as she chewed.

“The kind of thing that really makes you understand the phrase
I could die happy
. I hate to think of what it’s doing to my arteries, but it’s delicious enough to make me forget,” she said after she swallowed. She cut a slice of her salmon and offered it to him. He held her gaze as he accepted her offering.

“Hmmm. I taste fennel in the relish.”

She shook her head and took a sip of the chardonnay he’d poured for them. “There really isn’t much you don’t know, is there?”

He shrugged. “I took a six-week cooking course in Spain once.”

“You like to cook?”

“I like to eat,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. He cut into his tenderloin, which melted like butter around his knife. “But yeah, I like to cook once in a while, too. Do you?”

She nodded. “Very much. Brings out my creative side.”

“It can be a very sensual thing. I took classes from a Spanish master chef at his country home. He had this amazing kitchen, with all these antique etched glass bottles and carafes. It was a feast for the senses, having all this colorful, fragrant food in front of you, the hissing sound the fresh ingredients made when they hit the hot oil, the way the sunlight struck all his beautiful glass containers. Here . . . have a bite of this tenderloin. It’s amazing,” he said.

“It sounds wonderful,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy cast as she chewed the bite of juicy meat he’d slipped between her lips. He wondered if she had any idea how sexy he found the dress she was wearing. The ties at her gleaming shoulders were the most remarkable teases. “I’d love something like that. To direct all my attention for six weeks to one task, and to do it in such an evocative place.”

He nodded. “That’s the main thing—the direction of all your attention into one task, one action, one moment. Very Zen.”

“Are you a Buddhist?” she asked as she tore a slice of bread apart.

“No, but I have spent a lot of time in Tibet and Thailand. I admire their spiritual practices. I use a lot of mindfulness to prepare for a role. I don’t want to just pick up a hammer and mimic being a blacksmith, for instance. I want to
do
it—feel what it’s like to have this extension, this hammer in your hand, to be melding all the elements of fire, air, earth and water into a concrete tool, imagine what it’d be like to have that fire blaze in your face while you forged and branded this something that would serve its purpose and be passed from father to son for a century or more.”

She regarded him soberly. “I saw that, where you played the fourteenth-century blacksmith. It was the first movie I ever saw you in,” she said quietly. “Afterward, when I learned you were an American, I was shocked. I would have sworn from your accent that you were Welsh.”

He shrugged. “I have an ear for accents. It’s not a skill, really; more like something I was born with. Some kind of freak gene, as Katie puts it.”

“I think you’re being modest.”

“No. I’m not. A lot of it just comes when you throw yourself wholesale into something. Put on the clothes of the character, live in the landscape, use the tools, eat the food, and do it all mindfully.”

“You’re right. It is all very Zen.”

“I told you I respected the religion. I would, even if their only offering was tantric sex,” he said, grinning.

Her eyes widened. He stilled. It was true, what he’d said, but he shouldn’t have been so blunt. He rushed in to smooth over his error.

“But in the end, I suppose it’s hard to completely wring the Protestant kid from Southern California out of me. Or maybe I’m just too lazy to be a full-fledged Buddhist. Or too hedonistic,” he said, eyeing another bite of butter-drenched lobster. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. I hope you don’t think I’m being nosy, but I saw that Formula 1 racecar postcard in your kitchen. Are you a fan of the sport?”

“No, that’s from my father. He manages the European Formula 1 team. He used to drive himself and was very successful.”

“Are you close to him?” Everett asked.

“No, not especially. His job is his one true love. We’re not one of those feuding fathers and daughters or anything. I don’t begrudge him the life he’s chosen, or the fact that I rarely see him. We don’t have a lot in common. I’m much closer to Seth, and always have been. Seth has been my whole family for half my life.”

Her comment seemed to ask for a follow-up question, but Everett restrained himself. Joy was such a private person. He respected that, even if he did plan to peel back her layers. Discovering Joy’s depths clearly wouldn’t be a quick endeavor, or an easy one.

He found himself relishing the challenge.

“Rill asked Seth to do makeup for
Razor Pass
tonight,” Everett said.

Her eyes warmed. “I know! I’m so excited for Seth. What a wonderful opportunity—to work with Rill. And Seth
loves
the book,” she enthused, referring to the novel Rill was adapting to film.

“Did he give Rill an answer yet?” Everett asked.

Joy shook her head. “Knowing Seth, he’s at the hotel right now, drawing feverishly. He’ll give Rill an answer when he gets some results.”

He smiled. “Rill didn’t ask him for any samples. He just offered him the job.”

She made a face. “You have to know Seth. He’s a perfectionist. He won’t accept until he sees the proof in front of him that he’s right for the job. He has to draw to find the proof.”

“Strange lot, artists,” he said, tracing the graceful line of her neck and shoulder with his gaze.

“They say the same about actors,” she murmured, her eyes lowered, her voice smoky.

“They say correctly.” He touched the back of her hand where it rested on the table. She turned it over, twining her fingers with his.

They talked for a while longer, sipping their wine, Everett drawing her out until she seemed much more comfortable and relaxed. The clock in the kitchen caught his eye. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from hers and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“I’m being inconsiderate. It’s midnight on a Sunday. You have to teach in the morning, don’t you?”

She nodded and pushed back her half-eaten plate of salmon. “I do. Although it’s only from nine until noon. Summer school has a very relaxed schedule. Besides, it’s my last week before the term ends. The kids’ final project is tomorrow.”

“What are you teaching?” he asked.

“Drawing Three. The students are more advanced, so it’s a fun, laid-back summer class.”

He nodded slowly, searching her harmonious, calm features. He wanted to stay and make love to her. He wanted that more than anything. His arousal had ebbed since he’d held her and felt her quaking in orgasm, but it’d never fully dissipated. It flared to life nearly every time she smiled or laughed or studied him with that somber stare that cut him down to the quick. He’d probably made a mistake by doing what he’d done at the restaurant, but he’d wanted her to understand how singular this experience was for him, how unique she was.

People often alluded to the fact that he could have any woman, but those people didn’t understand that a female body wasn’t enough for him. He wanted connection. He wanted something that counted—something like his parents had, or Rill and Katie shared. He didn’t know if Joy could be the woman for him or not, but he’d been with enough female companions at this point in his life to know that what he experienced with her was different. Special.

It was rare finding that spark with someone—magical, even—and that was true if you were a truck driver, an accountant or a film actor. He could make a decent argument for the fact that it was
harder
for him to find someone special. On more than one occasion, he’d wondered if fate had blessed him in so many different ways but would deny him the precious gift of a life mate. He dreaded the possibility.

He took a large swallow of his ice water. “I should be going then,” he said, setting down his glass. He paused when she put her hand on his forearm. He looked into her face.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said.

He again took her hand in his and squeezed. Her smile struck him as shy . . . radiant. He felt blood rush to his cock, creating a full, taut feeling of anticipation.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say that,” he murmured. He stood, her hand still in his, and raised her to her feet.

*   *   *

Joy led him to her bedroom, her heart starting to jump and pound against her breastbone. Maybe she should shower? Maybe she should brush her teeth? He drew her hand to his face and kissed her, his mouth warm and reassuring, and her stupid questions scattered to the sidelines of her awareness. She dropped his hand momentarily while she turned the bedside lamp on to a dim setting. She felt a strange mixture of excitement and awkwardness when she joined him where he stood at the side of her bed. He cradled her jaw and turned her face up toward his.

“Nervous?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s the first time . . .”

Her voice trailed off uncertainly, but he nodded. “The first time that we’ve been deliberate about it all instead of bowled over by lust,” he said, a smile pulling at his mouth. She sighed and turned to press a kiss to his palm.

“I actually meant something else.”

“What?” he asked.

“The first time we’ve paused to take off all our clothes?” she murmured, smiling up at him.

He laughed. His hand trailed down her arm. Her flesh tingled beneath his skimming fingertips. There was something about his touch that really did something to her. He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “I want to be inside you,” he murmured. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the past two days.”

“I want the same thing.”

“Then let’s give each other what we want,” he said gruffly, his warm breath striking her upturned lips.

“Yes,” she whispered, before his mouth covered hers. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the power of his kiss. His mouth was still cool from drinking ice water, but she felt his heat just beneath it. His taste inundated her—complex, male, intoxicating. Her shyness melted, and the true Joy rose to the surface. She penetrated his mouth with her tongue, eager to taste more of him.

He groaned and took both of her shoulders in his hands. She encircled his waist with her arms. He squeezed her shoulder muscles lightly and brought her closer to him, until her breasts crushed against his ribs and her belly pressed along his zipper. She felt him behind the fabric, hard, warm, teeming with life. He shifted slightly, and she realized the shaft of his penis rode down his left pant leg. She caressed his back muscles, thrilling to the sensation of all that lean, corded power. If he felt this good with his clothes on, what would it be like to feel his naked skin sliding beneath her fingertips? She shifted her hand between their straining bodies, suddenly ravenous to discover firsthand the answer to her question.

Her fingertips slipped between two buttons of his dress shirt. She touched the smooth skin covering his ribs. Her forefinger dipped down to stroke his abdomen. She felt the muscle spasm slightly, and he broke their kiss.