Follow My Lead (6 page)

Blake tugged it over his head and before he even tossed it away, her mouth was on his chest, her teeth grazing his nipple, her fingers working the button on his jeans. Had any woman ever felt this good? Every inch of his body was aware of her. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling beyond desire.

“No, sweetheart,” he groaned, capturing her hand before she worked the zipper down. “Not yet. I want you way too much to rush this, and I’ll be damned if I let you get away from me without making sure you remember tonight.” And that she would give him a chance for another night, which he was pretty damn sure wasn’t going to come easy and he already knew he wanted. She might justify their bedroom adventure as here and gone, but he wouldn’t be here if that’s what this was, if there wasn’t more to this. She pushed to her toes and kissed him, and the instant her tongue touched his, he was a goner. He lost himself in the honey-sweet taste of her, the feel of her skin against his. Quickly, she unzipped his jeans and pressed her hand inside his boxers, her slender fingers wrapping around his shaft. Blake moaned and pulled away from her, squatting to help her take off her boots. He had to slow things down, otherwise it would be a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” experience that he was certain as Sunday would haunt him the rest of his life.

“Now, where were we?” he said, her boots gone now, and his, too. He ran his hands up her legs as he stood, to settle on her hips. “Oh, yeah. We were talking about how you’d agreed that I’m in control so you can just relax and let me take you away.”

“We didn’t agree to anything of the sort,” she said, swallowing hard as he worked the front of her jeans.

“Pretend.” He tugged her jeans down and noticed the blond triangle of neatly trimmed curls that came into view. He glanced down and then up, and playfully tried to put her at ease. “No underwear?”

“I don’t like panty lines,” she said, stepping out of her pants without hesitation.

“Of course,” he said, wrapping his arm around her to comfort her. “I hate panty lines.” He gently tweaked her nipples, then soothed them with his thumbs.

“Aren’t you the funny man?” There was a breathless quality to her voice that told him he was getting to her, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

“It’s not my intention to be funny,” he assured her, kicking her jeans aside. “In fact, why don’t I show you just how seriously I’m taking your pleasure right now?” He dropped to one knee, settling his hands on her hips. “Do I seem like I’m trying to be funny?”

She wet her lips. “No.
Funny
isn’t the word that comes to mind.”

He pressed his lips to her stomach. “Then what word comes to mind?” He kissed her again then ran his tongue around her belly button. Her belly quivered. The vulnerability it showed made his chest expand, tighten. She was like a delicate flower, and a sense of protectiveness toward her surprised him. He didn’t want to keep her at a distance, which defied everything he’d taught himself about self-preservation. He glanced up at her, aware she’d yet to reply. “What are you thinking?”

“Am I supposed to be thinking right now?”

He smiled against her stomach, pleased with that answer. If she wasn’t thinking, she was letting go; she was trusting. “Not if I can help it.” He slid his fingers into the slick heat of her sex, his cock pulsing at the intimate touch.

She made a soft sound, squeezing her thighs around his hand. “We really should move to the bed before I fall down.”

“I won’t let you fall,” he promised, his lips traveling over her soft, silky skin, his teeth grazing her sexy hip bone, the curve of her waist.

“If you keep doing what you’re doing,” she whispered, “I’m not sure you can stop me.”

His fingers delved past the slick folds of her sex. He sought the sweet spot he knew would drive her wild. And he wanted to drive her wild. He wanted to see her let go of her control, to relinquish her prim and proper persona fully—for him, with him. “I want to taste you, Darla.” He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, his fingers explored her more intimately, his thumb flickering over her clit. “Any objection?” He leaned in and licked her clit, glancing up at her, arching a brow.

“You don’t really expect me to say ‘no,’ do you?”

He chuckled, licking her again and again until she gasped and her head fell back against the wall, her dark lashes sweeping her ivory cheeks. Blake suckled her swollen nub, stroking her with his fingers, still seeking that sweet spot that would drive her wild. He knew he’d found it when she moaned deeply and laced her fingers into his hair. The more he licked, the more he delved and stroked and teased, the firmer her fingers tightened on his hair. She rocked her hips, pumping against his fingers. He felt her stiffen, heard her suck in a breath. She went still—and he knew she was on the edge ready to tumble, one lick away from orgasm. He suckled her instead, drawing out her pleasure, then swirled his tongue around her nub. Her hands flattened on the wall a moment before her body jerked, hips lifting against him. Spasms spiraled around his fingers. His body reacted instantly, his cock a hard ridge against his stomach, ready for her the next time she came.

His cell phone started to vibrate on his belt, but he didn’t think he’d care if the fire alarm was going off right now. He was too into Darla, too into her honeysuckle-sweet taste, her scent, her perfect ivory body. Her satisfaction. That was the ultimate turn-on, the ultimate goal, and Blake went after it with the fierceness of a wild animal. He wanted it, he had to have it. Nothing but her complete, utter satisfaction would do. And so he licked and caressed her to a simmering slow down until she inhaled deeply, as if she’d forgotten to breathe, and that breath brought her back to reality.

She blinked down at him, her cheeks flushed red, her bottom lip swollen from his kisses. “That was…” she started, her voice trailing off, her teeth working her bottom lip.

“A warm-up,” he promised, kissing the inside of her thigh and easing her leg over his shoulder and her foot back to the ground. “We’re only just getting started.” He pushed to his feet, palming her backside and lifting her.

She made a surprised sound and hung on to him, her arms holding tight around his neck and her legs around his waist. He went down on the bed on top of her, the feel of her beneath him a tiny piece of heaven. “I have to warn you,” he confessed, “you’ve got me right on the edge, sweetheart, and my slow romancing is about to explode into fast and hard if we aren’t careful.”

“Fast and hard sounds good right now,” she said, again proving she wasn’t all about prim and proper. “But you said it yourself. Talk is cheap and you’re still wearing your pants.”

His cell phone vibrated on his belt again and her eyes went wide. “Is that your phone?”

“Yes,” he said. “And whoever it is can wait.” He slanted his mouth over hers, claiming her. She whimpered, her tongue searching for his, her hands gripping his back. One of her legs entangled his as if she feared he’d get away. He wasn’t going anywhere. His phone vibrated again. Ignoring it with Darla underneath him and her hands all over his body wasn’t hard. Hell. He couldn’t even manage to pull himself away from her long enough to fully undress. She tasted of honey, felt like sunshine. He spread her legs wider and sank deeper between them. Arching against her sex, his hands explored her body.

“Please,” she whispered. “Take off those damn pants before I scream in frustration.”

“One more kiss,” he said. Just then, the hotel phone started to ring. Blake went still. He burned to kiss her into oblivion and ignore the call, but he couldn’t. Not when his phone had been going off and hers wasn’t getting a good mountain signal. He was so frustrated, the last thing he wanted was to make her feel second to anybody in that moment. “As much as I don’t want you to, you have to get that. It could be the studio.” He rolled off her and grabbed his phone, checking his text messages. “It’s Meagan. She wants us to meet her for drinks after all.”

Darla scrabbled for the nightstand. Blake turned to find her grabbing the phone and giving him an alluring view of her creamy white backside. The one he’d had pressing into his palms a few minutes ago. The one he had a feeling wasn’t going to be pressed into his palms again tonight.

“Yes, hi, Meagan,” Darla said, sitting up and looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m not sure about Blake. His phone must be having signal issues, too.” She frowned. “I’ll go knock on his door. Sure. Yes. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes.” She hung up the phone. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Blake grabbed her and pulled her back into his arms. Damn, she felt good, and he didn’t want to let her go. “And I can’t believe I had you naked and never even managed to get my pants off. You’re going to regret this as soon as we leave this room, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” she said, her words giving him an unexpected jab in his chest until she added, “What kind of woman can’t get a man’s pants off?” She pressed her lips to his. “And now I’m going to be thinking of how to do it the entire time we’re with Meagan.”

“And even if I buy that, which I don’t, I know where this is headed. Our one night just ended.”

“Well,” she said, barely giving him a pebble of hope. “It could be fast and everyone says good-night.”

“More likely,” he said unhappily, “it’ll stretch into hours when everyone should be in bed resting. Except you. You should be in bed with me.”

She laughed. “That was my plan, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She ran her fingers over his jaw. “Thank you for making sure I didn’t miss that call when you could have easily distracted me from it.”

He drew her fingers to his lips. “I better leave or I won’t let you get dressed.” He started to get up.

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “What if you’re seen leaving my room? Sounds like there’s show personnel already going. We’re competitors, Blake. If my station finds out that we, ah… Well, it could jeopardize my show. The studio might think I have your interests, not theirs, in mind.”

“Things would have to go horribly bad for you in all kinds of nearly impossible ways for that to happen, and they won’t.” She started to object and he held up a hand. “But I understand you’re worried and I’ll be discreet. Complain about your phone service and tell everyone I stopped by to make sure Meagan was able to reach you. That way, if anyone sees me leave, you have an explanation.”

“Right,” she said. “Good thinking.”

He glanced down at her bare breasts and back up. “I wasn’t kidding about not letting you get dressed.”

She tugged up the comforter and slid underneath, then smiled. “Go, before I don’t let you, and that would be very bad.”

“Or very good, depending on how you look at it.” She started to object and he leaned in and kissed her. “I’m leaving.”

He pushed to his feet and searched for his shirt, finding it in the hallway. He tugged it over his head and quickly put on his boots before hesitating at the door. He didn’t want to leave and that said a lot, when he normally couldn’t run from a woman’s door fast enough. Of course, they’d had a premature finish, but still…he wasn’t ready to walk away from Darla. Not until he understood what she was doing to him. He resisted the urge to back up and tell her exactly that, or at least frame a plan to end up here after tonight. Dang it, Darla was making him feel every bit the primal man. Some part of him wanted to declare her “mine.” That thought rattled him to the core, and he reached for the door. A cold shower and some stern self-reprimanding were in order—and fast.

6

D
ARLA SAT ON THE MATTRESS,
unsure of what had just happened. He’d left. He’d had no choice. He’d even said he didn’t want to leave. But yet, he had, and they’d made no plans for what came next. Did anything come next? Probably it shouldn’t. Darla liked Blake. She liked him a lot—too much, in fact. History told her that was trouble, especially with a man who’d been trouble in the past. She shook herself, realizing that she should be showering and dressing, but was thinking about Blake when she should be thinking about her job. Grimacing at the man’s ability to distract her, she shoved away the comforter and rushed to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d managed a superfast shower, changed into a clean, dressier pair of jeans and a pale pink blouse. Her hair had been a wild mess, compliments of Blake’s hands. But thanks to a hot iron, her hair was now smooth and orderly. Her makeup had been reapplied, the whisker burns covered. His whisker burns—Blake Nelson’s whiskers. They had felt really good on about every part of her body. How in the heck was she going to face him in a group of people and act like he hadn’t just rocked her world? She didn’t want Meagan or anyone else to think she wasn’t focused on her job.

She grabbed the small pink beaded purse she’d unpacked, filled it and crossed the strap over her head and shoulder, before making her way to the hallway. Darla glanced at Blake’s door. Should she knock? What would she do if the man hadn’t just been half-naked with her? That was pretty hard to think through when being naked with him was pretty darn heavy on her mind—so was every flirtatious second leading up to her being naked. But prior to tonight she’d considered him her competitor—even her enemy. Yet she’d bonded with him on the plane and they had become friends. She didn’t give herself time to reconsider. Darla rushed to his door and knocked, then nervously looked around. Which was absolutely crazy. They’d flown into town together. They could walk to drinks together. She knocked again, more confidently this time, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t in his room. He’d left
without
knocking on her door. Okay. So she wasn’t sure what to make of that. The worrier in her could conjure all kinds of trouble that she didn’t need right now.

Darla started walking toward the lounge area, her stomach suddenly fluttering with renewed nerves, which she tried to squash. The process of said squashing wasn’t going well, and by the time she stood at the door of the lounge, she was worse, not better. But when she entered the room, she realized the show was on. A group of about twelve, maybe even fifteen, of the show’s staff sat around a group of tables shoved together in the center of an oval-shaped room. Her gaze moved past the tables, drawn to the ceiling-to-floor windows and the view beyond that, which mesmerized, even calmed, her. The sun and mountains had faded into a pitch-black sky decorated with twinkling stars and city lights.