Over Exposed (5 page)

“It's after noon, and I slept more this morning than I usually do. So, how long have you been doing yoga?”

She gave him a strange look, a little wary, a little confused. Like she didn't know what to expect from him.

Hell, he didn't know what to expect, either, so they were even.

She sidestepped him as she walked past and continued on toward the front of the building. He fell into step beside her.

“I started because I needed a phys ed credit and yoga seemed easier than basketball or Pilates. I continued because I like it. It's a great stress reliever.”

He could think of a few more activities that were also great stress relievers, but he figured she wouldn't appreciate that now.

“So have you tried it?” she asked.

“What? Yoga?” They reached the kitchen and he pushed open the door for her to enter, his gaze catching on that swinging ponytail. He wanted to wrap it around his hand and pull her head back so he could kiss her again. “No. My ex did it for a while and she kept trying to get me to go with her but . . .”

He could never be bothered.

From the fridge, where she was removing stuff left and right, Sabrina looked over her shoulder at him, eyes wide. “You were married?”

“No.” Engaged for five years, yes. And he'd been a total dick. “No, we never made it down the aisle.” Totally his fault. “She's married to another guy now. They've actually agreed to be in the film.”

Closing the fridge, she started opening cabinets, withdrawing canisters and bowls. “Sounds like you still have a good relationship with her.”

“We do. Strange—well, maybe not so strange—but we get along better now that we're not together. She's still a good friend.”

“And her husband?”

She'd gathered all her ingredients and she stood with the table between them, measuring dry ingredients into one bowl, wet into another. All that work gave her a convenient excuse not to look at him.

He should be happy she hadn't brought up that kiss. But damn it, he wanted her to. Wanted her to be as rattled as he was by it. Because that kiss had rocked him off his feet.

It'd also given him the fuel to get those pages written last night.

And he needed to keep that under tight control.

“Her husband is Neal Donahue.”

She nodded, as if none of this surprised her, and again, he wondered exactly how much she'd researched him. Not that she'd had to do a lot of digging to know any of this. It was common fodder for the gossip rags. Still . . . he wanted to beat his chest in triumph.

“He's had some trouble, hasn't he?”

She said it without any sarcasm, when to say Neal had had trouble was like saying an alcoholic simply liked to unwind with a drink every night.

Neal had had a drug problem. A very public, very messy problem that had spilled over to his professional life for years. He'd made a triumphant debut on Broadway in a gritty musical about juvenile convicts at twenty, then made the jump to Hollywood and landed a pivotal role in an out-of-left-field summer blockbuster.

For a few years, Neal could do no wrong. But, like so many other brilliant artists, drugs finally got the better of him.

“That's a pretty big understatement,” Greg said. “He racked up an almost-million-dollar debt by the time a few friends intervened and got him into rehab.”

“You were one of them, weren't you?”

She'd stopped mixing to look at him and Greg had the uncontrollable urge to spill his guts. He never talked about this, not to anyone except Tyler, who'd dragged it out of him one very late night after several bottles of liquor.

“Yeah. Even though we were both sleeping with my fiancée at the time . . . yeah, I liked him.”

Her eyebrows lifted but she didn't look shocked. “Did you know? About Daisy and Neal?”

She went back to mixing and he found it easier to talk about this when she wasn't looking directly at him.

“I knew.”

“And it didn't bother you?”

How did he put this so he didn't sound like a total ass? Apparently he was fighting a losing battle. “Honestly, no. It was a relief.”

She shot him a frown. “Why?”

Because she'd had someone else to worry about, someone else to talk to. Daisy had needed a hell of a lot more attention than he'd had to give and she'd desperately needed to take care of someone. Greg hadn't wanted someone to take care of him. He'd wanted someone to be there when he was home to sleep with, someone who didn't give him shit for working the hours he worked. He'd never cheated on her. The only other mistress he'd ever had was his company, and he'd married that one first.

Daisy had never really stood a chance.

“Because I couldn't give her what she needed and he could.”

“Sounds like she might've gotten more than she bargained for.”

She had. He'd spent a couple of nights with her in the ER waiting for her to get her stomach pumped while Neal puked his guts out in the next room.

Jesus, that'd been a fucked-up couple of years.

“Sorry.” The hushed quality of Sabrina's voice drew him out of those dark memories and back to the kitchen. Where he'd much rather be. “I didn't mean to pry.”

“You're not. Hell, most of my life has been plastered all over the Internet. Anyone with a blog and a camera can call themselves a journalist in California. They ask much more disturbing questions than you. And if they don't get the answer they want, they'll make it up.”

“Must suck, having your every move scrutinized. I don't know that I could take it.”

“You learn to deal with it.” He shrugged. “Or you don't and you break.”

“So you got used to it.”

“For the most part, yeah.”

Her gaze narrowed and she stopped stirring the batter. “You enjoy it.”

He nodded. “Sometimes, yeah. I enjoy the challenge. I like talking to people about movies. I like talking about my projects.”

She smiled and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Yes, I can tell.”

Okay, so kissing her seemed like a really good idea at the moment. Tasting that smile was more important than breathing.

And he knew if he kissed her again, this time he wouldn't stop there. He'd have his hands on that ass, pulling her against his erection until he could get off just by rubbing himself on her.

Maybe he did need to send her home. Get her the hell out of here.

Then again, she was an adult and the vibe she was sending out was getting harder to ignore.

The conversation ground to a halt as she dumped out her dough and began to knead it on the marble countertop. Not for long and not hard, just enough for him to imagine her using those hands on his cock.

She must not have noticed all the heat he was putting out because she calmly finished patting out the dough and cutting it into triangles, then laying them on a cookie sheet.

She must have started the coffeemaker sometime earlier, because now she turned and grabbed a mug from the open shelving then waved it at him.

When he nodded, she poured him a cup then slid it across the table.

As he drank the coffee, he watched her watch him, wondering if she was trying to work up the nerve to talk about that kiss.

Finally, she sighed, shook her hair back, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“So, Greg. Are we going to have sex or are we going to pretend we don't want to?”

*  *

Sabrina tried not to let the blush give her away, but the longer Greg stared at her, the harder it became.

She'd had a lot of time to think this morning. That kiss last night had made her see stars. Seriously, she swore she'd seen fireworks in her brain. Which had made sleeping almost impossible. After tossing and turning for an hour, she'd finally fallen asleep. And then she'd had
the
hottest dream
ever
. Yes, about him. Her panties had been soaked through this morning, and her thighs actually quivered.

Damn it, she wanted him. And he wanted her.

So after she'd tried to talk herself out of this ridiculous plan and started stocking towels in the linen closet, then moved on to an inventory of the toiletries, she decided to do her yoga routine and figure out a way to break the ice and get him into her bed.

Yeah, it was probably total stupidity on her part. Okay, more like definite total stupidity. But . . . being here with him felt like stolen time, out of sync with the rest of the world.

She had no doubt that what they did here would stay here.

She also knew that when they left, that would be the end of their brief affair.

And her heart would break and she'd eventually get over him.

At least, that was her plan and she was sticking to it. It had worked for her mom for years—why not her?

“I guess the question is,” Greg finally said, halting her train of thought, “are you really sure you want to pull that trigger? Because when you do, we can't take it back.”

She blinked, surprise making her lips part on a silent gasp. She'd almost expected him to laugh, pat her on the head—or the ass—and say, “Thanks but no thanks, kid.”

Yes, he wanted her. She'd felt the physical proof his body couldn't hide, but guys got a hard-on when the wind blew. She really hadn't expected him to consider her question seriously. And now that he had . . .

Her heart began to beat so fast, she wondered if it might hurt itself banging against her ribs.

Her mind began to supply vivid images of them tangled together in a bed but, because she hadn't seen him naked, she didn't have a complete picture. And she
really
wanted the complete picture.

Right now, though, he looked dead serious.

And she wasn't about to take back her words.

“Yes, I am. I've wanted you since the first night we met.”

Her voice had gone husky as she thought about how he'd looked at her that night. Those few hours had fueled her dreams for months. And if he said no now, they'd continue to do so for months to come. She hated to admit, even if only privately, that she'd allowed herself to weave fantasies around this man.

Fantasies that involved more than one night and a relationship built on more than just sex.

And that was oh so very bad. Real life never lived up to the fantasy, and the only way to keep telling herself that was to let reality keep knocking her down. Like it seemed to be doing right now. His expression hadn't changed since she'd asked her original question and doubt was beginning to creep in.

Damn it, she'd let her mouth get her in trouble again. She'd taken him at his word that whatever happened here, stayed here. But now . . .

Stupid. Jesus, she was so—

“You know,” he said, his tone totally calm, “I took one look at you and wanted to get you in a bed and keep you under me for days. Shocked the hell out of me because that hadn't happened in a really long time.”

It shocked the hell out of her, too. She took a deep breath, realizing she'd been holding hers, hanging on his every word.

“There's a lot of reasons why we shouldn't even be talking about this, much less thinking about it.” He didn't wait for her to speak, just continued to watch her. “You know that, right? You work for my best friend. You're friends with Kate and that . . .”

He sighed, a grimace twisting that beautiful mouth, and she didn't have a clue what the rest of that sentence might have been. Yes, she and Kate were friends but that didn't mean they shared every little detail about their lives. Or maybe . . . he had a thing for Kate?

Oh, wow.
Why hadn't she considered that?

She thought back to that night, to the way Greg, Kate, and Tyler had interacted. Tyler and Greg had a tight friendship that anyone looking at them could see. But Greg had treated Kate differently. There'd been an undercurrent of something Sabrina hadn't been able to put her finger on because she'd been too worried about not melting into a puddle of lust at his feet.

“Sabrina.”

She'd heard vague rumors about the fourth floor at Haven, rumors about the decadent parties. She'd overheard a pair of housekeeping staff talking about the New Year's Eve party and what went on after, when a small group of Jared's friends retreated to the fourth floor and proceeded to have an orgy. And that was the exact word they'd used. Orgy.

“Sabrina.”

What if Greg actually attended those parties? Was he laughing at her immature attempt to get him into his bed?

Oh, my God, she was totally out of her league.

Her gaze snapped back to his and now he stared at her with a frown.

“I am so sorry.” Now a blush broke free, burning across her cheeks. “I never should've said anything. I'll call Tyler and have him send someone else today.” Her gaze automatically went to the window over the sink, framing the snow still falling outside. “As soon as possible. Please forget I ever said anything but I'll understand completely if you need to tell Ty—”

“Jesus Christ.” He took three steps around the table and grabbed her hands, which had been twisting a dish towel. “I'm not gonna tell Tyler a goddamn thing. And I have no idea where the hell your head just went but whatever you're thinking, you're not wrong about me wanting you.”

His voice had dropped to a low rumble that made her sex clench and her nipples peak. How totally unfair was that? Her body had completely overruled her head, which was telling her to leave, to get away from him because she didn't have the skills to handle a man like this. But his gaze had an intensity she couldn't look away from.

“I have since the moment I saw you in that damn lingerie. Every time I even fucking think about you, I get a hard-on.”

Her blush burned even hotter, but it wasn't in embarrassment. The more he talked, the more she burned for him. She wanted the fingers he had wrapped around her wrists on her breasts, between her thighs, inside her body.