Private Passions (2 page)

It sure as hell paid the bills though, he
thought as he parked his brand new Audi R8 in front of the four car
garage and got out. Between providing private security and
consulting with producers and directors to help them make military
movies that were as authentic as possible, Deck had been able to
pay off his own debt and help his dad expand his business, and
still afford a condo on the beach in Santa Monica.

More than most army vets from Big Timber,
Montana could say. Yeah, even when his clients drove him fucking
nuts with their ridiculous demands and behavior better suited to
five year olds, Deck appreciated that the path he'd taken had its
perks.

And of course there's always Jane.

He gave himself a mental slap and shoved the
thought clean out of his mind. Jane Bowden was not a perk, never
would be, for all that he'd trailed around after her like a
pathetic dog all these years, mustering up every bit of his
considerable restraint and self control to make sure she—and anyone
else for that matter—never got the faintest hint of the wildly
inappropriate fantasies that had dogged him incessantly from the
moment he'd started working with her.

He rolled his neck a couple times before he
rang the doorbell, bracing himself for the long night ahead. The
first part would be the worst, trapped in the back of a limousine
with her for at least two hours while they navigated traffic on the
way to the venue. Deck had enough experience to know that the back
of a stretch limo would feel about as roomy as a Mini Cooper, so
keenly was he aware of Jane when he was in her presence.

Then he'd linger in the background, watch her
smile for the cameras, flirt her way through dinner and the parties
after. All the while imagining an impossible universe where he got
to walk next to her down the red carpet, he got to hold her hand
under the table at dinner while she leaned over and whispered funny
comments meant only for his ears. And most importantly, a world
where he not only escorted her home, he walked her through the door
and up to her bedroom and...

He shook his head. The moment Jane had any
idea these kinds of things were on a constant loop in his head was
the moment Deck was out on his ass.

And though he knew it made him even more
pathetic, being almost constantly in Jane's presence, knowing he
could never have her, was infinitely better than not being around
her at all. He didn't know what it was about her that made him feel
so protective of her, but from the very beginning, and even more so
after everything she'd gone through with that dickhead Ryan, he
couldn't shake the notion that somehow he was the only guy who
could keep Jane from getting hurt.

At least, from getting hurt any worse than
she already had been.

He pressed the doorbell and dug a finger
under the collar of his dress shirt to scratch his neck. Though he
hated wearing the damn thing and the bow tie that went with it, he
was relieved tonight was a formal event. It was a lot easier to
remember how far out of his league Jane was when she was decked out
in a designer dress that cost as much as a new car, her face
practically airbrushed into perfection, her blond hair styled and
sprayed until a nuclear bomb couldn't mess it up.

It was when she was in a tank top and running
shorts, her hair in a ponytail and her face flushed with exertion
that he almost forgot who she was and who he wasn't. It was in
those rare moments when she let down her guard that he let himself
imagine for a minute that she was a regular girl—albeit blindingly
beautiful—who he could ask on a date and have everything go from
there.

Not gonna happen,
he reminded himself
sternly.

Several seconds passed, but no one answered
the door. Frowning, Deck checked his phone even though he was sure
he had the time right. Sure enough he was even a couple minutes
early. He didn't see Mira or Claud's cars in the driveway, which
meant Jane should be ready. He rang the bell again, telling himself
she was probably upstairs fixing some imagined flaw no one else
could see.

When a full two minutes passed with still no
answer, Deck called Jane's phone, his stomach twisting uneasily
when his call went to voicemail. Jane was a rarity in Hollywood—a
reliable actress. Though when he'd first started working with her,
she'd certainly had her diva moments—her wedding in the Caribbean
had nearly cost him and the staff of the resort that hosted the
event their sanity—she'd pretty quickly realized that acting like a
spoiled brat and a flake might not ruin her career, but it wasn't
going to help.

In all the years he'd worked with her, she'd
never changed her plans without consulting him first. Pushing aside
any concerns about invading her privacy, Deck keyed in the code to
unlock the front door.

"Jane?" he called, his stomach twisting
tighter when she didn't answer. Could someone have broken in? He'd
chosen the state of the art security system himself and overseen
the installation, but that didn't mean Jane, or one of the many
people who came and went from her house every day didn't
occasionally forget to turn it on.

He called her name again and started up the
stairs when he heard the faint sound coming from direction of the
kitchen. He jogged down the marble hallway, the sound of
conversation growing louder as he got closer. He got to the
kitchen, with its gleaming restaurant worthy appliances and
spotless stone countertops, and didn't see Jane anywhere. What he'd
thought was a live conversation was two entertainment reporters
yapping on the TV.

"Jane," he called again, louder this time,
and was about to head into the adjoining dining room when he heard
a muffled sob.

He circled the island and found Jane crumpled
on the floor, glass shattered all around her as her shoulders
heaved with sobs. He hunkered down next to her, careful to avoid
the glass as he gently cupped her chin and raised her face to look
at him.

Tears streamed from her eyes, catching on her
mascara to form black tracks down both cheeks. Her nose was red,
her lips swollen. Deck felt a squeezing pressure in his chest. The
last time he'd seen her like this had been the night she'd lost
Ryan's baby.

Whatever was going on, it had to be bad.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asked,
regretting his tone when she flinched at the sharpness.

She shook her head.

"Okay, then let's get you off the floor," he
said, gentling his tone as he helped pull her to her feet. She
wobbled unsteadily and fell against his chest. Glass crunched under
his shoes, and Deck instinctively slid his arm around her shoulders
and pulled her off her feet. Against his better judgment he held
her like that, tucked up against him as he carried her the few
steps to the sofa and loveseat that comprised a sitting area on the
other side of the breakfast table.

He sat down with her on the sofa, intending
to put some distance between them but, but she was huddled up
against him like a kitten in a storm, and he couldn't bring himself
to push her away. "What's going on?" he asked. God she smelled
good, he thought, bracing himself against the urge to bury his face
in her hair and take a long, deep inhale. An exotic mix of
expensive perfume and products, and underneath the warm, woman
scent of her skin.

Her voice was muffled against his chest, and
he forced himself to concentrate on her words, to no avail. "I
can't hear you Jane," he said unable to keep himself from stroking
his hand up and down her slender back. "What's wrong?"

Jane tilted her head back, her face a tragic
mask. "She's pregnant."

He shook his head, it didn't compute.

"Katya," Jane clarified. "She's
pregnant."

His hand stilled on her back. "Aw, Christ,
Jane, I'm so sorry." He didn't even think about it, just gave over
to the urge to wrap his arms tightly around her and cradle her
against him as he sat back against the cushions. Though he'd never
encouraged sharing confidences, anyone who spent time with Jane
knew how badly she'd been trying for a baby. Deck had been there
when she'd miscarried that second time, was one of the only people
other than Jane and her doctor who'd even known she was
pregnant.

Even that asshat, Ryan hadn't known.

And while Deck knew Jane well enough to
believe her when she said she wasn't spending nights crying over
Ryan, he knew this had to cut her to the very core. He didn't know
what to do other than to stroke her back while her tears soaked the
front of his shirt. For several moments he just held her, trying to
ignore how good the soft weight of her felt against his chest, the
silk of her hair brushing against his jaw.

She was suffering a serious emotional trauma,
he told himself sternly, and she wanted comfort, nothing else.
Unfortunately his body couldn't seem to get the message, every
circuit going haywire at having her pressed up against him, the hot
puff of her breath against his neck making his blood pump thickly
through his veins.

She shifted against him, the slide of her leg
against his making his cock swell against the fabric of his pants.
She let out a soft, shuddering breath, reminding him once again
that it wasn't appropriate for him to be popping wood over a client
who was having an emotional meltdown.

After a few more torturous moments she said
something, but he couldn't hear her with her face buried against
his chest. "Huh?" he said, and tried to focus on her words, not on
how warm the skin of her back felt through the thin silk of her
dress.

"She's so s-skinny," Jane said, looking up at
him with wide, tear-drenched eyes, then broke into another fit of
sobs.

Deck knew to tread carefully; it was no
secret Jane was self conscious about the weight she'd put on in the
past year. Personally Deck thought Jane had never looked
better—hell, she could stand to put on another five or ten as far
as he was concerned. But in a business where the ideal shape for a
woman was a lollipop with fake boobs bolted on, his opinion didn't
hold much water.

The fact that Katya's waifish proportions
were often publicly compared to Jane's taller, more athletic frame
didn't help matters. With that in mind he chose to go on the
offensive. "Way too skinny if you ask me. She looks like a stiff
wind would crack her in two."

"I know," Jane wailed and sobbed even
harder.

Her next words made him realize the error of
his approach. "She looks like skeletor, like there's no way she can
support another human, and yet she managed to get pregnant and make
it through the first trimester."

Deck ran his hands helplessly over her
heaving shoulders.

"How can she look like that and be pregnant,
and I can't keep one past six weeks, even though I got all
fat—"

"You're not fat," he bit out.

"Yes I am," Jane said angrily.

Deck gave an inward sigh of relief. Like most
men, he'd take an angry woman over a crying one any day of the
week. "The hell you are."

"Are you kidding me? Feel this!" Jane grabbed
his hand and put it on the curve of her hip.

Instinctively his hand closed around the
curve, his breath hitching at the feel of soft flesh yielding to
the pressure of his fingers. Christ, how many times had he imagined
wrapping his hands around her hips like this, holding her still for
him while he fucked her deep and hard.

His cock thickened another inch. He told
himself to move away to take his hands off her but his body was
blocking all of the logic his brain was trying to send down. "Jane,
you have a gorgeous body," he said, hoping she didn't notice how
thick his voice sounded.

"I didn't say it because I'm fishing for
compliments." She blushed and shifted uncomfortably. "But that's
nice of you to say."

"I mean it," he said. "You look, and
feel"—his other hand drifted down to close around her other hip in
emphasis—"amazing."

"Thanks," she said, giving him a watery
smile. She slid her hand up his chest to curve around his neck.
"And thanks for letting me cry all over you."

"Any time." The smooth, cool feel of her
fingers against the side of his neck was like torture, sending a
jolt of heat straight to his cock. Jesus, he needed to get up and
away from her without her noticing the now obvious bulge in the
front of his pants.

He needed to get away from her before he did
something really stupid.

In the next breath, it was too late.

Minutes
ago, Jane had been crying, so sad she felt like her world was
ending. Now all she could think about was Deck, his big, strong
body against hers, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of
her dress, warming her to the very core. The rich masculine scent
of him flooding her senses.

It was too much, the feel of Deck's hands
closing around her hips the way Jane had imagined so many times.
The heavy-lidded, hot look in his eyes. The way his full mouth
moved when he told her she was gorgeous.

She leaned up, closed the distance between
them and pressed her mouth against his. He stiffened, and she had a
split second of terror that she'd totally misread the situation. Oh
God, what was she doing? Deck had never given the slightest
indication he was attracted to her, he was just being nice and she
was totally pitiful—

All thought fled as Deck's hand came up to
cup the back of her head, holding her in place for a deep, hungry
kiss. Heat rushed through her at the first thrust of his tongue,
the hot slide of it against hers sending a rush of wetness between
her legs.

He pulled her onto his lap until her knees
rested on either side of his hips. Through the silk of her dress,
she could feel the pressure of him against the curve of her ass.
Thick and insistently hard, leaving no doubt that he wanted this at
least as much as she did.