Sexy as Hell Box Set (109 page)

“And what game are you playing?” I asked, desperate for the answer but also wishing this wasn’t a game but more, so much more.

“A game with you.”

“Does it have a name?” I turned and splashed milk into the mugs.

“Yes.” He paused. “It’s called: Does she like me for who I am inside or for the image the world sees me as?”

I turned at that, the milk sitting an angle in my hand. The way he’d spoken, it wasn’t in any tone I’d heard him use before, in real life or on the screen. This was new; it was gruff, low, and so raw it seared right through me.

He rubbed at his chin and then nibbled on that sexy bottom lip of his. If I’d had to guess I’d say he was nervous of my answer. That he’d put his emotions on the line and wasn’t sure if I was going to railroad them with a slicing remark.

I put the milk away, thoughts rushing through my head. Sure, Mason Ward was an international star, but he was also just a man who got off from watching me flagellate myself to orgasm. He was just a bloke standing in my kitchen looking a little awkward after kissing me and a lot terrified after placing his heart on his sleeve.

In silence, I stirred the coffee then handed him a mug. “This way.”

I led him to my lounge and sat on the edge of the long, cream leather sofa set before a modern wall-mounted electric fire. I took a sip of coffee, relishing the warm richness as it went down my throat, then flicked the flames to life with a remote. The room filled with a warm glow and a low hum.

Mason sat next to me, his weight dipping the sofa slightly. He also took a taste of coffee.

“I don’t really know who you are inside,” I said eventually.

“You’ve seen more of the inside of me than anyone else has, for years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back there, at Sexy as Hell. That was me, that was the bare bones of who I am. Not a character, not acting up for the red carpet or sweet talking the press.” He laughed, but it wasn’t infused with humour, more incredulity. “Jesus, I just took my cock out and wanked right in front of you. I even left my spunk on the floor, the wall too, no doubt. You think that’s the kind of thing I should be doing? My agent would have a heart attack. Imagine if the press got hold of that shit, or if—”

I pressed my index finger over his lips.

He sucked in a deep breath, and his eyelids lowered slightly.

“No one will ever find out about any of this. I promise. You really think that I want it to hit the tabloids that I’m with
you
?” I removed my finger and curled my hands around my mug again.

“Well… I don’t know.” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you? You’re not famous.”

“No, thank goodness.”

“And I’m sure being with me wouldn’t harm your career. Most people think—”

“How do you know? You have no idea what I do for a living.” It was my turn to laugh. “Because Zara sure as hell doesn’t pay me enough one night a week to afford this place.”

“So tell me.” He leaned in. “Tell me everything. I want to get to know you, Julie, everything about you. What you do all day. Where you go on the nights you’re not performing. I want to know why you get off so spectacularly when you’re in pain.”

I hesitated for a second, then, “And you want to know if I ever let anyone else hit me.”

“Yes, that too.” He set his coffee aside, onto a small table. Turned and took my mug, placed it next to his. “Tell me. Let me hold you, kiss you, let me make you feel all the things you enjoy feeling.”

“Like pain?”

“Yes, if that’s what you want. But pain of the good type. Pain that makes us horny as fuck for each other.” He slid his hand down my arm and took my hand in his.

“My father is Dick Branston,” I blurted. It’d had to be said, so I might as well get the aftermath of my confession over with.

He snapped his face up from where he’d been looking at my hand. There was shock in his eyes. “What?”

“You know, the guy who owns airlines, oil companies, shares in every search engine going. Finger in every pie, my mother always says.”

“Yeah, of course I know him. Fuck, he’s like in the top ten on the UK rich list.”

I shrugged. “Is he?”

“That explains your fancy pad, but…you could afford even more, bigger better, whatever you want.”

“I want to live here. I like it. It’s handy for work, Sexy as Hell, and visiting my brother.”

He rubbed his temple and frowned. “Wait, you work? Really? I don’t believe it.”

I huffed. “Yes, what else would I do with my time?”

“
Er, I’m guessing you could be on a private yacht right now in the Caribbean or shopping in Milan, partying in Paris. I don’t know, it’s just…”

“I like my job. It makes me feel like I’m achieving something.”

“What do you do?” He still looked shocked.

“I work at the Salvation Army headquarters. Volunteering, actually. It’s a busy place, always something to organise, people to send in the right direction. I suppose I’m kind of an unpaid manager of the London head office.”

He shook his head. “Wow, that’s really commendable.”

“As I said, I
like it. Not everyone is dealt a trump card in life, and if I can make their hand a better one, then that’s cool with me. Can you pass me my coffee?”

“Sure.” He released my hand and set my mug before me. “And your brother, where does he live?”

I hesitated, gathered the iron grit I needed before talking about Marti. “He’s about twenty minutes away.”

“Not far then. Is he married?”

“Yes…to Joel, great guy.” I sucked in a deep breath. “My parent’s cut him off in every way when he said he was gay in his late teens. They have nothing to do with him. I’m all he’s got. Well, apart from Joel, of course.”

“I’m really sorry. That must take its toll on you.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Mum is permanently in the South of France, the climate suits her she says, and Dad hasn’t eased up despite the fact he should have retired a few years ago. He loves it, it’s his baby, so he says…” A lump caught in my throat. “If only my father had loved Marti unconditionally and me as much as he liked making money, perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

I took a sip of my drink. “I’m glad you did, it means I can reverse the question.”

“What question?”

“Now that you know, are you interested in me because of
my
money and position? Can you even imagine what I’ll one day be the sole inheritor of? Or are you interested in me as Julie, the woman who likes watching black-and-white movies on a Sunday, eating banoffee pie straight from the tray, and pain with her pleasure?”

“Do you even have to ask?” I said with a shake of my head. “Fuck, as if I haven’t got more money than I could ever spend anyway.”

She smiled at that. Because I was right and I suspected that kind of made us perfect for each other, financially at least.

“And as for black-and-white movies,” I went on, inching closer and again stroking my knuckle down her silky smooth, slender neck, “they’re my favourite sort; in fact, I should probably star in one especially for you.”

She laughed. “Impossible I’m afraid. They don’t make them anymore.”

“Nothing is impossible, Julie. Including us being together…on a more permanent basis.” God, it was what I wanted. So I saw no harm in saying it, since we were sharing like this. Because how the hell was I going to walk away from her? She was like a magnet, holding me, pulling me near, and she had been from day one. And now, here, sitting in her home, surrounded by her stuff, her scent, listening to her voice and learning about her. Well, to say I was addicted was an understatement. Most Hollywood stars had their poison—alcohol, drugs, anorexia—but it seemed Julie and her unique sexuality was what had really got me hooked.

“Well,” she said. “I can’t see how that would ever…”

I silenced her with a kiss. Another soft one, yes, but also with more determination behind the movements of my lips. I wanted to melt her worries, her doubts away. Show her that I could give her everything she needed to complete her life. Sure, it would be tough, but if anyone could do it, we could. We could make this work, I was certain of it.

A warm dampness suddenly spread on my thigh. I broke the kiss and looked down.

“Shit, sorry,” she said, quickly righting her coffee cup.

“No worries.” A pale brown stain spread on my jeans.

She jumped up, dashed in the direction of the kitchen and returned moments later with a tea towel.

Dropping to her knees on the floor, between my legs, she began to rub at the coffee.

I held in a groan. I didn’t want her to think I was a sex fiend, even though her touch, so near my cock, was something I’d been fantasising about for weeks.

“I don’t think it will stain,” she said. “But of course, I’ll replace them if it does. Well, I will anyway, I…”

I trapped her hand in mine.

The red cloth bunched in her fist as she looked up.

“I hope it does stain,” I said. “That way I’ll remember our kiss, here, on your sofa, and how sweet you taste and how pretty you are.”

She glanced away. Her eyelids fluttered.

“More than pretty, beautiful. You’re—”

“Stop.”

“What? No one tell you that before or something?” I’d meant it as a half joke, but as the very corners of her mouth downturned, just a fraction, I wondered if I’d hit a nerve.

“Not on a regular basis no. My idea of beauty is something most people are offended by.”

“You mean your scars?”

“Yes, my scars.”

“I love them.” The words had tripped from my mouth as one gabble of noise. But I was on a roll. “I love them. I want to touch them, kiss them. They make you real. They make you, you.”

She tilted her chin, pulled in a breath. “Yes, they do.”

“You need more,” I said, now clasping her hands in both of mine. “Just like I do. I have everything a man could dream of. Fame, fortune…” I paused, shrugged. “Good looks, amazing career, women throwing themselves at me, but…”

“Go on, tell me, what else is it you want?”

I frowned, struggling to find the right words to describe the pit of longing in my stomach, the crazy urge to go beyond the norm and push boundaries.

“Mason?” she whispered.

“I need to
feel
,” I said, frustrated with my lack of eloquence. “Feel more, be more, take it up a level so that it touches me, deep inside. I’m not just a piece of meat owned by the studios, admired, fawned over, I’m real too. Does that make any sense?”

“Perfect sense.” She smiled and untangled her hands from mine. “It’s all about feeling real. Going deep inside yourself—alone is great but being with another person is idyllic. Finding that place where fortune and fame, other people’s opinions of you doesn’t matter is a state of bliss for me. It’s just about the bare bones of your soul and nourishing them with whatever they demand. Damn judgement and damn what you
should
enjoy.”

I nodded, pleased that she’d got me. “Yes, that’s it. Being with someone who understands that by doling out the pain I’m not a bad person but a man who desires nothing more but to please his partner, take her, you, to where you need to go.”

“You’ve seen how far I go.” There had been a slice of steel in her tone despite the quietness of her voice. “Can you go
that
far?”

“I haven’t before, I’ll admit that, but, yes, I believe with all my heart that I could. That I could give you what you need.”

She was quiet for a moment, then, “How many times have you been to see me now?”

“More than I can count but I remember each one as clear as day.” And I frequently did in my dreams.

She closed her eyes.

I remained silent, presuming she was weighing up her options, deciding whether or not to give me a chance. My pulse thudded in my ears. I had the urge to gnaw at the inside of my cheek but resisted.

Suddenly she stood, held out her hand. “Come, this way.”

My emotions ballooned. Was she going to lead me to the front door or was this it? Was I finally going to be given the chance to adore my Julie? Worship her marked skin, delve into her core, be at one with the woman who’d stolen my heart?

That thought made me pause, and I stared at the flickering flames. Yes, she really
had
stolen my heart. If she led me to the door and bid me goodnight, I wasn’t sure how I’d carry on. I’d become embroiled in her, seeing her, watching her, being close to her. I’d let her into a place no one had been before.

“Don’t look so worried,” she said, cupping my chin. “I don’t bite, though I don’t mind if you do.”

I smiled at that, and it was as if a ton of weight lifted from me. Suddenly I felt light, free. She was going to let me stay. I was sure of it.

“Let’s see if we’re as compatible as we think we are,” she said, strutting forward, her arse wiggling delightfully in her tight jeans.