A Kept Man (11 page)

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

She didn’t want to talk at all. She didn’t even open her
eyes. “Not really.”

“Maybe I could help you figure out what the problem is.”

“There’s no need. I know what the problem is.”

“What is it then?”

This time, her sigh had nothing to do with a sense of ease. She could
feel the stress begin to climb back into her shoulders. He must have
too. He began to deepen his ministrations.

“The problem is, I’m supposed to be writing a book about
my experiences, and I no longer trust my memories.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

“But I’m not sure I have the energy.”

“Bad experience?”

There was an understatement. “The worst.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you’re not working
as a reporter anymore?”

Her eyes popped open at that. “What do you know about that?”

“Only what Felicity said. You’re not reporting anymore. I
figured, thirty-three’s a little young to retire.”

She slowly relaxed. She didn’t like the idea of Felicity
telling anyone any part of the sordid story. “I told you you’re
not as dumb as you pretend to be.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m a good judge of character.”
She cringed. “At least I always thought I was.”

“Someone proved you wrong?”

“Big time.”

“And because you figured one person wrong, you’re
starting to wonder who else you might have misjudged?”

“I’m supposed to be writing fact, not fiction. It’s
a little hard to do that when you can’t be sure what the facts
are.”

“Maybe you’re overreacting. Maybe it’s not such a
big deal that you had one person pegged wrong. Everybody makes
mistakes.”

“Not like this.”

“I might be able to convince you otherwise if I had all the
details.”

She gave a vehement shake of her head. “No, I’m really
not up for that.”

He moved around and sat at the end of the deckchair, lifting her feet
into his lap. “What are you up for?”

She watched as he began to rub her ankles and heels. She tried to
remember the last time a man had rubbed her feet. Probably never.
“You.”

His smile deepened, revealing that irresistible dimple. She had the
insane urge to run her tongue into the tiny crevice.

“Well, it’s about time.”

“Information about you.”

He lifted his eyes skyward. “That’s a lot less fun.”

“Not for me. I want to know everything there is to know about
you. Why you do what you do. What makes you tick.”

“What are you, writing a book?”

“That’s not a bad idea. A book about the men who spend
their days servicing”—she grinned—“I mean,
serving
, Hollywood’s wealthiest women.”

“‘Men?’” he echoed.

“Well, I will have to have more than one source.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous, Jess?”

“Why should you be jealous? Our relationship is professional,
not personal, isn’t it?”

Both the lingering look he sent her and the sudden heat that suffused
her body told her it couldn’t be more personal.

“Don’t you already have a book to worry about?”

“It’s never too early to start thinking about my
follow-up project.”

“Are you really interested in that, or are you just trying to
keep some distance between us by reminding yourself constantly of
what you think I am?”

“I have to focus on that because you won’t tell me what
your story really is.”

He sobered, his hands stilling on her feet. His mood changed so
quickly it knocked her off balance. “I’m just a man,
Jess. That’s all. Just a man who happens to think you’re
sexy as hell. It’s that simple.”

Jess shook her head. “Yeah, right. You were so overwhelmed the
first moment you saw me that you immediately started flirting. What
else are you selling, because I’m not buying that.”

He tilted his head and scrutinized her through narrowed eyes. She
felt oddly exposed under the force of his gaze, as though he was
seeing more than he possibly could.

“You don’t believe I’m attracted to you.”

“I believe you’re probably attracted to anything in a
skirt.”

“I’ve never seen you in a skirt.”

“You know what I mean.”

He nodded. “Yes, I do. You don’t believe my feelings are
genuine.”

“I don’t believe anything about you is genuine.”

He didn’t have a quick comeback for that. He leaned closer,
until she was sure he was going to kiss her. He didn’t. He
stopped a few inches away from her face and peered directly into her
eyes.

“I’m attracted to you, Jess. Really and truly. If you can
believe anything, you can believe that.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, the emotion in his eyes so
intense she could almost feel it physically washing over her. He’d
looked at her like this before, and she’d reacted exactly the
same way. When she finally managed to look away, she was almost
shaking from the impact of what she saw there.

She could deal with his innuendo. She’d learned to listen
through the practiced syntax of the most polished politicians to what
they were really saying. She knew when she was being fed a line and
recognized when she was being flattered because someone had ulterior
motives. She wasn’t about to let herself be swayed by words.

She could handle his closeness. She’d stared down men twice her
size and squared off against people that would have most men cowering
in fear inside a minute. Physically, Charlie was incapable of
intimidating her.

But she wasn’t certain she could resist the way he looked at
her. Like a man did at a woman he wanted to strip naked and ravage.
Recalling that carnivorous gleam in his eye, Jess shivered. That was
the word for it. Ravage. There was nothing soft or sweet in Charlie’s
attention. One look, and she knew. He wanted her. On her back. On top
of him. On a bed or on the kitchen floor. He wanted her.

One look, and she became a trembling bundle of nerves. There was
something frightening and powerful about that, but most of all
foreign.

She’d been the kind of girl with two skinned knees and dirt on
her face. She’d grown into the type of woman men learned to
respect, not desire. She was Jess, one of the guys. It was how she’d
always wanted it, how she still wanted it. She wasn’t frilly or
girly. She hated shopping, never thought about clothes, and generally
didn’t give a damn what she looked like. Those were the kinds
of girls who’d had guys slobbering all over them.

To the men she’d slept with—colleagues, men she’d
met in the field—she’d often only been a woman in the
respect that she had all the right parts. Otherwise, she was just one
of the guys. That was how she wanted it of course. She’d worked
hard to gain the respect of her peers and took pride that they saw
her abilities as equal to, if not better than, their own. At the same
time, it guaranteed that the attraction that burned through the night
was doomed to be extinguished by the rising sun.

At night, after a few beers were downed and the loneliness and
isolation of being far from home and loved ones settled in, the need
to be with someone was hard to ignore. So was the fact that Jess was
a woman. Sure, Mitch Halloran had a pair of boobs, and big ones too,
but hers were nicer and she had all the right equipment, or lack
thereof, between her legs. And in a smoke-filled bar just before
closing or under the dim illumination of a desert moon, she could see
what circumstance or her own professionalism had never let her notice
before. That Toby Meyerson’s eyes were the exact color as the
Mediterranean, or Brendan Dougall had the sexiest accent she’d
ever heard and an even better body.

When the sun came up, she was back to being just Jess, another
reporter, not a woman. Toby was a man she worked with and Brendan was
none-too-bright. Everyone forgot to think of each other as sexual
creatures again.

It was a paradox, one that had never really bothered before. She
hadn’t had time to think about it. Once that particular itch
had been scratched, she was back to doing her job. Now she had all
the time in the world to consider it. And there was Charlie, a man
who with every glance made it clear he saw her as a woman. When he
looked at her, she felt sexy and desirable and feminine. And she
liked it.

She almost laughed. She’d never been a woman who gave a damn
about her appearance or wanted men to view her in a sexual way. She
should certainly know better than to trust any signals Charlie was
sending her. They were far from trustworthy. He’s a pro,
literally. His livelihood depending on making women he felt no
attraction to feel desirable.

That’s all from you. All from touching you, from being this
close to you. From wanting you. You know that, don’t you?

She had in the heat of the moment, when the look in his eyes had been
as intoxicating as any drug and she could feel the hard ridge of his
cock between her legs. Now that she was thinking clearer, she knew
better. The man was a walking hormone. All he probably had to do was
breathe and he’d get hard.

And yet, damned if it didn’t feel good to see the light of
attraction in a man’s eyes.

He’d gone back to massaging her feet when she lapsed into
silence. Jess lifted her head.

“Charlie?”

He seemed surprised that she’d broken the silence. His hands
slowed on her feet. His eyes widened. “Yes?”

She didn’t let herself think about what she was about to ask.
She couldn’t. She was playing with fire and she knew it. “Will
you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me.”

A slow smile began to dawn on his face. She held up a hand in warning
before it could fully form.

“Not like last night in the pool. No groping. No touching me
anywhere below the neck. Just...kiss me.”

She could tell he didn’t really understand. He didn’t
need to. Besides, she liked having the upper hand for once.

“Can you do that?”

There was a plaintive note in her voice she wasn’t entirely
comfortable with, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Not
when Charlie slowly lowered her feet back onto the cushions and moved
forward to sit at her side.

He did as she asked and didn’t touch her. Her awareness of his
closeness was so potent it almost didn’t matter.

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” he asked.

“Kiss me like you mean it.”

“That’s no prob—”

She pressed a finger against his lips, cutting off the words.

“Don’t. Just the kiss.”

He gave no indication he found her request odd. He merely nodded.

She dropped her finger.

He reached forward and cupped the back of her head in his left hand.
His fingers caught in her hair, the feel of his smooth skin sending
delicious tingles down her neck. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her
lips fell open slightly. She forgot to breathe.

Then his mouth was on hers. It was softer than she expected, the
meeting of their lips a light caress, the briefest of strokes. They
met and parted just as quickly, the contact so tantalizing she
unconsciously leaned forward for more.

“That’s—” She opened her mouth further to
protest that wasn’t what she’d intended. She shouldn’t
have bothered. He was already back, catching her lips with his. His
mouth moved quickly, purposely, against hers. He suckled gently, not
too much saliva. Just right. His tongue swept into her mouth,
unerringly finding the sweet spot and stroking against it. Their
tongues met. His moved against her own, coaxing it to respond,
teasing her. She automatically reacted, kissing him back. They found
a tempo, acting and reacting to each other in perfect harmony. The
only parts of themselves that touched were their lips, but they moved
together as naturally as two dancers in a ballroom, or two lovers in
a bedroom.

And then he was pulling away. She didn’t know how long the kiss
had lasted. She did know it had ended too soon. She didn’t
immediately open her eyes, wanting to savor the moment, the taste and
feel of him on her lips.

When she finally, drowsily, opened them, it felt like she was waking
from a dream.

Charlie sat there, watching her. His own eyes were unreadable. There
was no expression on his face.

“How was that?”

“Perfect,” she breathed.

There was an almost imperceptible gentling of his expression. “Can
I do anything else for you?”

Yes! her body screamed.

“No,” she said. Even she heard the sound of
disappointment in her voice.

Charlie shook his head, his smile rueful. “I do think you’re
a masochist, Jess Harper. You really seem to be into torture.”

“You’re a big boy. I think you’ll survive.”

“I wasn’t just talking about me.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. He was right. Kissing him
was a mistake, because all it did was make her want to kiss him more.
Denying herself that would indeed be torture.

Fortunately he didn’t press the point. He pushed himself off
the chair and rose to his feet. “Good night, Jess,” he
said softly.

“Good night, Charlie.”

With a nod, he walked away to the guesthouse.

She watched until he closed the door behind himself, but made no move
to leave herself. She wanted to stay just a little while longer and
hold on to the moment as long as she could.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed someone,
or been kissed by them, like that before. It was like going back to
her first kiss, a feeling she’d never thought she’d be
able to recapture, but this was better. She’d forgotten what it
was like to kiss someone like that, to be so caught up in a guy that
time and duration didn’t matter. All that mattered was kissing
him, and never wanting that to stop, never being able to get enough.
It was different that sex. Sex was more intense. Sex had a clear
ending when a climax was reached. But a kiss could go on forever.