Sugar (4 page)

“So where are you back from?” she asked, as much from genuine curiosity as wanting to shift the subject away from her.

“Hell.” His sudden sobering told her he wasn’t joking—and that he was a lot more complicated than just another entitled rich guy out for a thrill.

Whatever his deal—mood disorder, recent divorce, or something much darker—she was done with being a fixer. Her trusty vibrator waited. Thanks to her sexy rescuer, she’d have an inventory of fresh fantasies to play out in her head while pleasuring herself.

“Well, thanks again for coming to my rescue.” She shoved a hand inside her broken bag, brought out some loose bills, and threw two twenties down on the table—more than enough to cover their check, along with a healthy tip for their server. Eye on the exit door, she scooted out and stood.

Cole rose with her. “This is how you say thank you? You’re not the only one who likes dessert. I was just about to order pie. Stick around.” He didn’t exactly body block her, but his stance meant she’d have to go around him to leave.

She planted a fist on one hip as her grandma used to do, the universal posture of strong women. “Look, I really appreciate what you did for me earlier, and for the record I’m happy to pay for your dry cleaning or buy you a new tux—and yes, I realize it’s Ralph Lauren. But if you think I owe you something more—”

“You don’t owe me shit.” He wisely kept his arms at his sides. Had he attempted to touch her, let alone hold her back, he would have found his groin greeting her knee.

“Great, then we’re done here.”

“Not quite. I’d like to see you again.”

He stood so close she could feel his exhaled breath touching her cheek. The alcohol she’d smelled on him earlier was gone now, obliterated by weak coffee and greasy food and, she suspected, the fistful of candy mints he’d grabbed from the dish on their way inside. Beneath the rumpled tux, his skin exuded expensive cologne, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of male arousal. If she licked him, he would taste briny like the Blue Point Oysters she’d missed while in California. Without looking down, she knew his erection was a hairsbreadth away from brushing the bottom of her belly. Suddenly his hardness and strength were everything she wanted to feel. The thought of all that male muscle and liquid heat grinding against her made her want to scoot back onto the table’s edge, slip down her pants, and spread her legs—
wide
.

Instead she shook her head. “Thanks, that’s very flattering, but I’m not interested.”

That was a lie. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so interested. Even in his better days, Danny had never made her feel anything close to this. In the last few minutes, her panties’ crotch had gone from moist to milking. If she stuck around much longer, she’d be leading him into the bathroom for a quickie.

“It’s not meant to be flattering. It’s meant to be honest.”

“How’s this for honest? I don’t date.”

“Great neither do I. So now that we’ve settled that, your place or mine?”

His was alpha male on steroids. She should be pissed off; she
was
pissed off, but she was also reluctantly, irredeemably hot for him. “You don’t take no for an answer do you?”

His squared jaw jutted ever so slightly. “Never.”

“I don’t hook up with strangers.”

Just because she was a porn star didn’t mean any guy who felt like it could walk up and fuck her. For many men, that was news. As much as the public equated pornography with promiscuity, she’d always been picky about her lovers. Her sexual health was too important to her not to be. Given that performers were screened for STDs every fourteen to twenty-eight days, she was a pretty safe bet.

He nodded. “Good plan. Fortunately we’re not strangers. I saved your ass, and you just bought me breakfast.” Looking beyond her, he flagged down the harried server for the check. “I’m guessing that you live close by, probably just a few blocks from that bodega—unless you have a thing about trekking across town to buy single-serving ice cream cups, which would be a time suck as well as really weird.”

Even while turning her on, he could floor her by saying something funny. Fighting smiling, she dragged a hand through her loosened hair, the clip lost somewhere along the way. “I live a few blocks away . . . on Elizabeth Street,” she admitted.” Jesus, why had she told him that! A man like Cole would see that as an invitation to fuck her. Then again, wasn’t it?

His smile broadened. “Great, it’s your place then. I just hope you’re not a slob or something. Panties on the floor and dishes in the sink are big libido busters for me.”

He really was . . . impossible. She shook her head. “Jesus, you don’t quit do you? How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

He appeared to consider that. “You said you came back to the city to help out a friend, right?”

Wondering what he was getting at, she said, “Yeah, what about it?”

“So send her a text message. Let her know who you’re with.” He jammed a hand into his back pocket and brought out a wallet, worn but obviously expensive. “Here’s my driver’s license. Tell her you’re with me, give her my name and license number, and that way in the extremely unlikely event they find you floating in the Hudson, she’ll know who to send the cops after.” He flipped the driver’s license toward her.

Colvin A. Canning. His surname screamed Hamptons set. The photograph, more than five years old, showed a younger, brighter-eyed him. Birth year of 1984, which made him just thirty, four years younger than she, not that it mattered—much. The surname sounded familiar, but then maybe it was because it was so fucking waspy—more fodder for her trust-fund-brat theory.

She looked from the license to him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He slanted a smart-assed smile. “I guess it’s a little late in the game to mention I’m a virgin.”

She gave up and laughed. “You’re funny.” When was the last time a man had made her laugh? Like making her wet, it had been a while.

“Yeah, I know, Letterman had better watch out. Seriously, though, I have one condition.”

“You . . .
you
have conditions. You’re the one who propositioned me, buddy.” Sarah didn’t know what she wanted to do more—fuck him or slap him. Actually she wanted to do both—preferably at the same time.

Grinning, he said, “Just remember, what happens in Soho stays in Soho.”

S
arah closed the apartment door behind Cole. Throwing her bag and keys down on the counter, she announced, “So this is it.”

Despite all the sexual teasing that had gone down at the diner, he hadn’t laid a finger on her in the cab, hadn’t made a move to kiss her, either. Now that they were alone, sans leering cabbies or weary waitresses, she felt strangely . . . shy. A shy porn actress, talk about your oxymoron! But then things had gotten seriously messed up in LA. Being stalked certainly wasn’t how she would have chosen to close out that decade-long chapter of her history. Once the notes had begun, bringing a man back to her place had been out of the question. But she was in New York now, a whole other coast and a country’s breadth between her and whatever menace might remain. So long as she flew under the radar, she was safe here.

This man, Cole, didn’t know about any of that. So far, he didn’t even know who she was, although from his suggestion that they might have met before, she’d begun to suspect he’d seen some of her films. If her luck held, by the time he placed her, if he did so at all, their hookup would be a distant, hot memory for them both.

“Do you uh . . . want something to drink?” she asked, and then remembered that other than Evian and the vegetable juice she’d made from produce purchased from the Union Square green market, she had nothing to offer him.

God, I really suck at this
.

Danny had been her single serious relationship. Before him, she hadn’t dated all that much. Without a script, director, and production squad calling the shots, she wasn’t sure what to say or do.

Holding back at the door, Cole shook his head. “Thanks, but apparently I’ve had too much already.”

His reference to her earlier rebuff brought out a reluctant smile. “Right, sorry about that. I’m not always so . . . preachy. It’s just that my last relationship was with an alcoholic, and I’m trying to . . . turn over a new leaf, I guess.”

Danny’s boozing and blame shifting and occasional brutishness had reminded her entirely too much of dealing with her dad. The slap wasn’t the only reason she’d broken it off with him, but it had shocked her into admitting the truth.

Whether he got clean and sober or stayed wasted and high, she wasn’t ever going to love him.

Cole’s gaze, unsettlingly serious, fixed on hers. “I want to be upfront with you, Sarah. I’m not a relationship guy. Whatever happens between us, it’s just for fun.”

The dreaded relationship word had slipped out without her thinking. Worse still, she’d brought up her ex. Clearly she should go back and reread
The Rules
! Her double gaffe had heat flooding her face. A blush? It had been so long, she’d forgotten what one felt like.

Seeking to do damage control, she gave a quick nod. “Got it, thanks, but you can relax. I’m not looking for a relationship either. I’m . . . taking a break from all that.” She was, in fact, looking for commitment with all the trimmings, but she’d save that speech for someone who was open to hearing it.

That someone was definitely not Cole. He might have come to her rescue outside the bodega, but he was no Prince Charming. He was exactly what she’d first figured him for, an uber-hot, trust-fund brat who liked to party and play. Still, she had to give him props for doing his full disclosure
before
they’d fucked instead of after. The old-school code of honor wasn’t anything close to common.

Like a fish let off the hook, he eased his expression. He pushed away from the wall and took a step toward her. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, about that good time I promised you . . .”

She held out an arm, warding him off. “First things first, give me your cell.”

He halted. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“No, I’m totally serious—no photos, no videos.”

His blue eyes bugged. “I wasn’t planning on taking any.”

“Great, then you won’t have a problem handing over your phone.” Palm turned up, she waited.

His tightening jaw told her he was seriously ticked, maybe even enough to turn and walk out. Given her circumstances, it was a chance she had to take.

“I just gave you my word. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Sarah felt a bitter laugh bubbling up. If she’d had a buck for every man who’d given her his
word
and broken or bent it, she could have quit after ten films rather than a hundred. “Your promise will mean a lot more if you back it up with action.”

Tension throbbed between them. His blue eyes bore into hers. Despite a night of drinking followed by the chase and street fight, despite the obvious hard-on pressing against his pants, he stood with his shoulders back and his head high, his bearing almost military. Clearly he was used to being the one who gave the orders. Having the tables turned didn’t sit well with him, she could see.

The temptation to back down and let him hold onto the phone was strong—but this once Sarah’s will was stronger. “So, are you in or are you out?”

He reached out and smacked the phone into her hand. “You really don’t trust men, do you?”

“Trust has to be earned.” She crossed to the open kitchen. Reaching over the counter, she pulled out a drawer and dropped the phone inside. Turning back to him, she said, “Where were we?”

Fierce eyes raked over her. “We were just about to fuck.”

His coarseness would offend some women, okay, most women, especially on a first “date,” but Sarah wasn’t them. Turned on as hell, she met his unblinking stare head on. “You’re a cocky son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”

He didn’t deny it. “Maybe I have something to be cocky about. There’s only one way to find out.” Shucking off his coat, he let it fall to the floor and beckoned her over.

Sarah stayed put. “It’s my place. Why don’t you come here?”

Cole closed the gap between them in a single stride, catching her about the waist. “You like being in charge, don’t you?” he asked, lifting her off her feet and crushing her against him. Slammed against his hardness and heat, Sarah swallowed. “Sometimes.” At others, nothing got her off quite like being “forced” down onto her knees. But that kind of play required a level of trust built over time, not a single madcap night.

“Yeah, me too.”

He swept the purse aside and set her down on the counter, the chipped Coriander cool beneath her bum. Stepping between her legs, he lifted her chin on the knuckles of his bloodied hand.

She glanced down. “You should probably put something on the hand. You want Neosporin? Ice?”

“Right now what I want . . .
all
I want is you.”

His hand fell away. Arms like whipcords banded about her. He angled his face to hers. Seen up close, his lips looked luscious, moist and soft. In her experience, a man’s kiss said a lot about how he fucked. If he knew what to do with his tongue, odds were he would wield his cock with similar expertise. Unfortunately the opposite also held true.

Cole matched his mouth to hers. From the moment their lips touched, she knew it was going to be amazing—the kissing, the fucking, all of it. His wasn’t so much a kiss as it was a claiming. Firm lips took possession of hers. A knowing tongue plundered, punished, and pleased. Strong teeth nipped at her lower lip, the line of her jaw, the pulse point at the side of her neck. Gentled lips soothed her, sipping at her sweetness. A stubble-blanketed jaw scraped across her cheek, scoring her skin, the grazing caress making her shudder.

He drew back, resting his forehead on hers. “Too much?”

Breathless, she shook her head. “I like it.”

A low laugh rumbled from his chest. “Right, all the flavors.”

He reached between them, his big hand covering her right breast. Capturing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he rolled it. The pinching wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it got her attention. Her squeal segued to moaning. Captured, she squirmed on her bottom, seeking to bring him closer, his cock especially. Danny’s drinking and drugging had made for a soft dick, and it had been more than a year since she’d been with a man other than on set. Since she never came on camera, those choreographed encounters hardly seemed to count.