Taking Her There (6 page)

Andre lifted his chin. Even though he’d expected her actions, and he’d tried preparing himself, it still hit him in the gut. What in the hell made him think she’d dump Luke Edwards for a struggling artist who paid the bills by driving people around? “I see.”

“So I’ll call the agency later on today and have them send over your replacement as soon as possible.”

He nodded. Slowly. Without releasing her from his intense stare.

She crossed her legs and wagged her foot, completely comfortable. “No questions?”

“How long do I have?”

“Why? Feel like getting behind the wheel one last time?”

He clenched his teeth. “I just want to know how much time I have to find a new place to live.”

“I never said you had to move out.”

What?
He replayed the sentence again in his mind, but it still made no sense.

“It’s simple,” she continued. “I need to get my image back under control so I can stop being the butt of every late-night talk show, and so I can eventually star in some family films when I start getting old and matronly looking. I can’t sleep with my driver, so…you’re not my driver.”

He crossed his arms. “So you’re firing me so you can sleep with me?”

She shrugged. As if these conversations happened all the time. “I want to continue sleeping with you. Is that a problem?”

“Well, yeah, I have a little problem. I need a job.”

“What do you call that?” She gestured toward his studio.

“That? That’s my dream.”

“Huh. But if you do it well, do people pay you for it?”

“Well…yes. But—”

“Sounds a lot like my dream.” She went back to focusing on her bare foot, and he went back to trying to make sense of her visit. “But when I get paid for something I do—even though it’s not a tangible product—that’s what we call a job.”

Andre turned away from her. “I must be sleep deprived. I can’t make sense out of whatever you’re trying to say.” Twenty minutes ago, he’d been elated to finally finish his piece. And it had turned out better than he’d originally planned. Now he’d lost his job…or had he? He dragged both hands down his face.

His thoughts were interrupted when she slid her cool hands up his chest just as she plastered herself against his back. “We can talk later. First, let’s give that whole sleeping-together thing a try.”

“What? Now?” He must be dead on his feet, because he didn’t even resist when she took his hand and tugged him down the hallway and into the bedroom.

“Sleep. In the literal sense. You look like you haven’t closed your eyes since our nap yesterday.”

She left him standing in the middle of the room and pulled the comforter aside before reaching beneath her T-shirt to release her bra.

Andre watched, half entranced by her unaffected show and still very confused. “What about Luke?”

“Not invited. This is a private party.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about Luke. He’s the last person I want to think about right now.” She stepped out of her cutoff shorts but left her boyleg underwear. “Just know that he’s gone and he won’t be back. We can discuss all the details after a few hours’ sleep.”

He went willingly as she slipped between the sheets and pulled him in beside her, sweatpants and all. He adjusted his body around hers, his brain trying like hell to make sense of what was going on, but Angeline was here. In his bed. Not much else seemed to matter. He squeezed her.

“What are you doing here?” He spoke into her hair. “Did you just fire me?”

Snuggling up against him, she planted a kiss right above his nipple. “Your job description just changed, that’s all.”

“Hm. Gigolo?”

“You wish. No, I fully expect you to earn your room and board, just not as my driver.” She traced a circle around his nipple. “As a full-time artist, I expect you’ll find several projects and clients, as well as an original for my game room.”

“Hm.” It started to sink in, but he was exhausted and not thinking clearly. It hit him harder now that he’d lain down. “Maybe you’ll make more sense when I wake up.”

“Listen, when I first moved to LA, I had to work my ass off with two lousy jobs just to live in a shitty studio apartment I shared with another girl. There are hundreds—
thousands
of actors out there just trying to get noticed, to land that one part that will make the difference between a credited role and another week eating ramen noodles. I didn’t have help. And while that should have turned me into a more compassionate person, all it really did was made me a spoiled little bitch who thought that by struggling my way to the top, I deserved nothing less.

“I want to give back. Even if it’s just reduced rent in this one-bedroom apartment while you make it big. I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m emasculating you or trying to buy a bed partner. Just think of our arrangement as a live-in artist. All the badass medieval royalty had those, right? Then you can thank me when you get your…whatever award artists get.”

He chuckled. “You’re outrageous.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“I thought you were reforming.”

“I thought you liked outrageous.”

Chapter Five

“Take us home, Paul.”

“Right away.”

Angeline kicked off her heels and curled up against Andre’s side. “I told you they’d love it.”

He draped his arm over her shoulders and squeezed her tight. “I still can’t believe my artwork is hanging at the governor’s mansion.” The limousine rolled through the gates behind a Bentley and another limo carrying other invited guests.

Angeline smiled. After a few questions from the press and dozens of pictures on their way into the unveiling, the media had thankfully left her and Andre alone throughout the ceremony, only snapping pictures whenever she gazed up into his eyes. She probably came across as some love-struck idiot, but for once, she didn’t care. She only hoped her presence didn’t detract from Andre’s big day.

She slipped her hand beneath his tux jacket and tugged him even closer. She’d kept a respectable distance throughout the lunch and ceremony, even as the new governor led one gushing fan after another to meet him. His smile shone brilliantly, his masterpiece the perfect background for every news station’s cover shot. Angeline knew nothing about art, but Andre’s painting had truly taken her breath away. And she wasn’t the only one who loved it. Moments after the unveiling, four austere-looking dudes in Armani suits stood with their heads together, gesturing wildly at the California mountain peak painted in unnaturally vibrant colors, and nodded with excitement. A gray-haired woman who reeked of old money insisted on an appointment next Tuesday. One woman in a skintight dress and Italian shoes asked for his card.

“I thought I was going to have to mark my territory back there.” She pouted.

He chuckled. “I think everyone was well aware of who I came in with. If you weren’t standing beside me the whole time, I think they would have forgotten all about me.”

“I doubt that. In fact, most of the women there only spared me a glance to size up the competition.”

He cupped her chin and forced her gaze up to his. “Angeline Rowe? Jealous?”

“Well, you did have that pretty young intern beside you at lunch…”

“And a beautiful movie star on my other side”—he lowered his voice—“who kept reaching under the napkin on my lap…”

“No one could see.”

“Maybe not your hand, but there’s no way they could have missed my reaction.”

“I just happen to like your…reaction.”

He growled.

She smiled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’m so proud of you. But now the secret’s out, and I’ll have to make an appointment to see you. Maybe the
Daily Mail
was right. You’re too good for me.”

“The
Daily Mail
hasn’t seen you at your finest like I have.”

“Oh? You mean first thing in the morning, when I have bed-head and dark circles?”

He smiled down at her. His expression so tender it almost made her chest ache.

“That’s when I find you the most beautiful. Your eyelids heavy from sleep, your cheeks rosy, your hair a wild array, making you look completely beddable.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Beddable? Is that even a word?”

“Sure it is. Also, the
Daily Mail
doesn’t get to see the passionate woman strong enough to ignore the hateful things in the news, funny enough to keep me smiling and intelligent enough for meaningful conversation as we sit in front of a fireplace with marshmallows on our roasting sticks.”

“I don’t remember much conversation in front of that fireplace, but I do remember the passion.” In fact, the next day, Angeline’s new housekeeper had berated her about the melted marshmallow stuck to the plush carpet fibers, but all Angeline could do was giggle like a little kid.

Angeline closed her eyes and wondered how the hell she’d gotten so lucky. In the past two weeks, he’d played the part of friend, lover and even addiction counselor. When he held her through a flashback, whispering all the right things, Angeline knew she was in serious jeopardy of losing her heart.

“It still seems so surreal. The cameras, the questions… I don’t know how you do it every day.”

She grinned. “If you hate it, you could always turn into one of those recluse artists. Live off of raw meat and home-grown carrots. Scream at anyone who sets foot on your lawn…”

“I knew you wanted a kept man. Not gonna happen, Angel.”

“Maybe just for tonight?” She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I bought some new silk scarves…”

“Is that right?” He spoke low, his breath tickling her earlobe. “Are those for me?” He kissed the shell of her ear, then her jaw. “Or for you?”

“We can take turns.”

He leaned down to kiss her, and with her bare toe, she pushed the mute button.

About the Author

Olivia Brynn is the very saucy alter ego of romance author Alanna Coca. Olivia was the one who lured Alanna into trouble as a child. She also would have been the one to get her mouth washed out with soap. Since controlling Olivia wasn’t easy, Alanna realized what fun Olivia had writing sexy romances without censor, so she set her alter ego free with Olivia’s first book,
For a Price
, a story about one woman’s journey to sell her virginity. Other books followed, earning five-star reviews and bestselling status. Olivia writes contemporary erotic romance near a window where the view of the Rocky Mountains beckons her. Visit
www.oliviabrynn.com
and email Olivia at
[email protected]
. She can also be found on twitter
@OliviaBrynn
and Facebook at
www.facebook.com/oliviabrynnauthor
.

Look for these titles by Olivia Brynn

Now Available:

Position Secured

Last Call

When sparks flare, stop, drop and roll with it.

Last Call

© 2012 Olivia Brynn

When Eric Layton lunges for his ringing cell phone in the middle of the night, he’s halfway to the door before he realizes it’s not his chief summoning him to an out-of-control fire. It’s an out-of-control woman who’s too tipsy to figure out she’s dialed the wrong number. But the line goes dead before he can explain he’s not her brother.

His conscience won’t let him leave the woman to wait for a ride that’s never going to come. Yet nothing prepares him for the chemistry when he helps Joanne into his truck. She’s curvy, blonde, and vulnerable—a three-alarm warning to do the right thing and keep her at arm’s length.

Still keeping watch over her through the night sounds reasonable. Until she awakens, and desire burns reason to a crisp…

Warning: Contains explicit sex scenes that may be too hot for summer reading. Author recommends you check to make sure your air-conditioning is in working order and turned up full blast.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Last Call:

Joanne smiled. Waking up in the warm embrace of a man had to be one of the best things in life. She snuggled against the hard body. Clothes? Andrew?

She opened her eyes and looked up into the face of the man in bed with her. Angled jaw, whiskers, full lips slightly parted, and strong brow. It wasn’t Andrew. It was Kevin’s friend Joe, who had picked her up from the bar.

She moved closer and closed her eyes again, listening to his deep, even breathing and the steady beat of his heart. Not many men would have driven across town to pick up a friend’s little sister. Or treated her with the compassion he had. Kevin must be a very good friend of his. She’d have to grill her brother about this guy. She thought she knew all of his friends. Maybe Kevin was keeping her from him, knowing she’d be lust-struck.

But he had sent Joe to the Ranger.

She smoothed his T-shirt over the hard curves of his chest. Breathing in the faint remnants of his cologne, clean and masculine, like sandalwood and hickory, was a reminder that she didn’t know him from Adam.

But he did smell nice.