The Things She Says (8 page)

Five pieces later, she couldn’t shove anything else in her mouth with a pitchfork.

Kris reclined on the floor opposite her, licking his fingers, and she avoided another stray glance at his tongue. Too late. Heat gathered in her core as she recalled the way he’d devoured her at the top of the Ferris wheel. He’d done something wicked with his mouth, drawing her tongue into it and sucking, but she’d felt it between her legs simultaneously.

“Is it tomorrow yet?” he asked, and she glanced at him.

He was watching her, his eyelids low and sexy as if well sated after a good, hard roll in silk sheets. Why did he have to be so hot?

“It’ll be dawn soon. I guess that makes it tomorrow.”

“Then what’s stage six?”

“What’s the fascination with stage six?”

What was her fascination with his mouth? She couldn’t stop staring at it. She wanted to keep him talking but this was the wrong subject.

“The best way to get me interested in something is to withhold it. Curiosity isn’t only hazardous to felines.”

Bingo. The secret to romancing Kris was to withhold. And keep withholding until he was exploding with need. She sighed. Useless information now. “Of course. You don’t really care what stage six is. You just care that I know something you don’t.”

He grinned and leaned back against the couch, legs spread underneath the coffee table. “Exactly.”

Lights from the window threw his body into relief. Hair fell into his face against the fine planes of his cheekbones, and she sat on her hands before she did something really ill-advised. Only a dimwit licked a battery twice. “Well, you know lots of things I don’t. How is that fair?”

“Trade you, then. Tell me about stage six, and I’ll tell you something you don’t know.”

Suspicious, she planted her elbows on the low table and leaned forward. “No deal. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

She wasn’t. She’d never been more awake—aware—in her life. There was a coffee table between them but it provided no barricade against the spark of his presence.

Gracefully, he edged across the carpet and tipped her head up with the finger that, seconds ago, had been in his mouth. His heat branded her chin and she wasn’t so sure she had it in her to withhold anything from him.

He peered into her eyes. “What’s going on in there? Are you afraid of something?”

“Kris. Please don’t touch me.”

“You are afraid. Of me.” His shoulders slumped as he dropped his hand to the floor. “I don’t want you to be afraid. Would you prefer a separate room?”

“No!” Had she shouted? “I mean, I’m not scared of you. This whole middle-of-the-night scenario just isn’t proper. You’re about to be engaged, and we’ve already...done things. Things we shouldn’t have. I know I gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not some wild woman out for a good time with the first man I find.”

“I don’t think that.” He reclined into a different position. Closer. He extended his long legs behind her and propped up his head on his palm as if they were having a slumber party instead of a Come To Jesus about this electric attraction boiling the atmosphere.

She rolled her eyes. “Why wouldn’t you? I attacked you. On the Ferris wheel.”

“Well, I was warned you’d take advantage of me at the first opportunity.” He was fighting a smile. “It’s my own fault I allowed myself to fall into your clutches. Would you feel better if I told you I knew what you were up to at the carnival?”

No, she would have preferred to continue deluding herself about how clever she was. But obviously that ship had sailed.

“Kris.” She couldn’t keep up this back-and-forth dance. “You have to do the engagement, and I can’t be your dirty secret, hiding in the extra room and pretending to be your assistant or whatever. There can’t be anything between us. That’s why we can’t talk about stage six.”

His entire body stiffened, and she was ashamed to have noticed.

“I never intended to make you feel like a dirty secret when I offered the extra room. I’m sorry,” he said. Sincerity deepened the hollows along his cheekbones. “We could have avoided all this if you’d taken my trade.”

“What trade? Oh, where I tell you about stage six and you tell me something?” She exhaled. Well, she’d laid it all out there, and he’d apologized instead of laughing. What’s the worst that could happen now? “Fine. Dazzle me.”

Eyes dark and unfathomable, he stared at her. Slowly, he reached out to take her hand. He laced their fingers together and with a lift of his chin, he said, “You first. Stop being so cagey about stage six. Tell me what it is.”

His thumb traced her knuckles in a crazy, sensual pattern, and her brain shut down. At least that was her excuse for being so stupid as to continue this dangerous game of romance instruction. Being struck brainless had to be the reason she opened her mouth and whispered, “Consummation.”

His hand tightened and an elemental shock blistered up her arm as his expression heated. “I like stage six.”

She was trapped in his gaze, trapped by his touch. He lifted her hand to his mouth and watched her with clear intent as his lips molded around the tips of her fingers in a kiss.

“That wasn’t a suggestion. It’s only a word. We’re just talking.” She yanked her hand from his and desperation set in. He had to stop crawling inside her with that hooded expression, as if he’d been stranded on a desert island and she was water. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything anymore. You can get engaged to Kyla with a clear conscience. I give you my blessing. Now I told you about stage six. It’s your turn.”

He sat up and his presence spread, creeping into all the molecules around her until she was overwhelmed. “The engagement,” he said and waited until she met his eyes, quite against her will, before continuing. “Isn’t happening. I’m calling it off.”

The room snapped out of focus. “What?”

“It’s nothing more than a publicity stunt. A stupid one, at that. I won’t go through with it.”

Okay, she’d kind of already pieced together the publicity thing. But suddenly
bloodless
seemed too tame to describe such a cold business proposition, especially when applied to the institution of marriage.

“Wait.” Her head spun. “Is this because of all the things I said about romance and being in love? Am I
that
convincing?”

“You’re very convincing. But I never wanted to do it in the first place even though I saw the potential benefit.” He shrugged. “I decided it wasn’t worth it after all.”

“Just now you decided?” His nod answered that question. “But your career. Kris, you can’t give up your movie.”

“I’m not. There has to be another way. And I’ll find it.” He wouldn’t let her look away. “Please keep this between us. I can’t stop you from telling the media. But I’m asking you not to.”

“I’m not going to say anything.” What would she say when none of this revelation made a lick of sense? “Why are you telling me this?”

Please let him say he wanted to remove all the obstacles, in true heroic fashion, before sweeping her into his arms, professing his feelings and making love to her all night.

This was it, where fantasy became reality. Her pulse leaped like a gazelle. She was so underdressed.

“Because. I don’t want you to be upset about kissing me or about being here with me in a hotel room. The whole day was a blast. The most fun I’ve had in a long time. Let’s keep going.”

Fun.

The fried chicken churned greasily through her stomach. He was calling off the engagement because he didn’t want to do it. Not because she’d unlocked him and he couldn’t live without a fulfilling relationship a second longer.

“So,” he continued, oblivious to the crushing anvil pressing on her chest. “Door’s wide-open while I’m in Dallas. You’ve still got me in your clutches. Feel free to take advantage of me anytime.”

How romantic. Not only had nothing she’d said penetrated, he expected her to make the first move while he kept his heart nice and safe behind the wall marked No Trespassing. He was testing the waters to see if she might be up for a little no-strings-attached fling while he was in town.

“I have to get some sleep,” she whispered. “Two sleepless nights in a row might kill me.” If the poisoned arrows in her heart didn’t do the job first.

“Sure,” he said as she stumbled to her feet and fled for the bedroom.

With a quiet click, she closed the door. Spine against oak, she slid to the floor in a heap of terry-cloth robe and bit her lip, but the pain didn’t eclipse the hurt stinging through her heart.

Really, what had she expected?

Wait a minute.

She sat bolt upright. Kris might pretend to be a casual sex kind of guy, but if he really thought she was an easy target for a fling, tonight had been the perfect opportunity for seduction, with close quarters and various states of undress. Why hadn’t he gone ahead?

She crawled to the bed and climbed into it. He hadn’t because he’d wanted to put the power in her hands.

The power to what? Agree to a blistering liaison and then kiss him goodbye in a few days? What exactly
did
he want?

Chewing on her lip, she stared at the shut door, but her X-ray vision hadn’t improved. Yet she knew what was on the other side. Furniture. Carpet. Kris. Just like she knew what lay beyond the wall protecting Kris’s heart.

He lied to himself about not believing in love. Insisted he’d enter into a loveless business-arrangement engagement when he obviously couldn’t. Expended an enormous amount of energy suppressing his passionate nature. He piled all of it on top of that wall, keeping everyone out and himself in.

His greatest emotional need was to embrace the passion he kept buried, and he wanted—needed—her to shove him past that point of no return. It was the only way he’d crack, and his relationship with Kyla had been in the way. So he’d removed it from the equation. Expecting her to do the math.

But what if Greek math wasn’t the same as West Texas math, and she’d misread the situation? She thumped the pillow with a fist. She couldn’t be wrong. No way. His engine might be wired a little differently than most men, but she’d bet everything she had exactly the right key to start it.

It was a dare.

Subtly, he was asking if she was woman enough to rise to the challenge of winning his heart.

The answer was yes. Yes, she was.

Eight

A
fter an excellent night of sleep, Kris flipped on the water in the shower and experienced a moment of pure shock when he realized the buoyancy to his step was happiness.

VJ was so unlike other women. Challenging. Provoking. Exciting. He loved being around her. He hadn’t consciously planned to ditch the engagement, but she’d been so broken up about kissing him, the words had fallen out of his mouth. And the weight lifted instantly.

He hated the idea of manipulating the public with a fictitious engagement between the star and the director of a movie. How had it taken this long to realize it? There had to be a different publicity angle because he wasn’t doing the fake engagement. Now or ever. A desert mirage in an orange pickup truck had knocked some sense into his head.

What was wrong with selling tickets by promoting
Visions of Black
as a good film? He’d gladly work eighteen hours a day to generate that kind of publicity. Talk shows, viral campaigns via the internet, free early screenings. He’d find something Abrams and Kyla could agree to, even if he had to walk Ventura Boulevard with a bullhorn.

Kyla was going to be royally pissed but he’d deal with it.
Visions
would be good for her career, and she’d see that. He’d help her see that.

With all the complications out of the way, he could focus on VJ. He wanted to pick up where that Ferris-wheel kiss had ended. Right now.

Given her serious romantic fantasies, five bucks said
temporary
wasn’t in her vocabulary.
Permanent
wasn’t in his. Couldn’t be in his. Which meant he had to back off. Way off. He’d laid out his availability for whatever she could cook up. Now it was up to her to decide if she’d jump into a short-term affair. She had to make the move. Period.

He got out of the shower, ran a brush through his hair and dressed quickly, eager to see VJ and not about to apologize for it. When he emerged from his room, she was sitting at the table, staring out the window at the downtown vista. Rush-hour haze still smudged the tops of the skyscrapers, though it was nearing noon.

“Good morning,” he said.

Her hair was damp, as if she’d recently emerged from the shower, as well. Where she’d been naked and wet. Not a good image to fixate on before coffee and after deciding to back off.

“Hey.” She didn’t even glance at him.

Okay. Calling off the engagement should have eliminated tension, not added it.

He tried again. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”

“Job hunting. I guess.” Her posture put steel to shame, and her hands were clenched into a tight ball in her lap.

The day had started off with such promise—at least on his part. Where had all the easy intimacy between them gone? Out the window, apparently, now that he’d drawn the short-term-only line.

He’d known it would likely go this way, but, selfishly, he wanted the spark without having to promise her more. As brightly as the attraction burned between them, he’d have a hard enough time keeping himself under control in the short-term.

“Didn’t you mention in the car earlier that tomorrow is your birthday?” At her hesitant nod, he pulled out his phone and checked his schedule. “That calls for a celebration. Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

“Thanks. Maybe some other time.”

Some other time. He’d expected a resounding
no.
He hadn’t expected it to suck so much. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Kris.” She shut her eyes for a beat. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

Of course she didn’t. Instantly, he scrapped all his plans for the day, including the two hours he’d blocked to check out casting videos his assistant had sent. Some sacrifices were worth it. VJ deserved more than just dinner. She deserved a fairy tale, and he was going to give her one, whether she agreed to short-term or not. “I’ll take you shopping. Consider it part of your birthday present.”

Finally, she swiveled. “Don’t guys hate shopping?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I hate traffic, too, but it’s unavoidable if I want to get somewhere.”

“So shopping is a means to an end?”

Her tone prickled the back of his neck. “An unfortunate analogy. I’m fully prepared for you to shut your door at the end of the night.” There was nothing wrong, however, with hoping they’d be on the same side of the door. “I want to do something nice for you. Is that really so awful?”

“No. It’s not.” Suddenly, she smiled, and the light returned to her face, thumping him right between the eyes. That alone was worth getting behind on his long task list.

“Then let’s go. We can get lunch on the way.”

He took her to a boutique close to the hotel and turned VJ over to a sales clerk. They disappeared into another section of the store and returned quickly, just as he’d settled into a plush chair to wait. The sales clerk had several garments draped over her arm so either VJ made up her mind really fast—and if so, he’d nominate her for woman of the year—or the clerk had selected them.

Eventually, VJ emerged from behind the divided panel, flustered and adorable, with nothing in her hands. “Are you sure about this?”

“Very sure. Pick out a dress. Pick two.” Kris scouted around for the clerk. “Miss? She needs shoes and everything else a woman requires for a night out.
Everything.
Also, can you write down the name of a good spa?”

A blush spread over VJ’s cheeks. “For what?”

“So you can spend the day being spoiled. Don’t even think about saying no.” He guided her in the direction of the clerk and crossed his arms so he couldn’t yank her to him and kiss her senseless.

His hands tightened into fists. Backing off was harder than he’d anticipated.

Playing chauffeur for the rest of the afternoon gave him plenty of downtime to make reservations and get directions. The spa took a couple of hours, so he squeezed in the casting videos, not at all annoyed to view them on the small screen of his phone instead of his laptop.

“Dinner’s at eight,” he told VJ when she slid into the Ferrari after the spa session. “Will that work?”

“Sure.” She put a hand over his on the gear shift. “Thanks. I’m having a great day. Four people worked on me at the same time, like I was royalty. The experience was truly wonderful.”

They’d put some kind of lotion on her hands, softening her skin.

“Yeah? I’m glad.” That creamy expanse of throat above the neckline of her T-shirt caught his attention. Now he was wondering if her skin was that same kind of soft all over and what it smelled like.

“I know you don’t expect anything in return. But I got you a little something anyway.” She smiled mischievously.

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, for later. Your favorite color is red, right?” The pad of her finger slid up a tendon in his hand, following the corded line up his arm. His pulse tripped.

“How did you know?”

“I guessed. Wasn’t hard. Red’s the color of passion. Take me back to the hotel now?”

Take me
echoed in his head, and the close atmosphere in the car stirred along his skin. Her eyes were luminous, and her fingers still played with his arm, feeling the crease at the bend of his elbow, swirling along his muscles. Then she lightly skimmed his shoulder and slid fingers into his hair, setting his nerve endings on fire.

He sucked in a hot breath and eased closer, into her space. “If you want to kiss me again, all you have to do is say so.”

The blue around her pupils swam with flecks of yellow and glinted when she licked her lips in a slow glide. “Same goes.”

Her thumb cruised along his jaw, then rested on his bottom lip with feather-light contact and the tip of her nail grazed it. The impact tightened the base of his spine and spread with tendrils of warmth.

“You have an amazing mouth, Kristian.” Her own mouth was slack, forming that
O
he longed to fill.

With an encouraging nibble of his lips, her thumb slid deep in his mouth. As he sucked on it, her eyelids fluttered closed and that awesome moan vibrated in her throat. His groin flooded, tight and hot.

That was it.

He plucked her thumb away and caught her mouth in a kiss. Her hands clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer. Her tongue met his in a hot rush and they twined. He needed her, needed more, and reached for it.

His elbow hit the steering wheel. They were in the car. Kyla’s Ferrari, for God’s sake.

This was the exact opposite of backing off.

He started to break away and couldn’t. One more second against her mouth was all he needed. He slanted his lips at the opposite angle, tilted her head back and relentlessly drank from her.

More.

No. Not more.

He jerked away. He had more control than this. He had to find it. Problem was, he’d never needed to find it. It had never failed before.

“Italian for dinner?” he rasped, his vocal cords dry with need. He shifted into first and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the ache in his gut.

“Sure,” she said with a small smile.

When they got back to the hotel, she sauntered to her room, hands full of bags, leaving him at loose ends. Aimlessly, he wandered to the couch and flipped on the TV, trying to will away the semi-hard-on he’d had since the car.

Time stood still as he relived the Ferris-wheel kiss. Then the car kiss. And back again, until his almost hard-on turned into a raging one.

The images, the ache. VJ. The swirl became a continual persistence of vision he couldn’t control, couldn’t dissolve from his mind’s eye. He had an incredible amount of work to do and yet, here he sat like a horny seventeen-year-old.

“Kris,” VJ called from the bedroom. “Can you help me with something?”

Of course. Because what better way to settle his hormones than to be in VJ’s bedroom? Where there was a bed. With sheets smelling of coconut.

“Down, boy,” he muttered.

VJ was going to have a romantic evening if it killed him. Her future did not include telling some other guy about how Kris Demetrious didn’t speak the same language as romance. His Greek was more than passable if he did say so himself.

He stalked into her room. She stood in the middle of it wearing that virginal white robe, loosely belted, falling off one shoulder.

So it
was
going to kill him.

One breast swelled above the neckline, practically inviting him to delve into the V created by the folds of fabric. Miles of legs extended beyond the hem and led to bare feet. Red toenails dug into the carpet, all but begging to be licked. Begging him to keep going, licking up her smooth legs, straight to what was under that sexy robe.

“What do you need me for?” he asked. Since she was dressed, clearly it wasn’t the same thing he needed her for.

She rattled her arms and the robe’s sash slipped, exposing a pale swatch of skin. Was she naked under there? He couldn’t tear his eyes off that tantalizing glimpse of VJ’s flesh.

“Which one should I wear tonight?” she said. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she had a dress in each hand.

“That one.” He pointed without looking away from the gap under the robe’s sash.

“I like that one, too.” She threw both dresses on the bed and grasped the knot holding the slim belt’s ends together.

His legs went numb as she worked to untie it.
Untie. It.
So he could greedily drink in the sight of her uncovered body. Naked before him, ripe and gorgeous.

Anticipation burned through his midsection. Could she labor over that tangle of sash any more leisurely?

Finally, it was loose. With agonizing slowness, she opened the robe. A flash of nipple seared his vision. Immediately, she drew the robe closed, tightening it around her waist, then tying the sash into a firm knot with quick-fingered precision. She turned away. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be ready by eight.”

He’d been dismissed. Soundly. And it was at least an hour until eight.

Time for a really, really cold shower. Which did not cool his blood. Or slow his pulse. Or reduce the burn of his erection. As he stood under the icy spray, he reshot that scene with an entirely different story line, where he laid her back against the carpet and untied that knot with his teeth. Then he’d spread her legs wide to drink from that well he’d been denied for far too long. He’d slide into her easily because she was so hot and slick for him, and she’d be quaking with that sexy little moan.

Yeah, like that. Again and again, until they exploded. Backhanding hair out of his eyes, he sagged against the frigid glass tiles and suffered.

Why didn’t he blast into her room and take her, right there on the floor? Up against the wall. Bent over the dresser. All of the above. A consummation to end all consummations.

Moron.
Not only would his creativity in the bedroom scare her blind, he was backing off. She’d get her a special evening, the kind she could remember reverently forever. There were no fairy tales where the prince subjected the princess to a rutting sexual offensive. No real women liked that, either.

It had just never been as difficult to remain detached as it was with VJ.

This
was why he stayed behind the camera. Once uncorked, his passions ran over without restraint. He had to find a way to flip that switch back into the off position. He was not his father, who was so ruled by his passions that he allowed them to turn ugly.

Intelligent, funny, in-your-face Victoria Jane Lewis, who’d never left Texas because she’d unselfishly committed to caring for her sick mother, deserved better.

The stages of romance meant something to her. VJ’s greatest emotional need was to star in her own fairy tale. So he’d keep his hands off of her until he could take her to dinner and treat her like a princess. Period.

* * *

After stressing over her makeup until it adequately covered the not-quite-faded bruise, VJ slithered into the black dress and blocked out the rushing sound of Mama turning over in her grave. Again.

The dress was designed for sin. Backless and form fitting, it dipped into a low heart shape over her cleavage. Under it, see-through crimson lace cradled her breasts and smooshed them skyward. The clerk at the boutique had spent Kris’s money easy-peasy.