What I Did for Love (17 page)

Her legs had always been her best feature—long, slender, and strong—a dancer’s legs, and his gaze lingered. Endless seconds ticked by before he stepped back and pulled off his slacks. He wore a pair of gray knit End Zone boxer briefs that molded to a sizable erection. She stared at it.

“Now your panties,” he said, approaching the grille again.

She’d never been so aroused, and they hadn’t exchanged a single touch. She unfastened her bra. The straps slipped down her shoulders, but she curled her hands over the lacy cups to keep them in place and moved back to the grille. “Work for it,” she whispered.

His voice grew husky. “I’m going to have to trust you on this one.”

He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his End Zones, worked them down, and stood in front of her magnificently naked. She grazed him with her eyes, the wide tanned shoulders, the muscular chest, the narrow hips a few shades paler than the rest of him. She barely felt her bra drifting through her fingers.

“Step back,” he said on a gruff whisper.

He was using her, and she was using him, and she didn’t care. She moved into the center of the dressing room and drew off her fragile nylon panties. He gazed at her with such intensity her skin prickled. He’d been with women far more beautiful, but she experienced none of the grinding insecurity she’d suffered with Lance. This was Bram. She didn’t care about his opinion. She only cared
about his body. She tilted her head. “Stand back so I can look at you again.”

But his patience had ended. “The game’s over. We’re getting out of here. Now.”

She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay in this sensual fantasy world forever. She pulled the ice-blue petal bra from its hook. “I wonder how this will look.”

“You’re putting clothes
on
?”

“I need to check the fit.” She turned her naked bottom to him and donned the bra. Each cup was made up of three silky petals. She faced him again and, without a word, unfastened each petal, the sides first, and then the center. Taking forever.

His eyes glittered through the grille. “You’re killing me.”

“I know.” She snagged the matching panties from their hook and stood back so he could watch her slip them on. They were open at the crotch. “These fit well, don’t you think?”

“I can’t think. Come here.”

She took her time approaching the peephole. When she got there, he whispered, “Closer.”

They pressed their faces to the grille, and their mouths met through the whirls of black metal. Only their mouths.

And then the earth moved.

Really moved.

Or at least the wall. Her eyes flew open. She gave a startled gasp as the last obstruction between them swung inward. She should have known a shop as inventive as Provocative wouldn’t overlook something like this. Her feeling of safety dissolved.

Bram ducked and came through. “Not everyone gets told about the door.”

She’d never had sex without love, and Bram offered only dirty thrills. She knew exactly how duplicitous he was, how undependable. She had no illusions. Her eyes were wide open. Exactly the way she wanted it. “This is only our first date.”

“One hell of a date.”

He secured the door behind him and looked down at her naked breasts, showcased by the open-cup bra. “Lady, I do love your underwear.” The back of his knuckles brushed her nipple. He took one of the gauzy petals, drew it up, and fastened it. Then he suckled her through the frail barrier.

Her legs grew weak. He pulled her down on the big tufted ottoman so that she straddled his thighs. They kissed. He suckled. She sank her fingers into his hair and bit her lips to keep from crying out. His thighs had pushed her own far apart. She still wore the panties that had no crotch. He separated the nylon fabric, reached into her silk, and played until she was trembling with desire.

When she couldn’t tolerate it any longer, she braced her knees on the ottoman, lifted herself upon him, and slowly took him into her body.

His breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn’t try to push himself into her. Instead, he gave her all the time she needed to accept him. And she took advantage. Wicked advantage. As soon as she gained a hard-earned inch, she gave it up and started all over again. His shoulders grew slick with sweat. She didn’t care about his need—about whether she was pleasing him. She didn’t care about his feelings, his fantasies, his ego. All she cared about was what he could do for her. And if he didn’t satisfy her—if, at the end, he turned out to be a dud—she wouldn’t make up excuses for him as she had with Lance. Instead, she’d complain loud and long until he got it right. Although it didn’t seem as though that would be necessary.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he said through gritted teeth. But still he let her do as she wanted until she became so mindless that she had to give up the game. Only then did he dig his fingers into her bottom and pull her down hard upon him.

They couldn’t make any noise. Only a thin wall shielded them from exposure. He buried his face in her breasts and rubbed her
where their bodies joined. She arched against his hand, threw back her head, clutched his shoulders, and joined him on a wild, silent ride.

Not loving him. Only using him.

He shuddered. She flung back her head.

Release…

The practicalities didn’t
hit her until afterward. The mess. The used lingerie they hadn’t paid for. The inconvenient husband. As they disengaged, her sanity returned. She had to make sure he understood this hadn’t changed anything. “Well done, Skipper.” She stretched out the kinks in her legs. “You’re no George Clooney, but you definitely show promise.”

He moved toward the hidden door, then surveyed her body, as if he were marking his territory. “At least this answers one question.”

“What’s that?”

He gave her a lazy smile. “I finally remember what happened that night in Vegas.”

Through
the window Chaz saw Aaron’s dark blue Honda pull to a stop in the motor court. A few minutes later, the front door opened. He was such a mess. She stomped out into the hallway to meet him, but he carried only his nerdy black bag instead of the sack of doughnuts she’d expected. He didn’t look happy to see her, and he tried to get past her with only a nod, but she blocked the bottom of the stairs. “What did you have for breakfast?”

“Leave me alone, Chaz. You’re not my mother.”

She braced one arm on the wall and the other on the handrail. He’d already started to sweat, and it wasn’t even hot out. “I’ll bet she used to fix her little boy eggs and sausage every morning with a big side of pancakes.”

“I had a bowl of cereal, okay.”

“I told you I’d make you breakfast.”

“I’m not falling for that again. Last time I got two scrambled egg whites.”

“And toast and an orange. Stop being such a baby. You need to face your problems instead of trying to eat them away.”

“So now you’re a shrink.” He pulled her arm from the wall and wedged past her. “You’re only twenty years old. What the hell do you know about anything?”

He never cussed, and she liked that she’d gotten under his skin
enough to make him do it. She followed him upstairs. “So did you see Becky this weekend?”

He was out of breath by the time they reached the top. “I never should have told you about her.”

Becky lived in the apartment next to his. Aaron had a crush on her, but Becky barely knew he existed, like that was some big surprise. Apparently Becky was a brain like Aaron, and she was okay-looking, but not beautiful, which meant Aaron might stand a chance with her if he lost some weight, got a good haircut, bought some decent clothes, and stopped acting like such a geek. “Did you try to talk to her like I said?”

“I have work to do.”

“Did you?” She’d told him to be friendly, but not too friendly, which meant he shouldn’t do that stupid pig snort laugh. And he couldn’t talk about video games. Ever.

“I didn’t see her, okay?”

“Yes, you did.” She followed him into Georgie’s office. “You saw her, but you didn’t have the balls to talk to her. How hard is it to say hi and ask her how things are going?”

“I think I could be a little more original than that.”

“When you try to be original, you only sound weird. Be cool for once. Just ‘Hi’ and ‘How’s it going?’ Did you bring your swim trunks like I told you?”

He dropped his black bag on the chair. “You’re not my personal trainer, either.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She thought she was making progress. He let her fix him lunch now, and he’d stopped bringing junk food with him because he knew she’d find it and toss it out. It had only been three weeks, but she was pretty sure his gut was starting to shrink. “Laps for half an hour before you can go home tonight. I mean it.”

“You might think about working on yourself for a while instead
of other people.” He heaved himself into his chair at the computer. “Taking care of your personality disorder for one thing.”

“I like my personality disorder. It keeps the creeps away.” She smirked. “Although right now that doesn’t seem to be working too well.” Aaron wasn’t really a creep. He was a decent guy, and she secretly admired how smart he was. But he was totally clueless. And lonely. If he’d only do what she said, she thought she could fix him up enough so he could get a girl. Not anybody hot, but somebody smart like he was.

“Lunch is at twelve-thirty,” she said. “Be on time.” As she turned to go back downstairs, she saw Georgie standing in the office doorway, filming the whole thing with her video camera.

Chaz slammed her hands on her hips. “That’s illegal, you know. Filming people without their permission.”

Georgie kept her eye glued to the camera. “Get a lawyer.”

Chaz stomped into the hallway and headed for the back stairs. Georgie was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Yesterday, when Georgie got home with Bram, they’d both been acting weird. Georgie had beard-burn on her neck, and she wouldn’t look at Bram, who kept smiling at her in this kind of smart-ass way. Chaz didn’t know what was going on with them. They thought she hadn’t figured out they’d been sleeping in separate rooms—like Georgie knew how to make a bed so it looked halfway decent. So what had happened yesterday?

Chaz thought about how much money she could make if she went to the tabloids and told them about the famous newlyweds and their separate beds. Maybe she’d do it, too, if it would only hurt Georgie. But she wouldn’t hurt Bram.

Georgie trailed her down the back stairs. “Why do you give Aaron such a hard time?”

Chaz could have asked a few questions of her own, like why Georgie gave Bram such a hard time, and what had happened yesterday, and why Georgie had still slept in her own bed last night?
But she’d learned to keep what she knew to herself until she had a reason to use it.

“I’ve got a better question,” Chaz said. “Why haven’t you tried to help Aaron? He’s a mess. He can hardly walk upstairs without practically having a heart attack.”

“And you like to clean up messes.”

“So what?” This whole camera thing was weird. She didn’t know why Georgie kept filming her or why Chaz didn’t just refuse to talk. But every time Georgie came after her with that camera, Chaz found herself blabbing away. It was like…like talking about herself to the camera somehow made her important. Like her life was special, and she had something worth saying.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Georgie followed her into the kitchen. “Tell me what happened after you left Barstow.”

“I told you. I came to L.A. and found a place to stay off Sunset.”

“You hardly had any money. How did you make rent?”

“I got a job. What do you think?”

“What kind of job?”

“I have to pee.” She headed toward the small bathroom off the kitchen. “Are you going to follow me in here, too?” She shut the door and locked it. Nobody would ever make her talk about what happened when she got to L.A. Nobody.

When she came out, Georgie had disappeared and Bram was finishing a phone call. She picked up a dishcloth and wiped the counter. “Tell Georgie to stop following me around with that camera,” she said as he hung up.

“It’s hard to tell Georgie anything.” He pulled the iced tea pitcher from the refrigerator.

“What’s with her anyway? Why does she keep doing it?”

“Who knows? A couple of days ago I saw her filming the women who clean the house. She was talking to them in Spanish.”

Chaz wouldn’t admit it, but she didn’t like the idea of Georgie
filming anybody but her. “Good. Maybe she won’t bother me so much.”

Bram fingered his cell phone. “Have you done it yet?”

She opened the dishwasher and stuck in the glasses from breakfast. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Chaz, there’s a big world out there. You can’t hide here forever.”

“I’m not hiding! Now do you mind? People are coming to dinner tomorrow night, and I have a lot of things to do.”

He shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t think I did you a favor by giving you a job.”

He was wrong. He’d done her the biggest favor of her life, and she’d never forget it.

That afternoon, as
Georgie got dressed for the paps, she kept asking herself why sex with a bad boy was so much more thrilling than getting it on with a decent guy. Even if that decent guy had left her for another woman. So why had she made herself sleep alone last night? Because yesterday had been too good. Too much fun. Too deliciously debauched. So mindless and uncomplicated she wasn’t ready to spoil it with real life. She’d also wanted Bram to understand she hadn’t turned into a pushover just because that had been the most thrilling sexual escapade of her life. But shutting him out had taken all her willpower, and she didn’t like the knowing look he’d given her when she’d said she was sleeping alone.

They left the house for a midmorning coffee run and photo op. She decided the best way to restore a sense of normalcy was to pick a fight. “Stop humming.” She scowled at him across the passenger seat. “You only think you can carry a tune.”

“What’s eating you? Not me, unfortunately.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Hey, what happened to your famous sense of humor?”

“You.”

“I guess that’d do it.” He started humming a few bars of “It’s the Hard-knock Life” just to provoke her. “You were a lot friendlier yesterday afternoon. A
lot.
”

“That was lust, pal. I was using you.”

“And doing a damn fine job of it.”

She didn’t like the way he refused to join her in the fight she needed to have with him. “You shouldn’t have said you remembered what happened that night in Vegas when you really didn’t.”

“Process of elimination. I guarantee that one of us passed out before the deed was done, because if we’d finished up, I’d have remembered.”

For once, she was inclined to believe him.

The paps surrounded them when they emerged from The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Georgie thought about the zillions of photos she’d seen of celebs carrying either coffee cups or water bottles. Since when had dehydration become an occupational hazard of fame?

“Right here! Look here!”

“Any plans for the weekend?”

“Are you guys still solid?”

“Like a rock.” Bram tightened his arm around her waist and whispered, “If you were really as tough as you pretend to be, you wouldn’t have run off to your nice safe bed last night.”

She beamed up at him. “I told you. I got my period.”

He beamed down at her. “And I told you I didn’t give a damn.”

Lance had given a damn. He’d been nice about it, but sex with a menstruating woman wasn’t his thing. Not that she’d really gotten her period.

“Obviously I haven’t made myself clear,” she whispered, playing the role of the female sexual predator as shutters clicked around them. “You passed your audition yesterday at Provocative. From now on, your only function is to service me. When and where I want it. And I don’t want it right now.”

Liar. She wanted it all right, and she wanted it with him. Yesterday’s experience had been so incredible specifically because she’d been with gorgeous, useless, depraved Bram Shepard. Sex didn’t mean anything more to him than a handshake, and knowing that gave her an exciting new freedom. Her fake—and possibly alcoholic—husband could never have the hold over her Lance had possessed. With Bram, she wouldn’t stew over whether a negligee was alluring enough to attract him or feel as if she needed to read the latest sex manual to keep him interested. Who cared? She might not even shave her legs.

He kissed the top of her ear. “Just so we’re straight, Scoot. You didn’t get your period. You chickened out because you’re afraid you can’t handle me.”

“Not true.”

He gave a final wave to the photographers and began steering her toward the street, still speaking so only she could hear. “The thing about these restrictions you keep trying to set up…” He brushed his knuckles down her spine. “I’m not going to pay attention to any of them.”

Bram loved messing
with Georgie—mentally and physically. She’d shocked the hell out of him yesterday. In his mind, Georgie and Scooter had always been pretty much the same person, but no way in hell would Scooter have put on a show like that. What had happened at Provocative proved the Loser hadn’t managed to whip all the self-confidence out of her, something that had become increasingly evident in the past few weeks. The fact that Lance had traded Georgie in for a cold fish like Jade gave Bram a lot more pleasure than it should.

As they returned from their coffee run, he toyed with the idea of getting her naked right away—it wouldn’t take much effort—but Aaron ruined his plans by meeting them at the door.

“Rory Keene’s secretary called. You’re invited to her house for a glass of wine at five.”

Bram did a mental high jump. He’d been hoping Rory’s affection for Georgie would translate into an opportunity for a face-to-face meeting so he could state his case personally, instead of through her people. He grinned and jiggled his car keys. “Call her back and tell her we’ll be there.”

Aaron pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “She didn’t mention anything about you, Bram. Just Georgie.”

Bram tightened his hand around his keys. “She meant both of us.”

“I don’t think so. She said to tell Georgie not to get dressed up because it would be just the two of them.” Aaron beat a hasty retreat.

Bram let loose with a string of obscenities. Rory was still stone-walling him. She loved the
Tree House
script, but according to her V.P. in development, she wouldn’t consider backing the film unless he stepped aside as producer and lead actor, which would defeat the goal of restarting his career. Sometimes he thought he should buy an ad in
Variety
and announce to the world that he wasn’t the same feral kid who didn’t have enough character to survive his success. Or maybe a simpler message…
How about a fucking second chance?

If only Rory would meet with him personally, but the closest he’d been able to get was during the nighttime incident in her backyard. He’d even slipped through the rear gate with a bottle of Cristal a few days later as an apology for having woken her up, but one of her lackeys had taken the champagne from him and shut the door.

He glared down at Georgie. Thanks to Chaz’s cooking, she’d gained enough weight so those big green eyes peeping at him through a fringe of bangs had lost their sunken appearance, and her shiny brown hair curved around fuller cheeks. “I want you in my office in ten minutes.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but he was ready for her. “Unless you aren’t interested in seeing the script for
Tree House…
”

He knew he had her, and he walked away without looking back.

She kept him waiting ten minutes longer than he expected. She hadn’t used the time to change her clothes, and she still wore the outfit from their paparazzi coffee run: a bright lemon knit top with a modestly curved round neck, a tiny cropped cardigan as insubstantial as a spiderweb, and wide-cut green-and-cream mattress-ticking slacks only someone so slender could carry off. The outfit concealed far more than it revealed, which made it sexy as hell.