“Shit.” She sat up, her full lusty breasts jiggling with the movement, seemingly too large for her frame. Damn. Yesterday he’d have bet anything they were enhanced, but now he knew better. They were real and squeezable. He wanted to reach out and almost did. But he clamped down on the heat spiraling in his belly. A cold shower would do him good right now.
“Tell me about the meeting.” Pulling off the tangled sheets, he stood, his erection still at full mast. A new flare of heat raced through him as he watched her gaze track him, her mouth practically watering. She had more passion than most women he’d known. She’d blamed it on her advanced age of thirty-six. He didn’t give a shit why. He’d gone with it, all the way to complete exhaustion. And now he was back.
She continued to stare at him, no shame, no embarrassment, only hunger blatant and gorgeous coloring her face. Licking her lips, she said, “Maybe we have a few extra minutes.”
Everything in him smiled except his lips. The satisfaction of having her want more would have to hold him.Until when? Tonight?
Not happening. He swallowed the thought and like bad medicine it caused a frown.
Then he asked for the third time, “Tell me about the meeting. I will be there with you.”
She sighed, hopped from the bed, and flitted toward the bathroom before he could beat her to it. She said over her shoulder, “The usual people. Going over the script and coming to an understanding about the look and feel of the series and characters.” As she reached the bathroom door, she added, “I’ll give you the details on the flight.” Then she winked and disappeared behind the closed door.
His hard-on still throbbed. Damn. That sassy wink, the sassy everything about her made him twitch.But she was off-limits.
He had no idea what the general would do if the old man found out he’d been screwing the client on the job.
No way he should have spent the night in bed with her last night. Now, there was no excuse for making the same mistake twice. She was the damn client. And she was trouble. What the hell had he been thinking?
That she wouldn’t always be the client.
Get that damn thought the hell out of your head and start thinking with your rightful brain. She’ll always be trouble. Hollywood trouble. From another universe.
Grabbing fresh clothes—jeans and a polo shirt—he headed for his guest bathroom resigned to an ice-cold shower.
He met her at the front entry with a go cup of coffee. For whatever reason, he kept to himself that he was impressed that she’d managed to pull herself together inside of fifteen minutes. Her hair was damp at the ends, but otherwise she looked like she could step in front of a camera and command an audience.
“Thank you.” She took the cup and he escorted her down the stairs to the street. Dawn was lighting the sky and the air was cool. The day promised to be stunning with vivid yellow and orange leaves surrounding them, catching the rays of morning light against the bright blue sky. The pang of regret about leaving hit him again.
He watched her heave a big breath of air, her curvy bosom rising and falling in a captivating way, bringing memories from last night into his head. The taste of her nipples, the weight of each round breast, the warm smooth skin caressing his face . . .
“Did you call a taxi?”
“No. Follow me.” He led her around the corner to a lot where he kept his car. He’d decided to drive to the airport since it was twenty miles north in Beverly and he could park there as long as he needed to.
An hour later on the plane, Mae told him about the meeting with show runner, makeup artist, set designer, director, two writers, and the lead actors.
“It’s our kickoff meeting. The production company is gearing up to film the pilot for the new PI series and they have a big budget and multiple outlets interested. I don’t have to tell you that this is exactly what will launch my costume design career to the next level. If it goes off as expected. If we all do our jobs.”
He didn’t see what the big deal was. They could all wear shirts and jeans, case closed. But he didn’t say that aloud.
“Who’s the production company?”
“A big name. I’m not at liberty to disclose it. They’re throwing all kinds of money into this—no expense spared—with plans to sell the rights to the highest bidder. The show is calledBeachcomber Investigations.”
“You told me.” She was over-the-top excited and gaining momentum. If he could harness her energy they could fly to California on her wings.
“Did I tell you it takes place on Martha’s Vineyard and has twenty percent of the scenes set in Boston?”
“Why?”
“They see Boston and Martha’s Vineyard as very sexy locations.”
That made him pause. Boston was home to him and the furthest thing from sexy or glam that he could think of. That was the way he liked it. Resentment that Hollywood types were yet again hijacking his home town’s authentic character to cash in on some imagined cachet flooded him. As usual he kept it to himself and refocused on the mission. Or tried to.
But her force field of excited energy was tough to escape.