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“Naomi. Call Danny. I’ll send you the copy and photos in the morning.”
He disconnected before she gave him additional grief, and put his cell down on the coffee table. Bree hadn’t stirred an inch. She’d probably be mad at him for sending someone in their place, and he had no idea what he was going to do about tomorrow’s blog pages, but there was no way in hell he was going to wake her. Not now.
She needed to rest. There would be other premieres. He’d spin the story to his advantage. In fact … He had the perfect angle. Take that, Naomi.
He’d have a story for tomorrow, but for tonight, he was keeping Bree to himself.
BREE HEARD A DOG BARK AND while it was a real dog barking, it was a dog once removed. A television dog. But she didn’t open her eyes, not yet. She liked this place, the in-between where there was nothing at all unpleasant and no alarm was going to intrude. The subtle, woodsy scent of Charlie made her sigh and smile. He knew how to use cologne, not like some of the guys from work who showered in the stuff. There was always a hint of the man underneath with Charlie, and that was the best part.
She moved a bit, her head at a weird angle and it wasn’t her pillow at all, and oh. It was dark, very dark. Charlie’s window was right there, across from his coffee table and behind his big television. It was late. Wrong. All wrong.
“You’re up.”
She couldn’t exactly see as some of her fake eyelashes were now sticking to her cheek, but she looked up in the general direction of Charlie’s voice. “What’s going on?” As nice as it felt to be pressed against his chest, she pushed off, up, until her feet were on the ground and she was sitting like a person. “What time is it?”
“A little past nine.”
“Nine? p.m.? Oh, God, was the premiere called off? Did something bad happen? Is everyone okay?”
Charlie laughed as he rubbed his shoulder, the one she’d been nestled against. “Everything’s fine.”
“We were supposed to be at the theater at six.”
“You were tired.”
“I was …” She peeled the lashes off both eyes and settled them in her palm like two spiders. When she glanced back at Charlie he was still rubbing his arm, shaking it. She must have been sleeping on it the whole time. Hours. He’d undone his bow tie, the top button of his shirt, too. The apartment was darker than it had been because he hadn’t turned on more lights. She’d slept through the red carpet. He’d let her. “I don’t understand.”
“I bet you’re starving,” he said, as he stood. “I know I am. How does Thai sound? Maybe some Tom Yum soup?”
“Wait.” She raised her hand to stop him, but it was the hand with the eyelashes. “Wait. Explain please. Why are we here? Why was I sleeping?”
“I told you.” He turned to leave.
“No, you didn’t.” She stood up. She might be foggy headed and probably looked like hell, but she was going to get an answer. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He kept walking to the kitchen, his tux jacket swinging loose, and she thought of watching him take it off slowly, seeing those perfectly cut trousers fall.
Her heels clicked on the floor and made her wince with each step. Holy crap, these shoes were the instruments of the devil. Speaking of which, her dress, the architectural wonder of a dress, looked like a badly folded sheet. Sveta was going to kill her. “Charlie!”
He paused. Turned around. Smiled at her. “There’ll be other premieres. I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”
“You don’t skip things. You never do. I’ve read your blog every day forever, and you’re always there. Even when you’re not, you have a really good excuse. Like natural disasters. Not that your arm was trapped under a sleeping person. So what the hell?”
Charlie sighed. God, he really did look hot in that tux. “Take off your shoes. It hurts just looking at them.” He kept walking to the kitchen, and she kept following, the pain in her feet making her blink.
“In fact,” he said, not bothering to turn, “just get into something comfortable. We’ll eat. You’ll have a decent night’s rest and so will I. We’ll go back to the madness tomorrow.”
They were in the kitchen proper and he’d flipped on the lights. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, to see he was holding a handful of delivery menus. Everything felt tilted sideways.
“Thai?” he asked. “Chinese? Pizza? Deli? There’s a terrific Indian place nearby that makes a hell of a chicken tikka masala.”
Bree inhaled, noticed that she really needed to brush her teeth, and that she was still completely bewildered by everything that had happened since she woke up. “Whatever,” she said, shrugging. “As long as it doesn’t have cilantro, I’ll like it. I’ll be back.”
She didn’t make it to the media room before she took off the shoes. The dress came off in the hallway entrance. When she reached the racks of clothes, she’d already decided to wear one of the kimono robes because dammit, she wanted to be comfortable even if she did have to dress to go home later. Not a teeny short robe, either, because she didn’t want him thinking she wanted that. They didn’t do that. It had been decided.
Besides there was a particularly beautiful long black robe with a crane on the back that felt like heaven over her bare skin and covered her more than her dress had. She didn’t even mind that it dragged on the floor. So what if she wasn’t an Amazon? She was compact. Efficient. Far more comfortable in airplane seats.
The bathroom was next, and she debated keeping the makeup that had taken such time and effort to apply, but in the end it was just no. It took longer than it should have, but feeling clean and herself was worth it.
She looked once more in the mirror and stalled. It made no sense that Charlie hadn’t shaken her awake. That they were here instead of Radio City Music Hall. The red carpet was long over now, of course, and that was the important part—not watching the movie. But there was an after party they could have attended.
It was highly unlikely that his excuse that she was “tired” was the real reason they’d stayed in. No, there had to be something bigger in play, but she was too fuzzy-headed to figure it out right now.
What she should do was get dressed, go home and go to sleep so that when she went into the office tomorrow to catch up on her real job, she might have an actual working brain cell or two.
On the other hand, a girl had to eat. That she got to eat with Charlie without a hundred people surrounding them was extraordinary. Unprecedented. They’d been on the run for what felt like months instead of days, seeing each other in snatches and in the blinding light of flashbulbs. The only truly personal moments had been in his bed on Valentine’s night—which she wasn’t allowed to think about—and last night in the back of the limo. She’d thought about that conversation all day. Not only about how different their worlds were, but how he’d opened up to her. It was as if she’d seen him naked again.
Screw it, she wanted to. Eat with him. Talk to him. Alone.
Her accelerated pulse and the rush of excitement that ran through her body merely thinking about what was next moved her out of the bathroom and into seeing dinner through. It was only her heart at risk, after all. And hadn’t she admitted, to him of all people, that she wanted her heart broken by callous men who wore gorgeous suits?
12 (#ulink_f83a60f8-b4dc-5acc-abf0-1d7bd0e268df)
CHARLIE GRINNED AGAIN. “So you’re a black sheep, too?”
Bree swallowed her mouthful of noodles and took a sip of soda before she could answer him. “Oh, yeah. I was supposed to marry Eliot. My high school boyfriend. It was a thing. Big. Tons of teeth gnashing and hand wringing. Comfort food played a big role. In particular, fried chicken.”
At the mention, they both ate for a bit in silence, which gave her time to go over what Charlie had told her about his struggles with his family. How was it possible for them not to be proud of his accomplishments? Maybe they were proud, but the family was crappy at communication. Rebecca had said that was an issue between her and her folks, and Charlie’s parents were cut from the same cloth. But then again, Charlie was driven. He put the implementation of his goals above everything else. As did Bree. “You know what I can’t figure?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“How come you’re nice.”
“Me? Nice?”
“Very much so. I expected you to be on the conceited side of horrible. You’ve been great.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Thanks. I’m glad you think so.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“There was absolutely no agreement in that response. To be clear, I meant nice in an Ohio sense. It wasn’t a dig.”
“Well, then. I appreciate it even more. Nice can go either way around here.”
“I gathered. How would you describe yourself?”
“Oh, that’s a scary question.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“I’m not referring to you.”
Bree grinned. “Come on. I’m already prejudiced in your favor.”
“That’s what’s got me worried. I like that you think I’m nice.”
“But …”
“I’m … focused. Extremely focused.”
She ate a bit, trying on the word to see how it fit. “Is that all you are?”
His wince was extravagant for him. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the whole deal.”
“You’re funny. That’s not an opinion. That’s fact. You make me laugh a lot.”
“Hey, no fair talking about my looks.”
“See? Cute. Very cute.”
He put down the carton and picked up the beer, but he didn’t drink. “What else?”
She almost teased him, but the look in his eyes stopped her. “You’re thoughtful. You see who’s around you and you don’t take advantage of them. I’m not terribly experienced but I have the feeling that not everyone feeds the makeup and hair crew. Or even notices the building’s security staff.”
“That’s manners.”
Bree shook her head. “Nope. It goes beyond that. Most people in your position wouldn’t give a damn about anyone around them. It would be easy to be horrible. Expected. But you don’t need to be ruthless and evil to be a powerful presence because you’re already a powerful presence. People get it. You don’t have to shove their faces in it.”
“I like that. Not sure I agree, but it’s something to ponder. Of course, I don’t want to completely disregard the whole ruthless and evil thing. That has a lot of appeal.”
She gave a quick nod. “Yes. It does.”
He drank some more, then reached for the rice container, but as he did so, he managed to move himself over until they were close enough to touch. The carton stayed in his hand as he leaned into her.
Bree held her breath. Warning bells went off in the distance, muted but not silent. “I should call for a taxi,” she said. “Get home. Take advantage of the night off.”
Charlie put the rice down, but his leg, his hip, his side were pressed warm against her. He smelled like spice and beer and her eyes closed as she inhaled. “I don’t like beer. To drink. But I really like how it tastes when—”
He waited, not five inches between them, maybe not even three. “When …?”
“When I do this,” she whispered right before their lips touched.
CHARLIE WANTED TO PULL her into his arms and kiss her until she cried uncle, but he held himself back, every muscle in his body on a hair trigger. Her lips were soft against his, brushing, teasing. Her breath came in gentle puffs, scented with galangal and heat, and no matter how fervently he thought now, now, now, he let her call it, let her make this decision. What the hell was wrong with him?
The whole night had been one bizarre thing after another. He didn’t miss premieres. He didn’t sit still for three goddamn hours just so he wouldn’t disturb someone’s sleep. He wasn’t nice. Nice wasn’t even a part of the equation, so what was happening? What was he doing?
A touch, fingers, small, cool, delicate on the back of his neck, and he became very aware of his cock. Not for the first time since they’d landed on the couch together. In another bid to make this the weirdest night ever, he’d found himself cycling through stages of hardness. From that first moment she’d leaned into him all sleepy and mumbling, he hadn’t been completely soft. Not hard as a rock, either. Which was fine. He’d only touched himself the one time, and that was an adjustment. Even though this whole scenario was as close to an erotic dream as he’d ever had without sleeping.
She tugged his hair, pulled him closer, deepened the kiss. Little licks against his bottom lip, then the top, as if he were ice cream, a caramel apple. His cock filled, pressed against his fly. He should have taken off the tux, but it was too late to worry about that now. Not when she slipped her tongue inside and he tasted her for the first time since the party at Chelsea Piers.
Instantly he realized it was a mistake. A hormone driven error that would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d known better, but had he pulled away? Hell no.
He adjusted his head so they fit together better, then started his own exploration. He was not delicate or tentative. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from showing her just how ruthless he could be.
He opened his mouth and claimed her, sucked on her tongue, thrust with his own, and the sound she made, holy god … now he was getting the kind of hard that meant business. With determination and the endgame in sight, he pulled back. “Bedroom?” he asked. Hoped.
She blinked at him. Charlie realized he’d abandoned his beer and taken hold of her upper arms, the silk of the kimono warm beneath his fingers. She was virtually naked under that kimono; he knew that. He could see the push of her hard nipples against the silk. Maybe he’d been hit in the head or something, because this was not his style. This felt reckless, and he hadn’t been reckless since his teens.
Her nod let him breathe again. He kissed her once more. It started out thankful and turned desperate with one slick of his tongue against hers.
They stood as they’d been sitting, his hands lifting her up, their mouths working together to remember, relearn, discover.
He had them halfway across the room before they had to take a real breath.
One of Bree’s hands was in his hair, the other under his tuxedo jacket on the small of his back, as if they were doing some crazy waltz. “This is a bad idea,” she said before she kissed his chin.
“Terrible. We decided.” He captured her mouth again, amazed at how she let him guide her, backward, through the space. How, even with the height difference, the important parts matched, like her breasts against his chest and her lips within his reach. He only had to move a single muscle for her to react exactly as she needed to. It was a dance, not crazy, just theirs.
“Five years,” she said, in a rush of air and half a moan.
“What’s five years?” The hallway was coming, so they shifted slightly to the left.
“My plan.” Her hand moved down right over his ass as they maneuvered the turn, and he pushed her back into the wall. Her “umph” made him swing her around as he stood straighter, the graceful equilibrium between them going down the drain.
“You okay?”
“Where’s the damn bedroom?”
“Close,” he said. Speeding them there would have been the smart move. He kissed her instead. The pull was too much, knowing he shouldn’t, they shouldn’t.
The hand that had been in his hair was now on his chest, rubbing in vague circles.
“What plan?” he said, his voice as husky as a pack-a-day smoker’s. “To take over the world? To bring me to my knees? You don’t need five years for either.”
She laughed, stepped on his toe with her bare foot. It didn’t hurt. “I’m going to be a cross between Tim Gunn and Tina Brown,” she said, stumbling on the kimono.
If they didn’t kill each other before they made it to the bedroom, it would be a miracle. “Good for you. You’ll be great.”
“Not if I can’t say no to you.”
He looked at her then, at her darkened eyes filled with a heat that could burn a house down. “You can.”
She breathed in, then there was silence. Only his heartbeat loud in his ears.
“Please don’t make me,” she whispered.
