THREE
HIS LIPS PARTED but no words passed them for a few moments.
“I’m tired,” he said, maybe not ready to trust her too much. “I didn’t want to be here tonight. I have work to do, and I don’t like to be distracted by bullshit like this… Not the charity, that’s worthy. The cause is the only reason I came. It’s important to people I care about. But the drinking, the shoulder rubbing, gladhanding, the name dropping, I can’t stand it.”
Her interaction with him thus far proved the image was far from the reality. Okay, so she knew little to bupkis about the entertainment industry. She’d only got to LA a couple of weeks before starting her job with Brooker and wasn’t exactly boning up on the intricacies of Hollywood politics. And no one could judge, how could she have known something like this would happen?
One thing was clear. What little she knew about Roman Lowe was completely wrong. A better way to put it? Brooker’s information packets were completely wrong. According to those, he’d been a teen sensation, as famous for his partying and womanizing as he was for the movies he starred in. At some point, there was a fall from grace, and the studios stopped casting him.
More recent updates suggested Roman Lowe had gotten his act together and secured a TV role in Undercover … something.
Could people ever change? Depended on the issue. If the partying trashed his career, maybe he’d matured beyond all that. Hopefully anyway. She had a low tolerance for shallow, immature people, didn’t everyone?
Lowe was proving himself neither and seemed sharp, even in spite of the alcohol.
Sitting there, gazing into him, her whole being sank into a hypnotic state. Men didn’t intoxicate her, hadn’t before this night. Lowe’s brown eyes drew her in, brought her nearer, tempted her curiosity.
The warmth of his fingers slid upward on her cheek, over her ear, through her hair, around to the back of her head and guided her forward, joining their mouths. Potent like the liquor, the slick need of his tongue begged her response; she was helpless to refuse.
In the last three years, only Kevin had kissed her. With him, it had never been like this. Kevin controlled her with physical affection, used attentiveness as a tool to manipulate her. Accepting Lowe’s kiss severed the last thread connecting her to that past. She didn’t belong to Kevin anymore, Lowe washed away that claim to replace it with another: his own.
Gratitude rushed through her veins, boiling the fuel of arousal. She could unzip her dress, slide her hands over the globes of his impressive shoulders into his hair—
Gasping away, she touched her lips. Whoa, she’d been so ready to give herself to this man she’d only just met.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Shit, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay.” Bambi grabbed his thigh before he could withdraw from their shared seat. “I… thank you.”
He frowned. “Thank me?”
“I came to LA to get away from what I was… And to show my ex he didn’t have the power to control me anymore. You just… he was the last man I kissed, the only man for a long time.” She smiled. “He doesn’t have any part of me now.”
Curling his fingers, they drifted across her cheek. “Do you want more liquor?”
She laughed. “Definitely.”
As he retrieved the bottle, she absorbed her salacious reaction to the guy. Buying herself some time to regroup, she enjoyed another drink then offered the bottle back.
“Do you have family, Fawn?”
“A whole bunch,” she said, fingering the heavy fabric of the jacket beneath her. “I have siblings. There are cousins all over. A couple of aunts and uncles in Wishbone. It’s not a huge place.”
He toyed with the hem of her dress that had somehow ended up on his thigh. Was he as interested in what was beneath her clothes as she was in what was under his tux?
Geez, what was wrong with her? Damn, they hadn’t drunk that much, yet she was all in already. Time to dial it back, except… she didn’t want to. Insane though it was, nothing ever felt so right.
Being wanton wasn’t her usual style, though alcohol did up her flirtatious confidence and lower inhibitions. Not like she was alone in that. Who hadn’t warped boundaries with liquor in their veins?
That couldn’t be it, not the only thing at work. In the past, before Lowe, she’d never felt such a strong need to be near another person. It must be the x-factor. That intangible quality stars needed to become famous and successful. If she was in the position of casting director, he could have the cow, the farm, and any other damn thing he wanted. Natural charisma would get him any part without an audition.
“How did they feel about you moving here?”
Right, home, they were talking about her home. “Most people from Wishbone stay in Wishbone… in my family anyway. They had their reservations.”
“I can understand that,” he said, making contact with her skin beneath the edge of her skirt. “It was a big move… did it feel good?”
His touch felt good. Did it suddenly get hotter? “Jury’s still out.”
His heat seemed to match hers. The sly knowing in his gaze was filled with just the right amount of confidence.
“I’m glad you took the leap… Otherwise, God knows who I’d be stuck in here with.”
Being locked in was a new experience. If someone asked how it would be, she’d assume traumatizing. So far, it was the exact opposite.
She reached across him for the bottle. Just as her fingers curled around the smooth glass, his did the same around her chin until she was staring into him. A shiver went through her when the strength of his finger compelled her chin higher. She wanted him to kiss her again… now.
“Are you cold, Fawn?” When he leaned in to ease away from the cool wall, his mouth came closer. She stopped breathing, fearing the taste of his breath would thrust her into orgasm there on the spot. “You can put the jacket on if you’d prefer.”
More clothes? No.
Opening her hands on his chest, she took the liberty of insinuating herself closer. “You’re a real gentleman.”
Something she hadn’t encountered for a while.
His short laugh was almost a scoff. “Are you flirting with me?”
“You’ve already kissed me.” The adrenaline of want paired with the infusion of alcohol inspiring her confidence. “We’re past flirting, beau.”
When he ran his hands up her sides and down over her breasts, she pushed into the caress. If she was allowed to stroke his chest, he should be allowed to touch hers. Fair was fair; didn’t hurt his attention melted her insides.
Taking the hint, he put her out of her misery and kissed her without an ounce of hesitation. He opened his mouth, scooped a hand through her hair, and hauled her tight to him like she’d belonged to him forever.
The need was beyond physical. Just like in the elevator, that sensation, whatever it was, beckoned. Begged her to settle herself in him, to give in to him. Intuition betrayed surrender.
Whipping off his loose tie, she fought to feel him as his hands explored her. Natural instinct didn’t dawdle, he snatched her over to straddle his lap. Her fingers worked on unbuttoning his shirt as his, under her skirt, squeezed her ass, pulling her flush against the bulge in his slacks. She rocked herself against his erection until a desperate rush of blood sped through her heart, intensifying the buzz of alcohol coursing through her.
Suddenly, he gripped her arms, separating their mouths. “Wait, baby. Shit, hold on.”
Wait? No. No waiting. She wanted him. Wanted to keep going, to explore some more, to feel as invincible as he stimulated her to be. Her body was drawn to his and although he still had hold of her arms, she swayed in, taking another short kiss before their foreheads met.
Panting into the narrow ether that existed between their mouths, she slowly returned to reality. They were strangers. Complete opposites too. They couldn’t have anything in common. Just because they were attracted to each other… or maybe they weren’t really attracted to each other at all. Maybe they were only responding to the confined, stressful situation.
“We shouldn’t be sitting on beds together,” she whispered.
“Not until after at least three or four dates.”
Her lips curved. They could have freaked out. Well, she could’ve freaked out, he was probably much better at dealing with romance stuff. More experienced anyway.
Rather than panic and run, she stuck close, relaxed, and accepted his teasing comfort.
“We did have a drink together, that’s got to count as one,” she said, loosening to sit back. His hands slid from her upper arms to her wrists. “Though liquor’s probably where the problem started.”
“We should’ve done dinner first.” He threaded their fingers together. “Don’t think there’s anything around here to eat.”
“There are gummy bears and marshmallows in your gift bag,” she said, to which he reacted with amusement. “Kids from the community center made the suggestion.”
“I guess that’s a start.”
Climbing off him, she went to grab the bag from by the door and brought it back. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, she didn’t venture far and made a point of pushing it across to him without getting close.
“Okay,” he said on a laugh, obviously getting the point of her playful, exaggerated distance. He dug out the candy packets and held up one then the other. “Which do we start with? Shame we don’t have a flame to toast the marshmallows.”
“Nobody carries a lighter anymore. Start with the gummy bears. They’re more nutritious, right?”
“Nutritious?” he asked, putting the marshmallows back to open the gummy bears.
“They’re fruit flavor.”
He tipped the bears into his palm and held it toward her, side-nodding. “I promise no more kissing. Come over here. Ladies’ choice.”
Scooching a little closer, still on her knees, she selected a couple.
“Are you allowed to eat these?” she asked, collecting the red ones to set them on the corner of his jacket.
“Why wouldn’t I be allowed to eat them?”
“You’re buff, beau. You must have a strict diet and exercise regime.” She held up a green one. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
Bambi laughed. “I don’t have any blue ones. Do they come in blue? I have red…” She set another red one on his jacket. “Orange…” When she offered it to his lips, he accepted it. Next she picked up a white one and set it aside, away from the red ones. “I don’t like the white ones… Yellow.” Bambi showed him one of those and another in the other hand. “And green…” With one between each thumb and forefinger she raised them up and down. “Which do you prefer?”
“What’s wrong with the red ones?”
Pleased, she pushed her shoulders back. “They’re my favorite, we eat those last.”
“You eat your favorite last?”
She nodded, wondering why his lips thinned. “Why is that funny?”
“It isn’t.” The words came out in a rush as he grabbed the side of her head. “It’s adorable.”
“Oh,” she said, popping another between his lips. “I’m not only adorable.”
“No?” He nodded when she held up the white one. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t like.”
Bambi fed him the white one and accepted the yellow one from him. “You think because I’m a small-town girl that I’m naive and innocent. Is that what you like? Is that why you kissed me?”
“I kissed you because it’s been such a long goddamn time since I looked at a woman and saw something…”
“What something?” she asked, taking the rest of the candy from his hand to dump it on the jacket in another pile.