“This isn’t that, Canon.” Neevah reaches over to take my hand, resting our linked fingers on my leg. “I want this as much as you do. You know that. I was attracted to you before you even offered me the part.”
“You were?”
“When you phoned about the audition that first time…” She laughs, covering her face with her free hand. “I thought you might be calling to ask me out. I kind of hoped you were.”
“Were you disappointed?” I ask, grinning and keeping my eyes on I-5.
“No. I just reminded myself it would not be a good idea to crush on my director.”
My grin fades. “It’snota good idea.”
She tugs my hand until I tear my gaze away from the road long enough to look at her. “It’s not a crush. I don’t need this to advance my career. And this isn’t some misplaced hero-worship actor-director complex. I like you. I respect you. I want to know you. I want to fuck you. Any questions?”
Her bold statement lands on the console between us in the front seat, waiting for me to address it. If I wait for my dick to go down, we’ll be here all day, so I’ll just have to learn to converse intelligibly while this hard. It’s like chewing gum and walking, only much more arousing.
“I’m not gonna lie to you. If… when this gets out, it could be messy,” I tell her.
“I already told you I don’t care what people say.”
“You say that because you’ve never been on the cover of every major tabloid, or had cameras camped outside your house, or been stalked every time you go to the grocery store or Starbucks. That’s what happened when shit went down with Camille. It’s not fun.”
“I hear you. I just want you to know I don’t have any hesitation aboutsome reporter implying I got this job because of anything between us. I’ll prove myself. Our work will speak for itself.”
“It’s also that attention like that, that kind of scrutiny, it ruins relationships. I’ve seen too many relationships barely get off the ground before they fizzle, wreck because of the pressure.” I squeeze her hand, glance at her. “I don’t want that for us.”
“I don’t either,” she says, stroking my thumb with hers.
“I’m willing to chance it because everything you just said you want with me”—I pull her hand up to my lips—“I bet I want it more with you.”
When I glance over, her eyes glow with anticipation, desire, and something so sweet I want to teleport the last hour of this trip. I want everything I see in her eyes right now.
“You want it more than I do?” She shakes her head, pulling our two hands back down to rest on her thigh. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Holt.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Neevah
Iturn a slow circle in the grand entrance of the house Canon rented for us, taking in the magnificent chandelier and the spiral staircase leading to the next floor. Marble floors, discreetly lit paintings and unique sculptures lend the entrance a cool elegance.
“It’s gorgeous, Canon.”
He walks up beside me, bringing in our luggage, and places his hand at the small of my back. “A guy I met at Cannes a few years ago told me about it, and I’ve come here each year at least once ever since. Usually alone, of course. I haven’t brought anyone with me before.”
“Never?” I turn to look at him.
He smiles and kisses the top of my hair. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”
The restturns out to be a gourmet kitchen, fully equipped with every imaginable modern convenience, a living room with a fireplace big enough for me to hibernate in, luxurious bathrooms outfitted with sunken tubs and waterfall shower heads, and a balcony that juts out over an infinity pool and spa. The tour ends at the bedrooms, two directly across from each other, both the height of luxury.
“And there’s two bedrooms,” Canon tells me in the hall bisecting the floor.
I walk into what is obviously the main suite and sit on the bed, leaning back and letting him see that we could do this right now. “Well, that seems redundant.”
He walks over and stands between my legs, nudging them wider, caressing the sides with his palms, moving to touch my inner thigh,stroking down to the curve of my knee. Even through the fabric of my pants, the contact burns. He could take me this second. I would like that very much, please and thank you. He must know by the way my breaths jerk, pushing my breasts into a rough rhythm. He’s heavy-lidded, his full lips parting as he looks down at me. My crop top rides up, showing him my skin. He traces one index finger down the shallow valley running between the muscles of my stomach, which quiver under his touch. I gulp, trying to regulate my breathing.
“Canon.”
He steps back abruptly, taking the heat, the provocative touch with him. “You want to shower? Did you bring a dress?”
