‘Is this the suite they gave you?’ he asks as I self-consciously let him into my room.
‘Yeah.’ I stare. ‘Why?’
‘It’s tiny. Cheap fuckers. You’re gonna win Best Actress; you should be in the fucking penthouse.’
‘Stop saying that. You’ll jinx me. And I’m a nobody right now. And it’s just a little indie film—I would have felt awkward if they had to fork out for anything fancier.’
‘You’re the sweetest.’ He closes the gap between us. ‘And I take it back. There is no hotel room on the planet I’d rather be in right now.’
‘Maybe you should show me yours tomorrow night.’ There’s a defensive note in my tone; I’m conscious he still could run for the hills after he’s had his way tonight, but he smiles his amazing bedroom smile at me, a smile I’ve quickly decided is my favourite in the whole world.
‘I’ll show you my room whenever you like, baby. But I’ll most likely cuff you to my bed and never let you leave. Don’t worry.’ He lazily drapes my hair back over my shoulder and drops tiny kisses down my neck that make all my nerve endings stand to attention. ‘I’ll have someone come tell us if you win Best Actress.’
‘Right now, I’m surprisingly ambivalent as to who gets Best Actress.’
I gasp as his mouth moves along my shoulder, his lips brushing and kissing my skin.
‘Well said, my little minx. Let’s go see your view.’
He breaks away from me and slides the door to the terrace open, stepping outside. I follow cautiously and stand beside him, my hands resting on the top of the low wall.
‘I’ve been told to be careful of long lens photographers out here.’
Josh is behind me in a flash, pressing up against me, his breath hot against my neck. ‘You should definitely be careful. No funny business out here, that’s for sure.’
His hands span my waist and he pulls me against him. His teeth snag lightly on my shoulder. ‘Fuck, you taste good. I’ve been wanting to do that all evening. I can’t wait to see how you taste everywhere else.’
‘Josh!’I’m torn between worrying that someone will get some inappropriate footage and abandoning myself to the pleasure of this gorgeous man sampling me like I’m the pudding we had to forsake at the restaurant.
‘Don’t worry. If anyone’s out there, all they’ll get is some stupid shots of us enjoying the view together. Nothing to see here. Just look at the pretty view, gorgeous.’
It is pretty. It’s stunning. La Croisette is alive with people strolling, milling, taking in the majestic row of hotels and designer boutiques on one side and the dark sea on the other. As usual, the super yachts are out in force on the horizon. But I hardly see any of it, because behind me, Josh Lander is busying himself with my zip, sliding it down my back.
I gasp and clutch a hand to the front of my dress. It’s strapless, and at this rate, it’ll fall straight down.
He groans behind me, fingering the closure on my strapless bra. He traces those same fingers down the indent of my spine. His nose is buried in my hair, and he mutters something unintelligible before a hand snakes through the opening of thedress and around my waist. He palms my stomach as his face slides down my back. His bowed head takes on a delicious pressure against my bum. He must be on his knees now.
I’m frozen on that terrace. Frozen with desire and the fierce thrill of anticipation. We really should go inside.
He circles his fingers and thumb around my ankle in a loose grip and slides them up my leg. Up, up, under the long skirt of my dress. His other hand is still palming the sensitive skin of my stomach. The hand on my leg moves higher, brushing its way up my inner thigh. I’m frantically wondering how far he’s going to take this out here, but my legs widen their stance of their own accord.
Josh’s fingers hit the very top of my inner thigh. Any higher and he’ll feel my thong. I gasp and he makes a strangled sound.
‘I guess we better get you inside.’ He gets to his feet and steers me around, staying close behind me so no sneaky long lenses get a shot of my unzipped dress.
Inside, he slides the door shut with a slam and pulls the curtains over in a hurried, haphazard way. I’m standing, watching him, my hand still holding my dress up at the front, my full attention on this gorgeous man shutting out the outside world. It’s just the two of us. This is it.
He prowls towards me. Strands of dark blonde hair have fallen over his tanned forehead, and his beautiful blue shirt is rolled up at the sleeves and undone at the neck. He’s good enough to eat, and judging by the hungry expression in his eyes, he’s thinking the exact same thing about me.
Both his hands slide around my neck and cup my jaw, tilting my face up to his. I take in the intensity in those brown eyes and the curve of his lower lip. I want to bite down on it. It’s irresistible. I laugh.
‘What’s up?’ He reaches a hand up to brush my fringe out of my eyes.
‘Nothing.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s just—you’re Josh Lander. This is quite surreal. And a bit scary. In a good way, honestly.’
He has that look in his eyes again, like he can’t work out where he found me or what to do with me.
‘You’re funny. There’s nothing surreal or scary about me. I’m just a guy whose mug everyone’s sick to death of. You’re the one who’s?—’
