Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel) (18 page)

“Mm, probably your nice personality,” she teased, murmuring against the side of his neck. She felt as much as heard his elongated exhale.

“I don’t have a nice personality.”

“Don’t you?” She was coy, like a woman about to shed her inhibitions along with her clothes. She ran her fingers up and through his hair. It was soft, the only thing about him that was, and she pulled his face a little closer, her lips hovering near his. “I think you do. Either way, I like you.”

She did. She liked him a lot, and her simple declaration seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His pulled her close, almost roughly, and kissed her soundly, catching her bottom lip in his teeth for the tiniest nip. It made her gasp, and it made her melt. Then his hands were everywhere, sliding up her back, tracing her spine and then back to her hips to pull her against him. She marveled at the sensations as their bodies swayed on the soft mattress. He kissed her throat, then leaned backward to slowly, slowly, ease the hem of her shirt up and off. She lifted her arms, letting the fabric tease her skin.

No chance for shyness or hesitation now. She was topless, and not at all sorry about it. The air in the room was cool, but his admiration was hot, his gaze paying tribute to her body as his hands followed. He cupped her breasts, running his thumbs against the peaks. She pressed into his palms, getting a squeeze and a growl from him for her efforts. Then his arms wrapped around her once more, and she was pinned breathless beneath him as they tumbled to the mattress. The smattering of hair on his chest added to the delicious friction, sending tendrils of heat outward through her limbs, turning all her muscles to liquid as he kissed her, his tongue a miraculous thing.

Everything inside her was functioning on instinct and need. His mouth lit up her senses, setting her on fire, bringing her alive. She heard the mumbled dialogue of the movie, faint in the background, but concentrated on the throaty sounds and hushed breaths exchanged between them. He grazed his teeth along her shoulder, threaded his fingers into her hair, tugging it. This wasn’t tender, it was urgent.

“God,” he murmured into the curve of her neck.

She nodded at his sentiment and arched upward. “I know. Me too,” she whispered.

Her hands explored, feeling the smooth muscles of his back bunch up and release at her touch. She moved one leg up and around and pressed her heel into the back of his thigh.

“Lane, I hope you’re in a hurry.” His voice tumbled out from deep within his chest, and was laced with both humor and desperation.

“I am, but do you have any . . . party favors?” She felt as desperate as he sounded.

He lifted his head and smiled down at her.

“I do. Compliments of our hosts.”

She reached around his waist and grabbed his ass, giving it a squeeze. “Then how about a little less conversation, a little more action, baby?”

He kissed her fast and hard. “You are my kind of girl, Elaine Masters.” Her heart wobbled at his words, like a flat tire on sticky pavement, but she pushed the thought away. Her name was a technicality at the moment. He wanted her,
her
, not some reality TV rendition of her. Not some old sex tape version either. She’d tell him the truth tomorrow for sure.

He rolled off the bed and found his coat, unzipping one of the interior pockets. She sat up and smiled.

“That’s where you put them? In your coat?”

He pulled out a foil packet, then smiled at her and took out a second one, and a third, tossing them onto the nightstand.

“I was in a hurry. We were getting off the bus. Where would you suggest I put them?”

She laughed and fell back to the bed, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you brought some.”

He came back to her then, eyes gleaming. “Me too. And I grabbed at least ten, so I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping.” He leaned over her, kissing her belly and working his way up, tantalizing her. She sighed from deep within. She needed this, this loving attention, this release, and the freedom to just
feel
. To just
be
. Everyone she’d ever been with before had come to her with expectations because of who she was, because of who her parents were, but he knew none of that. He wanted her for
her
, and she meant to make the most of it.

He lavished patient attention on her most sensitive spots until she was breathless. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him closer. The fabric between them was a frustrating barrier. He must’ve thought so too because he rolled away slightly and tugged at the waistband of her pajama pants.

“These need to go,” he said, his voice decisive.

She hesitated, knowing this was truly the point of no return. Those pajama pants were the only thing between her and being full-on naked. And once she was naked, well, then she’d be
naked
.

Grant looked up at her face, his eyes drunk with desire, but he sensed her reservation and kissed her, soft and slow. She felt it from her lips to her toes, and everywhere in between.

“Please?” he whispered, and she was lost. She would give him anything. Everything. She’d known that, deep down, since the first moment she’d seen him. All he’d ever had to do was ask nicely, and in this moment, he was asking, very, very nicely.

She covered his hand with her own and pushed at the waistband, lifting her hips to help him slide the pants over her bottom and off her legs. Then she reached for him, and his jeans quickly joined the growing pile of discarded clothes next to the bed, until it was just her and Grant tangling between the sheets. He kissed her and caressed her, teased and rewarded, murmuring sweet encouragement until all her senses coiled tight, and burst. A dizzying spiral that left her breathless and blissful. He joined her soon after, his breath ragged and welcome as he pressed his mouth against the curve of her neck.

“Beautiful, Lane,” he whispered moments later. She didn’t know if he meant her or the experience, but it didn’t matter. She was one and the same. All good. Her surroundings began to take shape once more. The voice of Elvis singing floated into her ear from the television, some song about being all shook up. She could relate. Her body still crackled like a downed wire, with Grant the only thing grounding her. She could feel his heart thumping against her ribs. Or maybe that was her heart. They were so close it was impossible to tell where one started and the other ended.

After another moment, uneven breathing returned to normal, and Grant shifted his weight, rising up on his elbows to gaze down at her. “I’ve made a mistake,” he said, but his smile showed no remorse.

“A mistake?”

He nodded. “I should have grabbed twice as many party favors. We’re going to need them.”

Chapter 18

THE SUN SHONE BRIGHTLY THROUGH
the hotel window, casting pale yellow beams over the gold bedspread. Delaney’s body sizzled with aftershocks from the third mind-blowing orgasm she’d had in the past eight hours spent in bed with Grant, and for the first time in her life, she was thinking about having a panic attack. She’d never had one before. Not once in her whole stupid life. Not even when she’d seen that awful video for the first time and realized it was her. But she was giving serious consideration to having one now—a panic attack—because she’d just realized she was totally, madly, deeply in love with Grant Connelly.

If anything could trigger a panic attack, that had to be it.

He didn’t even know her name.

She had to tell him.

She had to tell him everything.

She had to tell him. She had to tell him. She had to tell him.

SheHadToTellHimSheHadToTellHimSheHadToTellHim.

But she didn’t want to tell him because it felt so good to be adored. Since the moment they’d first touched, he’d strummed her body like an instrument, and now every cheesy love song Elvis ever sang made sense to her. She was all shook up, she was a fool rushing in, she couldn’t help falling, all of those . . . and all because Grant Connelly was a hunka, hunka burning love. But it wasn’t just the sex. It was the way his eyes changed from hazel to green depending on the light, and the way those same eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed. It was the way he talked about wanting a more meaningful job and a better relationship with his family. It was the way he was trying to protect her and get her money back. It was the way he looked at her,
her,
as if she were gorgeous and fragile and fresh. As if she was valued for simply being herself, and she wanted to hang on to that glorious feeling for as long as she could.

Annnnnd—there was the sex, which had been pretty fucking phenomenal. Really. Truly. The sex alone could have been enough of a reason to fall in love with Grant Connelly. But just as the aftershocks of her climax faded, so did her fantasy that she could keep her identity a secret. Guilt and anxiety swooped in like fake Elvis at a polyester jumpsuit factory. Grant deserved better than this. He didn’t deserve to be lied to, but oh, everything would shatter once she told him the truth. Everything would be different. Maybe he would forgive her deceit. Hopefully he could, but even so, once he knew who she was, once he knew about Boyd and the video, everything—everything—would be different.

Even so, it was time to come clean—and she would—just as soon as she was
actually
clean. She needed to shower, and she needed to get dressed because this was not a conversation to be had during this post-coital glow, while the sheets were still twisted around their feet and Grant was breathing raggedly against her shoulder. No, this was not the time.

She’d tell him all about Delaney Masterson just as soon as they were dressed.

Only she didn’t because he’d followed her into the bathroom, and then the shower, and by the time they came out, Reggie was pounding on the bedroom door.

“Hey! Honeybun, me and Fincher need our toothbrushes. How long are you two going to be takin’ care of business?”

“I hate that guy,” Grant muttered as he pulled on brand-new Elvis boxers. They had pictures of little blue suede shoes all over them, and she bit back a smile as she called out toward the closed door, “Hang on a sec. We’re almost dressed. Five more minutes.”

“Please don’t laugh at me in my underwear,” Grant added, quietly, but his own smile tilted at the corners of his mouth.

“I promise. You make those look good,” she said.

“No one could make these look good.”

They quickly finished dressing and unlocked the door. Reggie sprinted through and went straight for the bathroom, his hair wild from a night spent on the couch, and Delaney felt a little bad, now. She’d been so wrapped up in Grant, she hadn’t thought much about how the Paradise Brothers had fared during the night.

“Good morning, Reg,” she called after him, then she and Grant walked into the other side of the suite.

“Good morning, Finch.”

He was lying on the white vinyl sofa still wrapped in a blue hotel blanket.

“Good morning, sweetness. Oh, you too, Elaine,” he teased.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

He offered up a naughty grin. “I’m guessing I slept about as much as you did.”

Heat blossomed on her face, but Grant just smiled. He practically thumped his chest. Men.

By the time Reggie and Finch were done in the bathroom, Sam, Humphrey, Clark, and Sissy had all showed up. Humphrey was wearing the sweatpants he’d loaned Delaney the other night, and Sam had on a Paradise Brothers T-shirt. Sissy and Clark, however, were resplendent in matching head-to-toe denim outfits. His, a suit, and hers, a one-piece jumpsuit that would have made Elvis weep with envy.

“Got any coffee?” Humphrey asked, sitting down on one of the cherry-red suede chairs and putting his feet up on the glass-topped coffee table.

“Um, I think so,” Delaney said. “I’ll make you some.” She busied herself at the one-cup pot while the rest of them sat down. With everyone making themselves right at home, it was obvious there would be no privacy, and nowhere to talk to Grant. True confession time would have to wait, and every single part of her was relieved.

“Hey, check out all these Facebook hits,” Reggie said a few minutes later. He was sitting on the white vinyl sofa with a laptop computer resting on his long legs. “The honeys are commenting on our Best Fucking Baby Hat contest pictures. They love it. Humper, I think even you might get laid after this one.”

Humphrey’s laugh was genuine. “My momma didn’t raise no fools, Reg. I told you, the honeys love a man in touch with his do-mes-tic-i-tee.”

Finch leaned over from his spot next to Reggie, peering at the screen. “Here’s a comment about you, Elaine.”

“Me?” Her throat clogged up as if she’d just chugged motor oil. She coughed to clear it. “How did I get on there? What’s it say?” Hiccup.

“It says
WHO IS THE LUCKY CHICA IN THE MIDDLE OF A PARADISE BROTHERS SANDWICH
? That’s you, sweetness.” Finch beamed over at her like
aren’t you excited?

She wasn’t excited. She’d kept her damn head down every single time somebody on that damn bus had pulled out a damn cell phone. How had they caught her in a picture? She handed a cup of coffee to Humphrey.

“That is an enviable spot to be, yeah?” Reggie nodded. “Why don’t you come on over here and do it again. Sit between me and Fincher. Cameraman, take our picture.”

Delaney heard Grant’s jaw click shut.

“No pictures of me today, boys, but I’d sure like to see that one.” She stepped closer and Reggie turned the computer as she bent over to look. Oh, damn it. There she was, right there on Facebook, an image of her sitting on the green sofa of the tour bus, wedged in between Finch and Reggie. Her face in the photo was turned so she was almost entirely in profile, and her normally highlighted hair, which was now dark brown, covered part of her face. She knew who she was, of course, but how many Paradise Brothers fans would figure it out? Probably not many. Hopefully not any.

“Want me to tag it, honeybun, so your friends back in Bell Harbor can see what fun you’re having?”

“No.” Her voice was too sharp, her follow-up laughter too insincere. Hiccup. “No, I wouldn’t want them to be jealous.” And she didn’t want herself to be nauseous. She hadn’t been on her own Facebook page in days, and that was probably for the best, but she grimaced at the thought of what garbage had been dumped there. She really should have shut that thing down before she’d even left Beverly Hills. It felt like a lifetime ago since she’d been in sunny California, and in many ways it was. She’d become a different person since leaving home behind. Not just because of the alias. She was actually starting to
feel
like a different person.

“You OK?” Grant asked.

She stood up straight. “Yeah, I’m just hungry. Is anyone else hungry?” She needed some air and she needed them to stay off Facebook.

“I’m hungrier than a bear waking up from hibernation,” Sissy said, standing up from her spot on her husband’s lap. “And I want to try me one of those grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches that Elvis used to love.”

Clark stretched his legs out. “Well, I don’t know about hungry, bu
t I sure could use a Bloody Mary. ’Cause you know, just like my daddy always told me, ‘Son, you can’t spend all day drinking . . . unless you start first thing in the morning.
’ 
”

Sissy giggled and swatted at his shoulder. “Your daddy was a teetotaler and never said any such thing.”

“Didn’t he? Well, somebody’s daddy said it. So let’s head down to the lounge.
”

The meal was raucous, the conversation inappropriate, just as Delaney had come to expect from this group. These guys were fun, and funny—flirty for certain, but with such a Southern gentleman flair it made her snicker right along with them. Their overt attention toward her was harmless, but still flattering. Plus she was in a damn fine mood after last night. How could she not be? Grant seemed to be in a similar state of mind, and even now couldn’t manage to be next to her without there being some kind of physical contact between them. Yes, she needed to tell him the truth, but she’d worry about that later.

After everyone had finished eating, the Paradise Brothers and Sammy made short work of getting what they needed from the bus and setting up the stage. Besides their group, there were only a handful of people milling around in the Jungle Room Lounge. Even most of the Elvis impersonators had disappeared, probably to go back to their lives as accountants and dentists. Delaney excused herself to use the ladies’ room, and when she came back, Reggie was tuning some instruments. She wandered over to the stage and lightly tapped a few notes on the piano.

“You play, honeybun?” Reggie asked, glancing her way.

“A little.”

“I’m trying to tune some stuff. Want to give me a hand?” he asked.

She glanced over at Grant. He was sitting at the table with the rest of the group while Sissy told some animated story that involved much waving of her hands. Judging from his expression of consternation, it was either a very involved story, or he was just trying very hard not to stare at her cleavage. Delaney could hardly fault him if he had been staring at it. Sissy’s cleavage was spectacular.

“Sure, I can help you,” Delaney said to Reggie. She sat down on the piano bench and felt an eager tremble run through her. She hadn’t played in weeks. Add that to her list of things she missed about home.

She stroked a few keys, played a few more notes, and Reggie plunked a bass string.

“Can you give me an A?”

They worked together for a few minutes, her plunking, him tuning. “You know any songs?” he asked.

She sat up straighter. “I know lots of songs. Pick one.”

“
‘Ode to Joy’?”

She looked over her shoulder and frowned at him. “Seriously? Everyone knows ‘Ode to Joy.’ Even people who don’t play piano know ‘Ode to Joy.’ I’ve got something better for you.”

She started playing one of her favorites, a song her dad had written but never recorded. She knew this one by heart, every note, and as soon as she’d struck the first note, she got all caught up in it, forgetting there was anyone else in the room. It was just her and the piano.

When she finished, the smattering of people in the lounge clapped, and she flushed all over with the heat of her stupidity. She’d let her ego get the best of her. So much for keeping a low profile.

Reggie stepped closer and leaned over the piano, his dark eyes gleaming. “You’re pretty good on that thing, honeybun.”

“Thanks.” She pulled her bangs down. Hiccup.

He flashed a Reggie-style grin and his eyebrows twitched. “In fact, watching you tickle those ivories is getting me a little aroused.”

She plunked a few sharp notes. “You sure know how to charm the ladies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually, but I’m just messing with you.” Still, he leaned forward even closer and lowered his voice. “But I gotta say, even though I’ve charmed a lot of ladies, and I do mean,
a lot
, I’m damn good with faces, and yours has been distracting me since the first moment you climbed on board our tour bus.”