NicenEasy (5 page)

She still stared at him, but with astonishment in her gaze.
Not shock, not hatred, not the emotions he expected to see in her. Heat
blossomed anew between them.

“Let me see you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Take off your
clothes.

To his amazement, she didn’t argue. He’d expected her to
throw him out, but fuck, if she wasn’t stopping, neither would he.

Grabbing her T-shirt, she almost ripped it over her head and
tossed it aside defiantly. Then her bra, unclipped and as carelessly discarded.
She filled her hands with her breasts, pushing them at him, daring him to take
hold. He clenched his fists at his sides to stop himself doing just that. Shit,
he wanted her now. Already he’d hardened again. Shame filled him, almost
immediately pushed out by searing heat.

Jesus, this was hot. “Finish it. Get naked.”

Maybe he’d walk away once she was stark and wanting him.

Like fuck he would. He watched her slide out of her pants,
taking her underwear with them and kicking them away. Already rock-hard, he
watched her resume her previous position, kneeling at his feet, silently
watching him.

“Lie on the bed. Open your legs so I can see how wet you
are. Some groupies like to be looked at. I like to see it before I go in.”

Licking her lips, she went to the bed. With a convulsive
motion, she dragged off the cover. The stacked postcards and other detritus
went with it, clattering to the floor. She climbed on the bed, giving him a
great view of her pert backside and a glimpse of her sweet little rosebud. His
taste didn’t generally run to anal but it tempted him. So sweet, so sensitive.
He thought about it, but decided no. He didn’t want to hurt her physically,
even now.

His anger ebbed, forced out by sheer sexual want. His cock
throbbed now, on the verge of pain.

She lay on the bed and opened her legs, showing him
everything he wanted. The bare cleft gleamed at him, her pussy wet and needy.
That didn’t lie. If he hadn’t seen it, if she’d been dry, he’d have stopped.
Not now.

He undid the first button on his fly. “How about I send in
Jace after I’ve done with you?” He watched her expression flare, her knees
twitch as she reflexively lifted them a fraction off the bed and then lowered
them again. “No, you can do that. Lift your legs, it makes it easier to get
inside you.”

Lucky he’d brought a condom. He’d hoped for lunch followed
by some afternoon delight but his plans had changed. Lunch later.

He unfastened the last button and shoved his jeans and
underwear down his legs, but only enough to free his cock. He hardly paused to
sheathe himself. Maybe he should’ve made her do that too.

With her mouth.

The thought did its work and he gritted his teeth against
the urge to plunge in and please himself. He stepped toward the bed and lifted
one leg, putting his knee between hers. “Move down. Bring your cunt right to the
edge of the bed.”

He bent his legs, held his cock and waited for her to come
to him. “We’ll make you come so much, you’ll soak the bed. Stay there when I’ve
done and I’ll send someone else. Whoever wants you. Crew, manager, band, you’ll
never know until they get here. Lift your feet, put them on the bed.”

Staring at him, she planted her heels on the edge of the
bed, opened her legs wide. The view was even better now. Her pussy lay open and
ready to him. Just to make sure, he thrust a couple of fingers inside her.
Soaking heat surrounded him. If she were any more ready, she’d melt. He wanted
that around him. Needed it.

Taking his cock in one hand, he guided it to her, watching
as he sank slowly inside. He let out a soft groan. Fuck, that felt good, as good
as anything they did last night. “You’re tight,” he murmured. He met her avid
gaze, burning him up as she watched him. If he had any doubts, that expression
took it away. After all, she hadn’t said anything. Nothing at all.

He worked himself deep inside her, then pulled out.
Completely. His cock glistened with her juices. Smiling, he pushed inside her
again, watching as he powered in and out, feeling her increased wetness,
hearing the evidence of their mutual desire. Because he had no doubt that this
was mutual.

The wet sound of his entry, the slap of flesh against flesh,
the hit when his balls made contact with her buttocks. She made a sound,
guttural and needy. He lifted his gaze to her face. “You can shout, yell,
scream if you want to. But don’t use my name. You’re an anonymous lay and I
want it to stay that way. I won’t remember you, I won’t come after you. This is
it, all you get.”

She cried out then, wordless.

“Good.” Deliberately concentrating on his own needs, he
worked her, watching her, until he gritted his teeth as he felt everything
inside him building to a peak. She hadn’t come.

It shouldn’t be important, but it was. Moving his attention
back to her pussy, he saw her clit, red and prominent between the folds of
skin. He lifted one hand, pinched it, then rubbed it, giving no quarter. “I
want you to come. I like it when my women come.”

He thrusted, tweaked, held on for a total of six more
strokes. He counted them grimly, holding back until he felt the first pulse of
her climax and she arched her back, her shoulders pushing against the bed.
“Yeah. Okay.” Unable to manage any more, he released, and for the second time
in half an hour, came hard, his cock pulsing inside her. Without that condom,
he’d have drenched them both. So much, so hard, he barely registered her scream
and then her helpless gasping.

He didn’t wait but pulled out the minute he’d emptied
himself and got straight to his feet, heading for the bathroom.

After slamming the door, he dragged off the condom and
dropped it in the toilet, leaning against the wall behind in a moment of
helplessness. What had he done? At least he hadn’t taken her against her will,
he was sure of that. Anonymous sex so wasn’t his thing. He preferred a name and
a face to go with the cunts he fucked, enjoying communication in and out of
bed. He’d meant to teach Allie a lesson, show her what groupies did and then
walk away without any kind of sexual contact. Just fake it, giving her a scare.

Then she’d gone along with it. She’d kneeled, sucked him,
lay on the bed with her legs shamelessly splayed for him. His talk of sending
others had rocketed her arousal, and his too, in a weird way, because the
thought of sharing her for real repulsed him. He wanted this sweetness all to
himself.

But how could he, after what she’d done? Lied to him, told
him she didn’t know who he was, when she’d taken him for a sucker all the time,
fucked the star, not the man?

He couldn’t think straight now. Couldn’t. Needed to get
away.

He used the toilet, flushed and washed his hands. He’d go to
his room and take a nice, long shower. He couldn’t do it here. He might be
tempted to take her in with him, wash her tenderly, show her he didn’t mean any
of it—fuck, not yet, not now. She turned him inside out. He needed to think.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He continued the
game. He left the bathroom and turned to face her. She was still lying on the
bed, her breasts rising and falling with the shallow breaths she was taking.
“You can get dressed, but for the duration of this conference, you belong to
me. I say I want to fuck you, you drop your panties. I want to fuck your arse,
even if we’re in the bar with all those crazies around us, you bend over and
prepare yourself for me. I want a blowjob, you say how hard and you take me
deeper each time. I say fuck that man over there and you go and offer him
anything he wants. Either that or you stay away from me. Your choice, darling.”

That should keep her at a distance. He spun around and left
the room, making sure the door closed properly behind him. He didn’t want
anyone else seeing her like this. Not that he’d tell her.

Allie showered and dressed in a daze. What had happened
here? When he’d ordered her on her knees, why had she done it, and why had it
turned her on so powerfully? She was sure she’d recovered from the groupie
dreams she’d fueled her masturbatory fantasies with, but Donovan had proved her
devastatingly wrong. He’d brought some of those dreams to life but she
shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. Even as she’d wielded her B.O.B., she’d
known the fantasies were degrading and just plain wrong. Even if they were so
fucking hot.

She’d humiliated herself. She’d avoid Donovan Harvey for the
rest of the conference and hope their paths never crossed again. Conventioneers
had filled this hotel and the one next door so it shouldn’t prove too
difficult. Besides, he had a suite in the security wing and she’d never have
occasion to go there. Firmly pushing the feeling of regret that it wouldn’t
happen again to the back of her mind, she went in search of Carl, only twenty
minutes late.

Dressed in a white shirt, black pants and a black velvet
jacket, Allie thought herself the epitome of business chic, while the dragon
necklace and earrings gave a clue that she was part of the fantasy convention.
She’d tried the outfit on in front of the mirror at home, but it didn’t look or
feel the same now. It felt ordinary, boring even.

She wasn’t the only one waiting for the elevators.

Others had gone full-out, goths in stark white makeup and
outrageous outfits, space pioneers in silver plastic suits carrying bubble
helmets, so if anything she seemed out of place and strange, not the other way
around.

Ignoring them after exchanging smiles she tried not to make
judgmental or embarrassed, she made her way to Carl’s room, only to find he
wasn’t there. Well, there was one place Nancy told her that everyone
congregated, and she’d been there last night. The bar.

Work would help, she told herself. It had to, because she
sure as fuck didn’t want to think about anything else right now.

Nancy sat at a table with a few of her colleagues and an
author Allie vaguely recognized. She should be better informed, she should know
these people. She had once made sure she knew the faces of all Casterbridge’s
writers attending the con. That was before this afternoon, which had wiped
other memories from the forefront of her brain.

Concentrate, Allie.

She tried, she really did, but nothing clicked until she saw
Carl. He was sitting at a table with six women and one other man, and from the
color of the badges they wore in the pouches around their necks, they were
readers. Dammit. Carl wore his Hawaiian shirt open over a dazzling T-shirt.
Together, they were a sight for sore eyes, or rather, they made her eyes sore.

Relieved, she hurried across to the table. “Carl, you have a
panel in five minutes.”

“Plenty of time.” Carl waved a hand vaguely in her
direction. “You worry too much.”

The readers laughed. “Someone has to,” Allie said grimly,
“because you sure aren’t.” She grasped his shoulder lightly, trying to urge him
up.

He fell silent and turned his head slowly before staring at
her hand. Everybody looked and Allie realized Carl did have some authority,
after all. So far he’d shown her only a pleasant, happy exterior, but now she froze.
If he took offense, the rest of her time here could turn into complete shit.
Together with what happened earlier.

She stopped her wayward thoughts right there and removed her
hand from Carl’s shoulder. The women laughed and applauded and Allie frowned.
“What’s the joke?”

“Haven’t you read his books?” one of the women asked
incredulously. “That’s what F’tan does in chapter three to the king. That’s how
everybody knows the king is losing his grip.”

She was right. Normally, Allie would have gotten the reference
straight away. She’d helped Carl hone that gesture, for heaven’s sake, made it
F’tan’s signature. To touch someone’s shoulder, very gently, but to transmit
his authority.

Fuck. She forced a smile. “Yes, of course. Carl, are you
ready?”

Carl, having shown off his move, got to his feet. “Whenever
you are,” he said.

Unfortunately, at that moment, she caught sight of Donovan
crossing the large space between the bar and the reception area. It shook her
enough to take her off her stride. “Hey.” Carl touched her elbow and guided her
away from the table. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “Yes, fine, thanks. Just a minute’s
dizziness. Jet lag residue, I guess.”

“It can be rough on some people.” Carl sounded sympathetic
and sober and at that moment, she saw the man who’d written such a great book.
“Come on, show me where the panel is.”

Back at the table, she heard one of the women. “Isn’t that
Donovan Harvey?”

It had begun. Soon everyone at the conference, and thanks to
social networks, beyond, would know Donovan was there.

* * * * *

Later that day, Allie went back to her room and suffered
Nancy’s teasing, but inside all the words came the reminder. Donovan Harvey
could be a real asset to her job. Bring him in and she’d be safe.

Nancy could go fuck herself.

They dressed for the ball that night, the first time this
year’s costumes would come out officially. The “Out Of This World” ball was for
the space fiends, the spaceships and ray gun fans, although Nancy had warned
her not to use those terms in front of them. “They’ll spend half an hour
telling you how many books there are with spaceships and ray guns and they’ll
give you the plots.”

Allie wore a vaguely futuristic dress in white with patterns
of interlocking circles, and blow-dried her hair into a glossy sheet, curled
under at the ends.

“Very nice,” said Nancy, who’d gone the whole hog of silver
spacesuit and weapons belt, with a symbol on the front taken from one of her
author’s books. She grimaced. “Maylie says I have to wear this. I’m sitting at
her table tonight. You should find Carl and join him.”

“I’m meeting him outside the ballroom.” Allie checked her
watch. “In ten.”

Nancy bent and picked a postcard off the floor, handing it
to Allie with a broad grin. “You missed this one.”

She’d spent ages picking up the detritus and sorting it out
again. It had taken her mind off precisely what had happened in that room, on
that bed, but of course Nancy had noticed. Allie took the card with a muttered,
“Thanks.”

After stuffing a pen and some notes into her convention
nametag pouch, she set off for the ballroom. She’d taken a little time to
acclimatize herself to the hotel but she didn’t need a map to know where the
ball was taking place. People in red T-shirts with “I’m proud to be a redshirt”
imprinted on the front, people dressed more elaborately and people in more
conventional evening outfits headed in the same direction.

The line for entry was long but cheerful, and people with
cameras toured it, snapping the participants, who happily posed. Allie found
Carl, not difficult, since he was a walking advertisement for his book, and
they joined the line. A flash took her by surprise, half-blinding her, and she
turned to bury her face in Carl’s shoulder for a moment. Unfortunately when she
lifted her head, Carl kissed her.

She pulled away quickly, her mind going into overdrive, her
instincts rejecting him before her reason kicked in.
It’s not him
,her
treacherous libido told her, pushing through any rational denial, and right
then, she knew she’d lost. She wanted Donovan and more of his games. Or was he
just angry? Did he use women like that? Again, deep inside, something said no,
but he was a rock star for fuck’s sake. Of course he did.

Giving Carl a half-apologetic smile, she started to move up
as the doors finally opened and the line began to shuffle its way inside, but
Carl pulled her back. “I meant it,” he said. “Offer on the table. You’ve done a
lot for me. Let me do something for you.”

As if he was doing her a favor. Luckily, the noise had
increased, so she could only shake her head against the sudden cacophony of a
fanfare from inside the ballroom and the raised voices of the fancons. Confans?
She was forgetting her terminology. He tried to grab her arm but she moved
forward as if she hadn’t noticed.

Stuck for an evening with him, she found spaces at a table
reserved for them. The publisher had sent in a request, and all the major
authors plus their editors found themselves at the same table. They also had
extra swag, bookmarks, pins and other giveaways set in a basket at the center
of the round table.

Nancy arrived shortly after and it was obvious from her
slightly higher voice and excitement that she’d put the extra time to good use
at the bar. As soon as she arrived, she seated her author and headed for the
bar setup. Carl had already done the honors, so Allie didn’t have to join her.

She tried to forget the events of the last day and sat back
to enjoy the evening.

For the most part, it went well, but Carl’s wandering hands
grew even more of a liability the more he drank. Two hours later, she was
heartily tired of fending him off and trying to make it tactful, so she
suggested they join the throng on the dance floor. Apart from his propensity to
touch, Carl had behaved like a seasoned trouper, signing bookmarks, ebook cover
flats and even someone’s stomach. All with smiles and a few jokes.

His counterparts were discovering that an elaborate costume
didn’t always help with eating, drinking or being recognized, which was what
they were there for. Space helmets lay on the table with masks and other
face-disguisers. The fans had found them, and they were doing good business,
but the event Allie had looked forward to for months was overshadowed by what
had happened earlier in the day. She couldn’t get her mind off it, going
through the events, getting hot all over again, even though she knew she
shouldn’t. But no matter how often as she told herself it was wrong, she
remembered going down on her knees for Donovan Harvey.

She didn’t see him here. Probably a blessing. It gave her
time to get over what had to be delayed shock. However, she couldn’t get away
from him, because the table began to discuss it. “Why is Donovan Harvey here?”
demanded Carl.

“Is he?” One of the authors perked up and raised a brow. “Is
he with us?”

“No, he’s with Edsel.” Nancy shot Allie a sly glance. “We’re
hoping to attract him. Obviously we can’t poach directly, but we can
chat
to him.”

“Are there rules?” demanded the woman to Allie’s left, the
one dressed as a sexy alien. Animal-print bikinis were obviously hot on most
other planets this year, because she wasn’t the only woman—or man—rocking the
leopard. This one was almost rocking out of hers. “Why shouldn’t you make him
an offer?”

Nancy gave her a wry smile. “It’s not done.”

The woman snorted. “We do it all the time in my line of
work.” She frowned. “At least there’s a clause in my contract that forbids me
working for a group of named competitors for six months after I leave them.”

“It’s something like that in publishing, but officially
he
has to approach
us
.”Nancy sounded patient but she spared
Allie a sly glance. “We have to entice him without asking him.”

“He’d be hard to entice with all those groupies who cluster
around rock stars.” The tableful or people erupted in laughter at the quip, but
Allie had to force hers. Right back in the action she saw herself, saw his eyes
dilate when she sucked in his cock as deeply as she could. Then he’d told her
he’d pass her on to someone else. She should be appalled. She wasn’t, and that
in itself horrified her.

“Not that kind of entice,” Nancy protested, but she didn’t
need to look at Allie now, who found herself profoundly glad for the dim
lights. Perhaps nobody had noticed she must be red as a beet. “But tempt him.
You all know how good we can be to our best authors.”

Two of the authors rolled their eyes then laughed. Carl just
laughed. His shark of an agent had squeezed the company until the pipes
squeaked, and Carl’s advance for the third book had already taken a good chunk
of the budget. Casterbridge needed him. Their finances weren’t too hot right
now and they needed a healthy injection of cash like the kind a bestseller
could bring.

“So if he’s at the con, where is he tonight?”

Nancy leaned forward. “Word is getting out. That’s what.
He’s making his first scheduled appearance at the signing tomorrow, after the
parade through the city. That doesn’t mean he won’t appear tonight or tomorrow.
Keep your eyes open.”

“Not hard to spot him. He’s over six feet tall, isn’t he?”

“Allie?” With seeming innocence, Nancy turned to her.
“You’re a fan of the band, aren’t you? How tall is Donovan Harvey?”

“About six two, I think.” She shrugged in an attempt at
insouciance. Six two and a half, according to the fan site. “I don’t really
know.”

“Liar.” Nancy winked at Carl. “She’s crazy about the band.
Has everything they’ve ever done.”

“All three albums?”

Allie shrugged. “I also have all the Beatles’ output, and
most of Radiohead’s. I like music, that’s all.”

She’d hoped to divert the discussion to music in general,
but they refused to let it happen. Murder City Ravens became the subject of the
moment, and however much she tried to turn it, nobody was interested. They
discussed the upcoming appearance on the
Today, Tonight
show, the
concert next week in San Fran and the huge ones in L.A., and the albums.

Allie gritted her teeth and determined not to give away more
information because she had it. “I fell for the music,” she said at one point.
“Pure and simple. It’s so complex, so beautiful and sometimes scary.”

One person nodded but the others went on to discuss the
hotness of the members of the band. Sure, they were hot, but she had told the
truth—she’d heard a track and fallen heavily for the music.