Over Exposed (4 page)

And then . . .

“Greg?”

The amusement left her eyes and he wanted to kick his own ass.

“Yeah?

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Hell, no. I'm laughing at myself.”

“Why?”

Because I want you so badly, I fucking ache and there's no way I can seduce you into my bed and still be able to look my closest friends in the eyes again.

“Because I can't decide if I'm finally having a midlife crisis or if it really is time for me to get the hell out of Hollywood for good.”

Her eyes narrowed and he swore he saw worry in those dark depths. Worry for him as a person, not as a commodity.

“Don't you want to make movies anymore?”

“Making movies isn't the problem.”

“Then what is?”

Good question.

A grin ghosted at the corners of his mouth for a second. “When I figure that out, I'll let you know.”

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, so she nodded and nibbled at her cannoli.

Hell, she practically played with the damn thing, her tongue licking at the cream filling, her teeth taking tiny bites.

He had to tear his gaze away before he leaned forward and kissed away the tiny speck of filling at the corner of her mouth.

They sat in silence as they finished the cannoli, with the music barely audible over the sound of the wind blowing snow against the windows.

After a particularly harsh gust, she turned to stare out the window. Greg continued to stare at her.

Beautiful.

Her profile was softly rounded, like the rest of her. No sharp angles. A pug nose, curved chin, high cheekbones, and those gorgeous eyes.

He wanted his Nikon, the one he'd used to take photos of her in Kate's lingerie. He didn't want to film her and that shocked him. He wasn't framing her for a shot. Usually when he saw a beautiful woman, his brain automatically envisioned her on a big screen.

What did it say about this one that he didn't?

“I can't believe it's snowing this badly in November.” Her voice had softened and he found himself almost mesmerized, waiting for her to continue. “I guess you don't see a lot of snow in L.A. Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

Drawing her legs up beneath her, she turned back to face him with a smile that made him feel like he'd been kicked in the stomach.

Jesus, what the hell was he going to do with her?

Not one damn thing.

“The change of seasons. I've never been to L.A. but I imagine it's warm most of the time.”

Not as fucking hot as he was right now, that's for sure. “Not a lot of snow in L.A., no. If I want to see snow, I go skiing in Colorado.”

Her nose wrinkled in a way that made his jeans even tighter. He needed to go to bed because if he stayed here with her much longer, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't seduce her.

His buzz had faded and rationality was seeping back. And rationally, he knew she was old enough to decide what she wanted.

That night, months ago, she'd wanted him. And he'd shut her down pretty damn fast, taking the moral high ground. He was quickly losing his footing up there now.

And what happens when she finds out you had sex with Kate?

“You will
never
get me on skis. Speeding down a mountain on two long pieces of wood? I seriously don't get the appeal.”

He shoved away thoughts of Kate. “Not one for pushing limits, huh?”

“Not ones that potentially end with me in a body cast, no.”

He laughed at her dry, sarcastic tone, soaked in the warmth of her smile, and felt his muscles unkink. He hadn't realized how tense his shoulders had been, how tight his arm muscles had been bunched.

Relaxing farther into the couch, he let himself sink into the conversation. He didn't pick it apart for underlying meanings or hidden agendas. He just enjoyed talking to her.

The girl had no guile. If he'd met her in Hollywood, he would've predicted she'd be on the first bus home after two weeks. She didn't have an ounce of hardness about her—until he asked about her father.

All she said was, “He left when I was young,” and since he didn't want the conversation to get too heavy, he let that one go, even though he wanted to know everything he could about her.

The writer in him always wanted to know more, know everything. He'd asked a lot of inappropriate questions his first few months in California before he'd finally learned to rein in his mouth.

As the conversation continued, it ranged from family and politics to music and movies. Sabrina didn't seem to mind his questions and he couldn't seem to stop asking.

The night grew dark around them, the glow from the fire the only illumination in the room. They'd finished off the cannoli—she'd had two and, for some reason, he liked that—and neither of them let the conversation lag.

She wasn't a pushover. If she had an opinion, she spoke it. If she didn't, she listened to him and seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. And not in the “Ooh, you're so interesting, Mr. Producer, please put me in your movie” way.

And every time she laughed, he wanted to reach for her, pull her across the empty cushion separating them and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her.

He wanted to put his hands on her skin, cup those breasts and bring them to his mouth so he could suck on her. She'd be so damn sweet. Then he'd pull her on top of him so he could smooth his hands down her back and over her ass.

He wanted her naked, wanted to be naked and pressed against her. Wanted to slip his cock between her thighs and—

“Greg, I think I'm going to head upstairs.”

“What?”

He blinked out of the fantasy he had going on in his head and narrowed his eyes at that little smile he knew wasn't real.

“You seem to be zoning out on me, so I figured it was time for bed. It's getting late.”

His gaze automatically went to the small brass clock on the mantel above the fireplace. The hands pointed almost straight up.

Damn.
For her, it probably was late. She had an actual job so she probably kept regular daytime hours and liked to sleep.

He didn't like downtime. If he wasn't in a meeting, he was dealing with the day-to-day business of running his successful production company. That meant he often took calls at two or three in the morning from raging directors and weepy actors.

His ex had learned to put up with it, but then Daisy had been in the business. And Daisy hadn't been some self-obsessed twenty-year-old with mental health issues.

At the time, his ex had been a twenty-seven-year-old with a damn fine head on her shoulders who had a penchant for drinking too much, which had become more pronounced the more obsessed he'd become with building his company.

Well, he'd built the company but he'd lost the girl. And now, he might lose the company as well.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up. I'll probably do some more work.”

He usually did his best writing in the dark, and he should be glad to send her off for the night so he could work.

But he didn't want her to leave, even though he was wide awake now. And sober. He could probably get a couple of pages done now that his head was clear.

She bit her lip, as if she didn't want to say anything else, but apparently curiosity got the better of her. “Aren't you finished yet?”

They hadn't discussed the film again while they'd been talking, which he realized was probably because he'd directed the entire conversation and he'd wanted to listen to her talk. Her voice mesmerized him.

“It's written. It just needs polishing. I'm trying to refine what I've got but it's harder than I remember. Then again, it's been a few years since I've written a screenplay.”

And he hadn't been in the right frame of mind lately.

Now, he actually felt like he could get some decent work done. But he wasn't ready to let her go.

He wanted to pump his fist in the air when she didn't move.

“I can't even imagine doing what you do.” Her nose wrinkled. “I had to take a creative writing class in college because I needed the credits. It was either that or a psych class and I figured making stuff up had to be easier than reading a whole lot of books about crazy people.”

He laughed and her adorable expression became one that made his heart pound and his cock throb until he'd be wearing the impression of his zipper on it for days.

Goddamn, he'd been fooling himself this whole time, thinking he could contain his attraction to her.

Now it really was time to retreat, because the way she was looking at him shook his control to the core.

It was late. It was dark. He wanted her and he wasn't used to denying himself.

But he had to deny himself her. Because if he took her to bed, they'd spend a couple of great hours together, maybe a couple of days. Then he'd say “Thanks, it was great” and never look back. She'd think he was an ass and cry to Kate, who would complain to Tyler, and then everyone would be pissed off at him.

And he had more than enough people pissed at him as it was.

“Greg? Are you okay?”

Because he couldn't tell her what he really wanted to say, he got something else off his chest.

“Not sure really. My partner in the production company tried to talk me out of taking the time off to do this film. He actually suggested I was having a really expensive nervous breakdown. Maybe I am.”

Maybe that's why he hadn't wanted to take another woman to bed for the past six months. Not since he'd met her.

“You seem pretty sane to me.” Sabrina's smile was back, this one sweet, comforting. She was trying to cheer him up.

“Up until three days ago, I felt pretty damn good.”

“What happened three days ago?”

“I hit a wall. One of the characters just isn't working and I'm not sure how to fix it.”

“I'm sure you will. Maybe it's not as bad as you think it is.”

He wanted her like he wanted his next breath.

“Yeah. Maybe not.” He kept staring into those dark eyes. “I better get to work or I'll never get it right.”

Her gaze dipped as she nodded a little too fast and slid off the couch to her feet. “Of course. I'll just take this stuff back to the kitchen. Can I get you anything else?”

Jesus, yes, please just put yourself on the platter for me.

“No. Thank you, Sabrina. I enjoyed the company.”

Her real smile enthralled him for two seconds before it morphed into Pleasant Employee. “I'll see you tomorrow morning . . . well”—she looked at the clock—“I guess I'll see you later today. Just let me know when you're awake and I'll get something together for you to eat.”

Christ Almighty, he should be writing porn films. Apparently his sex-starved brain could come up with a scenario for anything she said. And right now, he had her spread out on the dining room table where he spread her legs and licked her until she came.

“Sure. I'll let you know.”

After another brief smile, she picked up the tray and headed out the door.

His gaze followed the sway of her ass until she was out of sight.

With a mostly silent groan, he closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the cushion.

He hoped like hell the snow stopped right this fucking minute.

Two

Sabrina hoped the snow never stopped.

She stared out the kitchen window, dirty dishes in her hands, dishwasher open at her side.

That snow was the only thing keeping her here. If she'd been able to leave, if the streets were clear enough, she would head home because staying here . . .

Staying here meant she was only inches away from throwing herself at Greg Hicks.

She wanted him. Like she'd never wanted another man in her life. He made her palms sweaty and her heart race and her pussy wet.

And that had never happened all at the same time before, not in the five years she'd been sexually active. Which was a hell of a lot shorter time than he'd probably been having sex. With gorgeous women. Gorgeous, famous women who all looked like they had personal trainers and nutritionists on daily standby.

Greg had just watched her scarf down two cannoli. Stress eating sucked. And, sweet baby Jesus, was she stressed. She'd never been in this situation before.

If she wanted a guy, she went after him. She flirted. She got to know him. She went on a date. If she still liked him after a couple of dates, she might have sex with him, but there weren't too many guys out there who'd made it into her bed a third or fourth time.

She had yet to find a guy who made her want to lay in bed and talk all night.

Greg . . .

Shaking her head, she concentrated on loading the dishwasher with their dessert plates then setting it to run.

Greg was out of her league. Better to set her sights on one of the bellmen at Haven. Some of them were around her age—

She turned with a gasp when she heard a noise behind her.

“You know, I tried.” Greg walked with a slow, steady pace across the kitchen, his gaze never leaving hers. “I really did. I was halfway up the stairs and then I heard you. I was standing here before I realized I'd turned around.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the way he stared at her, his hazel eyes intent. She straightened to her full height but it still only brought the top of her head to his chin. When he stopped, he was close enough that she only had to lean forward and she could tuck her head under his chin. Which would bring her body right up against his.

Her hands clenched. Luckily, she wasn't holding a plate or it probably would've slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor.

“Tell me no and I'm out the door.” She felt his breath against her forehead and her lips parted to draw in air. Drawing his gaze to her mouth. “But I figure if we at least get this out of the way, we won't be climbing any more metaphorical walls. And that's all this is. A kiss. Nothing else.”

He wanted to kiss her? And
only
kiss her?

Well, shit.
Then it'd better be one hell of a good kiss.

She was in the process of lifting her arms to wrap her hands around his neck when he beat her to it.

He curled one big hand around the nape of her neck and closed the few inches between them. She had a split second to feel the heat and hardness of his body press against her breasts and thighs, a split second to think how much better this would be if they were naked, then his mouth closed over hers and she couldn't think.

Her brain blanked as his lips settled on hers. He didn't demand entrance right away—he seemed content just to feel her lips against his. He stood still, only the pressure of his lips against hers and the tightening of his hand around her nape. Not controlling or punishing. Demanding, but in a good way. A way that made her want to give him anything he asked for.

So when he parted his lips, she did too, giving his tongue a chance to slide into her mouth.

Heat spilled through her body as their tongues touched and their breath mingled. A moan worked its way free as he stroked his tongue along hers, tasting her, playing with her.

She kissed him back, not content to simply stand there. Her hands grabbed onto his waist, wanting him closer.

He had to bend so he could reach her mouth, and she wished she were taller so she could be plastered against him, feel every part of him, including the erection she'd seen him sporting when he'd walked in.

Tilting her hips forward, she sought to align them even more intimately as he kissed her deeper. As if he couldn't get enough of her.

Her own frantic need coursed through her, making her thighs clench and her heart pound.

Now he cupped her face with both hands and tilted her head to the side, allowing him more access. He seemed to want to devour her and she was perfectly willing to allow him.

Her hands tightened on his waist and she felt him take a breath, felt him slow the kiss without losing any momentum. It was almost as if, now that he'd tasted her, he was content to draw it out.

She didn't want slow. She wanted him to press against her, wanted to feel his erection against her belly. Wanted him to lift her so their necks weren't strained and she didn't feel so far away, even though she felt the heat of his body through her clothes.

Her breasts ached, her pussy ached—hell, her hands ached from clenching his hips. Without thought, her hands slipped down his hips then back to his tight ass.

Damn, he had a great ass.

He groaned and her lips curved in a smile as his fingers tightened on her cheeks.

Suddenly, he spun them around, grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the nearest worktable.

She had a quick second to suck in a deep breath and blink up at him before he insinuated his hips between her legs, wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and put his other hand under her chin.

Then he held her immobile and kissed the hell out of her.

If she'd thought that first kiss was good . . . sweet Jesus. Every muscle in her body went limp, every bone turned to jelly. If he hadn't been holding her up, she would've sank back onto the table in total surrender.

Whoever said you couldn't come just from a kiss had never been kissed by this man.

After a few seconds where she let herself float, she finally marshaled her strength and lifted her arms around his shoulders. She could reach them now, the table giving her enough height. She wanted him closer, tightening her arms, and he came, pulling her closer to the edge as he stepped forward.

Now she did feel his erection against her pussy and she wanted to moan and squirm and tear his jeans away. She wanted him to strip her down and do her right here, on the table—

He pulled away, jolting her out of her haze and leaving her scrambling to regain her equilibrium.

Eyes wide, she stared at him as she tried to draw some much needed air into her lungs.

Greg stared down at her, his expression unreadable.

When she opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head. “Okay, I totally miscalculated that one. Go to bed, Sabrina. We'll talk tomorrow.”

Without waiting for a reply, he lifted her off the table. She had a brief moment to salivate over the fact that he made lifting her seem easy before she was on her feet and he was steering her toward the door.

He didn't say he was sorry, didn't say anything at all. And she was still too stunned to respond.

At the base of the stairs to the second floor, she turned to look up at him. He returned her gaze steadily but she knew he didn't want to talk. Not now.

Good thing for him she was tired.

“Aren't you going up?”

He needed to sleep. The dark half circles under his eyes looked like bruises and she wished she could reach up and brush them away.

But that would assume a deeper intimacy and, even though he'd just kissed her like he wanted to roll her into a bed naked and beneath him, they didn't have that.

“Not yet. I still have work to do.”

Of course he did. Just because he'd kissed her didn't mean he was going to drop everything. Hell, he'd probably just been reacting to all the pheromones in the air and now that they'd gotten that out of the way . . . well, now they could just . . .

Oh, hell.
She needed to go away so she didn't talk herself into thinking she should just kiss him again.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak and therefore say something really stupid. Like “I bet we could find something a lot more interesting to do than work.”

Which would be totally out of line and unprofessional.

And she'd already done enough damage.

“Okay. I'll see you tomorrow morning.” She headed up the stairs but paused halfway up, turning to look at him. “Don't work too hard.”

His expression never changed, that intensity never faltering.

He nodded and she turned away, forcing herself to go. Knowing he continued to watch her.

How the hell was she going to sleep tonight?

*  *

Greg woke, fumbled for his phone on the bedside table, and looked at the time.

Well, damn, he'd slept more than five hours. A bloody fucking miracle.

And he'd had a breakthrough on that character last night. He now had two new scenes that were some of the best he'd ever written.

That was great.

The reason he was able to get that much done . . . yeah, that was going to be this morning's problem.

No, actually, it was afternoon, 12:17 to be exact.

And Sabrina was probably already awake and downstairs, waiting to do his bidding.

Christ, what the fuck had he done?

Sitting up, he realized he'd slept in his clothes, so he stripped and headed straight to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered and shaved, he figured he couldn't put it off any longer if he wanted to claim he had any balls at all.

He tried the kitchen first. No go.

The office suite behind the registration area. Not there, either.

In fact, he didn't find her downstairs at all.

Was she still in bed? Just the thought made him hard.

Running his fingers through his hair, he knew he shouldn't consider going upstairs to check on her. But, Jesus, he wanted to.

He had his hand on the banister and his foot on the first step when a noise caught his attention. He had no idea what it was, only that he hadn't heard it before.

Following the sound to the back of the building, he realized what he was hearing was music but not the rock and metal he liked. It was that shit they played in New Age shops and acupuncture studios. Daisy had dragged him to a few acupuncturists for his chronic neck ache. He still had the neck ache and he'd grown to hate the music.

Apparently this was something else he and Sabrina did
not
have in common. Too bad chemistry wasn't one of those things. Hell, their chemistry was off the charts, as they'd proven last night.

He should probably wait for her to find him. He should head back to the room he'd commandeered as an office and wait for her to finish whatever the hell she was doing.

Just like he shouldn't have kissed her last night.

But did he resist? Of course not. He didn't have enough self-control when it came to Sabrina.

And that was a major problem.

He made his way down a hall that led, if he remembered correctly, to the workout room. Actually, it was more like a dance studio with wooden floors and mirrored walls.

Or a yoga studio, because that's what he assumed she was doing.

Dressed in loose black pants and a gray shirt, she crouched on the floor, face down, arms stretched out in front of her. She'd pulled her hair back in a ponytail that spilled over one shoulder and onto the floor.

She must have had a routine memorized because there was no TV in the room, no instructor. The music plinked and plunked and annoyed the ever-loving shit out of him. But he would put up with it as long as Sabrina stretched and moved to it.

She hadn't noticed him yet, and he made sure he stayed far enough in the hall that she didn't catch him in the mirrors.

Yeah, maybe now he felt a little like a stalker. But that didn't mean he was leaving, because if he wasn't going to take the girl to bed, he could sure as shit just enjoy watching her move that gorgeous body.

Unfortunately, he must've caught her at the end of her routine because after only a few more minutes, she got to her feet, turned off the music, and picked up the mat she'd been using.

Since he knew he couldn't get away without her seeing him, he figured what the hell, he'd own up to his bad behavior.

After last night, she probably wouldn't be surprised by anything he did. Then again, he didn't want to frighten her.

He stepped into the room just as she was turning from replacing the mat on a shelf.

“Good morning.”

She gasped and her hand rose to spread over her heart. “Holy crap! Jeez, Greg. What are you doing up already?”

He smiled at the cranky tone of her voice, wanting to go over and kiss that little frown off her face.

Yeah, last night he'd made a huge tactical error. Why the hell he'd thought he could just kiss her and not be tempted to push for more was a mystery.

He needed to back the fuck off.

And yet, here he stood, waiting for her to come closer.