Star Crossed (16 page)

Three toppled over and then a fourth. Delighted, A.J. forgot herself enough to laugh.

“You’re a natural!” Luke praised, laughing along with her.

“I don’t know. I think I’d better keep my day job.”

She looked into his smiling face, right there beside her. God, he was a damn nice guy. His good nature shone in his eyes, in everything he did.

“Want to try another?” he offered.

She shook her head. “Better not.”

“Can’t have too much fun while you’re on duty?”

She’d already broken that rule for him. More than once. The reminder sobered her. Luke saw the change. His amusement didn’t disappear but his mood turned wistful. A.J. should have turned away. He was beautiful no matter what his expression.

Because she felt that too deeply, she returned to being professional. Or maybe not. Her question came from the general region of her heart. “You want to talk about your nightmare?”

His smile twisted. “Are you asking that as my bodyguard?”

“Your emotional well being could impact your safety.”

He snorted at her prim answer. “In that case, I’d rather not explain.”

“Would you like to visit your therapist? We could schedule that, though if you can stand to go without, I’d prefer he didn’t prescribe you sleeping pills.”

“I’d prefer that too.”

His tone held a wryness only he understood. He touched her hair. She kept it too short to need much smoothing, but he stroked it around her ear. To her dismay, she didn’t flinch. Actually, she might have leaned a teensy bit toward him. Her lips felt like they were buzzing.

“Where did your assistant work before she came here?” she blurted.

Luke blinked at the change of topic. “You can’t seriously suspect Eliza of having it in for me. She’s totally trouble free. Does her work with no drama.”

“In this town, some would say
that’s
suspicious.”

He laughed but without humor.

A.J. pressed her advantage. “She has a $10,000 print hanging on her wall. It could have been a payoff for something. Unless you gave it to her?”

She’d surprised him. “No,” he said slowly. “She furnishes her own rooms.” He rubbed the corners of his mouth in dismay. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. As I recall, before she came here, she was a PR rep for a salon.”

“Salons need PR reps?”

A.J. hadn’t hid her shock. Luke’s humor recovered.

“Some do. Stars want their nails done at whatever’s the hottest place. So the paparazzi can catch them there. PR people create buzz.”

“Did Eliza work at the place you go?”

Her guess deepened his amusement. “Please. VIPs as big as me have the salon come to them. There’s a room here with shampoo sinks. To be honest, I don’t remember who referred Eliza. Rachel maybe? She had a good interview. I hired her on the spot.”

Rachel was the namedropping chef. Could multiple members his staff be plotting against him?

“Those are paranoid thoughts running through your head,” he observed.

“That’s what I get the big bucks for.”

Luke’s subsequent exhalation was a sigh, but A.J. wasn’t ready to stop probing.

“Do you have night terrors often?” she felt compelled to ask.

“Jesus.”

“I need to know,” she insisted. “It’s relevant.”

“You
could
pretend to care on a personal level.”

“I do.” More than she ought. “My job matters more than my feelings.”

He sighed again but he answered. “I have them once or twice a month if I’m especially stressed. They’re not a big deal. I’ve learned to handle them.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. She concluded the nightmares were a bigger deal than he wanted to admit. Perhaps he wanted people to think his life was as golden as it looked. Her ribs contracted with sympathy. Though she’d rather they didn’t, her next words came out gruff. “If there’s something we can do to reduce your stress, we will. Assuming it doesn’t compromise your security.”

He grinned, and she realized she’d stepped into a trap. “There is one surefire way to drive bad dreams away.”

“If that’s the cure, I’m surprised you ever have a nightmare.” Her tone was grumpy—jealous, some might have said. Luke seemed to think so. He positively leered.

“Why, Alexandra,” he said. “Are you suggesting I have female company all the time?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But I
like
calling you Alexandra. It’s my own private name for you.”

He was doing the purring, bedroom thing with his voice. Her body reacted against her will, her pussy tightening and growing wet. That sent heat flashing to her cheeks . . . which naturally Luke saw.

“Alexandra,” he crooned in the same teasing tone. “You don’t know how pretty you are, do you?”

His fingertips skimmed her face. He was so close she really wanted to back up.

“Stop it,” she snapped, fighting the reflex to retreat.

“Really?” His head dipped to nuzzle her earlobe. “You’re sure you don’t want me to kiss you?”

The problem was she did. Tingles swept her vertebrae as he trailed his mouth down her neck to her collarbone. The reaction inspired a shiver she couldn’t get control of. His hands settled on her hips, under her plain suit jacket.

“I want you,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking her hipbones suggestively. “So much I might go insane.”

“You had me today already,” she tried weakly.

“That was yesterday. It’s after midnight now.”

Luke’s lips molded over hers. The pull he exerted seemed to increase each time she succumbed. With a sigh that was part exasperation, she slid her arms around him. She couldn’t help being keen to hold him. Her shirtfront flattened on his bare chest, his skin deliciously smooth and warm.

Was it really wrong to drag her fingernails along his back?

Luke didn’t think so. He
mm’d
his appreciation, his hands sliding toward her butt as his tongue played deeper. God, she loved his kisses. They had just the right mix of tenderness and hunger. His long fingers tightened on her ass, kneading the muscles there with a bit of strength.

He had an edge that made her crazy—as if underneath his sweetness, he really were desperate to have her.

“Crap,” she gasped, registering the size of what prodded her through his pajamas.

He smiled archly, holding her where she was. “Rudolph Valentino stayed here once.”

“What?”

“The actor from
The Sheik
.”

“I know who—”

He kissed her again, deeper than before. A.J.’s knees wobbled. She let out a longing noise when his lips released hers. “I have a couple fantasies where I’m him. That no woman can resist me, and I ravage them any way I want.”

A.J.’s tartness recovered. “How is that different from your normal life?”

He laughed. “You’re tall enough, I think.”

“Tall enough!”

Mischief danced in his expression. “For my particular fantasy of taking a woman here, in this room, from behind with her standing up.”

“Well, thanks for that over-share. I—”

“Alexandra.”

The single word silenced her. She swallowed. He’d turned her name into an aphrodisiac. She couldn’t look away from his crinkling eyes. He was so sure of himself, so confident sexually that it hypnotized. A.J. wasn’t shy, but she couldn’t match him there. His saturnine smile deepened.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“Take off your jacket.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s hot in here, don’t you think? And I’m barely dressed at all.”

Her eyes slid down his ripped action-hero torso to the front of his pajamas. The bold thrust of his erection revealed he was commando. She couldn’t blame the nearest Minion for goggling. The head of his cock was damp, a trickle of pre-come turning the silk transparent. A.J. wasn’t simply hot then: she sweltered.

“Damn it,” she said, fighting the impulse to lick her lips.

“I’m all yours, Alexandra. To ravage you. To service you. Whichever you prefer. Take off that jacket, and I’ll belong to you.”

He didn’t mean it literally. He was playing a game.

She bit her lip. She had to admit she wanted to believe him. “You’ll take me against the wall?”

He wasn’t quite controlled, because his breath rushed out at her implicit acceptance. “As many times as you want.”

“Once should do it.”

“You know, for an alpha female, sometimes you don’t demand enough.”

“Maybe I’m giving you credit for your skills.”

He grinned. “Which skills are those?”

“Now you’re fishing.”

“Shall I tell you which little man in a boat I’m most interested in?”

She scrunched her brows in confusion before bursting into a laugh. “I haven’t heard that metaphor since high school.”

“I wish I’d known you then,” he said.

“I was a tomboy. You wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

“Now that’s very much nonsense. You’ll always get more than one glance from me. More than two, to be truthful.” He was distracting her with his banter, with his
always
and his
I wish I’d known you then
. He freed her from her jacket—and got her arms to cooperate—almost without her noticing.

Her budded nipples chafed her bra, drawing a look from him and a grin. He wasn’t uptight like her. He licked his lips without hiding what he was thinking.

She shuddered, wanting his mouth on the aching peaks.

To hell with it
, she thought. This had gone too far to turn back. Her hormones thought so anyway.

“Oh fine,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt without more coaxing. Removing her holster inspired a pang. She hung it on a chair in a position where—if needed—she could easily get at it. That settled, she nodded at the cord that held up his pajamas. “If you take those off, I’m sure I’ll be motivated to go faster.”

“There’s an incentive,” he quipped back.

His graceful hands moved smoothly on the knot. Despite her smartass promise, the sight of him dropping trou totally stalled her undressing. God had been having a good day when He created Luke. The actor’s limbs were sculpted, his shapes and colors a pleasure to gaze upon. He was Sistine Chapel material—that is, if the Church hadn’t frowned on depicting men that randy.

He laughed at her stupefied reaction. “You’ve seen my full Monty before.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s not getting old.”

“Perhaps I should help you.” Amused, he turned her to face away from him. He didn’t fumble over this, either. He pulled her shirt off her arms, deftly removed her bra, then undid the fastening and zipper of her trousers. His body was right behind her, brushing her with smooth skin and hot muscle. He nuzzled her ear. “Stay where you are a sec. I want to make sure you’re warmed up enough.”

Though this wasn’t remotely necessary, all she did was gasp when he slid one hand into the front of her white panties. While that hand cupped her mons, his other claimed her breast as if it belonged to him.

“Um,” she said, sensation zinging in multiple directions as the fingers of his first foraged.

“Shh,” was his hushed response.

She was wet already, her nipples on fire from his tugging. No stranger to multi-tasking, he spread her labia and slid his longest digit inside of her. She tried to contain her pleasure noises. This became impossible when the pad of his thumb began massaging her clitoris.

“You can moan if you want,” he said. “These walls are soundproofed. The original owner didn’t want bowlers disturbing his other guests.”

A.J. squirmed and gasped instead.

“All right,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to earn it.”

He removed his touch from her. When she started to turn toward him, he caught her shoulders and stopped her.

“I’m requesting that you don’t look at me.”

A.J.’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re ‘requesting’ it.”

“I wouldn’t dare order you, Alexandra. Please remove the rest of your clothes and walk forward to face the wall.”

She hesitated. “Are you pretending you’re Valentino?”

“I’m being me. You’re sufficient fantasy for ten men.”

She couldn’t tell if his words were true, but the idea appealed. She dropped the rest of her garments, stepped out of them, and moved toward the wall as he’d instructed. She was a physical person—more or less easy in her skin. Her strides weren’t awkward or vampish. She knew he was watching. She suspected he was turned on. What surprised her was how free she felt being naked in front of him.

Powerful
, she thought, in ways that didn’t have to do fitness.

“Shall I brace my hands?” she offered when she was close enough.

“Yes,” he said huskily.

She laid her palms on the wallpaper, which displayed a swirling silver-on-black pattern. Figuring it would suit Luke’s plans, she spread her bare feet to shoulder width, the pose of an obedient friskee. She didn’t exaggerate the lewdness of her position. She doubted she needed to. Luke’s erotic imagination was working fine.

His steps approached. He paused before reaching her. She assumed he wanted to savor the visual.

“God,” he said in a wondering tone. “Your body is a work of art. Particularly that ass. Actresses would pay good money for you to play their butt double.”

“They would not.”

“They’d fight each other for the privilege,” he contradicted. “This is a masterpiece.”

He came all the way to her with the words. To prove them, he cupped his hands around her bottom cheeks, lifting and stroking the rounds of flesh with the possessive sureness that was second nature to him. Polite he might be, but Luke knew his own talents. He growled as he massaged her, the touch and sound sending hot waves of pleasure along her nerves. He ran his hands up her back, kissed her nape, and reversed course along her spine.

When he finished dropping kisses down that path, he was on his knees behind her. Like a worshiper in a church for sex, he stroked her legs from ankle to upper thigh, his million-dollar face rubbing back and forth across her hindquarters.

It all felt too good. She wasn’t certain where he was heading, and that didn’t suit a pre-planner like herself. At least, she thought it didn’t. Heat began to well from her pussy, every place he kissed becoming sensitized.

“Uh,” she said. “I don’t know how adventurous you’re intending to get back there, but I’m a simple girl.”