The Perfect Play (13 page)

He dropped his gaze to hers with a smoldering look that made her melt inside.

“Something you want?”

“Yes. Your cock inside me. Now.”

He lifted her dress, fisting it in his hand as he pushed it over her hips, then reached for her panties and dragged them down. She wiggled, letting them drop to the floor. Mick unzipped his pants and took out his cock, reaching into his pocket for a condom, tearing it open, and sheathing himself in record time.

Mick pushed her against the wall and lifted her leg over his hip, shoving inside her with one hard thrust that would have made her scream if she wasn’t cognizant of not being alone on this plane. Instead, she gasped as he pulled out and drove into her again. She felt the pulse of her pussy, demanding more of the sinful pleasure he gave her.

He dragged the straps of her dress off her shoulders and bared her breasts, then bent to latch onto one of her nipples and sucked, hard. Tara shivered, banged her head back against the wall of the plane, the roar of the engines equaling the roar of her blood as it pounded in her ears. She pulled on Mick’s shirt, and he lifted his arms, allowing her pull it off him.

Oh, she liked this, having him slam her against the wall of the plane, her dress nothing but a wad in his hands as he held on to it while he pummeled her with deep upward thrusts, the frenzy of their lovemaking taking her out of her mind to a place where she felt crazy and free. She knew nothing but this man and this moment and the center of her being where desire coiled like a snake, fierce and unhindered. She scored his shoulders with her nails and demanded more.

“Shit,” he said, rocking his pelvis harder against her, giving her the more she’d wanted, sliding his hand between them to massage her clit, separating enough to let them both watch as he fucked his cock inside her and used his fingers on her clit.

“I’m going to come, Mick. Keep fucking me like that.”

She felt her pussy clamp down around his cock, a wild spiral of sensation taking over, and she came with a wild cry.

Mick slammed his mouth over hers, sucking on her tongue as he rocked against her, shoving deep inside her with a groan as he hit his climax and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground while thrusting hard and deep inside her.

Out of breath, her legs tingling, she went with him when he carried her to the bed and fell on it, her on top of him, both of them panting and damp with sweat.

Tara didn’t speak for a few minutes, content to just feel Mick’s heartbeat against her while he stroked her back.

“I think I wrinkled your dress,” he finally said.

She laughed. “I don’t think I care. But we might be sweating on Mr. Stokes’s bedspread.”

“I don’t care, and I’m sure he doesn’t.”

They cleaned up in the very nice and not at all typical airline bathroom. Tara smoothed her hair and dress to the best of her ability, but it was quite obvious from her pink cheeks and slightly puffy lips that she had a just-fucked look about her.

“I definitely look like I just had sex. How will I ever face the flight crew?”

“The flight crew is paid very well not to notice anything. Let’s go have a drink before we land. You made me thirsty.”

She laughed and took his hand, suddenly very thirsty herself.

 

 

THE ONE THING TARA LEARNED VERY QUICKLY UPON arrival in Los Angeles was that Mick’s agent was one hell of a planner. A limo met them at the plane and whisked them off to an incredibly ritzy hotel, where she was pulled away from Mick by an entire team of makeup and hair people. She was tossed into the shower, and afterward was buffed, puffed, and polished to within an inch of her life. She’d had her makeup professionally applied, her hair done, and she even had a woman come in and dress her.

She wondered if this was the lifestyle movie stars grew accustomed to. It certainly was nice to be pampered and all, though it was a bit overwhelming. By the time she stood in front of the mirror dressed in some shockingly expensive designer gown and adorned with jewelry she didn’t even want to know the cost of, she had to admit they’d done wonders on her, because she didn’t even look like herself. Airbrushing did magical things to a person’s complexion. The scar over her eyebrow she had gotten as a child when she fell off her swing set had been expertly obliterated. Her eyes looked huge and ... beautiful, and her eyelashes—whoa. No amount of standing in front of the mirror with a mascara wand could ever hope to replicate the magic of false eyelashes.

The copper-colored strapless gown cinched in at her bust, waist, and hips, then fell in magical waves to the floor, and was the most beautiful thing Tara had ever worn. And the shoes—God, the shoes. Strappy and stiletto with a cute bow over the toes. They matched the dress, and she wanted to sleep with them until she died.

“Thank you all—so much. I feel like Cinderella tonight. You all worked so hard to make me look pretty, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

The staff of makeup and hair and dressers all grinned back at her, hugged and kissed her, then left the suite. Tara inhaled, let it out, then turned once more to the mirror.

“Holy shit, woman.”

She whirled at the sound of Mick’s voice.

He stood at the entryway to the bedroom. Again, she was struck by how utterly amazing the man looked wearing a tux. His broad shoulders filled the jacket so well, and he was tall enough to carry the elegance of the outfit, his black hair combed perfectly, his blue eyes even more striking against the solid black of the tux. He strolled in and walked around her as she stood in the center of the room, then came to her, lifted her hand, and pressed a kiss to her fingers.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She felt herself warm. “I am not. But I sure feel that way tonight. Thank you for this.”

“You
are
the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, because you appreciate this in ways no woman I’ve ever been with before can appreciate it.”

She felt the sting of tears. “Don’t make me cry, or you’ll have to call that entire horde of people back to fix me.”

He held out his arm. “Ready to go have some fun?”

“Yes.”

SEVEN

TARA DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT, HAVING NEVER been to a movie premiere before. The flashbulbs going off in her face and the seemingly thousands of questions asked about who she was and what her relationship was to Mick were overwhelming and kind of surprising. She’d expected the movie stars to be blasted by the media. But her? She was a nobody.

Then again, Mick was famous. The media would want to know who his companion was.

Mick seemed very comfortable, smiling and waving to fans and posing for the cameras. And when asked about Tara, he seemed fine with introducing her—to everyone, including national reporters, magazines, even entertainment television.

Oh. My. God.

Tara wanted to crawl back in the limo, go back to the suite, and watch other people on TV. She did not want to see herself on television, though she was certain the cameras were way more interested in the movie and TV stars and models in attendance, and not her. She was not news. And fortunately, all the media people figured that out soon enough and ran off after the real celebrities so Tara could breathe.

What she did enjoy was ogling the cream of the crop of Hollywood, who stood just feet from her, giving interviews and smiling for the cameras. So when she wasn’t having cameras popping off in her face, she wished she’d thought to bring her own camera and take some pictures for Maggie and Ellen and Karie to see. Though she supposed it might have been inappropriate for her to rush up to the stars of the movie and take a candid shot of them with her mini camera.

When they finally got inside, Mick led them to their seats, and oh, the movie was wonderful. And the time spent with Mick was great. He held her hand or put his arm around her, and they both laughed at the movie, which was funny and so romantic. It was a perfect night, and Tara felt like she really was Cinderella. Mick even leaned over a few times during the movie and kissed her. She couldn’t have asked for a better date, and she’d remember this night forever.

When the movie was over, everyone shuffled out and headed for their limos.

Tara leaned against Mick, her arm entwined with his, as they slid into their car.

“I had a wonderful time, Mick. Thank you.”

He grinned at her. “You’re welcome. But it’s not over.”

“It’s not?”

“No, there are premiere after-parties. Unless you don’t want to go.”

“Oh, no. That sounds fun.”

They went to another incredibly swanky hotel where there was a party in the amazing and huge ballroom filled with balloons and movie posters and champagne fountains and—thankfully—food.

“Oh, thank God. I’m starving,” she said as she and Mick found a table.

“Me, too. I’m so glad you like to eat.”

She laughed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He gave her a look. “You’d be amazed by the number of women I dated who didn’t eat. You wouldn’t believe the look of horror on their faces when I suggested real food. There’s nothing more depressing than watching a woman nibble on a piece of celery.”

She laughed. “No fear of that from me. Lead me to the nearest cheeseburger.”

There were photographers and media present here, too, but it didn’t seem to be as much of a frenzy as there had been on the red carpet. Still, Tara was mindful that Mick had an image to uphold, so she tried not to shovel food in her mouth, even though at the moment she could have eaten a photographer’s right arm.

The media seemed content to pick on the actors and actresses in attendance and leave them to themselves.

“You’re probably sorry you didn’t bring someone more famous with you,” she said, finally able to speak after her stomach was full.

Mick took a drink of soda, then arched a brow. “Why would you say that?”

“Because we’re pretty much being ignored by the media. If you’d brought some hot actress with you, you’d have gotten more—what do they call it?—face time?”

He laughed. “Honey, I didn’t come here so I could get photographed. God knows I get more photo opportunities than I need. I wanted to bring you so you could have a good time.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her lap, feeling stupid for saying what she’d said. “I’m sorry.”

He tipped her chin with his fingers. “Don’t be sorry. But don’t misinterpret why we’re here. I’m not using you for a photo op for myself, Tara. I brought you here tonight because I wanted to show you a good time. No ulterior motive.”

She slid her hand around the nape of his neck. “Thank you, Mick. It’s truly been the best night of my life.”

He brushed his lips across hers, the kiss soft and gentle, the kind of kiss that made her heart want to do dangerous things—like fall in love.

The flash of a camera made her jump. Tara blinked and looked into the face of a photographer.

“Send me some copies of that one, will you, Jimmy?” Mick asked.

The photographer laughed. “Sure thing, Mick.”

Tara lifted a brow at Mick after the camera guy moved away. “First-name basis with the paparazzi?”

“They shove a camera in your face often enough, you learn who they are. Jimmy’s a nice guy. He’s a freelancer. And I really do want a copy of that picture.”

“Me, too.”

“So, you ready to meet some movie stars?”

Her heart stuttered. “Seriously?”

“Sure.” He stood and held out his hand. “No point in bringing you to one of these fancy things if you can’t say you met some of the big names in Hollywood, right?”

She might just faint on the spot.

 

 

MICK SUCKED DOWN A BOTTLE OF WATER AND PUT THE cap back on, staring down at Tara, who’d fallen asleep in the limo on the ride back from the after party.

He’d loved bringing her to the premiere, had enjoyed seeing it through her eyes. He’d been to so many of these things over the years he’d become jaded about the whole experience. And the women accompanying him had been after only one thing—career exposure and as many photo and media opportunities as they could get. Which meant cameras in his face all night and nothing but interviews, with a smile plastered on his face the entire time. These events had become a painful experience.

Until Tara. She’d been wide-eyed and enthusiastic about everything, damn near petrified of the cameras, and had done her best to avoid them. And then she’d gone and apologized for the lack of camera time for him.

Amazing. And refreshing to be with a woman who wasn’t out for herself, but who cared about him. He didn’t really know what to make of her.

But he liked her. Really liked her. A lot. What wasn’t to like? She was beautiful, fun, and sexy, and their chemistry together was explosive. She was sweet and caring, and if he wasn’t careful, he could fall madly in love with her.

If he was ready to fall in love.

Was he?

“You’re staring at me.”

He looked down. Her eyes were sleepy and half-lidded and sexy as hell.

“I am. You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

She shifted, sitting up and smoothing her hand over her gown. “I am not. Sorry I sort of just dropped off there. I think the excitement of the day and night just took its toll on me.”

“It’s okay. You’ve had a long day. You were entitled to take a nap.”

When they arrived at the hotel, Mick took Tara’s hand and escorted her out of the limo. He liked being seen with her, not because she was a star, but because she was beautiful in a natural sort of way that turned people’s heads when she walked by. Another thing he really liked about her was that she had no idea how pretty she really was.

In the elevator she laid her head on his shoulder, her fingers tightly clasped in his. Mick swallowed, a giant lump in his throat.