All Over You (14 page)

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, holding her eyes. “And I’m not walking away from this.”

She stared at him. For a second, something flared to life inside her. She wanted to believe him, she realized. She almost laughed at her own naiveté. Maybe she hadn’t learned anything after all.

Pulling him close, she kissed him, telling herself this was the last kiss, the last time they’d be together this way. Quickly, things got heated. Tongues danced and hands slid over soap-slicked skin as they discovered each other’s bodies yet again. She caressed his shoulders, his back, his butt, before grasping his shaft and working him with long, firm strokes.

“Grace,” he groaned. She stepped up the pace, brushing her breasts against his chest, hot water streaming down their bodies.

He caressed her breasts with his hands, then began to lick and suck each peak into trembling arousal before sliding his hand down her belly and between her thighs. She could feel how hot and steamy she was for him and she spread her legs willingly as he arrowed two fingers either side of her clitoris and began to trace a path down to her quivering entrance and back again. She murmured incoherently, writhing beneath his hands, her own still busy on his hard shaft. Kissing her deeply, he plunged a finger inside her, then two, then raced up to tease her clitoris again.

“Oh,” she groaned, then she began to shudder in his arms. He took her weight as her body spasmed around his probing fingers and she pressed her face against his neck. He cupped her bottom afterward, holding her close against his still-hard erection.

Determined to make the most of this last time, she slid down his body until she was on her knees. She took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue across the head of his erection, one hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. He was so big and hard and perfect. She loved touching him, tasting him.

Between the humidity of the shower and the demanding pressure of her mouth, he didn’t last long. When she’d drawn the last shudder from him, she slid back up his body and kissed him once, hard, as the water continued to pound down on them.

She purposely left the shower first, rushing through the process of drying herself and getting dressed. She needed the time to rebuild her defenses, to remember who she was and what she wanted.

Deliberately she chose one of her favorite vintage dresses, a 1960s day dress in deep maroon. She slid her feet into the highest pair of stilettos she’d brought with her and smoothed lipstick on as she heard the shower stop in the bathroom.

She’d twisted her hair into a damp chignon by the time Mac padded out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist.

She turned to him. It was time to do what she was good at — sending a man packing.

“Don’t say it,” Mac said when she opened her mouth.

She gaped at him for a second, then recovered. “It’s not going to work. I don’t need a man in my life.”

“You’re right, you don’t,” he said lightly, “but would it really hurt to
want
a man in your life?”

Her mouth went dry as he whipped his towel off and slid into his boxers. Why did he have to be so fatally attractive to her?

She forced herself to stick to her line.

“I really think —” she said, but she didn’t get any further than that because Mac stepped forward and captured her mouth with a kiss.

Holding her close, he looked into her eyes.

“Today’s Thursday. Come to my house for dinner Sunday night and give me your answer then. If you still feel the same — fine, I’ll back off. But I want you to think about it. At least give us that much of a chance. Okay?”

She stared into his too-blue eyes.

“It’s not going to make any difference, Mac.” He couldn’t change any of the realities of life. No one could — she’d accepted that a long time ago.

He pressed another kiss to her lips.

“Sunday night,” was all he said.

B
ACK IN HIS HOTEL ROOM
, Mac phoned Claudia to report that they’d finished the location scout early. She told him she’d arrange to have their flights home rescheduled for that afternoon and Mac began to pack.

His mind didn’t stay on work for long, even though he had about a million things he wanted to plan out. He couldn’t stop thinking about Grace, about the stricken look in her eyes when she’d told him she was happy, that the past four years of her life had been great.

Owen. Mac had a feeling there was more to the Owen story than he’d been told. But he figured he had no chance of getting Grace to open up on that one again. She was so protective, so defensive — he felt as though he was trying to coax a feral cat out from beneath a Dumpster.

It occurred to him to wonder if Grace was worth it. A lot of guys would walk away, he knew. There were other women out there. Always had been, always would be. But everything in him rejected the thought.

He wanted Grace. He’d been single by choice for several years because he’d failed to connect with one special woman. He’d convinced himself she didn’t exist or that his work and the crazy town he lived in made it impossible for any connection to go the distance. He’d been so defeated by his profession, by the daily reminder that his dreams were dust, that he’d been at rock bottom. Then he’d met Grace.

He remembered the thought that had blazoned itself across his mind when he’d first seen her — that she was an original. And she was. Feisty, clever, smart-mouthed, talented, funny, generous. When he was inside her, he felt complete. She made him dare to want again — and what he wanted was to take the flame that burned between them and fan it into something big and warm, something hot enough to burn for the rest of their lives.

He laughed humorlessly at his own thoughts. All those years of privately mocking his brothers’ picket-fence lives and here he was, campaigning to get a woman to take a chance on him.

It wasn’t going to be easy. He was going to have to coax Grace out from under the Dumpster that was her shitty romantic past. In his experience, there was only one way to retrain a scared animal — rewards and lots of patience and affection.

He smiled to himself, a new confidence surging through him as he made plans.

He might be out of practice with believing in things and going after them, but he hadn’t forgotten how it was done.

E
VEN THOUGH
another night in Mac’s arms had not dimmed his appeal for her one iota, Grace was determined to resist him and his seductive talk of seeing each other and exploring the idea of a relationship. Might as well just smack herself in the head repeatedly with a mallet as believe in some kind of shared future between them. She was confident she wouldn’t have to hold firm for long, however — in her experience, men had short attention spans. Once they were back in L.A., Mac would forget about her and whatever small fascination she possessed for him would pass. She just had to resist his lures for a few days.

She hadn’t counted on Mac playing dirty, however. He started his campaign midair. Somehow he maneuvered it so she was sitting next to him for the five-and-a-half-hour flight home, despite the fact that Marla had been allocated the seat next to hers. Grace eyed him warily as he settled in beside her, but he just smiled at her benignly and plucked the in-flight magazine from the seat pocket in front of him.

“I love these things,” he said, running his eye down the contents page. “Check this out — ‘An Epicurean’s Guide to Salt.’ Where else am I going to learn so much about something so simple?”

He seemed genuinely amused and she told her hormones — and her nipples — to quit sitting up and begging for attention. After nearly twelve hours of exploring one another’s body, he should hold about as much interest for her as a loaf of bread. Unfortunately, what
should
be and what actually
was
were two very different things and her body didn’t seem to be able to get enough of Mac.

It wasn’t only his body she was attracted to, either. Even though she went through the motions of setting up her notebook computer, hoping to get in some work on the allimportant wedding-special script, she was constantly distracted as he laughed to himself over something in the magazine. Occasionally, he’d share with her, paraphrasing a tidbit in pithy Mac style. Other times, he’d lean across and try to sneak peeks at her work.

After an hour, she was feeling distinctly…steamy from all of the whispering in her ear and all the casual touches as he leaned close to point out something on her screen or out the window.

It was only after their meal had been served and Mac had brushed the side of her breast three times in as many minutes as he tackled his meal that she realized there was a method to the apparently random touches and whispers and eye contacts. He was deliberately teasing her on such a subtle level that she only worked out what he was doing when she’d started contemplating dragging him into one of the tiny toilet cubicles and having her way with him.

“Stop it,” she said when he reached across to snag her untouched dessert and managed to brush against both her breasts on the return journey.

“Sorry?” he said, one eyebrow cocked quizzically.

“You’re deliberately touching me, trying to turn me on,” she hissed, craning her head to one side to make sure Frank and Marla weren’t listening. To her relief, they were both asleep, their heads lolling on their headrests.

“
Are
you turned on?” he asked, neither denying nor confirming her accusation.

She narrowed her eyes. “I know what you’re doing and it won’t work. I’ve already made up my mind. Just because you won’t let me give you my answer until Sunday doesn’t mean it’s going to change.”

“That’s interesting,” Mac said, nodding politely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish reading about the Andalusian tapestry weavers.”

He flashed her a bright smile and picked up the magazine again. She stared at him, then at her half-eaten meal. She was still wondering if perhaps she’d imagined the whole thing when he slid his hand onto her arm and began to absently rub the tender skin of her forearm with his thumb. She shot him a look, but he didn’t so much as glance up from the magazine. For the next half-hour, in between the attendant collecting their trays and a variety of announcements, he traced delicate whorls across the pulse point at her wrist, the vulnerable skin of her forearm and the soft, hidden flesh inside her elbow.

She tried to ignore him. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had so much power over her. But she’d never known a thumb and a forearm could be so erotic. When had such a humble body part become so sensitive? A hot flush moved up her chest and into her face, and soon she couldn’t stop herself from wriggling in her seat. When she’d recrossed her legs for the fourth time, Mac leaned toward her, his shoulder pressed close to hers.

“You have the sexiest body I’ve ever touched,” he husked, the hush of his breath doing amazing things to her insides. “Your breasts, your thighs, your peachy backside. I can’t stop thinking about being inside you. You drive me crazy. And I know it’s only going to get better.”

Then, he withdrew his hand and moved away from her, returning his attention to the stupid magazine again. Grace was practically panting, her thighs quivering, her nipples jutting out against the cotton of her dress. She glared at him, burning for his touch, afraid of the power he had over her.

He flicked her a sympathetic look, smiling slightly.

“Sunday night,” he said, patting her hand with an avuncular air.

It only got worse.

They all went their separate ways at the airport, but Grace saw Mac first thing the next day at work. Together, they spent two hours compiling the information they’d gathered, then they met with Claudia to run it all by her.

To say that Claudia was wired was an understatement. She took copious notes, asked pointed questions and studied every image, every piece of footage, like a general assessing enemy terrain.

“This is good, I like this Lagoons location,” she finally announced. “I’ll get wardrobe images so they can start working on Hannah’s gown. Something flowing, so we can see it trailing in the wind. And lots of tropical flowers. We’ll fly them in if we have to.”

She was pacing, tapping her pen into the palm of one hand. Grace and Mac exchanged amused looks.

“There are plenty of flowers on the island,” Grace said, poker-faced. “I don’t think we’ll need to bus them in.”

“Right. Of course.” Claudia stopped, then smiled sheepishly. “I’m being a little anal, aren’t I?”

Mac held up two fingers half an inch apart. “Only a little, and in a good way. We all want to nail this, don’t worry.”

“Excellent. Excellent,” Claudia said.

Mac took the floor then, taking Claudia through his plan for the episode. As he pulled out rough sketches of camera angles, even storyboards of key scenes based on the story lines Sadie and Dylan had worked up, Grace realized he must have been up all night.

He was impressive. His passion, his conviction, his vision — Grace knew she wasn’t the only one sitting on the edge of her seat, transfixed.

As he wound down, Mac moved to stand behind her chair, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders.

“Grace was kind enough to show me a few scenes from the script on the plane,” he said. “I think we’re going to blow
Heartlands
out of the water.”

She forbore correcting him and telling Claudia that he’d snuck a few glances at her work while she wasn’t looking; she was too distracted by the warm weight of his hands on her shoulders to do anything as complex as string two words together.

She’d had a hard time getting to sleep last night, her mind full of images of Mac, sense memories teasing for hours. She put the blame fair and square in his court — he was the one who’d spent the whole plane trip winding her up, all so he could prove some kind of point.

Now, her body was jangling with awareness again as he leaned against the back of her chair. She shot a look across the table at Claudia, sure her friend must see that something was up. But Claudia didn’t seem to find anything unusual in the casual contact — she was too absorbed in discussing Mac’s plans to use a helicopter for aerial shots of the wedding.

Grace almost jumped out of her chair when she felt Mac’s fingers delve through the silk of her hair to find the nape of her neck with his thumbs. She swallowed a lump of pure lust as he kneaded her subtly, her mind automatically racing to the other massage he’d given her recently. Staring intently at her notes, she remembered the way his slick hands had slid over her skin, the enticing magic of his caresses, the slow build of desire as his fingers drifted closer and closer to the parts of her that had been begging for his touch.

“Great. I agree with everything you’ve come up with. And I’m really excited. Thanks for all your hard work, guys,” Claudia said as she shut her notebook with a snap.

Grace dragged her attention back to the here and now and realized that Mac had removed his hands from her shoulders. She’d been so lost in sensual memories, she’d barely registered his withdrawal.

She waited until Claudia left the conference room before turning on him.

“You said we were about more than sex,” she said, firing her first salvo.

“We are, but I’m not stupid. I told you once that a woman with a body like yours couldn’t go four years without sex. Well, I’m upping the ante — I don’t think you’ll be able to go four days without it. But you’re only getting it on my terms — and I want a relationship.”

He thought she was playing a game, that she was enjoying this cat-and-mouse pursuit. Again the trapped, anxious feeling swamped her. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?

“I’m giving you my answer now,” she said, her voice trembling. “No. I don’t want a relationship.”

Grabbing her notes, she left the conference room, making a beeline for the ladies’ room and privacy. She’d barely had time to set her notes on the counter when the door opened and Mac walked in. Her eyes widened as he bore down on her, walking her backward until she was pressed against the wall.

“What if someone comes in?” she squeaked as his hand slid under her skirt to cup her mound through the silk of her panties.

“I don’t give a damn.” Staring down into her face, a muscle ticking in his jaw, he squeezed her sex gently. Pleasure shot through her and she knew he could feel how wet she was already, just from the way he’d touched her in the meeting.

“I don’t accept your answer,” he said, his lips a torturous inch from hers. “Not until Sunday night.”

He squeezed again and she let out a whimper of need.

“If the sex stuff bothers you, consider it gone,” he said, sliding his hand away even as he said it. “No pressure, nothing until Sunday night.”

He turned and exited the bathroom. Grace sagged against the wall, then abruptly straightened again when Sadie entered.

“Was that Mac Harrison I just saw leaving?” she asked suspiciously.

“He got lost,” Grace fibbed weakly.

Sadie was silent for a long moment. Grace knew without looking in the mirror that she was flushed and when she glanced down she saw that part of her skirt hem was caught up.

“Okay. I’ll buy that,” Sadie said. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she turned to fluff her hair in the mirror.

“You will?” Grace asked.

“No. But if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on between you and Mac, I can’t make you,” Sadie said.

Grace closed her eyes. “Nothing is going on. Not now, anyway.”

Sadie frowned and Grace felt obliged to explain. “He wants more, I don’t. End of story.”

“Well. I guess that’s your prerogative.” Sadie nodded.

Grace stared at her friend. Where was Sadie’s argument, her well-intentioned advice?

“You think I’m a chicken, don’t you?”

Sadie soothed a hand down Grace’s arm and caught Grace’s fingers in her own. “I know how much Owen and Serena hurt you, even if you won’t admit it to anyone,” she said. “Everybody handles the shit life throws at them in different ways. You’re the one who has to live with the consequences of your decisions. Just promise me you’ll think about how much you’ll be missing out on as well as all the usual stuff about how you don’t need a man, okay?”