Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy (11 page)

She was going to wear her black bikini, the one she kept for swimming when no one else was in the pool. The one she'd been wearing that first day when he'd stumbled over her.

Because in the four days since she'd seen him, Grace had come to some realizations.

She could deal with humiliation, but she couldn't handle not knowing what it would be like to be with him.

Liam got under her skin more than anyone ever had, and if that never happened again, she'd regret not experiencing it.

Yes, anything to do with him made her completely unable to predict how it was going to go—she couldn't make a safe play because she didn't know what was safe when it came to Liam. Not trying and going another five, or fifteen, or fifty years wondering what if? Or living with the humiliation she'd become so accustomed to if he turned her down?

Knowing he wanted her made that at least easier to stomach.

It wasn't a great plan, but she'd lived a safe life too long. She needed some risk. Liam wouldn't be the death of her, and if she was lucky, it would give her the kind of symmetry that her heart needed. Finish something that had started back then.

She went to change.

And if this bikini didn't work, that was okay: it was stage one. She had something much flimsier to try if she had to break out bigger ammunition for stage two.

Maybe she should convince him to go for a house call. His pool or the one at her place. There were pools to be had in LA where she could lure him with privacy and tempt him with tiny bikinis.

Not a great plan, but it was better than the trench coat. At least in theory.

* * *

“This exercise is not as advertised,” Liam said, sliding into the hotel's rooftop pool he'd rented for the evening and had closed an hour early for his therapy with Grace, watching her across the pool where she stood in a black bikini so small only microkini enthusiasts would say it wasn't revealing enough.

The woman's bathing suits just kept getting smaller.

She dropped the towels she'd been carrying at the edge and slid into the water.

“It's water. We're going to be walking and swimming tonight, working the joint in three different ways.”

“And we could have done this at the clinic. I know what you're up to, Watson.”

Driving me crazy.

The use of her last name got her attention and Grace swam to his side of the pool, no doubt because it was faster than walking, even though the water wasn't more than waist deep on him. She stopped and stood in front of him, the water sluicing down her body, rippling over that soft, golden skin. He sighed and leaned back against the side.

True to her guarantees, his ankle improved a little every day. But his willpower? That was now limping along.

What came next? Topless pool therapy day?

Having a private pool suddenly seemed like a really legit reason for investing in real estate.

If he were into one-night stands, he'd find some woman to get naked with just to relieve the stress that spending every day with Grace in progressively smaller bathing suits was putting on his libido control.

“Not going to deny it?”

“Deny that I'm up to something?” The smile she gave him flashed so wickedly that he had to look anywhere but at her.

She maneuvered until she was beside him, facing in the same direction, and murmured, “You need to go a little deeper.”

Deeper. Yes. Really...deep.

“Quit that,” he bit out. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Quit what?”

Like she didn't know what she was doing. “Don't play innocent with me. I'm onto you. Don't do that...provocative...well, it wasn't exactly dirty talk but you know we do that. Sexy double talk.”

She pointed across his chest to the deeper end of the pool. “So you knew what I meant. Good. Move a little that way. The water should come up to your ribs. We're going to do some walking in the water. Back and forth here for a warm-up and then each time we'll move a little farther up the pool to progressively shallower water, so you'll be taking more weight on it each time. See how far you can go up. Then the same thing tomorrow.”

“Is this the new measurement system?”

“Yes. Your range of motion is greatly improved so now we're working on slowly increasing strength.”

“And are you going to admit what you're up to?” He asked the question but started walking in that slow, mostly submerged, bouncy fashion across the short length of the pool, staying in the same water depth.

She stayed beside him as he did as instructed, like he needed help or a safety net. Would it be better or worse if she were out of the pool and he got a view of her skimpy bikini every time he came toward her?

“You want a confession?”

“Yes.” He stopped at the other side of the pool and turned around to start the return trip.

“I thought you didn't want to know all the details of what's going on in my head.”

Frustration reaching snapping point, Liam paused long enough to brace his good leg against the bottom of the pool for support.

Grace stopped and looked at him, concern in her eyes.

Before she could say anything, he grabbed her by the waist, jumped as high as he could, and chucked her a few feet away from him in the water. He'd thrown that woman in the pool more times than he could count as teenagers. Usually in more shallow water, or from the side of the pool, where he could really get a good fling on her and send her flying. The ribs-deep water made that harder, but she still went under with a satisfying splash.

When she came up sputtering and laughing, he nodded and continued walking. “I don't. But apparently it's the only way through this. So out with it.”

“I'm done playing it safe,” Grace said, still smiling from the reminder of their old, more innocent games, as she approached him again to resume walking.

“That means what?”

“That means that I've realized that just because I'm afraid of losing again it doesn't mean that I can live with myself if I don't try.”

“You should be able to.” God help him, he wasn't going to make this easy on her. She had to get the idea to stop. “It isn't going to work. No matter how nice it might be. It can't.”

* * *

Grace took a deep breath and as they reached the edge of the pool, ushered him about a foot higher, into somewhat more shallow water. “Again,” she said, dealing with the therapy first while working out what she wanted to say. Considering the way they'd been circling one another for days, she hadn't expected him to approach this head-on. He wanted it all out in the open again, or so he claimed. No matter how badly that had gone last time. And she was completely out of instincts on it. It had all boiled down to simple facts: he enjoyed kissing her. He'd wanted her then, he still did now. That wasn't going to change because she found her spine again and tried to convince him.

“I've spent years wanting that night to have gone differently and I want to know. I want my night. With you.”

“Grace—”

“Just wait. I know what you're going to say. We can't because of Nick, who I'm sure is putting just as much—if not more—pressure on you than he has been on me to stay apart. He said you're a player and I will just get hurt. Just like your last girlfriend was.”

“He's right. About us. You're built for forever, and I won't ever marry. It's not for me. So you would get hurt.”

“You're not a player. You're a serial dater, but you're not a player. You have relationships, otherwise they couldn't end up badly and in the news. The only reason I was news was because of how recently you broke up with Simone Andre, and because now she's in rehab.”

One thing to be thankful for. At least Grace didn't sound like she blamed him for Simone's drug problem, but he didn't want her thinking that. It didn't have anything to do with them, but he didn't want her to see him as recent gossip had been painting him.

“The stuff about Simone isn't true. I didn't just get done with her and move on. I didn't break her heart and turn her into an addict. I broke up with her because she
was
an addict. And I wanted her to get help. And she has. She's in rehab and I'm really glad, but, like I told you before, rumors and gossip spring up about everything, even stuff that isn't true. I don't need to make her life worse, and she's not the one telling people all this, so I don't correct the idiotic stories I see that paint me as the bad guy. Right now, I'm the stronger one. I can carry this for her. I can handle lies, it's the true stuff that hurts.”

“You're making assumptions about what is best for me. You and Nick both are, and I'm a big girl. I can make my own decisions. I made some admittedly stupid choices in the past, but I was a bit younger then, you know. And we've already talked about being young and stupid. So that argument doesn't hold water, and you're doing me a disservice when you act like I need to be protected from you or that it's your job or Nick's job to do it.”

“Got it. You don't need to be protected from me. But, to be clear, I would try and protect Nick from making a bad decision too if I knew in advance he was trying to make one. So I can't get mad at him for doing the same thing with me.”

“Because you're about to make a bad decision with me?”

“That's what it looks like to Nick. I did make a bad decision in the limo.”

“My point is, I would regret it more if I didn't try to finish this than if we go to bed once and you never speak to me again. I'm pretty sure that you're never going to speak to me again anyway when this is all said and done. So what would you regret more?”

He stopped once more at the edge and gestured toward the shallow end again.

She nodded. “One more and then maybe we'll stay there for a couple of passes. This one worked your ankle a bit.”

“This isn't too bad.”

“It sounds like you're in pain, though.” In pain and angry. Maybe she should just let this alone. She'd made her point. She'd put herself out there, and at least she'd done it with who she was this time.

“A little.” At least he admitted to the physical feelings, and moved another foot down and shaved another few inches off the water depth. “And all that stuff I told you about my limits because of your family and our history?”

“I'm not going to announce it to Nick or Mom and Dad, Liam.” She kept pace with him, letting him set the speed now. “I'm not going to go whining when it ends. I know I don't fit into your world. It's going to be over between us when you're recovered, one way or another. You're going off to some film location and, sure, you might send greetings through Nick in the future or ask how I'm doing, but we're not friends.” She touched his arm, stopping him in the middle, forcing him to look at her.

“We're not friends anymore, Liam. Right now, we're pretending to be friends because if this attraction wasn't between us, we would be friends. I genuinely like you, and I know you like me. I know you care about me, and you care about my family, and our history... But it's never going to be what it was when we were kids. If it ever was that anyway. I can't be friends with you without all this between us.”

Liam watched her in a way that said her words had been in his mind before she'd said them, and she watched as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. The man shouldn't have told her that body language tell. He felt emotionally in danger, that's what he'd said men did when they felt that.

“So it's going to end because of all the reasons we've talked about. Why is that going to be easier than if we've made one amazing memory together first?” She stepped back, one step, then another, her courage abandoning her at the end of her forward, angry confession. Now she had no choice but to flee if she wanted to keep breathing or keep from protecting her jugular notch.

Every time he said he wanted her honesty, it went like this, with his words drying up and her left trying to fill the gap.

“I want you to do another three passes here, back and forth. And then swim. Gently, not like you're being chased by sharks. Kick and flex your feet separately or together like a fish, but don't frog-kick your legs. Use your feet better, and don't overdo it. Do the same thing three times tomorrow. Morning, afternoon, and evening.”

“Are you leaving?” he said finally, stopping in the center of the pool where she'd left him, the water lapping at his hips.

“Yes.” If there was any fairness in the universe, he wouldn't hear her voice wobbling. “I'll see you in two days at the clinic. Text me what time you want to come. Morning, I'm guessing. Which would be fine. Or night. I can come back or stay late from work. If you want to meet at night, then do the exercises that day before you come, and we'll switch things when you get there.”

He nodded, apparently not disagreeing with any of it.

She turned and headed for the side of the pool where her towel was, and kicked out of it.

The bikini business had to stop.

If anything were going to happen between them now, it had to be his move. Her cards were on the table. So many cards. God, what was she thinking?

Shaking the towel out, she wrapped it under her arms and clutched it there to head for the changing area.

Dry off. Get out. Go home.

Find some way to stop her words from playing on repeat all night. No rewind fantasies this time.

She couldn't take it if he once more failed to live up to them.

CHAPTER NINE

T
IME
 
TICKED
 
ON
. Grace met with Liam daily to check on him, changed his exercise regimen and measured his progress every other day. The days that she didn't see him he still came in to use the pool. Exercise in only his hotel's pool limited his ability to exercise several times a day so lately he'd spent more time there than the twenty minutes she prescribed three times a day.

And not once in all that time had Liam's poker face slipped an inch. She had no idea whether or not her words to him had made a difference, all she knew was that she was out of gumption to chase things.

Three days ago she'd added dry-ground exercises to his program, in addition to the pool strengthening techniques. They'd see him through to the start of his first project, and he'd reached the point that he didn't need monitoring. That meant today he was being discharged from supervised rehabilitation.

Grace stepped out of her office, clipboard in hand with the discharge paperwork snapped in, and headed to the pool therapy room, hoping to catch him before he got into the water.

“Liam?” She called him out of the locker room.

Hearing a splash, she turned back to the pool in time to see him rising above the closest edge, every muscle in the man's arms and chest flexed, the tattoos he bore on his shoulder rippling in some breath-catching combination of strength and water running off tanned skin.

The clipboard in her hand felt as heavy as her tongue.

This was it. This moment was the end of whatever insanity they'd been cycling through for the past three weeks. She'd talked to him before about the papers, now she just had to find some way to remind him. Some words to say.

She had nothing.

He was going to let it go without a backward glance. She was probably already in his rearview mirror.

Spinning the clipboard paper side out, she gave it a little shake and then laid it on a nearby bench with the pen.

There. Message delivered.

She showed him her keys too as farewell, then turned and hurried out.

Someone else would lock up. They stayed late. She needed to go.

At least this time it wasn't humiliation eating a hole in her, even if he clearly didn't want her as badly as she wanted him.

Whatever it was could just remain undefined. She didn't have any energy left to roll it around in her mind. Not when there was wine chilling in her fridge and yoga pants waiting for her.

* * *

A knock on the door interrupted Grace's night of sulking and drinking.

She flopped back against the plush pillows on her couch and stared at the ceiling.

It was probably Nick. Yesterday, when she'd called him to catch up, she'd refused to talk about Liam and had hoped that would be the end of it, but that's never how things went with her protective older brother.

At least since her accident. Before that mess he'd pretty much left her to her own devices when it came to the guys she dated. Which probably informed his protectiveness now because no matter if she chose hot bad boys to date, they were never good for her. And they were never a good enough stand-in for Liam for her to keep playing that game when it became clear to her how fragile her hold on this life could be.

Another knock came, but no yelling. Not Nick.

She took another drink of her wine to fortify herself, and to empty her third glass, set it down and peel herself up off the couch.

Emboldened by booze, she flipped off one security device after another, locks and stoppers designed to allow her to peek without subjecting herself to the danger of a full door opening.

But the security in her building was too good for that to be a real issue.

She flung the door open and there Liam stood.

Or leaned, one shoulder resting against her doorjamb, hair wet and disheveled, his black T-shirt clinging to him like he'd not taken the time to even dry himself properly before throwing his clothes on and coming to find her.

The heat and hunger in his eyes sent sparks licking all over her body and burned away any doubts she'd been nursing through her second glass of wine.

Once again she was struck by her inability to predict this man.

“I don't have a trench coat,” he said finally when she'd failed to come up with even a single word of greeting. “Can I come in anyway?”

Instead of answering, Grace reached directly for his belt and dipped her fingers into the front of his jeans. Soft hair brushed the backs of her fingers and she closed her hand around the buckle to tug him insistently through her apartment door.

One step inside and she launched herself against him, arms flying around his shoulders as she pressed as close as she could get, hungry mouth glued to his.

He managed to close the door and flip some locks, then she was against the wall, the tank top she'd donned to laze around the house inched up. Soon her belly burned with the heat of his firm, muscled torso against her.

More. She wanted more skin, the only thought strong enough to barrel through years of need coiling in her belly.

When her shirt reached her arms she let go of Liam long enough for him to whisk the material over her head.

He tossed the flimsy tank top and then stepped away from her, his eyes rolling down her body, which heated her skin too, just not as well as his skin against hers.

She once more closed the distance between them, needing his flesh against her. Before she could slide her arms around his shoulders once more, his hands landed on her hips and he pressed her back against the wall, falling to one knee as he did so.

He was going to hurt himself. A trickle of rationality made it through her fuzzy brain. “Your ankle.” The get-up he had on might be meant to tantalize, but he'd still known better than to take off the boot cast he'd been in since they'd returned from New York.

“It's fine,” he said, pressing his face against the flat plane of her belly, then trailing wet kisses from one hip to the other, the stubble he wore so well rasping along her skin.

When he dug his fingers into the waist of the pants and dragged them down, along with the flimsy panties, she realized his intention.

No sooner had they wrestled her legs from the cotton tangle than he had one of her legs over his shoulder and his hot mouth pressed into her.

His tongue stroked and his lips plucked as if he were starved for her, as if he'd spent every night for the past six years dreaming of exactly this. She couldn't tell whose moans were louder.

All she could do was grab the frame of her front door for support as pleasure blazed through her, arching her back so hard she would've fallen without his hands clamped to her hips.

The fervor with which he loved told her he wasn't stopping until he'd wrung her out for their first course.

All the bad boys she'd dated...there could be no comparison. It might not be her first time but deep inside, for that girl who'd yearned for him for so long, it was her first time.

But she needed to touch him so, sparing one hand, she plowed her fingers through his hair, down that tattooed shoulder and the muscled arm...until she found the hand that held her hip. Instinctively, her fingers wrapped around the first digit she could get hold of.

Connection completed, the orgasm given by his greedy mouth almost split her in two.

The name that had secretly echoed in her heart for every lover finally passed her lips. She cried his name, and then again. And again.

When the last spasm burst, her supporting leg buckled, unwilling to hold her anymore.

Quickly, he turned the fall into a controlled slide, and once she touched the floor he crawled up her body, still hungry.

“Here?” He panted the question more than asked, eyeing the open window not ten feet away before he looked back down at her. “Not here.”

“We're going to do this right. If it's the only time...and it is, right? You...you agree that it's the only time?” He pulled her up against him but stayed where he blocked the window.

When she nodded, he pulled his T-shirt off, baring that sculpted perfection that was his chest and belly. He wrapped the black cotton around her hips and tied the corners. “Then we need a bed. I want...everything to be perfect. Cool cotton sheets and pillows...”

“Bed. That way.” Her words still slurred just a little, drunk with pleasure.

But she scrambled to her feet and offered him both her hands to tug him back up, her faculties slowly returning. “Use the booted foot to stand. The other one can bend...”

“Don't worry about my ankle,” he said, but he still took her hand and did as she instructed. “It's fine.”

She backed toward her room. Looking at him was too good. He didn't try to hide his want at all, and the front of his jeans strained over a heady ridge of flesh.

Oh, God, this was real. He was really there. Not just here in her mind, not a fantasy.

She didn't even want to know what had changed his mind. Later. She could ask later, or not. Maybe it would be better if they didn't talk about anything else, didn't get more attached. Just one time, and then...let it stay perfect in memories.

Don't think about after.

“My turn,” she said, as they passed through the door into her room and she felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs and released his hands to let hers roam up and down over his chest, alternating gentle touches with little scratches anywhere she found hair. Down, over his belly, and she fell to her knees beside the bed.

“No. I can't wait. Next time.” The words strangled in his throat, and it only took one look into his eyes for her to know the reason for it.

There would be no next time.

This was supposed to be a farewell.

The thought almost put her off the whole thing.

Almost.

Grace was a big girl. She was the master, not her emotions. And this had been her idea. Her only chance.

She unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and eased the zipper down, her eyes still locked on his.

“Please? Just for a moment?”

He read people, he knew what was on her mind. He could call the whole thing off; now would be the time...

The moment lengthened, with him clearly struggling with all this as much as she was. When he didn't say anything, she took his silence as consent and brought the head to her mouth, letting her lower lip rest against the crown, letting him stop her.

No stopping. He nodded, jerkily, and reached down to touch her face as the impressive manhood she held in her hands bobbed against her mouth.

“One night,” he managed, as the heat of her mouth enfolded him. “I want the whole night.”

She nodded, and she worked him deeper into her mouth, letting her tongue luxuriate in the slick skin and the salty evidence of his need. He slid his fingers into her hair, his eyes on hers, letting her see what every flick of her tongue did to him.

Right now he was hers, without barriers, and that was enough. It'd have to be enough.

It wasn't long before he gasped and gestured urgently, trying to pull himself free of her mouth. But she didn't want that, she wanted everything she could get from him tonight—her one and only night—and grabbed his hip and drank him down.

When she finally moved back, he collapsed onto the bed, hands closing on her arms to pull her up to him so that her cheek rested on his chest and he tangled one hand in her hair.

“No holding back. One night, no holding back,” she whispered against his skin, kissing her way back down to his boot.

“Okay.”

A couple of strategic Velcro rips and she had his foot free. “Thank God, you've got the bandage too. I don't think I could control my fingers enough to wrap it.”

He laughed. “I'm already on the bed and I'm not sure if I can get up to the head of it.”

She crawled up onto the bed, fetched condoms from the nightstand to have them within easy reach. “For when you're able.”

He nodded, and just pulled her back to him, still struggling to catch his breath.

“Aren't you able yet? It's been at least fifteen seconds. I thought you had stamina.” She couldn't stop herself from teasing. She wanted that too—no holding back meant giving everything, pleasure and passion and the playful side of both. That's who they were. That's what she wanted, the real Liam, not the polished celebrity adored by the masses.

He dragged himself more fully on the bed and reached for her. Soon they lay face-to-face, him on his good side—and she let him as it'd minimize the pressure on his ankle. “Can't have you doubting my stamina. But in my defense that was a cripplingly good orgasm. I might need a minute to get my mojo back.”

His humor had returned to match her own. She couldn't stop herself smiling. “So long as you're not done.”

“I'm far from done,” he assured her, running his hand over her hip as if he couldn't quite believe that he had his hands on her. “I'm going to need at least two more rounds before I'm done. Maybe three. If you don't fall asleep.”

“Me?” She laughed and scooted closer so that their noses all but touched. “Let me remind you that I'm the one who worked for this. Seducing you is exhausting, Mr. Carter.”

He took her tease in the spirit it was offered, and slid his arms around her as she hooked a leg over his hip to keep him close, little adjustments to get closer and closer. She could already feel him growing hard again against her inner thigh.

His expression sobered a little. “I'm sorry. But you know it's not because I didn't want you. You wouldn't believe how I've imagined this. So long. You got me through some dark days, Gracie. Actually, this is probably going to sound pretty creepy, but when I was penniless in LA, doing all those awful jobs that got me from audition to audition, my favorite pastime was thinking of you. Off at school. Standing in front of that apartment door with the trench coat open and sheer black bra and panties...I could still draw a picture with every detail preserved. If I could draw.”