Exposed to You (13 page)

“Fuck me,” he said, his eyes crossing. Unfortunately, she took his muttered curse at face value. She started pumping her hips while she came, grinding her pussy against him. He growled in pleasure, felt that inevitable tingle deep in his balls. He roared in an agony of bliss as he erupted in orgasm.

“Aw, Jesus,” he grated out. His face clenched tight as wave after wave of orgasm tightened his body.

They panted in ragged union. Joy slowly sagged down the wall like she was melting, her legs loosening around his hips. His muscles went lax as well, exhausted from the prolonged contraction he’d forced them to endure while he’d raced Joy to climax. Her feet finally touched the floor. It hurt to withdraw from her warm depths. He pulled her closer, his lips sliding in the smooth sheen of sweat on her fragrant neck. The scent of sex and her perfume filled his nose.

“Well . . . that was something else,” he muttered.

She made a choking sound. He smiled when he heard her laughter and felt it vibrating next to his mouth. He lifted his head and kissed her curving lips. He caught her eye.

“I’m sorry. That was nuts.”

“Yes,” she whispered. He saw her throat contract. “But don’t be. Sorry.”

He swallowed and touched his mouth to hers. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

He took her hand and led her into the bedroom suite. After disposing of the condom, he turned on the large, luxurious shower and closed the glass door.

“You go ahead and get in,” she said. “I’m just going to go and get a couple things from my suitcase.”

Everett nodded. He had brought her suitcase out to the guesthouse earlier. He got into the shower and lathered up. His body felt good after that explosive release. Really good. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been . . . how anxious he’d been to see Joy . . .

How
desperate
, apparently.

The only thing that would be nicer after that mind-blowing quickie would be to have his hands running all over Joy’s smooth, soft skin along with all the hot water from the shower, to show her he could savor as well as devour her. After a few minutes of her absence, however, he got out and toweled off, leaving the shower going.

“Joy?” he called, scraping his fingers through his wet hair. He tucked the towel around his hips and padded toward the closed bathroom door. It opened and Joy stepped in, still wearing her skirt and tank top.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I hadn’t packed one of my vitamins.”

“Did you find them?” he asked, glancing down at the transparent bag she carried containing several bottles.

She nodded and walked over to the counter to set down the items.

“You must be a health nut, like Katie,” he said, nodding toward her bag of vitamins. Her smile in the reflection of the mirror struck him as strained.

Whoa . . . What just happened?
he wondered. He felt it again—that wall that seemed to fly up between them at times. She kept her face averted as she extricated her toothbrush and a few items from her bag. He opened his mouth to ask her what was the matter, but stopped himself.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said.

She glanced up. Their eyes met briefly in the mirror, but then she looked away.

He closed the door behind him, feeling a sense of defeat, not to mention confusion. She gave of herself so completely during sex. Why did she retreat into herself following physical intimacy?

He could tolerate many things when it came to new relationships, but something about the idea of Joy withdrawing the way she did spoke of loneliness . . . of suffering. And that was one thing, he thought as he dropped the towel to the floor, he wouldn’t accept easily.

Ten

Joy felt awkward when she came out of the bathroom a short while later wearing her new lemon-colored silk nightgown, but Everett wasn’t in the bedroom. Guilt washed through her. He’d obviously wanted to take a shower with her after they’d had sex. He’d known she’d avoided him. She’d seen it in the sober glance they’d exchanged in the mirror.

What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so raw every time he made love to her? She couldn’t put the feeling into words. It felt almost unbearably good to give in to the elemental lust he inspired in her, but afterward she felt like a walking exposed nerve. For some stupid, inexplicable reason, it reminded her of making eye contact with other cancer patients she randomly encountered during her chemo. Usually, they dropped their gazes. Joy understood. She’d learned to do the same.

It was all she could take to manage her own survival. It was too painful to consider another’s struggle . . . another’s mortality.

She couldn’t imagine why a similar feeling occurred with Everett following their electric sexual encounters. She promised herself she’d stop being so weak, so idiotic. She set her clothes on top of her suitcase and started to go in search of him. The partially opened door widened before she got there.

Everett stepped into the bedroom carrying a champagne bucket. Two flutes were laced between his long fingers. His hair was a sexy mess of waves and wet spikes. He wore a pair of light blue cotton pajama pants that fell low on his narrow hips and nothing else.

He did a double take when he saw her standing there. “Hey. You look pretty,” he said, his gaze running over her warmly.

“Thanks,” she said. Bless his heart. He wasn’t irritated at her for her momentary stupidity. She walked toward him as he set the glasses on the table and poured the sparkling fluid into them. “I bought it for this trip,” she said, forcing herself to admit the little vulnerability as a lame apology for her earlier foolishness. When she saw his pleased expression, she was amply rewarded.

“You did?”

“Yes.” She could smell the fresh scent of soap on his skin. She wanted to kiss the smooth, golden skin covering his pectoral muscle.

Then do it, idiot.

She stepped forward. His skin felt firm beneath her lips and still felt moist from his shower. He made a rough sound in his throat. She looked up when he touched the back of her head. His gaze on her was soft.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure if he would understand her apology or not. His eyelids narrowed slightly. She sensed him studying her . . . considering. What had she been thinking? Of course he understood she was apologizing for her withdrawal following sex. What had Katie said? He was a creature of instinct. It was why he was such a great actor—he
felt
so much. He lived so deeply.

His life wasn’t governed by fear, like hers was.

He turned and whipped the light blue, raw silk comforter back, folding it at the bottom of the mattress.

“Come here,” he said quietly. He sat down on the bed, his back against the pillows, and beckoned to her with his free hand. Joy followed him, lying on her side and facing him. He held up his champagne glass. “To our little getaway. May it lead to a deeper understanding of each other.”

She lightly touched the flute to his. The champagne was cold and dry and delicious. She made a sound of appreciation. “Did you buy this?” she murmured, studying the bold lines of his profile with appreciation. He nodded. “I suppose you’re an expert. Let me guess—you took wine lessons from a world-renowned sommelier in his private chateau in the French Alps,” she teased.

“No, I was smart enough to listen to my mother when I asked her advice on a nice champagne to offer you.”

She paused in the action of bringing the flute to her lips. “Your mother? You told her about this weekend?”

“I told her about you,” he corrected. “Why do you act so surprised?” His gaze was narrowed on her lips. A shiver went through her.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“Because you wouldn’t consider telling your mother about me, is that it?” he asked, eyebrows cocked. He put the glass to his lips.

“No, it’s not that. I might have told her. If she were alive.”

The champagne slid back into his flute before he’d drank it. “I didn’t know,” he said, staring at her. “How long has it been since she passed?”

“She died when I was almost eighteen.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No. It’s just me . . . and Seth, of course,” she said evenly, sipping her champagne. “What about you? Are there more out there like you and Katie?”

He shook his head. “No. Mom and Dad always say they had their hands full with the two of us, and they couldn’t imagine adding more chaos to the mix.”

She laughed and pulled up her knees, cuddling closer to him. He put his hand on her hip and stroked her. She saw his eyebrow quirk up in male interest when he noticed she didn’t wear any underwear under the gown. She smiled.

“Your parents are still together?” she murmured, resting her head on the pillow.

“Oh yeah. They’re crazy about each other. It’s embarrassing”—he caught her eye—“and great. Katie and I were very lucky growing up. I didn’t realize what great parents Meg and Stan were until I was an adult myself.”

“They must be the reason you’ve remained so grounded, despite all the fame.”

“I’ve seen more people than you can imagine bottom out in this business. It seems like every time I’ve been on the edge of some Hollywood mind-fuckery, Dad was there to drag me out to the golf course and kick my ass, or I’d be bailing Katie out of some fiasco she’d gotten herself into with those crazy rich geezers she used to work for, or Mom would be calling, insisting I come over and help her get a hornets’ nest out of the gutters, or yelling at me for not sending a thank-you card to Aunt Sherry for the fruitcake she gave me for Christmas, or Rill would be telling me the latest project I was working on was ‘shite’ and when was I going to do some
real
work for him, and there you have it—no matter what, I’m always Stan’s and Meg’s oldest kid, and Rill’s oldest friend, and Katie’s big brother. It’s sort of hard to believe all the other crap you’re fed in Hollywood when you have all those people seeing you so clearly.”

“You’re so lucky,” she whispered.

His gaze sharpened on her. “Yeah. I am. So where was your dad when your mother died?” he asked so abruptly she didn’t have time to put up her guard.

“He was on the national racing circuit. He left when I was sixteen.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was and it wasn’t,” she said, running her hand over the swell of well-developed biceps and over his shoulder. She felt his skin pebble slightly beneath her touch. “He wasn’t really there all that much, even when he was in residence, if you know what I mean. His job consumed him.”

“Do you like him?” Everett asked quietly.

She blinked, his question surprising her. “Like him? Yes,” she said, realizing what she said was true. “He’s fun and charismatic. He has a zest for life I admire.”

“So you’re not mad at him? For not being there when your mom died?” he asked quietly.

Her gaze zoomed to his face. He watched her with the steady, focused calm she’d come to expect from him. “No,” she said with pressured honesty. “I’m not angry with him at all.”

He nodded slowly. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did your mom pass? She couldn’t have been very old, if you were only eighteen.”

She studied the bubbles clinging to the side of her glass. “She had Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It eventually spread to multiple organs. Her kidneys and liver shut down, at the end.”

She glanced into his face when he didn’t speak. He looked still and somber, the line of his mouth grim.

“She went back and forth between remissions and reoccurrences, a few months of health followed by another round of treatment, for more than five years before she died,” Joy said. For a few seconds, she was scared he was going to mutter some kind of hollow platitude—one of the many reasons she typically didn’t mention her mother’s illness and death—but he didn’t. He just took another sip of champagne and stroked her hip, the gesture striking her as bizarrely both reassuring and sexual.

“And you really hold no anger for your father whatsoever? He left not just your mother when she was suffering, but you,” Everett said, his brows knitted together.

Joy turned and set down her champagne glass. “Have you ever had someone close to you die from cancer?” she asked when she turned back around.

“No.”

“My dad isn’t a monster, Everett. He had the guts to be honest in a situation he couldn’t bear. He did what he could. It’s all we can ever do in a heartbreaking situation—what we
can
.”

He emptied his glass and reached around her, setting the flute on the table. She thought he didn’t seem entirely convinced. He couldn’t understand what she meant. His life had been graced, and she was glad of it. More glad than she could put into words. Everett deserved the life he led. In spades.

She leaned forward and kissed an erect nipple. It’d been tantalizing her, tempting her the entire time they talked. She felt his hand at the back of her head, cradling her against him. She closed her eyes and tested the turgid flesh with her tongue. He exhaled harshly. She felt him stiffen even more against her circling tongue.

“You’re a closed book, aren’t you?” she heard him mutter from above her.

She blinked and glanced up at him in surprise. Why did his features look so hard when his stare was so soft? “I don’t mean to be.”

“No?”

She swallowed thickly at the hint of sarcasm in his question. His eyes seemed to bore right into her. “Then why don’t you let me restrain you before I make love to you again?”

The silence seemed to stretch tight and then slowly start to spin like a vortex, seemingly catching her thoughts and her very breath and swallowing them.

Had he really just said that?

It might have been something straight out of one of her overly zealous sexual fantasies in regard to him. His nostrils flared slightly as he studied her. “What’s wrong? Does that idea turn you off?”

She swallowed thickly. “No,” she said breathlessly. “I mean . . . I don’t think it does. I don’t have that much experience . . . considering it. Do you mean you want to tie me up?”

“I want to restrain you. I would have anyway—even not knowing you, I mean. It turns me on, in general. But in your case, I’m exponentially interested in the possibilities.”

“Why?” she asked.

His mouth flattened into a straight line. He spoke quietly near her ear.

“Because you’re one of the most tempting, beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmured, his deep, low voice making the hairs on her neck stand on end. He opened his hand wide at the small of her back and caressed her through the silk. “Because you’re soft, and you’re sweet, and because I want to give you as much pleasure as your mind and body can take.” He leaned up and speared her with his clear-eyed gaze. “Because I think you want to do the same for me.”

“I do,” she said honestly.

He leaned down and kissed her softly. “I see the shadows in your eyes.” She went still beneath his warm, moving lips. Shock reverberated through her flesh as she absorbed what he’d said. “I want to make them go away.”

“You mean . . . through sex?” she asked, confused, thinking about how he’d expunged everything from her brain on that night in her apartment save raw lust.

He sat up. “I won’t turn down the opportunity if it works.”

She just lay there, bewildered by his grim expression. He swung a long leg around her and stood. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he got up from the bed, crossed the luxurious bedroom and opened a dresser drawer.

She turned and sat up slowly, her elbows bracing her upper body on the bed. He closed the drawer with a thud and faced her. He held several padded cuffs and a tangle of black straps in one hand. She felt the pulse at her throat start to throb and a pinch at her clit. He was always beautiful to behold, but seeing Everett stalk toward her holding those cuffs was a sexual sin in and of itself.

He stood at the side of the bed and started to unravel the straps.

“Four of them?” she whispered when he separated all the cuffs and set them on the bed.

“Yes. Is that all right?”

She met his stare. Her pulse now felt like it was trying to leap out of her throat.

His expression softened infinitesimally. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do, Joy. All you have to do is tell me to stop and I will.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“Take off your gown.”

She licked at her lower lip nervously as she sat up on the mattress. He stood watching her, his expression somber, his focus on her sharp. She lowered the straps of her nightgown and drew her arms through them. She began to draw the thin fabric down over her breasts.

“Slower,” he said.

She paused, looking at his face, but his gaze was glued to her breasts. She watched him as she slowly lowered the gown over the upper swells of flesh. When her nipples peeked out behind the fabric, he shifted on his feet and his penis jumped behind the cotton pants he wore. Sensing his arousal joined her to him, despite the space that separated them. It fed her desire and quieted her anxiety. She opened her hand at the edge of the fabric, letting her palm cup the sensitive skin of her lower breasts and drag along her rib cage and caress the curves of her hips.

“Stop,” he said abruptly when the silk lay like a yellow shimmering pool in her lap. “Stretch out on the bed.”

Joy followed his instruction. Rill and Katie had furnished the guesthouse with comfortable luxury. The pale blue sheets felt sensual and cool next to her heated skin. She lifted her head, her heart racing when Everett touched her left ankle. The padded cuff slipped over her foot. She saw only the top of his head as he bent, tightening the cuff around her and somehow affixing it to the frame of the bed. He moved over to restrain her other ankle, and she pulled experimentally on her left leg. She could bend her knee, but only slightly. Everett lowered to tie her other ankle, and her thighs parted into a wide
V
.