Authors: Liz Matis
“I brought goodies!”
The crew gathered around as Ava doled out what appeared to be cupcakes. Unsure of his place, he hung back, and was surprised to see Victoria approach him.
“Hey, don’t you what one?”
Yellow cake in a fancy paper cup with fluffy pink icing plopped on top tempted him. He wondered how many calories the treat contained and how many grams of fat. Russ didn’t get six pack abs from eating junk food. Which reminded him at some point he’d have get his workouts in. Otherwise his shirt would be staying on and he’d get fired from his moonlighting job.
“No, thanks.” He patted his stomach. “I’m watching my figure.” The musical sound of her laugh lifted his heart.
“So are all the ladies across the street.”
Hmmm, did he detect a trace of jealousy in her voice? “And the lady right in front of me is too.”
He laughed at the exasperated expression on her face, but she didn’t deny she’d been checking out his physique either.
“Last chance. They were made famous on Sex In The City.”
He shook his head. “That explains why it looks like a cupcake made for girls.”
“Sugar and spice and everything nice.” Victoria waved it under his nose.
The scent of vanilla hit him hard. “Are you talking about the cupcake or you?”
“Me? No Sugar. Maybe some spice but nothing nice.”
He didn’t believe her. She would taste sweeter than Violet Crumbles, a chocolate covered honeycomb candy bar he devoured as a kid, and she’d feel all kinds of nice pressed up against him. If it weren’t for the crew milling about or the audience across the street he’d find out right now.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead eating that frilly thing.”
“Oh I see, not comfortable in your manhood.”
“My manhood is just fine, thank you. Want to see?”
“No, but I’m sure they do.” Victoria pointed across the street.
The little minx. He strode away, frustrated and his stomach rumbling. The cupcake did look good, really good. But he’d be damned if he’d be caught eating one like some girly man. Besides men didn’t do cake, cup or otherwise. Real men liked pie. Big, hot slices of pie with mounds of whip cream.
Mounds?
Victoria’s breasts immediately came to mind. Oh, how he would feast on them if given the chance. A no-calorie treat to satisfy his hunger.
He started the band saw to drown out the noise of the impromptu party. He looked over just in time to see Victoria’s tongue lapping up vanilla icing. He immediately regretted wearing tight jeans. They allowed no room for growth and right now his cock was big and hard and threatened to explode out of his pants like he was the Incredible Hulk on Viagra. Glutton for punishment that he was, he imagined her swirling her tongue up and down his cock until he gave her his own version of vanilla icing. Her tongue slid back in her mouth, her eyes closed in ecstasy. He turned away and grabbed a piece of plywood.
Why couldn’t she just eat the bloody thing instead of making a production out it? There ought to be some kind of law—an obscenity law.
He plopped the board loudly on the table, gliding it into position then pushed it forward to begin cutting. Only he looked up again to see her biting into the cake, the custard center threatening to spill onto her shirt, until her delicate finger caught it. She sucked on her finger in pleasure. He’d bet his bank account he could put the same look on her face by finding her creamy center. She turned his way and a look of horror came across her face as she waved frantically.
Only then he felt the heat of the blade and pulled his hand away. Another second and he would’ve lost a couple of digits. In disgust he turned off the blade just in time for the hysterics to start.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
“No worries.”
“You almost cut your arm off!”
Her dramatics had him gazing up to sky to pray for patience.
“You have to be more careful.”
With the prayer unanswered, he turned towards her and tightly said, “Maybe if you took your little tea party inside I wouldn’t be distracted.” He’d be just fine if cupcakes were banned from the set. And while he was at it, he’d outlaw those tight, short skirts she paraded around in.
“Somebody’s cranky.” She offered her last bite up to Russ. “That’s what happens when you pass up cake.”
Instead of reaching for it with his hand, his mouth swooped down and took it from her fingers, licking the tips with his tongue. He relished the gasp of surprise on her face more than the rush of the sugary treat. “If I’d known you were going to hand feed me, I wouldn’t have said no.”
Chapter 11
W
et and warm, Russ’s mouth sent skitters of pleasure up her arm. His gaze bore into hers, his eyes deepening into a pool of melted copper. Her teeth tugged at her lip so no sound could escape. If he could make her feel like a mewing sex kitten with a lick at her fingertips, then what would happen if he had full access to her body? Victoria wanted to get naked, rub cake all over herself, and find out. If the heat in his eyes was any indication, he was thinking the same thing.
The air hit her fingers. Not a crumb left. “I usually don’t feed the animals.”
Russ smiled. “No worries, I won’t bite the hand that feeds me.” He laid on the thick Aussie accent.
“No, you slobber over it.” Even though he did no such thing, Victoria made a show of wiping off her hand on her skirt.
“I may drool at the sight of you, but I don’t slobber.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Would you like some ice tea to wash that down with?”
Both Russ and Victoria turned their heads. Two elderly women, dressed in flowery housecoats, but with well-coifed hair, stood on the other side of the fence with a platter containing a pitcher of iced tea and one glass, which obviously wasn’t for her.
Russ put on his best boyish smile. “Why ladies, you shouldn’t have.”
Victoria turned away, shaking her head. She didn’t need to see a shirtless, sweaty Russ gulping down a cold glass of iced tea. She really didn’t. Really.
***
V
ictoria sighed, stepping back from the artwork she’d created for the focal point over the Johnson’s fireplace. The starburst pattern of various shades of yellows, oranges, and whites picked up the colors of the glass tile being set around the hearth. The piece would complement the same shape and size mirror that would eventually hang on the opposite wall.
Ever since the show aired, her paying clients were asking for a Victoria original to be included in the design. Ava encouraged her to charge extra and she supposed she should, but deep down Victoria was afraid they’d laugh at her like her mother used to do. If it wasn’t for her grandmother’s trust fund to pay for college and for the set up costs for Victoria’s Divine Designs, she might have caved to her mother’s demands to be just like her—a socialite trophy wife who had no identity of her own. Victoria shuddered at a life of being her mother’s protégé. She liked her life just the way she created it.
Satisfied, she dipped a small brush in black paint and signed the work with quick stroke.
That done she decided to check on Russ’s progress with the build-out. She smiled at the thought of him. Oh, he was a bit arrogant and rough around the edges. So unlike the men her mother would have her marry. Compared to Russ, they were really boys, who were more interested in the family name then in her or her body. Russ, all man, was definitely interested in her body.
And he didn’t equate her petite size with being stupid. If one more man patted the top of her head like she was a child she’d have a tantrum worthy of any three-year-old.
Why not have a passionate one night stand with the down-under hunk? Would it really hurt the show if they hooked up once? Twice? Okay, three times at the most.
Neil would be back soon, then Russ would be on his way and she’d have a nice hot memory to share with her vibrator.
After coming down the stairs, she inspected the room before heading outside. The walls may be dry and the new mod lighting installed, but there was still so much to do. She ticked off a list in her head as the door closed behind her.
Russ’s work area was void of activity and his tools stored away. The entertainment center stood finished except for the white wash paint. That had to get done tonight. She spotted the director by the van, emblazoned with the Design Intervention logo.
“Stephen, where’s Russ?”
“Oh, um. Washing up inside.”
“But we’re not done yet.”
“He has a thing.”
“A thing?” A date thing? She quelled the green-eyed monster from sprouting horns.
“He didn’t realize we’d run late.”
And Russ thought
she
was a diva? At least she never abandoned the set, often working until midnight and sleeping over so the next day ran smoothly.
Who did he think he was? Leaving early was unacceptable. Nothing to do with jealousy, not at all. This is what she got by being nice and offering him a cupcake to make him feel like he was part of the show. And she’d almost forgiven him for the rude comment on the paint color. She stormed back inside and down the hallway. The bathroom door was open. Russ was stooped over the sink, splashing water on his face. His shirt was disappointingly back on, but at least she wouldn’t be distracted by his chiseled, tan chest.
“You may have gotten permission to leave from Stephen, but I’m—”
Russ snapped a hand towel off the rack. “I don’t ask for anyone’s permission.”
Victoria stood there dumbstruck, but not because he interrupted her or his gall to up and leave when there were projects to be completed. The intimacy of watching him dry the sexy stubble on his face left her too stupid to speak. His sandy brown eyes challenged her to a playful fight. But Victoria was in no mood for games. This was war.
Her gaze narrowed. Taking a step in, he backed way with an amused smile on his face and hands up in mock surrender. “Making other people do YOUR work,” her finger jabbed at his hard chest, “while you go out with some girl you just met is—”
She did not mean to let that slip. It made her sound jealous. His gaze heated and Victoria let the rest of the sentence die on her lips. Dropping her hand from his chest, it was her turn to retreat, but he didn’t let her get far. Russ threw the towel to the side and took her by the waist pulling her into his embrace. Her petite frame melded to his like the blending of two primary colors. Opposite one another, each beautiful, but when mixed together creating its own magnificent hue.
“If I were going on a date would I do this?” His voice was tight, the muscles in his neck taut, straining against his still damp skin. The scent of the homeowner’s lemon soap drifted in the air reminding her of the impropriety of what they were about to do.
Before she could utter a half-hearted protest, his mouth descended on hers. Sparks of delight shot out from her center and radiated throughout her body like a Macy’s Fourth of July display.
He kissed her like he’d been waiting to kiss her all his life. And she thought him laid back, perhaps even a little lazy?
There was nothing lazy about him now. All his pent up passion was being unleashed on her trembling lips. So tired of the clean-cut and clean-shaven men she usually dated, Victoria reveled in the feel of the stubble against her tender skin. Sex with Russ would be wild and she instinctively knew no woman would ever be able to tame him. But she didn’t want to tame him; she wanted to ride him. She wanted—
A noise from the hallway startled Victoria. What if one of the crew caught them? She tried to break away.
Without breaking contact, Russ reached out, slamming the door shut with one hand, then picked her up with the other by the rear-end, roughly plopping her onto the sink counter. He pushed himself between her legs, her skirt riding up, as he pulled her to him.
Victoria’s eyes widened as he pressed against the soaked lining of her panties. She moaned and his tongue invaded her mouth. He tasted like spun sugar made from the vanilla cake he’d gobbled from her fingers earlier.
His kiss deepened, his tongue urging hers to fuse with his. Victoria splayed her hands across his back, her nails digging into the cotton fabric of his shirt. Her heart drummed inside her, pulsating to a primitive beat.
Russ growled against her lips as her tongue joined his in what became a tango, each vying for dominance. His hand slid up to her aching breast, brushing the tip with his thumb. Releasing her hold on his back to reach for his belt buckle, Victoria thought she was losing her balance as her backside dipped into the bowl of the sink. Automatically she reached back, her hand mistakenly hitting the faucet, and cold water sprayed onto her skirt.
They broke apart like two dogs in heat being separated with a garden hose. Victoria jumped off the counter. She swiped a hand across her wet backside and wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam rising in the air. She peeked up to see Russ leaning against the wall, breathing heavy, with a look of shock on his face.
Good
.
“Can you make yourself useful and hand me a towel?”