Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (14 page)

It didn’t take long before he loved her again, and then again, and each time it was just as beautiful, just as sensual as the time before. They took their time, and Moira’s exotic touch, and the way she wove her body around his had him captured in her spell. He just kept needing her.

* * * *

“So this is what all the fuss is about?” she said, wrapped snuggly in his arms, her cheek against his muscled chest. “I feel so, so…I can’t even describe it. For an author that’s pretty bad. I feel so soft, free,” she said.

He broke into a smile as he ran his fingers through her luxurious curls that swept across his abdomen. “No, it’s much more than that.” His jaw tightened as his mind wandered to how he would eventually tell her who he was, but he still couldn’t bring himself to do it, so he pushed it away with another thought. “Aren’t you hungry? You didn’t have any lunch,” he teased.

“Oh, heck yes.” She blushed immediately. “Shower time,” she said brightly and jumped from the bed.

He watched her wander away from him. She really was shaped like an hourglass. Her hips flared with perfect symmetry rising to a slender waist. The small swell of her stomach was enticing to him, and the exotic sway of her walk made him want to follow without thinking twice about it. She might be forty, but her body made his stand to attention. No woman had drawn him that hard or that fast in his life. She wasn’t gangly with long legs—no, she was a beautiful little package. He had always disliked skinny women with straight hips. There was nothing to hang on to except bone. Moira was a woman with curves from her full breasts to her shapely calves.

His thoughts abruptly stopped as he spotted something on her upper right hip, just before her lovely ass swept to the shallow of her back. Had he missed a scroll from this afternoon? he wondered. He realized his beautiful siren had a tattoo. A wicked grin slipped onto his lips. She really was a daughter of Poseidon.

He vaulted off the bed. “Let me see that.” She half turned, and gave him the most delicious smile, then tried to run for the bathroom, but he caught her in his arms. His fingers ran across the colorful native design. “What is it?” he asked, kneeling to see it better.

“It’s my ass,” she said.

“Yeah, that it is.” Then he spanked her.

“Hey,” she bawled at him. “Fine—it’s a native drawing of a dolphin cresting the Pacific.”

He waited for more.

“The dolphin spirit bears both kindness and play energy. I did it to remind myself regardless of how heavy my burdens are there should always be time for the not-so-serious moments in life.” Her hand drifted through his hair. “And of course it’s the patron of all sailors, and it’s the insignia for the Canadian Coast Guard. God knows my job has ridden my ass for too many years. I thought I might as well make it permanent.”

“It’s beautiful on you,” he said, gently kissing it.

Her hand softly caressed his shoulder. “No, you are.”

His eyes darted upward to look into hers.

“I’m sure you’ve been told that by many women,” she said quietly.

Here he was, kneeling before a woman. “No one like you.” He hoped she could read the honesty in his eyes as he gently followed the contour of her rounded ass.

“Okay, I think I’m going to have enough trouble walking here, Mr. Porter,” she said. “Besides, isn’t this the moment you’re supposed to jump into your jeans and leave?”

She was right it was, and he crushed the thought into dust. “Sweet lady,” he replied, rising to tower above her, and sweeping her up into his arms. “I’m concerned for your safety. I’m simply going to make sure you don’t slip in the shower, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

He twisted the shower knobs, tested the temperature, and pulled her in with him, letting the water cascade down their joined bodies. He washed her thoroughly, but by the end, she was crying out, her legs collapsing when his mouth brought her to yet another quivering mass of blissful ecstasy.

The steam from the shower filled the bathroom, making her tanned skin glisten. She dried herself off with the thick bath towel, and then wrapped it around her shapely frame. Slowly he began to regain his senses. This is where he normally departed. He got what he wanted. He’d made love to her. The truth was he’d never even stayed for a shower before. After screwing a woman, a coldness always dropped into the air, and into him.

He could leave without feeling any guilt. They’d both gotten what they wanted. He paused to watch her. Her hair, wet and dripping, left small droplets of water on her shoulders. Like small rivers, they flowed down her arms, and damn if he didn’t want to lick them off.

This was getting too intense. He didn’t even know who this guy was squatting inside him, telling him to stay. This wasn’t like him. He needed to go.

“Moira—” She turned her eyes to him. “I…”

Chapter Eight

As they walked through the casino, Steven wrapped his arm protectively around Moira’s shoulders. He promised Mandy he wouldn’t hurt her. That’s the only reason he was staying with her. He couldn’t just leave her after what they had just experienced together. Like Vince said, “it didn’t hurt to wine and dine her a little,” then he’d let her go gently. Speak of the devil, he thought, seeing Vince waving them over.

“Vince, maybe we can put that meeting off for a couple days,” he suggested, when they reached him.

Vince’s smile broadened. “Uh-huh, well maybe we should change the plan. Why don’t you both come to my place the day after tomorrow? We’ll have dinner together. My daughter really wants to meet you, Moira.”

“I don’t think I should just dump my crew. That’s not exactly polite,” she said.

“They’ll be fine. They’re having a good time, and so should you,” Steven said, pulling her closer. Moira peered up at him as he waited with a raised brow.

“I suppose they are. Sure,” she agreed.

“Sounds good, Vince,” he said.

“I need to get something at the amenities shop, Steven. I’ll be right back.” She pulled away from him.

His eyes remained on her as she walked away.

“Attractive woman,” Vince said, eyeing him.

“Yes, she is.”

“I think, old friend, you’ve met your match. I’m just wondering whether you know you’re already well on your way to the ‘obey’ part of the ceremony?”

“What?” He took a step back. “We’ve only known each other for a day and half,” he said, laughing. Then he stopped. His little voice told him a part of the rebuff was a lie.

Vince answered his cell phone. “I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes,” he said. He disconnected the call. “How about seven then? I’m inviting a few other people over for after-dinner drinks.”

“We’ll be there.” Moira returned, and without even thinking twice, he curled his arm around her. “Now which one of your restaurants is the best for a late dinner?”

“What, no room service?” Vince asked.

Moira blushed. Her expression never wavered, but her red cheeks gave her away.

“Try Bottilegro, you won’t be disappointed. Put it on the suite. Call it an early gift.”

As they walked away, Steven glanced back at Vince with a raised brow. Early gift, he thought.
What the hell’s he talkin’ about?

Moira said the same thing out loud. “What does he mean by early gift? Early gift for what?”

“I don’t know,” he said, thinking about it for a moment. He didn’t have to think long. He stopped in his tracks.

Moira stopped as well. “What’s wrong?”

“Ahh, something in my shoe,” he said quickly.

“Well, take your shoe off then, get it out of there.”

“Gone now.” He quickly pulled her through the throngs of people who breezed past one another in a hurry to get to where they were going.

* * * *

They were halfway through dinner, and on their second bottle of wine when he decided to tell her who he was. It would be better now than the possibility of her finding out at Vince’s get-together when they mingled with his other guests. She’d also been looking at him oddly as yet two more people had addressed him by name in the restaurant.

He put his fork and knife down, suddenly not hungry anymore. He had to tell her, but how? He didn’t know if she would put two and two together, but he had to be truthful. He wasn’t sure what she would do. The question was whether he would finish dessert by himself or not. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Maybe it would be better if she walked away from him. He’d give her a small rueful expression, and that would be that.

“Moira—”

She put down her glass and stared expectantly. The way he said her name probably drew her attention more than anything else.

“Before we go to Vince’s place I need to tell you something. I don’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

Her brows knit together with concern as she pulled the napkin from her lap, placing it on the table.

“I own a company—a large one.” He stared down at his plate then at her, his jaw drawing a little tighter.

“You’re not just a business director, you own it—okay.” She grasped the napkin, playing with the ends.

“And it has to do with the movie industry, so that’s why I get around a lot, Vancouver included.” His stomach tightened. Bloody hell, she was going to figure it out, and then what would he do?

“The movie industry, I see.”

She remained calm, but he didn’t miss the fact that she clenched the napkin tighter. Christ, what was he waiting for? “I own Palm Productions, Moira.” He held his breath.

Her lips twitched.

“Maybe you’ve never heard of it?” he asked, suddenly hopeful, but the look in her eyes told him he wasn’t going to be that lucky.
Shit
, what the hell had he been thinking?

“That’s—that is a big company.” She sat back in her chair folding her hands on the table. “That would keep you very busy.”

His insides dissolved a little. She wasn’t making a connection yet, but she would, and he didn’t know whether to head it off at the pass now or hope that if God had any mercy he would let this go. She gazed at him, but her eyes weren’t smiling anymore.

“The friggin’ owner of Palm Productions, are you kidding me, Steven? You’re
that
Steven Porter?”

He wished he couldn’t read the look in her eyes, but it wasn’t the one he was expecting. Was that just a cold slice of regret that just shot through him?
God damn it.

“Everyone in the world has heard of Palm Productions.” She took a deep swallow from her wine glass and set it down. “It upset the entire movie industry. They said you took Hollywood in your teeth and shook it violently consuming all the other companies, except two.”

The waiter approached the table, and he quickly raised his hand to motion him away.

“The media made a huge deal when it broke every paradigm and created a new Hollywood. You revolutionized it, they said.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if she needed to calm herself. “They talked about the man who owned it, directed it instead of a consortium of businesses. They made you out to be some kind of Bill Gates of entertainment, a wunderkind of California.”

He watched her carefully, and the more she described, the more worried he became that she was on the verge of bolting from the table. Suddenly, he was afraid she would leave. He reached across the table, extending his hand, palm up. She didn’t reach for it. Instead, she bowed her head, concentrating on her lap.

“Moira—” He waited. “It’s just what I do. It’s not who I am. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t have told you for a while.”

“Well, at least you’re not a crime syndicate boss.” Her brows pinched together. “You’re not a little over my head. You’re to the moon and back over my head, Steven.”

He reached for her hand wanting to caress the tremble in it away. “You look like you want to run away from me.”

“You’re a genius. You don’t think that’s intimidating?”

She kept total control as she always did. Clearly, she was overwhelmed with the thought, and not in a good way. Again, she proved to him what an amazing woman she was. If he’d told any other woman on the planet, she probably would have been tweeting it. In fact, it had happened before. Moira had done just the opposite. She sat calmly, but looked very confused.

“You must have women swarming around you, the most beautiful women in the world.” She tried to pull her hand from his, but he folded it between both of his, not letting her withdraw.

Her skin felt cool against his. “I won’t lie and say there aren’t a lot of women around me. There are. There always will be,” he said. “But I haven’t seen a single one from the second I—” He paused, thinking about what he was about to say. Mandy told him she held the truth in high regard. The damn truth was he didn’t want her to walk away from him. “You rocked my world, Moira. From the first time I heard your voice something told me you were special.” He tightened his hold on her.

She cleared her throat. “I’m not special.”

“Yes, you are. You’re amazing actually. But I didn’t want to tell you what I did for a lot of reasons. Obviously, because I wanted you to get to know me, and not have my baggage confuse the issue.”

“You call being a genius and revolutionizing a hundred-year-old institution like Hollywood, baggage?”

“For some reason when I look at you—it is.”

She reached her other hand to cover his. “That’s sweet—stupid”—she paused—“but sweet.” She tried to pull away from him. “I have to go.” Her expression sobered as she moved to get up.

“Stop.” He clutched her hand. “Moira, you don’t see me running away from you.” He hated coming so close to what he didn’t want to talk about, but he had to. “You took the world by storm with your stories. The literary critics said you gave people back their hope, faith, and the belief that love
can
heal.” She stopped in her tracks, lifting her head to gaze into his eyes. His heart began to tick like the second hand on an old grandfather clock, rhythmic but resolute. Each tick felt like a gong in his chest.

“You didn’t Google me the other night. You already knew who I was, didn’t you?”

“No…” His jaw snapped tight. “Not exactly.”

“What exactly?” she whispered.

He had to get off this topic. “Moira, someone gave me your books a long time ago, that’s true. I didn’t just read them the other night, but I didn’t want you thinking I was some crazed fan.”

She sat back in her chair. He could see her thinking, formulating. This was bad.

“Sweetheart, your books are going to turn into classics. People who read them find hope in them. They made people think, and they made people turn back to their faith and look at it again. That’s powerful,” he offered. “I’m in an industry that listens to all of that, and your name has been mentioned a lot. I don’t think you see that because you strive to lead a regular life, with a regular profession. You practically shunned your writing when I complimented you on it.”

“I don’t have a million people swarming around me,” she said quietly.

“You would if you came into the public eye more. The critics call you a recluse.”

She squared her shoulders. “I don’t feel famous.”

“That’s because you don’t put yourself in the limelight. I don’t have a choice.”

“Do you have a couch in your office?” she asked, eyeing him.

He burst out laughing. “Yes, but it’s never been used.”
White lie, never tell the woman you’re falling for you’ve screwed half your industry.
His face froze, and his heart began to thud hard in his chest.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. He blinked. He
was
falling for her, and he was falling hard. It was the only thing he could call it because he had never felt it before in his life.

“You’re lying,” she stated calmly, bringing his attention back to her.

He swallowed and thrust his chin forward. Shit, why the hell could she read him so easily? “Fine, it’s been used, but do you really want to hear that?”

“No, but I want you to.”

“I know that’s never going to happen again,” he said. He was damn sure it would never happen again.

“Mr. Porter, you have no good reason to be with me, even if I’ve written a couple of books. Is there another reason I should know about?”