Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (15 page)

“Definitely not, and that’s the truth,” he said before she could ask.

“Well I guess this explains why so many people know who you are. But what does Vince have to do with Hollywood? Didn’t he say he wanted to talk about negotiations with you?”

Jesus, she would have to go and hammer the nail right on the head. Vince wanted to be his next partner, but he couldn’t tell her that or for what. He couldn’t tell her the rest or he knew she would walk straight out of the restaurant. He slapped a smile on his face, “He has his fingers in a lot of endeavors. See, not so bad, I’m not a gigolo,” he teased. “Although, I may have been called that a time or two.”

She laughed quietly. “I guess so. It can’t be easy. I assume it didn’t fall into your lap, and you worked hard to get to where you are. It’s always intrigued me as to how in such a short amount of life, considering there’s only three hundred and sixty-five days in everyone’s year, that some people can acquire so much. Especially people who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouths, or were you?”

She was okay—for now. “Part luck, but mostly hard work and a helluva lot of determination.”

“You must have an amazing mind for business. There’s a guy where I come from who did the same thing. Created an empire and started out from the ground floor, I mean.”

“You’re talking about Franklin Rawlings,” he said.

“Yuh, before he became the richest man in Vancouver, and one of the richest in the world, I suppose. He started out as a car salesman, but he was shrewd and inventive, and look what he has now. He must be eighty and he’s still going strong.”

“He is.”

“Well, you would know, but what you don’t know is that I saved his ass once when his yacht caught on fire.”

“Seriously?” he said. Then it hit him. Jesus, he knew why she had seemed familiar at first, and it had nothing to do with Moira Viterra the author. It had been her voice all along.

“Mm-hmm, he sent the nicest cake and a whole raft of balloons to say thanks.”

“No, I mean, holy shit—I was on the yacht when it caught fire. I was there, Moira.”

“What?” Her voice rose with disbelief.

“That’s why your voice sounded so familiar to me when I heard it the first time. I heard you on the radio—God, it’s you,” he stuttered.

Blinking with uncertainty, she leaned back in her chair.

Her voice had touched him, imprinted something on him that day, as if to say—remember. He’d thought about her voice for days even weeks after. He almost went to find her, but business had pulled him away. It was over seven years ago. Seven years he’d lost with her just because he hadn’t acted on his instincts.

He stared at her in such disbelief and more than a little regret. How different their lives could have been if he could have those seven years back with her, how different both their lives could have been. “You were so reassuring. I remember I forgot all about the danger we were in when I heard you. You asked all these questions and told us that search and rescue would be en route soon. You kept communicating to the ship until help arrived. Your voice was so calming it took my mind off everything. That was you.” He couldn’t believe it.

“Now that’s strange,” she said, her lips curling into a grin.

They talked until the waiter threw them out, and that was an hour past closing time.

* * * *

Leaving the restaurant, he said, “Against my better judgment, but for the sake of your little body mending itself, maybe we should go play a few hands.” He knew instinctively that she must be sore, but he felt like rushing her up to the room and making love to her all night long.

“Sounds good. Let’s see who the better card player is.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek and gave him a daring look.

“Oh, my sweet siren, there’s no competition.”

“Yeah right, big shot, just because you own Hollywood doesn’t make you a good card player. Besides, I saw you the other night, you sucked,” she said, laughing at him.

“I was distracted,” he argued. He guided her toward the gaming tables. Halfway there he reached for his cell phone and eyed the text.

Moira waited patiently.

“It’s from my brother,” he explained. “He’s coming into town tomorrow and wants to introduce his new girlfriend.”

Moira’s brows rose under her bangs. “Well, is that good or bad?”

“No”—he shook his head—“that’s good.” Before his brain engaged, the question popped from his mouth. “Feel like meeting the family?” The question came out all on its own. Yet, he hoped her answer would be yes.

“Sure, I’d like to meet him.” She clutched her purse tightly to her chest.

“He’s been divorced for a while. He was married for ten years to a—” He stopped then pursed his lips. He was thinking of describing her as a scheming bitch, but he thought better of it. “Things didn’t work out between them, but they have two beautiful girls—twins, Charlotte and April.”

“Ah, you’re an uncle,” she said, her eyes lighting up.

Moira didn’t have any family, and he imagined at times she must be lonely. She was alone in the world, and that bothered him—a lot.

“All right, I’ll tell him we’ll meet them for dinner tomorrow night.”

* * * *

They joined a fun table and took turns playing until two seats opened up. He kept trying to coach her, and she kept telling him to shush which made him laugh harder every time she said it. She, unfortunately for him, came out on top, and she practically strutted from the casino, proud that she’d taken him.

“Shouldn’t mess with us Canadians, ya know.”

“Is that so?” he said, guiding her toward the elevators to her suite. Now she was going to rub it in, and for some reason he liked that.

“Well, yeah I mean you said you were at the 2010 Olympics. I believe we kicked your sorry Yankee asses to take the gold in hockey. Remember that?” she jeered. “Guess it’s a good thing we let our Canadian players on the American teams or you guys wouldn’t win any games.”

The intelligent, complex woman who walked beside him had just become a playful, adorable creature, and his heart turned over, seeing another side to her. “Is that right,” he said.

“Oh yeah, Utah Winter Games we smoked you there, too.”

“Hey, I was at both those games and we did all right.”

“Hope you took it like a trooper, not like those sad sacks at the 2010 games. They won silver and looked like someone dissed their mammas.”

“So, who’s going to win the cup this year, little lady?”

“Phhewww, Vancouver’s in number one spot right now, who else?”

The elevator opened and they got in with a few other people.

“And they’re going against Boston. You wanna put something down on this?” he taunted.

Suddenly, the guys in the elevator jumped into the conversation. All three of them were big, hefty young men. Together, they wore enough bling to fill a jewelry store. “Oh hell, woman,” the biggest one said. “Boston is gonna wax you Canucks.”

“I don’t think so,” she barked, sticking up for her hometown. “Imagine that, stuck in an elevator with four delusional Americans, huh go figure.”

They all jeered. As the three men got off at their floor one looked back. “Make her pay up when she loses,” he said.

She swiped her hand through the air as if he was crazy. As soon as the door closed, Steven had her up against the wall.

“So what’s the bet?” he said, trapping her against the wall with his body.

“Ah, I don’t know.”

“How about a week in the South Pacific—loser buys,” he whispered in her ear.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fiji,” she said in a low, sensual voice, taking on the bet before realizing what she was saying or what it meant. “Those little huts that stand out over the ocean.”

A huge smile spread across his face. She’d just committed to seeing him again. “You’re on, sweetheart.” He liked messing with people during business negotiations, but he loved the fact that she liked a challenge. Mandy told him she’d rather fall on her face than say uncle. He imagined she never backed down. The more she showed him of herself, the more he wanted to see. What was happening between them was crazy and unexpected. He needed to drop her at her door and leave.

The elevator door opened and they walked to her room. She cleared her throat as the nervousness returned to her eyes.

His heart began to dance in his chest. Leave her, yeah sure he was going to leave her. He’d rather walk across an erupting volcano on a two-by-four. “It’s your place or mine, and since I’m not sleeping without you beside me…” He didn’t get to finish the sentence.

They hadn’t even reached the living room before half their clothes lay on the floor. But this time Moira had found her way. She obviously had decided she wasn’t going to be intimidated by him anymore.

“If you’re silly enough to want to be with me, then you’re going to get the real me for the next three days.” She grabbed his belt and pulled his half-naked body toward the couch like a wanton saloon strumpet, pushing him down onto it.

“Well, this is different,” he said, feeling the slow burn of desire begin to eat at him. He suppressed the urge to take control. “Bring it on, sweetheart.”

“You’re going to be sorry you said that,” she purred.

Her eyes consumed him, and suddenly he saw who was really in control, and it wasn’t him. Sweet Jesus, it wasn’t him. She slowly teased her finger along his belt line as she kissed him sensually. It didn’t take long before his shaft called at his zipper to be let free. He buried his hands in her soft hair, kissing her desperately because that’s what he felt in his soul for her—desperate. He controlled everything in his life, himself included, except in her hands.

She kissed him and kept kissing him. He wanted more and reached for the tab on his zipper, but she stopped him.

“Uh-ah, Mr. Porter.”

“Sweetheart, I’m going to burst.”

She twined her fingers behind his neck, and put her mouth to his ear. “You’re going to burst when my lips slide over you. Your body is going to feel so good when my mouth covers your hot…hard…erection.”

The tight draw in his abdomen devoured his rational thoughts. Hearing her sensual words in that voice of hers almost drove him to come in his pants. His fingers kneaded her nipples.

“I want you to beg me,” she said.

“Woman, I’m begging you now,” he groaned.

“Patience—Mr. Porter—is also a virtue.” She slid her breasts down his chest, her tongue lingering on his nipple as she rolled it in her teeth.

Her warm breath blew across his skin, and the anticipation made his desire crush every thought except for her. Slowly, she rid him of his pants, agonizingly so. Her lips roamed across his hips, her tongue leaving a sizzling trail down to the root of his shaft, but not taking him into her mouth. She toyed with him until he thought he would explode. When her sweet lips barely graced the end of him, licking off the bead of lubrication that said his body wanted hers, he couldn’t help but let his fingers tangle in her soft hair as he called out her name.

She teased him with only her sweet little tongue. He thrust his hips off the couch wanting more, and he begged all right. She enticed him to the sharp edge of ecstasy, and then her fingers wrapped around his thick length, his body jerking with her touch.

“Sweetheart, please.”

When her moist mouth finally encircled him, it forced a groan from deep inside. The pleasure of her lips loving his erection made him crazy. “Oh God, Moira, don’t stop.” To see her beautiful, soft lips taking him into her mouth was enough to make him let go. Her tongue made his body spasm with pleasure each time it flicked at his head. How could something so dainty give him so much pleasure? He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience as every touch lifted him higher. It wasn’t raw or fast. Her love graced him like she did, gentle, sensual and unbelievably erotic.