But she’d rehired him. That was smart.
They started up the stairs.
“You said yes, right?” she asked.
“Yes to what?”
“To being my agent again.”
He stopped on the top landing and turned to face her. “Ask me again in the morning.”
“I told you, I’m not drunk.”
“Then you can hold your liquor a lot better than I can.” He pointed to a door. “Mom told me to put you in Brett’s old room.”
“What about Brett and Nadine?”
“They’re in David’s room.”
“And David?”
“In the rec room, where there’s space for their kids. Why are we having this conversation?” He reached past her and pushed open the bedroom door.
Joan walked in, gazing around at football pennants, trophies and rock and roll posters.
“It’s like a shrine,” she breathed. Then she turned to throw a saucy gaze at Anthony. “Can I see your room?”
He sucked in a tight breath. “Tomorrow.”
She glided meaningfully in his direction and pouted. “Not now?”
“Not now.”
She sidled up close, making her voice sultry, thinking how wonderful it would be to kiss him all over again. “You afraid of me?”
“Joan.”
She walked her fingers up his chest this time. “Tell me you’ll be my agent again.”
He grabbed her hand. “Stop.”
“Tell me, or I’ll rescind my offer.”
“You’re not thinking straight.”
She tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “I switched to nonalcoholic margaritas two hours ago.”
Anthony stilled. “So…”
“I’m not drunk, Anthony. Okay, tipsy, maybe. But just enough to keep me relaxed. I will remember every second of this tomorrow.”
“And you’re flirting with me.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re rehiring me.”
“Which one of those makes you happier?”
Instead of answering, he kissed her. There was no preamble this time, no tasting, no testing. The kiss went long and deep from the first second, and every fiber in her body swooned from the exquisite sensation.
His hands roamed their way beneath her blouse, pushing aside her flimsy bra to cup her aching breasts. She pressed her nipple into his palm, desperate to get closer. Nothing was going to tear them apart this time.
Laughter sounded from downstairs.
His family.
Oh, no. His family.
He reached behind him and shut the door.
“But-”
“It locks,” he assured her.
“But, you,” she breathed. “Your room. They’ll know…”
“Come here.” He took her by the hand and led her across Brett’s bedroom. There he opened a door to an ensuite bathroom and guided her inside.
“The bathroom?” she asked in surprise. It wasn’t exactly her fantasy, but if that was-
“Not in the bathroom.”
He whisked her through it to a second door and pushed that one open.
“My room,” he said gruffly.
An equally impressive shrine to Anthony opened up before her. While he locked the door, she gazed around at basketball trophies, boxing gloves and ski racing ribbons.
“You ski?” she asked. It seemed like an odd sport for a Texan.
“Tomorrow,” he said. Then he grasped both sides of her blouse. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”
She looked down at his tanned hands against the delicate white fabric.
He pulled. The fabric gave way and the buttons popped, scattering over the wooden floor.
She dropped her head back, and he kissed her neck, drawing the delicate skin into the heat of his mouth, surely leaving marks.
Her hands went to his thick hair, and she moaned his name.
He kissed the mounds of her breasts, dampening her lacy bra while his hands roamed down to her bottom and pulled her tight against him.
She struggled with the buttons of his dress shirt, not feeling any patience at all. They’d been here three times now. Twice they’d stopped.
He grabbed the lapels of his own shirt and ripped it off. Then he pushed her blouse from her shoulders, kissing their curves, tasting the tender skin as he dispensed with her bra.
“Hold me close,” she whispered, and then they were skin against skin.
“I can’t wait,” she told him, wriggling in impatience.
“Neither can I.” He reached under her skirt and tugged off her panties. Then he dispensed with his slacks and backed her up to the bed.
He smiled. “Never pictured you here.” He gently pushed her down on his bedspread, laying her back and flipping up her skirt. “But what a great teenage fantasy.”
She grinned at that one, as he followed her down.
His hands trailed over her breasts, while she explored his firm pecs and delineation of his chest. He kissed her. Gently at first, but then with increasing force and passion.
He cradled her face. “My beautiful Joan.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, remembering all the hurtful things that had passed between them.
He shook his head. “Shhh.” His fingertips trailed along her thigh. Higher and higher, until she gasped out loud.
She was close to the edge. He’d barely touched her, and she was already…
“Now,” she cried. Her hips arched and her breathing escalated.
He moved on top of her, grasping her hands, entwining her fingers with his, staring straight into her eyes as he entered inch by careful inch.
She watched his irises, sky-blue, as his rhythm started off slow. Then they darkened to turquoise and sweat broke out on his forehead.
Liquid passion poured through her body, igniting her veins, making her skin tingle and her nerve endings cry out for release. The room grew hotter. The scents grew sharper, and Anthony’s rough breathing synchronized with her own.
His eyes turned dark as a midnight sky. And shooting stars took flight on the periphery of her vision. He moved faster, his muscles straining against her body. He was as hard as steel inside her. Her thighs tightened, her breathing held, until her whole world exploded in a shower of shooting sparks.
Anthony cried out her name as she floated through a cloud, spiraling round and round, the earth far, far beneath her.
ANTHONY COULDN’T move.
He might never move again.
Which was fine with him.
He could die right here, a happy man.
“Wow,” Joan breathed.
“Wow,” Anthony returned, gathering her warm body against him, spoon fashion, in his bed.
“We’ve known each other how long?” she asked.
He chuckled against her hair. “Ten years.” He drew a deeper breath. “Believe me, if my fantasies had been more accurate, I never would have kept my hands to myself this long.”
She smiled. “You’ll have to tell me about those fantasies someday.”
“Someday, I’ll show them to you.”
She stretched, yawning delicately and closing her eyes. “Sounds good.”
He toyed with a loop of her hair. “You’re going to remember all this in the morning, right?”
Her lips curved into another smile. “Are you kidding? I’m going to remember all this on my death bed.”
“We’ll do it your way from now on,” he said.
“Do what my way?”
“Your career.”
She looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the only way it’ll work.”
Her reaction wasn’t as gracious as he’d expected.
He felt his jaw clamp down on a rebuttal, and he repeated Brett’s words inside his head.
“Because I can feel the pull,” she said, her tone softening. “And I have to tell you, it scares me.”
“The pull?”
“The pull for more publicity, more notoriety, more sales, more fame, more power.” Her words sped up. “It goes on and on and gets faster and faster and more and more seductive.”
“What exactly scares you?” What did she mean by seductive? Did she hate it? Or did she like it and hate herself for liking it?
She shook her head. “Oh no, you don’t.”
“Don’t what?”