“How was that?” she asked calmly while the pulse pounded in her throat, in her chest, in her ears. Surely it was just the mountain air making her blood hum and body sing. Sure, she could just-
She leaned forward and kissed him again. She couldn’t stop herself. More stars exploded in her eyes, bright points of pleasure at the feel of his mouth against hers. A moan of deep, dark pleasure resounded in her ears, hers, she realized with shock, locking her arms around his neck so tight he returned the deep, dark sound, but only because she was choking him.
“Sorry!” she gasped, backing up, horrified at her ineptness.
But he didn’t let her go far, instead sliding a thumb over her frustrated frown. “It’s okay. Breathing is optional,” he assured her.
One second Dimi sat there staring at him, humiliated to the core, and the next she’d garnered her courage to try again.
Go for the moon, she told herself, and pressed against him, her mouth on his. She was kissing him, kissing him as if she was starving for it.
And he was kissing her back, his mouth opening, making her let out a little whimper of need. She wanted more. She took more, losing herself in it until he let out a hissing breath. His fingers reached up and entangled with hers, making her realize she’d fisted them in his hair, tugging hard on the silky strands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, face flaming as she pulled back. God, what had she been thinking? What had Cami been thinking? She couldn’t do this! “I think,” she said shakily, “I’m ready for dinner.”
“Are you sure? Because I’ve got your hands now, so we could just try the whole thing again-”
“I’m sure.”
He searched her gaze, then sighed and stood, pulling her up, as well. “Next time,” he muttered, “I’m going to go bald before stopping you again.” He stroked her cheek. “Remember that.”
She would do little else.
8
“MESSAGES!” Suzie called to Mitch in a whirlwind the next day. As she ran past him, clipboard in hand, she slapped a stack of pink message slips in his palm. “The one on top is a doozy.”
She was right. It was from his home office.
Mitch, we’ve got another show for you to save. We’ll send replacement producer for Food Time within two weeks.
Great job!
Now get back here as soon as you can.
Shocked, he stopped dead in the busy hallway and stared at the words. Now get back here as soon as you can.
Someone plowed into him from behind, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Hey!” yelled the clerk, paling when he saw who he was yelling at. “Oh! Sorry, sir.”
Stunned, Mitch looked up from his message.
“You might want to step aside, though,” the clerk said more gently. “You’ll get killed standing here during rush hour like that.”
Only a week ago the message he’d just received would have been cause for celebration. Now all he felt was a confusing mix of things, though a great part of that could be the way he kept getting jostled standing there like an idiot in the middle of the hustling, bustling hallway.
“Hey, boss!” Suzie came down the hallway on another mission, grabbing his arm when she saw him. “You gotta move out of the way, honey, or someone is going to plow into you.”
“I know.” He allowed her to pull him to the side, where the pace was more suited for an epiphany.
He was going home.
Yet he couldn’t seem to work up any happiness about it, because somehow, someway, when he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d started to fall for this show, this town.
The people.
One person in particular-Dimi of the serious eyes and amazingly talented mouth.
Still in a daze, he walked onto the set with three minutes to spare and found Dimi sitting on the counter in a hot little sundress, swinging those long, long legs as she read, totally absorbed in the newspaper she held.
It was yesterday’s edition, the one that screamed Sex Kitten Cooks!
“Five minutes, people!” called the director.
Dimi used that as an excuse to ignore him, which she’d done fairly successfully ever since their kiss.
“You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.”
Her feet swung faster, but she didn’t look at him.
“Dimi, say something.”
“Okay.” She looked up. “I heard you’re leaving.”
He sighed, not bothering to point out he’d only just gotten the message three minutes ago himself.
Thanks, Suzie.
Was Dimi angry that he was going? Or so happy she couldn’t speak? With Dimi, he couldn’t be sure. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
She kept reading.
Okay. Well, she had to do the show with him, he thought with evil satisfaction. She couldn’t ignore him there.
“I understand we’re preparing leg of lamb today,” he said conversationally, hooking his mike to the front of his shirt.
“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. An assistant handed her a mike. She held it in one hand, obviously at a loss as to where to pin it.
His mood lightened considerably.
“Looks like you have a problem there, finding a place for that thing.” Before she could protest, he took it and stepped close, as if he was going to pin it on her collar, but as they both knew, her dress had no collar.
He let out a slow smile. “This is going to be tricky.”
“I can do it,” she said through her teeth, the serious queen once again, making him want to laugh.
“No, I’ve got it.” He studied the spaghetti straps that held up the bodice of the sundress, which dipped low between her very appealing breasts. “Nope,” he said, gliding the backs of his fingers across her collarbone. “Not here.”
At his touch, she sucked in a breath.
“Maybe…” He slid his first finger along the edging of the dress just above the curves of her breasts, touching her creamy skin. He actually trembled like a damn baby at that, but he took heart in the fact that she did, as well. “Here,” he decided, slipping his fingers beneath the strap where it connected with the bodice near her armpit, just above her left breast.
She sucked in another breath at the intimate touch. “Are you getting your kicks out of this?”
“Oh, yeah.” He wiggled his fingers. Her nipples hardened, strained against the material of the dress, making him let out a soft groan. “Definitely getting my kicks out of this. Cold, Dimi?”
“No, I-” She slammed her mouth closed and glared at him when he laughed softly, triumphant that he’d made her admit to being turned on.
He bent his head to the task, his back to the various crew members milling around so that no one could see what he was doing. If anyone looked over, they saw a producer helping out his host with her mike, that was all. Innocent stuff.
They were in their own little world.
Which was how he found himself concentrating, not on the job in front of him, but on the sweet scent of her, the mind-blowing feel of her soft, warm flesh.
He made sure to take his time.
The pulse at the base of her neck throbbed, and he nearly moaned again. “I have to taste you,” he whispered, and closed the rest of the distance, putting his open mouth against her neck, sucking.
It was her turn to let out a low moan. She lifted her hands, probably to push him away, but he quickly soothed the spot he’d bitten, using his tongue, and she ended up fisting her hands on his shirt instead.
“Twenty seconds!”
Dimi wrenched free and stared at him, wide-and wild-eyed, chest heaving as if she’d just run a mile.
He was breathing like that, too, and starting to sweat to go along with it. “Wow,” he whispered, which made her let out an agreeing noise as she turned away to stand on her mark. She tossed back her hair, rubbed her glossed lips together and took a deep breath, obviously desperately struggling for composure.