Sounded easy enough. Dimi kept looking at Mitch, at all that amazing, edgy gorgeousness, and shivered. Yeah, he’d definitely made her want him.
And she thought maybe he wanted her back, but he’d managed so far to control himself. Could she make him lose that control? It would certainly help take her mind off the fact that she could never really have him, since he already had one foot out the door.
“Do it,” Cami said in her ear.
Could she? Testing, Dimi looked right at him and slowly licked her lips.
Mitch’s mouth fell open.
Testing some more, still holding his gaze, Dimi winked.
He dropped the papers he was holding.
It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?
To be sure, she ran her fingers through her hair and licked her lips again.
Mitch, ignoring the papers scattered at his feet, blinked and swallowed hard.
“Dimi?” Cami sounded worried. “You still there?”
“Yeah, Cam, I’m still here.” Dimi let out a slow smile and felt the power of being a woman blossom through her. “I’m here and ready to rock and roll.”
9
MITCH HAD BEEN hot for two days now, and it had nothing to do with the unexpected warm front that had blown in from Mexico.
He stalked his office, pacing back and forth, going over details for the show that had nothing to do with what was really bothering him.
“Mitch?” Accompanying that low, soft voice on the other side of his closed office door came a light knock.
Dimi. The root of all his problems in one hot little package.
“I’m not here,” he said testily, and when he heard her laugh, he ground his teeth.
What had gotten into her? Suddenly it wasn’t him coaxing her to be funny and sexy, she just was those things.
Effortlessly.
Suddenly he was the one having trouble, and it all centered on how she’d started looking at him-as if he was a twelve-course meal and she was starving.
She opened his door and danced in, wearing-
“Oh, my God.” He clapped a hand over his eyes, making her laugh again.
“Oh, good,” she said. “You like it.”
It, of course, referred to her outfit, which he peeked through his fingers to see. It consisted of two spaghetti-strapped tank tops layered over each other, one bright white, the other bright red. Her denim skirt was a short, snug wraparound, which meant that as she walked toward him, one smooth, long, glorious leg after another was bared.
The camera was going to eat her up, and so would he if she came any closer.
Which she did.
She’d been doing that for two days, invading his space, smiling at him as if she knew some huge secret and generally making his life-and his body-a living hell.
“They wanted me to tell you,” she said, almost purring. “Fifteen minutes until air time. You’re needed on the set pronto.”
He removed his hand from his eyes, and they promptly attached themselves to her body. “You have to wear a bra on television.”
“I am.”
He stared at her full, round, perfect breasts, both of which hardened under his scrutiny. “You are not.”
She reached up and peeled down the two straps of her tanks from her right shoulder, revealing the top of her right breast.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, covering his eyes again.
“Showing you I’m wearing a bra. Suzie sewed the cups in so I wouldn’t be bouncing all over the place. See?”
He squinted one eye open to realize she wasn’t uncovering any more of herself, only enough so he could see the white of the sewed-in bra cup. But that’s not where he looked. No, he looked at the curve that the bra barely restrained, at the tantalizing creamy flesh making his mouth water.
“We’ve got to run,” she said, and as if he were a child, she grabbed his hand and led him from the room. He followed, his gaze drawn to her hips, which wriggled enticingly in the heels she’d adopted.
Had he ever really imagined her in need of sprucing up? Not sexy? Ha!
She had him hot, horny and hard, and he’d been in that state for so long his mind had gone fuzzy from lack of blood.
Peeking at him over her shoulder, she shot him a smile designed to heat his blood even more, so he didn’t even try to talk, try to tell her he knew the way to the damn set, that he could get there under his own steam. He just stupidly followed her, conserving what little brain matter he had left for the show.
At the set, he sank to a chair and rubbed his temples, wondering if a man could die of an ignored erection.
“What’s the matter?” Dimi asked, her voice silky. “You have a headache?”
Before he could respond, she was standing behind him, her hands stroking his neck, urging his head back, pillowing it against her incredible breasts. Then her hands skimmed upward, sank into his hair and started massaging his head.
His entire body quivered.
And he actually forgot. Why was he resisting her? Exactly why didn’t he grab her, pull her around and into his lap, and give them what they both wanted with a terrifying desperation?
Oh, yeah.
Because he was leaving.
Because he wasn’t the type to want a woman to such distraction.
Because he hadn’t opened up his heart in two long years, and it hurt to think about letting someone in, someone who could mean as much to him as Daniel had.
Just when he thought he had a handle on that and could resist her, she bent and put her mouth to his ear, breathing into it as she whispered, “Better?”
Any better and he’d embarrass himself right then and there. He was spared having to answer by the call to their marks.
His most pressing problem was how to remain behind the counter for the rest of the show so as to not exhibit the fact that the front of his pants was a permanent tent.
DIMI WAS well aware that she was playing with fire. And skating on thin ice. All at the same time.
It was part of her plan. Make Mitch want her while not giving him a chance to actually get her.
But she was weakening on that resolve. She’d created a monster. This…thing between the two of them was out of control.
It was just a game, she kept reminding herself. She was getting even with him for turning her into the cooking sex kitten.
Only problem with that theory…she liked what he’d done to her. She liked the clothes that made her feel sexy, liked the freedom it gave her to loosen up a bit and enjoy herself. She smiled more, and not just because he’d asked her to.
She felt happier.
Not happy enough to sleep with him, though. That would be a colossal mistake, because then there’d be no avoiding involving her heart.
And there was the teeny tiny little detail of his impending departure.
So she avoided being alone with Mitch at all costs.
But one day she found herself alone at a table in the lunchroom with him, because the two grips sitting between them finished eating and left.
“I’ll eat later,” Dimi said, rising, grabbing her plate of veggies-she’d given up her beloved junk food to better fit into her costumes-but Mitch stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
“Scared of me?”
She saw the dare in his gaze and slowly sank down, because no way was she going to let him think that. She even laughed. “Hardly.”
“Uh-huh.” His teeth sank into his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he watched her with an endearing mixture of wariness and good humor as he chewed. “You’ve been avoiding being alone with me,” he noted, downing some milk. She could hear him swallow, and darn it, his lunch looked a whole heck of a lot more appealing than hers.
“And vice versa.” Daintily she bit into a carrot stick while begrudging the fact it didn’t smell nearly as good as the peanut butter.