“You make it look good. It felt good having you fall asleep in my arms,” he said, then ran his fingers through her hair. He lowered his voice again, speaking softly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in my bed more often.”
There was something different about him in moments like this. A tenderness shined through his hard exterior, a sweetness even. And it scared the hell out of her. Because it was easy to view him as a weekend fling. So incredibly easy. But when he was like this, she could feel the weight of one word pressing hard on her. More.
Like a temptress with a come hither wave, inviting her in for more. More him, more moments, more getting to know each other. She wanted terribly to snuggle in close with him, lift her eyes to meet his, and say I want to be in your bed more often, and I want to be in your life too.
But she didn’t have the luxury of more. So she made light of his comment, bringing it down to the sex level. “Oh, you just want to set some sort of record this weekend, don’t you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, and this time his voice was clear, and firm. He pulled her on top of him, thread his hands slowly through her hair, keeping his eyes locked on her the whole time. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say too much, wouldn’t admit how much she was starting to want from him.
“Kiss me,” he said, giving her a command. She obeyed, exploring his lips with her tongue, then crushing her mouth to his, trying to get closer, as close as she could be.
He let go of her hair, his hands drifting down to her backside. He reached for a condom and rolled it on. Then he cupped her cheeks, lifted her up, giving her full access to his erection, and she sank onto him. She inhaled sharply as he filled her, stopping momentarily to savor the sensations. He moved inside her, and it wasn’t rough as she rode him. It was luxurious, and deliciously slow, and it felt disturbingly like making love, especially given the way he kissed her tenderly the whole time.
Chapter Seven
The thieves rode away in a convertible, the sunset streaking behind them, the jewels turned into money and the money tucked safely away in a bank account. The closing credits rolled, and Julia leaned closer to whisper in his ear, her soft hair brushing his neck. “We need to stay for the credits.”
His heart thumped a beat harder, and he couldn’t deny that he was happy she’d insisted on proper movie etiquette herself. He didn’t have to tell her he wanted to stay. She got it on her own.
“I always watch the credits even when I don’t have a client involved,” he said, staying put in the red upholstered chair because he didn’t want to miss seeing the name of the executive producer scroll up the big screen. He’d wait all the way through to the final shot because that’s what you did when you were in the biz. What happens before the credits brings butts to the seats, but what rolls on by after “The End” is why there’s a movie in the first place. “But I do have a client in this film.”
“Which one is yours?” she whispered as other patrons stood, and picked up emptied popcorn tubs and cartons of Junior Mints.
He pointed to the first credit. “That’s my guy.”
“And you took good care of him, I trust?”
He nodded. “Got him some very nice points on the back end.”
She ran a finger down his arm, giving him an approving nod. “Impressive.”
“I do what I can.”
The names of the cast and crew, the key grip and the costumer streaked across the screen, and they watched them all. Soon, the movie reached its final frame, and silence filled the theater.
“What did you think of the movie? And don’t tell me you liked it because I had a client work on it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have no need to suck up to you, Clay. You’re already putting out for me. But I loved it. Especially because you’re totally convinced at one point that they’re there’s no way they can walk out of the vault with all those jewels, but then it turns out there was a hidden wall,” she said, her expression animated as she recounted the film.
He nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I love about a good heist flick. The way the story makes you think one thing, and then all of a sudden,” he said, twisting his hand to the side to demonstrate a U-turn, “You’ve gone the other direction.”
“That’s what a good story does, right? Surprises you. Challenges you.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sweeping of a broom. Clay glanced behind him. An usher was sweeping the floor of the theater. The usher dumped the contents of the dustpan into a trashcan and then left.
“I guess that’s our cue to go.” He stood up, holding Julia’s hand and they exited their row. “All alone in the movie theater,” he mused as they made their way up the aisle. “The things we could do.”
“You never stop, do you?”
“Thinking of ways to seduce you?”
She nodded, tucking a strand of her sexy red hair behind her ear.
“Never.”
“Your efforts are very much appreciated, but you do know you have this one in the bag?”
He reached his hand around her waist, tugging her in close as they left the theater, the bright lights of the lobby making him blink. “You are not the type of woman I would ever take for granted,” he said, whispering low in her ear, because the words were just for her. She shivered lightly against him, and he wrapped his arm tighter around her.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why am I the type of woman you wouldn’t take for granted?”
He held open the door to the cinema, letting her walk onto the New York Street first, admiring the view of her legs. It was a Saturday afternoon, but she was wearing black stockings and her trenchcoat. Heels too. A young man in a slouchy sweatshirt stared at Julia as he walked by, nearly tripping over his Converse sneakers as he craned his neck to gawk. Clay wasn’t bothered. In fact, he was a proud mother fucker to know the woman other men stared at was with him. “Because you wear stockings on a Saturday to the movies. Because you do it not just to turn me on but because you are intrinsically sexy. Because you have this gorgeous internal confidence that has nothing to do with what men think of you. Because you stayed in the theater to watch the credits. Because you get why crime flicks are a damn good way to pass two hours. Because as much as I want to spend the entire weekend in bed, I also want to get to know you. Because I like talking to you as much as I like touching you. Is that enough?”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, wrapped her arms around his neck, nodded her answer and planted a hard kiss on his lips. She tasted like kettle corn from the movies. “Mmm,” he growled, as a gray-haired couple sidestepped them. They were in New York City, kissing on the street, doing exactly what new lovers should do in a weekend together.
“Yes, that’s enough.” She grabbed his hand and laced her slender fingers through his. “And I think you are a fabulous way to pass the time,” she said, and he suspected that was as much as she’d admit when it came to that most dangerous territory of feelings. But he’d take it, he’d happily take it.
They resumed walking, a crisp April breeze blowing past them that smelled remarkably like rain as they neared Christopher Street. The breeze billowed her coat momentarily, providing him with a full-on view of her long legs, and just the slightest peak of her panties as her skirt danced upwards too. “Because of that too,” he added.
“I arranged for that gust of wind. I ordered it to arrive at this instant.”