Nights with him, p.32
Nights With Him,
p.32
“I won’t disappoint you.”
He leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “Do more than not disappoint me. Exceed my expectations.”
The room seems to compress, to tighten into this one tense line from him to me as he holds my gaze, but his dark eyes give nothing away. I’m not sure if he’s trying to break me down, or to see if I can withstand the pressure. “I will give you everything, Mr. Milo.”
At last, a smirk plays on his lips. Then he whispers in a low, sexy voice that makes me heady for a moment, “It’s Davis. Just call me Davis.”
“Okay,” I say, then, as if I’m trying it on for size, I repeat his name. “Davis.”
He shakes his head twice and breathes out hard, and for some reason, I like the way he responds.
He walks over to his desk and I try to look elsewhere—at the walls, at the table, at the floor—but I can’t seem to stop checking him out, from his broad shoulders to his deliciously sculpted ass. I try to remind myself that I should not, under any circumstances, be looking at his fine ass as he grabs a spiral-bound thick set of pages.
The script.
It’s like a treasure. The book and music for the newest Stillman musical, and he holds it as such, as if it’s a great and powerful thing. I’ve only seen the pages from the audition scene. Now I’m about to dive into the whole story. I cannot wait, and when he hands it to me I take it reverently.
“Spend the next few weeks immersing yourself in it,” he says, and he’s still standing, so it’s clear that the meeting is over. I stand up, tuck the script in my purse and loop the strap over my shoulder. He walks with me to the door and as I’m reaching for my coat, I wobble in the too-big heels.
Stupid shoes.
But then his hand is on my elbow, instantly. He steadies me as I’m reaching for him so I don’t fall. When I look up at him, I can feel the flush of embarrassment creeping into my cheeks. I decide to make light of it. “That’s what I get for borrowing my roommate’s shoes. She has big feet.”
He glances down at the black pumps. “Nice shoes.”
As I follow his eyes, I realize my hand is on his shirt, my fingers fisted around the cloth, clutching it. I should let go. But I don’t. Because I can’t help but notice he has that clean and freshly showered smell that makes any woman want to lean in and lick a guy’s neck.
Close her eyes. Inhale, and trail a tongue all the way to his earlobe, enjoying the sound of a low groan.
“Nice shirt,” I say softly, running my index finger across one smooth button. Then I look up to find him staring down at me. His dark blue eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re not keeping me at bay. Instead, they’re heated, searching mine.
It’s hypnotic the way he looks at me. Completely hypnotic, as the room goes quiet, the air between us charged.
I press my teeth against my lips and I think, but I’m not entirely sure because thought has vanished, that I nod briefly, almost as if I’m giving him permission. Then he bends towards me, and my breath catches. Before I even process rationally what’s happening his lips are on mine, and my pulse is racing. It’s barely there, just him brushing his soft lips against mine, but I want more. So I pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He groans and then suddenly his hands are in my hair, and he’s twining his fingers through my long, blond strands, and tugging me close.
I thought I was leading this kiss, but I’m not anymore because he’s claiming me, tracing his tongue across my top lip, then nipping at the bottom lip, then kissing me so deeply and with so much heat that I shudder. That only makes him kiss me harder, and everything else falls away because this is a kiss I can feel in every single cell in my body. Deep, and fevered, and possessive.
It makes me want things I’m not supposed to have.
It makes me want him.
My heart pounds wildly as he presses closer, so dangerously near to me that I’m longing for him to slam me against his body, to touch me all over. His lips own me, his hands want to know me, and I swear I might combust from this kind of electric contact.
He breaks the kiss and I’m honestly not sure where I am anymore. Or who I am. I look at him, at Davis, but everything is so hazy right now that I don’t know what to say. I don’t think he does either, because he doesn’t speak for a moment. He exhales deeply, collecting himself. As if he doesn’t know how the kiss transpired either.
“I’m sorry,” he says then steps back. He looks away from me, staring at some distant point on the wall. “That was a mistake,” he says quietly.
My mouth is open in shock. A mistake? That was a kiss that begged to become so much more.
But I manage to hide my embarrassment at having kissed my first Broadway director by doing what he hired me to do. Act.
“Yes. A mistake,” I say confidently.
“It won’t happen again,” he adds, now turning his gaze back to me, his eyes cold once more. Stripped of all that longing from seconds ago.
“Of course not. Thank you for the script. I’ll see you when rehearsals start.”
“Yes.” He returns to his desk and I grab my coat, my head cloudy even as my heart beats fast, my body still racing, still wanting.
Wanting more.
As I walk away, my lips feel bruised and so does my heart, especially when I hear him turn up the music now that I’m gone.
Playing With Her Heart is
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Much gratitude and love to my friends and colleagues who helped shape this story. They include Violet Duke, with her impossible choices, Kim Bias with her keen suggestions, and Kelley Jefferson who turned the key in the ignition with the set-up. Big thanks to Tanya Farrell who read every chapter as I wrote and offered tweaks and tune-ups, to Jen McCoy who cheered me on, and to Gale who brainstormed the big gesture.
Thank you to Theresa Stokes Harrell, who is a goddess of sex toy knowledge and served ably as the official sex toy consultant for this book.
Thank you to Sarah Hansen for the gorgeous cover, to Helen Williams for fabulous graphics, to Kelley for the daily grind, and to Kelly P for being my sherpa, coach, cheerleader, mama bear, manager and favorite person to talk to. Lauren McKellar offered her wisdom in fine-tuning details and Kara proved an eagle eye.
I am lucky to have met so many wonderful people in the book community – the talented bloggers, passionate readers, outspoken advocates of books and sexy romance – I adore you all.
Big thanks to my family, my husband, my children and my dogs – they are all my reasons for everything I do, every late night, every early morning. Thank you for being by my side.
Most of all, THANK YOU, the person reading this book. You rock my world and you turn it inside out with joy. Thank you for making dreams come true.
CONTACT
I love hearing from readers! You can find me on Twitter at LaurenBlakely3, or Facebook at LaurenBlakelyBooks, or online at LaurenBlakely.com. You can also email me at laurenblakelybooks@gmail.com.
Lauren Blakely, Nights With Him
