Page 5
Author: Bella Andre
He moved so that he was sitting on the couch by her head and shifted her so that his legs became her pillow. She seemed unsettled again for a moment, her free hand pressing against his leg as she clearly wondered why her pillow was so hard.
Without thinking, he captured that hand with his free one. She immediately settled into him, curling into an even tighter ball on the couch beneath the thick blanket, reminding him again of the wild kittens that he often found sleeping in patches of sun at his winery.
He wanted her so badly that it was difficult to relax at first. Every breath she took stoked his libido higher as her head shifted on his lap. He was glad she was so soundly asleep, otherwise she’d realize that his thigh muscles weren’t the only hard thing she was lying on.
Calling on his steel will that had rarely, if ever, let him down, he forced himself to move his gaze away from her to the huge living room windows that overlooked the lights of San Francisco and the bay.
Marcus had been in other actors’ houses over the years and he was always struck by how many pictures—and even paintings—they had of themselves. Almost as if they were afraid to ever let anyone, including themselves, look away from the face that had made them famous, just in case it was forgotten. Smith was the exact opposite. Not only were there no photos of him, there were no personal photos anywhere in the house.
None of the Sullivans spent much time in front of the mirror. Not even his sisters, except Lori when she was working. Her job as a choreographer meant she needed to keep a careful eye on her lines, her movements, her expressions as she danced. And even though Marcus’s mother had been a model when she was younger, he couldn’t remember her ever wasting much time with makeup or hair. Raising eight kids would make it pretty damn hard for anyone to find the time to primp and be vain.
In any case, Marcus wasn’t particularly interested in any changes Smith had made to his part-time home. Not when it already felt like he’d taken too much time away from Nicola.
His chest tightened again as he looked down at her pretty profile. Recognition tried to jog in his mind. He’d been so struck by his attraction to her right from that first glance that he hadn’t been able to think of anything else.
But now, as he got the chance to simply stare at her, he found himself wondering if he’d seen her somewhere before.
No, he decided a moment later. It was impossible.
Nicola wasn’t a woman he could ever have forgotten.
He stared down at her for a long while, memorizing the curve of her cheekbones, the sweep of her eyelashes, the way her eyebrows arched and peaked, her slightly pointed chin that fit her so perfectly, the sweet curve of one ear.
The soft hairs at her hairline were several shades lighter than her current hair color and he wondered why she felt she had to change anything about herself when she was already perfect. One day, he found himself thinking, he’d like to see what she looked like with her natural hair color.
What was he thinking? He wasn’t going to see her again after tonight.
His thoughts cycled back to his ex-girlfriend, to how furious he’d been to find Jill with Rocco. Then again, if he was being honest with himself, he’d been angry and frustrated for longer than that. For weeks, months, as Jill made more and more excuses for why she wasn’t ready to get engaged, as she cancelled one weekend together after another, as she committed to seeing his family at various events and then backed out at the last minute.
He’d assumed he’d be furious at Jill all night long. But since meeting Nicola, he hadn’t thought about Jill once until now. And, amazingly, with Nicola sleeping on his lap and her hands in his, Marcus’s anger was on a slow simmer rather than a rolling boil.
Sex was supposed to be his medicine tonight, not soft, sweet Nicola.
And yet, instead of being even more frustrated by the turn his evening of mindless sex had taken, a smile was on his face as he leaned back against the couch, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
Chapter Four
Nicola was so warm. She felt so safe. Safer than she’d felt in years, when she’d still lived in her parents’ house rather than in hotels throughout the world.
But she could tell without opening her eyes that she wasn’t in her childhood bed. For one, her bed didn’t smell like leather. Her pillow wasn’t made of hard muscle. And there hadn’t ever been anyone who had held her hands so gently in her bed.
She swallowed hard as she realized what must have happened. She’d propositioned a gorgeous man at a nightclub last night…and then she’d promptly fallen asleep on him.
Oh God, how stupid had she been? Had she actually thought she was taking control of her life by going to that club to pick up a stranger?
In the cold light of day that she hadn’t wanted to think about last night, she faced facts: After leaving Marcus this morning, she was going to have to deal with the fallout from being hooked up with a strange man in the press.
The irony that she hadn’t actually done a darn thing with him—not even kiss him—wouldn’t matter to anyone.
And yet, as she lifted her lashes just enough to look down at herself, she saw that he’d laid her down on a soft leather couch and covered her with a thick blanket. She wiggled her toes. A surprised smile moved onto her lips as she realized that while he’d left her dress on, he’d obviously thought to slip off her heels so that she’d sleep more comfortably.
She couldn’t remember the last time a stranger had taken such good care of her.
Sure, people were always trying to do her favors, but ninety-nine percent of the time it was because they wanted something.
Marcus hadn’t taken a single thing from her. Instead, he’d given her the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages.
It had been six months, at least, since she’d slept really well. It didn’t matter how soft the sheets were, how expensive the mattress, the bed always felt too big, and she couldn’t seem to stop the racing in her head. She’d written a ton of songs when she should have been sleeping. She supposed her music was getting better than ever, but at the same time she could feel herself edging closer and closer to burnout.
How she’d longed to have a clear head. And how amazing it was that her chance to recharge had come in some stranger’s house while lying on a man’s lap. A man whom she knew nothing about beyond his first name, the fact that his mother was nice, and that he was a good older brother.
That was when she felt his thigh muscles shift beneath her cheek and realized he knew she was awake. All at once she felt the way her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. No doubt, in addition to having terrible morning breath, she also had tons of mascara stuck to her face.
Nicola badly needed to go to the bathroom to clean up before she let him see her in daylight. . . and before she faced him and apologized for not being the sex demon she’d pretty much promised she would be the night before.
Pushing the soft blanket off, she quickly sat up and found her footing on the plush rug. She didn’t say a word to him as she hurried off in the direction of what she desperately hoped was the bathroom.
It would be really embarrassing if she ended up in a closet. So embarrassing, in fact, that she’d already decided that if she guessed wrong, she’d just lock herself into it and die of mortification in private.
Fortunately, luck was on her side as she peeked in an open door between the living room and the open kitchen and found a large bathroom.
Oh God, she thought as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she looked like a witch. Not one of those pretty ones, either, that could put a love spell on any man she looked at. Nope, she was definitely more like one of those evil ones who fed pretty princesses shiny red apples.
Her makeup must have melted against the heat of his legs and her hair was sticking up all over the place. If only she’d thought to bring her small bag into the bathroom with her, then she could
have at least fixed her lipstick. As it was, all she could do was wash everything off her face with the bar of really nice smelling soap.
Nicola hadn’t grown up wearing makeup, but once she’d decided to pursue music, it had become a given. She still wasn’t crazy about how it felt on her skin—which was sensitive enough that she now had everything custom blended so she didn’t get a rash—but she knew it made her look older, more mature and sexy. Without her makeup, she could pass for eighteen. If her pop music career ever had been a bust, she figured she could have gone undercover in high schools.
Turning on the tap, she closed her eyes and cleaned off her face. Once that was done, she squatted to see if there would be a miracle of a toothbrush and toothpaste under the sink. Yet again, her prayers were answered, and a few minutes later her smile, along with her skin, was sparkling clean. All that remained was her hair, which she finger combed with a little water.
She looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced at the way her fresh-faced look clashed with her leather dress. What she wouldn’t give to be able to change into jeans and a T-shirt right now.
And, oh, what she really wouldn’t give to be able to sneak out of the bathroom—and the house—without having to face Marcus again.
Her heart was beating way too fast by the time she stepped out of the bathroom. She tiptoed out into the hall until she could see the couch if she craned her neck. But it was empty.
Ten seconds later, she found him in the kitchen. His back was to her and from the loud sounds coming from the room, she quickly guessed that he was grinding coffee beans.
She didn’t want to sneak up on him, but there really was no way to announce her presence apart from yelling louder than the grinder, which she wasn’t going to do. Moving slowly toward him, far more cautiously than she had the night before in the club, she waited on the other side of the kitchen island for him to turn and notice her.
How, she wondered, was he managing to look as good this morning as he had last night? From the back, his clothes barely looked worn, and his dark hair certainly wasn’t sticking up all over the place like hers had been.
He finished grinding the beans and turned to her, looking as if he’d known all along that she was there. He looked even more gorgeous this morning with a dark layer of stubble across his jaw.
“Seemed like coffee would be a good idea. ”
She nodded, trying to smile, but she was so nervous her lips felt all wobbly. “Thanks,” she finally got out. “Coffee would be great. ”
His eyes held hers for a long moment, almost as if he were assessing how she was feeling. “I turned the heat up a bit, but I thought you might be cold for a while. ” He lifted a sweatshirt from the counter. “I know it’s too big, but—”
She grabbed it before he could finish his sentence. It was as if he’d heard her silent prayer to cover up her skimpy dress. A few seconds later, she looked down at herself in the ridiculously big sweatshirt. The bottom of it went past her kneecaps and there no point in even trying to roll up the sleeves, they were so long.
“I’ll find you something else. ”
Pushing the excess fabric up her arms, she shook her head and finally found her smile. “No. It’s perfect. Thank you. ”
She couldn’t read his expression as he stared back at her, but finally he nodded. “You’re welcome. ”
As he moved back to the expensive coffee maker in the corner of the granite countertop, she couldn’t stop thinking how sweet it was of him to be more concerned about her being cold, rather than taking the opportunity to stare at her chest in the ridiculous leather dress.
Knowing she needed to get her brain to focus on something other than how gorgeous and sweet Marcus was, she turned away from him and made a slow perusal of the house where she’d spent the night.
It was nice. Really, really nice. Although, she quickly noted, there was nothing all that personal about it either, almost as if it were just an extended version of one of her fancy hotel rooms.
Marcus must have noticed her taking it all in, because he said, “My brother owns the house. ”