A grin tugs at his mouth, and in that moment I'm certain that every one of my thoughts is completely transparent. "I think my reputation can handle it."
"Oh." I draw in a breath. "Right. It's just that we should probably go. Because it's already getting close to nine, and we have to get back to Venice, and I have to change before Blacklist, and--"
He cuts me off mid-babble by taking my hand. "You're right. Let's go."
We ease toward the exit as the music starts to build to a crescendo. And as it explodes--as I turn to see Kelsey slide into her final, sensual pose--Lyle squeezes my hand, meets my eyes, and says very simply, "Soon."
12
Christ, he wanted her.
Those photos. That music. That seriously hot dance.
It all combined to work on him like an elixir. A damned potent one, too, considering he was still hard, despite the fact that they were miles away, now speeding down the 10 in his Volvo as they headed toward the beach.
But while the show may have started the fire, it was Laine who turned it into a raging inferno. Laine, who'd somehow managed to work a spell on him.
Because it had to be magic. How else could he explain why he'd been unable to get her out of his head since the moment he'd met her? Or why all he could think about was touching her, losing himself in her?
Soon.
That's what he told her, and he wished that that he'd said now. Because at the moment, waiting was torture.
Lyle couldn't remember the last time a woman had gotten under his skin like this. For that matter, had a woman ever gotten to him this much? He didn't think so. Not even Jenny, who'd been his best friend and his first. He'd been a walking pile of hormones back then, but even that wild and woolly teenage lust had felt tame compared with the driving, demanding need that pounded through him now.
A need so intense he couldn't even wrap his head around it.
He wanted her--that was the long and short of it, though want seemed uniquely inadequate. Especially since he'd wanted each of the women Marjorie sent him. But that had been an entirely different kind of craving.
With them he'd wanted--needed--something like a drug. A quick fix.
With Laine, it wasn't about quick. Wasn't about the explosion.
It was about the journey, and he intended to savor every minute.
The back and forth of conversation and flirting. The slow seduction of caresses and kisses. And all of it--every touch, every caress, every moment--dedicated to her pleasure, not his.
He intended to see her writhe. Beg.
His goal was to spend the entire night taking her to the absolute heights of pleasure, and then holding her close as she cried out his name.
Damn, but he wanted it. Wanted her.
And tonight, he intended to have.
"Just take Fourth Street," she said, pulling him from his fantasies. "Then you can cut down to Neilson Way and take that almost all the way to my house. It's not much farther." She smoothed her hands down her skirt, looking a little skittish, then glanced sideways at him. "I appreciate the ride home."
"Did you think I wouldn't come back with you?"
"I--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head. "Nothing."
He frowned as he took the exit and maneuvered the surface streets. In the gallery, he'd felt her tremble beneath his touch. Had heard her soft moans as he stroked her and felt the pounding of her pulse when he pulled her body against his. And when they'd left--when he'd all but promised that he would have her soon--he'd heard her soft intake of breath and saw the way her nipples hardened against the soft material of the that barely-there dress that he longed to rip off her.
Her arousal was like a palpable thing, and yet she'd sat prim and stiff in the car all the way from downtown to the beach. And he didn't have a goddamn clue why.
Well, screw that.
He reached over, put his hand on her bare thigh, just below where the hem of the dress grazed her leg. Slowly, he brushed his thumb back and forth, and was gratified to see her close her eyes and bite her lower lip. "Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me what you were going to say."
She hesitated, then licked her lips. "It's just that what you said--soon--I didn't realize--I mean, I thought tonight you were hiring me only for the show."
It was as if she'd kicked him in the gut, and he yanked his hand back to the steering wheel, his eyes straight ahead. "You're saying you want more money?" He spoke calmly, telling himself this was no big deal. But for the first time in forever, the idea of paying for sex made him vaguely ill.
"No!" She blurted out the word with such force he almost slammed on the brake out of reflex. "No," she repeated more softly. "That's not what I--oh, God. Never mind. Just turn here. And then that's my house right there," she added, after he complied. "With the stucco fence."
He pulled up in front, astounded to have found an actual parking space, and killed the engine. "Laine--"
"Please. Let's just drop it." She opened her door, and he did the same. "I appreciate the ride, but you don't have to get out," she said.
"I'm walking you to the door."
He thought for a moment that she was going to argue, but she must have sensed his determination, because she nodded once, then paused at her gate while he circled the car. She keyed in the code, and he followed her into a delightful front lawn filled with flowers and whimsy, all of which seemed to suit her perfectly, right down to the little concrete frog by the front steps.
"Your house is charming," he said as they reached the front porch.
"Thanks. I grew up here," she added, and he noted that the nervousness he'd heard in the car had disappeared. "I've done a lot of work to this place over the last few years."
She pushed open the front door, then paused on the threshold. "Anyway, thanks again. I should hurry. I still need to change, and--"
He shut her up with a kiss.
For a moment, her lips were hard as stone against his. Then they parted just slightly, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping in to taste her. To tease her.
She moaned, letting herself fall further into the kiss, and he held her close, one hand at the back of her head, the other at her waist. She tasted like summer. As warm as sunshine and as sweet as cotton candy.
Hell, she tasted like hope. And damn him, he couldn't get enough of her.
He broke the kiss long enough to murmur, "Inside," then steered them both into the dark room. Already he mourned the lack of contact, and he pushed the door shut, then pressed her against it before impatiently sliding his hand up to her breast as he bent to claim her mouth once more.
He didn't make it.
Instead, she twisted her head to the side, her palm pressing against his chest to hold him at bay as she said, "I have to get ready. I can't be late for my shift."
He cupped her chin in his hand, then turned her head to face him. "Skip work. Stay with me." He punctuated the words with a slow, deep kiss. "Not because I'm paying you," he said, "but because you want to."
"What if I don't?" Her words were so soft he could barely hear them.
"Not an issue. Do you think I can't tell?" He pressed his fingertip to her trembling lip, then drew it slowly lower, tracing her jaw, then stroking her neck as she arched back, whimpering a little as she offered herself to him.
He bent his head and kissed her neck, moving lower and lower until he reached her breast. Then he closed his mouth over her, teasing her through the material of her dress.
"Please," she murmured as the hand on his chest clutched his shirt, and her other hand cupped the back of his head, forcing his mouth harder against her body.
Frenzied now, thinking only of tasting her, having her, he used his teeth to tug the bodice aside, exposing the curve of her breast. With one hand, he cupped her, his thumb teasing her nipple as his tongue tasted her heated skin. As his lips burned from the contact, and his cock hardened to steel.
"Sugar," he murmured, then immediately knew that it was the wrong thing to say because her finge
rs released his hair and the hand that was tugging on his shirt to pull him closer now pushed him away as she nimbly shifted sideways and free of him.
"We can't," she said, breathing hard as she stood only inches from him. Then she reached for him, and for a moment he thought that she'd changed her mind, but all she was doing was flipping a light switch, filling the room with the bright glow of incandescent light.
He swallowed, his eyes taking in the picture of her. Hair mussed, lipstick smeared, and her dress so askew that he could see the exposed brown tint of her areolae. He wanted to rip the dress off and see more of her. All of her. And at the same time, he wanted to take it slow and undress her little by little, as if he were unwrapping the most fragile of presents.
Slowly, he stepped toward her, but she held up a hand, keeping him at bay.
"We can't," she repeated. "I have to change. I have to get to Blacklist."
She turned, presumably to head toward her bedroom, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her back.
"Don't go."
"I have to. Work. Job. It's what I do."
"You're working until closing?" He asked, and when she nodded, continued with, "What is that, four hours? Five?"
"Yeah. So?"
"I'll pay you five hundred an hour," he said, then pressed a finger to her lips before she could protest. "And not for sex. But for your time. That's a hell of a lot more than your hourly wage plus tips."
"Lyle," she said when he let her speak. "I can't."
"You're facing foreclosure, Sugar. You need the money."
"I do. I really do." She drew in a breath, then exhaled noisily. "But I still can't. No," she continued, cutting off his protest. "It's not about the money. Late night on a Saturday? David's relying on me to work. I'm not going to leave him in a jam at the last minute."
"Right," he said, frustrated at being denied, but relieved that it wasn't about desire, but responsibility. "Get changed. I'll drive you." And maybe while she changed he could take a quick cold shower. Or go outside and douse himself with the garden hose.
"It's okay." She met his eyes, then looked away as if shy or uncertain. "I like to walk."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. Fine. I'll walk with you."
"You don't--"
"It's late."
"I do it all the time."
"And tonight, you'll do it with me." He flashed a mega-watt smile. "You can tell me to go to hell, but the sidewalks are open and free, and either way I'm shadowing you to Blacklist."
She quirked a brow, though he wasn't sure if she was amused or irritated. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'll be right back." She pointed toward the kitchen. "Make yourself at home. And grab me a Diet Coke for the road, please."
Since a cold shower wasn't on the agenda, he downed two glasses of ice water, then met her back in the living room with her soda. This time, there was a tabby cat sitting at her feet, looking at him with jealous green eyes.
"Skittles, meet Lyle. Lyle, this is Skittles."
He bent, extending his fingers, and the cat came over to sniff. "Hey, buddy," he said, then scratched Skittles behind the ears, eliciting a satisfied purr.
"Well," Sugar said. "I guess you pass that test."
He grinned up at her, more pleased than he should be by winning the cat's approval.
And speaking of approval, she looked great. She'd changed out of the slinky dress, of course, but he thought she looked just as sexy in skinny jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt embroidered with the Blacklist logo.
She'd refreshed her makeup, so she no longer looked freshly kissed, and he was tempted to kiss her again, just to mark her as his.
Except she wasn't his. Couldn't be his.
But that reality didn't erase the desire.
"Come on," he said, more gruffly than he intended, but the small house felt suddenly claustrophobic. "You don't want to be late."
"Right." She fell in step beside him, and he was impressed to see she didn't carry a purse, a rarity with women in his experience.
When he told her as much, she just shrugged. "What's the point? I have my ID and a credit card in my back pocket. And it's not like I can freshen up at work--we're always too busy--and I don't need to carry a key since I'm not driving."
"Still," he said as they left her yard and started down the sidewalk to the intersection. "You're clearly not from planet Hollywood."
She laughed. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"In my book? A good thing."
For a second, she just looked at him, as if he was a puzzle. He anticipated a question, but when it didn't come, he asked her how she liked the neighborhood.
"Are you kidding? I love it. Of course, I've never lived anywhere else, so..." She trailed off with a shrug. "But unless the 'anywhere else' has a beach, I don't think it would suit me."
"Do you surf?"
"Nope."
"Morning swims for exercise?"
"God, no. If I manage yoga twice a week, I feel like I'm overexerting myself. Besides, I'm on the two-waitressing-jobs fitness plan. Trust me when I say it's one of the best training regimens ever."
She paused in a circle of yellow light cast by one of the streetlamps and looked him slowly up and down, the approval he saw on her face pleasing him more than it should. "Your training regimen seems pretty good, too."
"I'll tell Riley you said so. And you're changing the subject. Why the beach?"
"I don't know." She started walking again. "It just suits me. I've always known it." She tilted her head, looking at him. "Haven't you ever felt that way about something? Just knew in your gut that something was right?"
God, yes.
He felt the thrust of the answer, so quick and firm, like he'd walked smack into a wall. Her. She felt right. She'd slammed into his life like a bolt of lightning, and the world hadn't been level since.
All true. Not to mention confusing as hell. His life was a damn mess, after all. Hell, he was a mess. And right now he was on the crux, his career about to explode. He didn't have time for the messiness of a relationship. He needed to keep his eye on the prize.
"Really?" She was looking at him with interest, and he was mortified to realize he'd said yes out loud. "So what was it? Your thing that struck you as right?"
"Acting," he said, because that was true, too. He hadn't come to Los Angeles to be an actor--that had been Jenny's dream. But when he'd landed that first job, he'd been enchanted by the process. The ability to slide out of his own life, even if only for a while. To become someone else. To see the world through their eyes. To take all of his emotional crap and filter it into something not only different, but good. Something that entertained or moved people.
"Then I guess we're both lucky," she said, and he felt a frisson of connection when she casually took his hand. "I'm by the beach, and you have your dream job."
"I guess we are," he said, ignoring the little twist in his stomach that he felt every time he thought about the upcoming years of the Blue Zenith franchise. Three more movies they wanted him to commit to, plus an option for two after that.
Now, however, wasn't the time to ponder career planning. Not when the night was as beautiful as the woman holding his hand. A woman he wanted to know thoroughly.
"How old were you when your mom and brother died?"
"Eighteen," she said. "And don't bother doing the math. That makes me twenty-three now. Twenty-four in the fall. And you're twenty-nine," she said, then grinned. "I told you I looked you up."
"Very industrious. But I'm interested in you. You were in school when they died?"
"First semester at UCLA. I was a history major, but only because I threw darts at my course selection book. So after the accident, I dropped out. Seemed smarter than racking up student loans when I couldn't even see a career path."
"How'd you manage the house? Life insurance?"
"Mom didn't have any. Honestly, she barely made ends meet."
"Your dad?"
She shrugged. "Went into the wind w
hen I was a kid. But he paid off the house before he disappeared, which was how Mom managed to afford to live here. All she had to cover was the bills and the taxes and food."
"You, too," he said. "Once it all fell on your shoulders."
"Me, too," she agreed.
"You've had it rough." In some ways, she'd had it just as rough as he had, back in those days before Hollywood started throwing money at him, when he and Jenny were still suffering in Iowa. Before they'd run.
"I guess. I mean, it was horrible losing my mom and my brother, but I can't spend my whole life thinking how much the universe has screwed me. At least I still have my house--for now, anyway. And if I lose it, I have only myself to blame. And I have jobs I can walk to and some really good friends. All in all, I'm doing okay."
Maybe it was ridiculous, but her words, said so matter-of-factly, seemed to glow inside him, like a little beacon of hope. He lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips. "You really are an exceptional woman."
"I think your perspective might be a little off, but I'll just say thank you and leave it at that."
"Good plan," he said with a laugh. "But if the house is paid off, what's driving the foreclosure?"
"The place needed massive repairs. I managed to get a short-term loan, but it was the balloon kind. Tiny payments up front, one giant payment at the end."
"And the end, as they say, is nigh."
"You got that right." She sighed. "I probably should have found a different way to get the money back then, but I was alone and freaked and stupid and--well, doesn't matter. That's the situation I'm dealing with."
"Can't you get another loan?"
She made a face. "Apparently, it's a miracle I got the first one. Turns out my absent father is on the deed as some sort of co-owner. I went to one of those legal clinics at the law school and they explained it to me. The bottom line is that no bank's going to want to lend me money. They can, but they won't."
She exhaled loudly. "I tried, though. I figured it happened once, maybe someone would do it again. No go. I'm pretty sure every bank in the State of California has turned me down."
"I could lend you the money. Promissory note. Lien against the house. Just like a bank."
For a moment, he thought she might agree. Then she shook her head. "It's a really sweet offer. But I've had some other friends offer the same thing, and I just can't do it. Besides, you've already helped me get a lot closer. I'll make it." She turned toward him with a sweet smile. "I'm absolutely determined."