Surrender to Temptation

  Glenn made a low, demanding groan and the vibration was just one more tease.

  When he pushed two fingers inside me, I began to quiver, curling my other leg around his shoulders in an effort to bring him closer.

  Glenn was kind enough to oblige by drawing my clit into his mouth, applying more suction when thrusting and screwing his fingers in and out.

  Cold and hot chills alternated, breaking out over my skin and racing up and down. I felt too small for what he was bringing to life inside me, but there was no way I wanted him to stop.

  Moaning, I rocked against him, moving in time with the rhythm he’d set, mindless.

  I had nothing in mind but my orgasm, then it hit and it knocked me sideways, breathless and gasping. My hands fell off and I moaned as the pleasure twisted through me.

  “You’re jumping the gun,” he said, lifting his head and crawling up to settle between my thighs. He pressed his mouth to the curve of my neck. Between us, I could feel him tugging and working at his jeans.

  “Hurry. Or I’ll do more than jump the gun.”

  “How is that possible?” he asked, lifting to study me.

  “I’ll do it twice.” I slid a hand down between my thighs. I was already aching for more, aching for him. When would I ever not ache for him?

  Glenn laughed. Then I felt the hot, urgent press of his cock.

  “No…you’re not doing that.” He caught my wrists and drew them over my head, pinning them to the mattress.

  We stared at each other as he entered me. Although my eyes were heavy with the need to close and just…feel, I couldn’t look away from him. Our mouths touched. I didn’t even recall kissing him, but the kiss happened. Light and soft, echoing how he moved inside me.

  I moaned into his mouth.

  The pale beauty of his eyes darkened and he broke the kiss, shoving up onto his hands to stare down at me. Slowly, he caught one knee, dragged it up over his elbow and began to ride me.

  “You…” His lids drooped shut for a moment.

  I tightened around him, the muscles inside me squeezing until a slow convulsion went through me, without end.

  “I’m not losing you again,” Glenn said, thrusting harder, deeper.

  I reached for his arms, sinking my fingers into his biceps. “Glenn…”

  His cock pulsed, thickened.

  It was another teasing, taunting caress, and when he arched up, moving higher on my body, it was more than I could handle. Way…way…more.

  I exploded around him.

  “…yes, good… Thanks, Astor.”

  Curled up on my side, I watched Glenn from the bed.

  The smile on his face told me more than words could. He came back to me a few seconds later, crawling across the mattress, then stretching with his head propped up on the pillow.

  “They’re fine. Got to that friend of Florence’s. Going to stay a few days and see what the news says.” He put his hand on my belly and rubbed it. “Once things calm down, they’ll head back home.”

  “Good.” Sliding a look past him, I stared at the TV. I couldn’t describe how unsettling it was to be so cut-off from what was happening in the world. Sure, the news report had just finished broadcasting, but it had only given a very short, and in my mind, narrow, view of what was going on in Watts. There had been a time when if I wanted to know what was going on, I could pick up my phone and check Twitter, and find news happening as it happened.

  Now…I was stuck waiting for the latest update for the few channels this TV picked up.

  “Maya.”

  The serious tone caught my attention, and I met his eyes.

  He reached up and cupped my cheek. “I need to know.”

  “Know what?”

  He let go of my face and put his hand back down on the belly. “I’m…look, I’m not mad. But…I just have to know. Tell me where you’ve been. What happened to you.”

  My limbs went cold.

  Numbness settled in.

  The warmth and hope that had wrapped around me for the past day faded away, and it took all I had not to lie there shivering.

  Blood rushed to heat my cheeks. I could feel the sting of the blush, but I was still freezing all over.

  What happened to you.

  I’m not mad.

  “Just tell me the truth, Maya.”

  He stared at me with intense eyes and I swallowed back the saliva that had pooled in my mouth before it gagged me. I didn’t want to get sick in front of him. I didn’t want to get sick and look weak in front of him. Vulnerable.

  What had I been thinking?

  “Maya?”

  “Let me up,” I said. My voice sounded alien, even to my own ears.

  “I’m trying to talk to you—”

  “I need to sit up or I’m going to get sick,” I said, not bothering to hide the tremor in my voice.

  He eased back and I sat up, fighting with the sheets until I could throw legs over the side of the bed. Under my feet, the shag carpet was a welcome respite, warmer somehow than the sheets.

  “Okay,” he said from behind me. “Now let’s just—”

  “Let’s just nothing,” I snapped, my voice as number as I felt. “I already told you the truth. I know it sounds crazy, but I have nothing more I can tell you. If you’re not going to believe me, then just…” Shaking my head, I got up from the bed. The blanket we’d kicked off lay discarded on the floor, and I grabbed it, wrapping it around myself as I moved over to the window.

  The curtains had been pulled, so I pushed one out of the way and stared outside.

  It was too bright.

  The sunlight was a mockery.

  A few seconds passed before I heard the door to the bathroom slam behind me.

  I didn’t waste any time.

  I couldn’t stay another minute. Not after that.

  Nine

  Glenn

  I stayed in the shower for so long, I used up the pitiful reserve of hot water and then some. Even after the stream had gone cold, I didn’t turn it off. I felt numb already.

  What did it matter if my body went numb, too?

  She was going to just keep lying.

  I didn’t get it.

  “You should’ve just let it go,” I muttered, my voice echoing even though I’d barely spoken loud enough to hear myself.

  But the small tile shower was enough to make it louder, and I grimaced. The last thing I needed was for her to hear me talking to myself. I’d sound as crazy as she did.

  The second I thought that, though, I felt like shit.

  Maya wasn’t crazy.

  I didn't know what she was, but…yeah, I’d known a few people who weren’t exactly holding everything together, and that wasn’t her.

  Still, even as good as things were between us—as good as they’d been—the need to know was a twisting, raw ache inside me.

  If she’d just…

  I shoved away from the tiled wall with enough violence, I threw myself off balance. Swearing, I turned the water off and grabbed a towel. I was freezing now. The hotel was air-conditioned, and I’d been glad of that when we’d arrived late yesterday, but found myself I was wishing I hadn’t cranked it down to freeze my ass off, because I really was freezing my ass off.

  Using the threadbare towel, I hurriedly dried off, trying to figure out what I’d do, what I’d say when I went out there.

  It was so fucking quiet.

  She had been quiet, even after I’d asked the question.

  The few words she’d spoken hadn’t been in anger. She’d barely spoken loud enough for me to hear her.

  Her voice had just been…dead.

  Like she’d been the wounded one, not me.

  All I wanted were answers, damn it.

  What right did she have to look at me like that? So wounded? Hurt? What in the hell was it that she was hiding? Besides the name of whoever had fathered…

  Frowning, I stopped.

  Maybe that’s what hurt.

  Slowly, I looked toward the d
oor.

  “I’m doing this all wrong,” I said softly.

  Grabbing my clothes, I dressed hurriedly, not even certain where my mind was going.

  Other than the fact that what I’d said earlier—You should’ve just left it alone—I’d been on the right track.

  I should’ve.

  I hadn’t.

  I was an idiot.

  But I was going to go out there and tell Maya that it didn’t matter.

  She was with me, and as long as she gave me her word she wouldn’t disappear again, as long as she could look at me and tell me she still loved me…

  Mind made up, I threw the door open and strode out. “Maya, look…I’m…”

  The rest of it died on my tongue.

  The room was empty.

  Feeling like I’d been thrown back to that morning three years earlier, I turned my head and stared into the closet. Her dress was gone.

  Sucking in a breath, I leaned back against the door jam. Her dress. How many times had I gone and looked at all her clothes, just to convince myself she really had existed?

  That I hadn’t made her up?

  “Stop thinking about that,” I told myself. I couldn’t let myself think about that.

  After a few seconds to steady myself, I shoved off the wall and started toward the door. She was probably outside, needing air. That was it.

  But just as I reached for the doorknob, something on the table right next to the door caught my eye.

  My heart started to pound, slow and heavy.

  Don’t read it, I thought.

  But the note was already in my head.

  Glenn,

  I borrowed twenty dollars from your wallet. I’ll have Florence cover the money until I get my first paycheck, then I’ll take care of it.

  I can’t stay with somebody who doesn’t believe in me, somebody who can’t trust me.

  I’m going to get in touch with Florence and stay with her.

  Please don’t contact me again.

  It wasn’t even signed.

  “Son of a bitch,” I whispered. Crumpling it in my hand, I wrenched the door open. I’d find her. She didn’t even know how to find Florence…

  Then I blew out a breath and reached for the wallet that had been placed neatly by the note. I’d had a number to reach Florence at her friend’s place. It had been written on a scrap of paper, tucked in with my cash.

  Both a twenty-dollar bill and that note were gone.

  I had plenty of money, so the missing twenty wasn’t a problem.

  But she’d taken the number.

  More…she’d told me to stay away from her.

  Feeling hollow, I sank down on the hard, ladder-backed chair that sat outside my door and watched as a bus slowly pulled in front of the travel plaza just down the street.

  I thought I could even make her out as she climbed aboard, a tiny fragile figure all alone.

  I could’ve gone after her.

  But I was too busy reading and re-reading the note.

  I can’t be with somebody who doesn’t believe in me.

  Please don’t contact me again.

  It was amazing how words written on paper could take on the voice of the person who’d penned them.

  I never would’ve understood that if it hadn’t been for the fact that for the past three days, Maya’s voice had rung in my head.

  Every time I stopped to think, I’d hear her reciting that letter.

  Or I’d hear her telling me to just leave her alone.

  Worse.

  I already told you the truth. I know it sounds crazy, but I have nothing more I can tell you.

  I didn’t get it.

  I just didn’t, and it pissed me off. I’d given her a one-way ticket to tell me whatever she wanted and however she wanted. I just wanted her to tell me something. And she hadn’t even given me a fucking lie.

  Now, as I leaned against the wall outside my dressing room, waiting for the next take, I told myself I was better off.

  The news had reported the National Guard was gaining control over the riots.

  The library Maya had been scheduled to start working at had been heavily damaged, so she’d have to figure something else out for a job.

  I’d gone by the address where she’d been staying. It had survived, and I’d talked with the landlord.

  I still felt responsible for Maya. Even if she was shutting me out, I wanted to take care of her. I’d asked the landlord if she’d let me pay her a couple of months’ rent, and to just tell Maya she was going to give her a few weeks to get settled and find a new job, so Maya wouldn’t panic once she found out about the library.

  You’re such a sweet man, she’d said, flushing and patting my hand. She’d taken the money and assured me Maya would be just fine there. So that was one less thing to worry about, even once Astor got her and Florence back into town.

  I wanted to stop worrying about her.

  I wanted to stop thinking about her.

  But I’d come to grips with the fact that I’d stop thinking about Maya at roughly the same time I stopped breathing. She was a lifelong affliction.

  But I couldn’t make her trust me, either.

  “Damn it, Glenn, get your ass out here!”

  Jerking my head up, I saw Rex Newbury, glaring at me from the end of the hall. I shot a look at the clock and sighed. It was ten minutes past time for me to be out there, ready to go. “Sorry, Rex. My head’s not where it should be.”

  “We’ve all noticed, Glenn, trust me.”

  Joining him, I acknowledged the jab. I’d earned it. “I’ll get focused.”

  “You better.” Rex glanced around then looked over at me. “We’re already a week behind schedule now, thanks to having to stop for the riots. The director is getting shit from the production company—the bosses seem to think we should’ve stayed here when half of Los Angeles had become a war zone.” He eyed me over the top of his glasses. “Not that we could’ve even if we wanted to since the star of the movie took off.”

  “I apologized for that, didn’t I? Besides, it gave all of you a reason not to stay here. And you shouldn’t have.” As we stepped onto the set, I squinted automatically until my eyes adjusted to the bright lights. “Some of the crew live down near Watts. We’re lucky none of them were caught up in it.”

  “Or worse. But we’re still getting our asses handed to us. Doesn’t help that some of the janitors were involved—I had people complaining to me about how messy things were getting around here, and it took forever to figure out what the problem was. I’m not paid enough for that shit.”

  I stopped and just stared at him.

  He paused when he realized I’d stopped moving. “What?”

  “Some of the janitors who work for the company were involved?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “Only two people came in this week, and that wasn’t until last night. They’re lucky they still have jobs.”

  “You do know a lot of people died, right?” I didn't know where they came from. But the words were out there.

  Rex blinked, looking confused.

  “People were killed in those riots. There was a curfew. If they live in Watts and are under curfew, how do they get here to work?”

  “That’s not my problem. They could’ve called.”

  “Not everybody can afford a phone,” I pointed out, cutting around him. “And I don’t know about you, but from what I saw, if I was in that mess, calling my boss wouldn’t have been on my mind—I’d be thinking about surviving.”

  He said something else, but it was drowned out by the director’s surly voice as he caught sight of me. “Jackson, about damn time you showed up. Get up there!”

  He pointed a thick finger to my mark on set. I hadn’t needed it, but nodded. “Sorry, Crawford.”

  He didn’t respond, and no sooner had my feet hit the mark, that he called for the cameras.

  “No, no, no, no!” Harold Crawford shouted.

  His face was a shade of red that probably
wasn’t healthy, and he panted for air as he shoved himself out of his chair, coming over to glare at us. His feet splashed in the coffee that now puddled on the floor.

  Slivers over china crunched under his bulk.

  He’d thrown his coffee cup down in a rage.

  It wasn’t unusual.

  If there wasn’t a budget earmarked for his tantrums, I’d be surprised.

  But I wasn’t in the mood for this shit. We’d been working almost eight hours without a break, and I was tired, hungry, thirsty and the sight of his mean, ugly mug only made me feel meaner.

  “You two are supposed to be in love. You want each other, you need each other.” He jabbed a finger at me as he focused on me. “Glenn, you’re acting like you’re talking to a door. She’s a beautiful girl. Any man would want to have this woman.”

  Next to me, Alice blushed self-consciously, and it only got worse as he raked her up and down with a look. “It shouldn’t be hard to put some effort into kissing her at least.” He made a disgusted noise and it pissed me off more. “Alice, you might as well be clinging to a dishrag for all the emotion he’s putting into this.”

  As Crawford stormed around us, I stared at the floor.

  The puddle of coffee had spread closer to my bare feet.

  “You two are supposed to be some of the hottest Hollywood has to offer.” Crawford made it back around and stopped in front of us, hands on his hips. He had a fat cigar clamped between his teeth, and the stink of it filled my head. “So…you want to tell me what the hell the problem is? Why you can’t manage a single kiss without looking like you’re two idiot kids at a school dance?”

  “It might help if we had a chance to sit down for ten minutes, take a break.” Waving a hand in front of my face, I added, “And that cigar you’re smoking makes somebody long for a gas mask, not a liplock.”

  Everybody around me had gone totally silent.

  I didn’t care at that point.

  I might later—no, I was certain I would, because Peter would no doubt hear about this.

  But I didn’t care now. I hadn’t worked my ass off to be talked to like I was a six-year-old kid who’d been caught hiding in the pantry and eating cookies instead of doing his homework.