He takes a step back and starts looking around, obviously scanning the area for something, though I have no idea what. Finally, he crosses to the other side of the pier and gets something from behind me. But since I'm under strict orders not to move, I don't know what it is.
I expect it must be something amazing--a nautilus shell, perhaps--so I'm surprised when I see a battered toy pail.
"What on earth?" I ask as he takes off his shirt, lays it on the ground, then carefully sets his camera on it.
Then he walks to the surf and fills up the pail, all without answering me.
"Wyatt," I protest. "What are you doing?"
"This," he says, then empties the pail all over my front, drenching the dress completely.
I yelp and splutter--because the Pacific is freaking cold--and start to step away from the post.
"Pose," he orders, pointing sternly at me as I freeze--literally. He snatches up his camera and takes a zillion shots. And when he's done--when he shakes off the sand and hands me his shirt--I glance down and realize that the wet sundress is completely transparent, revealing my pink panties and my very tight nipples.
"That one just might be my favorite," he says, then takes my hand. "Come on. Let's head back."
I release his hand long enough to slip into his shirt, breathing in the scent of him as it slides over my face. We walk hand in hand, and the moment feels more intimate than everything we did last night.
"There's a party at my grandmother's estate on Monday," he says. "It's the seventieth anniversary of the release of her first movie. She was fifteen and it was a huge scandal because of course her father cast her, and the press was saying that she was going to crash and burn."
"The Girl in the Moon," I say. "I love that movie. And she was brilliant."
"Of course she was. My great-grandfather was nobody's fool. And he only hired people with talent. Family included. At any rate, all the usual suspects will be there. Hollywood elite. Los Angeles society. It's going to be a crush."
"I bet you'll have fun. Crowded, but they're all coming to honor your grandmother."
"It'll be more fun if you come with me."
I pause. "Really?"
"I want her to meet you."
"Oh." Those butterflies are back, and I feel all of fifteen again. "I'd love to come." I glance down at the drenched sundress. "I can do better than this. But I don't know if I have anything that really fits the occasion."
"No problem," he says, with the kind of gleam in his eye that should make me nervous but right now only makes laugh. "You can just leave that to me."
26
"I definitely should have brought my camera," Wyatt said, as Kelsey did a little twirl in the dress he'd picked out for her. It was classic black, with a form-fitting velvet top that reminded him of a dancer's leotard.
The skirt was equally on theme, made from three layers of gauzy black material that had enough transparency to make it racy but not indecent. The material hung in varying lengths, so that it not only flowed as she walked, but flared out when she twirled. And though the dress didn't reveal them, he liked knowing that underneath it all she wore the black La Perla panties he'd bought to complete the outfit.
She'd said it before about a dozen times, but she thanked him again as he opened the door of his Navigator and helped her in. "For the dress and for the experience," she added. "I've never been shopping quite like that."
"It was my pleasure," he said, meaning it. Usually, shopping bored him. And usually, he avoided calling on his Hollywood pedigree.
But for this, he'd decided to take the leap. He'd felt like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, after she'd been snubbed by the snooty women on Rodeo Drive. Only in the movie--which he'd seen far too many times on far too many bland dates--they didn't play the scene right. At least not as far as he was concerned.
No, the point wasn't that Julia Roberts got her outfits. The point was what Gere could do for her. What Wyatt could do for Kelsey.
And he'd felt like Santa on Christmas morning as the sales team from one of Beverly Hills' most elite clothing stores brought rack after rack of cocktail dresses, shoes, and accessories to his studio for her to try on.
In the end, he'd picked out two, but when she said she'd only accept one, he insisted it be the black one with the look of a dancer. "It's you," he'd told her. And she'd slid into his arms and kissed him, right there with the store manager looking on.
It had been a sweet moment, but now, as he maneuvered the Navigator toward his grandmother's Holmby Hills mansion, he felt a growing heat. She looked wildly, deliciously sexy next to him, in the stunning dress and black heels and her hair piled high, so that loose tendrils curled at her neck.
But it was when he noticed the bracelet that he really felt that pang of desire. The infinity bracelet that he'd given to her in Santa Barbara. That was the second time he'd seen her wear it, and that simple connection between them tugged at his heart.
"You're staring," she said, smiling.
"You're beautiful."
Her smile widened. "I think it's the dress."
"I know it's the woman."
She sighed happily and leaned back in the seat. They'd worked all morning in the studio, and now, on their second full day of shooting, he already had an excellent collection to choose from. Three more days, and he truly believed he'd be able to curate the perfect show.
She'd left around three so that she could teach one dance class before heading home to change for the party. And when he'd picked her up, he'd been delighted by her tiny but tidy Valencia condo.
Still, they had a way to go until they reached his grandmother's. And beside him, Kelsey tilted her head back and took off her shoes. "Usually I'm the one making this horrible drive. It's nice to be able to relax."
"You could move closer in."
"Most of the classes I teach are around Valencia," she pointed out. "And so's the school once we're back in session. But more practically, I can't afford it."
He nodded. He understood, of course, but he hated that once their five days were over, she'd be so far away.
Beside him, she closed her eyes. "Can I put my foot on the dash?"
He chuckled, liking the image of a woman in such an elegant outfit sitting like that. "Go ahead," he said, then about drove off the road when he glanced over and saw how stunningly sensual she looked with her right foot up and that thin skirt draped over her uplifted leg, providing just a bit of modesty and hiding the La Perla panties from his view.
He knew they were there, though, and he clenched the steering wheel tighter and wished that they were heading to his studio and not a party.
Then again . . .
"Take off the panties," he said.
She turned to him, opening her eyes as an impudent smile played at her lips. "Deja vu, Mr. Segel?"
"Something like that. But I believe you were very clear that you wanted me to be in charge. Panties," he repeated. "I want them in my pocket during the party. Not under that skirt."
"Oh." She licked her lips. "I kind of like that. But we can't do it."
"Do you want to tell me why?"
"Because we don't have time to backtrack to my condo. I left the panties on my bed."
She spoke casually, but her words cut a hot path through him, right down to his cock, and he had to fight the very real desire not to pull over and drag her into the back. It was a hell of a big vehicle, after all, and the seats did fold down.
That, however, was impractical. Better to suffer in delicious silence.
But he didn't intend to suffer alone.
He leaned over and turned the air conditioner on full blast.
"Hey!"
She started to pull her foot down.
"Oh, no," he said. "You don't get to move."
"But it's blowing right--oh."
He saw her stiffen and bite her lower lip.
"Chilly?"
"You, sir, have a devious streak."
"I don't disagree."
&
nbsp; He glanced over and saw the outline of her now-tight nipples against the form-fitting top.
His fingers itched to tug the skirt down. To slide his hand over her thigh, then tease her pussy. He knew she'd be wet. Hot and wet despite the cool air. She was waxed, and his fingers would slide over her, teasing her senseless until she closed her eyes and fucked his hand.
He'd touched her so many times, felt her explode against him over and over.
And yet it was never enough. He wanted this touch. This moment.
But he couldn't have it. Because the reality was that they were in traffic, and he really had no interest in making the news by causing a twelve-car pile-up.
So he kept his hands to himself, silently urging the car to eat up the miles, and told her to touch herself.
She turned slowly to face him, her brow pulled down into a frown. "Do I have to?"
"I thought that was our deal."
"It is. And I will if that's really what you want. It's just that . . . well, it's just that I'd rather wait until we get to the party. And then have you touch me."
He made it to his grandmother's mansion fifteen minutes faster than the navigation system had estimated. He also bypassed the main gate, ignoring the hired valets, and headed around back to park at the service entrance. They'd get in faster. Would probably bump into fewer people. And he could get her upstairs to the room that he'd claimed as a child, lay her back, and fuck her senseless.
That was the plan. The execution was harder than he'd anticipated because it seemed that half the party was mingling in the garden area behind the house, and if they went that way, they'd be waylaid for sure.
Well, hell.
He took her hand. "We're taking another way in."
He thought she'd protest. Say something about how they were being silly, acting like horny teens. But all she did was nod and whisper, "Just hurry, okay?"
Hell yes, he was going to hurry.
They eased around the side of the garage, following the path used primarily by the landscape crew. It snaked around to the back of the house and the huge French doors that opened off of his grandmother's private study, which was never open during parties.
"This way," he said, leading her down the very route he used to take when he snuck out of the house as a teen. He'd never officially lived in the mansion, but he'd stayed so often with his grandmother that he'd been given his own room.
The French doors were locked, of course, but the key was hidden in a ridiculous statue of an elephant just to the left of the door. He retrieved it, opened the door, and then put the key back.
"Wow," Kelsey said, the moment they entered. The room itself wasn't lit, but it was lined with glass display cases that remained dimly illuminated at all times. The cases were filled with memorabilia from all of Anika's movies, as well as all the awards she and her father had ever won.
Anika had wanted to include Lorelei's and Jenna's awards, too, but they'd stubbornly refused, saying they'd keep their own awards at their own homes, thank you very much.
Wyatt, however, intended to put his in the case. Just as soon as he earned one.
For a moment, he stood beside Kelsey, taking it in as if for the first time. And he felt a swell of pride--and that familiar tug of insecurity. Because what if he never had a trophy for that case?
Beside him, Kelsey squeezed his hand. "You're going to be there, too, someday," she said, and the words cut straight to his heart. Not because she'd propped up his ego, but because she understood what he wanted.
When he didn't respond, she tilted her head a little to look at him, and that was when he realized he couldn't wait another second. He pulled her close, then slid his hand under that flimsy skirt as his mouth captured hers.
She tasted so damn good, and he had to have her. Hard and fast if they couldn't have slow and easy.
"Turn around," he ordered, and when she did, he cupped her breasts so that her rear nestled close against him.
He slid his hand down and found her pussy, as hot and wet as he'd imagined in the car. He stroked her, touching her like she'd asked, and growing harder and harder with each moan, with each millimeter she spread her legs. And when she begged him to "Please, please fuck me," he just about lost it, because that was not a Kelsey Draper kind of word, but it was damn sure a Kelsey kind of sentiment.
"Here," he ordered, pulling her over behind the desk where there was a section of wall with nothing on it. He'd considered the desk, but it was his grandmother's, and that just wasn't going to work for him.
Besides, he liked the idea of her legs wrapped around him, her back against the wall, and his cock deep inside her. Liked it so much that he unfastened his slacks and lowered his fly, then pulled out his cock. Her eyes met his, and she nodded just a little, her teeth grazing her lower lip.
He picked her up, ordering her to hook her legs around his waist, and when she did, he slipped his hand between them, sliding two fingers inside her pussy first just to make sure she was ready, and then gently maneuvering her until his cock was right at her slit and one quick thrust would pin her to the wall as he buried himself in her.
He did just that, his free hand covering her mouth as she cried out. Then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck as he claimed her, this woman who had always been his in mind, but was now his in body, too.
Deeper and deeper, harder and harder, until he felt her body start to shake with a coming orgasm. He slipped his hand between them and teased her clit, pushing her that final bit over the edge. Her pussy milked him, her muscles clenching and unclenching with such intensity that he came with unexpected speed, emptying his load inside her, and then stumbling back, Kelsey still in his arms, as they laid on the ground and recovered.
Maybe a minute passed, maybe an hour. But they finally managed to get up, get their clothes straightened, and slink out the door.
And the moment they did, they bumped into his grandmother.
27
I can't believe I've been caught having party sex by one of Hollywood's greatest legends. Me of all people.
Not that she technically caught us, but considering the smile tugging at her mouth and the twinkle dancing in those famous blue eyes, I'm pretty sure she knows.
Her smile widens, flashing brilliantly white teeth. She's eighty-five years old, and she still looks amazing, the classic bone structure of her face coupled with the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth making her look like a goddess of wisdom.
"You must be the young woman Wyatt's dating," she says in that wonderfully famous throaty voice. "Kelsey, isn't it?"
I'm already holding tight to Wyatt's hand, but now I squeeze it tighter in an effort not to hyperventilate. Anika Segel is talking to me.
I draw a breath and pretend like I'm calm. "Yeah. That's me. It's so wonderful to meet you. I've been a fan forever. The Girl in the Moon is one of my all time favorite films. You gave such an amazing performance it's hard to believe it was your first role." The words spill out on top of each other, and I'm certain I must sound like a starstruck fan. Especially since that's exactly what I am.
"Well, aren't you sweet. And I understand you're something of a performer yourself. A dancer, isn't it? Wyatt's said some lovely things about you. He's said you're quite talented, but then again he would, wouldn't he?"
"Grandmother . . ." he says with a warning tone.
"I'm just saying the only real judge is Kelsey herself. Assuming she's not one of those ninnies who refuses to be self-critical. The things you see on television these days . . ."
She waves her hand as if wiping away the lingering words, then peers at me. "So, my dear. Are you any good?"
"I--well, yeah." I draw a deep breath, awed that she's standing here chatting with me. "I am."
"I believe you." She steps back and looks me up and down. "You certainly have the look of a dancer. I've known many, you know. Gene and I spent a great deal of time together. At any rate," she continues, looking at me seriously, "you must speak to Lorele
i. The project she's working on has several dance numbers."
My stomach tightens at the thought. "Oh, I don't know . . ."
"Nonsense. You must. You're far too pretty and Wyatt says you're far too talented not to be a success."
"Oh. Well, I'm flattered," I say.
"And I've embarrassed you. I'm so sorry, dear." She leans in confidentially. "Wyatt mentioned you blush." She turns her attention to Wyatt, who looks a little pink himself. "You're right. It's charming."
"I think it's time to see to the other guests, Grandmother."
"He's trying to get rid of me," she says to me. "But I can take a hint. Ta-ta, darlings," she adds, then turns and walks off, calling out, "Martin! You old devil, do come give me a hug."
"She's wonderful," I say, as Wyatt takes my hand. "And so normal."
"She is," he says with a laugh. "Wonderful and normal. And we're very close."
"I was surprised you told her about me."
"Do you mind?"
"No," I say, pulling him to a stop and putting my arms around his waist. "I like it."
I tilt my head up for a kiss, then sigh happily.
"She's right about the dancing," he says. "I don't understand why you're hesitating. I mean, surely you're not still hearing your father's voice in your head. Not if you're doing my show."
"He's still there a little bit," I admit. "But definitely not as loud."
"So why not go on auditions? Not for the small performances you do, but for the theater. For a company."
I shake my head. "I don't know," I say, then sigh. "Maybe after all this time, I'm afraid that if I start chasing my dream I'll never catch it."
I look at him as I say those words, and see a flicker of something in his eyes. "What?"
"I was going to say that it's not the result that matters, but the chase. But considering how much I have riding on this show coming off successfully, maybe I'm not the person to say that."
"No, you're not." I hip-butt him. "We're a lot alike, you know. Must be why we're dating." I grin. "You told your grandmother we're dating."
"Aren't we?" he asks.
My smile is painfully broad. "Absolutely, we are. But why didn't you tell her I'm doing your show?"
We enter the ballroom and are suddenly surrounded by celebrities. It's like standing in the middle of an entertainment magazine.