"Is that so?" I ask, as her foot rubs my ankle from across the booth. "If you're tired, we can always go back to the hotel and spend the day in bed while our sisters do the spa."
"Tempting, but no." She takes a sip of her coffee, and I get hard just watching her mouth on that white ceramic cup. "You promised me a day out." She puts the coffee down, her eyes never leaving mine. "I'm looking forward to whatever you have in mind."
"You, Jezebel Stuart, are a tease."
"Maybe a little," she says, then pulls her foot away. "But I can be good." She sets her fork down and leans back. She's managed to eat half of her short stack. Which, considering the size of the pancakes, is pretty impressive. "So tell me about this place. How'd you find it?"
"I've been coming here since I was a kid. I always got a kick out of the Sorry, we're open sign, and when Kerrie was little, I used to tease her by telling her that the whole restaurant was part of a time warp."
"Because of the sign that says they're open 24/8?"
"She never believed me," I say. "My sister is far too cynical."
Jez laughs. "Yeah, she looked pretty cynical this morning when she was jumping up and down and clapping about a spa day."
"She hides her cynicism well," I retort, and Jez throws her napkin at me.
"When are you going to tell me the plan for the day?"
"Never," I say. "You're just going to have to trust me and go along for the ride. Think you can handle it?"
She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. "No," she says. But her smile says yes.
Half an hour later, she's already bought Delilah three souvenir T-shirts from Prima Dora, a local shop next door to Magnolia, along with five packs of kitschy cocktail napkins. "Del loves this kind of stuff," she says, grinning as we walk hand in hand, the shopping bag tight in my free hand. "Where to now?"
"Now we wander."
"I like it here," she says after we've walked a few more blocks. "Definitely trendy, but it's colorful and fun and most everything seems local. Oh--"
She stops at the corner and points to Allen's Boots. "That I need." Her smile is wide as she turns to me. "Cowboy boots for when I'm back in LA. Authentic ones, don't you think?"
"Who am I to argue?" I say, and we cross the street and head inside. Unlike some of the stores on South Congress, Allen's Boots has been in this location forever, and the guys in there know what they're doing--even going so far as to tell Jez that she'll be better off if she breaks the red boots she's chosen in slowly. She, however, insists on wearing them for the rest of our jaunt.
"I like them," she says, kicking her foot out as soon as we're back outside in the sun. She does a sort of hop-step, then leans against me as she laughs. "I saw that in a movie once. Well, not that. But some sort of dance step."
"We'll start with the two-step and let you work your way up."
"You know how?"
"I've managed once or twice."
"Show me," she insists, taking my hands as if we were waltzing.
I laugh and back away. "Trust me. It's better if I don't try to teach you in public. My skills aren't that good."
"On the contrary," she says, letting her hand slide down my T-shirt, and pausing just below my belt. "I think your skills are excellent."
"Jez..."
I'm sorely tempted to blow off the rest of our excursion and teach her a few horizontal dance steps. But she just laughs and skips back. "Later," she whispers. "Promise?"
"Oh, yeah," I assure her.
She takes my hand and we head down the street again, and we talk about everything and nothing. The knickknacks in the windows, the shoppers passing by. The weather. Books. Even Irish poetry, although how we got on that subject, I have no idea.
When I ask, she just shrugs and laughs and grabs my hand, looking more carefree than I've ever seen her. And right then, I think that there's not a single thing I want more in the world than to keep her looking that way forever.
It's a dangerous thought ... but somehow, it's not as terrifying as it should be.
"Thanks," she says later, as we leave Lucy In Disguise with Diamonds, both sporting funky pairs of retro sunglasses. "I needed this."
"Who doesn't need neon sunglasses?"
"Good point," she says. "But not what I meant. Seriously," she adds, putting her hands on my shoulders and rising up on her tiptoes to brush a soft kiss over my lips. "Thank you."
She starts to pull away, but I cup her head, and keep her close, deepening the kiss until she moans, and I feel the reverberations all through my body.
"Where to now?" she whispers.
"Well, I have a whole day planned. After SoCo, I thought we'd rent a paddleboat and spend an hour or so on the river. Then we could grab lunch at one of the food trucks on Barton Springs Road, then head to South Austin and check out the Wildflower Center before heading back downtown for a sushi happy hour."
"That sounds amazing."
"Or we could skip all that, and I could show you my favorite view of the river."
"Where's that?"
"My condo."
Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "So, I'm guessing that the view of the city is a euphemism?"
"It might be," I admit. "I know you said you wanted your day out. But Jez--"
"Shut up, Pierce," she says, silencing me with a finger on my lips. "And let's go. I'd hate to miss an exceptional view."
Eleven
It's a gorgeous March day. The afternoon sun sparkles on the river. The trees are green, a few of them even starting to bud.
It's truly a beautiful view.
None of that, however, compares to Jezebel.
We're in my living room, and she's at the window that opens onto the balcony and overlooks the scenic river view. But it's the woman who truly takes my breath away.
She's already taken off her boots, but now I want to do away with the rest of her clothing, and I step up behind her, determined to make that happen. "Close your eyes," I say, and I'm gratified when she does. "Arms up." Once again, she complies, and her willingness to trust me is as much of a turn-on as her soft skin and delicious scent.
I grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up over her head. She makes a little whimpering sound, but doesn't object.
"Next the jeans," I say, as I peel the bra off of her and toss it aside. "Take them off for me. Underwear, too."
The windows are slightly tinted in defense against the sun, and at this time of day, there's a bit of a reflection. She looks up, then meets my eyes in the glass. I wait for her to protest, but she says nothing. She just unbuttons her fly, then wriggles out of the jeans, her underwear slipping down with the denim.
Then she stands there, looking out at this wild section of Austin, her hands at her side, her legs slightly parted.
I'm standing behind her, but in the window, I can see that her nipples are tight, and she's biting on her lower lip.
"This excites you," I say, and when she nods, I exhale with relief. Because damned if it doesn't turn me on, too.
"This is my favorite view," I say. "Not the city. Not the trees. Not the river. But you standing in front of me, your skin glowing, your body reflected in the window. Because honestly, how could anything be more lovely?"
"Liar," she says, her mouth curving into a smile. "Nice words, but they're a lie. How can this be your favorite if you've never seen it before?"
I step up behind her and cup her breasts, then slide one hand down between her thighs. She's wet--so damn wet--and all I can think is mine.
"I've seen it before. Not specifically, but the idea of it. The idea of you. An innocent beauty standing right in front of me, naked and wanting me." I move the hand on her breast up to her forehead so that I can bend her head backwards, elongating her neck. She draws in a shaky breath, but doesn't move. "Tell me you want me."
"Yes. So much."
I release her, and she sighs, but stays like that, leaning backwards against me, so that I'm supporting her weight and she's trusting me to keep her u
pright.
One of my hands is still between her legs, and I tease and stroke her until she's writhing against me, hot and ready. "Take off your clothes," she demands.
"Anything the lady wants," I say, as I hurry to strip.
"Do you mean it?"
I tilt my head, wondering what she has in mind. "Try me."
She slides into my arms, kicking away the last of my clothes, then captures me in a white hot kiss that both surprises and excites me. "Jez, baby," I say, when I pull away, gasping for breath. But she's not giving me a break. Her hand slides between our bodies and she strokes me, making me even harder than I could have imagined, and sending a wild heat coursing through me.
"Now," I say. "Dammit, Jez, I need to be inside you now."
"What floor are we on?" There's a frantic note to her query.
"The twenty-seventh."
"Can anyone see in?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"The window," she begs. "Please, take me by the window."
Hell, yes, I will.
"Hands on the glass," I order. "Bend over."
She does, and the view is so hot, I almost come right then. But I want to be inside her. I want to be with her. Her. Not just sex, but Jez. And as I move behind her--as I slide my cock deep inside her hot, wet, pussy--as I claim her once and for all--I can't help but wonder what that means.
But right now, I'm too fired up too care. Too lost in passion. Too lost in the waves of pleasure rippling over me.
Most of all, I'm too lost in Jez.
And when she explodes in my arms--when she cries my name and shakes so hard her legs give out--I feel like the most powerful man on the earth.
We've sunk down to the carpet, and I rouse myself long enough to clean us up and get robes. Then I open the door and lead her onto the balcony, settling her on the oversized chaise lounge before I go back inside for two glasses of bourbon.
I'm tending her--and that's a far cry from my usual routine.
But it feels right. Good, even.
And when she smiles up at me as I hand her a glass, it also feels remarkably like home.
"I love this," she says, before I can think too hard about these errant, semi-domestic thoughts skittering through my mind. "Way up in the sky with a balcony. It's like living in the city, but still getting away."
"It is," I say. "I'd like to have a house one day, but only if it has that getaway quality. And that would mean a pretty big yard. And I don't have the time to deal with it."
"You could hire someone."
I shake my head. "Not the same. There's something primal and personal about a yard. What?" I say, catching her look of surprise.
"It's just that I've always felt that way. I want a garden, and I don't have one for the same reasons. No time to deal with it and I don't want someone else tending what's mine."
I nod, thinking how much we have in common, and how unexpected that is.
She sighs, and takes a sip of the bourbon. "This has been a great few days," she says. "And to be honest, I haven't had a lot of fun lately," she says. "So thank you."
"Because of the scandal?"
"Yeah. But even before that."
I turn toward her, remembering our conversation last night. "You're living a shadow life."
She bristles. "I love my sister."
"I'm not saying you don't. But you need to live your own life. What happens when she's ready to manage her own career?"
"This isn't your problem." Her words are sharp, and painfully true.
Painful because I want to help. I want to pull her into my arms, hold her close, and help her figure it all out.
And damned if I know where I made that left turn, but I did. And now I'm careening toward something with this woman that I don't fully understand. All I know is that it feels right--and that I'm not ready to put on the brakes.
"It is my problem," I tell her. "I don't know why or how or if you'll let me help. But dammit, Jez, you got under my skin. And I can't walk away. Not now. Not without trying."
Her lips press tight together and she holds her eyes wide, obviously fighting tears. But then she pushes out of the chair and hurries inside.
I give her a moment, then follow. She's in the kitchen, the faucet running, her hands clutching the countertop.
"Hey." I put my hand on her shoulder, resisting the urge to turn her around and pull her into my arms, even though that's exactly where I want her to be. "Talk to me."
"I've got this," she says, more to the sink than to me. "I do," she adds, turning to face me. "It's just that sometimes I wish I could hand it all off to someone else. That I could just let go and back away. You know?"
"I do," I say. I take her hand. "Come with me."
She eyes me curiously, but she doesn't protest when I lead her into my bedroom.
"I can't help with Del," I say. "At least not without some research and a few dozen phone calls. But about you handing it off to someone else ... about that, I have a few ideas."
I watch her face. The flicker of interest. The hint of nervousness. "What do you have in mind?" she finally asks.
"Do you trust me?"
"I--"
She hesitates, and in that moment of silence it feels like the ground has fallen out from under me. And fuck, I want to kick myself, because I should not have fallen this hard, this fast. I know better than that.
But what the hell, right? Because all that's going on here is a multi-night stand. And in a few days, she's heading back to LA, and I'll hop back onto 2Nite, and my life will return to stasis.
In the meantime, I have Jez.
And when she nods and says, "Of course I trust you," everything seems sane again.
"Sit on the bed," I order, and when she complies, I go my dresser.
"What exactly are you doing?" Her voice is amused, but wary.
"Forcing you to give everything over to someone else. Close your eyes. Now," I add, when she hesitates.
She narrows her eyes, but then she complies--and then yelps a little when I put a sleep mask on her, then tighten it to ensure she can't peek.
"Pierce, I don't--"
"Hush. You're giving yourself over. You're letting go. You're putting me in charge. That's the deal. And I promise you'll enjoy it."
She licks her lips, and I hold my breath, afraid she's going to balk. But then she nods.
"Good. Now lay back and put your arms above your head, wrists together." I'm certain she's going to protest again, so I'm surprised when she complies without argument.
I get on the bed beside her, then bind her wrists with an old tie. The headboard has a shelf on it, and since I don't have a better option, I unplug my alarm clock and thread the extension cord though the loop of the tie, effectively binding her wrists near the headboard.
"Pierce..."
"Yes, baby?"
"I don't know," she says. "I guess I just wanted to know you'd answer."
"Always. Now relax. Just breathe."
"What are you going to do?"
"Sweetheart, I'm going to make you come."
"Oh."
I smile, seeing the way her body tightens just from the suggestion, and then I settle in to thoroughly explore this woman. I brush kisses over every inch of her. I oil my hands and massage her breasts. I suck on her tits. I kiss my way up her legs. And I tell her throughout all of it how absolutely fucking beautiful she is.
I lose myself in her pleasure. In watching the way her skin contracts at a touch. In judging the pattern of her breathing. I want to know everything, and I lose myself in the reality of Jezebel.
And only when she is writhing and whimpering, begging for my touch, do I gently slip my fingers between her legs, then hold her still when she tries to grind against me. "Oh, no. That's for me to do," I say, and then I make it my mission to take her to the absolute height of passion.
And since she actually screams when she comes, I think that I did a damn good job.
I hold her body as it shakes in t
he last throes of the orgasm, then very gently I take off the mask and untie her hands.
Immediately, she curls up against me, then sighs deeply. "That was incredible."
"The orgasm or letting go?"
"That's a trick question," she says, opening her eyes. "I came so hard because I let go."
"Listen to you," I tease. "My star pupil."
She reaches out to smack my chest, but I grab her hand and kiss it. "If you can do it in bed," I say, "you can do it in life."
"Have an earth shattering orgasm?"
"Surrender some control."
I think I've proved my point, but she just shakes her head, then props herself up on one elbow. "You're forgetting one thing. I trust you."
Twelve
I trust you.
The words rush through me, warm and satisfying--and scary enough that I force them aside. This isn't about me. It's about her. It's about Del. It's about finding an agent or a manager or a partner--someone who can share the burden with Jezebel until Del's ready to take it over herself.
And that's exactly what I tell her.
"And my point's still the same," she says. "I don't have to get naked with them, but I still have to trust them. And after what happened with Simpson..."
She trails off with a shrug, then shifts on the bed so that she's propped up on her knees. "But you, sir, are taking my problem far too seriously. I'll work it out. And in the meantime, we need to get going."
She nods at the clock, and I curse softly. I'd completely lost track of time. We need to be back at the hotel in just under half an hour. "You're a bad influence on me," I say.
"The feeling's entirely mutual."
Fortunately, my condo is only a few blocks from the Starfire, and soon enough I'm handing the valet my keys and ushering Jez into the elevator with fifteen minutes to spare.
She uses her key to access the floor, and moments later we walk hand-in-hand into her suite--only to find Kerrie sitting at the table, looking directly at us.
Her brows rise, and I see a smug little smile flicker before being replaced by her poker face.
"You're early," I say, releasing Jez's hand. "Where's Del?"
"Remind me never to be a movie star," she says. "Your schedule totally isn't your own."
"Kerrie..."
"She's on the set. Connor took her. Said you could relieve him when you got back."
"The set?" Jez says.
"The producers called while we were in the steam room. I guess they wanted to get started early or something." She takes a gulp from her water bottle and looks at me. "Can you take me home before you go? I've got plans tonight and no car."