Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I hold my breath, thinking he’s going to say nothing. That I’m going to have laid my heart—or at least my desire—on the line, and he’s going to spurn me.

Then he kills he engine, and hope fills my chest. When he turns to me, his face is completely expressionless, but his eyes say everything. They show lust and need and desire, and I think that I’ve won. That I took a risk, and it paid off. He wants me. And oh, dear God, I want him too. More than I ever thought I could want any man.

“I don’t date actresses,” he says, shattering all of my hope. “I made up my mind a long time ago about that. I already told you about my mother. That was the first brick. The rest came with Kristen. She wanted to be an actress. We were going to get married. Turns out I wasn’t as attractive as the sitcom actor she met at class who promised he could get her an audition. She left me. She told me that I couldn’t do enough for her. That she had to take care of her craft. That she had to put herself above everything else. So she walked. And she took my heart with her.”

“I’m so sorry.” I want to kill the bitch because she hurt him and because she destroyed this newly budding thing that’s growing between us before it’s even had a chance to root.

“Between my mother and my fiancée, I got soured on the industry. Or I got soured by the integrity of the people in it.”

“I really am sorry. And I do understand. I would never want you to do something that you don’t want to do.” I’m trying desperately to be mature and to fight back tears, but I fear I’m going to lose one or both of those battles.

“I don’t want to do something I don’t want to do either,” he says.

Then, to my utter confusion, he leans forward and sweetly kisses me.

I taste the tears when I speak. “Is that goodbye?”

“No,” he says. “It’s thank you. I’ve held on to that for a long time. That belief that everybody who works in this business is as cold as my mother and my girlfriend. It’s not true. Thank you for that.”

“Don’t put me on a pedestal,” I say, even though I should be turning backflips and telling him that yes, yes, I’m the perfect woman. Perfect for him, and to please just take me home and take me to bed. Instead, I find myself saying, “I fucked my way through this town.”

“You told me. And I get why. And as far as I can see, you’ve never pretended to be someone you’re not.”

“No. I haven’t. But I don’t know. I feel like I’ve become hard.”

He takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles. “You’re not. You do a good job wearing your armor, but deep inside, you’re not hard at all. Or if you are, maybe we both are. We’re a lot alike, you know. We’ve both gone through this life mostly alone.”

I reach for his hand and squeeze. “We don’t have to be.”

“Frannie.” He pulls his hand free, then stands up and starts pacing. “I don’t even know if I should say this.”

“Please do. It’s usually the things left unsaid that cause problems.”

“You’re right about that.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “It’s just that this is all so fast. The way I feel about you. The things you make me imagine.”

I tilt my head, my entire body filling with happiness. “Naughty things?”

He laughs. “Definitely. But tender things too. Waking up next to you. Walking with you. It’s stupid. And it’s not.”

“No.” My voice is thick with lust. “It’s not stupid at all.”

“Frannie,” he says, and there’s no denying the heat in his voice. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers. “How comfortable are you with that bad girl persona?”

My brows rise as I try to figure out what he’s thinking. “I’ll be as bad as you want me to be.”

“Good. Get out of the car.”

“What? Why—”

“Frannie,” he says, with a very wicked grin. “Obey.”

The word goes straight through me, settling between my thighs, and I do as he says. Less than two minutes later, we’re back in the stairwell. I know it’s dangerous. There are a zillion people at this con, and the parking garage is full. Anyone could find us. But the air between us is crackling, and the moment he takes my hand, I know that nothing else matters.

He pulls me close, then spins me around until my back is against the wall and his mouth is on mine. I don’t even know how he managed it, but he’s tugged up my skirt, and his fingers are inside my panties.

I moan as my fingers go to his fly. I want this.

“You’re mine,” he says. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” I say as he rips off my panties then shoves them in his pocket. My skirt is up, and he lifts me, his hands cupping my ass as my legs lock around him. His cock is right there, and I’m so damn wet.

“Quiet,” he says, then teases his cock at my core. I cling to his shoulders, my hips going forward as my shoulders press against the wall. I’m so wet, but he’s torturing me. Going slowly. Stretching me. Filling me.

“Please. Oh, God, please.”

And then, with one hard thrust, he’s deep inside me. I cry out, but his hand over my mouth silences me. He pounds into me as I shift one hand down to tease my clit and stroke his cock with each thrust.

Our eyes lock, and right then, I feel both lost and found. I feel like I belong.

In that moment when my body tightens around him, I arch back, then swallow a scream as his mouth closes over mine, his teeth nipping my lip and our bodies rocking together. When we finally explode, the force of our joint orgasm is so intense it’s a wonder we don’t bring the whole damn hotel down on us.

“Wow,” I say a few minutes later as we’re both sitting on a step, our clothes adjusted back to some semblance of normalcy. “That was great.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It really was.”

I meet his eyes. “Take me home, Simon. Take me home, and let’s do it again.”