Page 16 of Nathan

He gives me another of those panty-melting, crooked smiles, and his eyes soften with an emotion I can’t read. It makes him look younger somehow. Less brittle and hardened by Hollywood life.

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I will accept a no, Dex, but you’ll have to convince me you really mean it, and I don’t think you do. I think you want me as much as I want you. I don’t know why I didn’t make a move earlier. Probably because I’m a self-absorbed prick who’s selfish through and through. But here are a few facts. One, you’ve been on my mind far too often these last few days. Two, I can’t remember the last time I woke up thinking about a woman and went to sleep thinking about the same one. And three, the other night I jacked off in the shower while imagining you writhing naked beneath me.”

I widen my eyes and force a swallow past my narrowed throat.

But Nate hasn’t finished. “Sex comes easy in this town. I’ve lost count of the amount of pussy I can help myself to any time I choose. But like most things in life, if you don’t have to work for it, the boredom kicks in pretty damn fast. It’s been a long time since I wanted someone as much as I want you. You’re… different.”

I suppress a wince at how many women Nate must have taken back to his home. How many lovers he must have had. Instead, I go with a teasing grin, and a light, “Good, different?”

He unclips his belt and shuffles closer. His slender fingers curve around the back of my neck again, and I hold my breath, anticipating his kiss. Nate doesn’t disappoint. His lips, warm, firm, and demanding, close over mine. I knit my hands into his thick hair, a sound easing from the back of my throat—a raw, rasping moan filled with hunger.

Nate draws back, his chest swelling as he catches his breath. “Jesus Christ. Yes, good fucking different. Can we go now, please?”

An awareness of the power I wield over this man, this superstar so many would sell their firstborn to spend an hour with, rushes through me. All of my doubts fade away. I may only get to spend one night in the bed of the man who’s consumed my dreams for months on end, ever since I started working for Bernard, but I also know if I walk away right this second, he will curse the missed opportunity as much as I will.

I’ve barely moved my head in agreement before he fires up the engine. Within two minutes, we’re back on the highway. Except this time, he drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth, the action both soothing and hot as hell.

No sooner have we rejoined the highway than Nate pulls off once more. He rolls the car to a stop in front of a set of gates, and flashes a card at the barrier, waving to the guard sitting in the booth. A minute or so later, he parks in the driveway of a sprawling, one-story property, with a neatly tended front lawn, colorful flowers in the borders, and a wind chime hanging from a hook over the three-car garage.

It’s nothing like I expected. I thought Nate would live in one of those sleek, contemporary apartments, full of steel, glass, and hard marble flooring. Definitely not this family-type neighborhood where the house across the street has an abandoned bike with training wheels and a skateboard on the front lawn.

We get out of the car, and Nate takes my hand, then opens the front door. I find myself in an open-plan living, dining, and kitchen area, which is modern and spacious, but also homely. Dominating the room is a huge corner sofa with cushions mimicking the colors of fall, a seventy-five-inch TV on one wall, and an enormous painting of Santa Monica pier dominating another.

“Drink?” he asks, opening the large fridge and shoving his shopping bag inside.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” I say, hoping he produces some kind of alcohol. I desperately need the calming buzz I’d get from it. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He gives me a lecherous smile. “I sure hope so, sweetheart.”

My cheeks burn for the hundredth time this evening. If I continue blushing at this rate, I’ll faint from lack of blood to the rest of my body.

“I-I meant the steak,” I stammer.

Nate unscrews the top off a couple of beers and hands me one. I take a sip, glad for something to soothe my dry mouth and throat.

“I’m not hungry for food right now.” He clasps my hand once more. “Let’s go to bed.”

My whole body shudders with nerves, excitement, a tinge of fear, or maybe apprehension. Regardless, I meekly follow him into his bedroom, my usual sass scattering in the face of what’s about to happen.

The room is sparsely furnished. Pushed beneath the window is a king-sized bed, with navy blue sheets and a mountain of pillows, bookended by a couple of nightstands. Opposite the bed sits a five-drawer mahogany dresser, with brushed steel handles, three large drawers, then two smaller ones at the top. A couple of closed doors lead off the bedroom. One, I guess, is a closet, and the other a bathroom.

Nate lets go of my hand and wanders over to the window to close the blinds. The light from the streetlamps outside his house disappears, casting the room into darkness. I hover by the door, chewing on a thumbnail while I wait for my eyes to adjust, only to blink when Nate flicks on a lamp beside the bed.

His gaze falls on me, and he crooks a finger, beckoning me. I move toward him, and he meets me halfway.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, as if he can read my mind.

Gently lifting my hair away from my neck, he eases my head to one side, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my skin. His lips are hot and soft, and when he sucks on the tender skin, it almost feels like a branding. I groan loudly, clasping his biceps for support, my breasts pushed flat to his firm chest as he moves into me. The man is hard everywhere, especially the thick erection flush against my belly.

He grasps my waist and lifts me, settling my ass on top of his dresser, so now I’m the one looking down on him. His eyes are hooded, those ice-blue irises almost eclipsed by enlarged pupils filled with lust, want, and need.

I’m sure mine look the same. My lungs flatten, and breathing normally feels impossible. I’m too hyped, too excited, too anxious. He’s so much more experienced than me. What if I do this wrong, or I don’t turn him on, or?—

Stop.

Nate slips off my teal flats and drops them on the floor before his hand slips around the back of my calf, and he slowly massages the muscle. His fingertips feel like silk on my skin, his touch gentle, almost ticklish. Once satisfied, he moves upwards and caresses the back of my knee, his hands slipping between my thighs as he pushes my legs apart. My skirt shifts upward, and I suppress the urge to smooth it back down, to cover my knees, to give myself a few more seconds to prepare for the invasion of Nate’s hot gaze.

Deft fingers travel up my legs, bunching my skirt around my hips. His gaze falls to the part where my legs meet. I curse my practical underwear, wishing, for the first time ever, I was one of those girls who never left the house without wearing coordinating undergarments. A lacy bra and matching thong in a dusky pink or vibrant blue would do a lot more for my confidence than white cotton panties and a black T-shirt bra. Then again, I hardly knew when I set off for work twelve hours ago that my night would end like this, with my legs spread and my most intimate parts almost on display for one of Hollywood’s hottest properties. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me.

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