Page 45 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
* * *
After leaving InterTruck, Daniel drove back to his trailer, showered, changed, fed and watered Tequila, then got back in his car and headed north on the interstate toward Lake Forest.
An hour later, he stood at her front door, hand raised to knock. But before he could, the door swung open.
Like she’d been waiting for him.
His eyes dragged over her. Black leggings. A tiny white T-shirt that barely reached her navel. Bare feet. Hair down.
She looked him over, too, in a slow, measured way, like she was taking inventory of his individual parts. It made him aware of himself in a way he never had been before. How he looked. How he stood. How he walked.
He’d never felt self-conscious before. Not until her.
“Hey,” he said when he finally met her eyes.
She hesitated. Was she nervous? Of him? Or of having him here, inside her home?
He glanced past her at the grand entry hall. She noticed. “No one’s here.”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Okay.”
A long, heavy silence settled between them. Thick. Charged. The only sounds were their breathing and the quiet splash of the fountain behind him. Heat radiated off the white stone all around them.
She smiled, turned, and walked inside without a word.
He followed, stepping over the threshold, and stopped cold.
He let out a low whistle. “Santa mierda.”
The entry hall was massive, a circular expanse that could have fit four of his trailers, end to end. Twin marble staircases, their gold handrails curling like something out of a palace, rose along either side of the room, meeting in the center on the second floor. A chandelier the size of his entire damn living room hung overhead, its crystal facets glittering in the soft light. Floor-to-ceiling drapes. Patterned rugs. Alcoves with statues that probably cost more than his car.
Julia shut the door behind him and started up the staircase.
He was still staring when she looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
His eyes dropped to her ass in those leggings, and he immediately forgot all about the chandelier.
Fuck, yes.
He followed her up. And it was a good thing she was leading, because he already knew he was fucking lost.
* * *
Julia ran a critical eye over her reflection in the mirror. The lingerie set she’d picked out on a shopping trip yesterday had seemed so pretty in the store. Lacy and pink and sheer. Little satin bows on the bra and satin ribbon ties on each side of the thong. It had seemed innocent and sweet. But now that she had it on, it seemed pornographic.
She swallowed hard, unable to decide whether what she was doing was a boss move, or the worst idea she’d ever had.
Smoothing her hair, she leaned forward and checked her makeup again. She realized she was just stalling.
She blew out a breath. “Showtime.”
She’d left Daniel in her bedroom, telling him she’d only be a minute, which was quite a few minutes ago. She wondered if he’d figured out why she’d invited him to her house this afternoon, or if he was just sitting out there, confused. Then she remembered how he’d looked at her earlier, when she’d been climbing the stairs. Like she was something delicious, and he was starving.
She had to stop and balance a hand against the bathroom wall. If just the memory of his eyes on her could make her feel like a million volts had just shot through her, how was she going to cope with the feeling of him inside her?
She realized she was shaking. It wasn’t just her hands or legs; the quiver seemed to emanate from her very core. It was like her heart wasn’t beating so much as vibrating.
She didn’t get this nervous before going on stage. Or even before auditioning. Actually, she didn’t think she’d ever been this nervous.
