Behind the Scenes Read online

She bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t mean to be. I certainly wouldn’t blame a single one of them. After all, I want to sleep with you.”

  “And you have no idea how happy that makes me. But why do you want to be with me if you think that I’d take it so lightly as to sleep with one woman one night and someone else the next?”

  “AJ, you’re twisting this around.”

  “Then straighten it out for me. I really want to know.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because, believe it or not, no matter how much I’d love to spend the next twenty-four hours making love to you, I’m not interested in being ‘slept with’ or being thought of as sleazy.”

  Now she looked ticked. She plopped her hands on her hips. “Well, neither am I. And I never said that’s all I thought you and I would be. If it’s not too difficult for you to remember back about . . . gee, five entire minutes ago, I’m the one who confessed how I feel about you.”

  His aggravation deflated like a popped balloon and he took a second to regroup. “I’m not playing dumb here. I’m honestly confused, Tanya. If you think I’d take being with you intimately so casually, what’s to love? What’s to care about? And why would you let me . . . use you that way? You’re worth a helluva lot more than a one-night stand.”

  She growled, spun on her heel, stomped about five feet away, then stomped back. The woman could even stomp sexy. “I know my self-worth thank-you-very-much. You’re damn lucky I want you.”

  “I know that!”

  “Then what is your problem? And why are we shouting?”

  Were they shouting? He stopped to listen, and, sure enough, remnants of their voices were echoing down empty halls. He made a conscious effort to lower his voice. “You’re probably going to think this sounds corny, or even worse, disingenuous, coming from a guy who could apparently have any woman in the world he wants, but I’d like to know where I stand.”

  Tanya threw up her hands. “That’s it. Forget I said a word—”

  “No! Wait.”

  She whirled toward the hallway. “I’m out of here. You’re welcome for the haircut.”

  He caught her three steps later and pulled her back to face him. “Don’t leave. I’ll stop asking questions.”

  “Oh, AJ! It’s just that I don’t understand what you want from me. I tell you I love you, but that’s not good enough. I tell you to forget about love, then. I just want you. And that’s not good enough. When you figure out exactly what is good enough, get back to me. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

  “I want to be good enough,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “I want to deserve you.”

  Her laughter shook. “You do deserve me. Poor thing.”

  “No, I mean it. You deserve to know you’re with someone who doesn’t fool around. Who’s with you because it’s you and only you, not just some available beautiful woman. And if you honestly believe that it’s possible that I’d make love to you tonight and turn around and sleep with someone else tomorrow, then you’re not giving yourself enough credit and you’re not giving me enough credit.”

  She took a deep breath. “AJ, are you planning on sleeping with someone else tomorrow?”

  “Not a chance. Not even if you walk away from me tonight.”

  She went as still as the air in the studio around them. After an eon she said softly, “I don’t feel me walking.”

  He closed his eyes; relief and some overwhelming emotion he knew was love flooded through him, making him feel weak. When he was certain he wouldn’t collapse from it, he opened his eyes. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. “Will you come home with me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  HIGH ABOVE THE set of Pretty Women, sitting in the scaffolding, Billy Farmer laid down the screwdriver in his hand and wiped a tear from his cheek.

  He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but by the time he’d heard the raised voices and tuned into the conversation below to make certain he didn’t need to alert Security, he hadn’t wanted to interrupt. He’d been as hooked as his wife was, watching her daily serials.

  Ah, young love, he thought as he stretched his cramped legs. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy than Mr. Landry, either. And, boy, he has good taste, a spirited one. She won’t be taking any guff from that boy. Much like my own Louise.

  As he turned to finish the job he’d been working on he heard the remnants of their conversation as they headed toward the exit.

  “Three out of twelve! You know that’s twenty-five per cent?”

  “Well, how many was it, then?”

  “A man isn’t supposed to—oof. None. Not one single one.”

  “Their loss.”

  “Maybe with some intense therapy they’ll get over it.”

  “Oh, please, flatter yourself some more. It’s so attractive.”

  “Speaking of attractive, I’m pretty sure you promised me a glimpse of thigh.”

  “I’m still debating.”

  “You’ve got time. Ten minutes at least.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WOULD YOU LIKE something to drink?” AJ asked, tossing his keys on the front table.

  Tanya barely registered the decor in his ground level, West Hollywood condo. “No.”

  “Would you like a tour?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Um, music?”

  He appeared about as nervous as she felt. On the drive over in his surprisingly conservative Acura, they’d sat in silence, their hands intertwined.

  At stops he’d glanced at her and smiled but otherwise he’d seemed content to let her be alone with her thoughts.

  This entire scenario was so foreign to Tanya, but it felt so right to just let them, let this, happen.

  Nothing had been settled back at the studio. In fact, their . . . discussion . . . had produced more questions than answers, more blurriness than clarity.

  But none of that seemed to matter. All she knew was that she wanted him, now, tonight. No more talk, no more analyzing the whys. It just . . . was.

  “I don’t care about music; I don’t want to be romanced or seduced or whatever you think you owe me before you make love to me. I just want . . . us.”

  He went still for a moment, then slowly walked toward her. Stopping in front of her, he nudged her purse strap from her shoulder. Then his fingers slid under the sweater at her shoulders and sent it to the floor as well.

  Just that simple, feathery touch of his fingers on her collar’s bare skin sent a shock wave down the length of her body. Her breath escaped in a puff and she stared at him.

  He held her gaze for merely a moment before his eyes traveled down her features to where his fingertips rested on her collar bones. He slid the thin straps of her dress down her arms to dangle there, leaving her chest and shoulders naked.

  “Tanya, I . . .” His voice trailed off and he swallowed as his hand splayed at the base of her throat.

  She stood unmoving, not thinking, just feeling him touch her, letting the shock of his hands on her wash over and throughout her.

  In some dreamy part of her mind she thought she should be moving, touching him in return, but a crazy lethargy held her in its grip and all she wanted was to stand there and give herself over to his care.

  Moving would break the magic, the drastic need to just be open to his need to explore her and look at her. Even a kiss seemed unnecessary, an impediment. The greatest gift she could give him was to stand there and let him do what he wanted, feel what he wanted, see what he wanted to see.

  His hands glided down to the bodice of her dress, his fingers slipping beneath it as he traced the upper swell of her breasts.

  “Tanya—”

  “Shh,” she whispered and shook her h
ead once. She wasn’t ready for words, didn’t want them in the way. His breathing, unsteady, was all she wanted to hear.

  His hands traveled down her dress to her waist, and she felt his fingers curl, bunching the fabric in his palms. Without a sound he steadily raised the silk. When it reached her breasts, she raised her arms. He pulled it over her head, the sharp intake of his breath like a crack in the room.

  His jaw spasmed, then his lips parted and he let go of the silk cloth, which drifted soundlessly to the floor.

  His movements were steady, slow, nonstop, touching her everywhere, exploring her with his hands and his eyes.

  She felt the leashed tension, knew what it was costing him to keep from speaking, keep from ripping his own clothes from his body and dragging her to the floor. It gripped her, too, a barely checked frenzy to get closer, as close as possible, to devour each other and satisfy the need.

  It was exquisite torture and she couldn’t get enough. To want so badly she could taste it, taste him, feel his naked flesh burning against hers.

  His fingers went to the only barrier left on her and he pushed her panties down over her hips to her thighs, letting them fall on their own to the floor, watching the descent, then letting his gaze climb slowly up the path they’d taken.

  Tanya bent her knee and reached down to slip off her sandal, but he grabbed her wrist and said, “No. Please.” So she lowered her leg. And waited.

  He released her arm and his hand shook as he raised it again to her throat, tracing the curves and hollows of her shoulders.

  His gaze followed his movements, as if mesmerized by the sight of his fingers on her skin. His jaw tightened rhythmically as his hands lowered to her breasts, his knuckles brushing her nipples, and then moved lower, and his fingers spread over her tummy.

  Tanya felt blood rushing through her veins, felt a pulsing start low in her belly and travel downward. She wobbled as her legs nearly buckled.

  Grasping her waist, he pulled her against him, the cashmere of his sweater tickling her sensitized skin. Wordlessly, he buried his head in the hollow of her neck, and she felt his breaths, choppy and harsh.

  “I can’t . . .” he whispered, then bent and lifted her into his arms, then looked down at her hair, cascading over his shoulder and chest. “I can’t . . .” he said again “ . . . wait anymore.”

  “No,” she answered as her head fell back.

  With her eyes closed she didn’t see where he took her, just felt the steady rhythm of his steps—measured, relentless, toward an urgent goal.

  He laid her down on soft fabric, only the sharpened scent of his aftershave telling her this was his room, his bed.

  He pulled away and silence shrouded her again. She opened her eyes to watch him pulling off first his sweater, then the cotton shirt beneath.

  Tanya’s breath caught as the dim light from the window angled across his chest. She reached out to touch him, but he shook his head.

  Her arm fell back to the soft cover, and her knee bent upward. She watched his deliberate movements as he shed his pants.

  His fingers curled into his palms as he stood there, a silent question hanging between them in the air.

  “Please,” she answered him.

  Silently, he pushed his briefs from his hips. And still he stood unmoving, his eyes slowly traveling the length of her like a long, sensual caress.

  Tanya needed to touch him, needed his solid weight and heat against her, his flesh on her flesh. She opened her mouth, but he shook his head.

  And finally he broke the silence, his voice so low it almost didn’t reach her. “You are so beautiful. I could look at you forever.”

  “No,” she whispered, broken and shaking from waiting. It was torture, the building of need, the pressure that radiated out from between her legs and pulsed upward, until she felt the pounding of her blood all the way into her fingertips.

  He laid down beside her and continued to watch her, his one hand propping up his head, the other lying casually on his hip.

  She turned to face him, reaching out a hand but stopping short of touching him. She waited, silently demanding he give some indication that he needed her hands on him as much as she wanted them there.

  He didn’t answer, just watched her. So Tanya reached out further and touched him.

  With a groan he grasped her wrist and moved her hand over his heated skin and she marveled at the softness of flesh above the hard muscle beneath.

  When she tried to move her hand lower he pulled it away and brought her arm above her head, pushing her back into the mattress. In one swift and graceful move he straddled her legs, bringing her other arm up to meet the first.

  His eyes locked with hers, but there was no silent question in their depths, only a statement, a declaration that she was his and he was taking her.

  Then he lowered his head, and for the first time in what felt like eternity he kissed her.

  His mouth was demanding, ravenous, his body lowering to press into hers. She wanted to scream or beg but no sound would come out.

  Without knowing how or when, she realized he’d parted her legs.

  “I need you,” he whispered against her neck, his hand slipping down between them.

  “Oh, please,” she finally said. “Please.”

  His fingers glided up, parting her, and then she felt him, his hard shaft demanding she take him.

  Tanya cried out and arched up, needing him deep inside, and he growled low in his throat as he pressed into her, filling her.

  His hands dropped from her wrists to cradle her head as he kissed her and thrust into her over and over.

  She felt the first spasm at the entrance to her womb, then it spiraled up and out of control. And with each shock of pleasure he pushed into her again, until her whole body seized and seemed to erupt.

  “Oh,” she cried, unable to stop it, not wanting it to end. She bucked up into him as her body gripped his and demanded he finish this thing.

  Her eyes opened as she stared at the harsh lines in his face, the fury of passion in his eyes and in his body as he came inside her, hot and hard and insistent.

  She felt his pulse deep inside her, watched the look of pleasure that washed over his face before he collapsed, his head in her neck, his body pressing her down, his breaths ragged in her ear.

  He whispered words she didn’t understand, a language she only knew by feel. But then his arms tightened around her head and his lips pressed hard into her neck, a profound silence blanketing them in the night.

  Tanya didn’t know how long they lay like that, still joined, spent, hearts pounding against one another.

  Then his lips went to her temple, gentler now, and she realized he was shaking.

  Her hands raked up his back and cupped his face and she lifted his head to look at her. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered, and he only nodded.

  She raised her head and kissed him, first his jaw, then his lips.

  After a long, quiet moment he lay down beside her, his hand draped over her waist. “I—”

  “No!” she whispered, laying a finger over his lips.

  She didn’t know why, she just didn’t want words. There weren’t any to fit. She just wanted to feel this man against her, who’d just made love to her and made her feel indescribable things. Words would only make it less than it was.

  Somehow he understood. He settled beside her, brushing her hair out of her face. Pulling her close, he laid his head on the pillow.

  And soon the steady sound of his breathing and the heat from his body combined to join the languor in her spent limbs, and she felt herself dropping into a peaceful void.

  AJ HAD NO IDEA how long he lay there watching her, only moving when she did. In sleep she looked so innocent, so serene, and he marveled that this same woman had just given herse
lf to him in a way he’d never known before.

  Calling what they’d shared “sex” seemed an abomination, made it sound less valuable than it had been. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that together they’d have raunchy and playful sex. Sometimes slow, sometimes quick, sometimes in the morning, sometimes during the day. It would be great, fantastic, all of it, any of it. But they’d have this again, too, a silent and profound joining that had no name and defied description.

  Sometime later she murmured a little, and he bent to soothe her lips and quiet her, but when he raised his head her eyes were open and steady on him.

  “Hi,” he said, threading his fingers through the hair at her temples and pushing it off her cheeks.

  “Did I fall asleep?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She glanced down at the blanket he’d draped over her and smiled, then stretched. “I feel wonderful.”

  “Good. Me too.”

  If he was expecting her to turn shy on him suddenly, he of course would have been mistaken.

  But just as during their lovemaking, she looked at him directly, not a hint of regret or embarrassment or anything but contentment on her face. Without a word she turned onto her side and began gliding her fingertips over his chest. “I like it. A lot.”

  AJ raised an eyebrow. Knowing Tanya, she could be referring to anything from their lovemaking to the color of the room. “What?”

  She tapped his chest with her fingernails. “This.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad.”

  “I should get home,” she said. “What time is it?”

  Looking over her shoulder, he said, “A little after two.”

  “Wow, really? Did I sleep for that long or did we make love for that long?”

  “You’ve only been asleep for about fifteen minutes.”

  “Whoa! Guess it wasn’t the sleep. Can I have a ride back to my car, please?”

  AJ swallowed. “Sure. Though I wish you could stay here.”

  “So do I,” she said, “but I can’t.” She laid her hand on his waist and leaned into him, kissing his chest. Then she stood up, dragging the blanket with her. “I’ll just go attempt to get dressed.”