Chapter Fourteen
Focused on the television monitors, chaotic sounds pouring from the kitchen set, Nikko felt the subtle shift in the air he’d come to recognize that told him she was moving to her seat.
He drummed his fingers absently along the console as he watched the chefs scurry about the kitchen, and let out a deep huff of air through his lips. His eyes may have been watching the chefs, but his brain was reliving every moment of what had happened in Stacy’s room.
Every pulse-bounding, heart-stopping, scorching moment.
What the hell had possessed him to kiss her? One second he’d been listening to her go on and on about how to relax his muscles, his gaze centered on her plump lips while she spoke.
Then she smiled. Actually smiled. At him. And with the next breath he’d felt a familiar twinge in his lower back that shot straight to his dick and all he could think about was how those delicious-looking, smiling lips would taste.
Shit.
He could lie and say he hadn’t realized what he was doing when he’d caged her between his arms and leaned down to brush his mouth over hers. That he was so exhausted, his mind running in a thousand different directions, he hadn’t given a coherent thought to what he was doing, but had just reacted to the bolt of lust that popped through him.
But it would be a lie and as brazen and bold-faced a one as he’d ever told.
He’d known exactly what he was doing when he slid his hands down her arms, around her trim waist to settle on her back and pull her against him. And he’d never hesitated a second before molding his palms to her fabulous ass and grinding her body into his, letting her know exactly what she was doing to him.
The feel of her, slim and lithe and so incredibly soft, had silenced every bell and whistle in his head, screaming that what he was doing was as wrong as it could be.
Never, not once ever before in his entire career, had he crossed a line like that with a subordinate. And that’s what Stacy was, in every sense of the word. She may have the title of executive producer and all the clout and power that went along with it, but it was his name, his professional reputation, his utmost responsibility that guided the show. He was, in the very purest, most simple definition of the word, her boss. And as such there was a clean, concise line of conduct that should never be crossed. No matter what.
Today he’d not only crossed that line, he’d obliterated it.
What truly shook him straight down to his marrow was he wanted to do it again—would in a heartbeat—if Stacy gave him any indication she wanted him as much as he did her.
Where in the hell had this longing; this deep, devouring need, come from? He could blame it on the fact he hadn’t gotten laid in too long to even consider and anything with the necessary opposite-sexed parts was capable of turning him on.
But that wasn’t it. Not by a long shot. He was surrounded by women all the time in the business, knew several who’d given him open invitations into their beds, and others who’d hinted they wouldn’t mind a little mattress action.
He’d steered clear of them all.
Stacy had given him no clues—hinted or overt—that she was interested in him. Hell, she’d never even really smiled at him until an hour ago. She was continually on guard around him, tempering her responses, cooling her actions. Keeping her real self hidden. The thought she didn’t like him, was merely tolerating him because she had to, had played in his head more than once. In that one fleeting moment, that one second she’d been unguarded in her response, he’d witnessed the true woman who lay beneath the professional mien and thoughtful replies.
And he’d been more turned on than he could ever remember being.
Her unbridled, quick response to his kiss knocked him back a few paces. He’d been braced for a hot face slap or a screaming recrimination.
Neither had come.
She’d simply slipped between his arms and hung on tight, matching him move for move as if she did it every day of her life.
Nikko took a chug from the bottled water he had on the console, hoping to quench the fire still burning in his belly. Her lowered voice floated up from behind him as she answered a question from one of the techs.
He’d thought of her as nothing other than a necessary pain in the ass when he’d first heard about her from Teddy Davis. Someone he was ready to battle against over every decision and idea he made or had. He was going to do everything he could think of to make her leave.
When had that changed? When had her presence become something he expected, looked forward to, even needed, around?
“Call time,” he barked into his headset.
When the movement on set ceased, Nikko turned and landed on Stacy.
She shot straight up to attention.
“Is the Feedbag kitchen problem solved now?”
She nodded. “Everything’s back in working order.”
Her voice sounded calm and composed, but the true depth of her nerves was obvious to him in the death grip she had on her notebook. Her knuckles had blanched to a milky white around the device’s edges.
To Todd, Nikko said, “Have them cart everything over. Let the dining-hall film crew know they’re on their way.”
“You got it,” Todd said, tapping his earpiece and then giving the order.
Nikko grabbed his water bottle and moved to where Stacy continued to stand, rock-still, her eyes huge behind her glasses. They tracked his movement as a wounded animal would an approaching predator.
She was terrified of him and trying her damnedest not to show it. He had to give her points for her resolve.
“Do me a favor?” he said, his voice low and for her ears only. Her eyes widened, but she simply nodded again.
“Melora wants to help out with the voting tallies again tonight.” He swiped a hand through the side of his hair. “It gives her something to do and if I know she’s with you I won’t worry about her being alone. Can she eat with you again? Help you? Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” was her immediate reply. In the next instant her shoulders relaxed and he spied her fingers loosen their grip on the ever-present notebook. A quick, fleeting grin pulled at her lips when she said, “She’s actually a big help.”
He huffed out a breath. “Thanks. I’ll have her meet you over at the hall.”
He knew he should leave her, just walk away and leave her alone. But his feet weren’t complying.
“Listen—” he started.
“I wanted—” she said at the same moment.
They both came to a verbal halt, waited a beat, just looking at one another.
“Go ahead,” Nikko said after a fashion.
She bit down on the corner of her lip, sending his already jittery insides rolling, lowered her gaze, and then brought it back up to him.
Christ. It took everything in him not to lean down and bite that plump, ripe mouth.
“I just wanted you to know I checked all the arrangements for the next location shoot. The flights are booked, as are the hotels. Jimmy Rodgers emailed me his staff have all been alerted about our arrival.”
Nikko nodded and slid his hands into his back pockets. He’d almost forgotten that they’d be filming the next segment in Big Sky’s newest hot spot, the Meat Rack, owned and operated by famed chef Jimmy Rodgers. Apparently, his executive producer hadn’t.
“He says you have full takeover of the restaurant for the two-day challenge,” Stacy continued, “and that he’s looking forward to seeing what the contestants do with his menu. I copied and forwarded the note to you.”
“Thanks. I’ll look it over after we’re done filming for the night.”
Either she couldn’t hear how tight and grating his voice sounded, or she chose to ignore it, because she tapped on her screen a few times, her eyes shifting back and forth under her glasses.
“The vans are scheduled to leave for the airport by eight. That should be enough time to get everyone out of bed and mobilized.”
A swift image of her naked and panting in his own big bed blasted across his vision. The crotch on his pants grew uncomfortable as she continued rattling on about travel arrangements.
This needed to stop. Had to stop.
Now.
He cut her off her midsentence, his tone terse and gruff when he said, “I don’t have time right now to go over every little detail. Just email me everything and I’ll look it over later.”
In his zeal to get past her he moved too quickly and felt his knee wrench, followed by a lightning bolt exploding up his thigh. Reaching out to grab the table to balance himself before he did something mortifying like fall on his ass in front of her, heat seeped into his system when her hand snaked around his upper arm. She’d dropped her tablet in her attempt to reach out to him and the echo of it crashing down reverberated through the now-empty space.
Her grip was like granite: hard, intractable, solid; so in opposition to how she’d felt when he’d been holding her in his arms. Then she’d been soft, compliant, liquid. The contrast had need shuddering through him, at war with the pain.
“Is your leg cramping?” she asked quietly, peering at him from behind her glasses, her eyes large and filled with concern.
He bit back an oath. “No. I moved wrong. Torqued it.”
With a nod, she reached beyond him to grab a chair. A hint of orange and some tangy spice he couldn’t place drifted from her. An impossible, ridiculous urge to bend his head and sniff behind her ear cascaded through him.
“Sit down,” she gently commanded, guiding him into the chair.
When he was situated, she let go of his arm and crouched beside him.
Pressing her hands together like she was about to say a prayer, she looked up at him and asked, “May I?”
Confused about her intent, he nodded.
Later on, he would pick apart and analyze why, when her hands rested on his aching thigh, did the pain almost instantly ebb. She’d done nothing but touch him and lightly push down on his leg, but he’d felt an immediate rush of warmth and then, like magic, his muscles started to relax.
“You’re right,” she said, her hands kneading along the fabric of his pants, “you’re not cramping.” She grazed over his knee, pressing just a bit at the sides. Then, she cupped her fingers around opposite sides of his thigh and twisted in a rolling motion, manipulating the muscles. The move looked, somehow, erotic and wildly arousing.
For the first time he noticed how long and graceful her fingers were, the backs of her hands smooth and unlined, no hint of sun-kissed freckles or age pestering the skin.
His mind flashed back to how she’d looked in the thin excuse for a robe she’d greeted him in when he knocked on her door. Yards of creamy leg peeked out from under the hem and his imagination pulled them around his waist, settling all her heat and softness against him.
Pulsing against the zipper of his jeans at the thought, he was worried she’d notice what was happening just north of where her hands were positioned.
“It feels better now that I’m sitting,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.” He circled one of her wrists to halt her movement.
Stacy turned statue-still, one hand fisted in his grip, the other remaining over his thigh. She lifted her gaze to his and in a split second, the pulse he felt under his fingertips quickened.
The long column of her throat bobbed when she swallowed. Her eyes trained on his face through the lenses of her glasses and when her lips parted in an unasked question and her tongue swiped against her bottom lip, Nikko had to dig to his toes for control. The need to lift her onto his lap, to crush his mouth down on hers, was almost too much for him to resist.
As the thought crossed his mind to do just that, he wondered what she was thinking because the beat drumming under his fingers increased.
The moment broke when she blinked hard several times and pushed upright to a standing position again.
“I’m—I’m sorry…” she said, tugging on the hand he still held.
When he released it, she took a few steps back, twining her fingers together. Just as she opened her mouth to say something else, Todd came over to them.
“The film crew’s all set up in the dining hall,” he told Nikko, his gaze bouncing to Stacy and then back, his brows almost kissing his forehead as he regarded them.
Stacy reached down to grab her forgotten device, her glasses shifting down on her nose as she rose back up. She shoved them back into place and said, “Right. I’ll go over now and make sure things are set properly.” With a quick glance at Todd, she skirted her eyes to Nikko, added “Have Melora come find me when she’s ready,” and then briskly exited the truck.
“Everything okay with Stacy?” Todd asked him once they were alone.
“Fine.” He sat forward and lifted from the chair, bracing a hand on the tabletop just in case.
“She looked a little—I don’t know—flustered, maybe?”
Nikko stood tall and was silently thankful when his leg responded without pain.
“I only mention it because Stacy’s usually steady as a rock. Never loses her temper, never even gets upset.”
“When did you turn into such a mother hen?” Nikko pushed through the door and was immediately overcome by the dry afternoon heat. “She’s fine. Don’t concern yourself with her. We have more pressing things to worry about.” His voice was a little harsher than it needed to be, but he didn’t feel like discussing his executive producer.
While he outlined how he wanted the evening’s challenge filmed, she was never far from the front of his mind, though.