The woman was smart.
He’d married a goddamn encyclopedia.
It had been a shock enough to Trick when he was told that she’d said yes, how the hell had that happened? He’d managed to bag the first woman he’d proposed to without actually ever meeting her.
Then she’d turned around the end of that screen and he’d been shocked. Her full skirt, long-sleeves and thick veil made it pretty obvious that she was hands-off. Before the actual wedding day, he hadn’t given a lot of thought to who they’d lined up for him. The idea had been put to him and he’d thought, ‘What the heck?’ If it helped the station that had given him a home, then why shouldn’t he toss a couple of months at this?
Trick had been surprised at how good a sport she was when the up and down the aisle debacle had happened. The first part of his wife he’d ever touched was her foot, but her skin was soft beneath his fingertips; he liked that, and the smell of coconut that came from her hair, he’d noticed that when she was next to him at the altar.
But that was it.
That was the extent of his awareness.
At least it had been until they were in the sunroom and her little mouth opened in outrage when he slid his hand up her leg. Her breathing had hitched in fits and starts as he got higher, and he’d really thought he was going to kiss her. Then she’d pushed him away.
Yep, Lyla Malloy couldn’t be farther from his type.
There was his type on Neptune and then there was Lyla on Mercury. No doubt about it. She didn’t have sass, just shock. Didn’t flaunt her figure, she was buttoned up, right up to the tight knot that kept her hair in check. She didn’t flirt with him, or anyone. She answered questions, spoke politely, and if that flight was anything to go by, she knew everything.
But her face lit up when she spoke about these ancient pricks who she knew so much about. Telling the stories of these long-dead bastards and their busy cocks made her eyes widen and her mouth more expressive. It put color in her cheeks and made her body move as she told the tales from hundreds of years ago.
Her hands moved under that blanket thing that covered her body, and although she kept that purse near to her, she shifted in her chair, leaning in to give him a whiff of that coconut stuff, only to lean back and address the group.
She said she wasn’t good in groups, but by the end of her little educational lecture, she had those guys drooling. But he didn’t know what it was that was so mesmerizing, the huge glasses that she peeked over the top of? The way her narrow shoulders moved beneath the thin purple tie-dyed material or the saucy curve of her lips as she told an illicit detail?
Didn’t matter.
She wasn’t his type.
Never would be.
They’d gotten to the hotel and he’d had a nap. Trick didn’t know where she’d gone, didn’t really care. If the directors were around then they would be looking after her. So he didn’t have to be worried about her safety, and amusing her was someone else’s problem. He’d have no chance of keeping a woman like that entertained; somehow, he doubted his juggling bit would fly with a genius like her.
Paul had come in to the bedroom, woken him up, dragged him into the living room and told him to eat. “We want to get some shots at the pool,” the director said as Trick ate a sandwich with one hand and scrubbed the other through his hair. “The light is good right now and we don’t know what the weather will be like tomorrow.”
“Lyla wants to go on the walking tour tomorrow,” Cliff said.
Trick thought he recognized the scruffy-haired guy from the wedding, but had been introduced to him again when he came out of the bedroom anyway, so it didn’t matter if they’d met before.
Facing the huge window on the far side of the living space, Trick winced as he realized that if the light was this bright in here, it was going to be worse outside.
One of the camera guys came over to stand next to Paul and that blocked out some of the glare from the sun, but not enough. There were other crew guys on the couches, but Trick couldn’t remember their names. He only remembered Cliff’s name because when he heard Paul use it in reference to the scruffy-haired guy, Trick recalled hearing Malloy say it too. So that was the guy who’d taken her on a tour and been entertaining his wife while he slept.
Trick wondered how much Cliff knew about Roman emperors, maybe Lyla had been talking about the history stuff with him too.
“Yeah, she told me,” Paul said. “But we do need some pool shots.”
Glancing left and right, Trick sought out liquid. “Got any beer?”
One of the camera guys tossed him a bottle of water. “Lyla said you have to stay hydrated.”
“We haven’t been married twenty-four hours and she’s turning the screws already,” Trick said, but twisted off the cap of the bottle and gulped down all the liquid inside.
Yeah, water was good, he needed that… Hmm… maybe she knew what she was talking about.
“You have to change into your shorts,” Paul said.
“I need a shower,” he grumbled and belched before rubbing a hand on his chest.
He could do with going back to bed for a couple of hours because he was getting too old for staying out all night. Given his reputation, it was impossible to admit it, but Trick had been getting tired of it for the last few years.
Yawning, he heard a door open behind him and tried to remember if he’d even packed swimming shorts. This water was good. Reading the bottle, he tried to figure out if there was something special in it that was making him feel better.
“Cliff?”
“Yeah, Ly…”
The way Cliff’s voice trailed off made Trick look up at the assistant director. Except before he got there, he saw his director, Paul and the camera guy gaping, wide-eyed, staring at something behind him.
Glancing past the guys in front of him, Trick saw that Cliff and the other camera guy, as well as the sound guys, had their tongues rolling from their mouths. What the hell was provoking boners all round? ‘Cause he recognized the way they all shifted.
“My hair tie broke,” Lyla said, her voice carrying from behind him. “And I need help with this lotion. I’m not going out without it; the sun is at its peak right now.”
Turning around, Trick didn’t know what to expect, but he felt his own heart flip over in his chest as his balls began to pant. That… that was Lyla…
The woman was standing there in a string bikini, with all that crazy wild hair that looked softer than cotton candy, cascading all around her. It fell all the way to her waist, and as she scooped it back over her shoulders, she revealed a body that actually made him squeak when he opened his mouth.
The tits, the ass… the abs… damn, who the hell was that?
When she was done scooping the waves of silken dark hair from her body, she looked up and blinked sultry eyes at all of them. Why had he never noticed how her eyes tapered until now? How they were so keen, yet alluring at the same time.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, closing a hand over her breast as she took the bottle of lotion in to her cleavage. “I’m going to put my kaftan on, don’t think I’m going to embarrass you all by going out like this.”
She smiled like that was a joke.
Oh, holy hell, she smiled.
Where did that come from? Was that really the same smile he’d seen on the flight? He’d recognized that she had a pretty face, though he hadn’t seen it without her glasses. And yesterday, she was either wearing her veil, or they were too far apart. Her little snit in the sunroom hadn’t been conducive to smiling and he was grateful for that, because what the hell was that on her face now? Even the voice of his internal monologue squeaked, he was so taken aback.
His heart was pounding, his guts felt tight, and had she said embarrassed? No way was his wife going out into the world like that. She’d give men coronaries after they got the most intense hard-on of their lives.
“Sure, Lyla,” Cliff said, obviously having recovered from his stupor enough that he could drag himself off the couch. “Sorry, sweetie.” Sweetie? Trick snapped his scowl around to the guy who was literally sprinting across the room right now to grab the bottle of lotion from his wife. His wife! “Glad I didn’t watch you taking your clothes off last night now.”
Uh, what the hell? Trick had never felt rage like this. What was this prick doing thinking about watching her strip? Lyla laughed as she picked up her hair and began to gather it onto her head.
Cliff moved behind her and she tipped her chin to her shoulder. “Do you need me to untie the string?” she asked. “There are towels in the bathroom; if we go in there I can take it off.”
“Whoa!” Trick said, startling the room as he began to march toward his wife and the prick who was flicking open the lotion bottle. When he got there, he snatched the bottle from the assistant director. “No one puts lotion on my wife except me.”
Giving the assistant director’s shoulder a shove, he muscled him out of the way.
“Trick!” Lyla said, turning to him wearing a frown. “What are you doing? I’m not going out without lotion.”
Grabbing the bottle from him, he was left gaping when she seized Cliff’s wrist and dragged him into the bathroom, slamming the door.
He exhaled annoyance when he heard the lock turn. Spinning around, he gaped at Paul. “What the hell was that?”
“She trusts him, they’ve been spending a lot of time together,” Paul said.
“Trusts him?” he asked, marching across the room. “He’s a dude! In there with my topless wife!”
Paul smirked. “She said she’d cover up with a towel. Besides, he took your wife home on her wedding night, if there was anything going on with them, it happened already.”
Trick had never vibrated with anger like this before. He’d known the woman twenty-four hours, he wasn’t supposed to care about who she got naked with, but this was a pride thing. Lyla was his wife; she shouldn’t be screwing around on him. Did she think this was some kind of joke?
But as he was about to spin around and kick the damn door in, he remembered what had happened last night and why he hadn’t been there to take her home.
Damn.
Trick had cared more about his reputation and playing to the crowd than he had about her, about his responsibilities. Well it wasn’t what he cared about, so much as what he was told to care about, but Lyla didn’t know that.
Running a hand through his hair, he couldn’t figure out why he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. This was the weirdest sensation ever… It was jealousy, for someone he had no feelings for. Maybe just ‘cause it turned out she was way hotter than he’d thought.
Except… he’d never really been as shallow as the persona he put on. Yeah, he loved a good figure, as much as the next guy, but it was never more important than that spark.
The spark.
Like the one he thought he’d felt when she made that comment on the flight right before he whispered in her ear, making her pulse speed against his hand.
God, he squeezed his eyes shut, his wife was hot.
Damn.
He’d thought he’d be fine. He could play the character and make her uncomfortable enough that she’d keep her barriers high and he’d never have to worry about feelings, or sex, getting involved in their relationship. It would make good TV and she’d dump him, getting him off the hook from being the one to do it. But how the hell was he going to sit next to her now like it was no big deal when he knew that was the figure she was packing.
Not physical, his ass. That was the kind of figure someone kept in check, and he’d make it his mission to catch her in the act if she was going to try to hide it.
When Paul put an arm around his back and patted it, he jumped. He hadn’t even known the guy was standing that close. “Go get changed,” the director said. “Take her down to the pool and you can have your shower when you come back up.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if he was going to shower with his wife. What the hell? How had she become a different person just because he saw she had a decent pair of tits? He played at being that guy, but he’d never thought he really was that guy. God, he disgusted himself.
Turned out that on top of giving him a history education, Lyla Malloy was teaching him things about himself as well. Number one being, he was a prick.
Lyla didn’t know what was wrong with Trick, but she’d guess that his hangover was catching up with him. She’d hoped that his nap would pull him back, but dinner had been a nightmare.
He hadn’t just been a drag in the pool where he wouldn’t do anything except stand at the edge and glare with only his eyes and nose above the water level, but he’d been in a mood in the room as they got ready to eat.
Paul was ready to blow a gasket. The director had begged Trick to interact with her at the pool. He’d refused. So, she swam for an hour and talked, at length, to Cliff about the walking tour that she was really looking forward to.
The camera had been following them around, so she got showered and dressed in the bathroom with the door locked and was pleased with the shift dress she’d brought. It hung to her knees and although she’d prefer it to be longer, it was really baggy and the cut-out mosaic pattern at the top went all the way from her shoulder right around her neck.
It wasn’t that she wanted to cover up, she just didn’t like clothes that she had to worry about adjusting or displaying anything they shouldn’t. When she was covered up, she was comfy and could relax.
But she did love to swim too and had a bunch of bikinis because she’d always go to the pool when she had an excuse. Lyla hadn’t thought that much about bringing them, because they served a purpose and she enjoyed the feel of the water on her body.
“I think breakfast is served between eight and ten,” she said, trying to find something to pick up the conversation that had stalled before the entrée. When two people had so little in common, it was difficult to keep conversation interesting. However, Paul kept gesturing at her, and the camera kept moving in close to their table in this quiet corner of the deck area of the restaurant. “Do you like to wake-up early? I figure we can take turns on the couch.”
His eyes rose from his empty dessert plate to hers. “We’re not sharing the bed?”
She shook her head. “And Paul said you have two bedrooms in your apartment, so I guess I’ll take the guest room.”
“If you want,” Trick mumbled and dropped his eyes to his plate again.
It was weird, but she felt more than discomfort, she was actually… worried. Leaning over the table, she wished the camera would go away for a minute, except, when the camera was around, he was usually more “on” than he was at any other time.
“Nairn,” she murmured.
His smile was slow, but he didn’t look up, just fingered a prong on the fork next to his prone hand. “No one calls me that,” he said.
Oh, she didn’t care about being his buddy. Moving down a chair, she got closer to him. “I’m calling you that,” she said, sliding a hand onto his face to draw it up so he’d look at her. Immediately, when their eyes met, she felt better. “Do you want out?”
The only thing she could figure was that he was having regrets about what they’d done. It made sense. He was a guy used to his freedom and he’d just tied himself down to the heaviest weight he’d ever met.
Slowly, his lips curled into a sinister kind of smile that didn’t fill her with confidence. Sliding up in his chair, Trick didn’t straighten, he leaned closer, guiding her hand from his face around his neck as he moved in. But instead of kissing her lips, he kissed her cheek, then moved around to her jaw and lower to the dip beneath her ear.
“Nairn,” she whispered when he kissed her neck.
Her eyes got heavy until they closed and her head moved of its own free will, somehow knowing exactly how it had to shift and angle to let his lips find the spot they sought. His first name felt better on his lips than his nickname. It didn’t make sense, but it made her feel more connected to him, made their connection more real.
Why was it ok to let the stoic, reticent Trick kiss her like this when she’d never dream of letting the handsy, arrogant chancer who’d held her on the dancefloor last night touch her this way?
His tongue trailed over her pulse point, bringing his lips to her ear at the same time she felt his fingertips on the inside of her knee beneath the table. “I’m gonna fuck your tight, desperate little pussy so hard tonight, baby, you’re gonna forget your own damn name.”
That was it.
Exactly what she needed to hear.
Standing up, she shoved away from that disgusting, entitled mouth and was infuriated to see it twist in a laugh. He opened his arms. “What? Baby, come on! You want it!”
Grabbing her water glass, Lyla tossed the liquid in his face and spun around to march away. If he thought she was happy to be spoken to in that way, he was mistaken. Whatever she’d done to make him think she was one of the hussies from his nightclubs, she’d have to figure it out and make sure she never did it again because she had a limit and he’d just found it.