CHAPTER
Five
TY
“You canceled on a date to come help me change my tire?” Jill asks with surprise.
“You’re my sister. Of course I did. Besides, we didn’t really have a date. There were no concrete plans.” I pocket my phone and drop into Jill’s couch with a sigh.
“So, how long have you been seeing Lauren?” She grins smugly.
“It’s new.” I glare over at her. “I suppose Cara called you.”
“Of course she did.” She waves me off and rolls her eyes. “I like her.”
“You do?” I’m surprised.
“Yeah. I don’t know her very well, but she seems nice.” Jill narrows her eyes and focuses on something over my shoulder.
“You and Cara always said that you hated that group of girls.”
“Oh, she hung out with bitches, that’s for sure.”
“But how do you really feel?” I ask sarcastically.
“I guess we can’t judge her for her inability to choose better friends. Besides”—Jill smiles—“I hear that events from this past summer made her take stock of the people in her life and get rid of the toxic ones. Good for her.”
I scowl and cross my arms. “Just what did she say to Cara?”
“Oh, nothing bad. I wish I’d been there.” Jill’s blue eyes go wide, then she claps her hands in excitement. “Maybe Cara and I can take her out for girls’ night!”
“Slow down there, cruise director.”
“It would be fun.”
“Actually,” I reply as I think about it, “you’re right. You should ask her.”
“Okay.” Jill nods, as though it’s been decided. “I will. So, what else is on your mind?”
“I invited her to the charity thing for the athletic department at the high school on Thursday.”
“Did she say yes?”
“Yeah, but it’s short notice, and she’s really busy. I was thinking about maybe buying her a dress.”
Jill just sits in her chair and blinks at me, her face completely sober.
“What?” I ask irritably.
“You really like her,” she murmurs.
I nod and stand to pace around the room. “I do.”
“Well, do you know her size?”
“Uh . . . she’s slim. How am I supposed to know her size?” I stop and prop my hands on my hips.
“Ugh, men. Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I will call Louise Sumners and ask her to let us into her shop tomorrow so we can look around. I think Lo shops there. Most of us do.” Jill shrugs and pulls on her lip as she thinks. “We’ll find something. I think it’s kind of romantic that you want to buy her a dress.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I never would have guessed you have it in you.”
“I can be romantic,” I grumble.
God, this was a stupid idea.
What if she thinks I’m being a controlling bastard and throws me out?
I take a deep breath and then ring her doorbell. I can hear loud, booming music inside, surprising me.
She listens to loud rock music while she writes? How can she think with that much noise?
Knowing she most likely can’t hear the doorbell over the music, I walk around the house to the family-room area, which has French doors that open onto a wide patio. The scene before me surprises the hell out of me.
Lo is painting the walls of the family room while shaking her amazing ass, dancing about the space in time with the music.
She’s so fucking gorgeous.
Her auburn hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing another of those tight, black T-shirts, showing off her perfect tits, and black yoga shorts.
Jesus, her legs go on for miles.
When she turns around to load her paint roller with more paint, she squeals when she sees me, then blushes furiously as she lays the roller in the paint and comes to open the door.
“Hey!” she yells over the music.
“Hey, yourself,” I shout back.
She grins and lowers the volume on the sound system.
“I tried the doorbell,” I inform her dryly.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”
“Shocker.” I laugh and hold up the white garment bag and the shoebox in my hands. “I come bearing gifts.”
Her mouth forms a little O in surprise. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know you’re under deadline, and I didn’t want you to worry about what to wear on Thursday, so I took the liberty . . .” My voice fades in uncertainty.
She just stares at me, lost, and to my horror tears fill her eyes.
“I’m sorry, it was a bad idea. You probably want to buy your own dress.”
“Oh, my gosh, no.” She chuckles and blinks her eyes furiously as she takes the dress and shoes from me. “Thank you so much for this.”
“You’re welcome. What are you doing anyway?” I turn in a circle and take in the chaos.
“Painting.”
“You haven’t taped anything off, Lo. And you don’t have anything covering the floor.”
She blushes furiously. “I know. I bought all the stuff”—she gestures to the bags of supplies in the corner—“but it was an impulse decision and I didn’t want to take the time to tape and stuff. That’s not the fun part.”
I laugh and shake my head at her. “You go put that stuff away. I’ll be here.”
She smiles softly, then turns on her bare heel and hurries up the stairs, yelling, “Thank you!”
I dig into the supply bags and pull out a drop cloth, brushes, and tape and set to work, running the tape along the baseboards, molding, and fireplace. Just as I spread the drop cloth on the floor, Lo returns to the room.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
“You’re helping?”
“Like I would just leave you here to do this alone? Besides”—I brush my finger down her soft cheek, over a spot of mocha-colored paint—“I think you need to be supervised.”
“Okay, you’re recruited.” She giggles and my gut clenches.
We dig in, dipping our rollers in the tray of paint, then smoothing it over the walls. “Why are you painting and not writing?”
She scrunches up her nose and turns the music back on, the volume low. “Because I got stuck. The characters are pissing me off, and Emily isn’t around to talk.”
“Who’s Emily?” I reload my roller.
“She’s an author and a good friend of mine. We usually brainstorm together, but she had to go to some family thing today, so I didn’t have anyone to talk it out with. Swimming didn’t help.” She sighs and drops her roller to her side, tilts her head, and stares blankly at the wall, as if in deep thought. Then she turns to me and, as calm as can be, raises her roller and coats my left arm in paint.
“Did you just paint me?” I ask with a raised brow.
She nods and grins, then starts singing with the song and shaking her hips while painting her wall.
She’s adorable. “I’m going to get you back for that.”
“I figured.” She shrugs as if it’s of no consequence.
“So, tell me about your characters. I’m no Emily, but maybe I can help.”
She shoots me a surprised glance and bites her lip in concentration. “Well, they’re in the middle of a fight right now.”
“What are they fighting over?”
“Another woman.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, as though she’s gossiping about real people. “It’s ridiculous. He’s not cheating on her. He’s completely gone over her, and she knows that, but she has so much baggage from her past that it’s difficult for her to trust.” Lo picks up more paint on her roller and turns back to the wall.
“Who is the other woman?”
“His ex-wife.” She grimaces. “The ex has photos and videos of her having sex with the hero. Unbeknownst to the heroine, those were all taken years and years ago when they were still married, but the bitch is making it look like it’s all happened recently.”
“She’s a gem,” I comment lightly.
“Oh, I hate her. Her name is Misty.” Lo throws her head back and laughs. “If the real Misty ever reads this book, she will claw my eyes out.”
“She’ll have to get through me first,” I mutter calmly, watching Lo’s beautiful face as she talks about her work. Her eyes are shining and her cheeks are glowing. She’s excited about her work.
“Anyway, I haven’t figured out how the hero is going to convince the heroine that the ex is just being a vindictive bitch.” Lo begins to sway to the music again, and I just can’t keep my hands off her for one more second.
I lower my roller to the pan and stalk over to her, wrap my arms around her middle from behind, and bury my nose in her neck, hugging her close. Her body tenses and her hand stills, the roller braced on the wall. “You smell fantastic.”
She sighs and leans into me, tilts her head back to rest on my shoulder, just as a slow song begins on the stereo. I begin to move slowly, swaying side to side, enjoying the feel of her firm body in my arms. She lays her free hand on my arm and moves with me.
I inhale her sweet scent and drag my nose down the slope of her neck before pressing my lips to the soft skin where her neck and shoulder meet. My hands begin to roam across her tight belly.
“Your stomach is so firm. I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman with washboard abs before,” I murmur into her ear. I want to see her abs.
She chuckles lazily. “It’s the swimming. Great for your core.”
“I might have to take it up.”
“Nothing wrong with your abs,” she mutters.
I smile against her neck. Yeah, I know she appreciated the show she got in my driveway yesterday. Remembering the way her eyes glassed over as they made their way down my chest and stomach makes my dick twitch against her firm ass.
Just as the song reaches the bridge, her body tenses and she pulls out of my arms, her eyes wide, and drops her roller in the pan, splashing paint onto the drop cloth.
“That’s it!” she exclaims, and runs from the room toward the office.
I frown after her and stare around the room, wondering what in the bloody hell I’m missing, then follow her down the hall. When I reach the doorway to her work space, she’s already sitting in the desk chair, her feet pulled up under her, and she’s typing furiously on her computer, her lips clamped between her teeth and a crease on her eyebrow as she concentrates.
I guess she figured it out.
I chuckle and return to the family room and finish the first coat of paint, then go back out to my car and unload the groceries I brought with me. I’ll make her dinner while she works her ass off.
It still stuns me that she’s the author of some of the most well-loved novels in the world. Her books are a sensation. Millions are in print, and when I dug deeper, using Google and Facebook to find out more after being with her last week, I learned that not only has she sold the movie rights, but the film is moving forward. The movie company is currently casting the characters, and millions of women have nothing better to do than hang out on social media discussing who should play whom.
It’s amazing.
It seems that Lo, or Peyton Adams, is also something of an enigma. She won’t release publicity photos and won’t give live interviews, which has fans and industry people alike in an uproar.
I pray to God she has a good entertainment lawyer.
I walk out onto the deck off the kitchen and fire the propane grill to life, clean the grates, and let it burn while I go back inside to season two rib-eye steaks and throw together a large green salad.
I whisk together a vinaigrette dressing, then carry the steaks out to the grill and lay them on the grates with a loud sizzle.
There’s nothing like red meat on a grill.
It’s a guy thing.
While I stand outside, enjoying an early-autumn evening, my phone rings in my pocket.
“Hello?”
“Well? Did she like it?” Jill asks.
“I don’t know if she pulled it out of the bag. We’re painting her house.”
The line goes silent and I pull the phone away from my face to make sure I didn’t lose the call.
“Jill?”
“I’m here. You’re painting her house?”
“Well, one room of it. She was working on it when I got here.”
“Huh.”
“What did that mean?” I check the steaks.
“When I asked you to help me paint my house, you hired a company to come do it.”
I smile and shake my head. “I told you then, I didn’t have time to paint your house. What are you bitching about? You got out of doing it yourself.”
“I just find it interesting, that’s all.”
“Shut up, Jilly.”
She laughs. “Have fun painting. It might be fun to paint each other, now that I think about it.”
“I’m hanging up now.” I press the off button and pull the medium-rare steaks off the grill, kill the gas, and saunter inside.
Just as I finish plating the steaks and salads, ready to carry them to the table, Lauren comes barreling into the kitchen and, without saying a word, launches herself into my arms. She jumps up onto me, presses that sweet body against mine, and wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, and plants a kiss on me that would make the gods weep. My hands plant on the globes of her ass, holding her up to me as her mouth moves confidently yet softly against my own. She slides her tongue along my lips, nips my bottom lip with her teeth, and sinks into me again.
Impatient to touch her, I prop her on the island countertop and glide my hands up her sides to cup her breasts and brush my thumbs over her nipples.
She inhales sharply, pulls back, and stares at me, panting, eyes wide. My hands slide up to hold her face as I turn the tables and take her mouth, softly at first, nibbling at her lips. My fingertips brush down her cheeks to her jaw and around her neck to thread the silky strands of her hair around my fingers and hold her tightly.
A soft moan escapes her lips and her hips circle as she pushes her center against my cock. She’s on fire, and I know without a doubt that she wouldn’t object to my ripping these flimsy shorts off her and sinking inside her, losing myself in her for the rest of the night.
She pulls back to catch her breath and I lean my forehead against hers, count to ten, and find the strength to not fuck the hell out of her here on her kitchen counter.
This is not how the first time is gonna go.
“What was that for?” I whisper.
“You saved my life.” She grins.
“I did?” I cock my head to the side.
“Yeah. I finished the scene.” Her eyes drop to my lips as she sticks out her little, pink tongue and runs it over her bottom lip, tasting me there.
I have to take a deep breath and lower her to the floor and back away. “Good.”
She frowns at me.
“What?”
“Why did you stop?”
“Lo.” I reach up and brush my thumb over the apple of her cheek. “When I make love to you for the first time, it won’t be on a kitchen counter. We’ll do that another time.” I grin and wink at her, then lift the plates and lead her to the table off the kitchen. “Are you okay with a less formal dinner tonight?”
“This is amazing.” She eyes the steaks the way a tiger eyes a wildebeest.
“Hungry?”
“So hungry.” She takes a seat.
“Did you eat today?” I narrow my eyes.
She laughs and waves me off. “Yes, food master, I did. But working makes me hungry.”
“I hope you eat red meat.” Before I join her, I move back into the kitchen. “Wine?”
“I love red meat. No wine for me.” She shakes her head. “I’ll just have water. I have to get back to work after dinner.”
I pour us both a glass of water and join her, digging into our dinner.
“So you figured out the scene?”
“Yes. And I figured out what happens next.” She smiles smugly and takes a bite of her steak. “Oh, sweet Jesus, this is delicious.”
“So what happens next?”
“You’ll have to read the book.” She winks at me and stabs a cucumber.
“I plan to,” I respond truthfully.
“Really?”
“I’ve already started Ignited Lust.” I take a sip of water, watching her surprised face.
“And?”
Fucking sexy as hell. I want to try every single kinky thing you’ve written in that book with you. “It’s fantastic.”
A shy grin spreads across her face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She finishes her plate and takes it into the kitchen.
“Leave the dishes.” I follow her, take the plate from her hand, and lower it into the sink. “I’ll clean up.”
She bites her lip and looks like she feels almost guilty. “I’m sorry, Ty, I have to get back to work. This deadline . . .”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” I pull her into my arms and hug her to me, kiss her head, then lower my lips to her forehead. “Go work.”
She pulls out of my arms and squeezes my hand before letting go. “You’re pretty cool, Ty Sullivan.”
“I’m glad you think so. I think you’re pretty cool yourself.”
She grins and turns her back on me to return to her work. Cleaning the kitchen doesn’t take long. When I poke my head into the office to let her know that I’m leaving, she’s back in her spot, legs pulled up under her in her chair, typing like mad on the keyboard.
Rather than interrupt her, I move up behind her and kiss her head. “Don’t work too late,” I murmur.
“M’kay.” She barely registers that I’m here.
I glance at her screen.
. . . pulls her into his arms and kisses her with a ferocity to rival an angry storm . . .
I grin and back away, leaving her to her work. I set her alarm and let myself out, already looking forward to Thursday night.