Staged Seduction

STAGED SEDUCTION

…He was erect, his cock straining almost to the breaking point. As water sluiced over his body, Neil’s fingers slowly danced along his rigid shaft and I heard his moans above the shower’s hiss. As he continued stroking himself his other hand reached down to play with his balls, which were large and tight with his arousal. He hefted them, rubbing them slowly. I swallowed, feeling the breath come hot and fast in my throat. All the sexual feelings I’d successfully wrestled down earlier in the day came to the surface, threatening to swamp my good sense. The polite thing to do, of course, would be to turn around and leave, and come back later. That is, if I could sit across from him and made polite chit-chat after what I was witnessing. But I couldn’t make myself go. With a sense of helplessness, I gave into the sensuality his actions were building inside me, feeling the throb between my legs matching the rhythm of his stroking hand. My nipples pressed against the fabric of my sensible cotton bra, and I resisted the urge to rip off my clothes and join him in the shower. I wanted badly to touch myself, but I resisted the temptation. Instead I watched. I’d never seen a man pleasure himself before, but Neil’s play held me captive…

ALSO BY E RICA DEQUAYA Backstage Affair Critic’s Choice Double Mitzvah In The Crease Mixed Media Rave Review

STAGED SEDUCTION BY ERICA DEQUAYA

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

STAGED SEDUCTION AN AMBER HEAT BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com http://www.amberheat.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2007 by Erica DeQuaya ISBN 978-1-60272-044-2 Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

STAGED SEDUCTION

STAGED SEDUCTION Another day, another dollar. I chided myself for my skepticism. But anything was better than the apprehension holding me captive. I considered that for a moment, weighing the choices. Skepticism? Or nerves? Skepticism won, no doubt about that. This uneasiness I was trying to push away stuck at the bottom of my stomach like a lump of lead, and I didn’t like it. I forced myself to the here and now. Script open on my lap. Actors and director on stage. A rehearsal for the original play Esmerelda, by a new, talented, young playwright. Stephen Lemont, director extraordinaire, had a knack for picking raw writing talent and bringing it up through the 1

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ranks. He’d done it with Genera McCanton some years ago, and she was now the toast of Broadway, recent winner of a Tony Award. And now Stephen was at it again. But Esmerelda’s creator wasn’t the only one under Stephen’s mentorship wing. An award-winning director himself, Stephen had decided some years ago I’d make a phenomenal director. He plucked me from the technical booth and installed me as an assistant director for a good chunk of his productions. Which was why I, Mary Ellen Cartwright, known as Mel, formerly a stage manager with an impressive resume on the technical side, was here, in a darkened theater, an original play on my lap. And, oh, yeah—fighting not to bite my nails from sheer fright. Well, okay. I jumped over a few things. Esmerelda wasn’t bothering me, though I was taking on more directorial responsibility this time around. It was the pending interview with Neil Van Doren, artistic director and owner of the Rain Tree Theatre that tied my stomach in knots. Rain Tree was a small non-Equity house just outside of Houston. Neil, it seemed, was looking for a director to put his or her magical touch on that oldie but goodie The Fantastiks. I was up for consideration to provide that dose of magic. Van Doren was passing through town for the night, on his way to some conference or another. I’d never really paid attention. But he and I were supposed to meet in the lobby of the Hyatt on Wacker Drive after this rehearsal. Hence my nerves. 2

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Listening to my heart pound, I reminded myself I’d chatted with Neil several times through e-mail and by phone. I’d been struck by his self-deprecating humor and intelligence, something that was lacking in a lot of artistic directors who were either way too serious or way too egotistical. I’d also learned about some of Van Doren’s history from Stephen. The guy came from an oil-money family. Upon inheriting something like a gajillion dollars when reaching the ripe old age of twenty-one, he’d decided to parlay his wealth into a small theater company rather than real estate, which seemed to be the prime target for such investments. “He’s not getting rich on this thing, but he’s able to stay out of the red,” Stephen had told me when convincing me to consider the job. “He pays his actors, directors, and tech crews well but only draws a small salary himself.” Score one for Van Doren, then. Unless a production was union, theater pay sucked. But Rain Tree was apparently bucking the “starving for one’s art” trend. But—Houston? The land of cowboys, horses, and cow dung? I simply couldn’t see myself there. Stephen had to be kidding. Even Chicago was a stretch for the die-hard New Yorker in me. But Stephen went to work on me with his usual persuasive skills, reminding me that director jobs didn’t just drop out of the sky. And I had to admit it. I was curious about the type of man Van Doren was.. No reason to be nervous, I reminded myself yet again. Van Doren wanted to meet with me, not the other way around. Willfully putting the upcoming interview out of my mind, I 3

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turned my attention back to rehearsal, observing Stephen in action. This bunch of actors was little more than a collection of prima donnas. But Stephen was doing a wonderful job of keeping them in line, alternately cajoling, flattering, and directing. I loved working with Stephen; I always learned so much from him. But I wasn’t kidding myself. I’d never be in his league. When I’d mentioned it to him at one point, he’d smiled. “You’re better than you think you are, Mel,” he’d said. “You’ll be fine. Just take your bossiness as a stage manager and combine it with your great eye for blocking and character development, and you’ll be fine.” Sez him. Sighing, I smoothed my hand over my gray wool skirt. The matching jacket was folded neatly on the back of the the seat next to me. Anticipating the interview, I’d traded my typical scruffy jeans and T-shirt for this outfit, and was feeling damned uncomfortable. But the rehearsal’s rhythm began to relax me, as was the ebb and flow of the actors as they recited lines, then dissected character motivation under Stephen’s superb direction. I was thinking how the give-and-play between actors and director was such a terrific hallmark of Stephen’s coaching, when I heard the theater door open behind me. I cast a casual glance back, then took a double take, wondering what god was favoring me with an absolute angel. Better for me, a male angel, and my eyes drank him in. Though the only light in the theater came from the stage, it 4

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was enough to illuminate him. He was tall, around six-two or so, complete with the requisite broad chest under a flannel shirt and narrow waist and long legs encased in worn denim. His dark-blond hair just brushed his collar. Underneath that hair, eyes the color of freshwater jade looked around the theater, his gaze missing nothing. I suspected he cataloged everything in that brief glance, from the lighting technician on the ladder who was hanging spots, to the actors on stage rehearsing scene three. Then his eye fell on me. And stayed. Though I knew it was rude to stare, I couldn’t stop myself from doing so. Apparently he was gripped by the same impoliteness, as his gaze remained tangled with mine. The intense look we shared brought to mind sweaty bodies locked in love, and I finally had to swallow and turn away. Who was this guy? Some actor Stephen knew? Had to be someone he trusted. Stephen used to encourage open rehearsals, but after a sexual harassment suit some years back that had netted some unwelcome publicity, his rehearsals were mostly private affairs. Whoever this guy was, I realized I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better. In the biblical sense, that is. I wondered at my reaction in some amusement. I typically wasn’t one to have my head turned by male beauty. Too many brushes with too many guys who thought they were the center of the universe because of their looks had turned me off. This guy was clearly different. It wasn’t only that he was good looking. He had an aura of power, of charisma, about 5

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him. He looked as though he should have some impossibly gorgeous woman on each arm, and maybe a few stashed away for good measure. I wasn’t bad-looking, but nowhere in this man’s league. Forcing my attention back to the script, I still felt his eyes on me, as intimate as a caress. I shivered involuntarily, and tried to ignore the physical manifestations of arousal—slowly hardening nipples and the pool of moisture forming between my legs. Get yourself together, Mel. Fantasizing about hot sex with a strange guy is definitely not on the list of good ideas. Before I could excuse myself from the theater to find a cold shower or its equivalent, Stephen called a break, climbed off the stage, and took a swig from the Diet Coke can near his chair. His eye wandered to mine. He started to approach me, then glanced up, a sudden and broad grin splitting his face. Moving quickly, totally bypassing me, Stephen went to the hunk of stranger. I swiveled my head in time to see him clasp the other man’s hand and pull him into a hard embrace. The man pounded Stephen on the back enthusiastically, and I shrugged and rolled my eyes. Macho greetings. Testosterone flowing. After the greetings, Stephen dragged the guy to me and I stood, managing to paste a smile on my face. If I’d thought the stranger’s sexuality was potent from across a room, this close, it was a sweet, almost overwhelming assault. I restrained myself from throwing myself into his arms and begging him to take me. 6

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“Mel, this is Neil Van Doren,” Stephen’s words sliced through the sensual fog threatening to envelop me. “Neil, this is Mary Ellen Cartwright, stage manager extraordinaire, and fast becoming a valuable right-hand man as my AD. Soon to be an outstanding director. I’ve told you enough about her, and I think you’ve been in touch with the lady herself.” So this was Neil Van Doren. Sure didn’t see that coming. What was he doing here? Now? I was so unprepared for this meeting. Especially because e-mail and phone contacts with the man had done nothing to prepare me for the real thing. Or the sizzling impact he was having on my libido. A slight smile touched his sensuous lips and dimples appeared in his cheeks. It was almost as though he knew the impact he was having on me. I smiled back politely, damning the image of us in bed together, those lips moving hungrily over my heated flesh. Neil held out his hand and I took it, barely restraining a moan at the electrical current flowing up my arm at his touch. “She’s the furthest thing from a man, Stephen. But if you say so…” His voice was as delicious as the rest of him, oozing out in a southern drawl. Not the hillbilly kind, laden with all kinds of twangs and gutterals. But smooth as rich cream, laced with honey, which flowed over my nerves. All too easy to think about that voice, husky with arousal, whispering dirty things in my ear as his strong hands wandered over my body… Angrily, I moved my brain out of the bedroom. This man was here to interview me for a job, I reminded myself. Not to 7

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determine my suitability as a bed mate. Both men were waiting for my response, and I brought myself back. Dropping my hand from Neil’s, I treated him to what I hoped was a coolly pleasant look. “Welcome to Chicago,” I said. “Though the weather is a little unseasonable for the time of year.” Considering it was late April and the temperature outside was flirting with the freezing mark, my remark was the understatement of the year. But the weather seemed a safe enough topic. “It’s a nice change after the Houston heat,” Neil told me. Heat? At this time of year? And I was considering a job there? Yeesh. “I love Houston,” he was saying. “I was born and raised there. But the summers are a little annoying, what with the heat, humidity, and hurricanes. The three Hs.” “Hurricanes?” My voice moved into a squeak and I cleared my throat. “Not to worry, Mel. Most times, those storms dump a lot of rain and cause the wind to rattle the shutters a bit. Nothing more than that. Though the flooding can be annoying.” I marveled at his calm. I’d seen the terrible television images of chaos following Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. Neil grinned at my obvious discomfort. “Okay. Sometimes there are huge problems with them, like Katrina. But those are once-in-a-blue-moon hurricanes, Mel. They don’t come knocking at our doors too often.” Stephen broke in with a theatrical sigh. 8

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“I’ll leave you two to this scintillating discussion. I have work to do. Mel, you’re excused from your duties for the time being.” “Gosh, Stephen,” I said sarcastically. “I appreciate your permission. Considering you were the one who set this whole thing up.” The moment the words left my mouth, I slapped myself mentally. Stephen and I had fallen into a cutting-edge banter that was great for relieving rehearsal tedium. Beneath that banter was mutual respect. But it had no place in an interview, and I realized how it must sound to an outsider who didn’t know me all that well. Yet Neil took it all in stride, waving his hand at Stephen as though shooing away a bothersome bug. “Y’all go to it, Stephen. I think Mel and I can manage from here.” Oh boy, can we ever. I dampened the annoying erotic thoughts plaguing my brain and simply nodded at Stephen, who rolled his eyes at me. My sense was he knew exactly what was going on in my mind, but was too polite to say anything about it. After Stephen left, Neil studied me appraisingly. The intimate, heated look from earlier was gone, but the intensity of his gaze still caused me to flush. I was thankful the theater was a modicum of dimness. As a redhead, I blush easily, but felt the dark kept me safe. “Stephen recommends you pretty highly,” he finally said. “So you told me a couple of e-mails ago. He and I go back a-ways,” I responded, relieved the conversation was on a 9

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neutral wavelength. “I first worked with him some years ago at the Delay Theater Company in New York, on McCanton’s A Song for Stephanie. Every time Stephen came to New York to direct after that, he requested me as a stage manager. Then he had a few AD jobs he wanted me to try in Chicago.” Neil nodded. “So this is your third stint with him as an AD?” “Yes.” “What about other directors you’ve worked with?” I mentally reviewed if I’d sent him that information. Well, it couldn’t hurt to repeat it. “Michael Ardmore, Glenn Tarkon, and Andrea Morris.” “Hmm.” He tapped his finger against his upper lip. “I’m familiar with Andrea and Glenn. Can’t say as I know Ardmore, though.” “He’s with the Kleinholdt Theatre in Baltimore. Just took over as visiting director and I ended up as his AD.” I grimaced. “The man was either drunk or stoned half the time, so I ended up actually directing Children of a Lesser God.” “Hell of a play to cut your teeth on.” I nodded, not bothering to tell him how I’d stumbled my way through the rehearsal with a thankfully very understanding and talented cast, while in the next room Ardmore slept off whatever intoxicant he’d imbibed the night before. No one was as surprised as I’d been when positive reviews of the production had turned up in the press. “Is he still working there?” Neil asked. “I don’t know. But I’m not working with him again.” 10

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He smiled at that. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll talk to the others, but I trust Stephen’s opinion of you. We can talk more later. I wanted to come here first and say hi to Stephen, but I’m a little later than I’d anticipated. My plane was delayed.” “Hurricane warnings?” “Not too far off, darlin’,” he responded, with a lazy grin. “Rainstorms over Dallas, couldn’t land there, so I was stuck at Hobby for hours.” “Hobby?” I said doubtfully. Neil threw his head back and laughed, a full-bodied sound that had actors’ heads turning from the stage. I saw Stephen do the eye-roll thing again, but he smiled and shook his head before calling his troops back to the business at hand. “Hobby International Airport, Mel,” Neil said, when he recovered. “One of two airports in our area. Look, we’re a distraction here, so come on by around six or so, when you’re done. But meet me in Room 615, rather than the lobby. Lobby’s too huge and I might lose you. We’ll talk, maybe get a drink and a bite to eat and see if this might work or not.” He was asking me to his room? Images of the two of us cavorting on sheets in a luxury hotel room assaulted my brain. I battled down my fervent imagination with effort, and turned on a bright smile that felt fake to me. This was a job interview, I reminded myself sternly for the eight-zillionth time. But something in his stance suggested I already had the job. I realized Stephen’s word had likely swayed him in my direction, and the interview later on would be just a formality. I reminded myself to send Stephen a good bottle of Scotch as 11

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a thank-you gesture. He and his wife Jennifer loved the stuff, but to me it tasted like flavored paint thinner. “Okay,” I told him. “Six o’clock tonight it is. Thanks for your time.” Neil waved his hand. “It’s my pleasure, Mel. I’m always pleased to meet new— talent.” With a final smile at me, he left. I wondered at his hesitation before saying the final word. But all else was driven out of my brain as lines from Esmerelda entered my sphere of thought. Reluctantly, I turned back to the rehearsal. *

*

*

I found myself at the Hyatt on Wacker hours later, feeling very small and out-of-place. I’d never been to this particular hotel before, but it was huge, with its shops and teeming masses beneath ground level. The escalator leading upstairs contained even more masses of humanity and I almost quailed at the size of the lobby. I saw what Neil meant about us never finding one another here. It’d be easy to lose a Mack truck in a lobby of this size. Adding to the whole thing was that I rarely had the opportunity to visit or stay in hotels. Theater is great fun as jobs go, but the pay sucks. I was lucky enough to get paid a decent wage for the work I loved. But that wage didn’t cover staying in or even visiting fancy hotels, whether that hotel was in New York or Chicago. I could only hope Neil would spring for drinks and dinner. Everywhere I looked screamed dollar 12

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signs. Sucking in my breath and praying for courage, I made my way through the lobby, hoping I had the air of knowing exactly what I was doing here. In truth, I was a little lost, but eventually found the right bank of elevators. I found myself wondering about the rooms. Hotel rooms where typically bland; all the designer money, it seemed, went to making fancy lobbies. Window dressing. And why not? The rooms were only to sleep…to rest…or to make love… Ruthlessly I squashed the last thought like a cockroach. Just because I’d felt heat from our meeting didn’t mean Neil was on the same wavelength. Probably wasn’t, I told myself. In fact, he was probably used to women coming on to him all the time. Given his looks, he had to be used to it. Despite my rationalization, I was trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation as I got onto the thankfully empty elevator. Fear, because I really wanted the job. Anticipation because I had another job in mind for myself and Neil. I pushed the button for the six floor almost angrily. You’re disgusting, Mary Ellen. If you want to get laid, then get laid. But for God’s sake, leave your potential future boss out of it. My conscience was treating me to a common-sense lecture. Problem was, my body wasn’t buying it. Getting myself under control, I stepped off on the sixth floor and looked around hesitantly. Doors, doors, doors; far as the eye could see. Moving in what I hoped was the right direction, I hesitantly made my way down a corridor decorated 13

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with plush, green carpet and matching wallpaper. Décor wasn’t my thing, but I felt a little smothered in an under-thesea kind of way. Then I saw it. Room 615. I approached carefully, noting with some curiosity that door was open just a crack, with the lock bar preventing it from closing. Sure invitation to burglars. I knocked hesitantly, but there was no answer. Maybe he’d gone to the ice machine, or had run down for a minute to get a pack of chewing gum or something. I waited uncomfortably for a few moments, listening to a hissing sound from behind the door. Frowning, I pushed open the door and peeked inside the room. Empty. Perplexed, I glanced at my watch, going over in my mind what we’d agreed to. He’d said six, hadn’t he? His room? 615? Yes, I remembered all of that; I might be a dunce in a lot of ways, but my memory, for the most part, was faultless. It had to be, just to remember the junk that goes on in a typical play production. “Hello?” my voice sounded nervous and hesitant. Scowling to myself, I tried again, working to sound confident. “Hello?” No answer, but the same hissing sound, coming to my left, from the bathroom. Okay, so he was taking a shower. Easy enough to figure out. Maybe he’d napped a little, had awakened late and was running behind schedule. I’d go downstairs and come back up in fifteen minutes or so when he’d likely be ready. Better still, I could call him from the lobby. 14

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I prepared to turn and leave, when I involuntarily glanced into the bathroom. Then the glance became a long look as I stood still, stunned at the sight greeting my eyes. Neil was in the shower all right, buck naked, in a shower with a glass door that left nothing to the imagination. He was everything I’d imagined under his clothes—broad shoulders with well-muscled definition, flat abs, and a hell of a nice ass. But gorgeous as it was, his body didn’t hold me transfixed. It was his penis that had my attention, and what he was doing to it. He was erect, his cock straining almost to the breaking point. As water sluiced over his body, Neil’s fingers slowly danced along his rigid shaft and I heard his moans above the shower’s hiss. As he continued stroking himself his other hand reached down to play with his balls, which were large and tight with his arousal. He hefted them, rubbing them slowly. I swallowed, feeling the breath come hot and fast in my throat. All the sexual feelings I’d successfully wrestled down earlier in the day came to the surface, threatening to swamp my good sense. The polite thing to do, of course, would be to turn around and leave, and come back later. That is, if I could sit across from him and made polite chit-chat after what I was witnessing. But I couldn’t make myself go. With a sense of helplessness, I gave into the sensuality his actions were building inside me, feeling the throb between my legs matching the rhythm of his stroking hand. My nipples pressed 15

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against the fabric of my sensible cotton bra, and I resisted the urge to rip off my clothes and join him in the shower. I wanted badly to touch myself, but I resisted the temptation. Instead I watched. I’d never seen a man pleasure himself before, but Neil’s play held me captive. Now both hands were on his cock and he massaged it languidly, slowly stroking the swollen shaft. He moved his fingers to fondle the purple tip while his other hand kept a steady beat, and a shudder ripped through me. I wanted to be the one giving him the pleasure he was clearly experiencing. I licked my lips, desperately craving the feel of his cock in my mouth. My body cramped in a sudden spasm of lust, and I stifled the moan ready to spring free. Leaning back against the shower wall, Neil fisted his hardon, moving his hand and wrist faster and faster. His eyes were closed, mouth open, and as he climaxed, I heard him cry out my name. I was gasping myself, almost on the verge of orgasm. I’d never been so aroused before in my life without being touched. If there’d been any question about whether my attraction to Neil Van Doren was reciprocated, here was the answer. I knew I should leave and spare us both the inevitable embarrassment. But before I could do anything, Neil turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Even with his shrinking penis, he was a marvelous specimen. Also a cool and collected one, as he met my eyes in amusement while he reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He was 16

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far from the picture of an outraged man who found an ogling woman in his room. “How much of that did you see?” he asked, coming straight to the point. Trust him not to beat around the bush. So to speak. “I-I saw a lot of it. Most of it.” I realized I was stammering, and I made myself stop. He nodded for a moment, and considered me with that same look of amusement. “Have you ever watched? Before now, I mean.” His bluntness disarmed me and I just shook my head. “Did you like it?” Did I like it? My nipples were on full alert, my pussy aching and slick with my juices, my skin flushed from his actions. Did I like it? I wasn’t about to lie and I simply nodded. “I’m glad. I thought you might.” “Do you interview all potential directors this way?” I wanted to know, and he smiled. “Only potential directors who throw out unmistakable ‘come hither’ signals in my direction.” And how many of those directors had there been? “Gee, and here I thought I was being subtle.” I spoke sarcastically to cover my sudden nervousness. I wasn’t a virgin by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t in the habit of watching guys play with themselves, either. Neil stepped forward and ran his finger around my ear and across my cheek. At his touch, any small resistance I might 17

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have felt at this whole thing melted. “Red hair,” he said, musingly, twisting a strand around his finger. “Do you have the fire and passion that goes with it? The temper?” “It’s a stereotype that redheads have tempers.” “No, but I imagine the passion is there.” His words stroked my libido even further, and I squirmed at the heat racing through my body. “Since you enjoyed watching so much, maybe we can take it a step further.” Before I could respond, he took me in his arms and kissed me deeply. I’d read enough romantic crap that talked about women melting at the touch of male lips on theirs, and had always dismissed it as a bunch of hooey. But when Neil kissed me, I not only melted, my knees threatened to buckle as bolts of desire flared through me. There was a sensuality and heat in that kiss I’d never experienced before and, without volition, I wrapped my arms around his neck and returned his kiss with an ardor unfamiliar to me. I had the sudden need to be naked against him, his hands on my body, his cock moving deeply inside me until I was ready to explode. We finally broke the kiss. I was breathless and I could see from his flushed face and the wild desire in his eyes that he was under the same spell. “Well, that takes care of the question about passion,” he said huskily. “Neil.” The word came out in a moan, almost as though desire was ruling my vocal chords as well as my body. “I know,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you, Mary 18

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Ellen.” Oh, God. Even the way he said my name was sexy. His nimble fingers undid the buttons on my blouse, and before I could say a word, he’d slid the garment off my shoulders. His fingers brushed my sensitive flesh and I bit back a moan as he lay his lips in the hollow of my throat. His tongue came out to lick, to taste, and the breath left my body. “Turn around,” he said. I did as he asked and realizing we were both facing the vanity mirror. I stood before him, clad in a bra, my skirt, and stockings. “Slide the stockings and underwear off,” he whispered, and I shuddered in anticipation, doing as he asked. The silk lining of the skirt caressed my thighs, boosting my arousal. He undid the clasp on my bra and I watched as my breasts sprang free, nipples tight and hard with the chill of the room and my excitement. He reached around and cupped my breasts, running his thumbs around the taut peaks. As small shocks of sensual electricity raced to my groin, I saw my nipples grow more swollen, darker, and I shuddered in a sudden fit of excitement. “It’s something to see yourself becoming aroused, isn’t it?” His voice was slow, languorous, and I closed my eyes, leaning back into his warmth, feeling his fingers slowly stroking my flesh, circling my hardened tips until I wanted to cry out. “Open your eyes, Mel,” he whispered. “Slide your arms around my neck. I want you to watch while I pleasure you. I want you to see your face when you come.” 19

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Almost in a trance, I reached back and slid my arms around his neck, my body vulnerable to his touch. I opened my eyes, watching his hands move slowly across my breasts and stomach. His lips and tongue traveled across the soft flesh of my neck as his fingers continued their work. “So warm,” he murmured. “Like hot silk.” His hands moved to the back of my skirt. He undid the button and zipper, and I felt the skirt slither down my legs to pool on the floor at my feet. I swallowed as I studied myself naked. Small breasts with upright nipples, a soft, rounded belly, slim hips, and reddish-gold pubic hair. I couldn’t see what was going on between my legs, but I could feel it. I was dripping wet, my pussy throbbing with its need to be touched. “A natural redhead,” he said, in admiration. His hand reached around to touch the curls between my legs, and I shuddered again, closing my eyes. “No,” he whispered. “Keep them open. Look at what I’m doing to you.” With a will, I forced my eyes open and studied his fingers, which were casually playing with the soft hair, tugging at it gently. The effect was electric. I gasped and buckled against him. His erection pressed into my backside, and I heard him catch his breath. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one affected by this whole thing. But Neil held his cool and continued touching me gently and without penetration. He stroked my nether lips over and over, until I squirmed under the light caress. I desperately needed to be touched at my sexual core, craved his fingers on 20

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my creamy folds. At last I opened my legs, and he laughed. “You’re very impatient,” he said softly. His fingers slid into my slit and a shudder held my body captive as he fondled my engorged clit. “Neil.” I couldn’t help moaning his name. “Eyes open, Mel,” he responded. I did as he ordered, seeing his play between my lower lips, and feeling the effect on my body. He stroked the swollen, sensitive button, and fire raced through me. I took in my flushed face, my body starting to writhe and spasm as his fingers moved faster and faster, demanding an orgasm from me. I was gasping, squirming and crying out, feeling the push toward an exquisite release. As the climax washed over me, I saw my face in the mirror twist in ultimate pleasure. His fingers continued working, touching that scrap of tender, swollen flesh, and I climaxed again, seeing my mouth move into a scream. Finally, I collapsed against the sink, groaning. After a moment, I felt his erection poised at the entrance of my pussy. “Lean over. Look at me. In the mirror.” His voice was hoarse, and as I placed my hands on the vanity to steady myself, I opened my eyes to take in his flushed face. Without warning, he spread the cheeks of my rear end entered me. I saw my eyes widen as his hardness slid deeply inside, causing a torturous friction against my slick and swollen walls. “God, you’re tight. Tight and hot. You feel so good…” I couldn’t have responded as he continued moving against me. 21

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“Touch yourself, Mel. Do it. Touch your clit.” Lost in a sensual fog, I moved my fingers between my legs and touched my still-hard clitoris. I moaned and backed sharply against him, feeling stabs of lust flow through me. My breath came hard and fast as I continued stroking myself in tandem with his deep thrusts. His green eyes clung to mine as he moved inside me, and I was entranced by the heat, the desire in them. I couldn’t hold back and I came once again, contracting around him. As his climax slammed down on top of mine, I saw his face convulse in a pleasured agony. I fell forward on my arms, my hair obscuring my vision. Neil trembled behind me as he slid out of me and I smiled a little, glad I could crack that southern poise he’d so impressed me with. Sure. Have a man fuck you. That’s a way to help him let go of his defenses. I laughed a little, and he turned me around to face him, his face mirroring my amusement. “Did something tickle your fancy?” he wanted to know. I shook my head, still grinning. “This has got to be the alltime strangest—uh—interview I’ve been on.” He locked his hands around my waist and sat me on the edge of the vanity, then stroked the hair from my forehead, regarding me with a serious expression in his jade-green eyes. “I’ve never done this before. Conduct interviews this way, I mean,” he confessed. “Oh, so you don’t treat all your ADs this way?” 22

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He grimaced. “Most of my ADs have been gay. I wouldn’t dare. Might give them the wrong idea.” “So was the only reason you did this was because I was a woman?” “Good God. Not at all, Mel.” He looked at me in evident surprise. “The reason I staged this little seduction was because I felt some kind of connection with you. Both online and in the theater a few hours ago. Don’t lie to me and tell me you didn’t feel the same way.” My mouth dropped opened. He’d staged this deliberately? Well, of course, you idiot. Did you really think he’d just leave the door open for anyone to catch him in the shower? “I thought I was here for a job interview.” My voice sounded weak to my own ears, but I had no other snappy comeback. The fact he’d actually planned this whole thing shook me. He waved airily. “You had the job. Stephen’s recommendation was good enough for me.” I stared at him, sudden anger stirring deep inside. He stared back at me coolly, as though sensing my thoughts. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it, Mel. No one’s that good an actress.” “It’s not a matter of…of…enjoying it or not. It’s just…I’m not used to doing that…having sex…with just some stranger I’d never met before.” Even as the words dropped from my mouth, they seemed lame. Besides, where was all this anger coming from? No one had held a gun to my head to have sex with the guy. I could 23

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have walked out at any time. And that’s what was making me mad. In just a matter of hours, I’d fallen into an attraction for a sweet-talking theater director from Texas. And like some dumb bimbo, I’d acted on it. Something of what I was feeling must have played on my face. His own softened, and he reached out to me. But I wasn’t going to fall into it. Not this time. “Don’t touch me,” I snarled. Hopping off the vanity, I picked up my bra, blouse, and skirt—so much for dressing up for the interview, my clothes had been off in almost nothing flat. I stalked to the door and threatened to wrench it open. “I don’t think you want to go out like that, darling,” he told me. I heard the laughter in his voice. Stung, I realized he was right. Keeping my back to him, I slid my arms into the blouse and yanked on my skirt. I’d deal with everything else in one of the lobby bathrooms. I turned and found him leaning against the wall, green eyes sparkling in amusement, and apparently perfectly comfortable with his nakedness. For a moment, I weakened. The guy was a hell of a lover. And I had the job, didn’t I? Then I got hold of myself. “I didn’t force you to stay here,” he told me, mildly. The fact he was right only pissed me off further. “Have a good trip to…to wherever you’re going,” I told him shortly. Not a nod of acknowledgment. Just those penetrating eyes giving me the once-over. Searing me, turning my thoughts 24

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inside out. I just bet he knows how to handle prima donna actors. You could learn a lot from him, and not just in bed. But—he’d staged this entire thing! As though this was one of his productions and myself a bit actress. Donning my jacket, I left without another word. As I made my way down the hall and got on the empty elevator, I was thankful the blouse, at least, was made from thick cotton. Few would guess I was braless beneath. The problem, though, was my skirt. The silk lining swishing against my upper thighs only brought back to mind Neil’s delicate touch on that same flesh… Gritting my teeth, I went into one of the lobby bathrooms and slid into my underwear and panty hose, which had runs in both legs. It figured. Fully dressed, I left the hotel and saw the day darkening toward night. I decided to splurge on a cab. The way I was feeling right now, I really didn’t want to deal with the subway. Luck was with me, because the moment I lifted my arm, a cab immediately appeared. A nice change from New York, where everyone fought over cabs and fists and black eyes were required to actually get one. I slid in across the seat, leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. No help there. Neil Van Doren made an appearance in my imagination, stark naked, hard, pleasuring himself, his hand moving with slow enjoyment on his engorged shaft. I quickly opened my eyes and stared at the darkening streetscape as it moved by my window. 25

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You didn’t exactly fight him off. “Shut up,” I muttered to my chatty interior voice. The cabbie glanced at me in the rear view mirror. No need to read the guy’s mind. He probably wondered if he had a nut case in the car with him. I flashed him as reassuring a smile as I could, but he’d looked away by then. The ride was mercifully brief, and he let me off in front of my apartment building. Though this lakefront piece of property looked ostentatious and actually had a doorman— something that would have been unheard of on my salary in New York—the apartment itself was quite inexpensive. Another of Stephen Lemont’s contacts had come up with a sublet, a condo that someone needed a warm body in. Given I was on a year-long sabbatical from the Big Apple, I was the logical choice. I sighed as I took the elevator to the tenth floor. Time to let this weird day roll off me. Maybe have a soothing cup of tea with the requisite soothing music. And try not to think of how wonderful Neil’s hands had felt on my skin while we were making love. The guy was hot, he found you hot, and you two had a quickie. What’s so difficult about that? What was so difficult was that I wasn’t a quickie type of person. Sex had to mean something to me. The fact I jumped at the chance of sex with an almost-stranger had the power to shame me, even as it roused me. The more I tried to put it out of my mind, the more it clung there, like a stubborn, bloodsucking leech. 26

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Taking a deep breath, I slid a CD into the player, went into my bedroom to strip off my clothes and ruined panty hose, and donned a warm and fluffy robe. Maybe if I could relax, I could get my mind on other things. And off Neil Van Doren. I lay down on the sofa. I saw it was starting to rain and I focused on it and the music. Finally, my tense muscles smoothed out. My eyes closed as I drifted. The sudden, sharp ringing of the house phone jarred me out of my semi-conscious doze, and I glared at it. Fumbling for the receiver, I pressed it against my ear, and mumbled into the mouthpiece. “Hey, Mel.” It was Rick, down at the desk. “Guy here says he’s a friend of yours. Neil Van Doren.” The words made me bolt upright. Neil? Here? Now? “He’s not exactly a friend of mine —” “Oh, gee.” He sounded contrite. “He said he was a friend of yours, so I thought it would be okay. He’s on his way up.” What the hell kind of doorman was this, who let anyone in who claimed he was a friend? I could be raped and murdered in my own bed, thanks to him. Before I could lambaste the guy, I heard a knock at the door. I thanked Rick as politely as I could and barely restrained myself from slamming down the phone. I didn’t like the breathless anticipation I felt as I went to the door. Passing by a hall mirror, I made a face at myself. My hair was messy and my eyes tired. And I was in my frizzy robe. No sex appeal anywhere to be found. But then again, who cared? Stupid question. I did. 27

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I stood at the door and, taking a deep breath, yanked it open. Neil stood there, dripping wet, a chagrined look on his face. “I took the chance that you’d be listed,” he said. That was pure bullshit and we both knew it. I wasn’t listed anywhere in Chicago. As I glared at him suspiciously, he smiled a little and put his hands toward me, palms up, in a placating gesture. “Okay, Stephen gave me the information.” “Remind me to kill him tomorrow.” Despite my irritation, I couldn’t very well keep him standing in the hallway, dripping on the carpet. Yeah, you’d rather be dripping for him. Shut up, I told myself, as I waved him in. Get your frockin’ mind out of the gutter. As he passed by, my nostrils flared as I caught his scent. Clean rain, underlaid with Old Spice. Lust cramped my belly. Heaven help me. “Do you want some tea?” My voice was hoarse and I cleared my throat. Nick nodded. “Tea and a towel.” I snorted. “I think you need more than a towel. You need a whole damn wardrobe change.” He smiled at me narrowly and shrugged. “Any bright ideas?” I regarded his tall, broad frame doubtfully. No way could he fit into anything I wore. Maybe there was something my last boyfriend had left behind. Ken had been a recent mistake. 28

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But there might be one benefit from that dumb affair—his clothes. A sweatshirt and some sweatpants that might fit. “Go into my bedroom, bottom drawer,” I told him. “There should be some guy clothes there.” He raised an eyebrow at me, but I ignored the unspoken implication. He left the room without comment and I went into the kitchen to put water on to boil. As I returned to the living room, I could hear him moving around in the next room, the soft squeak of the bottom drawer as it slid out. It gave me a funny feeling, hearing him bang around inside my bedroom. All too easy to imagine the two of us on my bed, touching one another, kissing each other; all too easy to imagine him erect, hard, sliding into me… Angrily, I turned my thoughts to what the hell he was doing here, especially following my abrupt dismissal of him just hours earlier. I somehow didn’t think he’d come all this way in such filthy weather for a little nookie. He came out at last. Ken had been a little shorter and stockier than Neil, and the sweats rode up on his legs, exposing his ankles, while the sweatshirt sleeves ended up halfway to his elbow. He saw me studying him and shrugged. “At least they’re dry,” he said. “I never knew you wore lace underwear, Mel. You don’t seem the type.” I clenched my fists, outraged. Was he snooping through my underwear drawer? Then I saw the twinkle in his eye. “You’re a turd,” I snarled and he inclined his head as though he’d received a sweet compliment. “You don’t know me well, Mary Ellen, but I wouldn’t go 29

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through a lady’s underwear drawer,” he said softly. “Not without an invitation, at least.” The tea kettle whistled merrily from the kitchen, and I bit off a reply and went to get us hot drinks. I put teabags in mugs and poured boiling water over them. “Milk, lemon, or sugar?” I called out. “Nothing.” After tossing the used bags in the sink, I added sweetener to my tea, then brought the mugs into the living room, handed him one, and sat down in the chair across from him. “What the hell do you want?” I tried not to sound too surly, but didn’t think I was having a whole lot of success at it. Neil blew on his tea, took a tentative sip, then regarded me seriously. “I want to explain why I came here. To Chicago, I mean. I already knew I wanted you for the job from the start. Stephen’s recommendation was enough for me, and he had lots of great things to say about you. But there was something more from the start, Mel Something about you that called to me…” I snorted. “Please. I’m not the type who gets into all that romantic crap.” Neil sipped at his tea and shrugged. “I’m not either, Mel. I’m a pragmatist. You have to be, in theater. Especially with actresses throwing themselves at you every minute. You wouldn’t believe the propositions I get. How many actresses are willing to blow me for a shot at a role.” His face screwed up in disgust, and I couldn’t blame him. A lot of gay men were attracted to theater, meaning any 30

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straight guy who didn’t have three horns would be a logical target to lonely and horny actresses. Especially a straight guy in a position of power; and one as good-looking as Neil. “Anyway,” he continued. “I began e-mail contact with you and really enjoyed it. I liked your spirit. Your take on things. I liked how your only thoughts weren’t theater. It got to so I was looking forward to your messages. I also enjoyed the one or two times we spoke on the phone. You have a sweet voice, Mel, and it really stuck to me.” I searched my mind, trying to remember what I’d said in the e-mails or phone calls that had been so profound, and came up empty. “So when I was invited here to speak at the director’s conference I—” “You thought you’d use it as a chance to look me up,” I finished. He nodded. “Then I met you and you weren’t exactly subtle about your attraction to me.” Well, he had a point there. The minute I set eyes on him, I’d been hot for him. But more than that, I respected him for turning his back on the easy life with all of his money, and moving into the hardscrabble life of theater. I also respected that he was willing to come all that way for a glimpse of me. The fact he was good-looking and a dynamite lover didn’t hurt matters, either. But how did I feel about him? I stood up, walked to the window, and stared out at the darkness over the lake. 31

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“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly, behind me. His voice was like the caress of silk and I shuddered. “I’m thinking how impossible this all is,” I heard myself saying. “I don’t believe in love at first sight. Lust at first sight? Sure. It’s…it’s what I felt when I first saw you. But you’re trying to make it into something more, and I don’t know if anything more is there.” I turned to face him. “Neil, you seem like a nice guy. Stephen speaks very highly of you. But even with all of that, I’m not in the habit of just…just jumping into bed with someone on such short acquaintance. Then when I found out you’d set up that seduction…deliberately so I’d walk in and see you…” “A good director stirs the emotions,” he said. Well, he’d stirred my emotions, all right. A bunch of other things, too. “You’re not helping your case here,” I said. “What will help it, then?” Good question. “I don’t know anything about you,” I hedged. “Okay.” He stretched out his legs and stared at the ceiling as he continued talking. “I’m the son and former heir of the Van Doren Oil Company, Houston, Texas. I took myself out of the running for heir presumptive when I announced my intentions to go off to Northwestern University up in Evanston to study theater. My father humored me, thinking it was a phase, until I turned down his financial assistance. I made my way through college by taking odd jobs like waiting tables. I graduated. Then when I came into a trust my grandmother set 32

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up for me, I returned to Houston to set up Rain Tree Theatre.” He smiled, disarmingly. “Any more questions?” I shook my head, impressed despite myself. Many’s the time I would have killed for some kind of trust fund to support me. But the fact he gave up the Van Doren fortune to strike out on his own made me feel small and petty. “I’m really not a complicated guy, Mel,” he went on. “I watch football on Sundays—I’m a huge Houston Texans fan, by the way, that’s the pro team down there. Then I go to the theater to paint sets or direct a show or mentor some young director or actor. Now what’s your life story?” “Similar to yours,” I said, sourly. “Except I didn’t have an offer of money to attend college and I didn’t have a trust fund waiting for me when I turned twenty-one.” “You’re not as tough as you like to make yourself out to be.” He smiled, then walked forward and took me in his arms. I was stiff, unyielding against him at first, but then his warmth, and the smell of his Old Spice, damn him, hit me. Unwittingly, I relaxed against him. “That’s better,” he murmured in my hair. “I thought you were going to break for a moment, there.” “I may still.” I nuzzled my head against his chest and slid my arms around him, marveling at the rightness of this moment. I felt him sigh. “Mel, I don’t want the fact of my money coming between us—” “Us?” I looked up at him. “There is no ‘us,’ Neil. We 33

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screwed. Once. I left afterward.” “You ran out.” Stung, I pushed him away. “I don’t know if I want this job now.” Neil’s face turned cold. “If you don’t, that’s fine. There are other directors.” I let out my breath. This pissing contest wasn’t getting us anywhere and I think Neil sensed it. “What are you so afraid of, Mel?” he asked gently. I remained silent, and he continued. “Okay, I’ll go first. I’m afraid I’m going to be hurt by a woman. It’s happened to me before. It’s the money. And—if I sound too conceited, stop me—my looks. My standing in the theater community. But no woman has ever liked me for myself. Because I’m Neil Van Doren.” I shook my head, strangely moved he was spilling all of this, when he barely knew me. I’d known a lot of guys in my life, both friends and lovers. But none took the time to be this vulnerable. Better stop, otherwise you’ll find your feelings for him are more than sexual. “Your turn,” he said. Well, he asked for it… I took a deep breath and geared myself. “Neil, I think you’re a fantastic lover, at least, from what I…uh…experienced. But…I’m not like you. I simply didn’t feel that connection that you so eloquently spoke about. You’re Stephen’s friend, which says a lot. You’re sexy. But 34

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beyond that?” I shook my head, troubled. “I don’t know.” I felt my eyes fill with tears. “I’m so afraid I’m hurting you, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do.” “I’m a big boy. Besides, you haven’t said no.” No. I hadn’t. We were silent for a moment. I snuffled back the tears, relieved he didn’t take me in his arms to try to comfort me. I was getting too emotional over this whole thing and I didn’t know why. “What now?” I asked, when I had myself under some kind of control. “Take the job.” His voice was gentle urgency, his jadegreen eyes sympathetic, yet determined. “Take the job, Mel. If you want a hands-off policy, if you don’t want me anywhere near you outside of rehearsals, fine. But, let’s get to know each other over something more than e-mails and phone calls. Let’s work together on Fantastiks. There’s nothing like a production to bring folks closer together.” Or to tear them apart, I thought somberly. Before I could open my mouth to protest, he held his hands out. Compelled by his eyes, I slipped mine into them. We were only linked by our clasped hands. But the heat was there, drawing me to him like a magnet. “No pressure on that, though. You can make that other decision later,” he whispered. “There’s only one decision we need to make tonight.” “What’s that?” My voice was unsteady. “Where we’re going to make love.” 35

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Not “if.” Not “when.” But “where.” I closed my eyes. The feel of him, the smell of him, enveloped me, and I found myself falling into its velvet sensuality. Eyes still closed, I felt his hands on my face, his lips playing over my forehead, eyelids, and cheeks. His mouth claimed mine, his lips moving sensuously, his tongue dipping into my mouth and running over my lips. His hands caressed my back, and his touch burned through the thick material of my robe. A moan caught in the back of my throat and I opened my eyes and broke the kiss. “Bedroom,” I said breathlessly, in answer to his earlier question. He said nothing, just put his arm around my waist, and together we made our way into the bedroom. The room was mostly in shadows, lit only by lights filtering in from the living room. We faced one another, his body a silhouette. But I could feel the desire, the need, coming off him in waves. He slowly untied the front of my robe, and removed it, his hands following the movement of the material as it slid down my body and onto the floor. He took me in his arms again and buried his head in my hair. I shivered, his fully clothed body against my naked flesh an almost sensual torture. Neil broke the embrace and, taking my hand, led me to the bed. As I lay down and watched him getting undressed, I remembered I hadn’t put fresh sheets on the bed in a week. What on earth would he think? What a stupid thing to be thinking at a time like this… It was all pushed out of my head as lay down and held me 36

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close, his arms tight around me. His actions suggested there was no rush to this night; that we could take as much time as we both needed to feel good, to make each other feel good. I relaxed in his arms as he gently stroked my hair. His motions were slow, almost languid. Only the hard-on pressed against my thigh suggested his urgent desire. But he caressed me as if his actions and penis were disconnected from one another. After awhile, Neil captured my lips with his, kissing me in the same, almost lazy fashion in which he touched me. His tongue dipped gently into my mouth, then retreated once again, almost shyly. He simply held me, lips moving with a soft, yet thorough insistence on mine. But the gentle kisses only served to stoke my desire, my need for release. As he continued the almost torturous mouth play, I pressed against him, whimpering. My body was on fire, the throbbing between my legs almost unbearable. His response was to break the kiss and move his lips and tongue over my neck and chest in that same maddeningly slow, maddeningly gentle fashion. He slowly kissed and licked the sensitive area between my breasts. Though his fingers moved up to stroke me, he ignored my nipples, which ached for his touch. Instead, Neil ran his fingers around the engorged, sensitive buds, tantalizing me. I squirmed, wanting to move his hands to where my body needed them. “Patience,” he whispered. “Not yet. I want you hungering for it. Wanting it so badly you can’t stand it.” “Oh, God. I’m there now,” I gasped, and I could sense his 37

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smile in the darkness. “Not yet you’re not, lover.” “Neil—” I began, but he cut me off, pressing his mouth to mine almost violently. In contrast to his careful touch from before, his fingers found my nipples at last and pinched them almost roughly. I moaned, reveling in the combined painpleasure of his actions. His hands still holding my breasts captive, his lips and tongue traveled across my stomach and belly, lingering on my pubis. I arched my back, wanting him to move lower and deeper, to the very core that craved his touch. But he blew on my soaking nether regions instead, and his hot breath on my swollen folds caused me to cry out as spasms of excitement held my entire body captive. Sobbing, I pleaded with him to put an end to this sensual torment, to grant me the release I so badly needed. His response was to continue caressing my slick folds with his warm breath and nothing more. Finally, unable to bear much more, I pushed him away and began stroking myself. I was dripping wet, my clit swollen. As I continued circling that mass of sensitive nerves almost frantically, I felt his eyes studying me. “Work it, baby,” he said. I was aware of the huskiness of his voice, aware that his watching me was arousing him almost to the breaking point. “Put them inside you. Fuck yourself.” I did as he asked, moaning as I slid my fingers into my slick and waiting pussy. I found the ridged flesh deep inside 38

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and, pressing it, moaned as lust-filled shock shot throughout my body. I rose toward what I realized would be a loud and violent orgasm. Heat engulfed me and I screamed as my fingers continued their almost rough movement inside me. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was as if arousal by Neil’s hands, lips, and tongue, combined with his watching me make love to myself, conspired to keep me in a perpetual orgasmic state. Finally, I withdrew, shivering, near the point of collapse. Neil took my hand, and slowly licked each finger. “You taste good,” he murmured. “Your juices. Next time I want them from the source itself. But keep your legs open.” He positioned himself between my legs and entered me. I shuddered as his cock slid through my swollen walls, creating a welcome, heated friction. As he thrust with a deep, even rhythm, he spoke almost angrily. “Do you know how hot you looked just now?” he wanted to know. “God, I almost came, just watching you.” My orgasm had depleted me, but I deliberately contracted around him as he moved faster, taking pleasure in his groans. I matched my hips to his almost frantic rhythm, his face above me, eyes glazed with desire. His release was sudden and violent and in the aftermath he lay still, shuddering. At length, he slid out of me, then took me in his arms. “Well,” I said. “That was nice.” He propped himself on his elbow and ran his hand through my hair. 39

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“You, my dear Mel, are the master of understatement.” “I’m sorry I rushed to make myself come. I was going so crazy with what you were doing—” “Shh.” He leaned forward to kiss me gently. “No apologize necessary, sweetheart. You went with the flow, and that was just great. I liked to watch you doing yourself. Or couldn’t you tell?” “Well, now that you mention it—” With a mock growl, he rolled over on his back, pulling me with him. I studied him, propping my elbows on his chest, and resting my face in my hands. “This is the first time I’ve done this, you know,” I said, almost chattily. “Really?” His hands traced patterns on my back, making me shiver. “You seemed like you knew what you were doing.” I glared at him in mock exasperation. “I meant hopping into bed with someone on such short notice. Usually I like dinner first before I put out. At least a hamburger or something.” “You deserve filet mignon,” he said seriously. “This is the first time I’ve done this, too. Making love with someone after just meeting her. Despite all those actresses who offer me blow jobs.” “So you don’t put out until someone buys you dinner?” He shook his head, clearly annoyed at my teasing. “I don’t put out at all, Mel. If I do nothing else, I’m going to get it out of your head that this is a one-night stand.” I rolled off him and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to 40

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make this into something more than what it was. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to move that far, to get involved. He took my hand in his and held it gently. “This isn’t a joke,” he said. “Please stop trying to make it one.” “Force of habit. If I’m in an uncomfortable situation, I resort to humor. It doesn’t always work. I guess it isn’t now.” He kissed my hand and dropped it. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You didn’t have to, I wanted to say. I’m doing a good enough job without any help. With a sigh, Neil pulled me over to him. I buried my head in his chest, taking in his scent, his warmth. It was true that I’d only known the man for a few hours. But the sense of rightness in his arms was there. And for no good reason, it frightened me. “As I said, nothing needs to be decided tonight,” he said, almost as though he read my mind. “Just the where,” I said, smiling slightly, shaking off the fear. “And I think we already answered that one.” “Even better, we have the whole night,” he said. “What about your things? At your hotel? Aren’t you supposed to leave tomorrow?” He treated me to a sheepish smile. “I…uh…checked out before I got here. My bag is downstairs with the doorman.” I bolted up and stared at him in outrage. Had he been so certain of my capitulation, then? I wanted to say something cutting, angry, but burst out laughing instead. I couldn’t help 41

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it. He’d gone to such lengths to prove he wanted me, I just couldn’t stay mad at him. The relief washing over Neil’s face made me laugh even harder. “You must have been pretty sure of me,” I finally said, wiping the tears from my eyes. He pulled me back to his side, and I snuggled gratefully against his warmth. “I wasn’t sure of anything,” he confessed. “If you’d kicked me out, I just would have gone to the airport and found a hotel there.” “Well, I don’t know what the future holds for either one of us, but kicking you out doesn’t have any appeal. You staged this very well, Neil Van Doren.” He nuzzled my neck and I trembled, feeling arousal build in the pit of my stomach. “That’s the trait of a good director, sweetheart. Great staging.” “I hope staying quiet is another trait of a good director,” I murmured, locking my arms around his neck. “Because I’m tired of words. I want some action.” “A good director knows how to give direction—and to take it.” I felt his laughter as his lips took mine. *

*

*

I awoke next morning, yawned, and stretched. The clock read 9:00 A.M. Turning on my side, I felt a nasty jolt shoot through me. 42

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Man in my bed. Sound asleep. Then I remembered. Remembered the whole, sweet, hot, wild coming together. And sighed. Not only was I not into one-night stands, I wasn’t into long-distance relationships. But this looked like it would become just that. Moving on to more practical considerations, Neil said I had the job, if I wanted it. Would it really be so horrible to go to Houston to direct his production? It would look good on my resume, of course. And it would also give me more of a chance to know Neil, the man. In all honesty, the idea of spending a fair amount of time in his company intrigued me. I sat up, wrapped my arms around my bent legs, and studied him while he slept. His dirty blond hair was tousled and there was a light stubble on his face. I fought the urge to touch that stubble, and the flesh beneath. Even as I did so, I marveled at the lengths to which he had gone just to get me into bed. Problem was, I didn’t know if this was common for him. I didn’t know if he had a history of charming women in the same way, or if his almost hokey rhetoric from the night before was genuine. Hokey, yeah. But you love every sappy, romantic part of it. The sex hadn’t been too bad, either, I told that inner voice. The voice was silent, but I detected a smugness behind it that made me smile. A moment later, Neil opened his eyes. He blinked the sleep from his face, them smiled and reached out, pulling me by his side. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he murmured and I shivered. I 43

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couldn’t help it. That voice, with its gentle southern cadences, would probably continue haunting me for the rest of my life even if I never saw the man again. “Good morning.” I buried my nose in his chest, enjoying the mingled remnants of Old Spice remnants and the lingering scent of our lovemaking. I felt him shift, heard him sigh. “I have to get ready to go,” he said, regret plain in his voice. “My plane takes off early this afternoon, and with security and everything…” Neil trailed off and I clung to him suddenly, not wanting to think of him gone. I couldn’t have explained the sudden emotion, but I heard him chuckle. “Why, Mel, I do believe I’ve gotten to you after all,” he said. “Don’t be an ass.” I pulled away and sat up, glaring at him. “I already told you I don’t go into these things lightly. But if I take this job and come to you in Houston in a few weeks, what then? Will I have been replaced?” The shock on his face was genuine. “I don’t know who you’ve been hanging around with, Mel, but where I come from, we don’t treat ladies like that. Even one-night stands. And you’re more than that, trust me.” “Ugh. Two of the worst words in the English language. ‘Trust me.’” “But I mean them.” He reached up to stroke my hair back from my face. “I don’t give speeches like I gave last night to just anyone. You got to me, Mary Ellen Cartwright. One reason I want you down in Houston is because of that. But if 44

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you sucked as a director, I wouldn’t have invited you down to direct the play.” “You don’t know what I’m like as a director,” I said crossly. I hadn’t meant to be so short with him, but the reality of his departure was sinking in, and I didn’t like what it was doing to me. “I told you before. I trust Stephen.” That’s what it came down to. Trust in a man we both liked and respected. I’d trusted Stephen, too. Trusted the man with my career and he hadn’t steered me wrong. “Okay,” I said. “Okay what?” “Okay, I’ll take the job. Okay, I’ll come be your—your love toy, or whatever.” He smiled and, leaning forward, put his forehead against mine. “Love toy? I don’t think so. But definitely lover, if you want. Even partner.” “One thing at a time, cowboy. Now you’d better go into that shower before I find other uses for that body of yours.” “Don’t tempt me. I have a plane to catch, remember.” Remember? How could I forget? He must have seen something in my face, because he reached out and cupped my cheek with a gentleness that almost made me cry. “You’ll be down sooner than you think,” he murmured. “Now I’d better go deal with that shower. I somehow don’t think my seatmates on the plane would appreciate the smell of sex on me. Could you call down for my suitcase?” 45

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He smiled at me again and went into my bathroom. A few moments later, the sound of the shower came through the door. I called downstairs and asked if one of the doormen could bring up Neil’s bag. It arrived a few moments later, and I put on my robe to fetch it. The bag wasn’t heavy, so I sat it by the door of the bathroom, then went into the kitchen and made coffee. As I scooped the coffee into the basket, I reflected on everything that had happened during the past twenty-four hours. Neil Van Doren was a conundrum. I already liked him from my e-mail conversations with him. There was the added attraction on both sides. But he was in Houston and likely to stay there, while I was a die-hard New Yorker. Though I didn’t mind an occasional foray into areas west of the Hudson, my eventual goal was to return to New York, my roots, and make my living as a stage manager/director. Maybe run my own little theater company if I could. But that would take money. Gee, maybe Neil could bankroll you, I thought snidely, then snorted at the thought. I was a lot of things, but I made a rotten golddigger. I was still musing about the whole situation when Neil came out of the bedroom, freshly dressed, towel-drying his hair. He saw the coffee perking and his face brightened. “A woman after my own heart,” he said lightly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I got a mug and poured him a cup. 46

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“Neil, I still don’t know about this.” He leaned against the counter next to me and sipped at his coffee, a thoughtful look on his face. “I know it’s scary for you—” he began. “Scary doesn’t begin to cover it,” I told him. “I feel like a fish out of water when I’m not in Manhattan. Chicago’s a great city and I’m learning a lot from Stephen, but I miss home. I can’t even begin to think of what Houston might be like.” Neil remained still for a long moment, deep in thought. His dimples flashed, and I went all gooey inside yet again. Really, this whole thing had to stop. “Coming to Houston isn’t a life sentence,” he said in his soft drawl. “It’s eight weeks, Mel. Two to get acclimated. Six to work on the show.” And to share his bed. “Where do I stay?” I wanted to know. The flash of dimples again. “Wherever you’re comfortable.” “Okay.” I suddenly decided I was tired of this dumb reluctance on my part. I had a directing job dropped in my lap. Not to mention a hot lover who was doing a great job of worshiping the ground I walked on. Though I didn’t know if I could ever return the favor, I did know it would be stupid to turn both down right now. Others would give their eye teeth, both arms and other body parts just to be in my position. “I’ll stop whining. Just a little case of…of…” “Buyer’s remorse?” 47

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“No. No remorse at all.” I said firmly. “We’ll see how Manhattan adapts to Houston,” he said. “I’m going to predict you’re worrying for nothing.” I glanced at the clock. “Now I’d better see to the shower. I hope you left some hot water.” He looked at me in mock hurt, and put his hand over his heart. “I may take a lot of things, but hot water is not one of them.” “Well, I’ll just go see about that. Call downstairs and get us a cab, would you? I’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.” Neil regarded me doubtfully. “Honey, no woman I know is ever ready in twenty minutes.” I winked at him. “Maybe not your Texas women, lover. But us Manhattanites set the world record for speed.” Before he could respond, I was out of the living room and into my bedroom, then out of my clothes and into the shower. As I thoroughly soaped myself, I recalled that this whole chain of events had started with a shower. Sensual shock ripped through me as I remembered Neil’s hand on his hardened cock as the water sluiced down his body. I wanted so badly to return the favor, to touch myself, to play, to stroke my breasts with their taut nipples, to grow hot and wet while he watched me hungrily through the shower doors… I fought the lust burning through my veins. There was simply no time to indulge in any of it. Grimly, I rinsed off, then turned the water to “cold,” trying to dampen desire. After a few moments, I shut the water off, then leaned my forehead against the cool tile, realizing, not for the first time since 48

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yesterday, how badly I had it for Neil Van Doren. It was amazing that the cool and practical Mary Ellen Cartwright could succumb to the charms of this man. I told myself as I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off that he’d succumbed, too. That’s why he was here. And, my directing skills aside, it was why he’d invited me to Houston. I pulled out my clothes, regarding the lace underwear in my lingerie drawer for a long moment. It was tempting, but I’d leave it for when we both had more time to do something about it. Sweater and jeans over practical, cotton underwear and shoes and socks on my feet, I came into the living room. Neil looked up at me, grinned, then glanced at his watch. “Well, Manhattan, you did make me eat my words,” he told me. I went to him and put my arms around him. “Next time I’ll let you eat other things,” I whispered in his ear. I felt him shudder at my words, and smiled to myself. He slid his hands beneath my sweater, touching the naked flesh of my back, and I pressed against him, roused once again. Then the house phone rang. The cab was downstairs. I stepped away from him, seeing the same regret in his eyes that I was feeling. “I’ll take you up on that. And next time, I’ll feast,” he said softly. “Slowly, Mel. Tasting everything. Licking everything. You won’t get off quite so easily.” Well, that remained to be seen, I thought. Despite my flippant thoughts, my body cramped in desire at his tone and his words, and the images they put in my mind. 49

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The house phone rang again, breaking the moment. “We’d better get downstairs,” I said, huskily. In response, he reached out, took my hand, and put it between his legs. My knees almost buckled at the hard bulge behind his jeans, and it took all my effort not to kneel before him, to open the snap on his jeans and Y-fronts, and take his rigid, pulsating flesh in my mouth… “Remember this,” he whispered. “Remember how hard I am for you. The next time you touch yourself, the next time you play with yourself, remember how we fucked. When you come, come loudly. Pretend it’s me pleasuring you.” I was breathing hard, almost gasping, my body a trembling brew of lust and need at his words and actions. He dropped my hand drew me toward him. Skillfully unsnapping my jeans, he slid his warm hand into the waistband of my panties. His skilled fingers found their way to my crotch, then slid between my nether lips. He touched the slick, engorged flesh of my sex, moving gently over it, circling it almost tauntingly, while I clung to him, helpless in the thrall of hot, silver excitement he roused in me. I squirmed against him and he pressed harder, wrenching a moan from me as the throbbing in my lower belly engulfed me. I cried out and pressed against him, a slave to my climax, rising on a tide of incredible sensation. He released me as the phone rang again. “Timing is also important for a director,” he said lightly. But his flushed face and wild look in his eyes belayed his careless attitude. 50

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“We’d better get going,” I said, glad my voice wasn’t trembling. “I’ll ride with you to the airport.” He winked at me, his dimples showing, then picked up his bag. I followed, locking the door behind me. He’d called for the elevator, and it was there when I arrived. We were silent on the way down, but his eyes held mine in amusement. I shook my head, still held captive by what had just happened. We nodded to the door man—not the same dork who’d been on duty last night, but someone else—and Neil handed him a bill. The man tipped his cap and I suppressed a grin. We went outside into the gray late morning. The cabbie hadn’t gotten out of the cab—typical behavior, it seemed, for cab drivers, whether in Manhattan or Chicago. Neil opened the door, and I slid in. He followed, shutting the door. “O’Hare,” I told the driver. “What airline?” he wanted to know. “United,” Neil said. The driver nodded, set the meter and put the cab into gear. We were silent for a moment. “Your smell is on my fingers,” he whispered. I didn’t respond, but put my hand between his legs. I felt his surprise; more importantly, I felt his arousal. He was harder than in the apartment. Smiling to myself, I massaged him through his jeans and heard his sharp intake of breath. “Remember this, when you play with yourself next time,” I said softly in his ear. Before he could respond, I undid his pants and, sliding my hand into his underwear opening, took 51

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his rigid cock. I felt him trembling as I caressed him slowly, moving my hand up and down his hot, thick length. The driver in the front seat was unaware of what we were doing. Or if he knew what was happening, he had the good sense not to let on. I rubbed my thumb over Neil’s swollen tip, feeling the moistness of pre-cum as I did so. His lip was caught in his lower teeth as he clearly struggled not to cry out. I continued my thumb massage, feeling him pulse against my palm. This was clearly torture for him, as I continued touching him. The fact I was doing it when a stranger was almost on top of us clearly roused him further. Neil suddenly jerked, and I felt warm cum flow over my hand. I gave him a final squeeze, then released him. He tucked himself back in, then zipped up, staring at me in wonder. “Now your smell is on my fingers, too,” I whispered to him. “That’s great. We have something in common.” His voice was unsteady, but he smiled at me. “I enjoyed that,” he continued, his voice low. “That’s good to know,” I responded. The remainder of the ride was silent, though we held hands. With Neil’s departure imminent, I found my stomach growing knots. Only a month to go, Mary Ellen. After Esmerelda closes, you can go down there and see which way the wind lies. But the thought was scant comfort. We arrived at the airport, and Neil told the cab driver to wait, slipping him a bill. I wasn’t sure whose face was on the 52

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money, but the cabbie sat up straighter and eyed Neil with respect and gratitude. Money talked, that was for sure. We walked slowly into the terminal, arms around each other. Uncaring of the other people around him, Neil took me in his arms and kissed me deeply. I responded almost frantically, clinging to him, suddenly not wanting to say goodbye. “This is harder than I thought,” I told him. He gripped my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Come with me.” The intensity, the need, in his voice reached to me, and for a moment, I was tempted to do as he suggested. Neil hadn’t been kidding when he’d told me he was smitten. I was fast headed in that direction myself. It wouldn’t take much for me to go to the ticket counter and buy a ticket to Houston. Openended on the return. I could send for my stuff. Then I shook my head. “I can’t.” He shook me a little. “You can, you know.” I took a deep breath and fought for control and practicality. Reluctantly, I stepped out of his arms. “No. I have too many commitments here right now. Esmerelda, for one.” “You’re right. I’d forgotten.” “Yeah? Well I hadn’t.” I grinned up at him. “I’ll be in Houston as soon as I can wrap things up.” “I’ll hold you to that.” He lightly grasped my shoulders and kissed me again. Then he released me and, with a determined look on his face, picked up his bag and passed 53

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through security. On the other side, he turned, flashed me a crooked grin, and blew me a kiss. I blew one back, fighting the sudden tears at the back of my throat. I’d spent one memorable night with him; a night of revelations mixed in with hot, passionate sex. A potent brew. Sighing, I turned my back and made my way outside. I realized, to my rueful amusement, that the month between now and when I set foot in Houston was going to seem like a long, long time.

54

ERICA D EQUAYA

For more than twenty years, Erica DeQuaya has padded her bank account as a freelance journalist, copywriter and scriptwriter (with two produced plays under her belt). During the past year, she’s turned her considerable talents and abilities to her first love-writing romances. She is also the author of Backstage Affair, Double Mitzvah, Mixed Media (winner of the Road to Romance’s critic’s award) and Power Play (a Road to Romance “Recommended Read”). Erica lives in Texas with her husband/soul mate of more than seventeen years, her son and a neurotic dog. *

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Don’t miss Backstage Affair, by Erica DeQuaya, available at AmberHeat.com!

When playwright Genera McCanton first sets eyes on golden boy photographer’s model Edward Aldin, it’s lust at first sight. Problem is, while she’s got it bad for him physically, she can’t stand him. She hates his condescension and snide remarks. Most of all, she hates that he snagged the lead role in her first off-Broadway play through his sister, the play’s primary financial backer.

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