The VIP Doubles Down
Page 35
She liked that and she didn’t. Had he made love to her because he was grateful? “Maybe you were just ready.”
“You don’t want to be my new muse?” He shifted as though her words bothered him.
“I’ve heard it doesn’t pay well.”
He didn’t laugh as she’d hoped. “We’ll talk about that later.” He ran his hand down her back in a slow, sensual stroke that lit up her nerve endings. “Right now, a better idea has appeared in my brain.”
Chapter 12
Gavin came awake with the feeling of being watched. He checked Allie’s breathing as she nestled against his side, hearing the slow, even cadence of sleep. Then he saw the cat sitting on Allie’s pillow, staring at him in the half-light of the Manhattan night. Allie had let Pie into the bedroom after they’d made love for the second time, when the creature had begun to yowl.
The cat blinked. Gavin’s father had never allowed pets in the house, and Gavin had learned not to ask. However, when he was about nine, Gavin had made friends with the cats that lived in the parking lot of his father’s store. They were permitted to stay solely to keep down the rodent population and had short, hard lives. When his father caught him feeding them the meat from his sandwich, he was punished. The cats needed to be hungry to encourage their hunting. Gavin had fed them anyway.
Then one of the female cats gave birth to kittens that looked like little furry jelly beans. His father gathered them up in a burlap bag to drown them.
The remembered pain smashed through him again. He had begged for the kittens’ lives. His father had shaken Gavin’s hold off his arm, telling him the kittens would just starve, and then hurled the bag into the frigid water of the river.
Gavin had avoided the cats after that.
Pie blinked again and then curled herself into a ball on the pillow with some of Allie’s hair underneath her.
Gavin let his gaze travel around the room. Despite the drawn curtains, it was impossible to entirely shut out the city lights or the noise of sirens, growling delivery trucks, and taxi horns. The noise level was much different at his mansion, where his bedroom was in the back of the house, its thick walls stuffed with insulation.
Allie’s place reminded him of his younger self, when he’d paid the bills by proofreading for a law firm and then stayed up far into the night, writing. Words had poured from his fingers onto the computer screen in a spate of white-hot creativity. He would write a scene three different ways, just for the fun of it. Of course, he’d had no deadlines, and no editor’s voice whispering in his ear that the reader needed it from a certain character’s point of view.
He’d papered the inside of the kitchen cabinet doors with printouts of all his rejection e-mails, the defiant gesture a way to stave off his fears that his father might be right.
Then the phone call had come from Jane. She’d read his Julian Best novel and saw potential. Was he willing to do significant revisions?
He’d hung up the phone and danced a mad jig in front of his desk before he sat down and started rewriting. Jane had been astounded when he e-mailed her the edited manuscript two days later. She’d expected it to take two weeks.
The afternoon Jane called to tell him they had an offer from a publisher, he’d opened a new credit card—the others were all maxed out—so he could treat his roommates to a celebratory dinner.
And then he’d moved, his apartments getting steadily larger and less cockroach infested with each book sale. When the movie franchise hit big, he’d bought the house in Southampton and then the mansion in Manhattan.
He looked around Allie’s room again, noting the framed posters from the West Virginia tourism department, the plaid curtain hung across the closet in place of a door, and the chunky oak dresser that looked as though it might have belonged to someone’s grandmother. The high-tech treadmill stuck out in the cozy room, and he began to wonder about it. As he scanned with more focus, he noticed a pull-up bar screwed into the doorjamb.
Allie wasn’t really built for pull-ups, no matter how strong her massaging muscles were. A queasy feeling hit him in the gut. A man had lived here long enough to install his exercise equipment.
He wanted to leap out of the bed and rip aside the closet curtain to check for men’s clothing.
His muscles must have tensed, because Allie stirred. “You awake?” she murmured, her voice sleep slurred.
“I don’t think Pie approves of me.”
Allie chuckled and slipped her hair from underneath the cat. “You’re on her pillow.”
“Hence the glare that woke me.” He felt desire stirring in his groin as Allie’s soft breasts moved against his chest. He traced down the line of her back and relished her shudder in response. But he didn’t want to push her too hard. “Do you use that treadmill a lot?”
Now he sensed tension in her muscles. “Only when the weather’s bad.”
“How about the pull-up bar? Is that a physical therapist thing?”
“That’s left over from a previous roommate,” she said, her voice tight.
So she wasn’t going to talk about the man. Gavin knew so little about this woman in his arms. It shocked him that he felt so comfortable with her.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, throwing the covers aside.
“Do you have any beer?” That might tell him how recently the roommate had left.
“I have some really lousy white wine.” She padded to the closet and pulled out a large T-shirt, which she dropped over her head, ruining his view of her body. “Oh, wait. Do you like scotch? I have an excellent single malt.”
He preferred bourbon, but the delight in her voice was too good to rain on. “That would hit the spot.” He swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his trousers to follow her through the living room.
The cat dodged between his ankles as he walked through the kitchen door.
“No, Pie, I’m not feeding you,” Allie said, opening a cabinet and rising on her tiptoes to reach for a bottle on the top shelf.
For a moment, Gavin let his gaze roam over her body at full stretch, the rose-colored cotton fabric outlining her graceful curves, both front and back. Then he remembered to pretend to be a gentleman.
“Let me get it,” he said, coming up behind her and plucking the bottle of scotch from its high perch. The fact that her nicely rounded bottom pressed against his semihard cock was a bonus. He held the contact as long as he could before she slipped away to get two tumblers.
“You don’t want to be my new muse?” He shifted as though her words bothered him.
“I’ve heard it doesn’t pay well.”
He didn’t laugh as she’d hoped. “We’ll talk about that later.” He ran his hand down her back in a slow, sensual stroke that lit up her nerve endings. “Right now, a better idea has appeared in my brain.”
Chapter 12
Gavin came awake with the feeling of being watched. He checked Allie’s breathing as she nestled against his side, hearing the slow, even cadence of sleep. Then he saw the cat sitting on Allie’s pillow, staring at him in the half-light of the Manhattan night. Allie had let Pie into the bedroom after they’d made love for the second time, when the creature had begun to yowl.
The cat blinked. Gavin’s father had never allowed pets in the house, and Gavin had learned not to ask. However, when he was about nine, Gavin had made friends with the cats that lived in the parking lot of his father’s store. They were permitted to stay solely to keep down the rodent population and had short, hard lives. When his father caught him feeding them the meat from his sandwich, he was punished. The cats needed to be hungry to encourage their hunting. Gavin had fed them anyway.
Then one of the female cats gave birth to kittens that looked like little furry jelly beans. His father gathered them up in a burlap bag to drown them.
The remembered pain smashed through him again. He had begged for the kittens’ lives. His father had shaken Gavin’s hold off his arm, telling him the kittens would just starve, and then hurled the bag into the frigid water of the river.
Gavin had avoided the cats after that.
Pie blinked again and then curled herself into a ball on the pillow with some of Allie’s hair underneath her.
Gavin let his gaze travel around the room. Despite the drawn curtains, it was impossible to entirely shut out the city lights or the noise of sirens, growling delivery trucks, and taxi horns. The noise level was much different at his mansion, where his bedroom was in the back of the house, its thick walls stuffed with insulation.
Allie’s place reminded him of his younger self, when he’d paid the bills by proofreading for a law firm and then stayed up far into the night, writing. Words had poured from his fingers onto the computer screen in a spate of white-hot creativity. He would write a scene three different ways, just for the fun of it. Of course, he’d had no deadlines, and no editor’s voice whispering in his ear that the reader needed it from a certain character’s point of view.
He’d papered the inside of the kitchen cabinet doors with printouts of all his rejection e-mails, the defiant gesture a way to stave off his fears that his father might be right.
Then the phone call had come from Jane. She’d read his Julian Best novel and saw potential. Was he willing to do significant revisions?
He’d hung up the phone and danced a mad jig in front of his desk before he sat down and started rewriting. Jane had been astounded when he e-mailed her the edited manuscript two days later. She’d expected it to take two weeks.
The afternoon Jane called to tell him they had an offer from a publisher, he’d opened a new credit card—the others were all maxed out—so he could treat his roommates to a celebratory dinner.
And then he’d moved, his apartments getting steadily larger and less cockroach infested with each book sale. When the movie franchise hit big, he’d bought the house in Southampton and then the mansion in Manhattan.
He looked around Allie’s room again, noting the framed posters from the West Virginia tourism department, the plaid curtain hung across the closet in place of a door, and the chunky oak dresser that looked as though it might have belonged to someone’s grandmother. The high-tech treadmill stuck out in the cozy room, and he began to wonder about it. As he scanned with more focus, he noticed a pull-up bar screwed into the doorjamb.
Allie wasn’t really built for pull-ups, no matter how strong her massaging muscles were. A queasy feeling hit him in the gut. A man had lived here long enough to install his exercise equipment.
He wanted to leap out of the bed and rip aside the closet curtain to check for men’s clothing.
His muscles must have tensed, because Allie stirred. “You awake?” she murmured, her voice sleep slurred.
“I don’t think Pie approves of me.”
Allie chuckled and slipped her hair from underneath the cat. “You’re on her pillow.”
“Hence the glare that woke me.” He felt desire stirring in his groin as Allie’s soft breasts moved against his chest. He traced down the line of her back and relished her shudder in response. But he didn’t want to push her too hard. “Do you use that treadmill a lot?”
Now he sensed tension in her muscles. “Only when the weather’s bad.”
“How about the pull-up bar? Is that a physical therapist thing?”
“That’s left over from a previous roommate,” she said, her voice tight.
So she wasn’t going to talk about the man. Gavin knew so little about this woman in his arms. It shocked him that he felt so comfortable with her.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, throwing the covers aside.
“Do you have any beer?” That might tell him how recently the roommate had left.
“I have some really lousy white wine.” She padded to the closet and pulled out a large T-shirt, which she dropped over her head, ruining his view of her body. “Oh, wait. Do you like scotch? I have an excellent single malt.”
He preferred bourbon, but the delight in her voice was too good to rain on. “That would hit the spot.” He swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his trousers to follow her through the living room.
The cat dodged between his ankles as he walked through the kitchen door.
“No, Pie, I’m not feeding you,” Allie said, opening a cabinet and rising on her tiptoes to reach for a bottle on the top shelf.
For a moment, Gavin let his gaze roam over her body at full stretch, the rose-colored cotton fabric outlining her graceful curves, both front and back. Then he remembered to pretend to be a gentleman.
“Let me get it,” he said, coming up behind her and plucking the bottle of scotch from its high perch. The fact that her nicely rounded bottom pressed against his semihard cock was a bonus. He held the contact as long as he could before she slipped away to get two tumblers.
