A Burning Obsession Page 6

  No way was she answering his question—not even to herself. “Are you deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable?”

  “I’m trying to make you aware that you want me.”

  “I didn’t exactly protest when you kissed me. I’m not shaking. I’m not scared of you.”

  “Of course, you aren’t. You’re afraid of yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Of your reaction to me. You want me. You want to research those erotic scenes with me, but you won’t admit it.”

  “Really.” She wished she could have put more conviction into her statement, but the man had her so flabbergasted that she didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever challenged her the way Jason did. But then she’d never given anyone else the chance.

  “Your eyes give you away. Those exotic, tilted green eyes that say sweep me off my feet.”

  “Yeah, right.” She tried to sound angry but couldn’t inject enough heat into her voice, not with the way his tone had massaged her into a slow burn of desire.

  “You can’t stop watching my mouth.” He spoke softly, enthusiastically, convincingly. “Your pulse is faster than normal. Your eyes are dilated.”

  Her heart beat a melody against her ribs. “I think that’s enough.”

  “Your nipples are all excited to see me, darling.” He edged closer.

  She retreated a step until her bottom backed into a wall. “I’m nobody’s darling, and I didn’t need to hear that.”

  “You didn’t want to hear that. Are you the kind of woman that ignores the simmering tension building in her?”

  How did the smooth operator know what she was feeling? He couldn’t see her churning emotions. Nor could he know of the damp heat between her thighs. “I don’t do one-night stands.”

  “Oh, darling. I intend to share much more than one night with you. In fact, the screenplay calls for several love scenes, doesn’t it?”

  While she’d written the screenplay, she’d hadn’t yet decided how to add the love scenes. “I haven’t agreed to—”

  “But you want to.”

  “Would you please stop telling me what I want.”

  “Okay.”

  He had to be the most frustrating man she’d ever met. How could she argue with him when he’d just agreed with her? How could she push him away when every word he’d spoken was true? She wanted to drag him up to her bed, rip off his clothes and make mad passionate love. Not because Maggie had challenged her to check out the love scenes she wrote. Not because making love would further her career. But because she was in lust. She’d never in her life wanted to act so irresponsibly. And she had no idea why she did now.

  She’d never been so close to throwing away every hesitation and belief she’d held, turning off her brain and just indulging in mind-blowing sex. If Maggie were here right now, her friend would tell her to go for him. To just do it.

  4

  “GOOD NIGHT.” Kimberly retreated up the steps before she changed her mind about inviting Jason to join her.

  Coward!

  No, sensible, Kimberly argued with herself.

  Kimberly wasn’t Maggie. She didn’t have her friend’s courage. And besides, when Maggie had finally made her move on her boss, literally masquerading as a movie star and seducing the man, she’d known Quinn for years. Whereas, Kimberly had just met Jason today.

  She needed time to think, and she couldn’t hop into bed with a stranger just because she felt like it—and still respect herself or her decision.

  Which didn’t mean she had to suffer. Kimberly was a big girl. And in the new millennium, no single woman required a man to solve sexual frustration vexations. Knowing she could accomplish two goals at once, since it was time she tried out one of the scenarios in her script, she hurried to her room. She envisioned a hot bubble bath, soft music, candles and a humongous orgasm to take off the edge. Afterwards, with her body relaxed, she’d be able to think about Jason’s offer.

  Kimberly locked the door to her room and headed straight to the oversized tub in the marble bathroom. She ran hot water into the tub, poured in a handful of bubble bath and then shed her clothes while she turned on her CD player and searched for candles. Within minutes, she’d settled into the half-filled tub, leaned back her head onto a plump, folded towel and closed her eyes, letting the steaming heat soak into her tight muscles as the tub kept filling.

  Images of Jason Parker immediately inundated her. Those piercing blue eyes. His sensual lips perpetually quirked in amusement—usually at something she’d just done or said. Man oh man, did the guy have a set of shoulders. And that magical kiss had been indescribably delicious.

  Using a soapy loofa, Kimberly skimmed it over her shoulders and breasts. As she recalled how Jason had noticed her body’s response to him, her face heated once again. She couldn’t figure the man out, since he seemed one giant mass of contradictions. He spoke like an educated man, but he didn’t follow the rules of accepted behavior. He’d backed her against that wall in the library like a pirate. He’d barged into her room like a Viking conqueror. And, when the police arrived, he’d assessed and evaluated her options with the cool logic of a trial attorney.

  Who was Jason Parker?

  He wanted her to believe that he’d stepped into Quinn’s plans because he’d been attracted to her photograph. Well, Kimberly was no movie legend like Laine Lamonde and she didn’t buy his story. But was she overly suspicious? Did the fact that her parents had led secret lives color the way she viewed the world? Yet, everything he’d told her made perfect sense, right down to his knowledge about what was in the script.

  The soft sensual voice of Enya, combined with the scent of jasmine candles had eased back the immediacy of her trying day. She stroked the loofa pad along the sensitive flesh of her upper thighs, parting her legs in anticipation of satisfying her body’s craving to be touched, petted and pampered, a craving that Jason had begun with one kiss and that she would finish alone—but happily contented. Finally her jangled nerves had almost settled in favor of a blossoming sexual tension.

  Her door creaked.

  Someone had entered her room without knocking, without her permission. She should have been scared, but she knew only one person in all of England who would have the audacity…and exasperation rose up her throat.

  She stared through the open bathroom door, hoping she’d been mistaken. Perhaps the disturbing noise hadn’t been a creaking floor but just water going through the pipes.

  She called out. “Who’s there?”

  “Jason.”

  She hadn’t been mistaken. And her irritation revved to anger.

  “Get out.”

  “And good evening to you, too.”

  She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want him to see her. She was naked, damn it. How the man always seemed to catch her when she was most vulnerable, she had no idea—but he had to stop.

  Why hadn’t she shoved a chair under her doorknob? She’d known he could and would pick her lock. But his gentlemanly air kept fooling her, because he was no gentleman.

  And now she was undressed, with only bubbles up to her neck and a loofa pad to hide her bare skin. To reach the towel hanging on the rack, she’d have to stand up and expose herself.

  “Damn it. Jason, you can’t just come in my room whenever you please.”

  “Sure I can. And keep your voice down.” His voice carried to her clearly from the bedroom. She heard drawers opening and closing, then the hangers in her closet, squeaking as he shoved the hangers back and forth on the rod. She heard a zipper opening and realized he’d found the duffel bag with all the costumes she’d packed to match the roles she needed to play in the script.

  What was he doing? Fumbling through her lacy underwear? And how dare he sneak into her room and then tell her to keep her voice down.

  She had to make a play for her towel. Gathering her feet under her, talking more to get an idea where he actually was than because she wanted an answer, she pulled herself to her knees. “W
hat are you doing here?”

  She shoved to her feet and water and bubble bath trickled down her bare skin in noisy rivulets.

  “Making sure you—” He poked his head through the door and caught her standing there, totally exposed and backlit by candlelight.

  She crossed her hands over her breasts. “Oh, God. Go away.”

  “Not a chance, gorgeous.”

  “Turn your back,” she demanded.

  “Turn my back on the most stunning sight I’ve seen in a week? I don’t think so.”

  “Damn you to hell.”

  “Honey, I think I’ve just gone to heaven. You’re amazingly hot.” His hand closed over the towel one second before hers did and he snapped it out of her reach.

  She wanted to scream in frustration. But the thought of calling for help and having her entire tour group find her standing in her tub without any clothes made her stifle her first instinct. Instead she lowered herself and slid back under the bubbles.

  It took only a moment to realize he had her trapped. Naked. Alone.

  Outraged enough to do something drastic—yet too surprised to do more than sputter, she supposed another woman might have been screaming about now. But the banked lust in his eyes, the amused quirk of his mouth and the way he leaned so still against the doorway told her he had himself under control.

  Nix that. He had most of himself under control. In the flickering candlelight she could make out a very definite bulge in his slacks.

  His tone was dark, husky and shot a shiver of lust straight to her core. “Of course. I want you.”

  He’d caught her looking at his crotch. And so many emotions warred for supremacy—embarrassment, anger, lust and surprise—that she just froze.

  He removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the doorknob. Then he leaned closer, his eyes dark. “It’s okay to say you want me, too.”

  Finally, she found her voice again, but it didn’t carry the conviction she’d aimed for. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Of course I can.” He slipped off his shoes.

  “Liam told me the cops are searching the hotel room by room.”

  “And you came here because?” she prodded, her heart dancing up her throat as he unbuttoned his shirt. Why was he taking off his shirt in her bathroom? She could think of only one reason, he aimed to join her in the tub, and she didn’t like the idea one bit.

  “It occurred to me that you might not have hidden the evidence.”

  “Evidence?” He was confusing her. Having this calm discussion while he was taking off his clothes and she was hiding under bubbles, meant she had trouble keeping track of the conversation. “I told you I didn’t take the book.”

  “I’m talking about your clothes.” He removed his shirt and hung it nearly over his jacket. His chest matched his shoulders. Broad and muscular and dusted with a triangle of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his slacks.

  “I don’t have on any clothes.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I can see that.” He unzipped his pants. “But I’m talking about the navy suit Dr. Johnson wore. And the wig. It wouldn’t look good if the police found these items in your room.”

  With a careless toss, Jason flicked her navy skirt, jacket and wig into the tub. Then he stepped out of his slacks, neatly folded them so the creases matched up and hung them over the towel rack. Her mouth went dry—whether in fear of the cops finding the wig and navy suit in the tub or of his muscular physique, she didn’t know. Her heart was pounding hard, but no blood seemed to be going to her brain.

  She looked from the suit and wig floating in the bubbles to him. “Look. If you think for one damn minute that you’re getting into this tub and that I’ll—”

  “Hush.” He flicked off his boxers and sank into the tub, making room for himself between her legs.

  At the same moment, there was a loud knock on the door. Two police officers identified themselves and pounded harder on her door.

  “What do we do?” she whispered, wishing she’d never come to England, or written a script, or met the man sharing her bath with such amusement in his eyes.

  Jason settled back, his long legs reaching to her bare hips. He called out to the policemen. “It’s unlocked. Come on in and join the party.”

  “Are you crazy?” she whispered, tugging the shirt, jacket and wig under the bubbles.

  He dunked his hands under the water and gripped her ankles. “Don’t be shy darling. We have nothing to hide. These gentleman can’t see anything below these bubbles and I doubt they’ll want to interrupt our bath any more than necessary.”

  “Of course not, sir.”

  “What can we do for you?” Jason asked, his palms sliding suggestively up and down the arches of her feet.

  “Can we have permission to search the room?”

  “Yes,” Jason told them.

  “No!” she objected.

  Jason chuckled. “The lady’s a little shy.” His fingers were working their way up her feet to her toes. He knew just which muscles to knead but now was no time to be playing footsie or to be giving a massage.

  “We won’t be long, sir.”

  “Take your time.” Jason chuckled knowingly at her predicament. If she protested his presence in the bath, screamed for help, the cops would find the suit and wig. “The water’s hot and the view is wonderful.”

  Oh God. She’d scooted back, trying to avoid his hold on her feet and her breasts had come out of the water. She sank back down, right where he wanted her, wondering how in hell she’d gotten herself into such a mess. His gaze glued to her face, his fingers tickled her arches, teased between her toes and taunted their way up her ankles.

  He leaned his head close to hers, but allowed his voice to carry. “Shh. Trust me. I’m taking care of things.”

  But she didn’t trust him. He seemed too good at averting problems with the cops. And once again she wondered if he was the man he seemed.

  Kimberly realized the cops probably thought that he was making love to her and he was talking about using a condom. However, he obviously meant that he didn’t expect the police to find the navy suit and wig and after they searched, their suspicion of her would be over.

  But she couldn’t spare too many thoughts for the police, not with his roving hands on her body. He knew just where to touch her and how much pressure to apply. Her feet tingled, and as she realized that she was sitting there naked with no way to stop his roving hands from going all the way up her legs—short of calling the police into the bathroom, she shivered with all kinds of desperate thoughts racing through her.

  Again, he didn’t bother keeping down his voice. “Don’t move, darling, or I’ll tell them everything we’re doing.”

  The cops in the other room chuckled. No doubt they thought Jason was threatening to tell them about lovemaking. But she knew he was talking about the suit and wig.

  She clenched her fists, wondering if she should just confess to the cops. That’s when he shifted position slightly. Water rippled over her breasts and between her legs, making her so much more aware of her nudity. And where his roaming hands could so easily travel next.

  She sucked in a gasp and clenched her fingers.

  “That’s right. Keep your hands on the edge of the tub, darling. And look at me. I want to watch your eyes while I rub your—”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Now darling. Those officers can’t see us.” He raised his voice, his thumb finding a knot in the arch of her foot. “Can you men see the lady?”

  “No, sir.”

  Her face flamed with heat from the combination of what he was doing to her and what he made it sound like he was doing to her. She could only imagine what those police officers must have been thinking about Americans. At least they wouldn’t be that surprised when they found the bag with racy lingerie inside. But she had no idea what they would think of…Jason’s fingers soothed out another aching nerve and she bit back a gasp. She hadn’t known her feet could be this sensit
ive.

  His thumb kept flicking up and down over her arch. When he reached the ball of her foot and worked between the joints of her toes, she closed her eyes and bit back a moan.

  “Look at me, darling. There’s no escaping my plans for you.”

  She opened her eyes and let him see the pleasure swimming there. And his fingers kept playing, slowly, languidly, stroking first one foot, then the other, slowly, seductively. She couldn’t say exactly when the policemen left, was never sure, when she just gave herself up to the heaven of Jason’s foot massage.

  He possessed skilled hands, and every atom of her skin now craved that he give the rest of her the same treatment as he’d given her feet. She wanted to press herself against him like a cat in need of petting. And his hands on her ankles never stopped their slow, smooth stroking, seducing her with a sudden wild and wanton willingness to let him touch wherever he pleased.

  “Stand up and let me rinse the soap off you,” he requested.

  At that point her feet tingled so wonderfully she didn’t want to put weight on them. And she was so mellow that she felt no embarrassment about standing naked in front of him. If he wanted to look, let him.

  He pulled the plug from the drain and turned on the shower. Then he helped her to her feet and she leaned against him under the cascade of warm water. He lifted her lips to share another kiss. Would this kiss be as magical as the first?

  It was better. Pressed flesh to flesh with the water cascading over them, his mouth found hers. And his hands that never stopped moving stroked her back, his fingers threading through her hair. She leaned into him and he gathered her closer, giving and taking, seducing and ravishing, tempting and luring her into a state of bliss that made thinking inconsequential and unnecessary.

  When he finally pulled back, his eyes dark with passion, she had to grab his arm to steady herself. His kiss wasn’t just a kiss. His caresses weren’t just caresses. Somehow he’d intoxicated her with his male essence and she could easily become addicted to the kind of pleasure he dished out.

  When he’d dried her with the bath towel, she’d had no more doubts about wanting to make love to a man she’d only just met. Her body and mind had finally gotten together and set their priorities straight.