He nodded and she raised the window. When he rounded the vehicle, she slumped back in relief, glad to momentarily be out of the man’s gravitational pull. But his stride and the way his suit fell just so from his broad shoulders made her follow the straight line of his back all the way down to his spectacular ass. She could only imagine what that glorious part of his anatomy would look like in a pair of jeans or leather pants.
She had to stop; she demanded that of herself. Most days she was all right— and simply worked herself hard enough that thoughts like the ones Zachary Mitchell conjured up simply faded into the background of her psyche. But for some odd reason, today this guy wasn’t fading . . .
Anita leaned her head back and closed her eyes, blotting out the ugly highway landscape of the Garden State Parkway. How was someone like her supposed to meet a decent guy, anyway? She hated what her ex had said . . . arrogant, smug bastard. He’d predicted this day— telling her that without him she’d be subjected to wannabe fame seekers, strivers, thugs, and groupies. That sooner or later she’d get lonely enough and horny enough that she’d make the ultimate human mistake that all stars made; she’d do somebody she wasn’t supposed to do and that would have severe career consequences. Jonathan had actually laughed in her face, casually telling her that it was still a man’s world and the double standard was completely in his favor. He could do what ever he wanted, whoever he wanted, and he’d recover; she couldn’t. She hated that he’d been right.
She swallowed hard, tasting tears of outrage and wishing that the new security company had sent over a short old man with a beer belly as her driver. Her body had betrayed her; it had to be the stress. She didn’t do out of control. Anita pressed her thighs together tightly and took several deep breaths. She hated feeling like this.
Between the industry sharks, the guys who were married or otherwise living with a woman and lying, to the ones who’d have a hidden camera posted in their apartments to sell her image into Internet porn, what was a girl to do? The horror stories were rampant; the lengths people went to in order to make a quick buck on somebody else’s back were notorious.
That still didn’t stop the dull throb that had taken over her clit or the sudden ache that prickled across her skin. It had been so long since she’d been touched . . . Zachary Mitchell had great hands. Clean, long, well-kept square fingers, but not manicured in a metrosexual way. Just remembering his mouth made her part her lips and pull in a shallow sip of air. She could only imagine what his kiss could do, and her mind began to feel the hot daydream play out across her belly, flowing down over her navel as her valley plumped and spilled liquid heat into her pan ties.
She smoothed her moist palms down her jeans legs, envisioning him pulling her jeans down over her hips. This didn’t make sense, but her mind was on fire just thinking about the way he’d crossed that lobby like a man on a mission— it seemed like a little more than a job. It seemed personal somehow. It made her wonder what a kiss from him might taste like . . . what his mouth against her shoulder might feel like.
To have a man like him want her . . . to trail kisses down her body until he discovered her mound, to find that sweet spot between her thighs . . . to take his sweet time, sweet Jesus . . . to lick a slow, lazy trail along her slit, gently parting the fat, engorged lips of her flower with his tongue. Sucking her bud just right . . . a gentle finger finding her rim, finding the beat, finding the tight circle.
Anita squeezed her legs together tighter; she had to stop. This was pointless she told herself firmly. But right now would be so perfect to feel skin-against-skin, the simplistic beauty of human touch. In her daydream, she didn’t need a condom . . . she could let the tip of her tongue travel up his shaft to revel in the spongy texture of its head, then she could envision sliding her hand back down his thick, heavily veined shaft.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, girl, you’ve been watching too much late-night TV.
Her brain wouldn’t turn off. Each time she tried to jettison the images out of her head they came back with a vengeance. Her mind seized on that one part of his anatomy she’d become fixated on until she couldn’t help fantasizing about how his excitement would release pearling fluids that would make his wondrous male organ glisten. Then her attention would release the pumping motion of his hips in anticipation, would release that fabulous baritone she’d just heard outside the limo window . . . but this time he’d say her name, “‘Nita.”
Soon that impossible-to-replicate part of him would be inside of her, welded deep within her flesh, opening her thighs, opening her lungs, making her see stars, making her weep. Her girlfriends had all lied; a pocket rocket or a full-sized battery-operated boyfriend could never replace that natural male resource . . . if the man knew what he was doing . . . if he were gifted and talented. Zachary Mitchell seemed like he was both.
Oh, yeah, it had been way too long, if she was thinking about this. Anita stared at the divider glass that separated her from pure sin— Zachary Mitchell. No. The last thing she needed was to get caught getting all hot and bothered. She’d be at the pent house the label had leased for her soon enough, alone, and in her own space that she trusted. Anita sat up and fetched a bottle of spring water from the fridge. This limo was sent and could have been wired, for all she knew. A tiny camera could be anywhere.
She placed the cool, wet bottle against her throat and closed her eyes again, stifling a quiet moan. Her canal begged for penetration, needed more than what a finger or daydream could provide— but she wasn’t about to let her ex laugh at her. She could just see the front page of a tabloid now: STAR FINGERS HERSELF IN HER LIMO JUST BEFORE THE R&B MUSIC AWARDS. Never happen.
So what if she had to go to the awards solo and come home that way? It didn’t matter that her nipples had now become so hard that it felt like little needles were grazing them each time she inhaled and exhaled. Anita popped the seal on her water and drank it down greedily. It wasn’t just about raw sex— that was easy to find. She was searching for a real relationship anyway. Good-looking men were a dime a dozen. She just needed to calm down and shake this fine specimen out of her thoughts.
Still, the condition of being alone was not the preferred option— that she couldn’t deny. But if a person who’d already reached her status of fame was suddenly single, then how was one to trust that a man just cared for her because of who she was inside, not because of her fame and fortune? Add that issue to wading one’s way through the booty-call players. Anita stared out the window, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
It wasn’t like she could just go out to a club and meet someone, or even use an online dating ser vice. Anyone she met and slept with had to be checked out eight ways from Sunday, and then they could always write a tell-all book after it was all said and done. Paparazzi would scare off anyone decent, and the only reason they probably hadn’t shown up in the hotel lobby this afternoon was because she’d had the foresight to ask her label, as a condition of her tour, to always send a drone limo away earlier with a look-alike in it, and the cameras probably chased that up the highway like a pack of rabid dogs.
Her head hurt and her body hurt. Frustration was making her crazy. Anita slumped back against the seat and considered the champagne. She needed to focus on the show she had to do tonight.
“Damn . . .” she whispered to herself and then became mute again. All she could do was put on some soft music and shake her head. It was going to be a very long ride to New York.
IT WAS ALL he could do to focus on the road. He hadn’t been this messed up by a woman in a very long time. Come to think of it, he really couldn’t recall a time when a woman had dissected his brain like this one had. He was never so glad in his life to see a Central Park West building.
In and out, he told himself. Just come around the vehicle, get the package out, get her up to her place, sweep it, bring up the rest of her bags, and be out.
Zachary squared his shoulders and came around the side of the limo and then opened the door. This time she reached for his hand and the buttery softness of it connected to something within him that ignited in his palm. She looked up, and he could really see her gorgeous hazel eyes for the first time as she peered over the top of her huge sunglasses.
Graceful and light, she glided out of the limo with ease and offered him a half-smile as she bit her bottom lip. It was the sexiest thing to watch . . .
“I’m sorry I was such a trip when you first picked me up,” she said quietly. “Like I said, it was a bad morning. That wasn’t your fault.”
“No offense taken, ma’am.” He closed the car door behind her and tried to keep his tone professional.
“Are you from the south?” she asked as he went to the trunk to get her luggage.
“No, ma’am, why do you ask?” he replied, ushering her toward the doorman.
“You keep calling me ma’am.”
He tilted his head as the uniformed doorman greeted them with a smile and opened the door. “Guess it’s force of habit.”
“Makes me feel old,” she said and then smiled broadly.