“I lied,” he told her, and nipped at the tip of her breast. “I don’t want just one night with you, Kylie Daniels. I’m pretty sure I want all of them.”
She sucked in a breath. Because, really, what could she say to that? She wanted him, too. But she wasn’t free until Daphne’s concert tour was over. She didn’t get her next payment until it was done, and she needed that money. “Well, you don’t get the next two weeks,” she said, forcing herself to be light and teasing.
“I suppose I should get two weeks of kissing in tonight, then,” he murmured, and gave her breast another obscene, dragging lick.
“Guess so,” she told him, and pulled him up for the first of many kisses.
Kylie’s fingers were linked with Cade’s as they rode in the limo the next morning back to her hotel. She stifled a yawn with her free hand, and blushed when he chuckled.
They had been up all night making love. Sometimes sweet and tender, sometimes fierce and almost brutal. Every time, though, Kylie came hard, and every time, it was utterly glorious. Between rounds of sex, they napped and talked, and sometimes they cuddled.
She was falling hard for Cade Archer, and that was going to make things difficult. But she could deal with difficult, she decided. If she just kept her mouth shut and if Cade kept away on business for a lot of the next two months, they could probably make this work out. She could sneak away to see him between shows, and Daphne and the rest of the tour crew would never be the wiser.
After the tour was over, she’d pay Nana’s nursing home fees for the rest of the year and then she’d see about getting some sort of long-term work in New York City, where she could be with Cade. Maybe something on Broadway. That might be fun.
They could make this work . . . couldn’t they?
The limo arrived at the hotel far too fast. When the driver opened Kylie’s door, she got out reluctantly, slinging her purse over her shoulder. Cade got out, too, and she turned to look at him, giving him a bright smile despite her gloomy mood. He stood in front of her, hands stuffed in his pockets like a little boy, and waited for her to make the first move.
Well, she would, then. Her own hands went to the front of his shirt, just so she could touch him, could feel his warmth one more time. She already missed him. “Two weeks is a long time. You’re not going to forget me, are you?” Damn it, she’d tried to keep her voice light and teasing, but it’d come out shaky instead.
“Not at all,” Cade told her, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I will text you so often that you’ll feel like you have a stalker.”
She grinned up at him. “And you’ll send back my panties?”
The look he gave her was downright naughty. “You know what you have to do to get those panties back.”
Kylie bit her lip. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Just determined to see you in a few pictures, that’s all.” His blue eyes gleamed wickedly.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she murmured, and tilted her face back for a kiss. Truth be told, she was already planning the series of pictures she’d send him. He was fascinated with watching her put on makeup, so she’d definitely have to have a naked shot of her putting on lipstick, or maybe just one of her breasts . . . the possibilities were endless.
He kissed her back, lightly sucking on her lower lip as she tried to pull away, making the kiss last even longer. When they finally pulled apart, he murmured, “I miss you already.”
It scared her that she felt the same way.
When she boarded the tour bus, Kylie handed her suitcase off and held her purse close as she went to her regular seat toward the front. She had her potted violet in hand and set it carefully on the empty seat next to her. The smokersaka the dancersliked to hang out in the back, swapping cigarettes or weed while they wasted the hours between tour stops. Today, the bus smelled like weed, which was irritating. She stood up and pushed her window down to let in fresh air, then shot a glare at the smoky back of the bus. Kylie was in a sour mood. The thought of not seeing Cade for two weeks was already bugging the hell out of her, and it had only been an hour or so since she’d left him. How was she possibly going to get through two weeks?
As if he could hear her thoughts, her phone buzzed with an incoming text, and a smiley face popped up on her screen, which made her grin.
Two weeks might not be so bad if they involved constant texts. And if he was getting pictures of her? She wanted pictures of him, too. They didn’t have to be nude pics; she’d settle for one of those early morning tousled hair glimpses that made her knees weak.
She was just about to text him that when someone picked up her flowerpot and sat down in the empty seat next to her.