The Movie Star's Red Hot Holiday Fling(19)

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Blake burned for Jessie, wanting her in ways he’d never wanted another woman. Hours after their supercharged sexual encounter in the sauna, he kept thinking about her sweet surrender.

Now he checked out her beautiful bottom as she bent to pick up the remote control. “You sure you’re okay with me being here while you work?” she asked. “’Cause you don’t usually get much done when I’m in the room.”

A slight edge underscored her voice, as if she expected him to tell her to leave. The wounded woman behind the sexy mask gave him pause. He poured mental ice on the pressure building in his groin. “True, but I’m on a roll,” he said.

The days and nights he’d spent with Jessie had given him greater insight about the emotional impact a soldier suffered long after the physical wounds had healed. Hearing her story, knowing the guilt and grief that haunted her every day, infused his screenplay with depth. Made the interactions more personal and real.

She switched on the flat screen. “Then roll away.”

A chick flick played as he layered the final polish into his screenplay before he pressed the send button on the email to his agent, the franchise’s director, and the studio’s producers.

He’d come dangerously close to telling Jessie about his story this morning. But she’d maintained an emotional distance by using her tantalizing, sexy body as a distraction to put him off.

Though the sex had been hot, he thought he’d read more than lust in her eyes before she’d tempted him with her body. But now he knew she wasn’t interested in having more than a fling with him. And that dredged up memories he didn’t want to revisit.

Blake shut down his laptop. He’d tell her about the project if the studio gave him the thumbs up. “I’m done. You want me to get you a drink?”

She shot him a sassy look. “I’m good, but I’d love some company.”

His cell phone beeped. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Tell those dudes in Hollywood to quit interrupting us.” She stretched out her long legs, giving him a perfect view of her luscious thighs.

“This is important.”

“I can wait.”

He checked the text message from Constanza. He’d asked about the day the bomb had gone off, hoping the gunnery sergeant could provide information that would relieve Jessie’s survivor guilt. After reading Constanza’s reply, Blake responded with his thanks. This intel, along with their staff sergeant’s recollections, would prove that Jessie wasn’t responsible for the blast.

Another message beeped. Blake checked the incoming text from his director. They would read the script, but there was no guarantee of the studio’s approval. Gritting his jaw, feeling a headache form at the base of his skull, he zipped off a terse reply. A “no” to the script would be “no” to him continuing to act for the franchise. And he wanted to clock serious time as a director.

If they wanted their sex symbol to get in front of the camera, they would have to adjust their thinking.

He pushed away from the desk, then walked to his window to watch the sun set, the brilliant blue sky transforming to orange, pink, and red hues.

Time was running out.

Blake went to the bar. “Chardonnay or sparkling water?” he asked as he poured a stiff single-malt scotch neat.

“Better stick with the water. O’dark thirty comes awful early after a night with you.”

He laughed. He’d miss Jessie’s snarky sense of humor along with her hot body. A body that might have been made only for him—she was his equal in so many ways.

“You could cut me some slack.” He cracked open the water bottle. “Let me sleep in.”

She smiled. “Then we’d have less time in the sauna. And you give the best massages.”

Heat flashed. Hell, he’d miss her more than a lot. When he first met Jessie, she’d stubbornly refused help and pushed everyone who loved her away with a force born out of despair. Now sparkles lighted in her slate blue eyes. The spunky, all-American kid that Shannon Sullivan had raised was back.

He filled her glass and carried both drinks to the living area. “How about I give you another massage?” He sat and passed her the glass.

“Please.”

He pulled her legs onto his lap and caressed the taut muscular thighs. “It’ll have to be a quickie.”

“I like your massages any way you want to give them.”

Later, after they’d massaged their way back into the bedroom and Jessie had fallen asleep, Blake slipped out of bed. He gazed at her, memorizing the slant of her fine nose and the lush sweep of dark lashes on her high cheeks. Damn it. He liked Jessie. He liked her family. He even liked her family’s friends. He cared. That scared the hell out of him. Caring too much could lead to wanting something neither of them could give.