SIX
“SO HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?”
Tara nearly jumped out of her skin as Nathan’s
voice shattered the silence of her normal Saturday afternoon
laundry folding activities. She’d gone to work early that morning,
and he’d been gone by the time she got home. As was often the case,
they were like two ships passing each other in the night.
She laid the towel down on the top of the dryer.
“You scared me. When did you get in?”
“I dunno. A while ago.”
“I didn’t hear you over the dryer. How long has
what been going on?”
“You and Mick Riley.”
“Oh. There’s nothing going on.”
Nathan cocked his head to the side and gave her the
same look she gave him when the answer wasn’t good enough. She
resisted smiling.
“Come on, Mom. No guy comes over to have dinner
with your kid if he doesn’t really like you.”
“You think so?”
“Guh. You have it bad for him.” He turned and
walked out of the laundry room.
Tara followed him into the kitchen and lifted the
lid over the pot cooking on the stove. She stirred the sauce while
Nathan fixed himself a glass of chocolate milk.
“So, does it bother you?” she asked.
“Does what bother me?”
“Me seeing someone.”
“He’s not just someone, Mom. He’s the freakin’
quarterback of an NFL football team.”
“If he wasn’t, would it bother you?”
“Mom, I don’t care if you’re dating the guy who
picks up our garbage, as long as he’s nice to you.” Nathan stopped
in front of her and looked her straight in the eye. “Is he nice to
you?”
His question shocked her. “Yes. He is.”
“Then go for it. But it’s pretty darn cool that
you’re dating Mick Riley. Don’t expect me to keep a lid on that
one.” Nathan kissed her cheek and walked out of the room, milk and
a handful of cookies in hand.
She was too choked up and teary eyed to jump on him
about eating junk food before dinner.
MICK WAS PHYSICALLY DRAINED, DRIPPING SWEAT, AND
cussing his trainer, which made Ben laugh at him and call it a good
workout.
Mick wiped the sweat from his eyes and drained his
bottle of water. “You’re a son of a bitch,” he said, panting.
Ben sat next to him on the weight bench. “You pay
me to be a son of a bitch. If you hate me at the end of a workout,
then I’ve done my job.”
“Uh-huh. I’m dying here.”
Ben slapped him on the back, his bald head gleaming
in the overhead lights. “Quit whining like a pussy and get on the
treadmill for twenty to cool down. Then you can hit the
shower.”
“You enjoy this.” Mick dragged his sore body to a
standing position.
“It caters to my sadistic tendencies. And I get
paid for it. What’s not to love about it?”
Mick shook his head and dragged himself over to the
treadmill, hit twenty minutes and a reasonable yet not pathetically
slow walk, and started up. By then Ben was off to torture some
other poor bastard. Mick focused on the television and hoped this
twenty minutes would go by fast.
“Man, you must be getting old. Ben’s workouts are
damn near killing you.”
Mick grinned as Randy Lasalle, his best wide
receiver, hopped onto the treadmill and started up a brisk pace.
Randy was twenty-two and in the second year of his contract. Mick
was glad to have him. The kid had come from a state school in
Louisiana, drafted high because he had the best damn hands and the
quickest stride Mick had ever seen.
“You here to work out with Ben?”
“Yeah. Gotta stay in shape for the ladies, don’tcha
know.”
Mick snorted. “What you mean is you’ve gotta keep
those fine legs in shape for me.”
Randy laughed. “Just don’t tell the ladies,
okay?”
Ben came by, leaned over Randy’s treadmill, and
punched in some numbers. “Not quite fast enough, pretty boy. You
want to keep making the big money on fast legs, then less talking,
more running.”
After Ben walked away, Randy said, “It’s like being
back in school again. I’m too old for this shit.”
“I don’t hear you sweating enough, Randy,” Ben said
from across the room.
Randy rolled his eyes, and Mick laughed.
Mick showered, dressed, and headed toward the front
of the gym, when he saw a gorgeous redhead wearing a power suit
that was almost but not quite too short to be considered
appropriate. Her hair was stylishly swept up, her eyes a witchy
green, her heels sinfully high. She looked like sex incarnate—and
smiled like she knew exactly how she looked as she leaned against
the front counter while she talked on the phone, one hip cocked to
the side, seemingly oblivious to the drooling masses of sweaty gym
guys who were oh so obviously repeatedly walking by to catch a
glimpse of her.
But Mick knew she was anything but oblivious.
Mick’s agent, Elizabeth Darnell, was nothing if not
a traffic stopper. She let her shocking good looks get her in the
door and reel you in. And then she went in for the kill while your
tongue was dragging the floor.
She finished her phone conversation when she saw
him heading in her direction, and turned her dazzling smile on
him.
“Mick, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Liz, I doubt there’s very little you don’t
know.”
She slid her arm in his. “True. Take me to lunch,
and let’s chat.”
“Sure.”
They hit a restaurant a few blocks away. Mick was
starving after his flogging from Ben, so he loaded up on protein
and carbs, while Liz nibbled at a grilled chicken salad.
“You need a cheeseburger,” he said, waving his fork
at her pitiful attempts at eating.
“Honey, if I get fat, general managers won’t ogle
my legs and my tits. Then who’ll get guys like you
multimillion-dollar contracts?”
Mick took a long drink of water. “I’d rather see
you eat a cheeseburger.”
She arched a brow, dabbed her oh-so-pretty mouth
with her napkin, then pushed her plate to the side. “There’s a
Hollywood premiere this week I’d like you to go to.”
“Not interested.”
“You always say that. And then you always
go.”
“Still not interested.”
Liz inhaled deeply, as if she were a parent
exasperated with a difficult child. He knew she wasn’t trying to
impress him with the hint of cleavage on display. Mick didn’t fuck
people he did business with, which worked out really well for Liz,
too, because she didn’t mix her business with her pleasure either.
To Mick, Liz was like a sister—a sometimes extremely annoying
sister—who made him a lot of money.
“Mick, it’s summer blockbuster season. People are
paying attention to television and magazines and to who’s showing
up at these big movie premieres. This would be a great time to make
an appearance at one of these huge, moneymaking movies. Cynthia
Beaudreaux’s new film releases Wednesday.”
“What kind of movie is it?”
“Romantic comedy.”
Mick bit into a piece of bread. “I like action
flicks.”
“But wouldn’t you love to attend the premiere of
her movie?”
He’d rather have a root canal. But maybe Tara liked
romantic comedies. “Let me check my schedule, and I’ll get back to
you.”
Liz arched a brow. “Honey, I’m your schedule. I
know every move you make.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You don’t own me, Liz. Don’t make the mistake of
thinking you do. You want to manage my career, fine. Don’t think
you manage my life. I’ll check my schedule and get back to
you.”
She picked up her glass of sparkling water, not at
all offended. Her life consisted of dealing with athletes with huge
egos. He knew it would take a steamroller to stop her.
“Can’t you do that right now?”
“My phone’s in the car.”
“Can’t you go get it?”
“No.”
And Mick had to admit that he enjoyed pissing her
off.
She sighed. “You try my patience, Mick.”
“Yeah, but I make you a hell of a lot of money, so
you’re willing to put up with me. I’ll call you later tonight, Liz.
And then I’ll tell you whether to grab me some tickets for that
premiere.”
“I meant for you to take Cynthia Beaudreaux to the
premiere of her movie.”
“Doesn’t she already have a date?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she does. I don’t care. I’ll
arrange for you to be her date.”
“There you go again, arranging people’s lives for
them.”
“For their benefit. For your benefit.”
“If I go to this premiere, it won’t be with
Cynthia.”
Liz’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Who will it be
with?”
“I’ll bring my own date.”
“That event planner?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“She’s a nobody.”
“But the point of me going to the premiere is for
me to be seen and photographed, right?”
She tapped her fingernails on the table. “Yes.
But—”
“But nothing. You’ve introduced me to these women
for years now, Liz. And the PR has been great. Now and then I’d
like to choose my own date, okay?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but the look
he gave her made her think twice.
Smart woman. She knew when not to argue. “Call me
and let me know what you decide.”
“I’ll do that.”
NATHAN WAS SPENDING THE WEEK AT A FOOTBALL camp.
Both teams—JV and varsity—were attending. He’d never been away from
her for so long. A few days for school excursions yes, but not all
week long. Tara had put him on the bus at five a.m. this morning
and tried not to let him see the tears that threatened to fall,
knowing he’d be embarrassed. Plus she wanted him to grow up strong
and independent, and he certainly was that and more. He’d been so
excited about this camp, and she’d scrimped and saved to be able to
afford this. She was happy to be able to do it for him. He’d earned
it with good grades and doing chores, and if his attitude over the
past year hadn’t been spectacular, she’d understood it wasn’t easy
being a teenager and starting high school. There were so many
pressures on kids these days. She tried to cut him some slack as
long as things didn’t get too out of hand. And those pesky hormones
accounted for at least some of his Jekyll and Hyde behavior.
But now she had an entire week of quiet nights at
home. She didn’t know what she was going to do with herself. Days
she kept busy with work. She had a luncheon on Wednesday, so today
and Tuesday she and the other women would be busy enough prepping
for that.
But what was she going to do at night? She supposed
she’d better start preparing herself for those lonely times, since
eventually he’d get his driver’s license, start dating, go off to
college. He wasn’t going to be around all that much anymore.
She caught herself staring out the kitchen window,
zapping back to reality at the sound of her cell phone ringing. She
grabbed it and answered.
“Hey, beautiful.”
Mick. She smiled at the sound of his voice. “Hey
yourself, handsome.”
“What are you up to?”
“Feeling sorry for myself because my son has
abandoned me for a week.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s he off to?”
“Football camp.”
“I remember those. He’ll have a good time.”
“I’m sure he will. But it’s the first time we’ve
been apart this long.”
“Geez, Mom, time to cut the apron strings.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “You’re right. I’m
going a little overboard, aren’t I?”
“Definitely. So what are you doing Wednesday
night?”
“I have a luncheon to do Wednesday.”
“But Wednesday night? Are you free?”
“Um, I guess so.”
“What time is your luncheon over with?”
“We should finish up about two o’clock, including
cleanup.”
“Would you like to see a movie with me Wednesday
night?”
She smiled. That would be the perfect way to relax
after doing the event Wednesday. “I’d love to.”
“Great. If you give me the location of the event
you’re doing, I’ll have a limo pick you up there around two.”
“A limo?”
“Yeah. They’ll bring you to the airport.”
“Airport? To see a movie?” She felt like she’d
missed a part of the conversation somewhere.
“We’re flying to L.A. to see the premiere of I
Dream of You.”
She fell into the chair. “Are you kidding me? I’ve
been dying to see that movie.”
“Yeah? Great.”
“Are you serious? A premiere?”
“Serious.”
“Oh my God, Mick.”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Um, yes. Of course yes. I’d love to.”
“Good. I’ll have the limo pick you up at two. We’ll
fly down there, stay in a hotel there overnight, if that’s okay
with you.”
“Yes. Perfect. Oh, God, I have to find something to
wear to a premiere. Good Lord, I don’t have much time, do I?”
“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow.”
“I don’t need you to take me shopping. And I don’t
have time to shop. I’ll be busy all day tomorrow finishing up plans
for this luncheon.”
“Fine. I’ll have Liz send something over.”
“No. I can shop for my own clothes. I’ll make
time.”
“Tara, I didn’t invite you to the premiere so you’d
panic. And I’ll make sure you have something premiere-worthy to
wear. That’s my responsibility, so don’t sweat it, okay? Besides,
my agent has people who work for her who don’t have nearly enough
to do.”
She laughed. “Okay, if you insist. And Mick?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for inviting me. I’m very
excited.”
“Me, too.”
THE NEXT TWO DAYS PASSED IN A FLURRY OF ACTIVITY.
When she told the girls about the invite to the premiere, she
wasn’t sure who was more thrilled about it—her or them. Even though
she had a million last-minute things to do for the luncheon, Maggie
insisted Tara get a manicure and pedicure, despite Tara’s vehement
protests that she had zero time for it. But Ellen and Karie said
everything was covered for the luncheon, and Tara was worrying
needlessly.
But that was her job. If she didn’t worry about
every small detail, who would?
At least the luncheon kept her mind off going to
some fancy movie premiere with Mick. Otherwise she’d have been an
utter basket case worrying about what she was going to wear and how
she’d put her hair up and what jewelry she’d choose.
But those things, apparently, were out of her
control, at least according to one Lisa Montgomery, who showed up
bright and early Tuesday morning. Lisa worked for Elizabeth
Darnell, Mick’s agent. She burst into the store right when they
opened, took Tara’s measurements, asked about Tara’s preferences on
dress colors, shoes, hairstyles, makeup, and even jewelry. Maggie,
Ellen, and Karie giggled and got into the spirit of it while Tara
mostly just sat there shocked through it all until Lisa thanked
her, told her everything would be taken care of, all Tara had to do
was show up in L.A. on Wednesday, and breezed out the door.
By the time the luncheon—which went off
perfectly—was over, Tara was physically and mentally drained. Yet
when the limo service showed up, she couldn’t help but feel a
renewed sense of excitement, more because she’d get to see Mick
again than over the premiere. But Maggie shooed her out the door
and told her they’d finish overseeing the last of the
cleanup.
So she climbed into the black stretch limo, feeling
way more important than she was, and tried to relax as they made
their way to the San Francisco airport. She was surprised to find
they were taking a small private jet rather than a commercial
airline. She climbed on board the luxurious jet. Mick was seated at
the back in one very comfortable looking chair. He stood when she
walked in, came over to her, folded her in his arms, and kissed her
soundly.
She melted in his arms, all the stress of the week
floating away as his lips moved over hers, his tongue sliding
inside to lick against hers. She sighed, leaning against him,
loving the feel of his hard muscles as she held on to him.
It was hard not to want to continue kissing him,
touching him, but they weren’t alone. She broke the kiss, and he
touched his forehead to hers.
“I missed you.”
She smiled, loving that he said the words that she
felt. “I missed you, too.”
“How did your luncheon go?” He motioned her to a
white leather sofa.
This plane didn’t look like a plane. It looked like
a hotel suite with lush carpet and oversized chairs that swiveled.
And the sofa. She’d never seen anything like it.
She sat, and he sat next to her.
“It went really well.”
“Great. I hope you get more business from
it.”
“Me, too.”
The flight attendant on board served her a glass of
champagne. She grinned, feeling a little decadent, but gladly
accepted it, then turned to Mick, who sipped a glass of what looked
like club soda. “No champagne for you?”
“It’s summer and I’m in training. My personal
trainer would kick my ass if he found out I was sweating out
alcohol.”
She laughed. “Working you hard, is he?”
“Sometimes I cry a little after a workout. But
don’t let it be heard I said that. It’ll just pump up his
ego.”
“I can’t even imagine, as in shape as you are, what
it takes to get you like that.”
He shrugged. “I’m getting older. It’s harder to get
me this way, so I have to work at it.”
“Football is a brutal sport. You have to be built
like the side of a mountain to take the kind of hits you do.”
He leaned back and played with the ends of her
hair. “It’s easier on me than a lot of the other guys. I just stand
back there and throw.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve seen the games. You take your share
of hits.”
“So, you’re a fan. Want an autograph?”
“Why, yes, I do. You can autograph your tongue on
my—”
“We’ll be ready for takeoff shortly, Mr.
Riley.”
“Thanks, Amanda,” he said, not once taking his eyes
off Tara. Once Amanda left for the front of the plane, Mick leaned
forward and brushed his lips across hers.
Tara swallowed, her body engulfed in an inferno of
need.
“Tattoo with my tongue, huh?”
She should be embarrassed that Amanda the flight
attendant had probably overhead what she said, but at this point,
her only concern was Mick. “Yes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Time to buckle up.”
They moved to separate seats until after takeoff,
at which time Amanda brought them fresh drinks, grilled shrimp
appetizers, and a salad.
“I figured you’d need something to eat,” Mick said.
“Once we touch down there won’t be any time to eat until after the
premiere.”
“What’s the agenda?”
“Liz said she arranged for someone to do your hair
and makeup, and she has your dress and shoes and all that jewelry
stuff ready in L.A.”
“Mick, you’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble on my
behalf. You didn’t have to do that.”
He picked up her hand and kissed her wrist. “I want
this to be a fun night for you.”
“Obviously this is some event your agent wanted you
to attend for exposure?”
“Of course.”
“And she didn’t exactly expect you to bring me as
your date.”
“I don’t do everything Elizabeth tells me to do.”
He’d held her hand and licked the inside of her wrist. She
shuddered.
“How long do we have before the flight
lands?”
Mick picked up his cell phone to glance at the
time. “About forty minutes. Why? You have something in mind?”
Her gaze panned the confines of the plane. “Not
much privacy here.”
“More than you think.” He stood and took her by the
hand, leading her through the door at the back of the plane. She
gasped when she realized it was a bedroom.
“Holy shit. Who owns this thing? Some
sultan?”
Mick laughed, coming up behind her and wrapping his
arms around her. “It’s Irvin Stokes’s plane.”
“Oh my God. I had no idea. He must really like
you.”
“Well, yeah. But he really likes Elizabeth, too.
She schmoozes him, has lunch with his wife all the time. I think he
thinks of her as his oh-so-successful daughter.”
She turned and wrapped her arms around him. “I
think he really likes you. I can’t believe this
airplane.”
“Enough talk of airplanes.” Mick reached behind him
and locked the door, pushing Tara against the wall. “Care to join
the mile-high club?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She pressed her lips
to his, her nipples already tingling at the thought of having sex
with Mick on this plane. She was having so many wild experiences
with him, but this one was insane and all too exciting. She was wet
and ready and wished she could be instantly naked so he could fuck
her.
Then again, why did she have to be naked at all?
His mouth was on hers, his hard body pressed to hers, and she was
wearing a sun-dress. His cock was hard against her hip. She
adjusted her body, putting his hard-on in direct contact with her
sex, then rubbed against him.
He dropped his gaze to hers with a smoldering look
that made her melt inside.
“Something you want?”
“Yes. Your cock inside me. Now.”
He lifted her dress, fisting it in his hand as he
pushed it over her hips, then reached for her panties and dragged
them down. She wiggled, letting them drop to the floor. Mick
unzipped his pants and took out his cock, reaching into his pocket
for a condom, tearing it open, and sheathing himself in record
time.
Mick pushed her against the wall and lifted her leg
over his hip, shoving inside her with one hard thrust that would
have made her scream if she wasn’t cognizant of not being alone on
this plane. Instead, she gasped as he pulled out and drove into her
again. She felt the pulse of her pussy, demanding more of the
sinful pleasure he gave her.
He dragged the straps of her dress off her
shoulders and bared her breasts, then bent to latch onto one of her
nipples and sucked, hard. Tara shivered, banged her head back
against the wall of the plane, the roar of the engines equaling the
roar of her blood as it pounded in her ears. She pulled on Mick’s
shirt, and he lifted his arms, allowing her pull it off him.
Oh, she liked this, having him slam her against the
wall of the plane, her dress nothing but a wad in his hands as he
held on to it while he pummeled her with deep upward thrusts, the
frenzy of their lovemaking taking her out of her mind to a place
where she felt crazy and free. She knew nothing but this man and
this moment and the center of her being where desire coiled like a
snake, fierce and unhindered. She scored his shoulders with her
nails and demanded more.
“Shit,” he said, rocking his pelvis harder against
her, giving her the more she’d wanted, sliding his hand between
them to massage her clit, separating enough to let them both watch
as he fucked his cock inside her and used his fingers on her
clit.
“I’m going to come, Mick. Keep fucking me like
that.”
She felt her pussy clamp down around his cock, a
wild spiral of sensation taking over, and she came with a wild
cry.
Mick slammed his mouth over hers, sucking on her
tongue as he rocked against her, shoving deep inside her with a
groan as he hit his climax and wrapped his arms around her, lifting
her off the ground while thrusting hard and deep inside her.
Out of breath, her legs tingling, she went with him
when he carried her to the bed and fell on it, her on top of him,
both of them panting and damp with sweat.
Tara didn’t speak for a few minutes, content to
just feel Mick’s heartbeat against her while he stroked her
back.
“I think I wrinkled your dress,” he finally
said.
She laughed. “I don’t think I care. But we might be
sweating on Mr. Stokes’s bedspread.”
“I don’t care, and I’m sure he doesn’t.”
They cleaned up in the very nice and not at all
typical airline bathroom. Tara smoothed her hair and dress to the
best of her ability, but it was quite obvious from her pink cheeks
and slightly puffy lips that she had a just-fucked look about
her.
“I definitely look like I just had sex. How will I
ever face the flight crew?”
“The flight crew is paid very well not to notice
anything. Let’s go have a drink before we land. You made me
thirsty.”
She laughed and took his hand, suddenly very
thirsty herself.
THE ONE THING TARA LEARNED VERY QUICKLY UPON
arrival in Los Angeles was that Mick’s agent was one hell of a
planner. A limo met them at the plane and whisked them off to an
incredibly ritzy hotel, where she was pulled away from Mick by an
entire team of makeup and hair people. She was tossed into the
shower, and afterward was buffed, puffed, and polished to within an
inch of her life. She’d had her makeup professionally applied, her
hair done, and she even had a woman come in and dress her.
She wondered if this was the lifestyle movie stars
grew accustomed to. It certainly was nice to be pampered and all,
though it was a bit overwhelming. By the time she stood in front of
the mirror dressed in some shockingly expensive designer gown and
adorned with jewelry she didn’t even want to know the cost of, she
had to admit they’d done wonders on her, because she didn’t even
look like herself. Airbrushing did magical things to a person’s
complexion. The scar over her eyebrow she had gotten as a child
when she fell off her swing set had been expertly obliterated. Her
eyes looked huge and ... beautiful, and her eyelashes—whoa. No
amount of standing in front of the mirror with a mascara wand could
ever hope to replicate the magic of false eyelashes.
The copper-colored strapless gown cinched in at her
bust, waist, and hips, then fell in magical waves to the floor, and
was the most beautiful thing Tara had ever worn. And the shoes—God,
the shoes. Strappy and stiletto with a cute bow over the toes. They
matched the dress, and she wanted to sleep with them until she
died.
“Thank you all—so much. I feel like Cinderella
tonight. You all worked so hard to make me look pretty, and I can’t
tell you how much I appreciate this.”
The staff of makeup and hair and dressers all
grinned back at her, hugged and kissed her, then left the suite.
Tara inhaled, let it out, then turned once more to the
mirror.
“Holy shit, woman.”
She whirled at the sound of Mick’s voice.
He stood at the entryway to the bedroom. Again, she
was struck by how utterly amazing the man looked wearing a tux. His
broad shoulders filled the jacket so well, and he was tall enough
to carry the elegance of the outfit, his black hair combed
perfectly, his blue eyes even more striking against the solid black
of the tux. He strolled in and walked around her as she stood in
the center of the room, then came to her, lifted her hand, and
pressed a kiss to her fingers.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever
seen.”
She felt herself warm. “I am not. But I sure feel
that way tonight. Thank you for this.”
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever
seen, because you appreciate this in ways no woman I’ve ever been
with before can appreciate it.”
She felt the sting of tears. “Don’t make me cry, or
you’ll have to call that entire horde of people back to fix
me.”
He held out his arm. “Ready to go have some
fun?”
“Yes.”