Compared to the mountains he’d move at her request, though, this was such a tiny appeal. And when would he get this chance ever again?
“Do you want me on top?” he asked. “Or beneath you?”
They were words he’d said many times before, in a completely different context.
Or maybe the context wasn’t so different after all. Because when she breathed, “On top,” his body reacted as if it were an invitation to bed her, and she was trembling as he moved over her and settled into the cradle of her body.
Then he could feel almost every inch of her beneath him, her warmth turning to heat as her lips parted and her breath caught. He stared down at that lush mouth of hers, wondering. Wanting. Waiting for her to stop him.
She didn’t. And he couldn’t remember anymore why this was a terrible idea.
Carefully, he cradled her head in his hand, while the other smoothed her tumbled hair back from her sweet, dazed face.
He had just enough mental capacity left to check. “Is this okay?”
She nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. In just a moment, he was going to take that lip into his own mouth and cherish it. Lick it in recompense for her abuse. Then maybe bite it again, but lightly. So lightly it would feel like a caress.
He lowered his head, and her eyes were heavy-lidded. Welcoming.
“So we’ve set up the shot from this angle?—”
The camerawoman’s voice, coming from only inches away, was a bucket of ice water poured over his body. He wrenched himself from Lucy, sitting up as quickly as he could.
That, as it turned out, was his next mistake.
THREE
“Are you sure you’re okay?”As gently as she could, Lucy touched the lump on Sebastián’s head. “I can drive us to an urgent care.”
A rare tinge of grumpiness roughened his voice. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
The producer had said HATV would cover any medical expenses, but Sebastián had refused treatment. “Stereotypical man,” Jill had muttered to herself before leaving to discuss the situation with the crew.
Sebastián might have rebuffed the crew’s fussing, but he’d let Lucy supervise his slow descent from the loft and guide him to a seat. She’d settled them both on the cramped, lumpy built-in couch—according to Allie, “the perfect loveseat in the perfect forest hideaway!”—while he recovered from the blow to his head. He’d never lost consciousness, his pupils seemed normal, and he remembered everything that had happened, so she was willing to let him decide how to treat the injury.
But jeez, he’d given himself quite a bump. At exactly the wrong moment, too. She’d almost thought…
Well, she’d surely been imagining things. He’d been helping her determine the loft’s suitability for her future partners, nothing more. Another gallant gesture from a loyal friend.
His black hair had rumpled in all the hubbub, and she smoothed it into place. When he shifted his head away from her touch, she let her hand fall into her lap. Then into her pocket, where the worry stone waited, slick and cool and impervious to hurt.
“How’s the patient doing?” Jill walked toward the couch, watching Sebastián with concern. “Did you change your mind about going to a doctor?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated for the hundredth time. “But I do have a question. Where are the closets in here? Lucy’s massage table needs a storage place.”
Typical Sebastián, bringing the focus away from him and back to her needs.
Jill lifted a shoulder. “No need for closets. The guy who owns this house is a minimalist. Not to mention a naturist.”
“He likes plants? I think we got that idea already, given the profusion of pot in the kitchen.” Lucy tilted her head. “But what does that have to do with closets?”
Jill snorted. “A naturist isn’t a plant lover.”
“Then what is it?” Sebastián was rubbing his temples, but he stopped as soon as their attention turned to him.
“A nudist.” Jill grinned at them. “The dude who owns this place is a nudist.”
Lucy and Sebastián bolted up from the couch immediately.
