Out of Her Dreams

Chapter Twelve

The week flew by, with the men and divas rehearsing moves and working-out days while the wives and girlfriends shopped and played cards in their hotel suites, or pigged out at the sushi bars that seemed to line every street with neon. And after the evenings’ events, she found herself helplessly entangled with the man of her dreams, making love and thrilling to his body as if every night would be their last together.

She hated knowing that she was so damn madly in love with a man who she worried felt nothing but a momentary heat for her, who would move on with his life after another three months and would never look back. And she knew that others were simply waiting. Waiting and watching for her temporary mate to lose interest and start casting his eye about for the next sexual conquest.

She did have to give him credit on his acting ability, though, because if she was not completely aware of the nature of their relationship, she might have been fooled herself, by his constant, ardent attention and his ability to make her forget her own name in bed. But after six months, he would quietly sign the release documents and she would be alone again.

They lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s exhausted, sweat-slicked bodies as David ran his fingertips slowly over her whisker-burned breast, his eyes closed in sated relaxation. He felt her draw a deep sigh and he murmured huskily, “Spill it, Sam. You’ve wanted to say something since we left the arena. Is something wrong?” His eyes opened and met hers.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Just thinking about the party Vic wants us to attend tonight. I think I would just prefer to stay here and have room service sent up.” She shivered at the touch of his lips on her erect nipple as he replaced his fingertips with a gentle tug of his warm mouth. “I feel totally drained after a full week of parties and matches and everyone shoving champagne or a cocktail into my hand every time I turn around. You go ahead. I think I’ll try to write a little.”

David drew back, his eyes concerned. “This is a really big deal tonight, Sam. Vic says you have to be there. We can cut it short if you want. But I can’t go without you.”

She gazed up into his dark eyes and wondered what he would say if she blatantly refused to go. But then, her presence here was payback for what he believed was a wrong she’d done to him and her needs and wants were not involved. Another huge sigh lifted her chest and she closed her eyes wearily. “I need to shower. And find something to wear. And I can’t if you’re lying over me like a fur rug.”

David frowned at the tone in her voice. Had he done something wrong? She had seemed to enjoy the time they’d just spent in bed. Was he losing his touch? Or was she getting tired of him? No. She still responded instantly to every caress, every gentle kiss. It must be his imagination.

He was so fucking pathetic the way he followed her around, feeling lost unless he was touching her, feeling her breath warm on his skin, seeing her face at ringside when he had a match. He knew how people were laughing at him but he didn’t give a damn. He only had three more months-three fucking short months-before she would quietly move on with her life and he would just go back to his own pitiful existence. He was like a drowning man. He felt totally lost without her by his side or under him in his bed.

He pressed his mouth over the throbbing vein in her neck and pulled her over his chest to straddle his hips once more, watching her face flush and her eyes darken to a hunter green. He caught her face between his hands as she lifted herself to slide down over his cock, taking him into her channel with a soft moan of pleasure. He panted raggedly as he watched her sinfully curved little body undulate on his, stroking so erotically as she rode him.

He needed to be deeper, buried so deep he would feel her very soul. He shoved his body sideways on the bed until his upper body hung off the mattress and he dragged her legs off to plant her feet on the floor beside his shoulders. She gasped at the feel of him angled so that his cock was pressed against her G-spot. He dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his hips to drive his cock deep and hard, as he pressed her back to rest against his legs.

He pumped upward with hard, gasping strokes. His arms held him up as his cock moved in and out of her body like a jackhammer, driving him closer and closer to ejaculation with every little whimpering moan and every little twitch of her ass against his thighs. He took one hand off the carpet and slid his fingers into the wet curls where his cock was moving in and out of her body. He found her engorged little clit, tweaking it gently between finger and thumb and feeling her sheath clench around his cock in the throes of a massive, screaming orgasm as he pounded into her several more times before releasing and sliding weakly to the carpet, with her sitting impaled on his cock, his calves still resting on the rumpled mattress.

She stared down into his perspiring face, her eyes wide with shock. “My God. That was…different. That was amazing,” she panted.

“That was one hell of a workout.” His teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “I think I’ll incorporate that into my toning exercises from now on.” He was so tired he could barely breathe and when she rose from him to go take her shower, he closed his eyes and almost whimpered as his cock slid from her sheath to flop on his belly. He was so fucking addicted.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived half an hour later than expected. Victor saw them and called out from across the room, waving them over to the group he was standing with and as he introduced them, he laughed, “I don’t think I have to introduce Chance Braza. His face is plastered all over the known world these days. But I want you to meet the little lady who is responsible for that.” He placed a hand on her nape and grinned down into her flushed face. “Samantha Hastings, I want you to meet Hector Ramirez, president of LABS Broadcasting in Los Angeles, and this is his wife, Juliette.”

She smiled and shook hands with the tall, dark-haired man in his mid-fifties before turning to smile at the wife. The wife was, of course, blonde but petite and with brown eyes and a supercilious smile. She noted the woman’s expensive designer gown and she said, “I envy you. I wish I had the figure to wear that fabulous dress.”

The supercilious smile changed imperceptibly. Dark brown eyes seemed to flicker over her and Juliette Ramirez lifted one golden brow thoughtfully. The woman extended a manicured hand sporting several massive diamond rings and she replied lazily, “And I envy you. I wish I had a man who was as obviously crazy about me as yours is about you.”

Sam blinked and blushed, glancing at the smiling Ramirez, who simply laughed softly at his wife’s outrageous comment. “My lovely wife was quite taken with the way Braza ran you to earth in front of a few million fans. She is a great fan of your novels and is an incurable romantic.”

“I was wondering if you were interested in writing a screenplay for us, Ms. Hastings?” Juliette turned a petulant shoulder to her husband and smiled brilliantly at Sam. Startled by that statement, Sam blinked and floundered for a response.

“Me? Write a screenplay? About what?”

“Well, Hector and I are negotiating with your business manager and publisher for rights to make a film out of your fantasy romance series, The Lost King of Balterra. If they and you decide to accept our offer, you stand to be a wealthier woman by far. And we already have someone in mind to play the male lead.” Her eyes slid to David, who was still deep in conversation with Hector Ramirez.

Sam swallowed, unable to frame an immediate response. When she got control of her tongue, she replied rather breathlessly, “I had no idea my novel would find its way to Hollywood. I’m flattered that you think it’s good enough to make a film of.”

“Good enough? My dear, your first novel sold over half a million copies in less than a year. It was on the New York Times Best Seller list for twenty-four weeks. You do yourself an injustice.” Juliette’s smile was quietly assessing.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to get in touch with my business manager. I appreciate your interest.” She shook her thoughts back to earth and asked, “So you are in the film-making business with Mr. Ramirez?”

Hector Ramirez laughed softly. “Juliette was already a high-powered movie producer when I first met her, Samantha. Is it permissible for me to call you that?”

Sam drew a slow breath. “Yes, of course.”

“And you must call me Hector, since we will undoubtedly be working together in the future.”

Sam startled the man by turning to Juliette and saying quietly, “I’ll leave that decision to your wife, Mr. Ramirez. If she doesn’t consider it too familiar.”

The blonde laughed outright. “I think I’m going to really like you, Samantha Hastings.” Her eyes danced with deviltry. “Of course you may call him Hector, as long as you don’t keep calling me Mrs. Ramirez. My name is Juliette. My close friends call me Juli. And it looks as if we are to be very close friends.”

She felt David’s hand tighten gently on her shoulder and she glanced up into his face. “Did you know about this, Chance?” She used his ring name.

“Only when Hector approached my manager to see if I might be interested in playing some wild-ass character called Chance Davis.” His dark eyes met hers and she blinked. “I told him I didn’t know if the part would fit my personality.”

Sam pursed her lips. “Well, if you had the right screenwriter and you got some acting lessons, you might just manage.”

He moved closer against her back and she could feel the response to her teasing. She laughed a trifle breathlessly and her eyes moved back to Juliette’s smiling face. “I don’t know if I can work with this man. He is totally impossible to control.”

“Oh, I think you have no trouble at all controlling him, Samantha. I’m sure he’ll do anything you ask, if you just ask the right way.” Juliette glanced up into David’s dark eyes and slipped her arm through her husband’s crooked elbow. “Let’s go get something to eat, darling. It looks like our friends have forgotten entirely about supper and they both look hungry.”

It was well after midnight before they were able to slip away from the party. Sam had met no less than a dozen producers and directors who all expressed interest in her books. Her head was spinning with all the proposals and business talk. The meal hadn’t settled well and she’d had one too many glasses of wine. She had simply smiled at them when they got into detailed discussions and said sweetly, “You’ll have to discuss that with my business manager, I’m afraid. Here’s her card.”

Victor Mulvayne was in seventh heaven. She could see his mind counting all the cool cash his star performer was going to bring in for him, since he held David’s exclusive contract for the next three years. And Frank James was pleasantly contemplating the hefty commissions he would collect when he negotiated a couple of ultra-sweet movie deals for his client.

She was overwhelmed by all the possibilities thrown under her nose during the evening and by the time David drew her out of the private ballroom and toward the elevator, she truly felt shell-shocked. In fact, she was so bone-tired, she could barely think.

How in God’s name could she manage to write something as complicated as a screenplay, when she’d barely been able to write one damn word in months? It was, indeed, the chance of a lifetime and here she stood, nursing a case of writer’s block from hell. She felt uncertain, out of control and frightened. What the hell was she doing in this circus? On this mad merry-go-round?

She desperately needed to start writing again. To start feeling as if she existed in the real world, instead of some breathless sexual fantasy of David’s. His hands touched her. His body grazed hers deliciously. His eyes followed her. He wanted her. He enjoyed her. But as she wondered if he would ever really love her, she felt a sense of total hopelessness wash over her weary soul.

She wanted the kind of love others seemed to have found.

“Let’s go see what we can find to do upstairs, hmmm?” His voice was a purr of desire and she shivered slightly as she felt his warm breath against her temple.

“You have a wonderful sense of timing, David. But can we just walk for a while?”

“Walk? Walk where? This is New York City, after midnight. No one walks in New York City after midnight, unless they have a death wish.” He gazed at her quizzically.

“Oh well. If New York even scares Chance Braza, I guess we’ll just go upstairs and fool around some more.” She sounded tired.

He frowned down at her. That wasn’t exactly the response he had expected. Although her lips had said the words, he sensed instantly that she didn’t mean them.

She wasn’t interested in going back upstairs to bed and enjoying sex again tonight? He swallowed hard. A sudden sense of foreboding filled him. He’d pushed too damn hard. Had demanded too damn much. But she had enjoyed it too-hadn’t she? Or had he just imagined her responses? He stared down at her bent head and felt as if the floor had just dropped out from under his feet. He pressed the button for the elevator and ground his teeth to keep from cursing aloud.

Here he was, with a hard-on from hell, breathing like a steam locomotive and ready to tear his clothes off and throw her onto the bed. He drew a couple of deep, calming breaths and did his damnedest to get his mind and body back out of the zone. That was way easier said than done but when they finally stepped out of the elevator, he was able to walk the short distance to their suite door and slide his card key through the slot and open the door quietly, allowing her to step into the airy suite before following her.

She moved into the center of the sitting room and sank onto the antique divan, her head in her hands.

“You okay, Sam? What’s wrong?” He stepped up beside her and dropped to his haunches, his face level with hers. He almost didn’t dare to touch her but he gently slid his hand over her slim back and let it rest there without forcing the more sensual caresses his body craved. Needed. Desperately.

Sam swallowed hard. Her mind was a jumble of disjointed thoughts. She hadn’t been able to write a cohesive sentence in months and here she had the opportunity of a lifetime. She had been so damn immersed in the sensual pleasure of David’s desire for her, she had forgotten that living the dream left little room for trying to imagine anything more.

She felt his fingertips on the soft silk of her dress, toying with the zipper at her back, and she closed her eyes. The closeness of his body was enough to make her forget her own needs. The sound of his voice was enough to melt her resolve. And the gentle caress of those strong fingers was enough to send her to the stars. She wanted to turn into his arms and forget everything. But that was all she’d done for months now.

Tonight had made her realize that she was on a wonderful, crazily tilting carousel. One that would stop shortly and leave her in the dust while her emotions were left scattered and tangled in pain and rejection.

She so desperately wanted more than just this marvelous sexual gratification. She wanted so very much more. She wanted him to see her as a woman he could love, could be with forever. But all he saw was the way she responded so pathetically quickly to everything he said and did. He would never see her as anything but a willing, eager bed partner.

He didn’t see the loving, gentle person inside the wild, sex-crazed nymphomaniac in his bed. He saw nothing of the resourceful, independent woman who had forged a great career out of nothing and who had her own life outside his bedroom. He saw a woman who was pathetically willing. And pathetically eager. Pathetically in love.

She had been so damn cowardly to have agreed to this farce. Too cowardly to simply tell him she loved him, afraid that he would feel disgust that she had begun to cling. She should have paid the lawsuit if it took all that she owned. At least she would not now be facing the total collapse of her little bubble of happiness. But she had taken the cowardly way. Now she was stuck in a fruitless situation with no way out except to beg him to let her go.

He had told her that women gravitated to him like bees to a honeypot. He was right about that. They swarmed to him. He would have no trouble whatsoever forgetting about her. But she dreaded the moment when she would walk out that door and never see him again, except on TV or in the movies. For she had fallen desperately in love with her temporary “husband” and the thought of meaning nothing more to him than mindless sex left her hurting and frightened.

She calmed her thoughts with difficulty and raised a face streaming with tears and whispered huskily, “Just hold me, David.”

His gut tightened painfully at the sight of her tear-streaked face and the lost look in those emerald eyes. There was no glittering light of desire in her eyes. There was no vibrant sound of wanting in that sad, trembling voice. Only a complete lack of energy. He had noticed the way she had begun to sag at the party under the constant barrage of business and promises. He should have gotten her out of that fucking party sooner.

“Let me help you out of that dress and get you something to drink. You look frazzled.” His voice was uncertain and quiet.

“Will you just hold me, David? I just want to feel your arms around me. I feel safe in your arms.”

He rose and extended his hand. She took it slowly as she stood up and he gently wrapped his muscular arms around her, burying his face in the softly piled mass of copper atop her head. “Is this better?” he breathed quietly.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Talk to me, Sam. Is it something I did?” He felt suddenly frightened. Helpless.

“No.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

“Is it something I didn’t do?”

“I don’t know.”

He drew a deep breath. “I’ve been too damn possessive. I haven’t given you your space.”

“Shut up and just hold me.”

He obeyed, enfolding her gently in his embrace and closing his eyes as he felt her small hands move so gently and tantalizingly over his back. He swallowed as he felt her lips moving against his throat as she whispered, “Make love to me, David. Like you did that very first time. Make me forget who I am and who you are and take me back to the stars.”

He swung her into his arms and walked into the bedroom and set her gently back on her feet. He kissed her mouth slowly, gently deepening the kiss until she was panting with desire. He shrugged out of his jacket and bent slowly to slide her silken panties from her, before unzipping and gently lifting her and wrapping her thighs about his hips, fitting himself to her entrance with a need that frightened even him.

He lifted her so that he could slip her sweetly delightful body over his hard, aching cock, closing his eyes with ecstasy as he buried himself deep inside her tight, hot sheath.

He struggled to maintain his calm. She was so fucking ready. He felt her body enclosing him, felt her tighten about him as she climaxed with a gasping moan of delight. Yet he held back. He paid exquisite attention to detail as he carefully replayed their first time together, his eyes locking with hers in fevered need as she seemed to be asking him for something. Something he could not fathom. He urged her from climax to climax, knowing her body well and understanding the way she responded.

He lowered his mouth to her breast through the clinging silk and he drew the erect nipple into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around the taut peak. He felt her body arch and clamp tight about him as she clung to his head and panted with her release. And when he finally allowed himself to empty into her trembling body, he could not stand without leaning against the wall, dragging in deep gasps of air.

He held her to his body for several minutes as they calmed themselves. He said nothing but used his free hand to unzip the silk dress and drag it off over her head. She wore no bra. He swallowed hard as she unbuttoned his dress shirt and shoved it back from his body with slow, loving hands. He held her eyes as she ran her palms over his chest, caressed his nipples and then reached for his belt and released his slacks to drop about his ankles.

He watched the glazed expression of delight in those green eyes and wanted to make her forget about ever leaving him. Make her want him badly enough to stay with him. He bent his head slowly to caress her mouth again, stroking her eager tongue as she closed her eyes and opened to him. He willed her to open her eyes.

He lifted his face from hers and said shakily, “I don’t plan on fading out of this dream anytime soon, Sam.” And he slowly rekindled the fire that still burned hotly within both of them.

He held her close as they slept. She had seemed somehow…distant. Panic welled inside him for the first time in months. Her lovemaking had somehow seemed almost like a goodbye. It was nothing he could put a finger on. She had enjoyed his attentions as she always had. But she acted almost as if she didn’t plan to be around much longer. And that was unacceptable. She had promised him six months. It had only been three. She owed him three more. Right?

But her words, the way she looked at him, the way she had clung to him and sobbed when she thought he was asleep, scared the shit out of him. Had he pushed her too hard? Had he burned her out? Had he made her grow tired of him? He had never felt so lost before. So uncertain. Maybe he needed to stop treating her like she was a blow-up doll and back off a little. Maybe let her have some breathing space?

That thought made him shiver. What if she decided he wasn’t what she wanted? What if she decided she didn’t need him around anymore? Maybe she had gotten tired of him constantly pawing her. Wanting her. Needing her. He was so fucking pathetic.

He buried his mouth in her fragrant copper curls and closed his eyes. No. He had to make her want to stay. And he wouldn’t let her off the hook. No matter what.

Sam lay awake in the tight circle of his arms. She knew she couldn’t go on like this much longer. She was addicted to the man but her addiction was unhealthy for both of them. There was no way she could write another word when all she wanted was to be in his arms, in his bed, every time he looked at her. It had been a mistake to come to New York. She would fly back to Chicago tomorrow, while he was busy. She would figure out what she needed to do when she got there. But she could not-would not-just continue on as his plaything. This was killing her spirit. Killing her heart. No matter how much she wanted to be with him, this couldn’t continue. She was a living, breathing person, not a toy.

Yes. Tomorrow she would leave. She would figure it out as she went. Tonight she had made love as if there was no tomorrow. And there wouldn’t be.