All Over You (3 page)

Sadie shrugged. “Don’t want to take our work home with us?”

As if that particular strategy ever worked.

Later that evening, Grace sat down to a gourmet-meal-for-one at her small drop-leaf dining table. She’d bought a crisp sauvignon blanc to accompany her salmon with baby vegetables and garlic mash, and she slathered her bread roll with proper butter, damning her curvy hips and thighs to hell.

Consigning the washing up to tomorrow — one of the joys of living alone — she slipped into a satin gown she wore to bed and flopped onto the couch. When a quick flick through the offerings on TV drew no interest, she resorted to her movie collection. She was about to dust off an old
Indiana Jones
DVD when her eye fell on the DVD she’d brought home from work. She hesitated a moment, then gave in to temptation.

Sliding the disc into her player, she made a fortress of cushions for herself on the couch and settled in for the evening. The
Ocean Boulevard
theme song came on and the credits flickered across the screen. Her heartbeat picked up and her body tensed a little in anticipation…. And then Mac Harrison’s tall body filled the screen and every nerve ending in her body went on hyper-alert.

It was part of her job to keep up-to-date with how the scripts she edited translated on-screen — but she’d be kidding herself if she pretended watching the show was anything other than a chance to spend some time with the only man she’d allowed into her life in the past four years.

He was so hot. Six-foot-three-inches of sexy, hard male. Gorgeous. Dynamic. Charismatic. And all hers for the next few hours.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to define exactly what it was about Mac that had captured her imagination and led her to cast him as the star of her most intimate fantasies. It wasn’t as though she’d been looking for a man to play the role. She’d always spread her favors, so to speak, across a broad spectrum of hunks — George Clooney, Jude Law and Johnny Depp. And even if she had been looking for inspiration closer to home, there were plenty of attractive men on the show — eye candy galore, in fact — who could have fit the bill equally well. But none of them had the power to turn her insides to mush the way Mac did.

Of its own accord, her finger pressed the pause button, the better to complete her appraisal.

He was wearing only a pair of worn jeans, exposing most of the good stuff to her roving eye. She scanned his broad shoulders appreciatively — well-muscled but not too Arnold Schwarzenegger chunky, they were just about perfect. Then her eyes dropped to his trim, toned waist. Also pretty damned fine. And his butt — the perkiest, most grabbable, most I-want-to-take-a-bite butt she’d ever seen. As if all of the above wasn’t enough, her gaze slid to his long, strong legs. Firm thigh muscles hinted at speed and strength and stamina and a whole lot of other
S
words that were making her feel decidedly…
warm
as she lay stretched on the couch.

God, he was hot. With a capital
H
.

Biting her lip, Grace pressed the play button and watched as he swung back into action. He had an amazing walk — almost a swagger, really. Like a modern-day cowboy. It screamed masculinity and confidence, and combined with his sans-shirt condition, was almost enough to make her hyperventilate.

“Oh, yeah,” she groaned as he turned toward camera, revealing superbly toned abdominal muscles and a chest covered with exactly the right amount of darkened caramel curls.

The camera zoomed in tight for a close-up and she was treated to the full force of his cerulean-blue gaze as he stared down the barrel. He had a strong brow, cheekbones and jaw line, with a straight, very masculine nose. His lips were chiseled and generous, and his dirty-blond hair flopped over his forehead enticingly. The preferred media comparison was to Paul Newman as a young man. Personally, Grace thought his face was all his own.

“I trusted you,” his character, Kirk, said on-screen, his voice a low, gravely husk. “I believed every word you said.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” his on-screen wife, Loni, said.

“Haven’t we always been honest with each other?” he asked.

“Too honest sometimes,” Loni admitted.

A long silence as they eyed each other. Mac lifted a hand, running it through his already tousled hair. Grace squeezed her knees together as she watched his muscles ripple.

On-screen, Loni crossed the space between them and laid a hand on his bare chest.

You lucky witch,
Grace thought, imagining how hot and hard his skin must feel.

“I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?” Loni asked in a small voice.

As though he couldn’t stand her pain, Mac ducked his head to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Loni started to cry. Mac groaned and cupped her face.

“Don’t,” Mac said, torn.

Loni shook her head, inarticulate, and he ducked his head again to kiss her tears away. This time their noses bumped and within seconds their lips had found each other. Loni clutched at him, desperately trying to hold onto him. Mac hesitated a moment, then angled her head back, deepening the kiss. Her hands splayed down over his neck, across his back. He pulled her closer, absolutely intent on getting what he wanted.

Heart banging against her rib cage, Grace reached for the pause button on the remote.

She was turned on. There was no denying it. She’d been fantasizing about Mac for so long now that all she had to do was look at him and her body responded. Briefly she considered inviting Mr. Buzzy out from her bedroom drawer to join the party, but she was too far gone already. Closing her eyes and giving herself over to the desire pulsing through her veins, she slid a hand over her breasts and down her belly to between her thighs. She knew the sets on the show like her own home and the scene she’d just watched sprang to life behind her closed eyelids in full Technicolor. Only, instead of Loni standing in front of a half-naked Mac, it was her.

He was so close she could smell his aftershave — something dark and spicy, hinting at open fires and warm bodies and sex. In the bedroom of her mind, she stepped closer to him. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable, but she could see the banked passion in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What we both want,” she replied. She reached out and ran her finger down his chest, sliding over the hardened nub of one nipple before tracing her way down into the tidy arrow of curls that disappeared beneath his waistband. He swallowed, hard, and she licked her lips.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she said. She dropped her gaze for half a second, just long enough to take in the rigid length of the erection straining against his jeans.

He remained silent, although she could see a battle going on inside him. She wanted him to resist a little — enough for her to prove to him how pointless it was to deny the attraction between them. Flattening her hand, she slid her palm down along the hard bar of his erection, then curled her fingers around it through his jeans.

He shivered and she smiled a secretive, confident smile. Her hand slid back up, and she grasped the stud at the top of his fly. Still he didn’t say anything, and she popped the stud free with a deft twist of her hand. Her fingers found the tab of his zipper and she opened it with one smooth move. Then she stepped close and pressed a kiss to his hard, hot chest even as she slid a hand inside his boxers and grabbed a handful of rock-hard masculinity.

“Grace,” he groaned. Then his hands were all over her, smoothing down her back, cupping her butt, sliding up and around her rib cage to massage her breasts. She panted and continued to work his hard shaft, unable to let go, as he pushed her top down over her breasts and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her knees went weak as he tongued each hardened tip in turn, his mouth rough, his hands gentle, the combination sending her spiraling toward her climax.

As though he sensed how close she was, Mac pushed her back against the wall. A hand shoved her skirt up and she moaned low in her throat as his fingers slid between her thighs. He murmured his approval as he discovered her panty-less state, his knowing hands dipping between her folds to find her slick and ready for him. Whispering words of praise and promise in her ear, he slid a finger inside her. She clenched around him, so close, so close — but she wanted more, she wanted it all, and she pushed his hands away and worked feverishly on his jeans.

He knew exactly what she needed. Lifting one of her legs up and hooking it around his hip, he slid his hands up the backs of her thighs until he cupped her backside. Then he hoisted her up and slid inside her with one powerful stroke.

She came instantly, her head falling back, her cries echoing in the room. Sensation rippled through her body, a tsunami of pleasure that swamped her entire being.

For a long beat, she simply existed as she floated on the afterglow of her orgasm.

Then, as always, she forced herself back to reality. She was in her apartment, alone, the TV screen frozen on an image of Mac Harrison, bare-chested and gorgeous.

With a press of her finger, the screen went to black and the DVD player shut down. It was time to go to bed. She made her way to the bathroom, frowning as she squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush. She couldn’t help wondering how Sadie and Claudia would react if she confessed her little secret to them: that ever since Mac Harrison had returned to reprise his role on
Ocean Boulevard
after a six-year absence, she’d had a lust crush on him a mile wide.

Claudia would fall about laughing. Probably Sadie would, as well. Not
at
her, but at the irony of the situation — Grace Wellington, founding member of the Nothing But Contempt For Men Club, had a soft spot for the show’s biggest horn-dog. It was too, too ironic. And faintly embarrassing, really. She should know better, she really should. The man was a known womanizer, he was paid to play make-believe and he lived a frivolous, pointless life. In short, he represented about a million of the things she liked least in men. There really wasn’t anything admirable about him at all, in fact, apart from his superb body and gorgeous face. Her crush was absolutely a manifestation of lust. But, somehow, some way, no matter how many times she chastised herself for her bad taste in virtual lovers, he kept on sliding into her fantasy bed and taking her in his arms. Which was why she’d never confided in her friends. And, after all, it wasn’t as though she knew everything about Sadie and Claudia’s sex lives, right? It was nobody’s business but her own. It was utterly harmless, a private indulgence that affected no one save herself.

It helped that she’d never met the man. Sure, she’d passed him in the corridors when she’d been across town at the studios for meetings, but she’d never exchanged actual words with him. There was an unspoken divide between the writing team and the cast and crew — it wasn’t just about being in different locations, it had been the same on every show Grace had worked on — so it wasn’t particularly notable that they’d never been introduced. But she didn’t need to meet him to know what he was like — she knew his type.

Yep, Sadie and Claudia would definitely lose a lung laughing if they knew.

Sliding between the sheets, Grace set the alarm and switched the light off. Her body was humming with satisfaction. As usual, virtual Mac had been the perfect lover: flawless technique, intuitive, voracious. Best of all, he came with absolutely no strings attached and she didn’t have to wonder when he’d call again or listen to his lame-ass excuses for why he couldn’t stay the night.

And he would never, ever cheat on her.

The perfect man, indeed.

Smiling smugly, she fell asleep.

M
AC
H
ARRISON GRUNTED
with disgust as he threw the script he’d been reading across the room.

Drivel, absolute drivel. How anyone expected him to say those lines of dialogue with any sincerity was beyond him. Reaching for his beer bottle, he realized it was empty. He was about to push himself off the couch to grab another brewski from the fridge when he registered that there were another three empty bottles lined up on his coffee table. Four beers. And he was alone. And it was midnight on a Sunday evening. Not quite time to check into the Betty Ford center, but still…Perhaps it was time to switch to soda water.

He sank back onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair. He felt like crap. He’d been sleeping way too much lately and spending too much time on his own — probably because his libido was nonexistent. Depression tended to do that to a guy. His gym routine was about the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

He stared at the discarded script where it lay crumpled on the ground a few feet away. He had five scenes he needed to memorize for tomorrow’s shoot, but he couldn’t make himself pick it up again.

Jesus, he needed another beer. Which was a pretty good reason not to have one. Mac had seen his fair share of actors succumb to drug and alcohol addictions over the years. He didn’t plan on becoming one of them. But he also knew he had to do something because he couldn’t continue living his life the way he was.

It had been a mistake coming back to
Ocean Boulevard
. The moment he’d gotten over his relief at having a regular paycheck again he’d known it. He’d been greeted like a returning king by the producers when he walked back on set twelve months ago and the show’s loyal fan base had gone wild. The soap magazines had splashed him across covers and he’d smiled, answered all their questions and basically acted his butt off to look as though he was exactly where he wanted to be.

But he so wasn’t.

He’d come to Hollywood from Seattle as a determined eighteen-year-old and hadn’t been able to believe his luck when he’d scored a role on a new soap. He’d only intended to stay with the show a year, two max. But each year his paycheck got fatter as the show’s ratings rose and his character became more and more popular. At the same time, the older actors on the show were constantly telling him how good he had it, how lean it was Out There, how he’d never have it better. By the time he’d been with the show for eight years, he’d crossed the line from complacency to boredom and frustration. Finally, he made the leap.