Power Play (37 page)

Swooning inside, she put the flowers in a vase, carefully tucking the card back in its envelope.
The time's almost right,
she told herself.

She unplugged the phone and crawled between the sheets, feeling happier and more certain of herself than she had in months.

 

“I'm so glad you were able to come in on such short notice, Monica.”

Monica smiled politely, trying not to gawk at the shelves full of Daytime Drama Awards lining William Drayton's palatial office. Drayton was the head of Daytime Programming, the man responsible for reviving
W and F
fifteen years ago by hiring the best writers, producers, and actors for a show that at that time had the lowest ratings in daytime.

At six foot three with the body of a linebacker, Drayton was physically intimidating. Always dressed impeccably in Italian silk suits, his legendary gaze was unnervingly direct, bordering on staring. Right now, he was staring at Monica, his expression serious. “I'm sure you can guess why you're here.”

Monica did have an idea, but she wasn't sure she wanted to share it, just in case she was wrong.

“I've heard the show is in trouble,” she replied guardedly.

Drayton gave a barking laugh. “That's one way of putting it. The show has been a disaster ever since Christian Larkin took the helm. This hasn't been formally announced yet, but Christian, Chessy, and the writers have all been fired. The old writing team is coming back. Michael hasn't agreed to come back yet as exec producer, but I'm working on it. I'd like you to come back, too, Monica.”

His voice was somewhat formal; Monica sensed he didn't want to appear desperate. Well, she didn't care how
she
appeared. Her answer was a resounding yes. She was tempted to jump up and throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.

Drayton looked relieved. “I'm so glad.”

“I love working on this show,” Monica said softly.

Drayton smiled. “Good.”

“I'm just curious: How will Paige be written off? And how will Roxie be written back on?”

“The zombies become enraged at Paige when they learn she's the one who actually killed the zombie king. They tear her limb from limb, then burn her body in a sacrificial rite that also releases them from their eternal hell.

“As for Roxie, she isn't really dead. Prior to Father Chessler attacking her, she discovered a secret antidote to make her appear dead if attacked. She's been hiding away in a mountain cabin, waiting for Paige's downfall and the zombies' demise. She'll return triumphantly to town, where she and Grayson will wed, then have their child.”

“Sounds great.”

This was Roxie's, what, third wedding? Monica loved it when Roxie got married, because it meant the show would go on location to shoot at some exotic locale. Last time it was Hawaii. Maybe this time they'd go to Paris. “When will you be announcing my return formally?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“As soon as we announce the other changes to the show, which is Friday. Expect a press barrage.”

Monica smiled to herself. As soon as she left the office, she'd call Theresa. Theresa lived for press barrages; so did Monica. She couldn't wait to tell Eric her good news. According to him, the Blades no longer tuned in to
W and F
. Her return would bring the team, and the multitudes of other fans that had been upset by her departure, back into the fold.

Drayton stood, his large hands spread on his glass-topped desk. “I guess we're all set, then. Expect your first batch of scripts the end of next week. In the meantime, I'll call your agent, and we can discuss the terms of your new contract.”

Monica rose and went to the desk to shake Drayton's hand. “Thank you for your faith in me, Mr. Drayton—”

“William.”

“William. I won't let you down.”

“You never have. Welcome back to the
W and F
family, Monica.”

 

“Stop jumping around. You're making me dizzy.”

Sitting on Monica's couch, Eric watched in amusement as she pogoed around her living room, shouting out joyfully that
W and F
wanted her back. It was fantastic to see her happy; even more fantastic that he was the first one she'd called.

“Oh,” Monica said, breathlessly, coming to a stop. “Can you believe it? I mean, can you believe it?”

Eric chuckled. “I think that's the thirtieth time you asked me that in five minutes.”

“It's because I can't believe it,” said Monica, launching into a series of small pirouettes. “I kind of knew what might happen when Drayton called me in. But I didn't want to get ahead of myself or come off as egotistical.”

“You? Egotistical?” Eric teased.

“Very funny. So he told me Christian and Chesty were out, the writers were out, and the old writers were coming back in, and asked if would I come back to the show!” She started jumping up and down again, giving a small squeal. “This is so amazing!”

“No, it's not. It makes total sense. You're a great actress, and the show just isn't the same without you.” He smiled at her cheekily. “I take it you've gotten over your ‘Daytime is the lowest form of acting' fixation?”

Monica came back down to earth, plopping back down on the couch beside him, “Totally. Absolutely.” She threw her hands above her head like an excited child. “I love daytime! I love my job! I love life! I love you!”

A shock wave hit the room. Eric could feel Monica tense as he slowly turned to look at her. “Do you realize what you just said?”

Monica dropped her gaze. “Yes.”

“And you mean it?”

“Of course I do,” Monica murmured.

“Are you sure?” Eric asked skeptically. “Because I'd hate to think it just slipped out because you're carried away.”

Monica lifted her eyes to his. “It wasn't said in the heat of the moment.” She was tentative as she took his hand, her twined fingers sliding up and down between his nervously. “I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. I've felt this way for a while, but I was too afraid to say it.”

“Why's that?”

Monica hesitated. “Well, I wasn't sure whether you really wanted
me
back, or just wanted me back as a good luck charm because you play well when I'm at games.” Her fingers stopped moving. “But then I realized it had to be the real you wooing me, because the fake you would have been much smoother.” She giggled. “Those things you did were so dorky, Eric. But I loved it.”

“So now do you believe I love you, and that I'd never hurt you again?” he asked, overcome with remorse for all the pain he'd caused her.

Monica looked up at him, her body trembling slightly. “Of course I believe you love me,” she said with a small quaver in her voice. “And of course I believe you won't hurt me again.”

Relief dashed through Eric. “Good.”

Monica turned apologetic. “I'm sorry it took me so long—”

“Enough talking.”

He grabbed her and kissed her roughly, more turned on than he ever thought he could be by the low guttural sound that instantly rose in her throat, heralding desire.

“Bedroom?” Monica suggested huskily as she tore her mouth from his. The wild desire in her eyes was matched only by the hungry pout of her lips. He was tempted to take her on the couch right now; to rip the clothes from her body to reveal the perfect, soft skin beneath; to watch excitedly as she rode him, her head thrown back, her long hair cascading down her back. But he restrained himself. If she wanted to make love in the bedroom, then he'd make love to her in the bedroom. He wanted it to be all about her:
her
wants,
her
needs,
her
happiness.

And so he picked her up and carried her to the room where he intended to drive her crazy.

 

Jesus, thought Monica,
I can't take my eyes off him.
They were as eager as teenagers, shedding their clothes the minute Eric had kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. How many times had she bitten down on those powerful shoulders, making him cry out in hoarse but delighted pain? Run her finger along the white scar across his knee from an old hockey injury? Kissed her way down the taut abdomen and slim hips to take him in her mouth? She felt her nipples rise just looking at him and thinking about it; saw him rise, too, nakedly, unabashedly. Lust twisting through her, she tugged his hand and led him to the bed. She lay down, Eric propped up on his elbow beside her.

“Kiss me,” she commanded, quietly reassured by the way he was looking at her, as if she were a wonderment created just for him.

Eric, sloe-eyed, leaned over and kissed her softly, his hand brushing her cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Her words seemed to enflame him. Gentleness disappeared, replaced by the desperate ardor that had possessed both of them once they hit the bedroom. His mouth claimed her mouth, then her breasts, the kisses searing her skin, branding her as his and his alone. Monica returned his passion, running her hand along his solid hips and down his muscled thigh, the skin hot beneath her fingers and hard, as an athlete's body should be. The burning sensation licking its way through her began transforming itself into complete fire as Eric began stroking her inner thighs.

“Wider,” he urged.

Shuddering, Monica opened her legs wider to accommodate him. A gasp erupted from her lips as his fingers began exploring her, teasing out all the wildness she usually kept so well-hidden and under control. His fingers moved faster, but Monica resisted the temptation to explode. She wanted him to know the same delicious agony she was now in. Something they could share in together.

“Stop.”

Eric stopped, panting lightly. A thin sheen of sweat coated his body. Monica loved it; it was sexy, animal. She pushed him gently so that he was on his back, then climbed on top of him, her teeth biting down softly on his sculpted shoulders, her hair brushing against his face. Eric groaned as his splayed hands came up to run themselves up and down her back before cupping and kneading her bottom. Monica lifted her head; she wanted to see the hunger in his eyes ignite as she began a trail down his body, first with her fingertips, then with her tongue. When she got below his hips, she grasped him, hard. He was rigid, pulsing in her hand. Smiling at him wickedly, she lowered her head and began flicking her tongue around the tip, moving her hand up and down him gently.

Eric groaned with pleasure. “You're torturing me.”

“Good.”

“Let's see who's better at it.”

Pulling her back up his body, he flipped her so she was on her back. He was poised above her, his face flushed and wanting. Monica could feel the heat rippling up and down his body, the way it joined with her own, doubling the threat of complete conflagration. Eric kissed her hard, then reached over and opened the night table drawer, pulling out one of the foil packets left there from when they'd been intimate months before. He sheathed himself, then smiled down at her wickedly.

“Torture time for Miss Geary.”

He parted her wide. Monica held her breath, waiting, waiting, excitement beginning to punch its way through her.

He entered her slowly, so slowly she thought she might go mad. The whole time, he was watching her, his gaze hooded and sure.

“Is this how you want it?” he asked, beginning to move inside her. Monica couldn't speak. Eric's hands reached to take her wrists, pinning them over her head. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises. It was what she wanted. She wanted him to love her so hard it hurt.

He began thrusting deeply, his thirst for her an assault on her senses. Monica's head thrashed wildly on the pillow, her juddering body arching up to meet his. Yet she could feel him holding something back from her as his grip on her wrists slowly slackened.

“What?” she asked, her own voice sounding strangulated to her ears. “What is it?”

“Ride me. Hard.”

Monica let out a low moan as they flipped positions once again, and she mounted him, slowly taking him inside. His eyes were absolutely riveted to her, his gaze glazed. She began moving atop him, the rhythm slow and easy, her loving it as Eric threw his head back, the taut muscles of his neck rigid with self-control.

She was breathing hard now. Eric reared up, grabbing her face, kissing her with brute force, biting down hard on her bottom lip. Monica cried out in violent pleasure. He lay back down, watching her, his hands coming to stroke her hips before reaching around her to clasp her buttocks. Monica, full with the feel of him inside her, arched back, riding him as hard as she could, slamming her body down against his again and again, each jolt of flesh against flesh shattering her body into pieces. He bucked beneath her, clearly wanting release, but Monica refused to give it and kept riding him fiercely, this man whom she'd doubted for so long.

She wanted him to be the first to explode, but Eric tricked her as he began to tease and caress her most intimate place. Monica fell forward, a series of small sobs shaking her body as the room around her seemed to fall away and she lost control, her orgasm pounding through her as she screamed her pleasure. Barely able to breathe, she lifted her head just in time to see the pleasure on Eric's face as he grabbed her hips and pumped her wildly atop him until he exploded inside her, gasping and groaning.

The real Eric.

Her Eric.

THIRTY-THREE