Unlikely (15 page)

“Are you thinking about sex right now?”

He considered lying. It would probably be the best thing to do. Women wanted to talk, and men, well
…talking about the union versus the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers was not what he’d wanted to do when he saw her that morning, nor was
talking
what he wanted to do while sitting across the table from her now. All that schooling wouldn’t go to waste. He chose evasion instead.

“I think it’s a matter of the union deciding what’s most important and going for that,” he said instead of the other things he could have whispered into her ear.

“You didn’t answer my other question,” she said accusingly.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that right now.”

There was a long pause before she picked up where she’d left off.

“Ryan, I don’t think we should compromise. Look what’s happened to the other unions over the last few years. Once we give up one thing, who knows what else we’ll have to give up
?”

“Are they having problems getting workers to replace you?”

Sophie shook her head in grudging acknowledgement of his point. “No.”

“You know from firsthand experience how hard it is getting into one of the Hollywood unions. There are always going to be people who are willing to work for less, and you’re competing against them, not the studios.” In a far corner of his brain, he heard her, really he did, but her lips, still shiny with butter, were the focus of his gaze. She was still sexy when she passionately argued her union’s position, but he didn’t want to start something he couldn’t finish. He did have to go back to work today, and he didn’t want to have to concentrate on work with a raging hard-on chafing against his fly. When the blood rushed down, it made focusing on the tasks that required his other head difficult.

She finished off her shrimp and was eyeing the dessert menu when his phone vibrated against the table.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said. The buzzing persisted. “You have to get that.”

It was the studio. The union had compromised on some of its demands and it was time to marshal their forces before they got back to the bargaining table. He hung up, and pushed his platinum card into the waiter’s hand.

“I have to go. Things are really tense at work right now.”

Sophie looked disappointed again. He hated that he put that look on her face. He liked the look of smug satisfaction she got after good sex much
, much better. And he wanted to see a lot more if it.

She put down the dessert menu, gathered up her tote bag sized purse, and plopped her sunglasses back on her pert little nose.

“What’s up at Equia that’s keeping you there night and day?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice. He was thrilled that she took an interest in him as more than a convenient sex toy. He would like to share some of the burdens from work with her, but he cared too much, and desperately wanted to protect her from the ups and downs of the strike. He used attorney-client privilege as a false excuse again.

“Nothing much I can talk about. We’re just negotiating some complicated deals right now and the studio bosses want everyone’s nose to the grindstone twenty-four hours a day until everything is hashed out. You know how complicated it can get when everybody wants everything yesterday.”

She nodded in understanding. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around?”

It broke his heart that he had shaken her confidence in him, again.

When they got to the lobby, Ryan pulled her into a nook and took what he’d wanted all morning. He caught her by surprise, but then her lips opened for him. She tasted earthy, like his woman. He grabbed her ass, pulling her as close as their clothes would allow. She felt so good. He wanted to brand her, make her useless for anyone else. Embarrassed by his caveman thoughts and techniques, he pushed her away more abruptly than intended.

“Sorry, I have to go.” He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he needed to clear his head. The little head was doing all the thinking when they were together, and the little head hadn’t gone law school.

Sophie was saved by the bell. The blaring of her phone rescued them from an embarrassing moment. She didn’t know what had gotten into Ryan, but he was acting weird. She stepped back into the lobby nook. “Private Number,” the caller ID read.

The caller identified himself as Gregg Mackins, leader of the negotiating committee. Sophie was perplexed that someone so high up in the union would be calling her, a lowly strike captain. They agreed to meet for coffee in an hour or so near her house.

She ordered decaffeinated chai when she arrived for her meeting. Any more fully loaded coffee and her hair would stand on end, without gel. Gregg had described himself as a forty-year-old pudge. A dead ringer for Jason Alexander lounged at a back table with two other men and a woman she’d never met before. Introductions made, she slipped into the booth with her drink.

Gregg took the reins. “Sophie, first we want to thank you for agreeing to act as strike captain. You’re doing a great job at Equia,” he said, and following his lead the others fawned over her a few more minutes.

She’d only led chants, carried signs, and picked up coffee
—nothing earth shattering. Her natural suspicion kicked in. “Why are you guys blowing smoke up my ass?”

Taken aback by her matter-of-fact question, guilty looks passed between Gregg and the others. He finally spoke. “We want you on NegCom.”

“Why would you want me on the negotiating committee? I don’t have any particular knowledge or expertise that you guys wouldn’t have covered,” she said, getting more suspicious by the moment.

One of the
women spoke up impatiently. “We heard that your dad is Judge Harry Reid and your uncle is an ALJ with the NLRB, is that true?”

Heat stole through
Sophie’s face in frustration, not embarrassment. “Exactly. My
dad
is a federal judge and my
uncle
is an administrative law judge with the National Labor Relations Board.
I’m
just a makeup artist.”

“Look, we want you there to help us intimidate them. We’re not asking you to assert some kind of influence over your family or anything unethical like that. We just want to spread this info around to throw the other side off during the meeting tomorrow morning.”

Gregg spoke up. “The studios have asked us to come in with our best and final offer. We’re losing ground in these negotiations and need a little edge. Please. Say yes. Your opinion is as important as any other union member.”

Sophie blew out a breath and sipped her cooling tea. Sometimes it seemed no matter what she did, she could not break away from her upbringing. After all she had done to break out, establish her own identity, be her own person, people still wanted that other Sophie Reid, the San Marino judge’s daughter.

She stood, pulling her large bag with her. “Let me think about this. I’ll call you later, Gregg.”

After a
well-deserved nap, Sophie retreated to her artist’s studio. Since she’d met Ryan, she hadn’t spent much time painting. Now, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she needed the stress outlet working with oils provided.

She tuned the radio to a classical music station that wouldn’t steal her focus. Cool blue walls soothed her as she examined the unfinished painting on the easel. It was a self-portrait of sorts. The main woman in the portrait wasn’t reflective of her
—it was anyone and everyone. Rather, each face in the hair of the painted woman reflected the range of emotions warring through her.

Family, work, her relationships with men all informed the little Sophies. She added three faces today. The first exemplified the tension between her past and present. The second was a woman shouting, passionate about her cause. She dropped her brush, and her heart thumped several times before she was able to draw the face in her imagination. The last small face was how she imagined herself in the midst of a Ryan initiated orgasm.

A knock on the door made her drop her brush again. Good thing she’d remembered the thick canvas drop cloth. The light knock sounded again. What in the hell? No one knew about the room back here, other than her realtor, and she knew that ball of energy wrapped in a gold blazer wouldn’t drop by unannounced.

Covered in red, orange, and yellow paint, she pulled open the small door. Ryan stood there looking sexier than should be allowed, stubble shadowing his jaw.

“How did you…” The question died on her lips. This wasn’t the playful man who teased her senses through lunch. Instead, the man who faced her looked like he needed comfort. As best she could, given her diminutive height, she pulled him into her arms, wrapping an arm around one broad shoulder, the other snaking around a lean waist. They stood like that for a long moment. Unwrapping herself, she said, “Go into the house. The back door is unlocked. Let me clean up my brushes and meet you in there.”

Except for the dog’s nails clicking along the wood floor, the house was as quiet and dark as a tomb when she entered. Ryan hadn’t turned on the lights even though the sun had set while she was painting. If she hadn’t seen his car was still in the driveway, she’d have thought Ryan had been an apparition appearing through her sheer force of will.

She smelled it before she saw it. Turning on a lamp, she noticed that Ryan must have brought over Indian take out. Mouthwatering garlic, ginger, and scents of curry permeated the dining room. The dog spun and jumped around the table looking a little too eager. She moved the food out of the pup’s reach and ventured to the bedroom. Ryan was fast asleep, fully clothed on top of the bedspread.

His eyes flickered open when she crossed the threshold. She sat on the end of the bed taking in his conservative black silk socks. When had Brooks Brothers become sexy to her? “Please, make yourself at home.”

“I know I didn’t call. I had a beastly day, but I wanted to see you again.” His blue gaze penetrated her.

Her eyes skidded away. “You brought dinner. You hungry?”

He nodded. “I hope you like curry. I picked it up from a place I like on Ventura.”

“I’ll be right back.” She started for the door. “Oh, you might want to take off your suit and hang it in the closet or something if you don’t want short blond dog hairs all over it.”

“You can just admit you want me naked.” His voice was both playful and suggestive. “I’ll strip for you anytime.”

Sophie rolled her eyes heavenward and went to get the food. She loaded up a thick wooden tray with tandoori chicken, lamb korma, bhindi masala, and warm, buttery naan
and scooped it all up. When she came back with dinner, he’d stripped. His lightly tanned skin stood out against the stark white undershirt and pale blue boxers he still wore. She was dying to skim her hands along the fine blond hairs that dusted his arms and legs. Thank goodness she had iron control over her impulses. Accepting the tray on his lap, he draped a cloth napkin across his waist and picked up the knife and fork. She sat cross-legged across from him and nibbled at a little bread.

“Today wasn’t the first time you saw my studio.” It was a statement, not a question. Her husky voice quavered with vulnerability.

He paused, dropping his utensils on the tray and wiping his mouth. He took a long drink of water before he answered. “I just happened upon it before we went to brunch with my family.”

Sophie was quiet, too quiet for his taste. He wanted to tell her that she was brilliant and talented and that he would never breach her privacy again. But the last part would be a lie. He wanted to breach the protective shell she wore. He wanted her to be herself, whatever that was, when he was with her. He wanted to be involved in every part of her life.

“Not many people know I paint.” Sophie ducked her head in embarrassment. “I just do it for me. My parents always said it was a silly hobby.”

He felt honored to see a part of her few shared.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he said. “I think your work is beautiful. It’s emotional and reflects what’s in your heart. You should
display it, if not at a gallery, at least in the house.”

“Maybe one day,” she said. “Well, I’d kind of appreciate it if you didn’t go in there again. I need a space that’s just my own.”

The subject closed, they went back to the food. Eventually abandoning good manners, Ryan dropped the knife and ate with gusto. Halfway through the food on the shared plates, he noticed that she hadn’t really eaten anything.

“Aren’t you hungry from all that walking and shouting and sign waving?” he inquired.

Taking another small bite of her bread, she looked at him under heavy lidded eyes. “I had a big lunch.”

She knew right then she should not have mentioned their noontime meal. She’d only wanted to express that trying to bankrupt him at lunch had left her full. But he wasn’t interested in her stomach right now. Desire sparked in his eyes and he abandoned the supper, which had held such interest moments ago.

“Speaking of lunch, I think there’s some unfinished business to attend to
…”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and placed the tray on top of the dresser. Sasha stood on her hind legs and sniffed at the air around the chest of drawers.

Sophie stood too, scooting the dog toward the door. Ryan squeezed her upper arm, closing the door behind the dog with his foot. “The dog can wait. I can’t.”

The scents of old incense, fresh curry, and anticipation swirled around them. His lips brushed across hers and her token resistance to Ryan melted away.
He began to kiss her in earnest, walking her over to the bed. They tumbled onto the plush duvet, the feathers enveloping them. Her paint-splattered shirt and old jeans hit the floor first. Even with her eyes closed, she knew Ryan’s swift intake of breath came because she was braless. Clad only in sturdy underwear, Sophie turned inward, ready to submit to the pleasure his kisses promised. But he broke away before she could mindlessly succumb.

Suddenly, she felt bereft. She opened her eyes, surprised to see he was still in his underwear, his erection straining the fly of his boxers.

“I want to try something.”

Her arousal
-fogged brain cleared just a little bit. “What?” she asked, uncertain.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” She did. Implicitly. It was herself she didn’t trust to not think of him when he was gone, because his leaving was inevitable. Men ran from Sophie. It was just what happened. She didn’t trust herself to keep her heart in check, when he’d put his out there on the line. But there was no question that she trusted him.

He pulled the scarves from her lamps and used one to blindfold her. The other he used to lash her wrists together. When she started to protest, he placed a silencing finger on her lips.

“I don’t want you to tense up thinking so much about what’s going to happen next. I just want you to feel.” He trailed his fingers lightly along her jaw, down the arch of her neck, to her narrow shoulder. She relaxed. This man knew how to play her body like a violin. Not coming was no longer on the forefront of her mind, feeling good was. “If you want to stop, or remove the blindfold, just let me know,” he said, his voice serious. She nodded in acquiescence.

Without her sight, her other senses became infinitely more acute. She smelled the incense Ryan found in a drawer and lit, its pungent scent filling the room. She could hear him rustling around the room doing God knows what. Her skin rose in goose bumps, and her nipples beaded in anticipation.

A warm hand smoothed against her waist and she squeezed her thighs in anticipation.

“I’m going to strip your panties now.” His husky voice commanded her to open her thighs and she felt the elastic and cotton scrape down her legs
, leaving her completely bare to his gaze. She squirmed, knowing without seeing, that she was under his scrutiny.

The air stirred around her, lifting the fine hairs on her body.

She felt Ryan’s hot, damp kiss on her neck before it registered. His next kiss landed on the arch of her foot, making her toes curl. His lips graced her slim calves, the backs of her knees, and her belly button—untraditional erogenous areas, yet his touch made her thighs slick with her own arousal. And he hadn’t even touched her yet, not really. Not in those places that would send her into the stratosphere.

Then he did. His hot mouth and sexy lips covered her breast, his tongue playing against her nipple. She couldn’t see now, but she could remember how his head had looked pressed against her paler chest. Her hips bucked off the bed when a single finger parted her nether lips and slicked ever so lightly over her clitoris. She cried his name involuntarily.

He laughed softly. “You want me to stop?”

“God
, no,” she replied, her breath catching as he used his thumb to stroke her clit again and again, just hard enough to make her sweat, but not hard enough to make her come. She’d never thought so before, but the edge of orgasm was a nice place to be.

His mouth fused with hers. Their tongues mated and retreated. As his weight settled onto her, she hooked a leg around his hip, opening herself to him. His erection nudged her hip and she twisted, trying to get closer to him, if that was possible.