Faith sat bolt upright on the studio sofa, waiting for The Morning Show to start again after the ad break. Her palms were sweaty—a combination of the hot lights and a case of nerves that just might kill her—so she tried to wipe them discreetly on her skirt.
“Hey,” Dylan said beside her. “Are you all right?”
“Well, I’ve forgotten my name. Will that be a problem?”
He chuckled and rubbed a hand up and down on her back. “They have your name written on the autocue for the host, so that doesn’t matter. Just tell me you remember how to arrange flowers.”
“I can do that in my sleep.” Then she winced as she imagined herself fumbling. “Well, as long as I don’t drop the flowers with my sweaty hands.”
A man wearing a microphone headpiece waved an arm. “And we’re back in three...two...one...”
The host, Lee Cassidy, a woman in her early thirties with black hair pulled tightly back from her face, scooted back into the seat at the last moment and smiled at the camera. “We have a treat for you now. Dylan Hawke, one of the brothers behind the Hawke’s Blooms, and head of their hugely successful chain of florist stores, is here in the studio to tell us about a brand-new flower they launched a couple of days ago, the Ruby Iris. And he’s brought along one of his florists, Faith Crawford.” The host turned to them and smiled her megawatt smile again. “Welcome to the show. How are you both this morning?”
Dylan looked at Faith, giving her the chance to speak first. She opened her mouth to reply but no words came out. She closed her mouth, swallowed and tried again. Nothing. Prickles crawled across her skin.
Dylan smoothly picked up the ball. “We’re both great, thanks, Lee. In fact, we’re still buzzing after the launch of the Ruby Iris on the weekend. It was quite a night.”
“It sounds as if it was fabulous.” The host turned to the camera, giving her viewers the full benefit of her smile. “In fact, we have some photos.”
The big screen behind them suddenly flashed with images from the night, including one of Faith taking Dylan’s hand as she stepped up onto the stage. She was gazing up at him with her heart in her eyes. Would anyone else recognize that? Would Dylan be able to read that expression?
“So, Faith,” Lee said, “tell me why you love the Ruby Iris so much. What’s special about this new flower?”
Faith steeled herself. She had to answer this time. She needed words. Any words would do. “Well, Lee, it’s red.”
Lee raised her eyebrows as if to say, Is that really what you want to go with?
Dylan leaned forward. “Of course, there are many red flowers, but there haven’t been any red irises before now.” He nodded at Faith, encouraging her to pick up the thought and run with it.
“That’s true,” she said, aware she was probably speaking too fast, but at least her vocal cords were working now. “The most popular iris has been the traditional purple, and a customer favorite is the white, and there has been pink—”
“Okay,” Lee said cutting her off, “how about you show us more about this flower. We have a few things over here waiting for you.”
“I’d love to,” Faith said, relieved she could finally do something she was comfortable with instead of mindlessly listing flower colors.
The guy with the microphone headpiece waved at her to stand and pointed to the counter he’d shown her earlier. Lee followed him over, and the cameras panned to track their progress.
Faith stood behind a gleaming white counter with all the flowers and tools they’d brought along with them neatly laid out, and sent up a silent prayer that she didn’t mess this up. Hawke’s Blooms was counting on her. Dylan was counting on her.
Lee was at her side. “What are you going to make for us today?”
Faith’s nerves were rising, threatening to take over; she tried to breathe through it, but it wasn’t working. Then Dylan appeared at her other elbow and passed her a single white carnation. Faith took the flower, and the moment it was in her hand, she relaxed. She could do this.
As she trimmed the base of the stalk, she smiled at Lee. “I’m doing a simple arrangement that anyone at home could try. I’m going to use the Ruby Iris, but you can substitute your favorite flower—say, daffodils or tulips.”
For the next few minutes, she worked on the arrangement, bringing the vision in her mind to life, giving a couple of easy jobs to Lee to do so the segment was more interesting.
When Faith was done, Lee called Dylan back into the shot and thanked them both for coming in. Then the guy with the headphones told them they were on an ad break. Lee rushed back to the sofa to be ready for the next segment, a girl with a ponytail guided Dylan and Faith off the set and within minutes, they were in Dylan’s car.
Faith blinked. It was over. She’d made her first-ever TV appearance and it had consisted of her freezing and generally messing it up. Her head was still spinning.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan,” she said as he slid into the driver’s seat.
He started the car and glanced over at her. “What for?”
“You worked so hard to get that segment and I ruined it.”
“You were great,” he said cheerfully as he leaned over and squeezed her knee. She’d never met someone as skilled at manipulating the truth. If she hadn’t been in the studio herself to see the train wreck, she might have believed him.
She raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned. “Okay, so you stumbled a couple of times, but your demonstration was great. You were professional, yet you explained things in ways the viewers would understand, and your love for your work shone through.”
“I’ve let Hawke’s Blooms down,” she said, trying not to grimace as she said it. She didn’t want pity. She wanted to apologize. “Let you down.”
“Hey, you did us proud.” Before he could say anything else, his cell phone rang in its cradle on the dashboard and he thumbed the Talk button. “Dylan Hawke.”
“Dylan, it’s Ben Matthews from The Morning Show. Thanks again for coming on today.”
“Thank you for inviting us.” Dylan pulled out to overtake a car without missing a beat in the conversation. “Anytime you want someone from Hawke’s Blooms back, let us know.”
“I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve just been talking to a producer from our network office in San Diego. I’d asked them to watch out for your segment today and they were impressed.”
“That’s good to hear,” Dylan said, sliding Faith a grin.
“They’ve been considering a weekly gardening segment, but now they’re interested in making it about flowers instead. Maybe how to arrange them, keeping them alive longer, that sort of stuff. What would you think about Hawke’s Blooms doing that segment? If it goes well, we could talk about other guest spots on our LA show then.”
Dylan squeezed the steering wheel harder, but his voice remained easygoing. “We’d be very interested in doing that, Ben.”
“There’s only one condition they’ve laid down. You need to have that woman from today’s segment as the florist. Our social media went crazy for her when she was on air.”
Faith gasped and then covered her mouth with her hand in case Ben could hear her in the background. The producers had liked her enough to make her involvement a condition? It was surreal. And people watching had liked her enough to comment about her?
“I’ll talk to her and let you know,” Dylan said.
“Well, talk quickly. They want you down there for tomorrow’s show. You’ll need to be in the studio by five a.m.”
“I’ll get back to you within the hour.” Dylan ended the call and threw Faith a grin. “I guess you didn’t ruin it.”
“They want me,” she said, the awe she felt coming out in her voice.
He laughed. “They sure do. What do you think? Interested?”
“Absolutely.” This was the biggest thing ever to happen in her career—in her life—and nothing could make her let the opportunity pass.
“Then we’d better start making plans.” He turned into her street. “I’ll ring Ben Matthews back and work out the details. I’ll also have my personal assistant book us flights and rooms in San Diego for tonight. We’ll catch a late flight down and one back after the show in the morning.”
His voice had been so calm, planning the details it would take to get them there, that at first she missed the significance of what he’d said. Then it hit her.
“A hotel?” she said as she wrapped one arm around herself. “Us?”
Gaze still on the road, he nodded. “They want us on set at five a.m., and I don’t want to take any chances on delays. It would be much better if we’re already in town.”
“But we agreed...” She let her words trail off, wondering if she was making too big a deal out of this since he didn’t seem worried at all.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice a notch lower than it had been only a minute earlier. “I’ll get rooms on different floors. We’ll be fine.”
Okay, that seemed reasonable. Different floors should be enough distance if they were both on their best behavior.
He pulled up in front of her house. “You pack a bag and I’ll let you know the time of the flight.”
“Sure,” she said and climbed out. As he drove away, she sighed and hoped she could trust herself to be on her best behavior if Dylan Hawke was sleeping in the same building.
* * *
The flight to San Diego was uneventful, and as soon as they arrived at the hotel, Faith excused herself to her room. She told Dylan she needed some quiet time so that her head was together for the show tomorrow, and that she’d order room service for dinner and read the book she’d brought.
But it wasn’t that she needed quiet so much as a break from the tension of being with Dylan. Or, more precisely, being with him and not touching him as her body was screaming out to do. That particular tension was going to drive her insane.
And going insane just before going on live TV representing Hawke’s Blooms would not help anyone. She tried to drag in a full breath but it felt as if there was an iron band around her ribs, stopping her lungs from expanding. It might have been okay to mess up last time, but tomorrow had higher stakes. It was the first of what could become a regular segment. The expectations would be higher. The crew would be anticipating someone professional. Could she be that professional?
Her cell rang, and the sudden buzzing made her jump. She checked the screen and Dylan’s name flashed up. She took a breath and thumbed the Talk button. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Even over the phone, his voice had the power to send a shiver down her spine. “I’m fine. I’ve stayed in hotels before.”
“About tomorrow,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You freaked out a little bit last time.”
She sank down to the edge of the bed. “I’m older and wiser now.”
His voice dipped, became serious. “Honestly.”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath. “I’m probably not wiser. Though I’m not freaking out.”
“Promise?”
She lay back over the hotel bed and covered her eyes with the inside of her arm. “Maybe freaking out just a little bit. But nothing to worry about. I’ll have it under control in a moment.”
“Try and minimize it in your mind,” he said, his voice like warm honey. “It’s no big deal.”
She snorted. “It’s probably not a big deal for you. You’ve spoken in public heaps of times. This is still big and intimidating for me.”
“If you worry about it all night, you’ll have yourself in a state by morning.”
“Is it too late to cancel?” she asked, only half joking. “Or fly someone else up here?”
“You’re the one they want.”
There was something in the way he said the words that made her think he wasn’t just talking about the TV spot or about business. It was in the way he said want, as if he was on this bed beside her, whispering the word in her ear. Her pulse picked up speed. Part of her was longing to whisper it back. Longing to walk the corridor and stairs to his room and whisper it in person. But they’d made a decision, and she needed to be strong. She pulled herself up to sit against the headboard, piling the pillows behind her, trying to focus back on the real reason for this conversation. Having her eyes closed when talking to Dylan Hawke was probably not the best way to stay focused on work.
“But if I ruin this, it’s Hawke’s Blooms that will suffer,” she said, shifting her weight against the pillows, unable to get comfortable.
“You won’t ruin it. I have every faith in you.”
He meant it, too. She could tell. What she wouldn’t give to have him here beside her right now, sharing his strength, his self-assurance. She always felt more anchored when he was near. Unfortunately, having him near would also kick her libido into action. What she needed was to stay on topic.
“You said yourself I’ll have myself in a state by the morning. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’d be better off standing behind the counter back in Santa Monica.”
“Think about something else.” His voice was cajoling, like the devil inviting her to sin. “Go to your happy place.”
“My happy place?” she asked warily.
“A memory or thought that always makes you happy. Do you have one of those that you can use?”
Her breath caught high in her throat. Him. “Yeah, I can think of something.”
“What is it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, attempting to sound breezy. “I’ve got one.”
“If you tell me, I can talk you through it. Work with me here. I’m trying to help.”
“Okay, it’s...um...the flower markets.”
“The flower markets?” he asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.
Seemed she wasn’t as good at manipulating the truth as he was. Maybe more detail would help. “In the mornings, like at about two or three a.m., when they first open.”
“Faith, I don’t doubt you like the flower markets. But that’s not the happy place you decided to use.”
“Sure it is.”
“Faith,” he said, his voice low. “What is your happy place, really?”
“I can’t tell you.” She hoped that would be enough to make him drop the subject but had a sinking feeling nothing would make him do that now.
“Why?” It was a simple question, merely a word, but when it was him asking, it became more potent, and she lost her will to resist.
“Because it’s you,” she said on an anguished breath. “You’re my happy place.”
A groan came down the line. “Hell.”
There was a knock on the door, and she wasn’t sure if the interruption was good timing or bad. “Hang on, someone’s at the door.”
“I know,” he said, and as she opened the door, she saw him leaning in the doorway as if he’d been there a while, his cell still at his ear, his eyes blazing.
“You’re here,” she said. She’d never wanted him more than in that moment. She disconnected the call and threw her cell in the direction of a table, but she missed and it fell to the floor. She left it.
Instead of answering, he reached out with his free arm and dragged her to him, his mouth landing on hers with a comfortable thud. Or maybe that sound was his cell phone dropping to the floor. He stepped forward, so she stepped backward, and he kicked the door behind them closed, blotting out all sound except breathing and the rub of fabric on fabric as they moved.
She grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him to the bed. The pillows were still bunched in a pile at the headboard, so she maneuvered him to lie diagonally across the crisp white cover. Then she followed, not worrying about grace and finesse, just needing to touch him, to be as close to him as she could.
His leg wrapped around hers, pulling her against him, and she almost melted, but she didn’t stop her frantic touching, exploring wherever she could reach. It was as if a fire burned deep inside every cell, and the only thing that could relieve the burn was Dylan. Her fingertips brushed over his jaw, his throat, needing to feel the stubble of his evening beard as if the roughness held the secrets of the universe.
As they moved, his fingers worked at her buttons until the sides of her top fell apart. She shrugged out of it without missing a beat and was rewarded when his large palm covered a breast. She was rendered motionless, absorbing the sensations, the heat, the pure beauty of the moment.
“Dylan,” she said without even realizing she was speaking.
He pulled her bra aside and leaned down, covering the peak of her breast with his mouth, using his tongue, his teeth, to make her writhe.
When he began to undo the button and zipper on her trousers, she lifted her hips, glad he was the one doing it, because operating a simple zipper was probably beyond her. Once the trousers were off, she relaxed her hips, but his hand smoothed over the front of her and her hips bucked straight back up again.
“I’ve been dreaming of touching you again,” he said, his voice urgent. His fingers caressed her over the thin fabric, then moved underneath. At the first contact with her skin, an electric current shot through her body and she shivered.
“I’ve been dreaming of it, too.” Fantasizing, hoping, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
She tried to wriggle out of the underpants but there were hands and intertwined legs in the way, so she made no progress until he grabbed the sides and pulled them down her legs. Then he moved down her body and rested his face on her hip, his fingers toying with her, driving her crazy. His warm breath fanned over her, and the world narrowed to just this moment. She felt the weight of his head lift from her hip a moment before his mouth closed over the center of her. She gasped and moaned his name.
He moved her leg to accommodate his shoulders, and she offered no resistance—couldn’t have if she’d wanted to, since every single bone in her body seemed to have dissolved. His tongue was working magic, and she was on the edge of something powerful, something glimmering in the edges of her vision. When it hit, he rode it out with her, holding her tight, his face pressed against her stomach.
Then he was gone and she heard his clothes dropping on the carpet, his belt buckle clinking as it landed, the heavy fabric of his sweater making a more muffled sound as it hit the ground. The mattress dipped as he came back into view, already sheathed, crawling over her, hovering, his features pulled taut with tension. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her, reveling in the feel of his body against hers, leg to leg, hip to hip, chest to chest.
She scraped her nails lightly across his back, eliciting a shudder, so she did it again. He reared back, lifting himself above her, and stilled. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of you.”
A faint sense of misgiving twinged in her chest—she suspected no matter how much time she had with him, it would never be enough. She pushed the thought away. She’d take the time with him that she could get.
He began to move again, guiding himself to her, and she raised her hips to meet him. Then as he slid inside her in one smooth thrust, he held her gaze. His eyes were so dark she couldn’t see the green, just an intensity she’d never known. She was trapped by it, could only move in sync with his strokes, becoming more and more lost as if pulled deeper by an exquisite undertow.
He changed his angle and the friction increased, becoming too much, not enough. He was above her, around her, inside her. Everything was Dylan. When the fever within her peaked impossibly high, she burst free, her entire body rippling with the power of it. And while she was still flying, Dylan called her name and shuddered, joining her, holding her close.
Minutes later, she was still in his arms, trying to catch her breath. After her experience of being with this man twice now, she’d come to the realization that making love with him was nothing short of explosive.
“We did it again,” she said, opening one eye to look at him.
He reached for her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. “Perhaps it was unreasonable to stay in the same hotel and expect to keep our hands to ourselves.”
She thought back over the evening, at her attempts to resist. “We almost made it.”
He laughed. “We nowhere near made it. But at least you’re relaxed now.”
“You’re right,” she said and stretched. “And if I tense up in the studio, my happy place is happier than ever.”
“Tense up? Then you’re not relaxed enough. How about I do something about that...”
He reached for her again and, smiling, she went to him.