CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Dinner was surprisingly pleasant. Deborah expected tension, but it turned into the celebration Ms. Morganstein had suggested they make it.

They talked about the movie and the amazing roles both she and Carey had in it, with no overt hostility on Rock's part.

"This movie is going to make your brother's career," Art said as he sipped complacently at his second glass of dinner wine.

"Are you worried about being typecast?" Rock asked Carey.

"No. I'm making a statement. It's who I am."

Rock's smile was the first genuine since the others had arrived. "Then it's a good statement to make."

"I don't want to live a lie, trying to build a career pretending to be something I'm not."

"I'm proud of you."

When Rock didn't add a caveat, making sure his brother knew that he wasn't proud of the decision Rock hadn't agreed with - going into acting - Deborah wanted to hug him.

Carey's eyes grew suspiciously moist, but he blinked several times and smiled. "Well, yeah, what's not to be proud of?"

Rock didn't smile. Serious as a banker under audit, he said, "Nothing."

"Let's not go overboard." Something in Carey's tone said he wasn't joking either, though he was trying to.

"Not to break up this little love-fest, but we need to agree on tomorrow's schedule." Ms. Morganstein pulled out her smart phone and started swiping and tapping. "We can do the initial scene blocking at six."

"In the morning?" Carey squeaked.

Ms. Morganstein gave a barely-there nod, but focused her attention on Rock. "Will that suit?"

"Yes. Carey can show you the areas mentioned in the contract."

"Since you are limiting the days we film in the house, we won't do any work inside until we've done all the scenes we can with the outbuildings and outside."

Rock relaxed back in his chair. "Good idea."

In other words, he wasn't budging on those limits.

Art frowned, but he just said. "We'd better get back to the lodge then. If we're going to be back here at the ass-crack of dawn."

"I'll bring my stuff with me tomorrow morning," Carey said to his brother.

Rock nodded. "Good."

Ms. Morganstein gave Deborah a questioning look.

"I brought my things over this afternoon." She didn't offer any explanation beyond that.

As awkward as the situation felt, it was none of their business. Deborah's decisions were her own.

"Are you sure you prefer to stay here?" Ms. Morganstein asked, a wealth of meaning in her words.

"Who wouldn't?" Seriously. Even without the phenomenal sex, Rock's home was beautiful and quiet.

The Northern Lights Lodge was nicer than she'd expected of the small town, but it couldn't compete with the millionaire's home. And the chance for quiet to study her lines and regroup after a day of filming was something she would never turn down.

Ms. Morganstein studied Deborah for several seconds before giving a sharp nod. "All right then. We will see you tomorrow."

The others left, and Deborah found herself helping Rock clean off the dining table.

"I'm surprised you don't leave this for Mrs. Painter."

"I would never."

"I like that."

He stopped in front of her, putting the dishes she was holding back on the table before pulling her into his arms for one of those shattering kisses he was so darn good at.

When he stepped back, she had to force herself to focus. "What was that for?"

"Do I have to have a reason?"

"Other than finding me irresistibly attractive? Nope," she teased.

"Good thing I do then."

She'd been admired for her beauty, her body coveted by men who liked the idea of taking someone famous to bed, but no one had ever found her sexually irresistible.

Not like this man.

"You're really good for my ego."

"You're not good for my self-control. Let's get this stuff to the kitchen so I can take you to my bed."

"I don't get my own room?" she teased.

"Sure, but you're sleeping in my bed."

"You're not even a little shy about what you want, are you?"

"Should I be?"

"No." She liked him fine just the way he was.

His smoldering look told her they had better get the table cleared or she was going to end up being made love to on it.

She didn't want that memory the next time she ate in here with her colleagues.

Deborah grabbed the stack of dishes and hotfooted it to the kitchen.

She was putting the serving dish to soak when she felt heat against her back. Rock's hands came around to cup her breasts, his hard body pressing into her from behind. "You look damn sexy at my sink."

"Some women might find that comment sexist."

"Good thing you're the one standing here." He bent down and pressed heated lips against her neck. "I like the way you look in my home. The only improvement would be you standing here naked."

She would have laughed but didn't have enough air. She'd known that was what he meant.

"I don't usually do the dishes naked."

"No?" he asked, teasing along her neck with his teeth.

She shivered, electric shocks of pleasure jumping like lightning from one nerve ending to the next.

He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. "Feel good?"

"You know it does." Her voice rose an octave as his tongue came into play.

Rock Jepsom knew way too much about how to give pleasure to a woman. To her.

Dizzy with that pleasure, Deborah dropped her head back. She let herself rest against his muscular chest, taking advantage of the stability and giving him better access.

The ultra-masculine sound of approval he made went right through her. Heat and pleasure coalesced in her core. A molten swirl of sensations she should be too tired, not to mention sated from earlier, to be experiencing.

What was it about this guy?

Everything about him turned her on. Every touch was perfectly targeted, causing a conflagration of desire in her.

She made a stab at reason. "I have an early call time tomorrow."

"Not as early as Carey's." There was definite satisfaction in Rock's voice.

"You sound a little too gleeful about that." Her words came out more breathy than the teasing tone she'd intended.

But his hands worked sexual black magic on her body, even through the layers of her clothes.

"I may still be a little bit pissed at him," Rock admitted against her ear, blowing soft puffs of heated air in more shiver inducing sensation. "Even if his actions brought you here."

Warmth unfurled inside her at the knowledge he saw her as a benefit to his brother's undoubtedly annoying finagling.

"You were really nice to him at dinner." Kinder than she'd expected.

"He's my brother."

Who Rock didn't mind waking up a couple of extra hours early to guide the director and his crew, but who he would ultimately protect, even from himself.

Rock slid his hand under her sweater and up the naked skin of her belly to cup her breasts, the silk of her bra no barrier to the calloused pads of his fingers. "Why are we talking about my brother?"

"I don't know." She inhaled sharply as he pinched her taut peaks.

"Flip that switch." He directed her head with his own so she saw a single switch to the right of the sink.

She reached out and pressed it, dropping the kitchen into immediate darkness. The shades had not yet been drawn over the five-foot-wide, countertop to ceiling window over the sink.

Moonlight bathed the meadow beyond in a silver glow, the sky such a dark blue it was almost black, the stars blinking through the break in the clouds, ethereal in their beauty.

She gasped again, this time from the sheer gorgeousness of the night sky.

How had Carey managed to leave this behind?

"You would understand better than I," Rock said, indicating she'd asked the question out loud. "You have the same passion for the business."

"It's our dream." Though what part of it was her dream and how much of her efforts were meant to prove something to people who stopped acknowledging her existence eleven years ago, she couldn't really say.

"Dreams." The wealth of disparagement in that single word was mind-boggling.

She turned in his arms, so she could look up into his face. Though cast in shadow, it wasn't hard to see the granite set to his jaw.

She reached up and laid her hand against his stubble roughed cheek. "Dreams feed our heart."

"It's a good thing I don't have one then."

"I don't believe that."

He looked down at her, his sherry eyes glittering blackly in the darkness of the kitchen. "Don't make the mistake of thinking because I love my siblings, I have anything resembling a real heart."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"This between us is sex. You know that. It's all you could possibly want."

"Why? Because I'm an actor?"

"Because your life is in LA and mine is very clearly here."

"You have to travel, Mr. Big Time Venture Capitalist."

"You're not looking for a long-distance relationship."

"I'm not looking for anything right now." This whole thing had come out of left field for her.

She'd come to Alaska to make a movie, not find a boyfriend, or something more. Honestly, she was still reeling from how quickly she'd responded to him.

It didn't help that with all the thoughts swirling through her head, her desire had not abated even a little bit. She was supremely aware of how close he stood, of every point which their bodies connected.

"Good." The finality in his tone said the conversation was over for him.

His lips covering hers insured it was over for her, too.

Not ready to talk about things still confused in her own head, she gave in easily, responding to his kiss and reveling in the knowledge that he was going to make love to her again.

After minutes of the mind-shattering lip-lock, he broke his mouth from hers to tug her sweater over her head. He didn't stop there but stripped the clothes from her body interspersed with kisses and caresses that kept her heartrate in the stratosphere and the pleasure inexorably building inside her body.

He looked down at her, her body pale in the moonlight from the window. "That's better."

"You said you wanted me naked." And this man was used to getting what he wanted.

It might even be a religion for him.

"I did."

"I think I'd like you naked too."

His brow rose, his craggy features cast in taunting lines. "Would you?"

"Oh yes." And she wasn't going to wait for him to acquiesce.

She immediately started on the buttons of his shirt, loving the glimpse of whorls of hair over a chest way too muscular for a man who made his living behind a desk.

He dropped his slacks even as she finished the buttons on his shirt. She let him shrug it off while she reached for the waistband of his briefs obscenely tented in front, his broad head already peeking out of the top.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, pulling the briefs down his legs as she did so. His big hard-on jutted toward her face. She accepted the invitation it presented without a second thought, leaning forward to kiss and then lick the weeping slit.

His flavor burst on her tongue and she went back for another taste, keeping him inside her mouth this time, licking and sucking with more enthusiasm than experience.

He didn't seem to mind, the demands and sexual praise falling from his lips a solid indication she was getting something right.

She wrapped both hands around his dick, rhythmically squeezing and rubbing while she played over his big, round head with her mouth.

He groaned and grabbed her under her armpits. "You've got to stop."

Her mouth came off him with a pop. "Why?"

"I've got a plan."

"Maybe mine is better."

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, bringing her body flush to his, her mouth close as she came up onto her tiptoes. "Trust me."

She gave her agreement in her kiss. He accepted it as his due and she didn't even mind. His hands were everywhere on her body, molding her curves, exploring her skin.

When he broke the kiss and turned her body around to face the window again, she made a sound of protest.

He leaned down and bit gently against her neck. "I'll make it good for you."

Of that she had no doubt. The man was a master at the art of pleasure.

He maneuvered her so she was leaning forward, her hands curled around the front edges of the sink for support, her legs spread, her bottom tilted up, completely open to anything he wanted to do to her.

What he wanted was to touch her, with his fingers, with his lips, with his teeth and tongue.

When she felt the broad head of his penis pressing into her entrance, she was so hungry for the contact she canted her hips back, tilting as invitingly as any temptress in history.

He speared her, his shaft stretching her and caressing her to new heights of ecstasy. The beauty of the night outside mixed with the silence of the kitchen broken only by their breathing and his promises of unending pleasure.

His angle rubbed her g-spot even as his hand came around so he could caress her clitoris with knowing fingers.

"You're going to scream as you come and I'll be the only one here to hear it." The dark promise skated over her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake.

A few more surges of his hips and she was doing just that, screaming and climaxing, her body not hers in that moment, but completely given over to the delight of his possession.

She was barely aware when he carried her up the stairs and laid her in his bed, dozing almost immediately, but waking enough to curl into his body when he returned some time later.

He'd probably picked up their clothes, discreetly discarded the condom and removed any evidence of their lovemaking from the kitchen so Lydia wouldn’t be shocked in the morning.

Rock was that kind of man.

 

Rock tuned out the voices coming from downstairs. They were filming inside today. It was only the third day doing so in the two weeks they had been making the movie on Jepsom Acres. Art Gamble had shown his savvy in scheduling as much of the filming outside as possible.

Even so, discomfort climbed along Rock's spine at the knowledge his home was filled with strangers.

Maybe now would be a good time to go for a ride on Orion.

He was quiet walking down the hall into the kitchen.

Mrs. Painter smiled in greeting. "You're a little early for your midmorning coffee."

"I'm going riding."

"In the middle of a work day?"

"How am I supposed to get any work done with all the commotion?"

 

"Don't be silly. They're staying on the main floor just like you instructed."

"They're in my home."

"It's Carey's home too."

"I have never denied it."

"It's good of you to give him this. I'm proud of you."

Rock scowled, though he was secretly warmed by the older woman's praise. "I wasn't going to let him go to jail for fraud."

Mrs. Painter's eyes widened. "That wouldn't have happened, surely."

Rock shrugged. Probably not. Not with his lawyers, but things could have gotten ugly before he contained it. He was a venture capitalist, not a fixer.

"Maybe you should ask Deborah to ride with you."

"She's working."

"Actually, she's not in this morning's scenes."

Then why in the hell had she had an early morning casting call?

"I supposed Mr. Gamble likes to have everyone on set regardless," Mrs. Painter answered as if he'd asked the question aloud. "I think he'll survive you stealing his leading lady for a little while."

Rock thought so too.

Spinning on his heel, he headed to the sound of Art's booming voice yelling, "Cut!" followed by a barrage of commentary.

Apparently one of the actors hadn't done their homework and didn't have his lines down. It wasn't Carey, so Rock tuned out the older man's lecture as he looked around the living room for Deborah's beautiful form.

Wincing in sympathy to the actor getting his ass handed to him, she stood against the far wall. She noticed Rock immediately, like she was tuned into his arrival.

Her smile was warm and inviting.

Too damn sexy for his peace of mind.

He made a come here gesture with his hand. She cast a sidelong glance at the director and bit her lip, clearly undecided.

Rock wasn't so reticent. He crossed the room in long strides, enjoying the way her beautiful face reflected both concern and welcome.

He stopped in front of her. "Mrs. Painter said you aren't in this morning's scenes."

He made no effort to lower his voice. Gamble was still yelling, so quiet-on-the-set wasn't a consideration.

He ignored the way everyone's attention shifted from the incensed director to Rock and Deborah.

"I'm not, but Art likes me to watch the other scenes filming, for a sense of continuity."

"You've read the script." About a hundred times, if the number of times she went over it every night was any indication.

"Yes."

"Then you know what happens."

"Was there something you needed, Rock?" Gamble asked from where he'd finally stopped berating the unprepared actor.

Rock shifted his body so he stood between Deborah and her director, but faced the other man. "Does Deborah's contract require she be here for scenes she is not in?"

"No, but I prefer all my actors watch the filming, and her particularly." Gamble cast Deborah a censorious glance. "Which she is aware of."

"And I prefer not to have strangers in my home. There are times when everyone must make compromises." Rock let a hint of warning infuse his voice.

It was clear the director's anger was spawned by the realization he was going to need more inside filming time than he'd planned for today, which could put future filming days in jeopardy according to their contract.

Gamble's expression turned crafty. "I could probably see my way to releasing Deborah for some R&R time if we could have an extra couple of hours filming today."

Carey, who was in the scene with the hapless actor, gasped. He knew his brother well enough to know that wasn't something he'd be likely to agree to.

What he didn't know was how much Rock wanted to take Deborah into his world, even if it was just for a few hours.

He turned to her. "Are you on the afternoon filming schedule?"

"Actually, no."

So, Art had planned to have his leading lady spend the entire day watching other scenes film instead of preparing for her own part or taking a much-deserved day off?

Rock turned glacial eyes to Gamble. "Deborah and I will be busy until eight. I expect my home to be quiet and empty of your crew and equipment when I return."

Gamble took a step back, his eyes widening in clear surprise at Rock's anger, but he nodded. "I can do that."

Rock turned his attention to Carey. "Make sure it happens."

"I've got your back, big brother."

Rock tamped down the desire to make a derisive sound. In his own way, Rock knew his little brother did have his back.

Rock put his hand out for Deborah. "You ready?"

She took his hand in silence and allowed him to lead her out of the room.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "You'll want to put on jeans and boots. We're going riding."

"What if I don't know how to ride?"

"Amanda is a patient horse. You'll be fine."

"What if I wanted to watch today's filming?" she asked, a bite to her tone.

"Did you?"

"No, but that is beside the point. You and Art negotiated my time like I’m a commodity."

"On the contrary, I negotiated for your time. No one is forcing you to spend the free time I negotiated with me."

"Are you sure about that?" Her director would be pretty angry if she messed up the valuable hours Rock had extended him.

"I am. Are you?"

"You're saying, if I choose to return to the filming or do my own thing, you aren't going to renege on the extra hours you gave Art?"

"You are always free to do your own thing."

Deborah's sigh ended on a pout he didn't think she was aware of. "That's at least marginally better. Though I'm not sure what I think of my director considering my company a commodity up for barter."

"Are you saying that when you film in Hollywood, you're never expected to attend a certain party, or go to an investor's home for dinner?" He knew he was right. Rock had made his own command performances as the charming young son of Georgia Howell and Errol Jepsom.

"I'm not sleeping with those investors or party hosts."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You're impossible, you know that, right?"

"I've been accused." By his siblings. By business rivals.

It was a thing.

She shook her head and spun on her heel, heading up the stairs. "I'll meet you in the stables."

"Can you ride?" he asked, planning their afternoon in his head.

"I had to learn for a commercial."

Well, that was good to know anyway.