Burning Up Read online

  “Listen, sorry about that,” he said, offering her a small, sheepish smile. “What can I say? My leg hurts like hell, I’m hungry enough to eat a small horse and I wasn’t expecting a plateful of grass and white sludge.”

  His apology should have been insulting. He was still running down her cooking, after all. But the truth was that she wouldn’t have been too happy about being presented with such a tasteless plateful of bland, either. Plus, he was smiling at her, and it was amazing to discover how many different colors of amber and gold and topaz there were in the irises of his beautiful eyes….

  It was happening again! Sophie gave herself a mental slap. She was not going to be mesmerized by him. Without a doubt, his appeal allowed him to get away with murder in life, and she was not going to pander to him when he already had most of the western world at his feet.

  “I can make you something else,” she offered coolly. “An omelet? A club sandwich, or something more substantial, if that’s what you want?”

  He shrugged in what she figured he thought was a boyishly rueful way. She narrowed her eyes and staunchly resisted the urge to be charmed.

  “Apparently my contract states I have to maintain my current weight, and the studio is concerned I’ll pork up if I’m forced to sit around on my butt for too long,” he said. He eyed the chicken and cottage cheese, then slowly pulled the plate toward himself. “So, I guess this is me for the next four weeks.”

  Resting his crutches against the island and cocking one hip against it, he grabbed a fork and began to eat. She watched, fascinated despite herself, until she caught sight of his tongue and something warm lurched in the pit of her stomach. Startled, she forced her gaze away.

  She wasn’t interested in Lucas Grant’s tongue—or anyone else’s, for that matter.

  Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like with someone else?

  Brandon’s words haunted her yet again. Until Lucas had first appeared in her kitchen, she could have honestly answered no to that question. Which was disturbing for a whole bunch of reasons, really.

  Determined to resist the lure of his charisma, Sophie returned the ham to the fridge and grabbed the sponge from the kitchen sink. Even though the counters were pristine, she wiped them down, anyway. Anything to distract herself from the disturbing tendency she felt to reach out and touch him, to find out if he really was as hard and hot as he looked.

  “There. Done,” Lucas said.

  She risked a glance in his direction and saw that his plate was bare. And that he’d switched his attention from food to her. There was a certain glint in his eye that hadn’t been there before, she noticed. And a certain quirk to one corner of his mouth, as though he was on the verge of smiling but wasn’t quite ready to share the joke. Then his gaze dropped below her face and she realized with a hot flush of awareness that he was checking her breasts out. And then—good Lord!—her thighs and ass.

  By the time his gaze had returned to lock with hers, he was smiling fully. A big, enchanting, underwear-dissolving smile that had parts of her sitting up and begging for attention in complete violation of her vow to not buy into his whole roguish playboy routine.

  “So. There’s a long afternoon ahead, Sophie,” he said.

  Was it just her, or had his voice dropped an octave? She swore she could feel it rumbling along her nerve endings, smoky and seductive and meaningful.

  Like a bunny in car headlights, she froze as he moved closer, using the counter to support himself instead of his crutches. By the time she clued in that she’d allowed him to effectively box her in, she was trapped and it was too late.

  “So, are you a local? Can you think of anything fun we could do around here to while away the time?” Lucas asked.

  Since when had the word fun sounded so…dirty? And enticing?

  “I—I’m from S-Sydney,” she stuttered.

  “Well, there’s probably plenty we can come up with if we really put our minds to it,” he said.

  He was standing so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her knees were weak, and her breasts felt heavy with need. Between her thighs, a traitorous heat was building.

  Man, but he was sexy.

  She inhaled deeply, sucking in his woody aftershave and something else that she suspected was simply hot man. For the first time in her life, she was overcome by the carnal desire to touch and be touched by another human being. It didn’t matter that he was most likely a jerk of the first order, that he probably didn’t have a sensitive or generous bone in his body. She wanted to have sex with him. She wanted to have him inside her, pounding into her, pushing her harder and faster. She wanted to get down and dirty and hot and sweaty with him.

  There was so much need swelling inside her, so much crazy desire to be impulsive, to take the risk, to reach out and take what she wanted instead of being cautious and careful and considerate…. She felt dizzy. Out of control.

  Scared.

  He took another step forward, one hand finding the counter on either side of her so that she was bracketed within his arms. His eyelids had dropped to half mast as he focused on her mouth with intent.

  “I’ve got a couple of really solid ideas if you’d like to try them on for size,” he murmured.

  He was going to kiss her. He was going to lean down and press his hard body against hers and his tongue was going to be in her mouth and his hands on her skin.

  Without even willing it, her palms flattened against his chest. To push him away. She was almost sure that was what she’d planned on doing. But the second she felt the hard curves of his pecs beneath her hands, instead of pushing him away, her hands fisted into the fabric of his T-shirt, and her arms flexed as she prepared to haul him close so she could act on every one of the wild, illicit fantasies dancing across her mind.

  He smiled—a complacent, confident, assured smile—and started to lower his head. Inside her, fear warred with animal, instinctive need.

  What am I doing?

  The thought was like a flare exploding against a dark night sky.

  This wasn’t the sort of thing she did, the rational part of her mind screamed at her. She was a calm, ordered, careful kind of person. A thinker, a planner. She liked routine—Brandon had said it just last night, in fact. When he broke up with her after fourteen years of monogamy.

  She was Sophie Gallagher, chef and, until recently, engaged to be married. She didn’t have sex with strange men, even if they were handsome, famous movie stars. Especially if they were handsome, famous movie stars.

  Acting on survival instinct, Sophie used every muscle in her body to shove against Lucas’s chest as he closed the final inches between them. Despite his size, he rocked back on his heel, his hands slapping onto the counter to regain his balance.

  “Whoa!” he said, an annoyed expression replacing his complacent one.

  Ducking, she slipped beneath his arm and escaped the corral he’d created with his body.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, bemused, as she made tracks for the door. “Where are you going?”

  “Dinner is at six.” She threw the words over her shoulder, relief flooding her. What a close call.

  She’d been seconds away from danger. From doing something irrevocable. Something foolish and crazy.

  Thank God she’d come to her senses before it was too late.

  4

  WHAT THE HELL…?

  Lucas shoved a hand through his hair and swore under his breath. One minute they’d been go, the next minute she was gone. Frustrated, he stared down at the erection straining the crotch of his jeans. Clearly, there was no chance of getting any relief in that department in the near future, even though she’d been sending out all the right signals—the heated look in her big brown eyes, the telltale pulse flickering at the base of her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. God, she’d even grabbed him to pull him closer, an aggressive move that had taken him somewhat by surprise. Not that he didn’t like aggressive women—his whole sex life was pr
edicated on the existence of women who came looking for what they wanted from him. He just hadn’t expected the move from someone who struck him as being more cuddly and cozy than vixen.

  Then she’d shoved him away, nearly knocking him onto his butt, and bolted as though the house were on fire.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had said no to him. Definitely he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to work to get one into bed.

  Frankly, it was damn frustrating. He’d been all set to see if her luscious mouth tasted as good as it looked, then she’d slid out from under his arm, leaving him holding his dick, so to speak.

  Which was not a recourse he’d had to resort to for a long time, thank you very much. Although if his johnson didn’t stand down soon he might have to seriously consider rediscovering the gentle art of self-fulfillment.

  Grabbing his crutches, he hopped to the living room and stared blankly at the huge fireplace. Now that Sophie had nixed his chosen form of entertainment for the afternoon, he was back to being at a loose end.

  Which reminded him that he’d forgotten to talk to Derek about relocating from this mountain gulag when he’d reamed him out over the diet earlier. Grabbing his phone, he dialed Derek’s cell and, surprise surprise, got his manager’s voice mail again.

  “Get me out of here,” he said bluntly before ending the call.

  The afternoon stretched endlessly before him. He had some scripts he could read. Derek would be hassling him to commit to his next project soon, anyway. He might as well get on with them sooner rather than later. Except he wasn’t really in the mood for plowing through pages of clichéd dialogue and preposterous plot points.

  He could e-mail friends. Read a magazine or a book. Sunbathe. Swim.

  None of it appealed.

  In the normal course of things, he’d go for a run. A long, punishing run. Then he’d call up some buddies, maybe get his Harley out, go for a cruise somewhere, find some margaritas…

  None of which was possible with his leg the way it was.

  Man, four weeks of this forced inertia was going to kill him. To add a shiny cherry on top of it all, his armpits were starting to ache from the crutches. Last time he’d had crutches he’d grown to hate the damned things, too, he suddenly remembered. He’d been ten and had slipped running down the stairs at the state home where he’d been assigned, and broken his leg. His cast required wrapping in garbage bags every morning so he could shower. He’d gotten a lot of crap from his house mates about the fall, but everyone had wanted to sign his cast. Between them and the kids at school, he’d had over fifty signatures by the time the cast had come off.

  Lucas frowned at the memory. He hadn’t thought about the old days for a long time. Not exactly the favorite part of his personal history. He pushed the memory away, back into the past where it belonged. “Never look back” was his personal motto, and it had served him well his entire life.

  Turning, he headed for the gym. He could get an upper body workout in, at the very least, even if he couldn’t do his legs. That ought to keep Derek and the studio happy. And maybe if he exercised hard enough, he could go all-out and eat something that actually tasted like food for dinner.

  He made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. The way his luck was running, he’d probably get a celery stick and another sloppy spoonful of cottage cheese, served to him by Sophie dressed in a suit of armor.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s over so quickly,” Becky said.

  Sophie leaned against the pillows on her bed and closed her eyes. Her friend’s sympathetic voice was exactly what she needed to hear after the turmoil of nearly jumping a certain shallow actor’s bones.

  What had she been thinking?

  What had he been thinking?

  On second thought, she didn’t really need to ponder that one too much. Lucas was used to grabbing what he wanted from life, like a kid given free rein in a candy store. And even though she patently wasn’t the kind of woman he was usually photographed with in the gossip mags, she was the only woman he was likely to see for the next few weeks. It didn’t take a genius to do the math.

  Thank God she hadn’t succumbed. Thank God common sense had come to her rescue in the nick of time.

  “Soph? Are you still there?” Becky asked.

  Sophie dragged her thoughts away from Lucas—again—and concentrated on what her friend was saying. Right, they were talking about Brandon. About the break-up.

  “Sorry, I’m still trying to come to terms with it all,” Sophie said. Which was exactly why she’d been so vulnerable to Lucas’s predatory charm, she decided, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was the one who had touched him first when she pressed her palms against his chest. His firm, strong chest….

  “How are you coping?”

  I’m experiencing almost irresistible urges to have sex with a virtual stranger.

  “I’m not a blubbering mess, if that’s what you mean,” Sophie said. “But I feel so ripped off that Brandon didn’t try to talk to me sooner about how he was feeling. It’s like he woke up one day and decided he wanted out and that was it.”

  There was a telling silence on the other end of the phone before Becky made a noncommittal noise. Frowning, Sophie registered for the first time the full meaning of her friend’s earlier words—I can’t believe it’s over so quickly.

  So quickly. As though Becky had been expecting it to be over, just not so rapidly.

  “Becks?” Sophie asked, encouraging her friend to spill what was on her mind. They had always been honest with each other. It was one of the foundation stones of their friendship.

  “Well, it’s not like you had no warning, Soph,” Beck said apologetically. “I mean, Brandon was always going on about traveling to exotic places, like Africa or South America. And when you didn’t want to go, he started taking up all those extra activities—learning Italian, rock-climbing, scuba-diving. Classic restless-man stuff, really.”

  Sophie’s first reaction was to bristle at her friend’s assessment, but then the There’s Something About Mary incident popped into her head again. Along with another incident. Four months ago Brandon had driven into the parking lot behind Sorrentino’s in a brand-new car. All the staff had poured out the door to admire the shiny paintwork and breathe in the new-car smell—and she’d just stood in shock that he’d made such a major purchase without consulting her. She’d been so embarrassed at the time, however, that she’d played along as though she had known. They’d talked about it afterward, but she hadn’t pushed Brandon to find out what was really going on, why he’d made such a challenging, provocative move without discussing it with her first.

  Because, again, she hadn’t really wanted to know.

  “Look, I should have kept my big mouth shut,” Becky said. “It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay. I think—I think maybe you’re right,” Sophie said slowly. It was hard to say out loud. “I think maybe I knew for a while that he wasn’t happy, that he was restless. I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t want anything to change.”

  There was a long silence as they both digested her confession.

  “I’m such an idiot, Becky. Did I kill my relationship?” Sophie asked in a small voice.

  “Soph, he could have spoken up, too. It takes two to tango. Maybe you were both hanging on because you’ve been together so long, neither of you could imagine anything else,” Becky said. “I can understand how that might happen.”

  We’ve been hiding with each other for too long.

  Maybe Brandon was right. It was a scary admission to make, but, oddly, it made her feel less conflicted about the way she’d reacted to Lucas. Maybe, if she and Brandon had actually been treading water for a long time…maybe she was more ready to move on than she’d thought. Maybe that was why she was more angry than sad about the way Brandon had broken up with her. And why she’d reacted so powerfully to the sexual appeal of another man. Maybe she really had fallen o
ut of love with Brandon a long time ago.

  “Talk to me, Soph,” Becky said, concern rich in her voice. “Do you want me to take a few days off work and come stay with you? I’m worried about you being stuck up there in the mountains on your own.”

  “I’m not alone. Lucas Grant is here with me,” Sophie said absently.

  “Sorry. What?” Becky said, clearly stunned.

  “Lucas Grant. I told you I was working for Lucas Grant, didn’t I?”

  “Oh my God.” There was a clattering sound, then some fumbling, and finally Becky came back on the line. “I literally dropped the phone. And I think I may need to put my head between my legs. Lucas Grant! I can’t believe it.”

  Sophie laughed at her friend’s out-of-character reaction. “He’s just an ordinary guy,” she said.

  “No. No way is he ordinary. He is gorgeous. He is hot. He is a walking god. But he is not, nor will he ever be, ordinary,” Becky said fervently.

  Sophie shook her head at Becky’s over-the-top avowal.

  “He’s a dirty hound dog, is what he is,” she heard herself say before she could self-edit. Did she really want to get into a blow-by-blow description of what had nearly happened in the kitchen? “I’d barely known him an hour before he tried to get me into bed,” Sophie said.

  Apparently she did.

  The phone clattered to the floor again. “Let me get this straight. Lucas Grant wants to sleep with you?” Becky asked incredulously when she came back on the line. “And you said no?”

  “Correct.”

  “Sophie, you do realize that he is supposed to be one of the best lovers in Hollywood, right?”

  “Sure. Like there’s a poll or something. Maybe he has a survey outside his bedroom for women to fill out,” Sophie said disparagingly.

  Privately, however, a part of herself she didn’t even know existed pricked up its ears. One of the best lovers in Hollywood. What would a title like that encompass exactly? she wondered. Technique? Enthusiasm? Or was it more about equipment?