And I’m certain that what I have planned is going to work.
More than that, it’s going to be fun.
* * * *
“Do you miss me?” I cross my legs as I lean back on the padded bench, the cool silk of the upholstery a stark contrast to the heat of my skin. A heat that has risen simply from the knowledge that he’s on the other end of this line. And that he’s thinking of me, too.
“Oh, Kitten, how can you even ask that?”
Ryan’s voice fills my head through the small earbuds, low and rough. I feel it like a physical caress, and I press my thighs together in defense against a building storm of desire. “I want to hear you say it,” I confess. “Please, Hunter. It’s been too long.”
“That it has.” Longing fills his voice, and I close my eyes, imagining him. His chestnut brown hair. His clear blue eyes. And that lean, muscular body that fits perfectly against my curves.
“God, Jamie,” he says, his voice filling out my vision of him. “I miss you desperately.”
“It’s horrible of me, but I’m glad to hear you say that. The last time we talked you sounded distracted, and when you said you ran into someone from your past—”
“I think my wife is jealous.”
“Does your wife have reason to be?”
There’s the tiniest of hesitations, and I swear my heart skips a beat. “Kitten, how can you even suggest that? I’m here for work, you know that. And it’s kicking my ass. What you’re hearing in my voice is exhaustion. Not infidelity.”
A twinge of guilt assails me, and I start to quickly backtrack. “I didn’t think—”
But then I cut myself off because maybe part of me did. Not the big part that knows and trusts Ryan. But the teeny, tiny, buried and paranoid part that may never truly believe a man like Ryan could be passionately in love with a head case like me.
“Is it terrible that I’m glad you’re exhausted?”
He laughs. “Coming from anyone but you, I might be put off. But I know my wife well. And, Kitten, you know me, too. You weren’t really jealous, were you?”
“How much longer will you have to stay in London?” I ask, dodging the question.
He sighs. “Hard to say. It’s a monster of a project. But I think we can probably wrap up this week. Maybe ten days. We’re all busting our asses over here to make that happen.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.”
My husband, Ryan Hunter, is the head of Stark Security, one of Stark International’s newest divisions, with the mandate of providing help where needed, no matter how big or small the assignment.
That, however, is not why he’s in London.
He’s in the UK because before Stark Security existed, he was the Security Chief for all of Stark International, a multi-billion-dollar empire. Technically, he still holds that position. Which means that, with the exception of Damien Stark himself, Ryan is the big dog where all Stark-related security matters are concerned.
He’s no longer the day-to-day guy for the whole shebang, though. Stark Security keeps him too busy for that. Nowadays, he only gets personally involved in corporate security matters when there are big things going on. Apparently the opening-month security checks and tweaks at the brand new Stark Century London Hotel is a Very Big Deal. Not to mention an overhaul of the entire security system in the London offices of Stark International.
He and Baxter Carlyle—the guy immediately under Ryan with responsibility for overseeing security in all English-speaking territories of Stark International—have been leading a London-based team for going on three weeks. Which, of course, means that they’re both enjoying every luxury imaginable. Elegant suites. Incredible views. Stellar room service. An oak-paneled lobby bar with exceptional service, made better by an open expense account.
Working hard, yes. But I have a feeling the luxurious surroundings have taken some of the edge off.
As for me, I was left behind in Los Angeles. Work. Responsibilities. All that pesky adulting stuff. At first I stayed busy. But then the loneliness set in. Followed by the doubt that crept up after those few, odd phone calls with Ryan.
After that…
Well, there comes a point when a girl simply has to take action.
So I picked up my phone, and the rest is history. The fun part will be seeing where this goes. Already Hunter’s voice is working its magic on me, making my skin heat and my upper thighs tingle. My nipples are already as hard as pebbles, and I know it won’t take much more to really ramp me up.
And, yeah, I want to be ramped…
More than that, I have an idea of what I want next. Of which fantasies I want to live out while my husband’s voice whispers in my ear. I lick my lips and rise off the padded bench and continue our conversation, lowering my voice to convey the kind of heat I’m feeling. “You miss me desperately? Define desperately. And please—be very, very specific.”
His low chuckle reverberates through me, settling between my thighs. “Careful, Kitten. I’m in public. The hotel bar.”
“What a coincidence,” I say as I cross the tiled floor, passing men and women all dressed to the nines and ready for an evening out. “I’m in a hotel, too.”
“You’re not working?” I hear the frown in his voice. “I thought you were editing this week.”
It’s a fair question. For a while now I’ve been pulling exceptionally long hours doing the on-camera work and producing a series of celebrity interviews that air on various news and entertainment programs under the umbrella of Hardline Entertainment, a company owned by Hollywood mogul Matthew Holt. It’s a semi-open secret that he owns a high-end sex club, and he’s known around town as a total manwhore, but he’s been nothing but decent to me. So decent, in fact, that he is co-producing a two-hour special on the top three box office hits last year—with me as the intrepid reporter interviewing actors and off-screen talent as we try to find the secret sauce.
It’s a great project and Matthew has not only been a total gentleman, he’s been downright encouraging. And he’s completely respectful of Ryan. Sometimes I wonder if his manwhore, not-with-the-whole-metoo-thing rep is some sort of manufactured facade.
Then again, Ryan has the skill set to kill a man with his bare hands, and he’s best friends with Damien Stark. So maybe Holt just makes a point of showing me his shiny side.
Either way, the job is great and I love it. Yes, I’d love to land the acting gig I was telling Nikki about, but after being bounced around various positions in Hollywood, I finally feel like I’ve landed on my feet. No matter what happens with the Carson project, I’m happy. Which makes Holt something like a ridiculously good-looking fairy godfather to me.
I turn my attention back to the call with Ryan. “I told you we finished the rough cut for the special,” I say in response to his question about why I’m not in an editing booth. Granted, there is still a shit-ton of work to do. But since my words are technically one hundred percent true, I don’t have to feel any guilt about lying to my husband. “And that,” I add with a sultry lilt to my tone, “is why I decided to go to a hotel and call you.”
“So far, I approve of your plan.”
“Do you? Good. But there’s a little more to it…” I let my words hang there.