Rock my world - By Cindi Myers Page 0,21
of a perfectly good plan.”
“I’m sorry. Believe me, you don’t know how much.” He released her hand.
“Let’s just talk, then. We can do that, can’t we?”
She counted three heartbeats before he answered. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”
“You said you worked in Carmel once. Are you from California?”
“Yes.”
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Where?” she asked. “On the coast, or in the mountains?”
“The coast. A little town called La Conchita.”
“Did you surf?”
“Some.”
She tried to picture a younger, tanner Adam, balanced atop a surf board. “You’re a long way from the ocean for a surfer dude.”
He laughed, the single sound dissolving the remaining tension between them. “Now I snowboard. What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“Right here in Denver. Can you believe it? I’m a native.”
“A rare breed these days.”
“So you grew up in California. How did you end up in Denver?”
He hesitated, then said. “You know how it is in this business. People move around a lot. The job brought me here.”
“And how did you get to be such an expert in rock trivia?”
“My dad gave me a book about it for Christmas one year. It was something he was interested in.”
“How old were you when he gave you the book?”
“Eleven. He died not too long after that.” The words were matter-of-fact, but she thought she heard the pain of that long-ago loss in his voice.
“That must have been tough, losing your dad that young.”
“Well, you know…Anyway, some guys memorize sports stats, with me it’s always been music.” The covers rustled, as if he was shrugging. “It’s a way to stand out in the business.”
It struck her that this was the most personal conversation they’d ever had. More so than earlier even, when he’d told her about Bonnie. Lying in bed in the dark made such intimacy seem more natural, even if they weren’t touching.
She stared up at the hidden camera again. Like an unblinking eye, it could only see what was directly in front of it. In plain view. Not anything that was hidden, for instance, under the covers.
The need to touch him was overwhelming. The emotional closeness they’d found only made her crave physical closeness, too. Carefully, as if coaxing a skittish wild animal, she slid her hand across the six inches of space between them.
She heard the sharp intake of his breath when her fingers brushed his erection. He was definitely hard, and she could feel his heat through the flannel of the pajama pants. Had he been like that all day, wanting her as much as she wanted him? The thought started an insistent pulsing between her legs.
“What are you doing? You can’t—”
“Why not?” She wrapped her hand around him, stroking him lightly. But that wasn’t enough. She released him momentarily and moved up and slipped her hand beneath the elastic waistband.
“Erica, don’t—”
He grabbed her wrist, but she shook him off and grasped his naked shaft, reveling in the satiny heat of him. “As long as we keep our movements under the covers, how will anyone on camera know what’s happening?”
He lay still, letting this information sink in. “You don’t think they can see our faces?”
“Turn toward me and they can’t.” She tugged him toward her, providing an incentive for him to do as she asked.
He rolled over onto his side, and rested his hand on her hip. “This is crazy.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She grinned. “Exciting too, don’t you think?” She stroked him more firmly, debating diving under the covers to get her mouth around him. But anyone watching on TV would have no doubt what was going on then. Right now, they might assume the two jocks were engaging in a little pillow talk, but nothing more.
“Take your pants off,” she urged. “Your shirt, too.”
He hesitated, then said, “Only if you take off yours, too.”
She rolled onto her back once more and wriggled farther under the covers, closing her eyes. See, I’m just going to sleep now, she silently told whoever might be viewing the image from the camera overhead. All very innocent.
The feel of the satiny sheets against her naked breasts and thighs increased her arousal. She shuddered as the fabric dragged across one sensitive nipple. When had she ever been so aware of her body, so consumed by need?
She had scarcely pushed her pants to her ankles when Adam’s hand rested on her stomach, pinning her. “You’re so hot,” he murmured, and slid his hand farther, up to her breasts.
“I’m glad you think s—” The words dissolved into a