Most Likely To Score Read online

  Jillian spots me and waves.

  “Hey,” I grunt, tipping my forehead in her direction as I stalk past them, since that’s all I can manage. Once inside, I stab the up button for the elevator, and when it arrives I want to punch the panel.

  I don’t.

  I curse under my breath as the doors whisk shut.

  I can’t fucking believe she’s hanging out with that guy in front of me. I march down the hall to my room, fumes of jealousy in my wake.

  In my room, I strip out of my shorts and T-shirt, crank up the shower to scalding, and wash away the sand. But as I scrub soap over my skin, all I can think is Superman is peeling off her bikini tonight.

  Tossing it on the floor of her hotel room.

  Kissing her neck. Making his way down her body.

  Envy burns in me like a wildfire. This is not okay. In a heartbeat, I rinse off the shampoo, get out of the shower, and towel off. A minute later, I’ve yanked on swim trunks and a T-shirt, and I’m on my way to the pool.

  I’m going to crash her party.

  When I arrive, they’re on the deck. Superman is giving her a hug. It’s going to take every ounce of my restraint not to grab that arm of his and rip him off her.

  Because she’s mine. Even though I can’t have her, that guy sure as hell can’t, either.

  I walk closer and key in on his words.

  “Love you, Jilly. So much.”

  Jilly? He calls her by a pet name? I clench my fists.

  “Love you, too, sweets,” she says, dropping a kiss to his cheek. Her back is to me, and I stop in my tracks at the edge of the deep end, watching some other man hug the woman I want. Everything is wrong with this picture.

  “Sorry I have to go, but I just got a text about this elementary school we sponsor. Some problem with the water pipes I need to figure out.”

  “Go, go,” she says, shooing him off.

  “Thank you so much for making time for me, and you know I will see you whenever you are in town,” he says. “You just call me, and I’ll come running.”

  She has a boyfriend in Miami? What the hell?

  Red. I see red. It billows from my eyes, and I shut them for a moment and think of Cletus. As I picture his too-adorable Chihuahua face and how he likes to give me slobbery lap-dog kisses, the jealousy fades momentarily.

  I open my eyes as Superman waves goodbye then blows her a kiss.

  When he leaves, she hooks a towel around her waist, her gaze wandering around the pool then skidding to a halt when she gets to me. She jerks her head back, like she’s surprised to see me, and maybe a little bit guilty, too?

  I close the distance between us. “Hey.”

  Her voice is cool and even as she twists her hair into a slick ponytail. “Hi, Jones. How was your night?”

  She says my name with distance, as if she’s pushing it away from her, pushing me away. Maybe I deserve it for turning down her dinner invite.

  “It was good,” I say tightly. “How was yours?”

  “Great.” She flashes me a smile and keeps her shoulders squared, her eyes fixed firmly on my face. They don’t stray at all, as if she’s practicing perfect posture.

  “You had fun with that guy?” The words come out like acid on my tongue.

  Her brow pinches. “Andre and I always have fun.”

  Deep breath. Cletus kisses. He’s wagging his tail.

  The jealousy subsides again. “That’s. So. Great.” Each word comes out robotically.

  She glances down at her towel, then points her thumb in the direction of the hotel. “I’m all wet, so I should probably go change.”

  She’s doing her posture exercises again, and it irks me for some reason. “Why do you do that?” I blurt out.

  “Do what?”

  “You stare straight at my face when you talk.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Where am I supposed to look?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Should I talk to your belly button? Maybe your elbow? Or would you prefer if I addressed your feet?”

  “No, obviously I’m not saying you should talk to my feet.” I cross my arms. “I just don’t get why you do that.”

  “I’m trying to be polite. Professional. Because we work together. That’s why I look you in the eyes. And speaking of work, it’s getting late, and we have another shoot in the morning, not to mention a few interviews about the new deal. I should go upstairs and do some planning. I’m glad you had fun with the guys.”

  I shake my head quickly, correcting her. “I didn’t say I had fun with them.”

  “Sorry.” She adjusts her ponytail again, raising her chin, talking in that modulated, publicist voice. “Did you have fun?”

  I swallow. “Yes and no.”

  “Yes and no?”

  I’m dangerously close to admitting I want her. The words tango on the end of my tongue. I want you. I need you. I can’t stand how much I think of you.

  In this moment, I crave her more than a sponsorship deal, and I want her to know the reason I had a shitty time tonight is that she was out with some guy. But I trip on the words, and they fall out of my mouth like blocks tumbling. “I thought you were seeing someone. Like a boyfriend. That guy.”

  She’s silent at first, then a sly smile spreads on her face, wider and wider still, until it turns into a belly laugh. “Andre and I bat for the same team.”

  All my jealousy drains in an instant. I try to cover up my glaring misread with a forced and sheepish chuckle. “Well, that’s good to know.”

  I push out another laugh so she knows I’m not the jealous ass I was seconds ago. But my laughter ceases when she speaks again.

  “We were admiring the same scenery tonight, if you know what I mean.” She wriggles her eyebrows, and that’s it. Evidently, I’m still the jealous ass, because I hate the thought of her admiring any scenery belonging to another man.

  I’m this close to spilling my guts, but a scan right, a scan left, and a pool full of people swimming and lounging is the reminder I need to zip my lips.

  She is controlling what these people think of me. She is helping me keep the sponsorship deals my agent lines up—deals that fund my parents’ retirement. My dad doesn’t have to drive a truck. My mom doesn’t have to work extra shifts.

  “I need to go for a walk.”

  I turn around and leave. If I stay near her, I’ll try to kiss her in public. I’ll haul her over my shoulder and carry her to my room, tell her I can’t take this wanting anymore. It’s miserable craving a person this much and not having her.

  I walk down the beach, and I try to burn off this frustration, but thirty minutes later I’m no closer to finding Zen without her.

  There’s no Zen without her.

  I go inside, take the elevator, and walk down the hallway, banging my fist on room 302. When she answers, I pose a question I’ve been dying to ask for a long, long time.

  16

  Jillian

  His right arm rests against the doorframe. His big body fills the doorway.

  Nerves skate over my skin. My throat is dry. I want to tell him he behaved like a jerk tonight at the pool, grunting out words like a caveman.

  But I also want to know why he’s come calling at nine at night, and why he seemed so upset over Andre.

  The need to know is stronger than the urge to tell him off.

  I try to manage a hi, what can I do for you, except he gets the first words in.

  “What would it be like if we didn’t work together?”

  His words hang in the air like sweet smoke.

  Like possibility.

  Inside, I’m shaking—with want, with hope, with an anticipation that thrills and scares me. He’s here at my hotel room, and his blue eyes are blazing. There’s a fire in them, a heat I haven’t seen before. Or maybe I just never noticed. But now, I can’t not notice it. He stares at me with an intensity that’s ferocious.

  Briefly, I glance down, trying to see me as he does—I’m wearing only a tank top and paja
ma shorts. My hair is blow-dried, since I just took a shower. I had to wash off the chlorine, along with my frustration over how he behaved at the pool.

  I should still be annoyed with him, but it’s hard to stay that way since curiosity is eating at me. Carefully, in a low voice, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  Blue lights along the floorboards glow faintly in the stylish room behind me, as Sam Smith plays from my phone. “Stay with Me” floats in the air like a call to him, a request for him to spend the night.

  He leans a few inches closer, making me dizzy.

  “What I mean is . . .” He takes his time answering, his voice full of a need I’ve never heard from him before. “What would things be like with you and me if we didn’t work together?”

  My voice is breathless as I answer, and I’m sure it betrays my heart. “What do you think they’d be like?” I ask quietly, but my wariness over prying eyes runs strong, so I shake my head. “Don’t answer.” I peer down the hall. No one’s around, but whatever he’s going to utter is best said behind closed doors. “Come inside.” I open the door wider, and he enters. When the door slides closed with a thunk, the sound reverberates.

  It feels like a line in the sand.

  A line I shouldn’t cross.

  It marks the before and after. But I want to know what comes next. I want to venture into this dangerous territory.

  He runs a hand through his hair and sighs heavily. His voice is vulnerable when he speaks. “Why don’t you look at me, Jillian?”

  A spark of anger burns in me. “Why were you a jerk at the pool?”

  He huffs. “Because I thought that guy was with you.”

  “So you were dismissive and barely said a word?”

  He nods. “Yes. And then when I talked to you, you just stared straight at me, but you didn’t look at me.” He takes a beat, breathes hard, then seems to let go of his anger. “And all I want is to look at you.”

  That dryness in my throat? It’s vanished. I’m burning, everywhere. I’m hot and wet and electric. Heat flares low in my belly, settling between my legs.

  “I do look at you.” I wind my hands behind my back and lace my fingers together to keep from launching myself at him.

  “Do you look at me the way I look at you?”

  “How do you look at me?”

  He steps closer. He’s a foot away. I’ve never been so aware of space in my life. “Like it drove me crazy you were with that guy. Like it made me act like a jerk, and I’m sorry.”

  A wild thrill rushes through me at his admission. I’ve never experienced this sensation, this absolute intoxication from knowing the person you long for is longing for you, too. My friends and family have told me he feels this way, but I hunted for every reason to disavow what they said. Now, I’m floating on this cloud of disbelief, and it feels so good to fly this high. I don’t want the real world. I don’t want consequences. I just want him.

  “You’re not a jerk. But I told you—he’s a friend, and that’s all.”

  His shoulders rise and fall. “It drove me crazy to see you laughing with him. To see him hugging you.”

  Since honesty seems to be the theme tonight, I toss out another kernel of truth. “It drove me crazy that you didn’t have dinner with me.” It’s a relief to finally give voice to my own jealousy, and taking the first step frees me to say more. Emboldened, I add softly, “I wanted to have dinner with you.”

  He steps closer. Inches separate us—that’s all. “I was trying like hell to stay away from you.”

  I should tell him to go, but his words are everything I’ve longed for. Everything that’s a terrible risk. I swallow harshly as my bones buzz. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to mess things up for you or for me. I don’t want to ruin anything. But when I saw Liam chatting you up at the winery, and then your friend Andre tonight . . . it was too hard to keep this all inside. It was too hard to act like I don’t totally fucking want you.”

  A gasp dares to escape my lips. I’m crackling everywhere as he continues, “I know you’re beautiful, I know you’re smart as a whip, but I want them to look at you and feel like they can’t have you.”

  He lifts his hand and lightly, ever so gently, runs his fingers across my shoulder. I spark from that touch. I’m a live wire, and I could power whole cities tonight.

  “Because you’re mine.”

  I’m flying through the stars. The man I want is laying bare his desire, shedding all his pretenses, and I can hardly believe it’s happening. He’s making his intentions clear. I want to hear every word, imprint them on my memory so I can replay them when I’m on the other side of this, so I can remember why I’m about to do something foolish. Why I’m going to take a risk.

  Somehow, I manage to speak. “What would you do if I was yours?”

  He erases the distance, the inches, and lines his body up with mine. This is the point of no return, and I’ve passed it.

  Willingly.

  Gladly.

  “Let me show you.” Cupping my cheeks in his big hands, he dips his mouth to mine, and he kisses me.

  This feels so unreal.

  When you’ve dreamed so often of a person, when you’ve imagined every possible kiss, it’s hard to believe when it happens that it’s not another figment of your imagination.

  Or that it could be better than a dream.

  Jones has played the lead in so many fantasies of mine. I’ve pictured him moving over me, entwined with me, kissing me fiercely with everything he has.

  That’s how he kisses, and it’s like a hot, dirty dream. It’s both magnificent and terrifying, as if I’m on the cusp of waking up at any second and this fantastic dream will vanish. I want to stave off the alarm so I can float here in bliss. Every inch of my skin tingles; every molecule in my body vibrates.

  His mouth slides over mine with lips that are soft, yet determined. The press of his hard body is delicious. Even though I’m taller than the average woman, I’m tiny next to him. Jones is so much larger than me, broader, bigger, and I love it.

  I love everything about how he kisses me, most of all that he’s not quiet. As his big hands grip my face, he makes the sexiest sounds—moans and groans and murmurs that all add up to sheer masculine desire. For me.

  It’s shocking to be wanted like this after all the time I thought the opposite. But it’s a shock I crave. I want him to shock my system with his lust.

  All my notions of right and wrong, limits and off-limits, have left the premises. I’ve surrendered to the choice I’m making, and there’s no room inside me for regret. There is only space for lust, for desire, and for this need to go deeper with him.

  To go deeper into the night.

  My hands shoot up into his hair, threading through his soft dark locks as I curl my fingers around the back of his head. I can’t get enough of him, and I kiss him harder. Soon our tongues are wild and frenzied, searching and tangling as our teeth click and our lips devour.

  He is a hungry man. It’s a whole new sensory experience as he kisses me with more passion than I ever imagined was possible. I know now what it means to be wanted in a raw, primal way. I don’t think I’ve ever been wanted like this before, and it’s the highest high. He kisses me as if I’m what he’s fantasized about for days, for weeks, for months. As if he wants to kiss me everywhere, every inch of my body, and that thought sends a shudder through me, a wave of obscene pleasure that crashes between my legs where I’m hot and wet and needy for him.

  It should be criminal to feel this good, to be this aroused.

  If it is, I’m guilty and loving it.

  A restless energy claws at me, a desperate desire to get closer to him, to climb him. I rub my pelvis against the outline of his erection. He’s hard and long, and I’m dying to feel him fill me up.

  “Ohh,” I moan as the full awareness of his length dawns on me. The man is big everywhere.

  I feel him laugh a little against my lips, then he separates from me, pressing his forehead
to mine and whispering, “Are you trying to climb me?”

  I laugh, too, answering breathlessly, “Yes.”

  “Let me help you out.”

  In a split second, he lifts me, wraps my legs around him, and carries me to the king-size bed. Low to the floor with a white lacquered platform, it screams fuck me on this. Or maybe I have a one-track mind tonight. I’m an open book right now, and I can’t pretend any longer that I don’t want him with every fiber of my body.

  “Jones,” I whisper as he lays me down under him. “This is just between us tonight.”

  He nods. “It’ll always be between us.”

  There it is—the admission that we are secret. That we are illicit and lawless. But the risk won’t stop us. I feel bold, brazen, like my mouth has been unlocked by his touch. “I want you tonight. I want all of you.” It’s such an awesome relief to say those words.

  “I want you, Jillian. All of you. Don’t you know how much?”

  I kind of do, but I want to hear. “How much?”

  He groans, hiking my legs tighter around his back. With one swift move he grinds against me, letting me feel the outline of his hard cock through my flimsy clothes. The sound I make is animalistic, like a tiger in heat.

  “You make me so fucking hard. So fucking crazy. I want you under me, writhing and moaning and calling my name,” he says as he pushes against me, a tease of what’s to come.

  “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.” Arching up into him, I revel in the feeling of his hard-on between my legs, knowing that soon there won’t be any layers between us. I murmur in pleasure, breathing out his name. “Jones.”

  He curses and thrusts against me. “Do you have any idea how attracted I am to you? I think about you constantly.” His words come out in a rush, thick with emotion, brimming with heat and need.

  I blink then swallow, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. It feels like more than sex. More than lust. “You do?”

  He nods vigorously. “So much, for so long.”

  Something bursts inside me, everything I’ve held back, and words spill free. “It’s the same for me. It’s exactly the same for me.” My voice feels like it’s breaking, but it’s not tears—it’s the emotion all stirred up with a desire that’s been bottled and finally let loose.