Dawn Atkins - No Stopping Now

She took in rounded pecs, a flat belly, a thin, teasing trail of dark hair, black underwear. Silk, maybe? The fabric was shiny and slippery. Thick, almost like satin—

Whoops. She jerked her eyes up where they belonged.

“You’re early,” he said, his voice scratchy, his eyes at half-mast, leaning on the jamb, muscular arm extended upward.

“You said noon.”

“I said around noon.”

“Sorry. I just thought—”

“’Sokay. You’re eager.” He managed a slow spider-to-the-fly grin and waved her inside.

She entered the room, dim and intimate, with its unmade bed, tangled sheets, the bolsters tossed carelessly to the floor. So he was a wild sleeper. Or maybe he’d had company. Was there a woman? No, the bed was empty. Besides, that was none of her business. Again, she pulled her gaze to him.

Brody gave her his once-over, though the sleep crease in his cheeks softened the effect to sweet instead of predatory. “So you’re perky in the morning,” he said, scratching his hair with his knuckles, tousling it nicely.

“I like mornings. Is that bad?”

“And a health nut on top of it.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You’ve exercised. Your cheeks are flushed.” He rubbed his knuckles against his own cheek, then ran his eyes down her length and around her body. “A runner, right? With those calves…absolutely.”

“I do run, yes, but that doesn’t make me a nut.” He was as observant as a detective, and it made her uncomfortable. She decided to turn the tables. “You obviously exercise, too. Good pecs, flat abs, developed quads.” She swallowed over a dry throat. “So you must lift weights. But with those shoulders and that tan, you swim, too.” She stopped talking, not sure the hard-body inventory was helping her problem.

“It’s all in my contract,” he said, evidently not bothered by her exam. “If they can pinch an inch, I’m out.” He grabbed a bit of skin beneath his rib cage. There was no fat to grab.

“You’re joking.”

“Not completely, no. Speaking of which, I’m starving. Let’s order breakfast, huh? What would you like?”

“I already ate, thank you.”

“But hours ago, right?” He put his finger to his chin. “Let me guess. Fruit, granola and yogurt.”

“A smoothie,” she said, annoyed at how close he was. “Aren’t you going to guess the flavor?”

He moved in, startling her, and sniffed. “Too long ago. I’m just getting you.” She felt a zing of unwanted electricity. “You smell great, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He seemed so aware, so there. She picked up his smell, too—warm skin, a trace of last night’s cologne. His grin was lazy and knowing, and she found she was holding her breath.

“How about if I order a few things? Maybe you’ll nibble, like the other night.”

“Whatever you want,” she said, deciding to be as cooperative as she could.

“And to drink? I’m having coffee, but I bet you’re more of a hot-tea girl. Say, chai spice?”

Her favorite, dammit. “No one likes to feel predictable.”

“How about noticed? Don’t you like to be noticed?”

“Who wouldn’t?” That was his secret, of course. Or one of them. All that attention was tough to resist in a world where it was all about me, me, me. Especially with men. A man who paid attention, really listened and remembered…was golden.

Brody moved to the phone and placed a lengthy order, turning to smile at her as if she were his room service conspirator.

It was unnerving to stand this close to a nearly naked Brody, looking at him over his bed, while he guessed her pleasures, his voice lazy with sex—er, sleep. Jeez. “Don’t you want to put some clothes on?” she said, sounding more exasperated than she’d intended.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” This seemed to delight him.

“Of course not. Get naked if you want. I’m ready to work.”

“Mm-mm-mm. With lines like that, you’re going to be a hell of a lot more fun than Kirk, that’s for sure.”

“He’s not your type?” She was pleased to tease back, to reverse his impression of her as too serious.

He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Too much body hair.”

“That makes sense. However, I doubt I’m your type, either.” She was trying to joke, but it came out sounding defensive.

“What does that mean?” Brody moved to stand toe-to-toe with her. She didn’t back up, despite how big and male he seemed, his bare chest gleaming in the shard of sunlight that sliced between the blackout curtains.

He was studying her. “You’re not fishing for a compliment. That’s not you. Ah…I get it. You were insulting my type, right? Which is, what, brainless sluts?”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” The reaction was deep and knee-jerk, from her past, but she could hardly get into that.

“Brainless sluts need love, too, you know.”

“I’m sure they do. That wasn’t what I was saying or what I meant. It’s just me. Just old stuff popping out, God knows why.”

“What old stuff?”

He acted honestly curious and he’d no doubt drag it out of her anyway, so she just told him. “I was overweight—a fat girl all through college, actually. So guys were my friends, not my boyfriends, okay? I wasn’t any guy’s type.”

“You’re thin now,” he said simply.

“That happened by accident. I was working days at a news station in Fresno and making films at night—too busy to eat and jogging to boost my energy and all of a sudden, guys started looking at me instead of through me.”

“You sure that was it?”

“Oh, yeah. I was the same lively, interesting person I’d always been, but no guy noticed until I got skinny.”

“That must have pissed you off.”

“Royally. I got over it, though.”

“Not entirely, right? Hence, the comment?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“The past colors the present, JJ.”

“Ah, so this is why they call you doctor,” she said, deflecting his analysis with a joke. “You’re analyzing me.”

“I charge $150 an hour and accept most insurance.”

“Please. What kind of therapist practices in his underwear?”

He laughed. “My more traditional clients sometimes insist I wear pants.” He sighed.

“I see,” she said.

He smiled, moving close to her. “If it makes you feel better, JJ, I don’t sleep with my crew. Even moral reprobates have some standards.”

“Good to know,” she said, startled by his frankness.

“So now can you drop your shoulders? They’re up around your ears.” He squeezed her muscles there with such perfect pressure that tension peeled away like the skin of an apple under the sharpest of knives.

“Oooh,” she said.

“Turn around,” he whispered.

She did and he began to rub in earnest.

“Wow. Oh, wow,” she said. “That feels great.” Not suggestive at all. It was pure physical relief. She let it go on entirely too long, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a massage and it was just soooo nice.

“That working for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” She tried to collect her thoughts, say something funny or sensible. “You give shoulder rubs to all your crew?”

“Only the cute ones.”

“Kirk? Never mind. Too hairy, right?”

“You’re catching on.” He patted her shoulders, signifying he was finished. “Now what was I doing? Oh, yeah, putting on my pants.” He went to the side of the bed, whistling softly.

There was a knock at the door. Figuring it was room service, Jillian answered, but instead she found a short woman holding a stack of multicolored file folders in the hall. Eve Gallen, Brody’s producer, no doubt.

Her eyes widened when she saw Jillian, but when she looked past her to where Brody was pulling up his pants, they narrowed, along with her lips, and her face took on an ah-ha expression. She thought that Jillian and Brody had been…oh, damn.