My Secret Fantasies Read online

  “And you somehow won by making friends?” Damien peered up at her, surprised to discover her thigh was so close to his cheek.

  Close enough that he could lean over and kiss her right there through the turquoise silk that featured—he now realized—a subtle print of trapeze-swinging monkeys. Okay, maybe it wasn’t subtle. He just hadn’t noticed it before.

  She leaned forward on her elbows, stirring the air just enough that the scent of her soap or shampoo teased his nose and drew him nearer.

  “You have to form alliances along the way and play that whole social mind game.” Shrugging, she lost the blanket that had been around her shoulders. It slid down her back to rest on the step beside her. “But I’m not good at stuff like that, so I just concentrated on winning challenges and being myself. I guess some critics saw that as some kind of nefarious strategy. I think Hollywood is more comfortable with reality-game players who plot their approach openly and share their thoughts with viewers. I didn’t share much of anything when the camera was on me, so now—because I won—I’m somehow seen as an evil schemer.”

  His eyes drank in the sight of her bare shoulders in the dark tank top, the graceful lines of her arms and neck an unexpected visual feast that had his mouth watering. He wanted to see more. To touch more. Taste any part of her he possibly could. With heat simmering in his veins, he lifted himself up to the step beside her and retrieved the fallen blue cashmere. Hardly thinking about what he was doing, he wrapped it around her again.

  Their eyes met while he tucked the throw back where it belonged.

  Making him realize what he was doing. The familiarity of the act.

  He let go of the blanket. Drew back to his side of the stairway, even though that put only a couple more inches between them. His pulse throbbed, his body all too aware of hers now. What the hell was he thinking?

  “Sounds like you were penalized for succeeding.” He closed his eyes for a second and still saw her pale blue gaze in his memory. Her full, soft mouth.

  And all he could think about was her penning a steamy book. Did she consider moments like this worthy of writing about, or was her novel full of more heated encounters? His body responded so strongly to that thought, he couldn’t will away the reaction.

  “The show’s producers were looking for promotion angles the whole time. I happened to be a workable story for them as a so-called “backstabber,” and they sold it with selective footage editing.” She tipped her head against the spindles of the banister. “I don’t necessarily have a problem with that, since I signed on for it, but I never imagined such a backlash over a television show.”

  He watched her toy with the fringe on the blanket that rested along one arm, and tried to rein himself in. He wanted to kiss her clothes off and explore what was underneath. To stretch her out right here and cover her. But he focused on her words instead, ignoring the heat coming off him in waves. She struck him as a woman who kept a tight rein on her passions.

  “So you want to be more anonymous here.” Sonoma wasn’t some isolated hill country in the middle of nowhere, but then again, she wouldn’t have the same notoriety as in L.A. “Just because of the show? Or because of the book, too?” His voice cracked. Not like a teen’s. More like a parched man craving water. Or craving a woman. “Have you written others?”

  “No,” she said quickly, gesturing with the fringe. “This is a first.”

  He wanted to know more about the book, but she wasn’t volunteering. Memories of her running out of the den, her laptop clutched to her chest, returned. This was a more reticent side of Miranda and he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. Did he make her nervous? He’d never been the world’s most eloquent guy, but he definitely had never scared off a woman.

  And no matter how much he was feeling the heat right now, he had the distinct impression that Miranda was feeling tense over on her side of the stairs. So he stuffed his attraction deeper and tried to keep her there, keep her talking, even though he’d rather be kissing her.

  Thankfully, he still had enough presence of mind to formulate a question and hold up his end of the conversation.

  “Do you really think you could be happy running a tearoom in a place like this?”

  * * *

  WAS HE ACTUALLY considering selling to me?

  I licked my lips and thought about the best way to answer. It would be unwise to jump on him and shout “Yes! Yes!” at the top of my lungs. But part of me wanted to. Especially because I sensed—hoped, really—that he was as turned on right now as I was. Or was that wishful thinking on my part?

  Unfortunately, I could not be more clueless about guys. Nice guys, anyway. I knew plenty about losers.

  Whatever Damien’s mood, I was grateful for the question, since it kept us talking. I wasn’t ready to go to bed when my thoughts were so full of this sexy, compelling man.

  “I would love living up here,” I assured him. “Hollywood was fun for a while—especially when I was eighteen and fresh from the Midwest. But I grew up in a rural setting and that feels more like home to me. Except...” How much to say about my past? “...I’m not close to my family or anything. So I don’t have any desire to go back there.”

  That was true enough. My parents had a strong preference for my older sister. But the bigger issue had been Rick drooling on me and making free with my person even after he’d gotten engaged to Nina. Counseling a few years ago helped me see the way the guy had manipulated me, taking advantage of my youth and insecurities about my weight. I’d had a lot of guilt over what happened between us, which accounted for some of the messed up issues I had with guys now. Of course, knowing that rationally didn’t just “fix” the problem. But my book—Shaelynn’s story—was helping me with some of that.

  I’d progressed to the point where I thought about sex more. And meeting Damien had definitely fast-forwarded the whole process.

  “We have that in common. I’m definitely not close to my folks, either.” Damien’s jaw went tight. I could see that even though he was staring straight ahead.

  Sitting midway up the staircase, we looked out over a big family room. Deep sectional seating surrounded a television at one end and a fireplace at the other. A fire blazed in a stone hearth and I wondered who’d started it, since Damien hadn’t been around the house all day.

  “You know, I remember reading your family’s story in a magazine or somewhere.” All three of Thomas Fraser’s sons were reputed to be handsome, well-connected bachelors, even though their father’s strong-arm tactics had driven two of them out of town. A third remained in the film business, but they’d had a strained relationship until recently. “Your oldest brother is making a movie with your dad soon, I think.”

  “So I’ve heard. I don’t get back to Malibu very often.” Damien’s voice hit a gravelly note that probably revealed a little more emotion than he’d intended.

  On instinct, I laid a hand on his shoulder, a normal, natural touch I’d shared with countless patrons at Joelle’s tearoom. It offered comfort. Understanding.

  But with Damien, my fingers buzzed as if I’d been shocked. Well, except that it felt good. Nerve endings awakened. My blood warmed. It felt like a magnet held my hand there, commanding my touch with an irresistible pull, making it impossible to draw back. I gazed down at my fingers, half expecting to see some kind of magical glow. It felt that freaking amazing. Inevitable.

  Uncertain, I splayed my fingers wider to cover more terrain, since his sculpted muscle proved too broad to span with my hand. Warm and hard beneath the surface of his T-shirt, his body was uncompromisingly male.

  He turned to face me, that strong sinew shifting under my touch. My heartbeat quickened at the look in his hazel eyes. I felt the connection between us as surely as if I’d penned the scene myself.

  Only I would have written it for Shaelynn.

  With me in the mix, I w
asn’t sure what would happen next. I usually retreated ten times before I let a guy kiss me, and by then the male in question normally lost interest. But right now, I didn’t feel any need to run. I felt as if I’d lived through this moment in my book.

  Except I had no idea how to move this scene forward. I wasn’t scared or tense, the way men usually made me, but I had no idea what to say to make the kiss happen. A kiss I really, really wanted.

  As if moved by my thoughts, Damien put one hand on the tread beside me and levered himself up a step. His big, strong body blocked out the glow of the fireplace, casting me in shadow until all I saw was him. My heart rate quickened. I swallowed hard.

  “I want to kiss you.” He announced it, which made me melt inside a little, since I was more nervous than I’d realized.

  I think I nodded. I tried to, anyway, but I was kind of hypnotized by the look in his eyes and the heat coming off him like a furnace. Vaguely, I wondered if I’d combust on contact. Or if a racing heart could send me into seizures.

  “Do I make you nervous?” He brushed a gentle hand under my chin and along my jaw, his touch light and delicious.

  Not wanting to address that particular question or even think about it, I blurted what I wanted.

  “Please kiss me.”

  Then his lips were on mine and all that weird, anxious energy in me quieted. The gentle brush of his kiss was the sole focus of my attention. It was like his mouth spoke the language of my crazy, spun-up hormones and they all sighed with dreamy appreciation at his attention. And me? I couldn’t believe my luck to have those warm hands on my waist, his fingers straying to the bare skin beneath the hem of my shirt. He steadied me as he kissed me, holding me still while his lips moved in a tantalizing dance over mine. Soft at first. And then, with a brief flick of his tongue along the seam of my lips, things turned sexy.

  Hot.

  Damien knew how to kiss. The hero of my book would, too, but I would have never known how to write about it without this thorough and unhurried demonstration. Damien savored me like fresh fruit at harvest time, tasting, nipping, licking. He made me feel delicious. My fingers sank deeper into his shoulders, clutching at the warm, soft cotton of his T-shirt and the strength beneath it. I liked feeling that strength, knowing all that power rippled in his body, yet he restrained it for my benefit. Somehow it made his gentleness even more of a gift.

  Kissing his stubbled jaw, I breathed in the scent of his aftershave and hoped it lingered on my skin. He smelled fantastic.

  I arched against him, seeking out more of his body, and that was another gift. He didn’t rush me. He let me feel my way through the kiss, absorbing every detail at my own speed until I was comfortable. No, not comfortable. Hungry. It was discomfort that drove me to rock my hips into his.

  I needed him. Needed this.

  The ragged growl didn’t come from his mouth so much as it reverberated inside him. I felt it in my breasts, where my body touched his. Desire leaped to life inside me with new fierceness. I wrapped my arms all the way around his neck and deepened our kiss.

  Damien responded in kind, his lips claiming mine fully. The hard length of his erection strained against my hip, the heat of him all but searing the fabric of my pajama pants.

  He broke the kiss for a moment, gazing down at me in the dimness with hazel eyes lit by a fire within.

  “Let me take you upstairs.” He wrapped his hands around my back, making me realize that a stair tread had been digging into my spine, before he eased me away from it.

  “No,” I said quickly. Then, seeing the flicker of confusion in his gaze, I backpedaled. “It’s not that I want to stop. I just...I’m afraid if we move, I’ll...”

  Freeze up? Have second thoughts?

  I wasn’t sure how to finish my sentence without revealing too much. Maybe I already had.

  “Is everything okay?” He shifted away a fraction of an inch. Maybe he was only trying to give me room to breathe or room to think. But instead, I just felt the cold creeping in, and old insecurities rising up inside me.

  You’ll never be half the woman your sister is.... The damning words from my past blared across my consciousness.

  “Fine.” It sounded like the lie that it was.

  Damien’s hands started to slide away, so I held them in place with mine. I wished I had the superpower to reverse time. I definitely wanted to rewind a few minutes.

  “Wait.” I tried to think how to explain myself. I didn’t want to alienate him, and not just because I wanted to purchase the farm stand. I liked him. A lot.

  I’d deal with what that meant later. Right now, I couldn’t afford to ignore those sensual feelings he’d inspired in me that no one else could.

  He stilled. Kept his hands where I wanted them. But there was a definite distance between us now. One that would remain unless I said something.

  “The kiss was amazing.” Just thinking about it stirred my insides and made me long to try it again. “And I would like more of them. More of—everything. I’m just going through some things that I’m still trying to sort out.”

  His shoulders straightened as he tensed.

  “You care about...some other guy?”

  “God, no.” I shook my head. “Just the opposite. I’m still processing a lot of negative feelings for a megajerk in my past.”

  Some of the tension left him. Not all. He glanced down at where his hand rested just above my hip, and then he stroked that place softly with his fingers.

  So. Nice.

  “Is he the reason you left L.A.?”

  A small, pleasurable shiver went through me at his touch.

  “He’s more the reason I left Nebraska.” As soon as I said it, I realized that I sounded like a giant loser to still be wading through old baggage from six years ago. Obviously, I needed to try and explain myself. “He broke up with me to marry my sister, which was good and bad, since it kept him away from me, but also put another barrier between me and my family.” Not that we’d ever gotten along all that well before. I’d been the afterthought daughter my whole life. “Then, five months ago, he finalized a divorce from Nina and now...I don’t want to make it too easy for him to find me.”

  He’d left a voice mail message for me a few weeks ago saying he was planning a trip to the West Coast. That he’d see me soon. No way was I waiting for that to happen.

  Damien’s jaw worked as he frowned. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Emotionally? Yes. Physically, no.” I sighed, realizing I might as well just tell him. “He dated me when I was seventeen and going through a lot of stuff—on the rebound from being jilted at a homecoming dance, super insecure because I was the family black sheep and a bit overweight. Anyway, I really did like him for a while and he was the first guy I was ever with.” I didn’t add that Rick was also the only guy I’d ever been with. Instead, I met Damien’s gaze and was grateful he hadn’t moved away from me. “I thought I was in love.”

  “How old is this guy?” His fingers kept up their soft circling above my hip.

  “Three years older than me.” I tugged the cashmere throw higher on my shoulders. “The same age as Nina.”

  Damien nodded. “He broke up with you to marry your sister?”

  “Pretty much.” I didn’t need to share all the sordid details to show what a bastard he’d been, lording it over me how much “better” my sister was when it came to pleasing a guy. It was easy to see how sick that was now. Back then, I’d kind of believed it. Nina was better than me at everything. Honor student, teacher’s favorite, regional dressage champion... The list went on. “But then the rat bastard still tried to two-time us by coming on to me at family parties and basically manhandling me whenever he thought no one else could see.”

  “What’d your sister have to say about that?”

  “She blamed me for trying to seduce
him, and warned me I’d better stay away from her man. It was like a soap opera.” Only much worse, because instead of watching the drama happen to your favorite characters on daytime TV from the comfort of a living room sofa, I had it happen to me in real life, and it had been 100 percent awful.

  “Wow.” Shaking his head, he brushed a light kiss on my shoulder through the blanket, and my heart squeezed tight with tenderness for him.

  For years, I hadn’t shared this story with anyone but a bargain-budget shrink, who’d helped me work through some of it. Now, it was nice to have Damien side with me.

  “Yeah. Exactly.” I debated what else to say, since I didn’t want the night to turn into a pity-poor-me fest. I was putting that whole period behind me, methodically dealing with all the crap from my past. On the other hand, there was something else Damien needed to know about it. “Then, when I was on Gutsy Girl, one of the camera crews went to my hometown to talk to my family and interview people who knew me.”

  “Your family didn’t spill that stuff on camera, I hope.”

  “No. But it wasn’t difficult to find a friend of my sister’s who called me a backstabber. In her words, I ‘tried to break up Nina’s marriage by flirting with her husband.’” I couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry and betrayed as when I saw that footage. “But that’s reality television, you know. Heavy on melodrama, light on reality.”

  “That’s Hollywood—period.” He shook his head. “Sorry you’re dealing with the fallout from something that should have been over a long time ago.”

  “I should have known better when I agreed to do the show in the first place.” I shrugged. “I guess I was romanced by the whole notion of being a gutsy girl.”

  Joelle had really encouraged me to do it, knowing how hard I’d worked to become more fit ever since moving to Los Angeles. A lot of the challenges came easily to me because I was in such good shape. Winning Gutsy Girl had given me a new level of self-confidence. Now all that remained for me to really fix myself and heal the past? Ditch the sexual hang-ups. And the book was going to help me do that, I was certain.