Chapter 9: Chapter Eight

Elliot had a feeling the limo ride with Ginger after the party wouldn’t end up as well as the last one they’d taken.

She sat in the rear-facing seat like last time, and he slid in across from her, immediately undoing the top button of his suffocating dress shirt. When the driver closed the door, the air inside the limo reduced to survivability levels only.

They alternated between locked gazes and glances away as the chauffeur made his way to the driver’s seat. The instant the car started moving, Ginger let out a harsh breath and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Did you want to go first?” Elliot hedged. She was giving off a lot of tension with her stay-the-fuck-away-from-me body language and her guarded narrow gaze.

“Talk! Just talk for fuck’s sake. Stop saying we need to and spit it out. What? What do you want?”

He blinked, his head backing up from the bite in her tone. Attack Mode wasn’t his favorite Ginger setting, but desperate times… “Fine. Why are you pissed?”

“Because you threatened my job tonight, and this is what you said I had to do to keep it, so here I am. I have about a million things to go over for tomorrow—for real—but you said this is what you needed. So?”

“Why you?” he asked, and the question made her head rear back.

“Why me what?”

“Why am I your job? Whose idea was that?”

“Not mine, all right?” She shifted, her hips squirming on the leather seat as her arms tightened into their fold across her chest. She glanced toward the window, shaking a lock of hair off her cheek. “It kind of fell to me.”

“Kind of?”

“You remember Frank?”

Elliot nodded, easily recalling one of the producers from Jenna’s season.

“He got a job directing a documentary for Hulu—it was kind of last minute.”

“And you stepped up?”

“More or less,” she mumbled. “So we’re a man down and super busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“It wasn’t your idea?”

“None of this was my idea.” Her voice was layered with meaning.

Intrigued, Elliot waited for her to say more.

She didn’t, and silence, thick with words unspoken, settled between them.

He was glad he’d told the limo driver to take the long way home. “Are you angry with me?”

She breathed in sharply, her shoulders rising several inches. “Of course not.”

Her stiff posture told another story. He offered a gentle reminder. “I emailed you…”

She stared at him, her throat moving with a swallow. “Yeah.”

“I wanted to see you again,” he said.

“I read the emails.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“The network was already talking to you,” she said like that was all that mattered.

“I hadn’t committed to anything.”

Her face remained blank. “Well, you have now. I’m not sure why we’re even discussing it. Nothing today changes by dredging up the past.”

“So I’m supposed to do what you’re doing? Pretend it never happened and ignore…”

He needed to be careful. Admitting he still wanted her was likely not the best course of action. And yet—wasn’t that why he’d demanded this meeting? To let her know what was holding him back? The only way he could think to break free of the spell she cast on him was to make his reservations known and have her confirm that his infatuation was one-sided. It could be his only chance to finally resolve that one unresolved moment of his past.

“Ignore what?”

“That night,” he began, checking for any sign he should stop or keep talking.

She wasn’t moving at all though, not blinking, not breathing…

“You surprised me,” he admitted.

A corner of her mouth twitched, like the idea made her want to smile.

He would have smiled, too, if the memory didn’t overwhelm him so much, if he could shake the sudden image of her delicate wrists bound together in black lace, her exposed nipples straining for his mouth as he’d dropped to his knees before her. The way she’d said yes, giving him permission to take her any way he dreamed of doing it. Literally anything, she’d said, like no part of him was too much or off-limits.

Remembering heated his blood, his body responding to the acute pleasure of the memory, to the echo of the sounds she’d made…hot and desperate.

His cock pulsed to life, and he ached to stroke it the way he had that night. She’d been mesmerized—watching him. He spread his legs wider now, hoping to diffuse some of the unbearable tension.

“It was one night,” she said.

“One very long night…”

She ran a finger along the inner edge of her blouse’s collar, grazing the pale skin of her throat. “That’s all it was meant to be. I didn’t expect things to get so…”

“What?”

“I didn’t expect you to be so…”

“What was I?” His cock throbbed like it was demanding something. It hurt not to touch it.

“Weird,” she said shortly, and the word was like the lash of a whip. It turned him on more, and it made him want to grovel at her feet. Apologize for confusing her, turning her off, promise he could do it better, different, whatever she wanted.

“So it’s not something you think about?” he asked as he remembered some of the things he’d said to her. I’m gonna make you miss me, Ginger. When I’m gone and you touch yourself, I’m gonna be the guy in your head. The hands on these tits. The cock in your mouth.

Too much, he’d been too much, and it had never gotten him what he wanted—a partner. Someone who got him. Someone who wanted him as wildly as he wanted. Because he wanted. Too much.

“I…” The syllable came out more breath than sound. Her dark gaze, like his own will was pulling it there, landed on his crotch. Eyes widening at his evident arousal, she didn’t finish her sentence.

The pressing demand inside him wouldn’t tolerate being ignored. His hand moved to his inner thigh where his rigid dick pulsed. He gave it a firm squeeze, sighing at his own touch. A mistake maybe, but a relief for sure.

“Elliot…” The hush of her voice wasn’t a rebuke though. It sounded like a purr.

He couldn’t stop himself. “I think about it. You. That night.” His cock twitched beneath his hand, needing more, a firmer grip.

“Are you thinking about it now?” Her cheeks flushed pink as she stared at his hand.

“I think about it all the time.” He stroked himself through his pants again, dropping his head back and shutting his eyes, surrendering.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about? This is how you wanna do it?”

“Jesus, Ginger…” he said, unable to leave himself alone.

“You should stop.”

“I know… This isn’t professional.” But Ginger had invaded every moment of his return to LA. He wished being close to her didn’t overwhelm him so much, that it was easier…

“Is having me here right now helping you?”

“Sort of. A little. Not enough.”

“And if I was Kat sitting across from you—would you still be…”

The soft moan that ended her sentence was a window opening. A chance.

It was unbelievable. What watching him did to her was completely inappropriate. Ginger was practically panting as Elliot’s other hand unbuckled his belt.

Oh Jesus. What was happening? Why couldn’t she make herself tell him to stop?

“I’d be on my best behavior with Kat, but you know me better than she does. Tell me to stop.” His voice was strained, drawn thin with need. It rose inside her, too, clouding her judgment, demolishing everything in its fiery wake.

“I thought I did…”

He unhooked his waistband, and the zipper gave beneath his knuckles. “You said I should…”

A gush of hot, wet desire soaked her panties. She wanted this. Wanted him to whip it out, wanted to watch him stroke himself, but he was giving her a choice here, and she needed to be smart. But holy shit, it wasn’t easy.

“I’m super glad you feel so comfortable around me, Elliot, but this isn’t the best way to demonstrate that.”

“In other words—stop?”

“Stop,” she managed to whisper.

He pulled his hand out of his pants, quickly refastening them. Jaw ground together tight, he stared at her.

“What was that about?” she asked, breathless.

“Kinda hard to explain right now. Sorry if it offended.”

“I’m not offended…” Yeah, no…offended definitely wasn’t the word.

“You see why we can’t work together?”

Her head was spinning. Her entire body buzzed like one raw nerve. “Because of your erection?”

“More or less,” he mumbled.

Figured. “So it’s just physical, then.”

“Very physical. But I guess it’s one-sided?”

She hedged. “I mean…”

“Yes or no?” There was a demand in his voice. An edge. Like the answer to the question was important to him. With every soul-crushing thing he’d already put himself through and was about to put himself through again for the show, building up his confidence was a big part of what she was there for. But she never thought the line she’d be walking would end up being so razor thin.

“You’re an extremely attractive man, Elliot.”

“Attractive to you?” he asked.

“I don’t matter.”

“Says who?”

“Your contract.”

“I felt like we needed to resolve something, but if you’re all resolved…” His words trailed off. He glanced out the window in frustration.

“Are you not resolved?”

He made a sharp gesture at his lap. “Apparently not.”

He was still rock hard beneath the fabric of his pants.

She had no idea how to get his head back in the game. Her mind reeled with thoughts both acceptable and unacceptable. Appropriate and inappropriate. The solution eluded her, because what was going on inside her own pants was equally problematic.

Bottom line: he wanted a marriage, and she wanted a promotion. In the weeks and months after they’d spent their night together she’d spent so many moments torn between having him all to herself or giving him back to the show, but she couldn’t give him what he wanted. She wasn’t Jenna. She wasn’t ready to settle down and make a family and pack her career into a box to keep in the back of her closet. She’d chosen her job over a man before, and she would do it all over again. And she had never been so close to something she’d worked so hard for.

“What do you need, Elliot? How do we make this work?”

“I don’t think it does, Ginger.”

“You want a wife, right?”

“Yes.”

“Every woman here wants the opportunity to be the one.”

“Not every woman.”

“I’m not interested in marriage, but even if I were, you eliminated me as an option the second you put ink on that contract.”

“Careful, you sound disappointed.”

Her face heated. She should have kept that thought to herself. But if this was where they were going to air their dirty laundry, she could be honest, too. “Maybe. But I always knew I wasn’t your type.”

One look into his darkening eyes told her she was out of her depth. “You have no idea what my type is,” he said.

“I knew Jenna pretty well.”

“So did I. She would have been a great wife, but I wouldn’t call her my type.” He winced, adjusting himself in his pants.

“Jesus. Still?”

“Yeah,” he said, some of his discomfort apparent in the rawness of his voice.

“Are you always like this? Did you get like this during your conversation with Amanda? Or Cassie?”

“Just you, Ginger.”

Something about those words turned her on more than the idea of watching him masturbate in a limo. A rush of endorphins hit her bloodstream. “Should I have let you finish? Would the conversation be more productive?”

He kept quiet, brooding.

“We need to find you a wife.”

“I can be a handful.”

Ginger almost laughed. As a grin stretched across her face, he smiled back. Not once since he’d been here had he smiled like that for anyone else. In that moment she wanted him as much, if not more than she had that night at the Hilton. She had to clear her throat to make her words come out right. Averting her eyes, she said, “We should be at the Hacienda soon. You can wrap things up there in private.”

“Why are we still talking about this?” he asked, like he sensed her resolve disintegrating.

“It’s like the elephant in the limo.” Without meaning to, she gestured at his lap.

“You can’t stop thinking about it can you?”

She couldn’t. She really couldn’t.

It was like it was her erection. And she couldn’t help feeling somewhat possessive of it. It burned more than a little that she wouldn’t get to enjoy it. Ever. Again.

Alarmed at the complete finality of the thought, she met his eyes. She’d said goodbye to him. She’d walked out the door. She’d known she’d see him again, the network would make him an offer he wouldn’t be able to refuse, she’d have to stand aside and let him find his future, and all they’d shared was one tiny sliver of the past, but right then there was a hunger in his gaze so specific, wanting one thing only, not just with his eyes, but with his entire body. He wanted her.

Maybe it was the limo, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the tidal wave of regret crashing down on her, or maybe it was him, but something snapped. One thought propelled her forward, off her seat and directly onto his lap:

Mine.

Her calves aligned themselves against his thighs.

He smirked with a complete lack of surprise.

Okay, fine, so he knew what he was doing. Well. It worked. “Here I am. Did you want to touch me or not?”

He swallowed hard, like one more second of restraint would do him in. Jaw grinding, the muscles in both his cheeks twitched. “Did you want me to?”

It was too late to pretend she didn’t. Hips thrusting, she moved against him, the sensation of his hard heat grinding across the center seam of her pants.

He exhaled, jaggedly. Her thighs quivered at the sound of it.

Desperate to get this one last mistake out of her system, she unbuttoned her blouse, but didn’t waste time taking it off. Instead, she shoved her flimsy bralette above her breasts, exposing herself to him in a graphic and hurried way. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He took her by the waist and sat up straight, causing her to arch backward, leaving her chest completely available to him. “Best gift ever,” he whispered before sucking one of her breasts into his mouth.

Her gasp became a low moan as she rocked against his lap, their pants creating just enough friction. His teasing licks against her nipple sent sensation screaming through her body, and all at once her pent-up need built toward a fast release. His hand moved to support her back as his mouth glided across her bare chest, sucking and probing and devouring whatever he managed to get a mouthful of.

Her thrusts against him slowed and lengthened, her desperation transforming into a desire to prolong this. This complete violation of a rule neatly spelled out in both their contracts. The knowledge of that didn’t do anything to stop her, though. It only worked to make the moment hotter, more illicit.

Dirty, exactly how she liked him.

“Talk to me,” she whispered.

“And tell you what?” He kissed the underside of her breast. “How much I want you? That this is all I’ve been thinking about since the second you left me?”

“Yeah…lie if you have to.”

A murmur of a laugh. He licked a hot path across her nipple before sucking it between his teeth. “I forgot how much you like to watch.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.” He brought her closer, his mouth grazing her throat as his hand moved up her spine to cradle the back of her head. “I can’t wait to be inside you again.”

“No. No fucking way.” Ginger hadn’t completely lost her mind. She still had a strong enough sense of self-preservation to say no to that.

He met her eyes, confused. “You didn’t like it?”

“We were on vacation.”

He grunted his frustration, his hips thrusting up, pressing his cock more firmly against her. “Did you like it or not?”

Of course she liked it. Look at her, for Christ’s sake. She pushed his coat off his shoulders, struggled with a way to get her hands against his skin, yanking at the back of his shirt to gather the fabric in her quickly moving fists. God, it fit him too well. She couldn’t manage it.

Like he knew exactly what she wanted, he leaned back, giving her better access to the front. She started unbuttoning immediately, and with every fastening she undid, more of him was revealed.

“Tell me you liked it, Ginger. Tell me you hated it.” He helped her with the buttons from the bottom up, and they met in the middle, both working to get the shirt off him. Once it lay in a heap on the floorboard, she pressed her hands against his back, tightening their closeness, smothering her stinging nipples with the heat of his chest.

Their foreheads met, bringing their mouths close enough to share heavy breaths. “Tell me you remember what it felt like,” he said.

As if she could forget.

He’d used her up. He’d wrung her out, but she hadn’t left destroyed. She’d left cleansed and new. It was different, and Ginger always found she had a love-hate relationship with anything different.

“I liked it. I hated it. I tried to forget you…”

She slid her center over him, the heat of her desire evident, even through all the pants. Being close to her was so good, the veil of denial fell. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else like this.

Now that she was in his arms again, an ache filled his chest. He’d missed her body. Her smart mouth. Her attention. So much it hurt to be that close and still not have her.

Battling against a true surge of desire, he stared her down as she rocked toward him, her gaze penetrating and direct. He tried to gain some traction on himself, working his clenched jaw from side to side. He wanted to taste her.

He reached for the back of her head, burning to kiss those parted lips, but she shook it out of his hand. “I don’t need that tonight,” she said. Another lash of the whip. She put her hands on his shoulders, pinning him back.

He could have accepted that. He was close. He could have gone with the flow and let her get him off like she was about to, because it did meet some need he was having, but he wanted more. “You won’t kiss me? Seriously?”

“Save kissing for your girlfriends.”

“Jealous?”

Something flared in her eyes. “What would be the point?”

“You could tell me,” he said.

“Or we could get this over with.”

He glanced down at her lazily moving hips. “You don’t seem like you’re in much of a hurry.”

She shuddered, her nails driving into the muscle of his shoulders. “It feels so good.”

He took hold of her ass, tilting himself up to grind harder. “What am I supposed to do with my mouth if you won’t let me talk or kiss you?”

“Clench your jaw. I like when you do that,” she said.

He smiled. “What else do you like me to do?”

She moaned, the strength in her arms giving way as their lower halves found a more coordinated rhythm together. His fingers drove into the tight fabric covering her thighs, and she fell against him, her mouth on his neck. Her hair fanned across his face. With the silky steam of jasmine surrounding him, he opened his lungs, taking all of her in. Finding the skin of her neck, he sunk his teeth in as her hands moved into his hair.

It was good, but it was also unbearable. “This is bullshit.” He didn’t want her like this. He gripped her head in his hands and adjusted her angle. “Let me kiss you.”

Her lips covered his before he had to mount a more persuasive argument. Their tongues collided in a frantic rush, and everything made sense again. One hand slid down her back to move her body more tightly against his while his other hand grasped at her head. Owning her mouth with his, he plunged deep, drawing on her need and making her moan again. It was exactly like he remembered—her kiss—like she was draining his life force.

She lost control by degrees, first with her lips, pulling and sucking at him, and then with her hips as they started to slide faster and harder, until she was ruining his dick the way she was destroying his mouth.

They moved with an urgent desperation, like the limo could stop at any second. Like the entire future hung in the balance. Like the world was ending.

Sliding her mouth across his cheek to his ear, she whispered, “This never happened.”

Goddamn he was close, but he didn’t want it to end. “Anything you want. Don’t stop.”

“I’m about to come.”

“Please let me inside you.”

“It’s too much.” Her hips rotated with his upward thrusts. She sealed her mouth to his and relaxed all the tension in her jaw to let him all the way in. It was a wild, unleashed kiss that lit the fuse of his impending release.

She came suddenly with a shattering cry, her body trembling in his arms, her thighs vibrating against him. He couldn’t wait anymore, his groin aching with unspent need. Pushing her back on his lap, he freed his throbbing cock from his pants. Her hand covered his as he worked himself over fast and hard. In seconds, his orgasm pulsed through him as he panted and quaked, the sensation wracking him with a strength he’d forgotten was possible. “Fuck…Ginger…”

“Shit, Elliot…” she sighed as the hand he used to finish himself off fell limply to his side.

His other hand still gripped her hip while her fingertips moved lightly over his chest. Aftershocks trembled through him. Her forehead rested against his, their breaths heavy against each others’ mouths. Her lacy nothing of a bra remained shoved up past her breasts, the tangled waves of her hair skimmed her dark nipples, still tight and erect. She was the picture of debauched. So beautiful he could barely stand to look at her.

“You can’t tell anybody about this,” she said.

Depression crept around the edge of his thoughts. They could have had this—for months—if she’d bothered to return one fucking email. But she hadn’t.

“This can’t happen again.”

Clearing his throat, he moved her off his lap and settled deeper into the seat. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He closed his eyes, taking a moment to get a grip on his immense disappointment. “What if this whole thing doesn’t work out? The show.”

“Elliot, I’m serious.” She launched herself off his seat, moving toward the opposite one and taking stock of her chest. She covered herself back up, first with the flimsy lace, then the fabric of her silk shirt.

He put his dick back in his pants and zipped up. He was a mess, but he’d stopped caring the second she took her hands off him.

She spoke without even a glance his way. “This was a one-time thing. We should avoid being alone again. I think we both said and did what needed doing.”

The third lash of the whip cut deep. He only wished his words stung her the way hers stung him. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist?”

The way she dressed again without modesty or shame was so matter-of-fact it burned him worse than her words. “Look, we’re in this together,” she said. “My job is to get you married. Your job is to pick the woman. That’s it. Tomorrow you’ll start building some trust under Lavonne’s expert eye, and you’re gonna find your life mate. Now that this thing”—she gestured between them—“is out of your system, you need to focus. Keep your pants zipped until the final two, all right?”

Elliot kept his face blank. It was impossible to reconcile the woman who’d kissed him with undeniable passion with this cold, manipulative, network mouthpiece.

The truth of what happened between them finally registered:

She hadn’t been desperate for him. She’d been producing him.