Come A Little Bit Closer (The Sullivans #7)(50)

Just at the moment that his tongue, his teeth, found her nipple, she arched back and down, taking him so deep that even as she started to detonate again in his arms, he was right there with her, losing himself completely inside of her.

* * *

Valentina’s legs shook as she walked back to her office to get her things. They were still shaking by the time she got in her car to drive home.

It was one thing to say she didn’t want to be with Smith.

It was another entirely to say it and then immediately melt into him as she begged for more of his kisses.

And it was another still to give herself to him in ways she never had with another man.

Yes, the set had been fairly deserted by the time she went to seek him out in the screening room, but she hadn’t thought to lock the door. Anyone could have walked in on them and seen her straddling Smith in the chair, her skirt hiked up around her waist, her blouse unbuttoned and open so that nothing would get in the way of his mouth, his hands, or his—

Oh God, she thought as she pulled into the driveway of her rental house and laid her head down on the steering wheel, what am I doing?

Friday night, and then Saturday morning, were supposed to be her one-time-only gift to herself. Even today, before she’d reached for him, she’d justified it by telling herself it was the very last time.

All those years she’d thought actors were the ones who couldn’t be trusted.

Now, it turned out that she was the one who kept saying one thing...and then doing another.

* * *

The next days passed in a blur of meetings and important scenes being filmed and working with Tatiana on her lines...and secret, frantic, couldn’t-possibly-get-enough-of-it sex with Smith.

Somehow, making love with Smith had become an inevitable, and utterly necessary, part of each day. Every time she saw him, she was more and more tempted to go against what she believed—what she knew—to be true about men in the business. For the first time, she wondered if it wasn’t that women like her mother were so weak, but rather that the pull of these men was too strong to resist?

Because every time Smith’s hands, his mouth, touched her, all of her well-thought-out reasons, each one of her careful considerations, every last vow and promise she’d made to herself, disappeared as if they had never existed at all.

When Tatiana asked Valentina to weigh in on her wardrobe for some upcoming scenes she would be shooting with the baby, she shouldn’t have been surprised to find Smith there, too. But when Tatiana and Kayla, the wardrobe director, needed fifteen minutes to check out the stash of fabric in Kayla’s storage locker, Valentina was surprised by how natural it was not only for Smith to lock the door before pulling her into his arms, but also for her to wrap her arms and legs around him and put her mouth to his as he took them both over yet another brilliant peak.

The next day, she made sure to get in early to make up for the work she’d been too fuzzy to complete post-quickie with Smith, but even though she’d thought she was the only person on set, she found him in the kitchen making coffee. The next thing she knew, the door was locked again, the blinds were down, and they were making love against the counter, her hands pressed flat on the Formica as she pushed her hips back into his to try to take him deeper, while he gave her everything, absolutely everything she couldn’t help but want. She could have said no, but knowing his touch, his kisses, made her a willing slave to wanting every time he was near.

At neither time did they talk before or after. Maybe because he knew she wouldn’t want to hear what he had to say...and she was afraid of what she might tell him. But she knew they couldn’t go on like this for much longer, using only the language of their bodies.

Soon, very soon, what was happening between them would have to be discussed.

And ended.

Friday dawned dark and foggy after a long night of schooling herself to put a stop to the madness, a perfect reflection of the way her insides felt. She couldn’t keep up with the highs of those stolen moments in Smith’s arms, and then the lows of seeing him on set an hour later and having to act like they were strangers. Yes, she knew he didn’t want things to be that way, that he would gladly have alerted the entire cast and crew to their budding relationship, but she knew any pain she was suffering now was so much less than the pain she’d feel down the road if she were foolish enough to think of herself as his girlfriend rather than his latest film-fling. Valentina had seen far more women than her mother go through that hell during the past ten years, and she’d always vowed never to put herself in that position. And God forbid anyone with a camera caught them together. She couldn’t imagine seeing herself on the cover of a magazine.

So as she headed onto the set with her gifts for the holiday party, she firmly reminded herself: No matter what, she wasn’t going to make love to Smith again.

* * *

Smith was known throughout Hollywood for working hard, for holding focus, and for always giving his best. But he’d never put in hours like these before, never even knew he had it in him. It was easy to let everyone think it was because he was staking so much on the success of Gravity.

He alone knew the truth.

Ten minutes in Valentina’s arms would fuel him for ten hours, and then, when he finally came down from the high she gave him, he missed her so much—and wanted her again so badly—that trying to rest or relax was pointless. Instead, he worked through all those hours of frustration and need, only sleeping when he’d temporarily exhausted her scent, the feel of her on his lips, his hands, out of his system.