That Man 1 Page 6

  There were two narrow side-by-side stairs separated by about fifty feet. The ocean view at the top was spectacular though one couldn’t see to the bottom of the shrub-lined steps. Both stairs were already packed with people of all ages and builds. Many were galloping up and down them while others were taking two steps at a time. Only a few were leisurely taking their time. Never having done them before and not having worked out for a while, I was sure I’d be in that last group, taking one step at a time. To my relief, Libby chose the less daunting of the pair—the one with widely separated wood plank steps.

  After stretching my calves, I followed Libby as she sprightly skipped down the stairs. It took all my effort to keep up with her, made harder by the crowd, her conversation, and the fact that I’d forgotten my glasses. I kept my eyes on my feet, striving not to miss a step, while my roommate babbled away.

  “How was your dinner at Saul Bernstein’s house?”

  “Good.” Panting profusely, a one-word answer was the most I could muster. Mind-blowing was more like it.

  “Was it big?”

  “Yes.” Oh, God was IT big!

  “What did you have for dinner?”

  “Brisket.” An eyeful of Blake.

  “Did Blake come?”

  “Yes.” Oh did he!

  “Did he bring one of his bimbos?”

  Her jarring question made me almost miss a step. Gripping the railing, I found my balance and breathed out no.

  “It’s no secret he’s got a new hook-up every night. Girls in the office call it his O.K. Corral because everyone’s name starts with “K.”

  I felt my chest tighten. Why did this little tidbit bother me? At least, “J” came before “K.” A half-heartening thought.

  We reached the bottom of the steps and began our ascent back to the top. I was totally winded and going back up was exponentially harder. By the time we got halfway up, I was a sweaty panting mess. There must have been close to two hundred steps, but their steepness made it feel like I’d climbed for an eternity. Totally out of breath, I told Libby I needed to take a break. She rolled her eyes and told me while I was resting, she was going to do the other, more challenging set of cement steps. While she jogged over to them, I bent over, clamping my knees, and inhaled a big gulp of the fragrant air to revitalize myself. I wasn’t a quitter. Fortified, I marched down the wooden steps once more.

  Going down them wasn’t too bad, but coming up was pure hell. The temperature felt like it’d risen ten degrees—although it could have just been me—and my calves were burning. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and tied it around my waist. Focusing on each step, I kept my head bowed. At the halfway mark, I smacked straight into someone heading down. He was none too pleased.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going.”

  Oh my God. That voice. I lifted my head and gawked. It was him. My boss. Blake Burns!

  “Hi.” An embarrassed but adorable smile spread across his face.

  I quirked a little smile back. In tandem, we did a mutual once-over. His eyes traveled down my body, mine his. I’d never seen him out of a suit. Now, before me stood a god—six-foot three of sheer sculpted leanness in short white athletic shorts and a SIN-TV tee. A fine layer of hair coated his arms and legs, drawing attention to every finely honed muscle. His beautiful face glistened with sweat, and his eyes sparkled blue. My already rapid heartbeat sped up, if that was possible, and my already heated body rose another ten degrees, if that was possible.

  “Go down with me and then we’ll come up together.”

  His words twisted in my head. “Go down on me and we’ll come together.” Geez, what the heck was wrong with me?

  “Sure,” I said without thinking. I certainly was not looking forward to having to make the climb back up yet again.

  As we descended, he brushed against me, sending a rush of goose bumps to my heated body. “How come I’ve never seen you here before?” he asked. “I come here every Saturday morning.”

  “This is my first time,” I spluttered, concentrating harder on each step.

  “It’s a kickass workout,” he said upon reaching the bottom of the steps.

  “For sure,” I panted as we pivoted around to hike back up. The steps had gotten even more crowded, making them a bigger challenge.

  My calves—and lungs—were killing me, but I said nothing as I struggled to keep up with his pace. This man was fit.

  Then suddenly without warning, an intense cramp gripped my right calf. I gritted my teeth and winced. Doubling over with pain, I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Blake steadied me with his strong hands before I collapsed onto the step. “Are you okay?” There was genuine concern in his voice.

  “I have leg cramp,” I gasped. “I don’t know if I can make it up.” I clutched the railing.

  “Hold on to me.” Having no choice, I wrapped my other arm around his broad shoulder. He was all glistening skin and powerful muscles. Clinging to him, I took a step but almost crumpled to the ground on a loud groan. The pain was agonizing. I took another step with my good leg and then tried hopping up the next step. Forget it. The step was too steep, and I didn’t have the muscle-power to get up it. I fought back tears as insensitive pedestrians, determined to get in their workout, brushed past me and told me to get out of the way.

  “This isn’t working,” growled Blake. In a heartbeat, he scooped me up in his sculpted arms and threw me over a broad shoulder. There was a new spectacular view—his gorgeous, tight ass.

  Gripping the area just below my buttocks, he bounded up the stairs effortlessly. My breasts pressed against his rippled back, and beneath the damp fabric of my tee, I could feel my tender nipples peek. A trail of tingles traveled down my spine and spooled between my legs. When we got to the top, he carried me across the street where there was a sidewalk and no crowd. He gently set me down on the warm cement.

  Squatting beside me, he asked, “Which leg?” His eyes burnt into mine.

  I grimaced. “The right one.” Keeping my good leg bent, I stretched it out.

  Wordlessly, he began massaging my calf. As he kneaded my flesh, I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh of relief. The firmness of his soft, manly hands felt divine.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  “Sooo good,” I responded, my voice breathy.

  “Do you want me to go deeper?”

  “Oh yes!” Yes, yes, yes.

  He readily obliged, digging his deft fingers deeper into my muscles, and then worked both hands up my thigh to the edge of my running shorts.

  He was dangerously close to my sex. I was drenched and heated as it was from the steps workout, but as he stroked the tender, damp flesh of my inner thigh, the area between them grew hotter and wetter. I was practically on fire.

  “How does that feel?” His voice was soft and sultry.

  My eyes blinked open. I caught his smoldering eyes in mine. I couldn’t get my mouth to move.

  A smile curled on his lips. “Well, I hope it feels as good for you as it does for me.”

  His words swirled around in my head and then they hit me like a tidal wave. My eyes jumped to the crotch of his shorts. Holy shit! He’d gotten aroused. My heart galloped at the sight of the bulge, knowing from last night what was beneath.

  “I think I’m okay now,” I sputtered. That was so far from the truth. I was a hot, sweaty bundle of nerves.

  He helped me up. “Let’s see if you can walk.”

  I took a few steps forward and then turned back. My calf no longer throbbed, but the throbbing between my legs was so intense I couldn’t walk straight.

  “Does your leg still hurt?” asked Blake, his eyes riveted on me.

  “Nope. I’m good to go.”

  “Are you sure? You look like you’re walking a little funny.”

  “Really, I’m fine. Just a little stiff.”

  He smiled wryly. “I’m a little stiff too.”

  A breath hitched in my throat. I gulped it down and kept my eyes on his
face.

  He held my gaze in his. “I always get breakfast at this great place on the beach after doing the steps. Come with me. We’ll make it a business meal.”

  I needed to get away from him. ASAP. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m with someone.”

  His brows furrowed—that special way they did whenever he heard words he didn’t want to hear. “Oh, your fiancé?”

  I nervously shook my head. “No, he’s at work. Saturday is one of his busiest days. A girlfriend.”

  His frown morphed quickly into that dazzling, dimpled smile. “Text her and tell her you’ll see her later. I’ll drive you home.”

  My eyes met his in a standoff.

  “Just. Do. It.”

  I pulled out my cell phone from my shorts pocket.

  Five minutes later, I was cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway in Blake’s convertible, soaking in the magnificent view of the ocean and one equally magnificent profile. Not once did my eyes look down.

  *

  On the Beach was the perfect name for the restaurant Blake took me to. Located adjacent to the popular Annenberg Community Beach House pool that was now closed for the winter, the restaurant literally sat on the sand and enjoyed unobstructed views of the white-crested waves. We had a choice of eating indoors or outside, but there was no decision to make. With the perfect summer-like weather, we opted for a table outdoors. The place was crowded, filled with both couples and families. Close to the seating area, was a small playground where children could play. A cheerful, tanned waiter, who looked like he could be a surfer, came by with coffee and then asked for our order.

  Ravenous, I ordered a mushroom and cheese omelet while Blake ordered huevos rancheros. It was a hearty breakfast that included three eggs, salsa, and beans—so different from the flaxseed protein shakes that Bradley always ordered. Blake consumed his food with gusto. My eyes trained on the way his mountainous biceps flexed when he lifted his fork to his mouth, and his lush lips sensuously wrapped around his Mexican-styled eggs. God, he was gorgeous!

  “Where are you from?” he asked me, after swallowing a biteful.

  A safe enough question. “Boise.”

  “Ah, a Midwesterner. I should have known. What brought you to California?”

  I cut into my omelet. “I needed to get out of my shell. And USC has one of the best film and television schools in the country. I won a merit scholarship.”

  “Why did you want to get into television?”

  “Because I’ve always loved TV. It was my means of escape. I lived a very sheltered life; my overprotective parents homeschooled me.”

  Blake took another bite of his eggs. “I’ve never understood people who homeschool their kids.”

  “My parents had me late in life. After believing they could never have kids, I was a miracle baby. They wanted to keep me insulated from the world—out of harm’s way.

  “So, no peril or heartbreak for Calamity Jen.”

  With a nervous little smile, I moved my omelet around my plate with my fork. “What about you? Where’d you go to school?”

  “UCLA.”

  “What did you major in?”

  He licked his lips. “Anatomy.”

  My eyes rounded. “You wanted to be a doctor?”

  “No. I wanted to fuck.”

  I flushed with unexpected laughter.

  “I was a terrible student, but my female professors liked me and gave me passing grades.”

  “Did you screw a few?” I couldn’t believe I was asking my boss such an audacious question.

  He grinned wickedly. “I screwed them all.”

  My eyes widened, but why should I be surprised? This guy was born a player. He was pure walking sex.

  “How come you and your father have different last names?”

  “During college, I did some modeling. My agent thought Blake Burns would sell a lot more products than Blake Bernstein. The name stuck.”

  My eyes widened again. “You were a male model?”

  He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. My roommate made me try out for one of those I-want-to-be America’s Next Top Model reality series. I did it just to piss off my father because the show was another network. Well, to make a long story short, I won.”

  “Wow! Did you like modeling?”

  “Just the fucking supermodels part.”

  A nervous little laugh slipped out of my mouth. He was definitely into supermodels. I took a sip of my coffee and probed further.

  “So, how did you end up working for your father?”

  “I got bored with the modeling pretty quickly. And the acting. But what I discovered was that I liked being behind the camera more than in front of it. And I saw that sex sold. More men than women watched that top model show. It gave me an idea. Why not create a television network that sold sex? Give the Playboy Channel a run for its money.”

  “And—”

  “So, I pitched the idea to my old man. SIN-TV. The Sex International Network. And he went for it.”

  What a great story. Okay, maybe I didn’t agree with all his programming choices, but he was a visionary. I had to admire him.

  “What’s it like working for your father?” Saul Bernstein struck me as warm but very demanding man.

  “Better than I thought. It’s made us closer. He’s grooming me to one day run the entire company.”

  “Interesting.” So, one day, my boss Blake Burns would be the head of Conquest Broadcasting. I was much more impressed than I let on. Of course, some gorgeous supermodel would be by his side while he ruled the media world. I took another sip of my coffee and inwardly sighed.

  We shared a stretch of silence and finished our breakfast. My eyes soaked in the undulating roll of the waves and the surfers who were riding them as well as the close-by seagulls searching for a few breadcrumbs. But mostly, I couldn’t stop staring at Blake as he ate. His sapphire-blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, and his damp dark hair shimmered like satin. Every sculpted muscle was a work of art. He was beautiful. He caught my eyes on him. Setting down his fork, he reached across the table and brushed away a tendril of hair that had fallen onto my face from the ocean breeze. “So, when are you and your fiancé getting married?”

  His out-of-the-blue question took me by surprise. I swallowed hard. “We haven’t set a date yet. Maybe in the summer.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  I scrunched up my face, but inside my heart rattled. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m in love with him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I care about him. I put his needs before mine.”

  Blake gazed at me intensely, his eyes like lasers. “And he does the same for you?”

  My mouth parted, but words stayed trapped in my throat. The truth: it was mostly about Bradley. His career, his interests, his desires. I was always giving into his ways—eating at vegan restaurants that made me want to puke, attending dental conventions that made me want to fall asleep, and spending the night at his place with its dreary brown wood furniture I wanted to burn. Damn it. I even fucked him the way he liked it. Always the same old boring way. Missionary.

  “Bradley loves me.” My tone was sharp and defensive.

  “Is he good in bed?” His deep blue eyes held me fierce. He was unnerving me.

  “I’m not going to answer that question.” I spat the words at him. The truth: I wasn’t sure. He was the only man I’d ever been with. His dick was smallish. He came quickly, and I’d never had an orgasm with him. He was nothing like the men in those erotic romance novels I’d read. But I knew they were just fiction. Men like Christian Grey and Gideon Cross didn’t exist in real life.

  Blake grinned smugly. “You did answer it. But as my dad always says, good is the enemy of better.”

  He was having a very uncomfortable effect on me. As I pondered his words, my heart beat rapidly, and I felt flutters rise between my legs.

  “Come over here, tiger.” He signaled with his index finger for me to lean into him. Wi
th my lips slightly parted, I did as he asked.

  “You have some egg on your mouth.”

  “Oh.” I flushed with embarrassment. Before I could flick it off, his long forefinger made contact with my face and languidly traced my lips before brushing it off. My flesh tingled all over from his tender touch. My eyes never left him as he sucked the bit of egg off his fingertip. A satisfied smile spread across his face.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have very kissable lips, Ms. McCoy?”

  I jolted with shock. A heat stroke was a very real possibility. “No,” I croaked, my voice just above a whisper.

  “Well, I’m telling you.”

  With that and the check, breakfast with my boss came to an end.

  Chapter 12

  Blake

  After breakfast, I asked Jennifer if she wanted to take a walk on the beach with me. I enjoyed being with her. It was rare for me to have a real conversation with a girl and couldn’t remember the last time I did. But after I told her she had kissable lips, she clammed up and told me she needed to get home.

  Fuck. She didn’t even thank me for the compliment, I thought as we cruised along the Santa Monica Freeway in silence. Maybe she didn’t take it that way though the rest of our morning had gone so well. The top of my Porsche was down, and the radio was blasting. From time to time, I stole a glance at her. Her ponytail was whipping against her face, her eyes squinting, as if deep in thought. She kept her gaze straight ahead and occasionally looked out her side of the car. My cock was still twitching from the boner I had under the table. I was inexplicably attracted to her. It had taken all I had not to kiss those kissable lips and let her know I was the man she’d kissed in that game of Truth or Dare. I was now playing my own version of that game. The truth if I was asked: I had a burning urge to pull off the road and ask her to blow me. And if someone dared me, I’d do it.