Dirty Little Midlife Mistake by Lilian Monroe
Candice
Any other day,I probably would have agonized over what to wear for a poolside tea date with a hot Hollywood actor. Today, though? After half my house was engulfed by flames, my daughter decided she’d rather stay with her friend than with me, I drank whiskey, of all things, and I happened to feel sexual attraction toward a man for the first time in far too many years?
After I admitted my celibacy, out loud, to a gaggle of women I call friends?
Today, I don’t care. My brain is fried. Operation Have Sex With Blake (Freaking) Harding will need to wait, because all I can manage is a hot drink by the pool.
I choose sweatpants and a comfy knit sweater, then I throw a towel over my arm. I’m going to drink tea with my feet in the pool, because I know Dorothy and Margaret keep it warm year-round. I’m going to enjoy Blake’s voice, his smile, and maybe even his laugh, and then I’m going to go to bed and hopefully wake up to a world that makes sense.
I’m going to let my thoughts simmer, and decide what to do about the whole ending-a-nine-year-dry-spell-with-Blake-freaking-Harding thing later. Much later. When I’m totally sober and not so frazzled.
Blake is already sitting next to the pool when I exit my room. He’s got a grey hoodie on over jeans that hug all the right places. His long legs stretch over one of the pool chaise lounges as he twists around to look at me, nodding to the chair next to his. “Hope you like peppermint tea. It was either that or Earl Grey, and I thought I’d play it safe for nighttime.”
“Good choice.” I wrap my fingers around the mug and inhale, letting the minty-smelling steam clear some of the cobwebs from my mind.
In the silence, Blake speaks. “My mother wants to meet you.”
I spit out my mouthful of tea as Blake laughs, his shoulders shaking as his eyes sparkle with mischief. He arches a brow, and all I can say is wow. Maybe Margaret’s whole “we’re not talking about dating” thing has some merit. This man is ridiculously attractive when he smiles. Well, he’s attractive all the time, but the warmth of his smile turns my insides to goo. Would it be so bad to get physical with him?
But— “Your mother?”
He leans back in the chair, staring up at the stars. His toes wiggle as if he’s trying to get comfortable. Clasping his arms behind his head, Blake looks like some kind of powerful fighter in repose. His biceps flex on either side of his head, and I wonder what it would feel like to have those arms around me.
To have them around me again, I mean. Maybe without cameras and lights and an entire film crew watching.
“I’m joking. She heard you checking in and quizzed me.”
“Did you tell her…”
“That we kissed?” He glances at me, his gaze penetrating. “No. All she knows is a woman who does the catering on set just moved into the room next to mine, but she likes to make up fairy tales about me meeting the woman of my dreams and riding off into the sunset with her.”
“I’m detecting a slight hint of sarcasm in your tone.”
Blake chuckles. “Riding off into the sunset isn’t in the cards for me. Or at least, it hasn’t been so far, but you never know.” His eyes land on me, and fire rips through my veins.
Um, what does that mean?
I nod. “That makes two of us,” I answer lamely. I sip my tea, listening to the pool filter gurgling for a few moments. Our chairs are a foot apart, but I can sense every inch of his body. I’ve never felt so alive, so on edge.
He shifts his weight, leaning to the side to grab his mug. I can almost feel the muscles of his obliques shifting under his shirt, his arms uncurling, his body bending and stretching. He moves with liquid grace, totally in control, every movement purposeful and steady.
He would be dynamite in bed.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Too much whiskey. Damn Dorothy! She did that on purpose. Then they all ganged up on me and put ideas in my head. Now I can’t stop thinking of sex. Of the way his hands felt over my hips, or how his mouth was hot and wet and tasted so damn good. Or how the whole world fell away, and I’m not even sure how long the director was calling for us to cut.
“Is it weird?” I ask, doing my best not to stare at the gorgeous man sitting next to me.
“Huh?”
“Kissing people on screen. Sex scenes.”
He pauses, considering. “It’s pretty clinical. There are people and cameras all around. It can get really awkward, but most of us are professionals. Just part of the job.”
I nod, ice water sluicing through my veins. Just part of the job. Is that what today was for him? God, I’m such an idiot. I’m falling over myself, thinking our kiss was something electric, and to him it was just another day at the office.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you today,” he says quietly. I turn to stare, finding his eyes on me. He blinks and shifts his gaze to my shoulder, my body. “That’s not how it’s done. I shouldn’t have kissed you or touched you without your permission and without any warning. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.” Did I say that too fast to sound casual?
His head jerks, his eyes searching mine. “No?” I shake my head. “But you ran away so quickly,” he says. “You looked…” He trails off, and I wonder what word was on the tip of his tongue. By the softness of his voice and the heat of his gaze, it doesn’t sound like I looked bad. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself to keep the humiliation at bay.
I tear my gaze away from his, standing up onto stiff legs. I shove my sweatpants legs up to my knees and plonk myself down on the edge of the pool, back to Blake, feet in the water, and I take a big gulp of tea.
“How’s the water?”
“Nice,” I answer, voice rusty. This isn’t helping me feel less frazzled. Why did I agree to drink tea with a movie star?
I hear the rustling of clothes and the creak of the chair. He’s standing up. Blake Harding is standing up behind me, asking me about the temperature of pool water. I can’t deal with this. My poor brain is overloading.
I should go to bed. I should really, really just get up and go to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll tell Margaret and Simone and Jen and all the rest of them that I can’t do it. My days of hot, nasty sex are over. Have I ever had hot, nasty sex? Even once?
That’s not a question I want to answer.
All I know is I can’t do this, especially not with someone like Blake. To think that he would want me is ridiculous. He apologized for kissing me. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. I imagined the sparks. Fiona imagined them, too. It’s not—
Blake Harding, Hollywood heartthrob and certified silver fox, slips into the pool beside me wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Oh my sweet Lord. Holy fucking moly. Is this real life? Is this really happening?
The arms of his muscles look carved from stone as he lowers himself inch by inch, water lapping higher and higher on his abs. A sprinkling of dark chest hair covers his chest, and I curl my fingers into the edge of the pool to stop myself from reaching over to touch it.
He is all man. All glorious, muscular man.
And I like it. A lot. Too much. Way, way too much.
Dropping into the pool with the water coming up to his neck, Blake turns around to look at me. “You should come in.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Neither do I.” A mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
“Blake Harding. Are you trying to get me to strip down to my underwear? Was one kiss not enough for you?”
“Never.” His body slices through the water as he walks toward me, and I barely have enough time to set my mug down before Blake has his hand around my wrist and is yanking me into the water.
I yelp, falling in on top of him, the two of us going under before Blake catches me around the waist and lifts me up above the surface. I gasp, spluttering, only realizing a moment later that my arms and legs are wrapped around his body, chest pressed against his, with something very hard pressed up against my stomach.
Whoa. Oh my—whoa.
“You strike me as the type of woman that needs to be shown how to relax,” he says, his voice low, lids dropping as his eyes trace the outline of my lips.
I lick the chlorinated water off my bottom lip and watch his eyes heat. “That’s very presumptuous of you.” My heart is kicking against my ribs, my body screaming for me to do this, do it now!
It’s been so long. So damn long since I’ve been in a man’s arms. So long since my pulse quickened like this, since I felt so hot my skin was about to burst.
“Kissing you didn’t feel like another day at the office,” Blake says in a low, growly voice.
Everything inside me tightens. My stomach is nothing more than a twisted ball of ache. My clothes float around me, drenched, and I’m so, so keenly aware that Blake only has underwear on. My hands are on his shoulders, smooth and wet and hard.
The girls were right. I need this. I need to feel like a woman. I need to give in to these urges, these desires. Waking up the part of me that I thought was dead isn’t a betrayal, it’s a necessity. Paul was a wonderful husband, father, and partner, but our marriage was far from perfect. Doing this has nothing to do with him.
Blake and the rest of the film crew will be gone in two weeks. Two weeks is nothing! If this ends in disaster, I can just avoid him and be glad when he leaves. Two weeks of awkwardness would be worth it if it meant feeling like I deserve pleasure, if only for a night.
“What are you thinking right now?” Blake asks, his voice a low rasp that sends heat spearing through my core.
I bite my lip. “I was thinking about this.”
“This?”
“Having my arms around you in a pool. How far from my typical reality it is. How much I’m enjoying it.”
A wolfish smile full of sinful promises. His eyes grow dark, molten. Oh, my.
Blake’s head angles toward mine, his arms tightening around my waist. With him standing on the bottom of the pool, he holds me up above the water. I squeeze my thighs around his hips as my breath hitches. I’m going to kiss Blake Harding again. This time, in private. In a pool. With nothing but a carpet of stars above and no thoughts of the consequences.
And I’m going to love it. After we kiss, I’m going to reach between us and feel that hard steel between his legs. I’m not going to worry about being rusty, or old, or out of practice. I’m going to do everything I can to make him shove it inside me, fill me with his hot hardness. I’ll beg if I need to. I’ll beg him to put his cock inside me and fuck me blind.
“Blake?” a female voice calls out behind me.
We both freeze, mouths an inch apart.
I pull away from him, dropping my legs as I disengage my arms from his neck. The water suddenly feels freezing. I look back to see Veronica Taylor tilting her head, a manicured hand on her hip as her eyes dart from me to Blake, back to me again.
She’s short, like me, with long brown hair. I can see how I could stand in for her, body-shape-wise…but that’s where the resemblance stops. She oozes wealth. Her eyes are almond-shaped, green, and rimmed with thick, black lashes. Her mouth is full, skin Botoxed and filled to look as youthful and radiant as possible.
And she’s arching a brow at me, eyes hard.
“I, uh, fell in,” I say lamely. She doesn’t move, so I keep babbling. “Blake jumped in to save me. He thought I couldn’t swim.”
Veronica’s eyes flick to the pile of clothes on Blake’s chair. “He had time to strip down to his underwear?” Her eyebrow arches higher, voice drenched in skepticism.
Blake coughs, and it sounds a lot like he’s trying to cover up a laugh.
“Um. Yeah.” In one long stroke, I’m at the edge of the pool. I pull myself out, looking at the growing pool of water dripping from my clothes. My sweatpants are so heavy with water that they hang low on my hips, showing off the little pink bow at the front of my panties. I turn toward Blake and his eyes drop to the ribbon. His eyes glaze, then sharpen, then shift away from me.
“What are you doing here, Veronica?” Blake wades to the edge of the pool but doesn’t get out.
Veronica watches me as I remove my sweater.
I hold it up in front of me, momentarily ignoring my audience as I lament how long it’ll take for this knit to dry. I wring it out into the pool. Hopefully the chlorine won’t wreck it.
“I thought we could run some lines,” Veronica finally says as she turns fully to Blake, dismissing me. “Make sure we nail the meet-cute tomorrow.”
I clear my throat as I grab the towel on my chair, shuffling toward my room. I’m not sure what running lines means to Veronica, but it certainly doesn’t sound like it has to do with acting. Ignoring the pang in my chest, I wrap the towel around myself and walk to my cabana door. My socks squelch, and I pause. How should I do this? Do I strip with two ridiculously attractive movie stars watching me or risk getting water all over my room?
It only takes me a second to decide.
My sweatpants fall from beneath my towel with a wet thunk. Bending over, I pick them up and wring them out, this time doing it into a bush by my door, then lay them flat over the chair in front of my cabana. Then I do the same to my socks and cardigan, making sure to keep my towel tight around my waist. I can wring my tank top out in the shower inside.
Glancing over my shoulder, I give the two beautiful people behind me what I hope is a casual nod. “Well, goodnight. Thanks for the tea,” I say to Blake. “And the rescue.”
His eyes glimmer. “Any time, Candice.”
“Okay, then.” I walk in my door and close it behind me, letting out a long sigh.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.I almost hooked up with Blake in the pool! Well, I’m not sure I would have actually done it in the pool, because a yeast infection is the last thing I need right now. But my motor was running and I was ready.
He’s probably going to take Veronica into his room and sleep with her right next door. They probably do this most nights. She’s his co-star! Of course they have a thing going on. That’s how Hollywood stars meet their lovers, isn’t it?
Blake probably sleeps with all his co-stars. The tabloids are plastered with pictures of him cuddled up to various models and actresses and pop stars; I’m sure it’s only a fraction of the women he actually sleeps with. He’s a player, which seemed like a great thing when I was with the girls rationalizing having sex with him. It doesn’t seem so great when his player status is shoved in my face.
Ignoring the stab of jealousy that spears through my heart, I square my shoulders and take the rest of my clothes off before running a hot shower. It’s only when I’ve stood under the hot stream of water for a few minutes that my muscles unwind and I’m able to think clearly.
The jealousy clears, and I let out a long breath. A man like Blake is perfect for what I need. I don’t want someone who will get involved with me. I don’t want love. I don’t want a relationship.
I just want sex, and from the look of it, Blake is more than happy to provide.
He’s not relationship material, and I’m not looking.
Even if he’s screwing Veronica senseless next door doesn’t mean he can’t screw me senseless when I’m ready for him.
I’ll wrap my heart in barbed wire and keep it safe. This is just sex. That’s all it can be, and that’s okay.
