Smooth Operator Page 15

  Fiona noticed my mounting horror and came forward with a smile. "Olivia, you look wonderful." She embraced me, which made me hate her just a little, then pulled back to look into my face with kind eyes. "Don't worry. You didn't get me. Just bumped into Dave a bit."

  I was okay with that. "Dave." I inclined my head, and Dave pursed his lips. "Fiona, you look nice." That was an understatement. Fiona managed to make pregnancy look glamorous. She looked like she'd just been on a spa retreat and was now the spokesmodel for that spa retreat.

  Dave nodded awkwardly, and Fiona beamed, rubbing her barely perceptible bump protectively. I really ought to hate her, but I couldn't. Not really. I gazed between the two of them, so apparently happy together, and I realized that I felt nothing negative towards them. Certainly not warmth, but there wasn't a burning hatred there anymore. If anything, I felt relief. Fiona had spared me from a lifetime of misery with someone who didn't love me. If I'm completely honest, I'd never loved Dave the way they loved each other.

  An image of Tyler, smiling down at me on a sun-soaked pier, flashed through my mind and I pushed it away quickly, not wanting to unpack that. It was ridiculous. We had barely talked in the past couple of weeks. I wasn't in love with him. Well, maybe a little. In any case, I’d messed it up so royally it was beyond repair anyway.

  "Well, it's been nice running into you guys. Good luck with the baby and the wedding." I nodded politely, ready to leave.

  "Would you like to come to the wedding?" Fiona asked impulsively. Dave looked alarmed.

  I shook my head. "Not a chance in hell. Goodbye, guys." I steered my cart away, feeling pretty damned triumphant, and found Kat in the cheese aisle.

  "Muenster or Swiss?" She held up two blocks of cheese for my inspection. I pointed at the Muenster, and she tossed the Swiss back onto its pile, looking at me curiously. "Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?"

  "I don't," I protested.

  "What did you just do?" Kat prodded.

  "Find closure," I said glibly.

  Kat looked at me quizzically, so I relayed what had just happened. "You go, girl," Kat whooped. "I can't believe she invited you to the wedding." Her eyes widened, and she grabbed my arm. "Oh! You should go to the wedding and bring Tyler as your date. Really rub it in their faces how well you're doing."

  I imagined a cartoon version of Kat pulling a knitting needle out of her purse and poking at the happy bubble that had been building in me since I saw Fiona and Dave. "I like where your head's at, but I'm not in a position to bring Tyler to anything, remember? Besides, it's very satisfying to be an adult and not be petty." Mostly. "I realized I don't care very much about Dave or Fiona anymore."

  "Thank goodness. You were getting to be kind of a drag before you jetted off to Hollywood," Kat said, pushing the cart towards the cashier.

  I frowned and followed her. I was not a drag.

  ∞∞∞

  We got to my parents' house an hour early to help my mom with the cooking. Nick was home this month from one of his travel photo shoots, so it was one of those rare occasions that the whole family was under one roof. Mom was in seventh heaven.

  Dad grunted his hello to me and hugged both Kat and me briefly, then went back to the living room to watch the Orioles game in his favorite recliner. Nick greeted us, then joined my dad with a couple of beers, leaving the ladies in the kitchen to chat.

  "So," my mother started, and I braced myself for whatever was coming. "How's the movie going? Are you going to move to California permanently to abandon your mother and father?"

  I rolled my eyes internally. "No, Mom," I said. "Who would take care of you in your old age?"

  "Old age?" My mother was insulted. She changed the subject. "I'm glad you're staying here, but being in California has changed you."

  Why did everyone keep saying that?

  "You're not as mopey anymore," Mom observed. "No more obsessing over Dickhead Dave and his little fling."

  "They're having a baby and getting married, Mom. I don't think it counts as a fling anymore."

  Kat snorted, and Mom frowned at her. "Time will tell if their relationship is strong enough to withstand a new baby and the first year of marriage. If they make it through that, I'll be convinced, and I'll send them a congratulations card." Mom looked very intently at the potatoes she was peeling. "I wonder if your relationship with Tyler has anything to do with your newfound outlook on their relationship."

  "We're just friends," I said. It was a little true, even if we haven't been very friendly to each other lately.

  Mom tsked. "Shame. That boy is seriously handsome. Can you imagine the grandkids I'd get out of the two of you?"

  "Mom!"

  Kat giggled. "She's right, you know. You guys would produce some sort of super child with brains, good looks, and neuroses up the wazoo. Hopefully the commitment phobia skips a generation though."

  I snapped a towel at her. I didn't need my mother to know I'd actively rejected Tyler or I'd never hear the end of it. Mom either didn't hear or chose to ignore Kat's comment about commitment, though, and instructed us to follow her into the dining room with dishes and utensils.

  We set the table together, and Mom insisted we sit instead of helping her bring in the rest of the food. "I'm not letting the boys sit on their lazy asses while we do all the work," she said. "NICKY! JOSEPH! Come help me!" She boomed.

  Dad and Nick appeared at once. Mom pointed at the casserole dishes on the kitchen counter, and the men dutifully brought them to the table before seating themselves.

  "Let's all be thankful for this increasingly rare occasion that all of my children are sitting at the same table. Including you, Katharine." Mom smiled warmly at Kat, who beamed. My mother had been Kat's own surrogate mother since we were ten and declared ourselves best friends.

  "Okay, let's eat," Nick said. Kat swatted him on the arm. He grinned back at her and pinched her cheek, making her slap him harder. I laughed as I watched them tease each other, truly happy to be home- and not just because of Mom's Maryland crab soup.

  "Have you met Clint Eastwood yet?" Dad asked. "You should've gotten him to direct your movie. That man makes damned good movies." Dad considered Clint Eastwood to be the pinnacle of masculinity, and he seemed to be the only Hollywood name that impressed him.

  "Dad, I don't think Clint Eastwood is interested in historical romances," I replied.

  "Shame." Dad didn't say anything else and proceeded to spoon his soup into his mouth wordlessly.

  "Nick, how's work?" I asked. I loved hearing about the exotic places Nick got to travel to.

  He nodded, chewing. "It's great. I just got back from a shoot in Madagascar. Gorgeous place."

  "Madagascar, how exotic," Kat said. "Tell me, Nick, how were the local women?"

  "Very accommodating," Nick said casually. Gross.

  "Nicky!" Mom chided.

  He looked at her with wide eyes and a saintly smile. "What, Mom? They were very kind. They fed me, they gave me tips on traditional garb, they housed me."

  "Oh," Mom said, placated. Nick shook his head and winked over her head when she turned to Kat. "Katharine, how are your parents?" she asked kindly. Kat's parents had gone through a drawn-out and messy divorce ten years ago, but Mom still asked about them whenever she saw Kat.

  "Good. Mom's in Tampa with her new boyfriend and Dad's still banging his secretary, I assume," Kat said.

  Mom tutted, and Dad shook his head silently. Kat's bluntness had killed the mood, and we ate the rest of dinner in relative silence, too busy enjoying the crab soup and crab-stuffed flounder to make any meaningful conversation. When everyone was adequately in a food coma, Mom stood and started clearing plates. "Olivia, care to help with this?"

  I nodded and buttoned my jeans back up before standing, following her into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates in hand. I stood next to her at the sink, handing her dishes as she rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher.

  "You know, I heard what Katharine said," M
om said conversationally. "You can't let what Dave did to you in the past dictate your future relationships, or you'll never find happiness."

  "I know," I said. I sighed. "But I've already screwed this one up."

  Mom shook her head. "If that incredibly handsome and charming man wants to be with you, and you want to be with him, then you need to march right back up to him and demand that he take you back. And you've got to mean it. No one likes a commitment-phobe, dear."

  I nodded without response. In my heart, I knew she was right. I loved Tyler, and I didn't think I deserved to love him, but I was damned tired of denying myself when it came to Tyler Sutton.

  "By the way, did you ever ask about getting me on the set of Passions of Our Lives?" Mom asked hopefully.

  I rolled my eyes and finished putting the dishes away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I got back to the hotel Sunday night, I was a woman on a mission. I needed to talk to Tyler and see if he still wanted me. I got to my room, showered the airplane off of me, then took a deep breath after leaving my hotel room. Here goes nothing.

  I nervously rode up the elevator, my mind running wild with doubts. What if Tyler wasn't back from Whistler yet? What if he'd spent the weekend having crazy good-looking sex with Vanessa? What if he just plain wasn't interested in me anymore? I pushed these doubts from my mind. I needed to at least try before giving up for the last time.

  I stood outside his door, hesitating. I forced myself to knock. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. Maybe he wasn't back yet. Or perhaps he'd looked through the peephole, saw that it was me and was now hiding silently on the other side of the door, willing me to go away. I turned back towards the elevators, disappointed at my luck, but glad I'd given it a shot.

  "Olivia?"

  I turned around. Tyler was walking down the hallway next to Vanessa, each of them holding a suitcase. My heart lurched, and I ignored the burning jealousy that pumped through me at the reminder that they'd been on a very private vacation together. I needed to woman up and do this, even if the sight of the two of them returning from Canada together made me want to retreat and give up.

  Tyler stared at me intensely, and Vanessa looked curiously between the two of us.

  "Hey," I croaked.

  "Hey," Tyler replied. He studied my face for a minute. "Why are you on this floor? Your room is six floors down."

  "Can we talk?" I asked. I swallowed. When had my mouth gone so dry? I'd drank three bottles of water on the plane ride back.

  Tyler was still looking at me with that hardened expression that gutted me, not saying anything.

  "I'm, uh, going to leave you two alone," Vanessa said awkwardly, patting Tyler on the chest before disappearing into a suite at the end of the hallway.

  "Do you want to go in your room, so we're not just standing in the hallway?" I asked, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress discreetly.

  "Sure," he said, clipped. He moved in front of me, slid his card in the door, and stood aside to let me through. Once we were both inside, he turned back to me. "Did you need to discuss the script with me?"

  "No," I said. "It's personal."

  Tyler's mouth hardened, and I thought he was going to tell me to leave. He stayed silent, though, and I forged on.

  "I know I'm messed up after my last relationship," I said.

  Tyler's eyebrows rose at my blunt statement. He nodded. "Yes, you are."

  I ignored this. "But I have worked through my issues. I'm ready to be open to new people now. Specifically, you. I'm ready to trust you. I trust that you haven't been seeing other women. I trust that you meant it when you said you wanted to be with me. And I want to be with you. If you'll still have me, I mean."

  I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Tyler to say something. He stared at me with the same hard expression he'd worn in the hallway. His eyes dropped to my lips, and the longing there made my knees buckle. I knew he wanted me. I needed him to say yes to me.

  Without warning, Tyler's hand shot out and grabbed me by the neck. He hauled my face to his, trapping me in a kiss that was all possessive, all-consuming heat. Months of pent-up attraction and frustration and denial were there. Longing, lust, desire. Love.

  I wrapped my arms around Tyler's neck, and he lifted me and carried me to the chaise longue at the foot of his bed. He lowered himself, seating me in his lap facing him. I bit my lip as I stared into his perfect face, my breath hitching at his expression. Tyler pulled me in for another kiss, then smiled against my lips.

  "What?" I asked, smiling back.

  "It's a good thing you came to your senses," Tyler said.

  "Cockiness is unbecoming in a man like you. At some point, it becomes redundant," I said.

  "You love it," Tyler said softly, his hands skimming the sides of my breasts.

  "Yeah." I leaned back down to his mouth, kissing him while my hips worked of their own accord, grinding on his hardening bulge.

  Kissing Tyler Sutton is an experience that words are insufficient for. It cannot be described in the same way you'd describe kissing mere mortals. It was carnal and pure, raw need. Kissing him felt vital, as necessary as taking my next breath. It was unthinkable that I'd gone this long denying myself the life force that was Tyler.

  Tyler broke our kiss to pull off his shirt in one motion, then plucked my dress off of me effortlessly. His eyes darkened at the sight of my bare breasts jutting out proudly towards him, begging him to take a nipple into his mouth, and he wasn't one to turn down a beggar.

  I gasped when his mouth closed over my areola, teasing the nipple into a hard bud, and I closed my eyes and grabbed his shoulders for balance while he worshiped my breasts. Tyler took this chance to reach between my legs and shove my lacy thong aside. His hand impatiently cupped me, feeling the wetness there. He inserted a finger, then two.

  "Oh fuck," I moaned, lost in the sensations from Tyler's mouth working in tandem with his finger to play me like a finely tuned instrument. He kept driving me to the edge, sucking and crooking his fingers in me, until I was soaked and begging him for release.

  He stood up suddenly, still holding me by my hips, and turned around to toss me on the bed. I looked up at him, hair tousled, his expression fierce and desirous, and he slid my panties down my legs and crawled between them. He braced himself over me, gazing down.

  I laid on my back, waiting for him to make the first move, and he grinned at me. He took my hand and brought it to his cock. I rubbed it up and down, loving the feel of it in my hand. I adored the sound of Tyler's hissing when my hand encircled it and started stroking even more. He let me continue for a few short moments, eyes closed in tortured bliss, before he grabbed my hand away.

  "Not going to last very long if you keep that up," he bit out through gritted teeth.

  I grinned, loving the power I had over him. I reached for him again, but Tyler grabbed my hand and pinned it to my other hand above my head. Keeping my hands bound, he reached for the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer until he found a condom. He ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it on one-handedly, never breaking eye contact with me or letting up on my hands.

  Tyler entered me in one thrust, filling my slick heat entirely and making me cry out with desire. I rolled my hips, urging him to continue, but he stilled, shaking his head.

  "What is it?" I groaned, needing him to start moving again or I would go crazy.

  "I'm so close already," he grunted.

  "So let go," I said. "We can go again."

  "Not a fucking chance," he growled. "You're coming first this time. I've waited too long for this to be a two-pump chump."

  I raised my hips again, making Tyler groan. He let go of my hands and put both hands on my hips to still me, dropping his head back into my shoulder. I pushed up against his chest, flipping him so that he was on his back and ready for me to ride. He moved one hand from my hip to my clit, exerting exquisite pleasure right above where he was impaling me. I began to rock. Tyler kept his finger on my clit, rubbing and ci
rcling it as I rode him, his eyes piercing mine as I quickly approached the precipice.

  I broke apart, crying out Tyler's name as I hurtled through the stars and the planets and fell back down to Earth in a daze. Tyler came right behind me, bucking wildly and shouting his release. I collapsed onto his chest, spent, and he gathered me into his arms.

  We were lying there silently, relishing each other's company, for several minutes before Tyler excused himself to clean up.

  "Don't leave this time," Tyler said, only half-kidding.

  "I'm staying put," I said, ashamed that I'd ever put him in a position to mistrust me.

  "I'm taking your clothes so you can't sneak out," Tyler joked, kissing me and throwing my clothes on an armchair before heading off to the bathroom. I admired his retreating backside as I reclined against the pillows, unabashed in my nudity. I know it was his job to keep in shape, but that man really did have a gorgeous body, from head to toe. Even his dick was beautiful, and dicks are rarely pleasing to the eye.

  The light from a cell phone screen caught my attention, drawing my eyes away from Tyler's hard backside. It wasn't my phone. I'd left mine on the nightstand in my hotel room. I sat against the headboard, debating whether or not to check it out. It could be important. It wasn't snooping if I was worried it was a work call, right? I crawled to the edge of the bed to grab the phone and hand it off to Tyler immediately, or at least that was my intention. What I saw on the screen stopped me in my tracks.

  It was a pair of breasts. Clear as day. I looked up at Tyler quickly, who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and then back down to his phone. Maybe it was his phone background? That'd be tacky, but not as bad as the alternative.

  I looked closer in confusion. It wasn't the phone background. It was a picture text from someone named Becky. I closed out the picture, hating myself for doing this, and was taken back to the conversation that the picture was posted in. I closed out of it and looked at his messages.