Millionaire Playboys. Emilie Rose
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“Ah, yes. Irma. I’d forgotten you still keep in touch with your nanny.” He flashed a tolerant smile, displaying perfectly aligned teeth. Why did she get the impression he didn’t really approve of her continued friendship with the woman who’d raised her while Margaret Alden had fought her way up the career ladder?
“Irma and I have lunch together at least once a month. I’ve been increasingly concerned about her lately. Retirement isn’t working out.” He nodded, but she had the impression he really didn’t care about Irma. Juliana pleated her napkin in her lap. “Wally, my mother seems to think you expected me to buy you at the auction.”
“Given the understanding between our families, I thought you might,” he said in an expressionless tone. Come to think of it, Wally usually spoke without much inflection. His soothing voice would be an asset in dealing with upset customers.
“The understanding was that we’d date to see if we suited.”
“Don’t we?”
She concealed a wince. “I don’t know yet, Wally, but please tell Donna I appreciate her stepping in. Although I confess I was a little surprised to see her at the club.”
“Yes. There are those who can’t forget Donna’s humble beginnings.”
Like his parents, Juliana suspected. Mrs. Wilson referred to Wally’s administrative assistant as “trailer trash.” His father called Donna worse. The Wilsons saw a gold digger out to sink her claws into the family fortune. Never mind that Donna had worked hard to get her GED and then had attended community college while raising a houseful of children single-handedly. Wally’s mother couldn’t see Donna’s ambition or intelligence. Juliana, on the other hand, often teased Wally that she wanted to steal his assistant.
“Well, I apologize if I’ve made things difficult for you.”
“No apologies are necessary, Juliana. In fact, this could work to our advantage.”
“How so?”
“Because we’re each being allowed to date outside our closed social circle without fear of repercussion.”
That had to be the oddest comment she’d ever heard Wally make. Even stranger was the inkling that Wally—safe, sensible Wally—might have secrets.
Rex let himself into his apartment and stopped in his tracks when he spotted Juliana slumped in one corner of the sofa with her knees bent and her feet tucked beside her.
His heart thumped like a bass drum as he drew nearer. The lamp cast a soft glow over her sleep-flushed face. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks and her lips parted on a sigh of breath. She’d exchanged her suit for a pair of sleeveless pajamas. The black fabric reminded him of the satin sheets he’d had on his tour bus. Soft. Slippery. Sexy.
Shaking off the forbidden thought, he glanced down the hall. Through the open door, the soft glow of a night-light revealed the sleeping girls. Had they given Juliana a hard time? Was that why she’d planted herself out here like a sentry? Or had she fallen asleep waiting for him? The thought sent a streak of lightning sizzling through him. She’d made it clear that she wanted him with her insistence on the lessons and with that damned box of condoms. He’d thought of little else all day.
It would be so easy to take what she offered, to lead her to bed and lose himself in the spicy floral scent of her skin and the slick warmth of her body. For an hour or two she could make him feel like something more than a washed-up country singer who’d let his family down in all the ways that counted. Sure, he’d started sending money home as soon as he’d signed his first contract, but he’d never sent more than cold cash, and he’d never apologized for hurting the two people who’d loved him the most. Mindless sex could cure a lot of things—including guilt—for a while. He ought to know.
He fisted his hands against the urge to stroke Juliana into wakefulness. Oh yeah. It would be so easy to be that selfish SOB with her. And that was exactly why he had to keep his distance. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t risk letting Kelly and the girls down the way he’d let his folks down.
But Juliana being out here instead of in his bed could work to his advantage. He’d take a shower and wash away the temptation along with the food and bar smells, and then he’d wake Juliana and send her to his bed. Alone.
As quietly as possible, Rex entered his room to collect fresh clothing. The sight of her suits lined up beside his jeans in the closet rattled him. He extracted what he needed and headed for the bathroom, only to receive another shock. Her toiletries neatly lined the counter and her shampoo stood next to his in the shower stall.
Yesterday, he’d wanted to get away from her. Today, she’d moved in. Oh yeah, his life was definitely veering out of control, but he’d learned the hard way how destructive that could be. It wasn’t a mistake he’d repeat.
He stripped off his clothing, stepped into the shower and lathered briskly, valiantly fighting traitorous thoughts of Juliana’s soap-slickened hands gliding over his skin, but he was too tired to maintain his mental barricades. In seconds, he had a painful hard-on begging for attention. He twisted the faucet to cold and shivered in the bone-jarring, frigid water while he rinsed off the soap and shampoo. After toweling off and pulling on clean jeans and a T-shirt, he set his shoulders. Time to put temptation to bed and try to catch some shut-eye before this merry-go-round started again tomorrow. Saturday. Juliana’s day off. How would he concentrate on work knowing she was in his apartment all day?
He stopped beside the sofa and struggled with the bite of awareness. He couldn’t forget the softness of her skin or the taste of her mouth. Dammit. He couldn’t remember ever getting turned on so fast or having a woman haunt his thoughts day and night. Had to be the celibacy screwing with his head.
One week. He could hold out until Kelly returned home and then, debt or no debt, he’d dump Juliana.
“Juliana,” he whispered. She didn’t stir. He didn’t want to raise his voice and risk waking the girls. “Juliana, wake up.”
Nothing. Damn. He’d have to touch her. But where? The bare skin of her shoulder was too close to the shadowy area between her breasts. Too risky. He patted her kneecap. “Juliana.”
She startled, inhaled a quick breath and jerked upright. “What? Oh, hello.”
“Go to bed.”
She blinked owlishly and scanned the room as if she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. She looked flustered and adorable and kissable. Damn.
She shoved her hair out of her face. “The girls?”
“Asleep.”
She yawned and her breasts lifted beneath her satiny shirt. “Becky had a nightmare. I guess I dozed off.”
The quiet statement struck with the sudden impact of a rock hitting his truck’s windshield. A crack slowly snaked through the resistance he fought so hard to maintain. “Nice of you to listen out for her.”
What was it about her that fueled his engine like nobody else had? He’d met prettier women, women with bigger boobs and longer legs. But he couldn’t remember one from his past who got to him this way, let alone one who’d have volunteered for the non-glamorous, tough job of babysitting somebody else’s kids. Not that he’d ever known any of his past lovers that well.
Slowly, she unfolded and stood, and then she stumbled and fell against his chest. He caught her upper arms. Her fingers splayed over his heart. She couldn’t miss the rapid-fire beat.
Her slumberous gaze lifted to his. “Sorry. My foot’s asleep.”
And not one single, sorry cell in his body was. His hands tightened. He wanted her so bad, he ached with it. Wanted to taste her damp lips. Wanted to caress her flushed skin. Wanted to bury his face in the valley between her breasts and make her as hungry for him as he was for her. Wanted to push her back on the sofa and bury himself between her long legs.
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