Hot for Him. Sarah Mayberry
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as though it was balanced precariously on the end of her neck. What if she won, but couldn’t make it on stage because she was so nervous? Or, worse, what if she tripped on the stairs, and went sprawling in front of the entire industry? Or—absolute disaster—what if she stood on her hem and her skirt tore off and she was left standing in nothing but the skimpy lace thong she was wearing beneath all the velvet?
The absurdity of the last thought brought a smile to her lips. She could walk. She could talk. Somehow, she’d manage to combine the two and get up on the stage if her name was called.
“…and our last two finalists in this category, Heartlands for their feature-length special White Wedding, and Ocean Boulevard for their feature-length special, Paradise Found. A great year for this category, I think you’d all agree, with some top-drawer competition,” the MC said.
Sadie’s hand squeezed Claudia’s knee beneath the table, and Grace shot her a look loaded with anticipation and excitement.
“And the winner of the People’s Vote Award for Best Special Feature is…Ocean Boulevard for Paradise Lost. Give a big hand to producer, Claudia Dostis, everyone!”
Absolute astonishment shot through Claudia like a jet of ice-cold water. Then a warm flush raced through her body and up into her face.
“We won,” she said stupidly.
Grace and Sadie were laughing and jumping up out of their seats to hug her and drag her to her feet. All around them, people were clapping and looking her way with congratulatory smiles. At the back of the stage, a huge screen showed selected highlights from their wedding special.
“We did it, Claud, we did it,” Sadie said, squealing with excitement.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” Grace said, pushing Claudia toward the stage.
Claudia blinked, then took a step forward. Then another. An agent she’d wrangled with just last week stepped forward to kiss her cheek in congratulations. A former boss clapped her on the back and told her he’d always known she had what it took. The MC smiled down at her as she mounted the steps, her head floating about a mile above her body now.
Then she was standing at the podium, and she came back into her body with a jerk. A thousand faces stared up at her, waiting. She forgot about her speech and spoke from the heart instead.
“One of the great things about working on Ocean Boulevard is the genuine passion that we all have for what we do,” she said. “I think that shows in every episode, but this special was a real labor of love from the word ‘go.’ I have to thank Dylan Anderson for his amazing idea and story magic, and my incredibly talented script producer, Sadie Post—sorry, it’s Anderson now, I keep forgetting—for pulling it all together. I also have to thank the gifted, the brilliant Grace Wellington for bringing Sadie and Dylan’s story to life with her wonderful script, and Mac Harrison for his inventiveness and creativity in realizing our shared vision when he directed the episode. Lastly, I have to thank the cast for once again giving their everything and making us all believe. Everyone here knows that television is a collaborative medium, and that behind the scenes are hundreds of people whose efforts make what we do possible. We have the best cast, an outstanding, can-do crew, and a supportive network. We’re all tremendously proud of this special, and we’re proud of the fact that it won the ratings, and it’s fantastic to stand up here tonight with this award. Thank you!”
Holding the award high, Claudia grinned broadly.
She’d imagined this moment for so long. The buzz of triumph. The satisfied knowledge that all their hard work had been recognized. The approval—even envy—of her peers.
And the vindication that originality and creativity would win over strategy and cunning any day of the week.
Moving toward the stairs offstage, her gaze tracked across the tables full of smiling, applauding people until they stopped on one man. His eyes held hers for a long beat before he nodded his head in acknowledgment and slowly clapped his hands in a private round of applause meant just for her.
Victory, it turned out, was sweet indeed.
The next few minutes dissolved into a blur of handshakes and kisses and jumping up and down from the Ocean Boulevard contingent as they passed around their trophy, took photos of each other and generally gloated and celebrated. Sadie and Grace stood on either side of Claudia, arms wrapped around her waist, big smiles on their faces. For a moment Claudia was choked with emotion. These women were so important to her, and together they’d made something great, and it had been recognized in front of the industry.
Despite her determination to keep things positive, her thoughts turned to her parents. If things were right between them, she would be out in the foyer right now, calling them to tell them she’d won. Her father would bellow loudly and break into excited Greek and want to hang up and phone the whole extended family to brag. Her mother would ask what she was wearing and insist that Claudia get plenty of photographs for later.
But things were not right with her parents. And they never would be.
Feeling an unaccustomed lump of emotion in her throat, Claudia excused herself from the celebrations and made her way to the ladies’ room.
It was cool and quiet in there amongst the marble and gold-plated taps, and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her color was high, she saw in the mirror, and she ran some cool water over her wrists before drying them and exiting to the foyer.
She’d almost made her way back to the ballroom when a warm hand wound itself around her elbow and tugged her into a darkened corner. She found herself facing Leandro—staring up at him, more accurately. Up close, he was devastatingly attractive in his formal wear and her heart instantly kicked up a gear.
“Claudia. I just wanted to tell you that dress is…spectacular,” he said, his dark gaze dipping into her cleavage.
“Thank you. You scrub up okay yourself,” she said.
He shrugged dismissively, then reached out a hand. She watched, for all intents and purposes paralyzed, as his fingers found the neckline of her dress just above the swell of her right breast. Catching the velvet between thumb and forefinger, he gave a murmur of appreciation as he ran his thumb back and forth over the pile of the velvet.
“Velvet is so tactile, don’t you think?” he said. “Makes you want to reach out and touch.”
She could feel the backs of his fingers against her skin, and she knew she should knock his hand away. But for some reason, she didn’t.
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” she asked, trying to find some solid ground, some reason to not take him up on the invitation in his eyes.
“Definitely,” he said, and then he lowered his head and she knew he was going to kiss her.
She could have taken a step back, said no, pushed him away. She did none of those things. She stood on her tiptoes, swayed forward, met him halfway, her mouth already open. He gave a growl of approval as their lips met, heat on heat, silk on silk, and then she was leaning against the never-ending wall of his chest, and his arms were around her and his tongue was in her mouth.
She felt surrounded by him. Invaded by him. And she’d never been more turned-on in her life. His tongue brushed over hers, his hands splayed across her bottom and lifted her into the firmness of his erection, his teeth nibbled at her lower lip, his five o’clock shadow brushed her cheeks and neck.
Her breasts hardened into two demanding, greedy peaks, and even the thickness of the velvet was not proof against her need as her nipples jutted into his chest. Between her thighs, desire throbbed, thick and heavy as treacle. On fire for him, she thought feverishly of the suite upstairs, of the big bed, of getting this giant of a man naked and inside her where he belonged, where he could take away the ache he’d created inside her…
And then he broke the kiss, and stepped away from her.
It was like walking out of a sauna and straight into a plunge