That Man 2 Read online

  “Okay, now spill the beans.”

  Reluctantly, I launched into tonight’s events. Of how Don Springer had physically attacked me on the set of Wheel of Pain. Reliving every horrific moment, I told her how Blake Burns had come to my rescue. Saying his name made my heart flutter.

  Libby was wide-eyed. “Oh my God! That prick could have raped you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Libby was one of the two people in my life who knew what had happened my sophomore year at USC. The other was Bradley. I never told my overprotective parents because I knew they would freak out and make me come home. Libby had encouraged me to seek counseling. That had helped me a lot with moving on and entering into a relationship with Bradley. Yet, as much as I had healed, the pain and fear that came with being an almost rape victim never fully went away. I was not the first on campus to be attacked by this sicko. Just one of the few lucky ones who’d managed to escape his vicious assault. Thanks to my pepper spray (which my parents insisted I carry in my purse), I’d fended him off. But now the memories of his assault were as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday. The stench of his breath. The weight of his body. The wool ski mask over his face. One word repeated over and over . . . cunt. And his horrifying signature—knifing off a lock of my hair. I trembled at the terrifying memory. Libby’s voice cut into it. “You’re so lucky Blake showed up when he did.”

  I nodded after taking another swig from the wine bottle. The Chianti seeped through my veins and had a warm, comforting effect.

  “What made him come?”

  Despite my distraught state, the word “come” made me choke. I swallowed hard. It was just simple, straight out question I was loading with sexual innuendo. What was wrong with me? It must be been the wine.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I never got the chance to ask him.”

  I mulled over her question. Why did he show up at the set? He never said he was going to be there. Was he just checking up on me to see if I was doing my job? Or was there something more?

  We chugged the wine until there was not a drop left in the bottle. “I need to take a shower and then I’m going to hit the sack. I’m exhausted.”

  I’m going to watch Bones and then call it a night too.” My best friend loved this show, especially the quirky analytical lead character.

  I wearily rose to my feet. “Oh, Lib, by the way, can you give me a lift to work tomorrow? I left my car at the studio.”

  “Sure. No problemo. See you in the morning.”

  Once in my small bedroom, I kicked off my shoes and shed my clothes. Before my bra, the last thing to come off was Blake’s jacket. I took it off slowly, reverently, and inhaled it against my nose before folding it on my bed. I sighed. The heavenly scent of him was still all over it. It made me feel even more lightheaded than I already was.

  Slipping on my terry cloth robe, I padded over to the small bathroom down the hallway and glimpsed at myself in the mirror. I looked con­fused and vul­nerable. The memory of Don Springer fawning all over me, touching me in places he had no right to, sent a rush of nausea to my chest. I needed to take a shower. To wash the repulsive memory and touch of him off me.

  After turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature, I shrugged off my robe and stepped into the checkered Art Déco tiled stall. I stood under the showerhead and let the hot water pound on me while I scrubbed myself all over with a large soapy sponge. Moving it to my center, I arched my head back with my eyes squeezed shut and pleasured myself. I managed to wash away the traces of the scumbag, but as I came in sweet waves, Blake Burns’s beautiful face filled my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had come to my rescue and held me in his arms once again.

  I curled up in my bed, freshly clean and bare-naked. Wrapping Blake’s soft cashmere jacket around me, I closed my eyes. Sleep quickly claimed me.

  Chapter 4

  Blake

  I arrived at my office the next morning at eight o’clock and stopped by Jennifer’s on the way to mine. She was already there. Sitting at her desk. Looking fresh and pretty. Her wavy hair hung loose and cascaded over a soft pink blouse. She looked exceptionally pretty in pink. Pussy pink.

  Fuck. I had sex on my brain. I had her in my bloodstream. It was a lethal combination.

  Something had changed about the way I felt about her. I’d seen her strength and I’d seen her courage. But last night, I saw her vulnerability. She was like a little kitten that needed sheltering. I wanted to be the one to take care of her. To protect her from the dangers of the world. From the predators and monsters who could harm her. I’d never felt this way about a woman. Caring about someone else was something new to me. I was the man that came to her rescue. I said it aloud.“Thatman.” Rhymes with Batman. Okay, so I had a black Porsche instead of the Batmobile. But I was her superhero.

  She gazed at me for a long beat and then acted as if nothing had happened last night.

  “I’ve compiled a list of the bestselling erotic romances I think we should pursue for the daytime block and started on the PowerPoint presentation for Gloria’s Secret. I also reviewed the treatments you gave me. My notes are on your desk, and your jacket’s folded over the back of your chair.”

  “Thank you.” I forced my voice to sound businesslike. I could give a shit about my jacket but was impressed she’d gotten her assignments done on time given last night’s trauma.

  “Is there anything else you need me to do right away?” she asked, her voice sweet and innocent.

  Yes, suck my dick. Jesus fucking Christ. She had me good. My cock strained against my slacks. Thank God, they were baggy in the crotch area because I needed the extra room. Having a big cock came with both benefits and baggage. Okay, mostly benefits.

  “We’re good.” I forced the image of her luscious mouth wrapped around my dick out of my mind, and strode to my office. I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it. Once seated at my desk, I unzipped my fly and jerked off. Damn it. It was the second time I’d done that this morning. The first was in the shower. I’d woken up with a painful boner. Both times, I imagined coming inside Jennifer McCoy’s warm, delicious mouth.

  Fuck. I wanted this girl. I wanted her badly. My cock ached for her. My heart ached for her. But she belonged to another. That dipshit dentist she was going to marry. I’d never been the jealous type, but suddenly I was.

  Twisting around, I slid the jacket she’d returned off my chair and put it to my nose. It now smelled like her. Cherry vanilla. I replaced the jacket I was wearing with the cashmere one. Anyway I could, I wanted to be next to her. Be inside her.

  As the day went on, a queasy feeling overtook me. I felt sick. Feverish, lightheaded, and achy. Balls. I was coming down with something. Probably that damn flu everyone was getting. I’d had a tinge of it over the weekend, but I thought I’d beaten it. So much for super powers. I had my secretary, Mrs. Cho, fetch me some tea and took a couple of Advil. Neither helped. By three o’clock, I felt sick as a dog.

  “I have great news.”

  I looked up from my computer. It was Jennifer. She was beaming. The sight of her got me briefly out of my misery.

  She strode into my office and sat down in one of the armchairs facing me. My feverish eyes roamed from her head to her toes. “What’s up?”

  “The focus groups are all set to go in Las Vegas this weekend.”

  “Great.” My voice was listless.

  Jennifer knitted her brows. “Blake, you look flushed. Are you okay?”

  “I think I’m coming down with that fucking flu.”

  “Oh no.” She leapt up from her chair and circled around my desk. Her soft hand touched down on my forehead. A chill ran through my heated body. The good kind.

  Her face grew alarmed. “Oh my goodness, you’re burning up. Blake, you’ve got to go home and get straight into bed.”

  She helped me pack up, and half an hour later, I was back at my condo. Shivering under the fluffy duvet, barely able to keep my eyes open.

  *

&nb
sp; The next few days were pure hell. I don’t think I’d ever been this sick. My body fluctuated between extreme chills during the day and raging fever at night. I was so feverish I hallucinated.

  Jennifer McCoy was an angel who was sent down from the heavens to take care of me. Dressed in a cloud-white sheer robe with her long hair flowing, she floated over to me. Her beauty took my breath away.

  “Oh, Blake,” she said softly as she hovered above me and ruffled her fingers through my hair. “Let me make you feel better. Tell me what I have to do.”

  I moaned. “Oh, tiger, I want to feel your lips again on mine.”

  She smiled dreamily and slowly lowered her head. Her lips touched down on mine. My back arched. They were silky petals. I nibbled and gnawed them as strength poured through my body. We moaned into each other’s mouths. Her lustrous hair danced across my flesh and blood flowed to my dick. Ahh. She was making me feel alive again. Instilling me with potency.

  My breathing shallow, I ran my fingers through her hair. It was even thicker and silkier than I’d imagined. Waves of satin. Another soft moan escaped her throat, and she let me deepen the kiss with my tongue. Her tongue found mine and followed it in a hot sensual dance—just like our first kiss at my club.

  My cock grew harder. I gently pulled away.

  “What’s wrong, Blake?”

  I traced her lips with my finger. “Nothing. I just need more.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  I held her dreamy gaze in mine. “I need to be inside you.”

  She smiled and her eyes glinted with wonder and determination. Wordlessly, she stripped me of my pajamas, and then I watched as she shrugged off her gossamer gown and exposed her body. Her skin was unblemished porcelain, her abdomen flat and taut, and her breasts, two sweet scoops of vanilla ice cream with little cherries on the top. She kneeled between my legs, and her shimmering hair swept over her shoulders like a whimsical cape. In a word, she was beautiful. I cupped her sensuous breasts in my palms and kissed each one of her cherries. She tasted as divine as she looked.

  She gazed down in awe at my arousal. Then in slow motion, she wrapped her fingers around my girth, barely able to make them meet because of my size. She held her hand there, waiting for her next step.

  “Tiger, spread your legs and put it inside you.”

  Silently, she did as bid and slid my cock across her wet folds. I jumped when I felt the tip nudge against her pussy. With a thrust, I plunged it inside her, letting her guide me along with her hand. I felt her tight muscles clench around my hot, thick length. And then I began to pump in and out of her.

  “Oh, Blake!” she cried out.

  I woke up drenched in sweat. In my dream, I had made beautiful love to Jennifer McCoy, and she had healed me. But now I faced reality. I felt sicker than I did yesterday. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was depleted of energy. With the little bit I had, I rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. I glimpsed myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked like shit. Like something the cat dragged in. I pissed, brushed my teeth, grabbed a glass of water, and climbed back into bed. I thought I was fucking dying.

  Over the next few days, I barely got of bed. Not having shaved, showered, or combed my hair, I resembled a pathetic old cowboy in one of those low-budget Westerns. My hair was a rumpled mess, and a thick layer of stubble lined my jaw. The only thing I was missing was a broken in cowboy hat.

  My mother’s housekeeper, Rosa, brought me a care package every day, but I barely touched a thing. My concerned mother had called the family doctor, but he said there was little I could do. Rest and drinking lots of fluids were my best bet. So, I stayed mostly in bed, with my plasma TV on 24/7 to give me some company. I knew I was really, really sick because I was watching Doris Day movies on The Movie Channel.

  My only other link to the world was my iPhone. I kept it under my pillow and forced myself to check my e-mails whenever I was awake which wasn’t too often. I had told Mrs. Cho to circulate an e-mail, telling my staff to contact me only if there was an emergency. The Korean-born mother of four was turning out to be the best secretary I’d ever had. And I’d had many.

  I longed to hear from Jennifer McCoy. I didn’t. I sent her an e-mail letting her know that it was unlikely I’d be going to Vegas for the focus groups. She responded with a sad face emoticon. I returned the e-mail with the same one. The truth: I was sad. I missed being at my office. And I missed seeing her.

  Finally, on Thursday, my fever broke and I actually felt a pang of hunger. I crawled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. I opened the well-stocked refrigerator and pulled out a jar of applesauce and container of cottage cheese. I never ate this pansy crap, but that’s what I was in the mood for. Standing up, I devoured it all. They must be super foods because I felt a hell of a lot better. I immediately took a shower and shaved, and then got back into bed. I reached for my iPhone and composed an e-mail.

  To: Jennifer McCoy

  Subject: Focus Groups

  Please come by my apartment today at five p.m. to discuss the above. Here is the address: 10580 Wilshire Boulevard.

  Thank you. —BB

  I hit send. In a beat, she responded—she’d be here. I suddenly felt a hell of a lot better, but I wasn’t going to let her know that.

  *

  At a little before five, Ms. Punctuality showed up at my door. She looked ravishing though a little fatigued in a little black pleated skirt and fuzzy white sweater. Her tortoiseshell eyeglasses were sitting on top of her head, and she was carrying her briefcase along with a large shopping bag. Her purse, as usual, was slung over her shoulder.

  I was wearing my Turnbull & Asser blue and white pajamas and barefooted. “Hi, thanks for coming.”

  Her green eyes fluttered. “Sure. No problem. How are you feeling?”

  Ushering her inside my apartment, I faked a cough. “Not so good yet. But I don’t think I’m contagious anymore.”

  That adorable smile curled on her lips. My cock stirred. She looked me over.

  “That’s good. Where would you like to have our meeting?” Her eyes soaked in my spacious Wilshire Corridor condo with its expensive Italian furniture and spectacular views of the city.

  Another cough. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to do it in my bedroom. I really need to lie down.”

  “Um, uh, okay.” She was definitely taken aback.

  She trailed behind me to the bedroom. I immediately hopped into bed and pulled the covers up over me. Taking in my vast room with its king-sized bed and myriad of boy toys, she asked me where I wanted her to sit. Her voice was shaky.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, could you please sit on the edge of the bed so I can see you.”

  An uncertain look fell over her face. She blinked her beautiful leafy eyes several times.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not the big bad wolf. I’m not going to eat you.” Although I sure would like to. I bet her pussy was delectable. For the first time in days, my cock showed signs of life. I could feel it throbbing.

  Hesitantly, with a nervous smile, she plunked down on my bed, putting her purse and briefcase along with the shopping bag on the carpet.

  “What’s in the bag?” I asked.

  She relaxed a little, her face brightening. “I brought you a bunch of erotic romance paperbacks. Libby’s handing them out to the focus groups and had a few extra. I thought maybe you’d like to read some. She reached into the bag and pulled one out. “This one’s really good. And funny too. You might really like it.”

  I took it from her. Beautiful Stranger.

  “Thanks. Very thoughtful.” I tossed it onto the bed, knowing damn well I’d never read it.

  “And you should try the first book in the series too. Beautiful Bastard.”

  Now, there was a title I could connect to. “So, Ms. McCoy, please give me a rundown of the focus groups and your activities in Vegas.”

  Without wasting a second, she launched into the schedule she had planned over the weekend, which incl
uded observing focus groups, attending a book signing event, and meeting with various writers. It was hard for me to concentrate on what she was saying with her next to me in my bed. I had the burning urge to rip off every stitch of her clothing and flip her on top of me. My cock was in an uproar, but the thick duvet hid what was going on beneath.

  She continued to babble on, oblivious to my arousal. My eyelids lowered. And then I groaned. She stopped short in the middle of a sentence. Her eyes were wide with alarm. Perfect. I groaned again, this time louder.

  “Oh my God. What’s the matter, Blake?”

  “I think I’m having a relapse.” My voice was a raspy whisper. “My doctor said this could happen.” I groaned yet again, this time adding a shudder.

  “Oh no!” Terror filled her voice. “What can I do?”

  “I feel so fucking hot.” Oh, did I! “Would you be kind enough to sponge me down.” And give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  “Of course. Where’s your bathroom?”

  “Over there.” I weakly pointed to a door opposite my bed and groaned once more.

  She leapt up from my bed, and in a heartbeat, she was back with a large sponge in her hand. She sat back down on my bed and dabbed the moistened sponge on my face. She was so close I feel her warmth.

  “How does that feel?” she asked.

  “So good, Jennifer.” Her touch was gentle and loving. I longed for her lips on mine.

  She palmed my forehead. “I think you’re cooling down.”

  Not. I was heating up. Yet another loud groan. “It’s like there’s a fire in my body.” Raging in my groin. I pulled the duvet down to my hips. “Jennifer, would you mind sponging down the rest of me?”

  I sat up a little, and without a word, she helped me off with my pajama top. With each button she undid with her nimble fingers, an inner firework went off. A chain reaction of scintillating sparks. I lowered myself to my fluffy pillow and kept my eyes on her as she soaked in my bare chest. She was clearly in awe of my chiseled pecs, defined six-pack, and that perfect pelvic V that peeked out from the covers. Working out had its benefits.