“Yes,” he said before he palmed her face and pulled her hard against him.
This was what he’d fantasized about since seeing her wearing droplets. Desired since she’d come to Cannes and strolled into the lobby wearing that draped-back dress. But this dress, this one-shouldered number, would be so easy to peel off her. And he would be shedding her dress in a matter of seconds.
Right now, though, he concentrated on her mouth. Her perfect lips that gave all he took. The lips he’d ached for since he’d tasted them two long nights ago.
He backed her into the suite, her clutch falling from her grasp just as the door slammed behind them. Her hands clenched around his biceps and squeezed just as she let out a soft moan.
Bronson lifted his mouth just a fraction. “I’ve wanted you for days. Tell me you’re not still with Anthony.”
“I never have been,” she assured him before she captured his mouth again.
Mia was just as hot and passionate as he’d anticipated, and even more so than the other night. Perhaps because they were behind a closed door now. And Bronson had every intention of taking advantage of this privacy. No paparazzi, no media. Pure, utter privacy.
He couldn’t take in enough of her at once. He wanted her. Naked. Now.
He continued moving her into the room until the backs of her legs bumped into the decorative table in the living area. All power was lost, all control vanished. His mouth traveled down her jawline to her neck, from her bare shoulder and on to the top of the clingy dress.
Mia placed her hands behind her on the table and arched into him, offering herself up as if she’d been needing, craving this moment as much as he had.
He lifted his head and slid the thin material down her arm until she freed herself of the unwanted sleeve. An ache he didn’t remember having in a long, long time encompassed every part of him. Taking the hem of her dress, he eased it up as Mia shifted from side to side to assist.
“I don’t have protection with me,” he told her, cursing himself for being ill-prepared.
“I have some in the cosmetic bag on the table behind you.”
God bless a prepared woman. He shuffled through the bag in a hurry, found the foil wrapper and smacked it on the table next to Mia’s hip.
She’d moved the dress farther up to her waist, giving him more than a glimpse of what she wore beneath.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as his eyes landed on the small scrap of lace in the same shade of purple as her dress. He slid the garment down her toned legs and over the stilettos. The fantasy shoes had to stay.
“You don’t know how much you’ve driven me crazy.” Bronson made quick work of his pants while Mia nipped along his jawline.
“Then kiss me because I’m going just as crazy waiting.”
She scooted to the edge of the table as he donned protection. Her long legs wrapped around his waist and he lost no time in taking her.
Yes … yes. Her body moved perfectly against his, and Bronson had to work to keep from being too rough, too fast. He wanted this feeling of euphoria to last. The anticipation building up to this paled in comparison to having Mia draped all around him.
He realized then that the past two days had all been foreplay leading up to this moment. And each one of those stepping-stones, from the subtle touches to the harmless flirting, was mild when he had Mia right where he wanted her.
With her body wrapped around his, Bronson set the rhythm, pleased when an audible sigh escaped her full, moist lips.
It was those lips that had driven him crazy. Hell, the entire package made him feel like a horny teenager, but those lips mocked him when they smiled, when they talked. When they moaned.
Bronson kept the pace fast because nothing, absolutely nothing could slow him down now. He feasted on Mia’s mouth. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, gripping the tux shirt he still wore because being inside her had taken precedence over being fully undressed.
Sweat drenched the skin beneath his shirt, and a fine sheen covered Mia’s shoulders as he moved his lips down to one freed breast.
He didn’t care that this was his mother’s assistant, didn’t care if she’d had or hadn’t had a relationship with Anthony. All Bronson knew was that he wanted this woman, and what he wanted, he took. And Mia, the intriguing, dark-eyed beauty, had been onboard from the first kiss.
When her body shivered, shook, Bronson stopped holding back and let go. As they crested together, he knew this was not a one-time thing.
When their trembling ceased, Mia opened her eyes and smiled. “I have to say, I like how you walk me to my room.”
Bronson nipped at her swollen, moist lips. “I should warn you: I intend to do this again as soon as I recover.”
Trembling fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “Maybe we could be skin to skin this time.”
Anticipation rippled through him. “Absolutely.”
No, Bronson didn’t care that Mia was his mother’s assistant, didn’t care that he didn’t trust her. And he sure as hell didn’t care if she was now or ever had been involved with Anthony Price.
Because he wasn’t getting his heart involved with anyone ever again. Not after his last relationship. His ex-fiancée had walked away after miscarrying a child he’d thought was his.
His ex-fiancée had met Anthony on a movie set, where she’d been the makeup artist, ironically the same way Bronson had met her. When Bronson and she began arguing after the death of the baby, and their relationship became strained, she’d thrown the supposed affair in his face once she’d walked out on him.
So, no, there was no love lost between Anthony and him. And any potential for future relationships was completely destroyed after that whole fiasco.
Lust and sex. That’s all Bronson had room for in his life, and the very naked woman in his arms would fill that void nicely.
Six weeks later …
What had she eaten?
Mia groaned. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the plush sofa cushions. In the seven months she’d worked for Olivia, never once had she asked for a day, or even an hour, off. But today there was absolutely no way she could’ve made it through the afternoon without falling over or running to the bathroom and hugging the commode—not qualities a personal assistant to the Grand Dane should possess.
Olivia had taken pity on her and sent her home, with the promise Mia would call if she felt worse or needed anything at all. Mia would’ve promised anything to anyone if it meant she could crawl back onto her comfy sofa and lie perfectly still. Why did the house keep shifting?
Yeah, there was no way at all she could’ve kept up with the fast-paced, never-tiring Olivia Dane. Not today.
With the majority of her work on her laptop, she was just fine right here in her own living room. Well, she would be fine if the room would stop tilting and her stomach would stop rolling. Seriously, all she’d had for dinner the previous night was a piece of baked fish and some steamed veggies. Nothing at all to prove fatal, yet death was surely knocking at her door because concentrating on these fan emails was taking the last bit of energy she had.
Mia lifted her head and clicked on another email with a sigh. The message, like hundreds of others, wanted to know when Bronson would produce a film with his mother playing the lead role. The public loved this close-knit Hollywood family, and the fact that the Grand Dane and the best producer in the business hadn’t worked together yet kept people interested.