Caught on Camera

Chapter 17, Scene 1, Part 29

However she had no intention of letting him sleep just yet. Mickey needed a distraction from his problems, and she needed, well... Mickey. Tomorrow she'd return to scrubbing floors. Tomorrow he'd fly home to Tinseltown. 

Tonight was theirs.

Her bare feet sank into the thick wool carpet as she padded over to the door to securely lock it. "Earlier you promised that my wish is your command for the rest of the evening. This is the rest of the evening."

His lips quirked. "And what is your command, milady?"

It'd been a tough day, for both of them. The hormone buzz from dancing close combined with the stresses of the day begged for release. And she had one sure-fire stress-busting activity in mind. Heat suffused her cheeks. Never in the years of cleaning rooms had she been tempted to so much as nudge a toe against the line separating the staff from the wealthy guests.

Until now.

In the staff dining room they'd call her nuts to risk her job, heartache, everything for one night of love-making with this handsome Hollywood agent so out of her league.

She didn't care. She had a heart filled to bursting with stardust passion for Mickey.

One night.

Rachel wedged her legs between his spread knees and began to unbutton his formal striped vest. "You. Me." She angled her head at the vast bed. "In there."

Mickey dark eyes lit up. "I thought you'd never ask." He stood. His arms circled her ribcage, coaxed her pelvis to contact his. A bulge confirmed his interest.

"Normally I'm not this bold," she admitted. "But time isn't my ally." Her shift began at eight a.m., leaving only nine hours to spend with Mickey. Precious hours that had to sustain her for the rest of her life. When the panels of the vest swung apart, she tackled the shirt buttons.

Mickey slid his hands down her hips and around to grip her butt. He leaned in to press urgent lips on hers. His rapid breaths cooled her cheeks as he murmured, "I intend to demonstrate how I feel about you. It'll take hours." He dropped feathery kisses along her chin and down the side of her neck. He thumbed a nipple through chiffon fabric, sending a delicious tingle to her center.

"Promises." She laughed, familiar with men's exaggerated assurances of sexual prowess. She held no expectations, merely coveted the intimacy of being together, of pleasing him.

Her two former boyfriends zipped around the bases in no time flat before sliding home. In fifteen minutes they were done, her own occasional orgasm a lovely but rare bonus. On the nights she slept over at their apartments, one always fell asleep immediately. The other propped himself up on pillows and watched Saturday Night Live or his favorite late night talk shows. She may as well have been invisible. She'd dated each man for several months before breaking up, vaguely dissatisfied, irrationally wanting to be important to a man. And yet who was she?

A nobody.

Mickey pulled the zipper down the back of her dress. The fabric slid down her body, exposing her oh-so-small breasts to the conditioned air. She shivered. Her nipples budded.

Go big or go home.

Rachel slipped off her panties, squeezed her eyes tight, and boldly offered Mickey a frontal view of her nude body in the flattering glow of bedside lamps.

Noisy breathing signaled activity. She opened one eye to see if he'd reached for the TV remote.

"You are so beautiful. Give me a second." Without taking his eyes off her, Mickey slung his belt onto the deep armchair, followed by his vest, shirt, trousers and socks. "I'll be right there. Don't move."