Press Release, page 16
Cian laughs. “You handled Dash’s rudeness like a champ. When you lied to his face about Deidre LaRochelle, I wanted to kiss you right there.” He looks out the window to the harbor lights. “I felt an urge to connect with you. Talk to you. You intrigued me. I wanted more of you.”
“And I was quite the ice queen.” Resentment and bile kept me from bothering to connect with Cian at the meeting. I laser focused on changing Dash’s opinion of me.
Cian’s thumb strokes my jaw. “When you turned down my offer to help you…Ouch, freezer burn.”
“Turning you down was about me, not you.” I drag a finger through those soft brown hairs on his chest. “I never figured a self-assured Hollywood hot-shot would be bothered by rejection.”
Cian closes his eyes. Ever so slowly, the corners of his lips curl up. “I went to drink alone to convince myself it was idiocy to give a single shit over you blowing me off.” He opens his eyes to look at me. “And who should walk in?”
It’s my turn to laugh. I raise my hand. He captures it and presses it to his lips.
“It wasn’t enough for you to interrupt my pity party, you flirted with me.”
“Not flirted. Tried to be a friendlier sort than I was at first go by educating you on the finer points of Irish whiskey.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me slowly as if to thaw any remnants of the ice queen lurking below my surface. “Not only did the bruises on my ego fade, but the urge to spend more time with you kicked into overdrive.”
The way Cian watched me that night before he left the bar comes into sharp focus. “I’d be a lying fool to say it wasn’t the same for me.”
“You’re unsettling.”
I trickle a hand to the small of his back and tug at the patch of hair nestled in its curve.
He drops a line of kisses down the side of my neck. “And then there you were in The Grand Ballroom Thursday morning.”
I tap a finger to his lips. “Talking too loud.”
“Breaching etiquette and going a mile a minute. I saw it again, your dedication, unstoppable forward motion.” His head rests in the hollow of my shoulder, eyes closer to a royal blue in the dim light. “You’re addictive.”
I lean my head against his. “And here I was thinking the same about you.”
Cian tenses for a moment and then strokes my hair. “We’d be a formidable team. If we were ever given the chance.”
It’s my body’s turn to shift from the languid state of intimacy into wariness. I touch Cian’s side but pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them. “Team has never been a pretty word for me in life or career. I’m at my best when I’m on my own.” Cian stares at me so long I start to squirm.
“There’s no rule that you have to do it all on your own. It took me some time, but I’ve learned to let others shoulder some of the responsibility, and I do pretty well.” He pries my arms free, pressing down on my knees until I’m stretched out beside him.
I stiffen for a second, worried he’s privy to Dash’s ultimatum. In the next second, I wonder if confiding in him might be worth the risk. By the third second, I’ve locked my dilemma inside the box marked Meg’s Eyes Only. “Relying on yourself is not a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say it was, but neither is including others to energize your momentum.” His arms circle my waist to draw me closer.
I want to roll away from him before I detect even a whiff of judgement in his eyes. His hold is iron, as if he knows my mind.
“I know it’s a struggle for you to let me in, Meg. I’m grateful you did.” He plays with a strand of my hair. “Why did you push me away that first morning?”
“I didn’t know you.” I let my hand drift down to his hip. “All I saw was a soldier of True Time.”
“An enemy soldier?”
“What else could you be to me?”
“Oh, I can think of a few more things.” He sucks my earlobe and chuckles. I relax a bit, then a bit more. A sensation begins slowly at first, but then gains traction. I want to trust Cian. I do want to tell him what I’m up against with Dash. Why wouldn’t he help me the way he’s been doing since I’ve allowed it? Suddenly, I’m bursting to throw wide my gates to this man.
I lay my hand flat on his chest. His heart thumps like a horse taking a hurdle. If there’s a time for talking, it’ll be now, before my body decides on a different type of communication with him. “I’m in a bit of a bad situation with True Time.”
Cian’s heart stutters beneath my fingers. His brows tilt down and lips press together. I don’t know him well enough to read these signs. Are they concern for me, or am I mad for bringing True Time into bed with us? I’m about to put him on the spot with knowledge probably best caged between Dash and me.
“Never mind.” I turn and hug a pillow for comfort. “There’s no need to blather on.” Cian’s laugh sends me rolling back in his direction. “Funny, am I?”
He presses his forehead to mine. “You never blather.” Cian kisses the corners of my eyes one at a time. “I hope I’ve convinced you I’m on your team, Meg, whether you want to be on a team or not.” He pinches my ass. “Evidence points to some willingness not to do everything on your own.” Cian rubs his nose against my cheek. “Tell me.”
I gather both his hands in mine, holding them between us, and speak to our joined fingers. “Dash wants to boot me from The Chieftain’s Son.” I’m gratified when his body gives a shake of surprise.
“You’re kidding!”
“Well, not boot me, exactly. He wants to send in one of you Hollywood fools to take the helm and keep me on as the number two.” I rest my head on our hands. There. My shame is out in the cold world.
“That is a legit sucker punch.”
I nod. “A big one.” I raise my eyes to his. “I won’t hand off my bone-breaking work and sit back for scraps.”
He circles my wrists with his fingers. “You’d quit?”
Instead of answering, I slide out of bed and retrieve the robe. For a long moment, I stare at the sky as the first iris purple streaks rest atop the horizon.
Cian, now clad in his boxers, wraps his arms around me from behind. He’s set to comfort and support, not seduce. I appreciate him all the more for it.
I lay my hands over his. “I made a deal with Dashell Everett.” My derisive grunt fogs up the window. “Which explains his less-than-flattering attitude to me at the meeting.”
I watch his reflection in the window chew its lips. “Thus, the lie about snagging Deidre LaRochelle.”
“It was my shot across Dash’s bow.”
Cian twirls me to face him. “Tell me, Meg. Tell me everything. If it’s a battle, I’m on your side.”
“Even if it makes you a traitor to the crown?”
“Not a traitor. We’re on the same side.” Cian frames my predicament in a pretty way. We are still rivals at the end of the day. Rivals for King Dash the Abhorrent’s affection and rewards. I must push rivalry aside if it buys me a chance at the Sunday slot.
I guide Cian into a chair and take the seat across from him at the table. The light of tablets illuminates our faces. “I’m sorry, but I looked at your tablet.”
He waves me off. “I was going to show it to you anyway.” Cian leans on an elbow to stare me down. “You’ve got an idea.”
“I have.” I slide my tablet until it’s next to his and tap both screens. “Look at these assets: your stars, my stars, Deidre LaRochelle, MetaMeme.” He rolls his fingers in the universal signal for keep going. “I say we combine them. Share the panel.”
Cian’s face goes through the steps of a dance. The first move is dismissal, but a tap of finger to lips shifts his eyes into processing mode. His eyes brighten. “Go on.”
“We’ll call it The Ship of Dreams.”
Cian cocks his head to the side. “Like the Titanic?”
“Stop now.” I give his arm a playful slap. “Ship as in shipping couples, you know, putting people together in a romance.”
“I’m aware of the practice.”
“Our star couples compete for the audience’s favor. Donal Cam and Nieve against Starry Night and Event Horizon. Here’s the first kicker. Deidre LaRochelle not only moderates but delves into both onscreen romances and what makes them tick. She’ll blur the line between actors and their characters. A merry chase such as this will be fair bait to lure her here. The woman loves love, and the opportunity to give her lovers the chance to shine against another popular pair is the sort of challenge she feeds on.”
Cian’s eyes wobble the way Bobby’s do when he’s streaming content through his brain. “And the second kicker?”
I stab a finger at the bullet point for MetaMeme on Cian’s tablet. “We end with a concert. Do you think your fellers could play some of The Chieftain’s Son music as well as the Star’s Shadow songs? We include audience participation with voting along the way. A who answered it best live poll. I watched a hundred hours of Cali Con panels online and seen it done. Marketing will churn out paddles with pictures of the competing couples on either side.”
Cian chews on a fingernail while I hold my breath to see if his wind will blow my way. His gaze remains glued to our side-by-side tablets.
After what should be long enough for any fool to make a comment or at least ask questions, I reach across the table and lay a hand on his arm. “Cian, say it now if you think the proposal is me dreaming. Do you believe it has a chance?”
He raises his head, stare boring into mine. “Holy shit, Meg. This could be huge.”
I smack a hand to the table. “Massive.”
“None of the other shows can touch this.” Cian smashes out of his chair. He grabs the front of my robe to yank me in and crush his mouth to mine. I swear we fly across the room onto the bed, leaving robes and boxers on the carpet.
As Cian lights me up brighter than the hot streaks of sunlight breaking over the watery horizon, my mind hums with visions of victory. We have a crackin’ proposal.
Chapter 13
Good Morning to You
A quiet purr pulls me through the bleary tunnel between sleep and usefulness. The electronic rooster is my cell vibrating against the glass top of the bedside table.
Cian traps me under a dual limb configuration. He drapes an arm across my shoulder and a leg is slung over mine. This is new territory for me, sharing a morning bed after a night of uncharted pleasures. In the dark, Cian encouraged boldness I’d never dared to let loose before.
Now, it’s full morning, a time where flaws can’t be hidden in shadows. Considering the numerous expeditions we undertook across each other’s terrain last night, I should have no reason to be self-conscious about the size of my belly or bum, but I do and draw the sheet over me.
I’ve no idea what etiquette is for our situation. Do I slither out and dress first or wake him with a kiss? Either choice has its merits.
The cell chimes with a new voice mail. I stretch my arm to the phone so as not to wake Cian. I smile as the back of my hand brushes his limp fingers. Damn the proper thing to do, I’ll check the message and then go with the morning kiss option. As I slide the cell across the sheet, Cian’s snores skitter and skip as he turns away from me, taking his arm and leg with him. I nearly giggle when his unconscious ass fits against mine like we’ve practiced the position dozens of times.
The number of unread texts start my heart clanging with anxiety. It’s barely past six. What in heaven and hell could be brewing this early? As I read, excitement sets my insides tingling.
I let out a squeak of surprise when a hand snakes down my arm to grab my phone. Cian steals it from my hand and turns it screen side down on the bed.
“I claim bed squatters right to be the only one allowed to bring that sound out of you, Meg McGrath.” Cian’s sleepy voice slips over my skin. A lovely part of him is pressing against my ass.
I reach behind me to assess the rising situation. “Christ sakes, man. How’d you go from zero to primed before your eyes open?”
“Who said my eyes are open?” Cian’s hand covers mine, suggesting a certain rhythm to prime him to another level. “It’s the great gift of morning.”
“Every morning?”
He chuckles, sending a tiny gust of warmth down my spine. “Do I have the honor of being your first foray into the discovery of such a gift?”
“I’m not saying.”
His other hand lifts my hair so moist lips can worship my neck. The feel of him both high and low on my body sets off my own morning gifts. I want to take him in fast and without mercy. He darts his tongue into my ear, and I reward him with a version of the squeak he’s so proud to ring out of me.
“I’m honored, M-Squared.”
He tenses, stopping the sly morning seduction. I bite my lip to keep from pushing him onto his back and jumping on. “Meg, is this okay?”
Damn the man. Still the considerate gentleman after the night we had and asking my permission to play on. Cian Malley spoils me, setting my emotions and desire far past boiling, a place they’ve no right to tread considering, at best, we’ve got two more nights together. Last night he said he hated our limitations. Well, by God, I’m with him there.
I flip so we are face-to-face, thread my fingers in his hair to bring him to me, and kiss him with the ferocity of a last wish. “I’m never one to refuse a gift.”
We unwrap the morning gift as a preamble to getting on with the day. Once we finish and manage a duet of regular breathing, I reach for my phone. I can’t find it in the sheets, so I peer off the side of the bed and see it laying on the floor in the vicinity of the now half-empty box of condoms.
Cian gives my bottom a playful slap. “What are you doing?”
I raise the box first and pop it in the bedside drawer. “Sparing housekeeping a bit of embarrassment.”
“Thoughtful and beautiful,” Cian says, dropping a kiss on my shoulder as I retrieve the phone.
“Who dares to message their way into our bed?”
Our bed. I like the notion of that too much. Our bed is nothing more than a few nights of lust and desire. Two very fine states of being, but I live in reality. A long dormant corner of my brain reminds me solid relationships in my own family flamed from those initial sparks of lust and desire. My sister, Taryn, was smitten with her husband, Roy, early on and it stuck. God knows my parents were bound for the altar far sooner than their folks thought wise.
My romp here with Cian lacks the gift of time to kindle. A tiny gold thread of hope dares to wrap around my heart. The Hollywood game is my dream. Once I’ve traded Ireland for L.A., could there be a maybe for us? I tamp down my postcoital wisps of insanity.
A look of unease crosses Cian’s mushy morning face. “Dash?”
I tug the sheet to cover me up to the neck, not feeling my news is best served naked. “No, thank God.” I pull in a long, slow breath to purge Dash from my thoughts. “The day Dash Everett doesn’t insist on granting his sainted permission for every move I make, songbirds will fly from my ass.”
Cian laughs. “That would be quite something to see. I’d better be around for it.”
I wonder at Cian’s freedom with the network. “How long is your leash with Dash?”
His quiet stretches enough to make me regret the question. I shouldn’t have told him about my problems with Dash at all. Does it put him in a difficult position? Of anyone, Cian understands the intricacies I deal with every day on the job. I don’t regret letting him in on my dilemma.
“The color of your eyes makes me crave the dark chocolate syrup I drizzle over mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
The one and only time my prolonged Dublin fling took the color of my eyes into consideration at all, he’d called them bittersweet chocolate, emphasis on the bittersweet. I prefer Cian’s drizzle.
Is Cian deflecting my question with the ice cream comparison? Could it be that Cian survived his own trial-by-fire from Dash and has no desire to dredge up the memory? I don’t press the point. If Cian wants to elaborate on his relationship with True Time and Dash, he will. More likely, he doesn’t want my position to seem any more precarious by flaunting his own security in my face. That is the gentlemanly thing to do, and he’s proven himself worthy of the title.
I allow the deflection. “I’d take you for a more exotic ice cream kind of guy.” I study his face. “Espresso mocha chip with a bourbon swirl.”
“Mmmm,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “With dark chocolate syrup.”
“It’s Bobby Provost blowing up my phone. He’s dancing naked in the forest over our joint panel idea.”
Cian’s eyebrows pull together. “When did you talk to him?”
There’s a teeny nudge of guilt in my belly for working while Cian slept in the aftermath of our lovemaking. “I’m not a good sleeper, and I promised Bobby I’d let him know if I came up with anything.”
He sits up and scratches at his overnight growth of beard. “I take it Bobby isn’t a good sleeper either.”
There’s an odd tone to his voice. I suppose if I’d discovered that Cian snuck out of bed to do business while I slept, I’d be a bit put off too. Best not to go down that road and ruin the glossy shine of our night together.
“It’s a bit of good news for me and the both of us.”
Cian puffs up his pillows and settles to hear me out. “Sir Kevin is on his way here, so True Time and Bobby greenlit previewing the premier episode of season two for The Chieftain’s Son panel audience. The slot after us was another Carnival Studios show, so there’s leeway to extend our time.” I plant a hit-and-run kiss on Cian’s lips. He doesn’t respond the way he’s been doing for the past few hours.
Cian dons a poker face. “You never mentioned you were gunning for a full episode reveal.”
“I’ve you to thank for it.”
“Me?” He frowns.
“You’ve got me thinking bigger than I’d ever dared. I put the bee in Bobby and Dash’s bonnets yesterday afternoon about the preview being an exclusive to complement Sir Kevin’s arrival.”
Cian chews his lip. “The dominoes fell in your direction.” He stretches and slings his legs over the side of the bed, showing me his back.
