Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

Ugh! No! You don’t want clothes! You don’t even want him to have clothes right now! No clothes for anyone in this apartment until the sex has been had!

“Oh,” he says with a chuckle. “Right. I keep forgetting this isn’t a nudist colony. My bad.”

“A mistake I’m sure many men make.”

“I’m glad you understand,” he teases with a wink. His stride is long as he blows past me on his way back to his bedroom, but his gaze moves at a much slower pace, lingering on the bare skin at my neck long after he’s gone by me. I’m actually impressed by his neck’s ability to turn that far.

I follow in his wake, watching as the muscles of his back flex and stretch beneath his plain white T-shirt.

He’s got a perfect body—heavy muscle mixed with long, lean lines—and he carries himself with the confidence I only pretend to have in front of a crowd.

As he waves me inside his closet behind him and pulls his T-shirt over his head to switch it out for something with long sleeves, I can’t help but wonder if the moment hasn’t been lost completely. If I can still manage to get this seduction, lose-my-virginity show on the road.

I mean, will I ever get another opportunity with someone I can trust?

What if I really did just make it happen? Right here, right now? I could just step forward and put my lips to his bare back and unwrap my towel and let it fall to the floor.

A shiver runs down my spine at the fantasy I’ve been having since I thought of it back in the safe constraints of his bathroom, and I swallow thickly around my arousal as it threatens to come up and out through my throat.

Before I can lose my nerve, I reach out with a timid hand and flatten it against the warm, hard surface of his back. He twists to glance at me at the contact, but when he notices the look on my face, everything between us slows to a halt.

“Rock?”

“Harrison.” It’s all I can say, and yet, I know it’s not really saying anything at all. It’s not confessing my thoughts or a profession of feelings or even a seductive invitation to make love to me. And it’s sure as hell not an admission of my inexperience.

But evidently, it does at least carry a tone because I could swear the green color of his eyes darkens right before my own.

With a shaking hand, I reach up to the twist I’ve formed at the top of my towel and undo it, clutching at the fabric as my nerves ramp up my heart to a blistering pace.

I focus on his eyes and the comfort I find in them as he stares intently at my hand.

Slowly, I force my fingertips to release the hold they have on the clump of plush fabric and swallow hard as the soft whoosh of the towel hitting the floor echoes between us.

Ironically, I’m kind of thankful to be naked at this point. My heart is beating so fast, I’d swear he’d be able to see it knocking around in my chest if I hadn’t presented him with other things to look at.

It’s the first time on record I can honestly say I’m happy my nutritionist restricts my complex carbohydrates.

Wide, interested eyes run down the length of my body and back up again before stopping earnestly on my face. He’s looking for the gimmick, the joke—maybe even the regret. But for as nervous as I am—and we’re talking really freaking nervous—I’m not feeling in the least like this is a bad idea.

It feels like a good idea.

The best.

Like the solution to a problem that needed to be literally put to bed a long-ass time ago—and a good time to boot.

I’m no expert, but I can’t imagine the twenty-woman-screwing, freaking hot-as-hell guy in front of me is bad in bed.

Forcing my hands to stay loose at my sides, I look down to the pebbled nipples at my breasts and then beyond—to the very obvious bump in Harrison’s pants. The fact that I’m turning him on is tremendously powerful. It’s like years of being a public sex symbol are finally making practical sense.

With two steps, Harrison closes the distance between us, his finger catching under the bottom of my chin and lifting up on it until our eyes meet and hold.

“Are you sure you want this?”

I start to nod, but when a swirl of uncertainty finds its way into his eyes, I force myself to open my mouth and speak. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Apparently, I succeed in my endeavor to sound certain because he doesn’t pause to ask again.

Soft yet sure hands run down the sides of my body and curve in at my hips before stalling just over the skin below my belly button. I savor the weight and warmth of their touch as Harrison places a kiss to the hollow of my collarbone before skimming his lips on a straight line downward until his face is between my breasts. He drops to his knees to better position himself, and I allow myself the pleasure of sinking my hands into the silky strands of his hair.