Free An Unexpected Song by Iris Johansen

you I wouldn’t watch you onstage again.”
    If she hadn’t been so nervous, she would have noticed immediately that he wasn’t dressed for the theater. In his fitted jeans and white chambray shirt he looked tough, male, and so sensual she felt her resolve falter as she looked at him. It’s only chemistry, she told herself desperately. She had no choice about love—but lust was completely apart. If she was determined, she could fight it.
    But, dear God, the chemistry was strong.
    She turned back to the mirror and straightened the short curly blond wig on her head. The image in the mirror wasn’t reassuring. In the loose, high-necked white cotton nightgown she had worn for her last scene she had an air of childlike vulnerability. “That’s right. I forgot. Though I’ve never understood why you feel—” She broke off as she heard the lock on the door being turned. Her spine went rigid as she looked at Jason’s reflection in the mirror. “I suppose you have a reason for doing that?”
    “A very good reason. I didn’t want to be disturbed.” He walked toward her. “Did you intend to come to my hotel tonight?”
    “I don’t—” She stopped and wearily shook her head. “No.”
    “I didn’t think so. You were definitely wobbling this afternoon.” He stopped behind her, and his gaze met her own in the mirror. “Level with me. Why not? You want to come.”
    She moistened her lips with her tongue. “It’s best that—You’re a bit too ruthless for me.”
    “Because I upped the ante when I played
Night Song
this afternoon? That has nothing to do with this.” He squatted beside her padded stool. “It’s on an entirely different plane.” His warm lips feathered the nape of her neck. “I hate this wig. Take it off and let me see your hair.”
    A hot shiver went through her and she felt suddenly weak. “It’s too much trouble. It’s pinned on and—” She inhaled sharply as his hands slid around to cup her breasts through the loose white cotton of her nightgown. “No,” she said. “The play …”
    “You don’t appear again until the last scene. Not for almost an hour.” His fingers quickly undid the bodice and slipped inside to touch her breasts. She arched forward at the shock of hard warmth of his palms against the softness of her flesh. “Plenty of time.” His fingers plucked gently on her nipples, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as fire streaked through her. “We weren’t on the mountain last night for more than forty minutes.” One hand left her and began to take out the pins holding her wig in place while the other continued to squeeze and play with her. “We could use that couch …”
    “No, I told you—” She stopped as his warm tongue entered her ear. Another erotic shock. Why wasn’t she fighting him? She felt butter-soft, pliable in his hands.
    He pulled the wig from her head, and her long hair tumbled down. “Ah, that’s better.” He lifted a long silky strand and rubbed it slowly back and forth against his lips. “So soft …”
    Somehow that gesture was even more erotic than the simultaneous caressing of her naked breast with his other hand. A surge of heatexploded inside her, and she sank back against him with a half-audible cry. She sat there, trembling, unable to move as he slowly rubbed her hair between his thumb and forefinger, his hand hidden in her bodice, his gaze never leaving her own in the mirror. He whispered, “Look at your face. You want this.” He parted the material of her bodice so that she could see the shameless swollen, distended evidence of his words in the mirror. “Aren’t you beautiful?”
    She closed her eyes, but she could still hear his words.
    “But not here,” he whispered. “We don’t want to use that couch over there. I want a bed and time to savor you. Can’t you see how unreasonable you’re being?”
    “I can see that you’re trying to hypnotize me.” And succeeding, she thought, feeling utterly