I'll Be Your Everything Read online

  “Just ... mapping you out.”

  Yeah right. He’s groping me with his eyes, those soft brown eyes. And he’s probably staring at the toenails I should have clipped.

  What a creepy thought, Shari!

  I know. It’s the wine talking already, okay?

  Then stop drinking it and speak for yourself!

  I hear some sketching and relax a little. I take another sip and begin to relax a lot. This is some nice wine.

  “You’re not smiling,” he says.

  I suck in my cheeks. “I am a model. I do not smile.”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I have your smile memorized.”

  That was sweet.

  Yeah, it was.

  I hear more scratching sounds.

  “I used to do this for extra money in college. I’d set up an easel on the sidewalk in San Francisco and just draw. Ten bucks a portrait. Used to bring in a couple hundred a weekend.”

  I think up a relevant question, which is amazing since I have no oxygen going to my brain right now and the wine is tearing swiftly through my brain cells—and my conscience. “You don’t do caricatures, do you?”

  “If people want them, I can do them. I prefer doing portraits. Shows off my skills. Caricatures are too easy. It’s not hard to add size to a pair of breasts, length to a nose, height to a forehead, hips to a skinny booty.”

  Breasts ... booty. He’s pushing my buttons. I wonder what he would add to me? Would he turn my B-cups to C-cups?

  You’d tip over.

  At least I’d have more cushions for my fall.

  I take a peek while he has his head down. Hey, that’s my shape. I’m kinda sexy. Why don’t I have a face yet? And why can’t I still feel my hands? “So you were an art major.”

  “Nope. MBA all the way.”

  I peek again. Ten toes. They are so tiny. “How boring.”

  “Yep. Completely.”

  “So why’d you stick with it?”

  “Money. Opportunity. Possibilities. Adventure.”

  Opportunity. Possibilities. Adventure. Doesn’t he know he’s talking dirty to me? I mean, I now have the opportunity and the possibility for some adventure!

  And a hangover.

  Hush. Let’s enjoy our company.

  “What would you rather be doing?” I peek.

  He catches me peeking.

  I look off into the distance.

  “You really want to know the answer to that question, Shari?” he asks.

  And that gives me my answer. Whoo. Yeah, I know what he’d rather be doing—me. These pajamas are certainly warm. Oh, my hands are starting to tingle. Must be the wine. I sip some more. “I mean, career-wise.”

  “What I’m doing, only I’m not doing it for someone else.”

  Doing it. He is merciless! “You want to be your own boss.”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to be the master of your own destiny,” I say.

  “Yes. Can you hold still?”

  No. C’mon, feet. Chill out. “Holding.”

  I hear him sketching again. “You have the cutest little dimples,” he says.

  Since birth.

  “Um, could you turn your head this way just a touch?” he asks.

  Touch! He’s killing me! “Define ‘touch.’” And now I’m killing me.

  “A quarter inch.”

  I turn a “touch” and smile. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  I peek again. Man, he’s good. My body is still disembodied, but my face is definitely my face, and my glasses are sexy glasses. “You plan on giving me a body, Tom?”

  He looks straight into my soul, I swear. “I don’t need to give you a body, Shari. God gave you a very nice body already.”

  Yes, He did.

  This man is incredible.

  Oh, now you agree.

  I’m just sayin’.

  But now my body is at war with itself! My legs are on fire, but the rest of me is freezing! I should have turned up the heat. That has to be the AC kicking on, and I know he can see my, um, nipples. “When you do get to my body, be kind.”

  “Are you cold, Shari?”

  He noticed! “The thermostat is ... is in the bedroom.” I just said the B-word. I should never drink wine.

  I told you, but would you listen?

  Hush.

  “I already turned the thermostat in my room way down,” he says. “I can’t sleep unless it’s cold. You want me to turn up the heat?”

  Too late! This man is ruthless! “I want you to turn up the thermostat, yes.”

  When Tom stands and turns, I let my mouth drop open. That is a booty only God could make.

  Lord, You done good.

  I smile. I didn’t know my conscience could be so naughty.

  I suck down the rest of my wine, and it makes my eyes water and my conscience take a nap.

  Tom returns, and I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. A mountain is moving toward me.

  “I bumped it up to seventy-eight,” he says.

  Bumped! He has to know he’s putting a hurting on me with his words! “Thanks.”

  He sketches a few minutes more then slides the picture across the coffee table. “How’s that?”

  I’m ... I’m actually kind of beautiful. I suppose if I had a piercing or two and some tattoos, I could be exotically beautiful. His shading is outstanding. He’s drawn my eyes and my glasses. I’m even a little cute. “Um, could you draw me without my glasses on?”

  “I think they’re sexy.”

  I’ll leave them on then. Anything to fuel my, I mean, his passion. “Um, why don’t you draw the rest of me? I look like a disembodied Dali angel.” I know some art.

  “I’m not very good at drawing clothes,” he says. “I can never get the folds, contours, and shades right.”

  “But you’re good at drawing skin.”

  “Faces. Yes. Neck up. Shoulders.”

  Skin. The man likes skin. I have some of that. “Have you ever done any nudes?”

  He looks away. “No.”

  “Not even Miss Cringe?”

  “No.”

  So I’d be his first nude? It’s the wine talking, I swear. “Bare shoulders.”

  “Yeah.”

  I hold out my glass. I am such a lush! He brings me another glass full to the top. I wonder if there’s any left.

  I slide out of the straps of my tank top and let the straps dangle to my sides. “At least give me a neck and shoulders.” And if you want to massage this neck and these shoulders, you go right on ahead and do it, big boy.

  Keep it down, my conscience says. I’m trying to sleep.

  Shh ...

  Tom stares at me for a full minute then draws. The heat kicks on, but my shoulders are already getting warm. He turns the drawing toward me. “Better?”

  The little devil. He’s even given me a little cleavage line. “Yes. But ...” I’m starting to sweat, and I just told him to turn up the heat. I am so conflicted. “I have a really nice stomach.” I pull up the bottom of my tank top, rolling it up to just under my breasts. Hey, I still have some abs. “Can you see everything you need to see, Tom?”

  Tom nods and goes back to work while the wine and I have a long chat.

  I hear heavy breathing? Is it me? I hold my breath. No. He’s breathing harder. And that makes me sweat more. Little beads of sweat trickle down my back into my pajamas.

  He turns my picture around. “Better?”

  Man, he makes me look sexier than I’ve ever felt. Even my belly button is sexy. “I also ...” What’s left? “I have some nice legs, Mr. Sexton.”

  “Yes, you do,” he says. “But, um, that’s really not necessary, Shari.”

  I can’t believe I’m thinking of taking off my pajamas. And without his help! I stare at my glass. Bottoms up! Glass number three tasted just like Kool-Aid.

  I suck in a breath and slide out of my pajama bottoms, and my legs fill with goose bumps. I am so glad I did a little shaving down there earlier
. “Can you, um, work with these, Tom?”

  “Yes,” he says. “I can work with them.”

  He takes a lot longer drawing my legs. He stares at them, sketches. Stares at them some more, sketches. His eyes drift over my hot skin like ... like ... I can’t think. Like eyes drifting over hot skin.

  “Better?” he asks.

  He’s made my panties quite small. Well, I am quite small. Duh. It looks as if I’m wearing a string bikini. This is the moment of truth. “You want to draw all of me, don’t you, Tom?”

  “Yes,” he says, and oh yes, he’s really panting now. “I want to draw all of you, Shari, but we don’t have to, I mean, I don’t need to.” He blushes and shakes his head. “I think I should be going.”

  Without thinking, I hold out my empty glass.

  “It’s almost gone,” he says. “Should I get you another bottle?”

  No ... way. I have almost killed an entire bottle of wine by myself. “Only if you join me, I mean, only if you have some with me, I mean, only if you drink some wine.” My tongue isn’t cooperating at all.

  “I’ll get you the rest,” he says. He takes my glass. “You ate dinner, didn’t you?”

  I blink up at him. “Yes. Why?”

  “Just checking.”

  He goes into the bathroom and returns with half a glass of wine.

  I chug it all down and use my eyes to return him to my drawing.

  He sits.

  What was I about to do? Oh yeah. I start to remove my tank top when the couch decides to tilt. “Whoa,” I say. Man, I drank too much too fast.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  I nod, but I am not all right. I want to feel his hot breath on my skin. I want all those oranges and lemons and musk to seep into my skin. But most of all, I want this couch to sit still! The online description of this hotel did not mention tilting couches!

  Now where was I? Oh yeah. I was about to have him draw me nude. I’ll bet it was some French wine. Yeah. An American wine wouldn’t have made me think these things.

  “Shari?”

  I look up and see a vaguely Tom-shaped, um, shape. “Yes?”

  “You don’t look so good,” he says. “Maybe I should just put you to bed.”

  I’m not drunk. I’m just not sober at all. “But I want you to finish my picture.” And now I’m whining. Wine does that.

  He tries to slide my pajamas back on, but my legs go into convulsions.

  “I can use my imagination, okay?” he says.

  He tries to slide them on again, and I nearly kick him a few times till my pajamas are safely back where they’re supposed to be.

  I try to sit up, but something slams my head back into the arm of the couch. Am I wearing my glasses? I am. Then why is the room spinning? I close my eyes, and the spinning gets worse.

  “Let me help you,” I hear him say, and in a few seconds, I am airborne.

  “But Tom,” I whisper, “I really want to see what you see when you look at me.”

  “Shh, Shari,” he says. “It’s okay.”

  And then he holds me. It’s like he folds me into himself, and I am surrounded by hot muscle, citrus, and musk.

  I ... have ... never ... felt ... so ... safe.

  And this isn’t the wine talking. This is some primitive part of me that feels completely secure for the first time in my life.

  He is so strong. I bet he could curl me fifty times and not break a sweat. I wrap my arms around his neck and stare at his lips.

  “Tom?”

  “Yes, Shari.”

  I want to tell him never to let me go. I want to tell him that if I died this second, I would die the happiest woman on earth. I want to tell him I have never felt so safe, so aroused, so—

  Hey, I’m on the bed and under the covers, a stack of pillows under my head. He’s pretty fast for a big guy.

  “Tom?” I’m practically pawing at him. How can I be missing him with my hands? He’s huge!

  “Just rest, Shari,” he says. He takes off my glasses.

  He’s so fuzzy! “Tom, what cologne do you use?” That was random.

  “Jade East.”

  “I love it.” I smell my arm. “I smell like you.”

  I feel the bed move. “Tom?” Where’d the lights go?

  “Yes?”

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” I say to a moving mountain. How’d that mountain get in here?

  “I really should,” he says.

  Oh, the bed is turning now. Stay still, bed! I will not come back to this Hilton if this bed keeps moving. “Please stay with me, Tom. Protect me... .”

  And then I dream of marshmallows, Boston cream pies, whipped cream, big fluffy clouds, and even some freaking Charmin toilet paper.

  Chapter 16

  I wake up at midnight in my bed and under the covers, and I have the worst taste in my mouth. That’s pretty normal. What isn’t normal is the pajamas that I took off are now on, and Tom is lying fully clothed beside me and snoring softly.

  What just happened? I have lost five hours of my life.

  I see my glasses lying on the nightstand and put them on. I hear the heater kicking on. I smell alcohol in the air. My tongue tastes like rusty metal.

  And I feel stupid. Why’d I drink so much? Stress and wine do not mix.

  I slip out of the bed and walk on unsteady feet to the bathroom where I drink a glass of water, stare at an empty bottle of wine, and then brush my teeth. I’m just rinsing my mouth when Tom appears in the doorway.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  I was nearly naked on that couch, but I woke up clothed. A man is still here with me and was recently lying beside me on my bed. I vaguely remember the man drawing my picture and me taking off most of my clothes. I have lost five hours of my life. No, I am not all right. “Yeah,” I say.

  “You sure?” he asks. “Oh. Sorry. I put your pants on backwards.”

  I look. Yep. “It’s the new style,” I say, shutting the bathroom door and turning my pajama pants around. I take a deep breath, open the door, and see Tom sitting on the couch, that evil couch where this evening began.

  I sit on the opposite end, curling my feet under me. “Um, Tom, I have to know.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Know what?”

  Oh, don’t play coy with me, Mr. Sexton. “Did anything happen?”

  “Oh.” He shakes his head. “Nothing happened, Shari. You, um, you passed out. I just put your clothes back on, and, um, put you in the bed. I didn’t want you to catch cold. I stayed to make sure you were all right. I never should have brought you that wine.” He smiles. “I should have cut you off after the first glass.”

  I nod. He stayed with drunk me for five hours and didn’t try anything? Well. He’d have to be one of the few men on earth not to try. “Did I, um, make a complete fool of myself?”

  “No,” he says. “You’re a cute drunk.”

  “No, I mean, did I say anything I shouldn’t have said?”

  He blinks.

  “I mean, what did I say?”

  He looks at the ceiling briefly. “Nothing you should be ashamed of. Although you said the word juicy a couple times just before you passed out.”

  I am about to blush myself off this couch. Either that or I’m having an entire body hot flash. “I don’t drink very often. I’m sorry I was such a fish.”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re under a lot of stress. It’s not easy being two people.”

  I look at the coffee table and see my picture, only Tom has added a flannel shirt and tight jeans to my formerly almost naked body. “Why’d you change the picture?”

  “That’s the real you,” he says.

  Yeah. The real me. “Thanks.”

  He slides closer to me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Shari?”

  I nod. “I’m okay. I am such a lightweight. I have no tolerance.”

  He rubs my shoulder. “You’re a sweet drunk, though. And so quiet while you sleep. I had to keep checking to see if you
were breathing.”

  And how’d he do that? I sniff my shoulder. Oranges? “Um, did we kiss?”

  “No,” he says. “I, um, I did kiss your cheek. You, um, kind of purred.”

  It must have been a sweet kiss. I just wish I could remember it. “Well, you must be pretty tired, Tom, so ...” Please go so I can properly vent my embarrassment on a pillow.

  “Before you passed out, you asked me to stay, Shari,” he says, “so I stayed.”

  Because I was drunk and horny.

  “And really, nothing happened,” he says. “I made sure you were warm enough, I fixed the picture, I watched you for a while, and then I guess I dozed off myself.”

  I nod. “Well, thank you for, um, for respecting me.”

  He slides even closer, and I feel his heat. “If we ever did, um ...”

  Yeah. If we ever did, um ...

  “I’d want you to remember everything,” he says.

  I want so much to snuggle up with him, but I can’t send him the wrong message. Wait. I’ve been sending him the wrong messages all night. I sigh. “Tom, I want you to know that what happened, um, that’s not me.”

  He rubs my back. “I know.”

  Oh, that’s nice. “And it won’t happen again,” I say. I have to get him out of here. “Um, did anything like this ever happen with Corrine?”

  He reaches around me and grips my shoulder gently, pulling me closer. I can’t stop him, and I don’t want to stop him. “Pretty much for the last two years, yeah.”

  Corrine gets drunk, passes out, falls asleep, date ends. “Not much of a relationship.”

  “No,” he says, his cheek brushing my hair. “I just lost interest, especially when she started drinking so much. I’ve been going through the motions. I don’t call her, don’t return her calls, I make vague or no commitments, I make excuses. I’ve been hoping she would break it off so I wouldn’t have to.”

  I can’t see Corrine ever giving up Tom, not with all he has to offer. “It’s not very fair to her.”

  He nods. “No. It isn’t. I should have broken it off immediately after she turned down my offer.”

  “So why haven’t you?” I let my right hand wander to his thigh because, um, my hand is cold. Geez, he’s made out of steel. Hot steel?

  “I still like her,” he says. “But only as a friend. She turns heads, and clients notice. She really knows how to schmooze. She knows how to work a room. She’s been good for business.” He sighs. “I know that’s superficial and jacked up and wrong, but there it is. I use her, and she uses me... .” He pulls me even closer. “But nothing in my life has ever felt anything like this, Shari. I am really... .” He sighs. “I’ve never met anyone as special as you. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re fearless.”