Under Pressure

Every pair of eyes turned to her. Asher’s eyebrows arrowed together, his mouth pulling down at the edges, making the white slash of his scar pop into sharp relief.

She held up a finger, pulled in a deep breath and was eternally grateful when everyone waited.

By the time she’d regained her composure, Asher had crossed his arms over his massive chest, biceps bulging. Damn the man was gorgeous.

Turning away, she directed her words to Cody, the wardrobe guy. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do. Does he look like a suit kind of guy? He spends most of his time wet and/or covered in sand.”

“But surely...” Cody began, his words trailing off as he took in Asher standing like a forbidding Greek god.

“Why don’t we compromise?” Turning to Asher, she continued, not giving anyone a chance to quash her plan. “Asher, I know for a fact this isn’t the first time you’ve worn a suit.”

“Baby girl, the last time I wore a suit like this was for my wedding. And the fact that my ex insisted should have been a clue the marriage was doomed.”

Kennedy tried not to react to his words. She’d had no idea he’d been married. No one had mentioned it to her, although she supposed there really hadn’t been a reason.

That little tease of information made her want to dig for more, but she pushed the urge away, trying to focus on the problem in front of her instead.

“One of the benefits of owning my own business is that I get to do what I want, which includes wearing whatever’s comfortable. And that—” Asher pointed at the suit “—looks far from comfortable.”

Daniel frowned and opened his mouth, but Kennedy cut him off. She really didn’t want to know what he was going to say, because there was no way Asher would take it well.

“Surely we can come to some agreement. I have to admit, the bow tie is a bit much.”

“It’s trendy,” Cody countered, his voice going up in defense of his choices.

“And might work with another man, but Asher Reynolds is an ex–navy SEAL. All the guys from Trident are. They aren’t trendy. They’re strong, dangerous, skilled. You put him in that thing, and you’re going to cover up what your viewers will fall in love with—his raw intensity and sexual charisma.”

Turning away from Cody without giving him a chance to respond, Kennedy focused on Asher. “The slacks, the shirt. Sleeves rolled up and collar unbuttoned. Relaxed sophistication.”

His eyes narrowed. She silently pleaded with him, unsure whether or not it would make a damn bit of difference.

Everyone stood there, silent, as tension stretched out second by second.

“No jacket and no goddamn vest.”

Kennedy nodded her head, relief flooding her. Grabbing the clothes from Cody, she shoved them into Asher’s arms before he changed his mind. “Go, put these on.”

He disappeared down the hall. The noise inside the room, which really wasn’t big enough to hold all the people and camera equipment, gradually increased to a normal level, or what she was coming to realize was normal for a functioning set.

But it all fell off again several minutes later. Kennedy, talking with the set director about moving some things off the desk, looked around and nearly swallowed her tongue.

Asher stood in the open doorway, a frown pulling at his lips as he fiddled with one of his cuffs. Damn, the man should wear a suit more often.

The snow-white shirt was crisp and made his tanned skin pop. The pants, a dark gray with a faint black pinstripe, hugged his hips and strained against the massive circumference of his thighs.

Beside her, she heard a soft voice whisper, “You were so right.” Glancing over, she took in Carmen, her beautiful blue eyes full of hero worship.

That propelled Kennedy forward, although she had no idea why.

Taking Asher’s arm, she pulled him across the room and over to the desk. The production team had debated having him sit in the chair behind the desk, but with the more casual wardrobe choice, they’d agreed to try it with him leaning against the edge, ankles crossed. As if he was talking to a buddy.

It had taken everything inside Kennedy for her to bite her tongue during the discussion. They hadn’t wanted her opinion, even if she did have a freakin’ marketing degree with a keen eye for composition and graphic design.

Putting her hands on his hips, she pushed Asher backward until his body folded.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and his entire body tight.

“Putting you where I want you,” she said, glancing up through her lashes for a second before jerking her gaze back down. Bad idea. Studying Asher Reynolds was like looking directly at a solar eclipse, likely to blind you. And she couldn’t afford that right now.

She waited for the rude comeback—she’d given him a perfect setup—but none followed.

Grasping the cuff he’d been fiddling with, she pulled it back down and smoothed the edges out before folding it into place. The backs of her fingers brushed against his warm skin. His soft arm hair tickled her nerve endings. He flexed, the muscles along his arm bulging.

Had he done that on purpose?

Satisfied with his cuff, Kennedy stepped back. She let her gaze run up him, trying to be objective. This was just like any other product she’d ever marketed. Color, composition, impact, message.

There were things about working at Trident that she absolutely loved. But the thrill of using her skills—of doing what she enjoyed and was good at—effervesced through her body. Working for a diving company just didn’t give her enough opportunities to use her training.

Asher looked elegantly casual. As if he’d just spent hours working a major business deal and finally had a chance to relax.

There was just one thing wrong...

Stepping back to him, Kennedy went up on her tiptoes. She was short and he was tall. Even with Asher leaning against the desk, she couldn’t reach what she wanted without pressing her entire body against him.

She tried not to notice the way her breasts brushed the hard plane of his chest as she dug her fingers into his hair.

Asher shifted beneath her. His hands landed on her hips. She felt the heat of them down to her toes.

“What are you doing?”

Kennedy didn’t answer but ran her fingers through his hair, rumpling the light brown strands. Whoever had done it had obviously been going for a more formal look, which might have worked before but not now. They’d slicked through a bunch of gel, trying to tame the natural wave his hair had when it grew a little too long.

She liked the waves. They were rakish and fit his personality. She fussed and tugged, prolonging the contact a few seconds more than necessary. Yeah, so she was human.

Finally forcing herself to push away from him, Kennedy tried to ignore the way his hands lingered for several seconds.

“Better,” she said, her voice suddenly scratchy.

Clearing her throat, Kennedy tried to find her professionalism. She knew it was inside, buried deep. And she needed it. Right now.

Turning away, she gestured to the director. “He’s all yours.”

3 (#ulink_e79d068c-4b3d-5356-8c26-dc4d2770ea57)

HIS HEAD WAS so scrambled. Having Kennedy pressed against his body, her hands threading through his hair as her fingernails gently scraped against his scalp had been heaven. And torture.

Thank God no one seemed to notice the heavy bulge behind the zipper of his pants.