Aced
4 GET OUTTA MY DREAMS, GET INTO MY CAR
11 DON'T LET THE BAD JUJU WEIGH YOU DOWN
20 FAKE THAT SHIT TILL YOU MAKE THAT SHIT
Copyright © 2016 by Ella Frank & Brooke Blaine
Edited by Arran McNicol
Cover Designed by Jay Aheer of
Simply Defined Art
Cover Photographer: Joseph Sinclair
Cover Model:
Love N. Books
Model - Ashley Gibson
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except
for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Ace Locke is Hollywood’s hottest action hero. Women across the globe fling their panties in his direction, but Ace isn’t interested in those—he’s more of a boxer briefs kind of guy. Specifically, those of the nearly naked male model on a billboard he drives past every day.
Though he recently made headlines for his public coming out, Ace is wary about pursuing a relationship, fearing what the court of public opinion will do to his career. But there’s something in the model’s expression that intrigues him and has him wondering
what if?
Dylan Prescott just scored his biggest modeling campaign yet. One that has him plastered all over L.A. in not much more than what he was born with. And when he’s cast in Ace’s latest blockbuster, it puts him in close proximity to his ultimate fantasy.
Outwardly confident, Dylan has no problem with his sexuality or his pretty-boy looks, and uses both to his advantage to get what he wants. And what he wants is the impossible—Ace Locke.
From Ella Frank’s Sunset Cove series and Brooke Blaine’s L.A. Liaisons series comes a scorchingly hot novel that blends humor, passion, and romance.
What happens when these two worlds collide?
Also by
Ella Frank
The Exquisite Series
The Temptation Series
Sunset Cove Series
Masters Among Monsters Series
Standalones
Co-Authored with
Brooke Blaine
Anthologies
Also by
Brooke Blaine
L.A. Liaisons Series
Romantic Suspense
Co-Authored with
Ella Frank
Anthologies
Dedication
To all of you who wanted more Ace in your lives.
Not only would this book not have been written without your enthusiasm for him, but Dylan wouldn’t exist either. So, thank you for being greedy little f*ckers.
1
ROCK…HARD
A HORN BLASTED behind me. Not just a quick beep to get my ass moving again, but a long, drawn-out laying down that had me saluting the driver behind me with my middle finger.
This was the best part of my morning, and had been every morning for the last three weeks, so if I wanted to sit my ass at the busy intersection of Hollywood and Highland, then the rest of Los Angeles could wait.
“Get moving, asshole!”
and then multiple honks sounded.
I smiled to myself as I stared up at the billboard of the man who’d captured my attention and had me driving several miles out of my way just to see him. Every. Damn. Day.
Lean and muscular in the way most male models are, with longer dark strands on top of his head that were a bit windblown, whoever this man was, he was fucking perfection. He wore only an open leather jacket with the smallest pair of white briefs I’d ever seen, and the look screamed confident. Arrogant. Without a damn doubt the sexiest man I’d ever seen, and with my job, I’d seen a few lookers.
But this guy…he was something fucking else.
What really held my attention was the come-hither stare in his eyes, and the way his thumb brushed over his bottom lip. It said,
Come taste me. I dare you.
And it was effective because I wanted to take a bite out of him. Yeah, call me a shallow bastard, but I was practically drooling over the way his Calvin Kleins hung below his hips to showcase his deep V, and the dark hair that led down to his…
Fuck me. His rock-hard, just-waiting-for-me-to-put-my-lips-around-it cock
—
“Ace? Are you playing in traffic again?” Shayne, my vivacious Aussie friend—and former beard, since I should mention that and get it out of the way—cut through my thoughts.
“Move your ass, or I’ll ram it so hard you’ll shit nuts and bolts for a week!”
That had me chuckling and slowly inching forward. With a final look at Marky Mark—as I referred to him—I hit the gas, to the relief of the long line behind me.
“Tell me you weren’t doing what I think you were doing,” Shayne said.
“What? You mean parking in front of God’s gift to man in his Calvins and
wanking off
?” I said, giving my best impression of an Aussie accent.
“About time, dick!”
came the shout from the slightly pissy Angeleno as he passed me, and I waved in response.
“Bloody hell, Ace. You’re gonna get shot one of these days for holding people up on their way to work. I can see the headlines now: ‘Hollywood’s biggest action star shot dead after being caught wanking off in his Lamborghini.’”
“Hey now, I kept my hands on the steering wheel. It wouldn’t look real good if I turned up to the first read-through having shot a load inside my pants.”
And I’d rather be naked and lying on my bed for that anyway.
“Umm…TMI.”
“As if I could shock you with the company you keep. Plus, you started this conversation, Shayne—I’m just contributing.”
“Speaking of contributing, I was just calling to remind you that Paige starts setup on Friday for your birthday shindig Saturday, so make sure your people know to let her in if you won’t be there.”
“On it. Though I’m sure security wouldn’t mind watching her shimmy her ass over the fence.”
“Ace—”
“Yeah, yeah, Sophie’ll let her in.”
“Wait. Sophie is still your housekeeper? I thought you were firing her ass because she breaks something every time she comes over?”
“I have. I did. Nine times already, but fuck me if she doesn’t start crying and telling me about how bad little Johnny wants to play T-ball this season, and how little Maria really wants one of those kid oven things for her birthday, and how could she afford to keep feeding them gluten-free shit if she lost her job, and for fuck’s sake I just can’t handle it.”
“Aw, hon. You have a heart.”
“Of course I do. Although, it’s not too big since I let the butler go, but…” I said.
“Well, sometimes it’s difficult to remember with this new hardass action persona we’ve been seeing splashed all over the TV and tabloids. I don’t remember you being quite so…
edgy
when we were ‘dating.’”
No shit.
“Well, back then all it took for the badass image was a hot woman on my arm. But since that’s now out, pun intended, I’ve had to rethink my brand.”
“Well, cocky little fucker suits you.”
I scoffed. “Little?”
“You’re right. You’re huge. Massive. The biggest I’ve ever seen—”
“I get that a lot.”
“Aaand I think that’s enough ego stroking for the day.”
“In all fairness, it wasn’t my ego I wanted stroked, but you’ve made me feel good this morning either way.”
“Ew. Go to your meeting—”
“Read-through.”
“Yeah, read-through, whatever. And try not to piss anyone else off today. The paps are watching,” she singsonged.
A quick glance in my rearview mirror told me she was right about that. The same silver Honda that’d been trailing me since I pulled out of my Beverly Hills neighborhood was a couple of cars back, and no doubt there was at least one guy snapping away inside.
Fucking great.
“By the way,” Shayne continued, “there’s a nice shot of you on TNZ holding up traffic on Highland and flicking off some poor driver behind you. Classy, Ace.”
“Motherfucker. That was two minutes ago. I just got on Barham.”
“You know they’re following you because they all want it.”
“Yeah, I know what they’re after.” The same thing they’d been following me for for a year. The first public shot of me with someone since my coming-out press conference. “Good luck. Not gonna happen.”
“Just be careful, please.”
“Always,” I said, and after ending the call, I turned the volume of the rock song on the radio all the way up and hit the gas.
* * *
NEVER IN MY life would I have imagined myself walking between the soundstages of Warner Bros. studio on my way to my first Hollywood job.
Me, Dylan Prescott, heading toward Stage Sixteen to work on a movie.
It was unfuckingbelievable. But there I was. And I had to admit, I was pretty nervous. Not only was I going to be in a movie, I was going to be in a movie starring the number one action hero in the world right now—Ace Locke.
The Ace Locke who tackled ninjas in
The Last Guttersnipe
. The Ace Locke who saved a battleship from sinking after three missiles hit it in the first
Insurrection
. And the Ace Locke who had starred in every single one of my filthy fuck fantasies. Yes,
that
Ace Locke.
When I’d first arrived in L.A. three months ago it hadn’t been with the intention of going into the acting business. I was quite set on my path of modeling until my agent got in my ear about having a face the camera would love. Seemed like a no-brainer. I mean, I was already stripping down to nothing for photos, but then she mentioned TV and movies and instantly had my attention.
So, courtesy of a lucky break, here I was, walking toward my future.
I stopped in the middle of the street to take in my surroundings. The iconic WB water tower, and to the left, the exterior of
Brooklyn Nights
, one of my favorite cop shows. Studio tour trams full of tourists roamed the streets within the lot. And all of it was backed up against an enormous hill separating Burbank from Hollywood.
