Hollywood Hit (18 page)

Christina took the straw from Tyler. How long had it been since she’d snorted the white powder up her nose? Her eyes always watered at the burn, but there was fabulous clarity and excitement that pulsed through her with a bump. She bent forward and her sable curtain of hair, released for the party time of night, grazed her bare shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice drifted over her skin before she took her first sniff of Lady White. Christina looked over her shoulder and locked her gaze on the soulful eyes that held little happiness.

“
I
shouldn’t be here?” Without taking a hit, Christina passed the straw to the girl to her right. She unfolded herself from her seat and stood. “I’m doubting that Clarity has nighttime field trips to house parties in Malibu.”

No, she shouldn’t be here and most definitely Bradford shouldn’t be here. With his presence, Christina had the perfect excuse to leave. Striker was already caught up with the blond waif to his side, both chattering to each other at a sycophantic rhythm near the speed of light.

Christina moved to Bradford. He held a clear-colored drink that fizzed.

“It’s sparkling water,” he said, reading her mind.

“Why are you here?” She asked.

“Glutton for punishment.” He said and tilted his glass to his lips.

She’d thought he would stay at Clarity for four more weeks. She’d thought he wasn’t ready to be released into the world. His tongue chased away the drop of water that clung to his full lips. She’d also thought she was finished with the electrical pulses that shattered through her body when she stood near Bradford Madison. Clearly she’d been wrong. Pulses flicked about her skin while her eyes wandered across Bradford’s face and arms. He still wasn’t at full megastar wattage, but even at seventy-five percent he was the hottest man at this scene. Christina’s eyes darted toward the girls scattered through the room. Like hyenas looking for a fresh kill, they’d spotted Bradford and the teeth were out amongst the ladies. In mere moments they would brazenly totter toward him in their teetering high heels, nuzzle his neck, rub his hand and his arm. The bimbettes would be so bold as to actually plant a long, lingering, kiss on his lips as a hello.

Christina followed Bradford’s gaze around the room. After four weeks in rehab, what kind of thoughts went through his mind? Her eyes stuck on a long lean body, ropy with muscle in a white V-neck T-shirt. A dragon raced down the back of the arm that curled around the girl on his left.

“Lead singer for Sick Puppy,” Bradford said. He must have been following where she looked. Christina’s eyes flicked up to Bradford.

“You know him?”

Bradford nodded. “He’s got a great supply.” His eyes landed back on Christina’s. His entire body stiffened as though he fought an internal struggle. His face went pale and his lips thinned.

“He used to date my roommate,” Christina said. Did Nikki know her former boyfriend was one of the best suppliers in LA? “Let’s go.” Christina wrapped her fingers in a territorial grip around Bradford’s bicep. He didn’t argue and instead set his glass onto a black lacquer table. Together they wound their way through the crowd, away from the fabulous drugs Adam could supply and toward the front door. Christina paused and texted her car service. In seven minutes she would have Bradford safely ensconced in the soft black leather of the back seat of a Town Car.

Seven minutes could be a lifetime.

Uncertainty flexed its muscles and cast out her desire for Bradford. Uncertainty about his sobriety, uncertainty about his ability to fan away the gadfly girls that even with Christina by his side, clustered toward him, and uncertainty as to whether he would truly leave before scoring fab drugs from Adam.

“Here they come.” Christina sighed and tossed her cell into her bag. She was often silent witness to these women while she worked for Lydia. Part of Christina’s job was to hang out with actors who appeared in Lydia’s films. But even after growing up in the business, she still shook her head at the abject stupidity of these girls. The smarter ones seemed to think of celeb-bedding as merely big-game hunting; fucking a celebrity was like throwing an animal head on the wall. She’d even seen evidence of rendezvous tossed out in bathrooms between these bubblehead blondes—stolen ID cards, driver’s licenses, even passports lifted from the passed-out conquest’s wallet—not to be used for anything nefarious so much as to prove the woman had actually bedded the star.

The corner of Bradford’s mouth lifted. “I’m way over that.” There was a heaviness to his voice, a tiredness, as though he’d seen and done every trick and come back through the other side to tell the tale. “That”—he eyed two blondes and a brunette in skirts so short they looked to be shirts—“I can conquer.” He shook his head. “No problem.” His eyes darted from the Hollywood hotties and back to her. “It’s the real deal that scares the shit out of me.”

Christina bit the inside of her lip and took a long breath. Billions of words, questions, retorts, scurried through her mind and she’d say none of them. Her phone beeped and she scavenged inside her bag for it.

“Car is here.” She pulled open the front door. Yes, seven minutes could be an awfully long time.

Rush pulled to a quiet stop under the inky night sky. The moon hung over the ocean and left a pathway of light to the horizon’s edge. Nikki’s body thrummed with his nearness. The convertible was down and a soft breeze whispered off the water. They sat at the ocean’s edge in one of the world's biggest cities and yet she felt that they were completely alone. She slid her eyes to the left and gazed at Rush’s sharp cheekbones, kissable lips, and square chin. This man was god-awful sexy with a whiff of sullen secrecy thrown in.

A deadly mix for Nikki.

Hadn’t she always fallen for the dark and deadly type? The bad boys who didn’t say much, never committed, but kept her guessing. Was it the guessing, the lack of sure footing with regards to these men that kept her entranced? Perhaps, like her childhood, never knowing when and with whom her mother would show up? Never sure if she would be fed or sleeping in an alley with one eye open. The thoughts were too deep for Nikki to conquer tonight. Her eyes drifted down Rush’s chest, over his biceps to his exposed forearms, thick with muscle. His hands. Those hands were strong and she guessed well versed in providing pleasure.

“Do you like LA?” His voice was throaty and his eyes never removed themselves from staring at the ocean beyond the windshield.

What a strange question. She loved the sunshine. She loved the freedom. Sometimes she even loved the business and Aunt Cici. Did anyone actually like LA or did they inhabit the city and survive it, merely for the love of story and moviemaking and film.

“It’s a strange place,” Nikki said and let her head roll against the seat back. The booze was wearing off but the effect of Rush, the prickles of heat that his nearness caused, were strong. “What about you, Rush Nelson. Is LA everything you expected it to be and more?”

He turned toward her. His hand rested between them. She wanted that hand to brush along her jaw, to clasp the back of her head and pull her forward, to dance along the thin fabric that covered her pulsing body. He shifted forward, nearer, but paused as though he fought some internal struggle.

“There’s always more in LA,” he said. His eyes danced from her eyes to her lips. He took a breath and moved a fraction of an inch away from her, away from that edge they’d both nearly fallen over. “Is it different than Tennessee?” He turned his gaze back toward the ocean. His body resumed its lazy inhabitance of the driver’s seat.

“Different?” Nikki’s eyes rolled upward and she shook her head. She closed them for the tiniest second. “You have no idea how different. My life before college, before my aunt, with my mom?” She couldn’t even tell him the sad and awful truth. Didn’t want to revisit the details, dredge up the old memories, relive the horrible fears, the sad reality and the bloody aftermath. “Los Angeles is a cakewalk compared to my childhood.”

A slight nod from Rush, but his lips didn’t open, his mouth didn’t move. She wondered if his wealthy upbringing and silver-spoon existence made it impossible for him to understand, to grasp her hard-scrabble childhood years. Could he begin to understand the countless men her mother had brought home, the number of times she’d fought them off, the sickening sound of a bullet entering someone’s belly? Her eyes traveled over him. No, he would most likely be sickened and repelled. Maybe that was why he didn’t reach out and pull her forward, plant his lips upon hers. Maybe being Cici Solange’s niece wasn’t enough to wash her dirty past away from her. She pulled her gaze from his face and stared at the ocean. Small and dirty and little and repulsive, she wasn’t anyone important—she actually wasn’t much at all.

His fingertips brushed up her arms and she turned to him. They hovered in front of her lips and then brushed over her cheeks. She leaned her head into his touch.

“You’re beautiful inside and out,” Rush said.

She closed her eyes and rested her cheek into his palm. The heat coursed through her but was chased with a deep sense of calm, a sense of safety. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him. His gaze locked with hers, that dark and powerful look, a look that sent a tremble down her spine, that look that contained such an earnest intensity. She could never be fully released from his gaze. Nor did she want to be.

Rush pulled to a stop in front of Nikki’s town house. He slid his eyes toward her, but she stared out the passenger window toward her front door. Her profile was silhouetted against the streetlights and stirred a want within Rush. Bringing her home was a better move than bedding her. He was meant to get close to her, but he wasn’t being paid to sleep with her, to care for her—not that he ever could care for anyone. But her body captured him. His desire for her was real and forceful and nearly beyond his capability to contain. He’d wanted to take her this night, but he rallied his restraint and pulled back from turning his car toward his home instead of hers.

“I’ll walk you in,” Rush said.

“That’s okay.” Nikki’s fingers clasped the door handle, but Rush was already out of the driver’s side and angling to open her door. She could play tough like she didn’t care, like she wasn’t hurt, but he could see confusion mixed with pain in her eyes. She wanted him close. She’d expected him to take her somewhere, to try something, to do anything but carefully drive her home. While he might want to do all those things, Rush wouldn’t. With Nikki’s track record if she actually found a “good guy,” one who gave her what she truly needed, she’d run for the hills in fear. No, the only way to keep Nikki Solange on the hook, dancing to his tune, was to keep her guessing. To keep her wondering as to whether he did or did not like her. And while he was merely being paid to get close to her and protect her, without her knowing of course, he was in fact starting to have irritating feelings and thoughts about this girl.

He pressed his fingers lightly to her back as they walked up the steps to the front of her town house. He scanned each direction down the street. She parked underneath the building and this was a good neighborhood, but still Rush didn’t see any signs of Jay, the night time Worldwide security guard assigned to Nikki's house.

A tingle crept up Rush's legs. A hinky feeling that something was off, something wasn't right. A feeling he'd learned as a sniper not to ignore. His chest tightened and the muscles in his legs firmed.

She slipped the key into the lock. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. She looked up at him through those thick eyelashes.

His heart jolted with her this close. Heat pulsed between them.  Desire.  He reached for her chin and tilted her lips toward him. He searched her eyes. Her life hadn’t been easy or pleasant, what most people would assume since her aunt was Celeste Solange. No, her life had been rough-and-tumble with an addict for a mom and no dad. A mom who didn’t acknowledge her star sister nor let Celeste see Nikki until the end of Lacey’s life.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to her lips and rippled his other hand through the mass of dark red curls. She was rumpled and sexy and he could devour her. Such a dangerous spot Rush inhabited. Paid to get close. Paid to assess. And yet he’d slipped into a land filled with limbo and uncertainty where Nikki Solange was concerned.

He pressed his body into hers and kissed her.

Their lips met. Her body melded to his as her hips pressed forward, asking for more of him. Her lips yielded to him and his tongue slipped into her mouth and entwined hers.

Heat rumbled through his body. His muscles twitched with the deep pull of want from her body pressed against his. He wanted to back her into her home, carry her upstairs, and bury his cock deep within her. Instead Rush pulled away from her. He took one step back while his hand remained entangled in her hair.

“I want to see you again,” Rush breathed out.

Her body trembled with the kiss and the words. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird pinned by a cat.

“That would be nice,” Nikki whispered.

She pushed on her door and backed into the house. Her hand found the light switch to her right. Her gaze was still locked onto Rush when the lights flipped on. While his face didn’t move, she had to see the shock in his eyes. Shock at what lay behind Nikki and inside the front door of her home.

*

Nikki and Christina’s town house was tossed. Rush had seen a place wrecked before—many—but whoever had destroyed this place had intent. Intent in the form of a jagged knife. White fluffs of stuffing from pillow cushions decorated the floor like tumbleweeds. Ragged rips had been cut through the purple suede couch. Books from shelves lay like shot birds, facedown on the floor. There wasn’t a spot in the place that hadn’t been handled. Even the leftover ash from some long-ago February fire in the fireplace had been raked through and left in a giant pile on the hardwood floor.