Hollywood Hot Mess (11 page)

Devon leans back against the wall beside the mirror, his eyes lingering in all the right places. I’m not so sure what to do with all this newfound woman-power, but he’s obviously enjoying the show. Why not take it up a notch? I bend over, grabbing the dress’s neckline in one hand and my boobs in the other. When my cleavage is boosted as high as I can get it, I stand with a flourish, blond hair whipping through the air. He rewards my efforts with openmouthed gaping.
Good girl
,
Carly!

“Wow, you’re an amazing teacher.” I send my hair spilling over my shoulder and put an arm up to wave.

“Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.” His eyes are glued to my bare leg peeking through the slit.

“Now you’re quoting Marilyn?” I ask with a mild purr.

It’s not lost on him, and he steps to me on the pretense of fixing my hair. A single touch of his fingertips across my skin ignites what feels like lightning streaking through my body. He feels it too, pressing his fingers further into my skin in a needy way. Gripped by a force that’s stronger than both of us, knowing there’s only one way to break its hold. We’re flirting with a dangerous precipice. A razor-sharp edge that, once tipped, changes everything. We both know it. The question is, are we going to fall?

“There was a brilliant brain behind the blonde.” He steps away, dragging a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath. Losing contact with him physically hurts and my body involuntarily follows him. “I don’t know why more people didn’t see that at the time.” He picks up my wet towel, folding it and disappearing into the bathroom. Cold creeps into my limbs when I’m alone. Heather’s closet becomes so surreal I feel high.
Get it together
,
Carly.
I inhale deeply, rubbing my skin, trying to put myself back together.

“You should take that dress. It looks great on you.” He’s back, leaning in the doorway again. I startle and slap a smile on my face.

“I can’t take Heather’s clothes,” I say, bending to take off the stilettos.

“When is she ever going to wear a formal gown on this island?”

“Still, it’s not mine. I wouldn’t feel right taking it.” I put the shoes back on the rack where I found them.

“Suit yourself.” His eyes scan up and down me one more time, a hand coming up from where it has been crossed over his chest to trace his lips. “It’s not really your color anyway.”

I’m immediately deflated by his words, reduced to a little girl playing dress up instead of Marilyn.

He comes up behind me, pulls my hair over my shoulder, releasing the thin line of gold silk that traces the nape of my neck to hold the sleeves in place. “So, do you have plans this afternoon?”

You
, I want to say, so drunk on his touch I’m already mentally undressing him. “Just working on my tan.” I grab the sleeves of my dress to be sure that little unraveled piece of me doesn’t let them slip to the floor.

“I want to show you something.” Our eyes lock in the mirror. He’s biting his lip.

“Okay.”

“Meet me at the dock at three.” It’s not a question.

The moment he’s gone I lean weakly against the wall. How much more of this game can I take?

Chapter Eleven

At four o’clock I’m decked out in a black string bikini and aqua socks, standing on a paddleboard in the warm Mediterranean Sea. I’m not sure if my crotch is wet from the ocean or from having Devon’s hands on me for the better part of an hour. My nerves are shot. My insides are melted. But thanks to that militant trainer, my ass and abs have never looked better.

“Good job, Carly!” Devon holds my waist to steady me. The surf spray gleams over his muscles and his eyes dance just like the sun-speckled water. His little-boy smile is back and he pulls his thumb and index finger down his nose to wipe water away. “Remember, balance with your hips, not your head, and twist from the torso.” He imitates the paddle stroke he just taught me, muscles swimming over his back and down his sides.
Sigh.

“What’s that?” I ask, bending down to study translucent lines streaked over his shoulder. I don’t know how I haven’t noticed them before, maybe because I’ve always been too obsessed with his shirtless front to notice his back. Spread across a two-inch square patch along Devon’s right shoulder blade is a funny-looking scar. I squat on my board and rub a few fingers over the lines without even thinking about it. They’re smoother than the rest of his skin, and I trace the white design, trying to figure out what it is.

“Yeah, you can still see it in the sunshine.” His hand reaches over his shoulder to join mine, tracing the marks from memory. Our fingers brush together but neither of us move away.

“What is it?”

“It was a tattoo. I had it removed years ago.”

“Why’d you remove it?” I can’t believe Mr. Play-by-the-rules Perfect would ever have been rebellious enough to get ink.

“Because at seventeen I didn’t know that tattoos last longer than relationships.” He rubs his shoulder and shrugs.

“What was it?” I ask eagerly, sitting down on the board, spreading my knees on either side of his hips to get closer. I peer at the lines like a crystal ball, trying to decipher Devon’s past. There’s definitely a
D
+ something. The other letter is more faded. Maybe an
R
or a
B
or another
D
. Around it is an outline that looks like a lopsided circle, but was probably a heart once upon a time. “Oh my gosh, who was she?” I playfully slap water at him. He spins around between my legs. Parts of me go molten hot and my heartbeat throbs in those hot places. Devon playfully splashes water on my legs, then carefully wipes the droplets away. His hands linger, making me want to wrap my ankles around his ass and pull him into me. He looks into my eyes, squeezes the soft, tanned flesh of my thighs and sighs.

“That was a million years ago, Carly. I can’t remember anyone else with you right in front of me.” His crooked smile is a thing of beauty. It’s guarded, and a little shy, as if he’s testing the waters to see how I respond to such blatant flirting. It’s about a million times more encouragement than I need. In my dreams, I untie my string bikini bottom and he takes me on the paddleboard. But I refuse to be such a slut. Instead, I lean into him, push my breasts toward his face and rest my hands over his.

“You broke her heart?” I guess, unable to believe I can utter words after hearing him say something like that. He’s biting at a smile that wants to break over his face. But it’s not a real smile. It’s one of those fake smiles intended to distract someone from the truth. Or in this case, distract me from the shudder that seizes his body for an invisible second. But I’m too familiar with painful memories to be fooled.

“How do you know she didn’t break mine?” He squints into the sunshine and steps away, reaching for his own board.
Ugh!
My crotch is beyond pissed right now, but I let it drop. I know a stone wall when I see one. “I think you’re ready.” He lets go of my board and mounts his in one effortless motion, swimsuit riding low on his hips. I’m wobbly as I crawl back to my feet, picking up the paddle.

“Not really, but what the hell?” I push the sunglasses up my nose and rip my eyes away from his stomach, trying to cool off my insides and focusing forward to the horizon like he’s taught me.

“It’s smooth sailing, Carly. There aren’t many waves on this side of the island. You’ll be fine,” he says over his shoulder as he propels his board forward with one deep paddle stroke.

As soon as the shore is too far away to rescue me if I fall, I find my rhythm. It is the freest feeling in the world, skimming over the water, closest thing to Jesus walking I’ll ever do.

We trace our way around the island, mirroring the coastline for the better part of an hour. The white sandy beach undulates with the shifting tide, and when the sand ends weathered gray rocks loom tall, winding around the back half of the island. A towering puce rock reaches up to the sunlight at the far tip of land, and when we sail past it we are immediately welcomed into the safe harbor of a horseshoe bay tucked behind the cliff stand. The water is deep teal and completely flat, unruffled by waves breaking against the gray stones. Tangled forest roots reach all the way down to the water, no sandy beach, just a knot of tree roots and broad green leaves meeting the blue.

“Do you like oysters?” he asks.

“Sure.” I shrug. He quickly drops down to his board, steadying me with one hand and offering me the other one to balance as I sit down into a straddle.

“It’s low tide. The oyster bed should be right under the water.” He takes the mesh bag at the front of his board and produces two wide-blade knives, tossing one to me. He reaches blindly into the water, finally finding what he’s looking for and breaking it off with the help of the knife. His hand surfaces, clutching a huge oyster.

“Just like that?” He’s made the whole process look so easy.

“Just like that.” He tosses it into the mesh bag, dangling it over the side to keep the oyster fresh. “Be careful you don’t hit your legs against the bed. The shells are really sharp.”

Surprised by my own grace, I swing my legs back and lie down on my stomach in one fluid motion. Devon lets out a low whistle. The sound is totally admiring, slightly teasing and quite possibly involuntary. Unashamed and brazen as hell, he focuses a mischievous gaze directly on my ass. My insides fall through the board and that damned unraveled piece of me is reaching out to him again—this time from a place way down low in my belly. Do his lovers always fall prey to his charms so easily? Probably.

“So these lovers that are none of my business—what keeps them from ratting you out to the press?” I pretend to be super focused on the job at hand. His head flies up, shocked by my boldness. I bet no one ever talks to him like I do. Everyone’s too afraid of upsetting him. Secretly, I love shocking his old-man ass, and he seems to like it, too.

“They know how to play the game. It’s a professional courtesy. They all have just as much to lose as I do if our secret gets out.” He scoops water into his hand and rubs it over his chest and shoulder muscles, like he knows how irresistible this makes him look. “And they all know better than to fall in love.”

“You can’t help who you fall in love with,” I chide, propping my elbow on the board and resting my head in my hand. Not the slightest wrinkle of emotion touches his face. “The best relationships just happen.”

“I told you I don’t have relationships.” He lies down on his board beside me—elbow propped up for a headrest—and watches as I fidget. His evasion is more than annoying.

“What do you have?” The term
fuck buddy
comes to my mind. Strangely, I’m extremely turned on by the idea. Is there nothing I wouldn’t do to get his hands on me? With all his flirting and thinly veiled innuendos, I’m about to fucking lose it. I’m also beginning to think he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“I have no-strings-attached sex, that’s all. My life’s complicated enough. I don’t need the drama.” He’s unapologetic, but his eyes are empty. “These women know exactly what they’re getting into. Love is not an option.”

Yep, that’s a fuck buddy. Handshake sex. Something I have zero experience with. But the thought of it makes my lady parts purr like a jungle cat. Could I do that? With him?

“How many?” I’m obviously considering it, because this—what’s happening between us—does not feel like no-strings-attached. It’s different. We’ve shared stuff with each other. That means something.

“Enough.” He chuckles. “I don’t think you really want to know.” He folds his hands behind his neck, looking up to the sky, his tanned muscles flexed so gorgeously. I’m nothing but a deep pit of want. Would the laws of gravity support paddleboard fucking?

“I’m pretty sure I do,” I say defiantly. If I’m going to do this, I have a right to know who’s been there before me. Don’t I? His face hardens, and he shakes his head.

“I’m not proud of it, Carly. It’s fucked up, but it’s what my life is. I like women. I like to fuck women, some more than others. But I never kiss and tell.”

“What about Heather?”

His face twists like he’s smelled something bad. “I can’t remember the last time we shared a bed.” His answer is more of a relief than I expect.

“Good,” I answer before I think better of it. His head snaps toward me and I bite the smile creeping across my face. He doesn’t ask me what I mean, because I’m pretty damn sure he already knows. My crotch is seconds away from combusting because the thought of being one of his women has my heartbeat racing like a thoroughbred. He’s luring me into his web. The trouble is I don’t need any help tangling myself with him.

When the oyster bag is full, Devon cinches the top closed and holds my board as I stand back up and grab my paddle.

“I bet sunset is gorgeous from up there,” I say, nodding in the direction of the rock summit fading into the afternoon sky.

“You like sunsets?” Devon asks over his shoulder.

“I love sunsets.”

“What about sunrises?”

“I’m never awake.” I laugh.

“The sunrise in Malibu will take your breath away. I’ll show you sometime.” His words are so casual, but inwardly I’m all smiling high fives and arms up in a winner’s V for victory. Me? In Malibu with Devon Hayes? Yes, please
.
But I keep my composure.

“But the sunset here? It’s
heaven on earth
.” He waits with a smug smile on his face, waiting to see if I’ll catch his joke

“So that’s where the horrible name comes from?” I laugh with him.

We paddle far from shore, the sky darkening to dusk. When we round the peninsula my breath catches loudly in my throat.

“You’re a liar.”

“What?” His face illuminated in the fading sun, he pops down to sitting and holds my board and hand once again.

“Malibu can’t be prettier than this.”

“Just wait. You’ll see.” My insides are backflipping over one another at the second mention of us in Malibu. There is no way that’s no-strings-attached.

We’re floating in the blue water, far away from shore, just the two of us. He wraps his foot around my ankle somewhere below the water to keep me from floating away and every nerve ending in my body is suddenly focused on that single point of contact. The air grows gray, like the disappearing sun is sucking every color onto the horizon to make one last hurrah.

And what a spectacular farewell it is.

Calming beauty like this doesn’t exist in my world. Not anymore. Not the kind of beauty that will speak to your soul if you let it. Honestly, I quit letting things like that in a long time ago. Life is easier when I’m numb to the world. When I’m too hardened to care. But sitting here with Devon, surrounded by colors that only happen in little girls’ make-believe worlds, I’m beyond moved. Like my eyes have opened for the first time ever and the frozen bitterness has melted from my veins. I’m hollow inside, saddened by all that I’ve let slip through my fingers.

“Are you crying?” Devon cocks his head, studying me.

“It’s stupid, right?”

“No,” Devon says, so certain of his answer I take my eyes away from the sunset to look at him.

“Why not?”

“Because at your core you’re a tender and honest soul. When your guard comes down, this world moves you. Tapping that connection is what makes you a great actress.”

Damn those sweet words that are everything a girl needs to hear. I wipe the remnants of the tear on my shoulder, shivering slightly.

“Then why aren’t you crying?”

“I guess I’m a fraud.”

* * *

Devon and I nearly collide when we tumble out of our rooms, freshly showered, at the same time. His eyes sweep over the green sundress I found in Heather’s closet and the loose fishbone braid draping over my shoulder. I’ve put on a whisper of makeup to compliment my new tan—mascara, cheek stain and lip gloss—but the effect on Devon is palpable. He drags a hand through his hair as he ushers me forward with a wave.

“After you, Miss Klein.” I purposely graze his arm with mine when I pass, and the electric charge that sparks in me makes my mouth drier than the Sahara.

Since our adventure this afternoon, I’ve been having a little pep-talk with myself. The end result of that conversation? I’m going to fuck Devon Hayes. The thought alone sends champagne bubbles streaming through my insides and I shiver with excitement. I’ve never actually wanted sex before. Not really. Not like this. Sex has never been more than a necessary evil. A tool I used to get what I wanted. The pieces of me that might have valued it shriveled up and blew away with the innocence of childhood. Until him. Until now. Until I realized that wanting a man can be every bit as intoxicating as needing a hit. And, good lord, do I need to hit it.

We pad barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Soda water. I’m in the mood for something fancy tonight.” My tone and look are sarcastic enough to earn a genuine chuckle.

“With lime, I assume?” He walks to the wet bar and starts digging in the fridge.

“Of course,” I add over my shoulder, turning to study the evil bitch still stained with Thanksgiving pea mush. I giggle because no one’s bothered to wipe it away. Beautiful as she is, there’s something totally unnerving about Heather Troy. Especially now that I know her secret. She’s good enough at hiding it. But I’m not fooled. I wouldn’t trust the bitch with a sidewalk penny. And Devon lives with her crazy ass.