Hollywood Hot Mess (23 page)

He’s turned to leave when my eyes finally focus again. Giving me no opportunity to change his mind, no chance to persuade him to keep whatever this fucked-up thing is going on between us. Instinctively, I grab for his sleeve, yanking him back to me with much more force than I thought I was capable of. It’s the only thing I can think to do. He cannot leave me.

In one motion he swings around and swats my hand away from his coat. I’m moving toward him at the same time. Somehow our bodies collide and the impact sends me flying backward, stumbling for my feet, stunned to silence.

“What the hell?” I blurt out, unable to believe what he’s done.

His face sobers for a moment, but he says nothing. Drawing himself up to his full height, he mumbles something that might be an apology and turns to leave.

“Devon, wait! This isn’t even my fault!” I reach for him again. His arm slips through my icicle fingers. I fall forward, still grasping for him, but end up crashing into his lower back with a jagged elbow. He winces. It’s enough to stop him.

With an aloof look he turns to me, places his hands on my shoulders to steady me and looks dead into my eyes.

“I never said it was. And if I could get rid of these assholes I would. I don’t like anything getting between me and what I want. But the press is the one thing even I can’t stop.” I wrap my arms around him, but he deflects my advance. It might as well be a backhanded blow across the cheek. I swallow the whimper that chokes my breath. With a maniacal half smile he snorts like it’s all amusing to him. “It’s too bad. We could have had a lot of fun.” And just like that, he kisses me on my forehead and turns to leave. I’m scorched to the core, wondering what hurts more—the sight of him walking away, or how easily he dismisses me.

Shocked, shattered and frozen I find myself alone, shaking beneath my huge fur parka. Tears I refuse to let fall sting my eyes. But I don’t chase after him. I can’t be that girl. I have to find another way. My pleas fell on deaf ears. My protests meant nothing. Devon’s made is mind up, unless I can find a way to change it.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at nothing. Time seems to escape me when I’m lost in thoughts of him.

He didn’t even have the decency to leave the vodka when he pulled his disappearing act the other morning. I’m not about to risk the flash mob outside our hotel to get more. Black coffee and cigarettes, that’s all this girl has to soothe her broken heart.

I’ve gone over every possible scenario in my head. Every way I could force him back to me. I could get myself knocked up and claim it was his baby. But I know I’m not pregnant from that one night and after the paternity tests came back he would just leave again.

I could figure out some way to get rid of Heather, and then be there to console him. But that’s kinda crazy, even for me. I love Devon, but I can’t do jail time.

I’ve done the whole suicide, cry for help thing way too many times. America is bored with that one and it would only remind Devon how fucked up my life is and how far away from me he should stay.

No, the only way to get him back is to make this his idea. To make him want to come back to me. And I really don’t have a clue how to do that. I’m pretty much screwed here.

My last cigarette is finished way too quickly, and I finally have to move from my favorite perch to go get a new pack. My fingers are frozen from the open window and I drop the new pack as soon as it is in my hands. Of course it tumbles to the floor and under the desk—because that’s the kind of day I’m having.

The room is predictably dark. In the light from a single candle I bend down, blindly searching under the desk.

My hand brushes something soft in the shadows. I grab it. Sitting back on my heels, I discover my black lace panties. The ones I was wearing that night. The ones Devon ripped off me because he couldn’t wait long enough to do it the right way.

Oh, that night! That one glorious night, when he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him and he didn’t have the power to resist me.

It’s gross, but nobody’s watching me, so I lift the panties to my nose and inhale the scent of us. The rich, musky smell of what he does to me.

I hang on to them as I walk back to the window and fire up another cigarette, clutching the black lace like it’s a gold medal.

He does want me. In some weird way that neither one of us understand we are helplessly drawn to one another. It’s like our bodies can see what our minds can’t. Sure, it makes zero sense that Hollywood’s perfect leading man would ever want a fallen angel like me. Yet, for some unknown reason, we don’t have a choice about it. The magnetism of our bodies together is something neither one of us can control. Like the other night. He knew he should leave. In his mind he wanted to leave. His body, on the other hand, craved mine like a junkie needing a fix. Our shared passion is something neither one of us can control. It has become its own beast.

Sadly, there’s only one place where it’s okay for Devon Hayes and Carly Klein to be bodice ripping, panty tearing, insatiably in love. Only one place where tabloids and paparazzi applaud our passion. He’s found a way past the obstacles to me so far. It’s my turn to jump a hurdle for him.

Seconds later I’m flying down the hallway to the stairs. Waiting for the elevator is time I don’t have. I need to see him. I have to see him. Two flights up, I burst through the door, chest heaving, cigarette still in hand, and come face-to-face with Tiny.

“Where is he?” It dawns on me that I’ve never been to Devon’s room. Aside from being somewhere on this floor, I haven’t a clue where he is.

Tiny stands from a folding chair and drops his newspaper. He shakes his head, but not before he casts a quick glance at the door to his left. It’s all I need.

My fists pummel the door. “Devon! Devon! Let me in!” Am I causing a scene? Hell yes. But that seems to be the only way to get his attention. Tiny lunges for me, reaching his hand out to cover my mouth at the same moment the door flies open and I’m pulled inside the room.

The warmth hits me first, followed by that unmistakably male scent that weakens me. He stills me in his arms, waiting for me to calm my crazy. I go limp and he releases me.

“I’ve found a way. We don’t have to end things.” My words are breathless. He curls his nose at the cigarette smoke and takes it from my hand, dropping it in a nearby cup.

“All it takes is someone photographing you walking out of my room and we’re fucked. You understand that, right?” He steps away like it matters in private, too.

“I know. I’m sorry. But you’ve got to hear me out.” He stares at me, his eyes set like stones.

“I’m listening.” He shrugs impatiently and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Let’s make love for real.”

“That’s not a solution. That’s trouble.” He side eyes me like I’m high. And I realize how insane that probably sounds.

“No, I mean on set. Let’s make love for real.” I gulp at the silent moment that passes. It’s my only shot. It’s crazy as hell, but it’s got to work. His face softens. His head turns down to the side. He’s actually thinking about this and I probably have about two seconds to convince him. “Think about it. Where is our love lauded? Where do people want us together?”

“But how would we...?” He doesn’t finish the thought before another pops into his head. “You hate love scenes. You’d do that to be with me?”

I nod quickly and reach for him, resting my hand on his. He doesn’t pull away. The wheels are turning. His temples pump and his fingers brush back and forth over his lips. He’s weighing the risk. Is it worth it? Oh, god, please let it be worth it! I step closer, our bodies touching. He looks down at me with a blank face.

Slowly, a wicked smile parts his lips. The smile rolls into a brilliant chuckle. He leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead. Sweet relief washes me weak. I lean heavily against him, drunk on what this means.

By the gods of forbidden lovers, the man is mine again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hand in hand, Devon and I sit unabashedly staring across a conference table at Gavin and an Iliad Films studio suit.

“Run that by me again?” Gavin asks, his face ghost white with fear.

“No more simulated sex. From now on, our love scenes will be the real thing.”

“What...that...no. You can’t just...” Words fail Gavin. He throws his hands in the air, pushes away from the table and begins pacing the length of the room, collecting his thoughts.

“You should be thanking us. Can you imagine the level of authenticity this brings to the film? Everyone will assume it’s your fabulous direction.”

“You can’t make decisions like this,” he blurts out, his face cherry red.

“Technically, I can. I’m producing the film, remember?” Devon’s tone is so in-your-face fabulous I have to bite my tongue to keep from giggling. He’s told me to stay quiet. Let him handle this.

“The studio will not support an NC-17 rating.” The attorney gathers his jaw from the table, allowing him to speak again.

“We aren’t asking you to show anything more than the current rating allows. Hell, you don’t have to show anything you don’t want to. Close the set, shoot it wide angle, bring in the body doubles, cut it however you like. I’m simply telling you what we’ll be doing in front of your camera.” Devon leans forward, pointing a finger at the table to emphasize his point.

“That’s way too much liability.” The attorney shoves a hand in my direction. “She could turn around and sue us over this tomorrow.”

“My legal team drew up amendments for us to sign.” Devon nods to me. I lay the papers on the table. Each one has a list, the things Devon will show. The things I will show.

They get my tits and the top curve of my ass cheeks for every scene. They get Devon’s entire ass, which has never been seen on-screen. In addition, they get thrusting shots, but no penetration. This is art, not adult film.

“We also want the entire cast and crew to sign additional NDAs. You’ll need to sign one, too.” I throw a flirtatious wink in the attorney’s direction. He blushes and quickly focuses on the list. His eyes widen and his head moves in what I think is a nod. Obviously getting to shoot Devon’s delicious derriere has sweetened the deal.

“We’ll need to insert some verbiage to ensure no future litigation, but other than that, it’s up to you.” Instantly, his frown turns upside down. He’s no idiot. He knows the buzz Devon’s bare ass will create for the film. It’s all about dollars. For everyone but Gavin.

“No, I cannot agree to filming this...this porn!” Gavin shouts from a corner where he’s been mumbling to himself. And he thinks I’m the drama queen? Please!

“Surely we can reach some agreement. I’d hate to lose you, Gavin.” The threat is clear in Devon’s words. Clear enough to sober Gavin and pull him from the corner.

“You’re really ruining our film for a piece of ass?” He points a harsh finger at me. I lurch forward in my seat, dying to put the little bitch in his place. Months of hatred are built up inside of me. This is the excuse I need to let it go. Devon squeezes my hand and shakes his head to silence me. I suck in my lips to keep them closed.

“Gavin.” He fixes the director with a chastising gaze. Slowly, Gavin looks away, knowing he’s crossed a line he shouldn’t have. “It’s either this, or we keep fooling around off set and the paparazzi find out.”

I slump against the chair back and side eye Devon. This last threat is a total lie. Devon would never. But it must be a bargaining chip he’s willing to throw on the table. Everybody knows the press storm this would cause. Nobody wants more reporters on location.

Gavin sighs and shakes his head, but takes his seat.

“I’m not asking you to show it. I’m telling you how it’s going to be. Film it. Cut it. Burn it. The only people that need to know what we’re doing are in this room right now.” Devon puts an arm over my shoulder. “We need a little cover.
Mighty
needs a little cover.” He pauses long enough to let that reality sink in. “This—” he taps the papers on the table “—makes it all legal.”

Knowing he’s outnumbered and on the verge of losing his job, Gavin gives up, shrugging and looking away.

“We want you to take everyone’s cell phone when they arrive on set.” I continue outlining our plan. “They’re distracting as hell anyway.”

“What about the new NDAs?” the attorney asks, pulling out his laptop.

“Word it however you like,” Devon says. “Make it ironclad and up the penalty for breaking it.”

“Okay, any specific amount?”

“One hundred thousand dollars,” I add, barely resisting the urge to go all Dr. Evil. It’s a very appropriate sum, if you ask me. Devon squeezes my hand under the table. This may be the sweetest justice of all. Let’s see how these idiots who’ve judged me for months react to possibly losing more money on this film than they’re making. Serves them right if you ask me.

“And then we have a deal?” the attorney asks.

Devon lets go of my hand and reaches his across the table. Game on.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Devon looks down at me, trying to check his eagerness by stretching his shoulders. He better stretch those muscles, because I’m about to abuse every one of them. Our anticipation is palpable. Hiding our secret from the only crew members allowed to remain in the great hall of Devon’s fake castle is the hardest acting job I’ve ever had.

He sits above me, on the same carved mahogany throne he did when we first filmed together. I was terrified that day. Intimidated like I never had been before. He watched every move I made with a suffocating gaze from that throne. And now? I’m about to fuck him on it.

All I manage is a shaky nod in reply. If I open my mouth, I might vomit.

I want this. I really do. But my heart is pounding so heavy in my chest I can hardly force air past it to my lungs. The world blurs. But I grit my teeth and push through it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be with this man.

“It’s okay, Carly,” he whispers, and takes my hand, shaking it back and forth, distracting me and dispelling some of the nervous energy. “It’s just me and you, Sunshine. Nobody else matters.” His words are everything. He’s why I’m doing this. He’s why I
will
do this.

“Okay, Carly! You’re on the verge of losing the king’s love. The queen has demanded he give you up and you aren’t willing to let him go without a fight. You are prepared to show him just how much he means to you,” Gavin yells from his perch by the camera, setting up the scene and giving me my inspiration. As if I need any. I’ve already begged this man a half dozen ways not to leave me. Every time, I’ve found a way to make him stay. A teenage whore has nothing on me.

“Devon, you’ve granted Carly a private audience to tell her goodbye. You’re trying to resist her, because the queen has threatened to kill herself if you do not give her up. But you’re powerless to resist her charms.”

Devon chuckles.

“Why do I always get the fucked-up women?” he asks loudly enough to elicit a snicker from Gavin. My face flames, wondering if that comment is directed at me. He winks at me when I hurl daggers at him with my eyes. Oh, he must mean Heather’s crazy ass.

“Any questions?” Gavin asks, and we both shake our heads, eyes locked together. My mouth goes dry thinking about what’s coming next. Up until this point, our love scenes have been loosely choreographed. We know where the cameras are. We know certain money shots Gavin needs to capture.

Not anymore. Devon and I are free to shoot this scene however we want. Roll with the moment. Let our true passion direct us and hope Gavin can keep up.

“Action!” he shouts, and we continue to stare at each other.

I drag a deep breath into my lungs before I step forward to Devon, tilting my head and dragging my fingers down the length of my neck, curling one around the ribbon at the top of my bodice. I swear the fabric here is quaking with every rocking thud my heart makes. I close my eyes as I pull the strings, untying my bodice and letting the soft, rounded tops of my breasts pop free. My head rolls back as I do this, faking timid innocence and acting as if I’m sooo conflicted about what I’m about to do.

When I open my eyes, he’s all openmouthed, lusting like he’s never seen it before. And I have to remember he really hasn’t. The room was dark when we did this. He’s not acting. I gasp inwardly without breaking character.

The thought does crazy things to me. The power of using my womanly ways stills my chest and forces it forward. My inner sex kitten roars like a lioness, and I swear to myself that Devon Hayes will remember this moment for the rest of his life.

I straighten, turning to him and sliding both hands from my shoulders to my waist, tearing the fabric away, revealing the red rosebuds blossoming on full, white breasts. I sigh in a pained way, as if it hurts to have him so near when his hands aren’t on my body.

One more step, and I fall to my knees at his feet. My gown is huge and billowy. A soft green satin number that piles like meringue around me, slightly obscuring what I’m about to do...for real.

“No!” Devon growls and grabs my arms when I reach for the tie that keeps his pants together. I force my chest forward and raise up on my knees, pushing my bare breasts forward and straight into his face. His hands slip to my elbows, pulling them behind me, stretching me in a bare-chested back bend. He places a kiss in my cleavage, then slides his hands and my wrists to my hips. He holds them both with a tight grip.

I circle my breasts in his face. He rubs his cheek against them, savoring the soft brush of my skin. Further, I push my chest further into him, obscuring his face with a mound of milky white flesh. He opens his mouth to breathe and I wiggle ever so slightly, plunging the rosy tip of my nipple past his lips. He grabs onto it and sucks, hard... I tense in his hands, moaning and pitching my body deeper into him. He takes it gently in his teeth and it feels like he’s biting me...down there.

Unable to take it anymore, I straighten as best I can and curl into him. Searching. Finding. Our lips meet. Our tongues collide. When I pull away he takes me gently in his teeth, holding on even when I cry out and wince in pain. Again the sensation is the same. Like my lips, clit and tits are on the same frequency. I moan against him. He rewards my pain with a hearty groan.

He releases me. My kisses fall to his neck, his chest, his abdomen. Down to the laces I was going for when he stopped me. He still has my hands clasped at my sides. It hurts, but I don’t care.

With my teeth, I grab the leather string and pull. It gives way too easily. I lean into his lap, using my tongue to unlace the soft, salty leather between us. He moans, wanting to give in to me. I try to free my hands but he holds them tighter.

The shaft of his penis is hot, hard and velvety soft. My tongue flicks over the length of it every time I pull another tangle of lacing free. And every time he sucks air through his teeth and grips my hands tighter.

I make quick work of the laces, grabbing the final loop with my teeth and spitting it over my shoulder when it comes completely undone. Nuzzling the folds of fabric away with my nose. The cameraman falls out of his seat when I lick my lips and take the full, impressive length of Devon straight into my mouth. But I keep going. Taking him all the way back, I swallow gently in the way I’ve learned wrecks him.

He lurches forward over my head, a groan sticking in his throat, and releases my hands.

I’m certain no NDA could have prepared the poor cameraman for all he’s witnessing through his lens.

Devon settles back, his legs going wide, giving me room. I no longer care who is watching. There’s something crazy erotic and forbidden about it. And it’s turning me on in some weird exhibitionistic way. Really turning me on.

I pull my lips over my teeth and drink him in, suck him down, lick him raw. Above me he’s panting and grabbing at my hair. Fisting it tighter the deeper I go and the faster I flick. Blond curls tangle in huge jeweled rings.

He grows larger in my mouth and I know he’s about to come. He can’t. We aren’t done with this scene. As if reading my mind, he rushes over me again, pushing my shoulders back so I land with a bounce on the red carpeted runner leading from the hall entrance to the throne.

The pile of mint-green meringue topples with me. Through the flying folds of fabric I watch Devon rip the ermine-lined doublet and gauzy linen shirt from his body. Hurling them to the floor like he hates them coming between us. His pants stay on, hanging open, thrilling me with the massive wood protruding from his fly. The massive wood that’s about to have me wrapped all around it.

His eyes are ravenous, gleaming the darkest sapphire under his golden crown. He dives headfirst into the pile of green fluff, spreading my legs on the cold stone floor and sinking between them. His fingers interlace around my crotch sock and rip it down my legs so forcefully it snaps in two.

My lower belly quivers in the cold, knowing my Brazilian is bared for the world to see. I never thought I would ever want this. But now, it’s all I want. And he’s not doing it fast enough!

I bend my knees and push off the floor with my heels, catching his face between my legs and wrapping so tightly around him he can’t get away. He doesn’t want to.

His fingers dig into my thighs, pressing me into his face like I’m a delicious fruit he can’t get enough of. When his tongue starts to move between my folds a groan curls out of my chest that convulses my back, all of me rising up to the rafters. I pull the green skirts up, biting down on the satin to keep from losing my composure completely and crying out his name. ’Cause right now I want to scream—
Fuck me
,
Devon!
—loud enough they could hear it in the makeup trailer. And he’s not Devon right now.

My legs pulsate against his face, forcing my lips into his tongue with every rhythmic thrust. Between the people watching and the sex-starved days I’ve endured already, I’m about to come. And he knows it.

He releases me, holding my ass in his hands, guiding me where he wants me. The wetness he’s created between my legs slides deliciously down his bare chest and abdomen, painting a wet trail over his tanned skin. His grin is unbearably wicked.