Malibu Betrayals (19 page)

They sang Oasis’ “Wonderwall,” both angled at forty-five into one speaker. The feeling of having so much attention focused on her could be dangerous. The crowd screamed their approval, and Sam warmed to her toes.

She watched Gage soak in the applause, and the smile on his face was as if he smiled with his whole body. That was how he did everything, how he would do everything—with all of himself. He put all he was into showing her how strong she was; he was a guide. The song had spoken of winding roads and blinding lights, but she wasn’t blinded. She could see Gage hadn’t let Hollywood change him. He enjoyed singing, so he did it regardless of who he was. He wasn’t like all the rest, which meant maybe they actually had a chance at making this work.

Minutes later, Sam and Gage took care of their bill and took the back door out to their car. Sam’s heart beat at a furious speed in her chest, and she gasped for breath. Gage bundled her into his car, and she all but gushed, “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

Gage’s deep bark of laughter filled the car as he accelerated north on Pacific Coast Highway. “You nailed it! Who would have thought you could even sing, but Metallica and Oasis? Nice.”

Sam screamed, “Woo-hoo!” She’d never known such a rush. He’d given her a tiny peek into what he experienced every day on set, and wasn’t that like him? She wasn’t sure if she’d ever met a more a more generous man.

They couldn’t get to his house fast enough. Seeing him on stage living the life he wanted, not letting Hollywood force his path, shifted something inside of her. She hadn’t felt this alive in years, and her body was on fire. With blatant approval, she ran her gaze along the length of his body, anticipation drumming to the tips of her nerve endings. Long and thick with muscle, he was nothing but hard planes and sharp angles—just the way she liked him.

Security stopped them at the gate and did a quick sweep of his car. Sam twisted in her seat to see and then turned back around, fisting her hands in her lap. “Are you kidding me?”

Gage chuckled. “Almost there.”

Sam threw her hands out. “Wait. We forgot. You owe me ice cream.”

He threw her a look that said she was crazy without opening his mouth. “Tomorrow. All you want. Right now, I want you.”

I want you
. And just like that, she couldn’t argue if she wanted to. And she did not want to argue.

He pulled into the garage, and they bolted from the car as the door closed. He flew through the entryway, yanking Sam in behind him. As soon as the door was locked, she pushed him up against it, sliding her tongue into his mouth, demanding a response.

All of the adrenaline and excitement of the night pushed them higher, not just the singing, but the conversation, and something else—the time to learn about each other. He understood her, really understood, her need for independence, her need to create. No other man ever worked so hard to
know
her before.

With fast, jerky movements, they tore off each other’s clothing, throwing the pieces across the hall. “Fuck, I want you so bad.” Sam tugged at his lower lip, grabbing the condom from his hand. Ripping it open, she dropped before him and wrapped her hand around his length. His skin seared her skin, hard and smooth as she rolled the latex down to the very end with a firm squeeze.

“God, Sam.” The ragged tone of his voice empowered her in a way karaoke never could.

Standing, she pulled him in for a kiss and then in one smooth motion, using her arms behind his neck for leverage, hopped up, and wrapped her legs about his waist.

Without waiting for him to catch up, she maneuvered over his length, suspended with him pressed thick and hot against her core. Her body screamed for release, and waves of anticipatory flutters spread out to the ends of her limbs.

It was always this way with him, hot and urgent, like trying to get to the surface of the water in order to breathe. She wanted to be around him and in him all at the same time. Holding his gaze, she slid down in one, long, satisfying motion, her body stretching to accommodate him and then gripping him to keep him there. With him pressed tightly to her, she closed her eyes, reveling in the wholeness of it all. She could get used to this, and for the first time she wasn’t scared.

“Holy fucking shit.” Gage’s words groaned out through gritted teeth and set Sam off hotter than before.

She smiled, lifting her body and then lowering back down to the hilt over and over again. Gage lashed his tongue against her breast, and she tugged at his earlobes, sliding her tongue along the ridge of his ear, down his neck, then back over his hot, wet mouth.

Every time he stroked her tongue with his, she timed her body to slide down his shaft, and white-hot heat washed over her, cresting, building a fire.

Squeezing her thighs tight about him, she rose one last time, her body pulsing, begging for one more deep thrust to take her over the edge and shatter every inhibition she ever dreamed of having.

Gage squeezed her ass, the pressure increasing the throbbing pulse low in her core, and drove her down his length, with a shout of pure animal release.

Wave after wave of blinding pleasure poured over her, and he held on with a death grip, as if determined not to fall.

But she’d already fallen. Hard.

Chapter Nineteen

As promised
tomorrow
came and Gage delivered. After a full day filming on set, they strolled in companionable gluttony as they made their way leisurely through the Country Mart. Sam licked the ice cream sliding down her cone and onto her thumb. One thing she loved about California was ice cream in March. The evening sun still warmed the concrete, and barely a breeze ruffled her hair. Café Habana had been an amazing experience. She’d never had so much fun in her life, and to her surprise, no photo-ops covered the tabloids that morning when she got up.

A few camera flashes went off here and there, but nothing too bad. The Country Mart was known for not welcoming paparazzi. She took a bite from her cone with purpose.

Gage chatted on about the complexity of his character in the film as they wound through the meandering crowds of the Country Mart, ignoring muffled whispers. A few brave and starry-eyed souls approached for autographs, and Gage delivered with a grace and sweetness that surprised Sam, and then they’d continued walking as if it was all so very normal. For him, it was. For her, she wished people would quit interrupting, which left her feeling selfish and petty. She shoved the feeling down with great effort, determined to enjoy her ice cream and their walk.

When the last pair of fans walked away, Gage hesitated. “Wait a second.”

Puzzled, Sam turned. She wiped at her chin and lips. “What?”

Smiling, he stepped close and molded his warm lips to hers. His heat was a delightful contrast to the chill of her ice cream. He tasted her with his tongue. “I wanted a bite.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t our Hollywood wannabe clinging to the shirttails of the playboy actor.”

Sam reeled around, wishing she could shove her ice cream into Mrs. Evans’ face. But she’d never treat ice cream so poorly. “Playboy? That’s funny coming from Ethan’s mother.”

Mrs. Evans stood next to Brigitte, both chins tipped up so far, Sam could see up their nostrils. Not a flattering view. “No class, but you won’t think it’s so funny after this,” Ethan’s mother said. She shoved a glossy magazine into Sam’s chest.

Once the sharp sting of her brain freeze subsided, Sam pulled her shoulders back. These little run-ins were getting old. “Really? You stopped my afternoon for mean-girl jabs? Talk about no class.” She turned to Gage. “I’m sorry.” Flashing him a brilliant smile, she looped her arm through his as they stepped away from the two spiteful women.

Determined to show the women she didn’t care, Sam flipped the magazine over but not without a little dread. She glanced at the cover and froze.

Gage leaned in for a closer look. “Son of a bitch,” he ground out.

A picture of him kissing her on stage stared back at her, which she could deal with, but the article heading threatened to empty her stomach, and she really hated to waste ice cream.

Tensing against the words, Sam read the heading again.
Behind the Loss of Ethan Evans: An Intimate Interview Detailing the Daughter-In-Law’s Tryst With The Enemy
.

“We want the pictures.” Brigitte stepped forward. Her pitchy voice grated against Sam’s ears.

A crowd had gathered, and camera flashes started anew. Sam wanted to disappear.

Gage’s bicep tensed under her hand.

“Relax. They aren’t worth a scene.” She ran her hand down his arm, attempting to get his focus on her instead of them. Sadness filled her heart. The last thing she needed was a rescue, especially against something she knew would happen.

She could handle a couple of gnats on her own. She turned, keeping her voice low and pleasant. “Well, that doesn’t really matter, does it?” She turned her back to the two women, as if the pictures didn’t matter, as if the magazine didn’t matter—as if. But dismissing the harpies gave her a measured amount of joy.

“We want the pictures of Ethan with those women. What kind of pervert would want to keep them?”

Sam turned back on her heel. “That is a very good question.” Ethan’s photos turned out to be more than casual nudes. She’d been mortified, horrified, and humiliated beyond comprehension. His mother and sister knew about them? What the hell? But more, they wanted them. The whole family was sick.

Sam tilted her head and whispered low to Ethan’s mother. “You want to see your son entering a young woman, Mrs. Evans? Taking her from behind? That’s what you want so badly you won’t leave me alone? Crossing the line, even for you, don’t you think?”

The woman sucked in a breath.

Gage stepped forward. “Sam.”

She held her palm out to him, halting his approach. “No, just a minute. These women started this, and it’s about time I finish it.”

“You filthy, little—”

“I’m
filthy?” Sam directed a look at Brigitte, who pressed her lips together, cheeks burning a deep red. More cameras flashed. Sam’s heart slammed in her chest. Disgust was acid in her mouth as she directed her question to Mrs. Evans. “You knew. And you let it happen anyway, and now,
now
you want the pornographic evidence of your son’s infidelity?” Her voice shook. She heaved in a breath, but her lungs constricted.

Gage stood by her side, her embarrassment acute. Now he knew her dirty secret. The one she’d hoped no one would ever know.

Mrs. Evans grabbed Brigitte’s hand. Her voice trembled in apparent rage. “He
deserved
some happiness. He’d never gotten any from
you
.” The older woman all but spit the words. Brigitte stood silent, with an odd light in her eye. Sam couldn’t, didn’t want to, imagine what the woman was thinking. This family had problems. Problems she never saw, or never let herself see.

Brigitte spoke up as she smoothed her blond hair back over her shoulder. “The pictures belong to us. We want them, Sam. Enough of this.” She reached a hand out. “Besides, they only bring you pain.”

Sam laughed. “You worry about me, Brigitte? How touching. The two of you will burn in hell before you lay a hand on those photos.” She turned to Gage. “I’m done here.”

“Sam,” Brigitte screeched and more heads than just Sam’s turned at the sound.

Oh, this was just great. The damned paparazzi would have a field day.

Swinging around, Sam marched back to the women until she stood nose to nose. “I’m filing a restraining order.”

Ethan’s mother seized in a breath and then grabbed her daughter’s hand, taking off the way they’d come. A few of the paparazzi yelled out a few questions, which only spurred Mrs. Evans along faster.

She stilled. He pulled her resisting form into his warm embrace, and the pressure of his hug calmed her.

She gave in for a count of three, then with gentle pressure, stepped back. Holding his gaze, she shook her head and swallowed against the lump in her throat. Tears burned behind her lips.

His face fell. “Sam, this picture must have been someone in the club. A cell phone, nothing more. This is different. It wasn’t about us, not really.”

The solid wall of his chest had shielded her; his strong arms had protected her. Fearless and loyal, he demonstrated the characteristics of a good man at every turn. They were tested and they handled it. Maybe it wasn’t so much protecting herself from his life as it was protecting him from her life. He was right. It wasn’t about them, and she didn’t want him to find out what it had really been about.

Sam followed Gage into her condo. She needed a few more things, and the threat still hadn’t been resolved. What she wanted to do was be alone, go for a swim, lose herself in the relentless rhythm of the ocean.

Walking through the kitchen, she dropped her bag to the floor next to the end of the counter and then walked over to the sliding glass doors.

Gage wrapped his arms around her waist, strong and sure. She leaned back into his warm chest and released a sigh of relief. He made her feel safe, whether she liked it, wanted it, or not. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

He nuzzled the side of her neck, and the fine hairs rose along her skin and down her arms. “You know we need to talk,” he said.

Sam closed her eyes. Talking about the Evanses, especially Ethan, was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d rather get her teeth pulled, but like a cavity, if she didn’t do something, it would fester and cause more pain.

Turning in his arms, she buried her face in his neck and breathed him in. The smell of his skin, the aromatic essence of
him
mingled with his cologne. Her favorite scent. She pressed her lips into his warm skin, sighed against the pulse in his neck. “Can’t we just pretend that the Evanses never existed?”

His chest rumbled. “No. If that were true, I wouldn’t have had to wait so damn long to have you in my life. You can’t dismiss or pretend this away, Sam.”

She leaned back and looked into his eyes. He was serious. No doubt remembering the night she’d walked away from him, hurting him in a way she’d never imagined. But what could she have done?

Been honest.

She blew out a breath.

Excelling remained somewhat of an obsession for her. The failing of her marriage had chipped away at her, insidious and persistent. She’d fought to polish and revise the relationship into a beautiful love story.

But there had never been anything to edit. She couldn’t fix a story that never existed.

Whether she liked it or not. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed her, rough, fast. “I don’t want your apology. You don’t have anything to apologize for. What I want—” He broke away and strode to the bar. He poured scotch into two tumblers and then pressed a glass into her hand.

She looked at the amber liquid then back to Gage with a raised brow. “Good call.”

Anything to smooth the edge of anger that still simmered. She threw her head back and downed the scotch. The spirits burned her throat, and her breath seized. She grabbed onto the shelving unit and coughed.

Gage rubbed her back with a firm touch, removing the tumbler from her trembling fingers as she struggled for air. “Well, that’s not exactly what I had in mind, but okay.” He raised his glass in salute and then pulled a swallow.

Warm fingers linked with hers, and he led her to the chaise lounge. He settled back, pulling her down between his legs, her back against this chest. They watched the ocean in silence, while he ran his fingertips up and down her arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s humiliating.”

Gage squeezed. “There is nothing humiliating about fighting for what you believe. You believed in your relationship. People saw that and didn’t have the heart to tell you any different.”

“I wanted my marriage to be what it should have been. I didn’t want to see what it really was.” She turned sideways in his lap. “Deep down, I knew something was going on. That’s when I’d decided to leave. But I never imagined the truth. That’s for sure.”

Resting her ear against his chest, Sam breathed in time with his even heartbeat. They stayed silent, listened to the ocean sounds, blanketed by the dark velvet of the night sky. Her throat tightened. “Why didn’t he love me?” She whispered so low she hardly heard her own voice.

Gage tilted her chin and caught her gaze. “It wasn’t you.”

She dropped her forehead back to his muscled warmth.

He nudged until she sat up and faced him. Running his hand along the length of her back, he spoke, his voice low but succinct. “The man didn’t love himself. So he hunted. The women gave him power. Made him feel like he mattered. In a way, I can relate.”

“You are nothing like him.” The vehemence in her voice a telling sign of how far she’d fallen.

Gage chuckled. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, and you’re right. Ethan Evans and I are nothing alike. But I understand searching for ways to feel relevant. It never works. It’s gotta come from within”—he tapped over the area of his heart—“or it’s never enough.”

Sam rested back, once again losing herself in the steady rhythm of his heart. So calm, steady—like him.

He was right, but was he talking about Ethan or her?
Did
she love herself?

She was certainly trying, damn it.

But she was fighting an uphill battle. After everything Ethan had done, she was terrified, and the idea she considered putting her heart in the hands of a celebrity seemed ludicrous.

Gage was supportive and warm, challenging and fun, and most of all, nothing like Ethan, but if she did love herself, would she really risk that kind of position?

He brushed her hair away from her forehead. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m going to file a restraining order tomorrow.”

“Good. You need to, but what are you really thinking about?”

“How wonderful you are, and how scared I am.”

He squeezed her shoulders, and she sat up.

Dropping his feet to the floor, he held her with his gaze. “Not all celebrities are alike. Being with one is not like being with another.”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Sam.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “I’m not searching for anything to make me whole. I’ve already found it.”

She tensed.

“And as much as I love you, it isn’t you, so you can wipe the terrified look off your face. It’s me, my acting, the chance to give back. I won’t be constantly searching for something else. Which leaves me to love
you
.”

Something unfurled in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed his hand over hers.

“I know this is hard for you, and it’s hard for me, too. I’m sure you expect me to trust you, too, but it isn’t easy when I know you don’t trust me. I want a partnership, Sam. I don’t want this relationship to be all about whether or not you can trust me, but about trusting each other. Working together.”

And then it happened: an opening, like a rush of fresh air, or sudden clarity, and her heart turned over in her chest with a firm thub-dub. She loved him. Plain and simple and beautiful.

Unable to say the words, she studied how his brows drew together over the intense light of his eyes, and turned her hand to link her fingers with his.

Ethan had never wanted a partnership; he’d wanted an assistant, a house keeper, or a convenient plus one.