The Princess and the Porn Star (25 page)

The only thing deeper than the secrecy was the intimacy. The closeness that didn’t stop where skin met skin, that had begun well before he’d slipped inside me and wouldn’t end when he withdrew.

Neither of us made a sound. During those rare moments when we weren’t kissing, we just breathed.

And all the while, he moved inside me. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes faster. Sometimes just enough to ignite all my nerve endings and keep me from forming a coherent thought. Sometimes so hard he knocked all the air right out of my lungs.

Somewhere along the line, the feverish, insatiable fucking had segued into feverish, insatiable lovemaking. Rapid breaths on sweaty skin. Hands sliding across flesh just to touch, to feel. Two bodies in search of orgasms but also each other.

On the set of my video, we’d started out too close for comfort, and now? Now this. Aching to be closer, holding on to each other until no space existed at all between us, and still it wasn’t close enough.

“God, baby…” Lee screwed his eyes shut and thrust harder. A quiet groan escaped his lips, and when I rocked my hips a little faster, he threw his head back and gasped.

“Oh, fuck. Oh my God, you’re—” He pulled in another breath and kept fucking me, kept slamming as deep and hard as he could until a shudder forced him all the way into me. He grunted with exertion and took a few more quick, hard thrusts before he moaned and then relaxed.

He rested his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, stroking his hair and the back of his neck with my fingertips.

He pushed himself up on his forearms, and our eyes met.

The world beyond this room existed again. We’d settled back into the reality where we couldn’t be together, and all the reasons why we couldn’t came back into existence.

I’m not supposed to be with you.

I’m not supposed to feel this way.

But I am.

And I do.

Chapter Sixteen

Lee

My left arm was numb, but I didn’t mind. Not when Rachel’s dark hair was splayed across my chest and shoulder, and her body was molded against my side. She’d hooked her leg over mine, and her arm was draped across my stomach.

Faint music brought me firmly into reality. My phone? No, that wasn’t my ringtone. It must have been—

“Shit!” Rachel leapt out of my arms and off the bed. She grabbed her purse off the dresser and dug out her phone. The ringing stopped. “Damn it,” she muttered. She came back to bed and then hit the callback button, and a second later, “Hey, Quinn. What’s—”

I couldn’t hear what Quinn was saying, but he was talking fast. Judging by Rachel’s expression, it wasn’t good. Her eyes lost focus. The crevices between her eyebrows deepened. Her lips thinned into a straight line, and after a moment, she closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

“You’re fucking
kidding
me.”

Oh shit. That’s not good.

Rachel groaned. I put a hand on her leg, and she absently squeezed it as she listened to Quinn. “Okay, I’ll take a look. Thanks for the heads-up.” She hung up and muttered, “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

As she scrolled through her browser on her phone, she said, “Apparently the media are having a field day with our dinner out last night.”

I exhaled hard and rubbed my eyes. God, those fuckers could really tarnish anything, couldn’t they?

“Here it is,” she said.

I read over Rachel’s shoulder.

STOOD-UP OLIVIA TAYLOR MAKES HURRIED EXIT FROM RESTAURANT—Mystery Date Didn’t Show

Olivia Taylor seemed poised, calm and looking forward to an intimate evening at the luxurious House on the Beach restaurant outside LA last night. After an hour and a half alone in the otherwise empty restaurant, though, she was seen exiting in a hurry, hiding her face with her coat. She refused to show her face as her personal assistant whisked her back to her home.

No word on who she was supposed to be meeting. Has her alleged porn-star paramour, Buck Harder, left her high and dry? Or has Taylor moved on to someone else? Perhaps someone who thought twice about stepping out with someone whose recent love life may have involved a man who has sex for pay?

“Buck Harder’s probably a tough act to follow,” said bloggers Chatty & Catty. “Any man’s probably either got performance anxiety trying to go in after a porn star, or he’s squicked out by the idea. Can you blame him?”

Harder is said to be in Los Angeles filming a sequel to the successful
It Gets Harder
. Taylor, who is touring to promote her latest album, is currently nominated for four Rock N Rhapsody Awards: Song of the Year, Album of the Year, Entertainer of the Year and Female Entertainer of the Year.

Rachel set her phone aside. She groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Jesus…”

I wrapped my arm around her and kissed the top of her shoulder. “It’s just wild speculation. You know how these idiots are.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m just, I’m tired of everything they keep saying about you.”

“I’m sorry they put a damper on last night.”

“No.” She put her hand over mine and managed to smile in spite of her frustration. “Last night was perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I pulled her closer and kissed her gently. “It would just be nice if they’d leave you alone.”

“Leave
us
alone, you mean.” She rested her head under my chin. “You know, you and I could pass each other on a sidewalk and not even see each other, and they’d still find something to say about it.”

“No kidding.”

“Which means Risen Star will be breathing down my neck about it.”

I ran my fingers through her hair. “But it’s all just wild speculation. Isn’t like they have anything concrete.”

“Not yet.” Rachel paused. “You know, half of the scandal right now is the mystery of it. Are we or aren’t we?”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I’m thinking we should go public. Take the mystery out of it.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

She nodded. “Once they get over it, and the novelty of ‘I told you they were dating’ wears off, they’ll move on. But as long as we keep it a secret, and they have even the slightest suspicion, this isn’t going to stop.”

“Except your label is going to head you off at the pass if you try to say anything.”

“I could tweet it.” She paused. “Except then the label would flip and then twist my arm until I say my account was hacked and that it wasn’t really me.”

“They’d be hard-pressed to prove both our Twitter accounts were hacked.”

“True.”

“But hacked accounts aside, this would stir up all kinds of headaches for you.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath, then looked me in the eye. “But I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore.”

I stared at her. “Rachel, if you go—if
we
go public, this could—”

“I don’t care anymore.” She put her hand in mine and squeezed gently. “I’m tired of the secrecy and pretending I’ve never thought twice about you.” Gesturing at her phone, she added, “And I’m sick of listening to the way people speculate about us.”

“They’ll keep speculating even if we go public.”

“But maybe they’ll get tired of it eventually.”

I moistened my lips. “So you want to go public, then.”

Rachel looked at me through her lashes. “Are you okay with that? I mean, do you want people to know about us?”

“Of course I do.” I smoothed her hair. “But I don’t have as much to lose as you do. Once we do this, there’s no going back. It’s out.”

“I know. It could also mean Risen Star plays their morality card.”

I cringed. “Rachel, I don’t want to cost you your contract.”

“To be honest,” she said, “I don’t think they’ll drop me over it. They’ll threaten it, but the fact is, what we’re doing isn’t hurting my ability to perform and uphold the rest of the contract. If I start getting high again or talking trash about Risen Star, that’s one thing.” She shook her head. “But this? They’ll just get pissed off when the news breaks, and they’ll get over it when it all dies down. As long as my albums are selling and I’m lucid enough to work on the next one…”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m not really sure about anything when it comes to Risen Star, but I am sure about this.” Rachel grinned. “In fact, I have an idea.”

The leather seat creaked as Rachel fidgeted, smoothing her long blue skirt for the hundredth time.

“Relax,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me, and we both laughed. Relax? Yeah right. Not tonight.

“You’ll be fine.” I kissed her cheek and smiled. “And you look amazing.”

“So do you.”

The limo inched forward.

I looked at Rachel. “You sure about this?”

“Too late to back out now.”

“We’re not there yet.” I took her hand. “It won’t hurt my feelings if you change your mind—”

“No,” she said. “I need to do this. I’m tired of playing these stupid games for the media’s benefit. We’ll just show them the truth, and they can deal with it.”

“Which they will,” I said. “As snidely and obnoxiously as possible.”

“Probably.” She leaned toward me. “But I’m not ashamed of you, and I’m tired of pretending I am.” She kissed me lightly, and we both smiled nervously.

The limo stopped. The door opened.

Rachel closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then slid toward the door. After one last glance back at me, she swung her legs out, made sure her heels weren’t teetering on the edge of a bump in the red carpet and took the chauffeur’s hand as she stood.

No turning back in three…two…

I stepped out of the limo behind her.

Immediately, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd, and every lens in sight shifted toward me. Toward
us
.

Heart pounding and stomach turning, I offered Rachel my elbow, and she slid her hand around it.

She looked up at me. I smiled. So did she, though she still looked as nervous as I felt.

On both sides of the red carpet, reporters leaned toward us with microphones, practically doubling themselves over to stretch as far across the barrier as they could.

“Ms. Taylor! Ms. Taylor! Over here!”

“Over here, please! Ms. Taylor, Mr. Harder, look over here!”

“Is this a publicity stunt, or are the two of you really dating?”

“How about a kiss? Come on, let’s see a kiss!”

As we walked, I put my hand over hers on my arm. She glanced up at me again, and her smile was tight and nervous. I wanted to kiss her just then—in part because she looked so damned good, in part to reassure her—but I let her call the shots.

We stopped and faced the cameras. God, I’d never felt so much like an animal in a cage. The reporters may as well have been asking us to do tricks in exchange for fish.

Rachel’s brow creased with an unspoken question.

Heart pounding harder than ever, I dipped my head and kissed her. Not deep, nothing that would be remotely inappropriate in public. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so exposed and scrutinized and…and just
weird
.

After a moment, long enough for them to get their damned photos, I broke the kiss and we exchanged one last glance before we kept walking.

As we neared the end of the red carpet and the entrance to the venue, Rachel exhaled hard.

“You’re doing fine,” I said.

“What about you?”

“I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.”

“Olivia!” A pair of long-haired guys with tattoos creeping up from their collars approached. I recognized them as the guitarist and lead singer for Pounding Sand.

One hugged Rachel. “It’s great to see you!”

“You too,” she said. She hugged the other and then gestured at me. “Ronnie and Tom, this is—” Her head snapped toward me.

“Buck.” I extended my hand.

“Ooh, you’re that porn star, aren’t you?” the singer, Ronnie, asked as he shook my hand.

I glanced at Rachel. When she nodded, so did I. “Yeah, I am.” I extended my hand to the guitarist, but he didn’t take it.

Instead, he asked with a hint of slime, “So have you ever been to an event like this?”

I just smiled. “A few, actually.”

“Have you, now?”

“Your industry isn’t the only one that gives out awards,” I said.

He wrinkled his nose. They both gave Rachel a nod and then disappeared into the crowd.

Rachel smirked as she watched them go. “That went well.”

“Think they liked me?”

She giggled. “Probably not. Oh well.” She took my elbow again. “They’ll get over it.”

We continued into the venue. As the murmuring voices and flashing cameras on the red carpet faded behind us, Rachel let out her breath. “I’m pretty sure the entire payroll of Risen Star just shit bricks.”