The Wedding Band (25 page)

Tearing his eyes from her nipples, Kota glanced over her shoulder. Tri was on the couch, wiggling around with all three legs in the air, like Kota had interrupted something good.

So much for pining.

He switched tactics. “Too bad,” he said. “Cy's been pacing all night. He can't settle down till he sees his brother.”

“Baloney.”

“Truth. He's out in the car.” He gestured. “You want to break his heart, go ahead.”

“Oh, for the love of . . .” She shooed her hands at him. “Go get him. I want to see him, anyway.”

A minute later, Cy bounded through the door, grinning his ghastly grin, dancing at Christy's feet, sticking his nose up her nightgown.

When she sat on the couch, he crawled into her lap, paws on her shoulders, kissing her like his long-­lost love. Tri wriggled between them, the pair of them pushing Christy's nightgown all the way to New Jersey.

“Okay, enough,” Kota said when he couldn't take it anymore. “Down, guys.”

He'd been propping up the wall so he wouldn't crawl into her lap too. Now she smiled over at him, and before he knew it he was sitting on the coffee table, his knee an inch from her bare one.

Her caramel eyes locked onto his. “Kota.” Her voice, her smoky, sultry, sexy voice, shivered through him. “What're you doing here?”

“I told you.” He worked to keep his own voice steady. “Cy missed his brother. And you too, I guess.” Obviously, the dog was no judge of character.

“This is the third time you showed up here today.”

He tried to look away. Couldn't. “Don't read anything into it. You got nothing I want. Except sex. Just sex.”

She brushed his knee with her fingertips. “Do you want to have sex now?”

He swallowed. “Well, since I'm here.”

“Okay.” She stood up. “Ray's home, so we should do it in my room.”

He followed her up the steps like a robot, lust wrestling with conscience. His body's message was clear and simple.
Sex. Now
.

But his mind asked,
Why?
Why is she letting me use her this way?

It made no sense. She wasn't slampiece material. She wasn't a starfucker.

Yet at the top of the stairs, she lifted her nightgown over her head, leaving only a white thong pointing like a road sign to heaven. She shook down her hair so it tumbled over bare shoulders.

And she came to him, a slow, sinuous walk that gave him time to drink in every bombshell curve. Stopping inches away, she laid her hands on his chest.

His own hands hung helplessly at his sides.

“Kota.”

God, he loved the way she said his name.

She smiled, and his knees turned to water.

He stepped back so her hands fell away. “Christ, woman. Don't you even want to talk first?”

Her brow creased. “I thought you just wanted sex.”

“No. I mean, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. What was wrong with him? She was offering it on a platter. Her bed was six feet away. He should toss her down face-­first and do her like that. Then he wouldn't make the mistake of kissing her again. Or looking into her eyes.

“God
damn
it,” he squeezed through his teeth. “Why're you making this so hard?”

“I'm trying to make it easy,” she said, stepping out of her panties.

“Christ.” He could do this. He was hard as a spike. All he had to do was drop his pants—­

A bloodcurdling scream split the air. He leaped out of his shoes.

Something crashed below, and he shot down the stairs, adrenaline-­powered, testosterone-­fueled, ready to take on the bad guys bare-­handed.

Streaking through the living room, he slammed on the brakes in the kitchen. A blonde was standing on the counter. “A hellhound! A hellhound!” she screeched at the top of her lungs.

He followed her pointing finger. Poor Cy cowered in the corner, tail tucked, ears down, embarrassed as hell.

“Shut up!” Kota shouted over the woman's wails. “He's a dog, for fuck's sake!” Adrenaline stripped away anything like patience or empathy. What kind of movies did this whacko watch, anyway?

He grabbed her by the waist and tried to set her feet on the floor, but she wasn't having it. She climbed him like a tree, shrieking in his ear.

“Ray!” Christy's voice cut through the din like a knife. “Calm down. He's not a hellhound. He's a pit bull.”

Ray subsided to whimpers, but she didn't loosen her death grip.

Kota propped her butt on the counter. Christy helped him pry loose the limbs locked around him.

“Wh-­what's he doing here?” Ray managed through chattering teeth.

“He's visiting,” Christy said firmly. “So chill out, because he's here for the night.”

Ray finally focused on Kota. “Don't you have any
normal
dogs? Are they all
freaks
?”

Christy stepped between them before he could blast her. “They're not freaks, Ray.” Her voice had gone from firm to frigid. “They're perfectly wonderful, and the fact that they've had a tough time only makes them more special.”

Yeah. Go Christy.

“Listen, Ray. I get that Cy startled you. But now that you know he's not a
hellhound,
you can relax. He's very gentle.”

“Right.” Sarcastic. “He's obviously never been in a fight.”

“Those scars are from abuse, not from fighting.” Christy walked to Cy, who was still plastered to the wall. She crouched down and hugged him, and Cy leaned into her, resting his head on her shoulder.

And that was all Kota could stand. He'd reached his limit.

“Come on,” he said, “we're going home.”

Christy gazed up at him with stricken eyes.

“All of us,” he said. “All four of us are going home.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“R
ISE AND SH
INE,
sleepyhead.”

Chris had just enough time to open her eyes before the covers went flying.

Em stared down at her, goggle-­eyed. “Holy shit! What're
you
doing here?”

Grabbing the sheet, Chris pulled it over her naked body as Kota stepped out of the bathroom. Shaving cream covered half his face. Otherwise, he was naked too. And not one bit embarrassed about it.

Em didn't seem one bit embarrassed either. Her head whipsawed back and forth between them. “What the hell? You
never
have sleepovers.”

“Well, I had one last night.” He stepped back into the bathroom.

Astonishingly, Em followed him in. She left the door open. In the mirror, Chris saw Kota calmly stroking a razor down his cheek.

Bare-­assed.

“What the hell?” Em said again.

“There was a problem at her place,” he said. “She might be here for a while.”

Em raised her eyes to the ceiling. “You're a dumbass, you know that?”

“So you've told me many times.”

“And yet it bears repeating.” She met his eyes in the mirror. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Do I ever?”

Em didn't deign to answer.

Instead, she pulled out her phone and scrolled, all business. “You're due at the studio at nine. Peter's coming by at twelve—­and yes, he'll bring a three-­by-­three. Levi's okayed the one-­year deal. He'll bring the papers. And he wants to talk about that Japanese thing, to coordinate with
Blood Money
opening in Tokyo . . .”

Kota tuned her out. Chris saw the actual moment when it happened, when he met Chris's eyes in the mirror . . . and smiled.

Her heart stuttered, then swelled, filling her chest. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and she smiled back, wholeheartedly, giddily.

Em pushed the door shut with her heel.

A few minutes later the shower turned on. Em came out of the bathroom, eyeing Chris like she was a hairy spider in the sheets.

Chris refused to cringe. Kota had invited her here knowing all there was to know. This time, she had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Is it?” Em wasn't giving an inch.

Chris considered asking if she always conducted business with Kota while he was naked, but really, the answer was obvious.

“He doesn't like sleeping with women,” Em said.

Chris's brows winged up.

“I mean actually
sleeping
with them. Waking up with them. Apparently, you're different.” Em didn't sound happy about it. “Which means you can hurt him. Again.”

“I won't.” Chris sat up, pinning the sheet to her chest. Somebody needed some modesty around here. “I deceived you too. I'm sorry about that.”

“Sorry doesn't mean shit. If you hurt him again, if you do
anything
to take that smile off his face, I will hunt you down and I will bury your ass.” Em aimed a finger at Chris. It should've been laughable. She was half Chris's size.

“Kota's the best person I know,” Em said through taut lips. “He's too good for this world. He's too good for you. I will
bury
you.”

And on that chilling note, she stalked out.

The shower shut off. Kota came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. “Is she gone?”

Chris nodded.

“She can be scary,” he said, rubbing his chest with a towel. “But I don't think she'll really kill you.”

“Gee. I feel better now.” She got out of bed to hunt down her clothes. “Can you give me and Tri a lift home?”

“Sure. Or you could stay here.” He smiled uncertainly. “I'll be back early.”

She wasn't quite ready for that, and she didn't think he was either. “I'll take the ride. We left in kind of a hurry last night. I didn't bring much with me.”

He nodded, then disappeared into the bathroom again. A few minutes later someone knocked on the bedroom door. Chris opened it and Em barged in, glancing at Chris's jeans and baggy T-­shirt. “Good, you're dressed. Tony's waiting to take you home.”

Kota stepped out of the bathroom. He was dressed in jeans and T-­shirt too, but his fit like body armor. Chris's belly fizzed way down low, where it counted.

“I've got her,” he said.

Em crossed her arms. “You don't have time.”

Kota took her shoulders. “Chill. My eyes are wide open this time.”

His words hit Chris like a fist in the stomach. He still didn't trust her.

Maybe he never would.

I
N THE CAR,
Christy was too quiet.

Kota took her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “Pick you up later?”

She looked down at her lap. “For more sex?”

“I won't say no. But I was thinking about dinner. There's a little Italian place called Maria's up in Malibu. Off the beaten path.” No paparazzi, and an owner who understood privacy.

Her head came up. “Sounds nice.”

“Only if you like candlelight, and a piano bar, and shit like that.”

Her lips softened into a smile. “Yeah, I like shit like that.”

Warmth flooded his chest. She was so damn gorgeous. And when she smiled at him—­

“Red light,” she said.

He hit the brakes. “Quit distracting me.”

She laughed. He gazed at her.

“Green light.”

“Shit.” He threw the Porsche into gear.

In her driveway, he slipped his hand under her hair. Her neck was warm in his palm. He stroked her jaw with his thumb, and she leaned into it like a cat.

Sitting there behind the wheel, his heart beating fast, his blood humming in his veins, anything seemed possible. Like he was seventeen again, with a pretty girl and a six-­pack on a warm summer night.

Leaving her took all his willpower. “I'll be back by six, okay?”

Her lips quirked. “I think I can live that long without you.”

Good for her, but he wasn't sure
he
could make it.

Dawdling his way to the studio, he daydreamed, picturing himself in the future, coming home to Christy . . .

In the first scene, they were at his place in Beverly Hills. He walked in after a long day on the set to find her stretched out by the pool in a string bikini . . .

Wait. He adjusted the picture, and she was topless.

Adjusted it again, and she was naked.
Yeah, naked.

She stood gracefully and walked toward him, swaying to Sarah Vaughan . . .

Wait. She was singing Sarah Vaughan in her smoky, sexy voice. Singing just for him . . .

His mind sprang forward five years and the setting morphed to a log cabin, mountains rising in the background. He walked through the door tired and happy from a long day at his practice to find her lounging in front of the fire in a snow-­white teddy . . .

Wait. A white thong . . .

A horn blasted him back to reality. The guy next to him at the light was grinning, curling his biceps in the universal sign for
mine's bigger than yours
.

As usual, it wasn't, and Kota was almost annoyed enough to prove it in front of the guy's girlfriend.

Instead, he gave a one-­shouldered shrug, and when the jerk patched out in his pathetic Corvette, Kota wasn't even tempted to floor the Porsche and leave him in the dust.

Today, even the world's biggest asshole wouldn't be able to kill his buzz.

R
AY SHUFFLED I
NTO
the kitchen in her bathrobe, a snotty look on her hungover face.

Pouring a cup from the pot Chris had just made, she said over her shoulder, “I can't believe you're sleeping with that asshole.”

“Sorry you don't approve.” Chris could do sarcasm as well as the next guy.

But being at odds with Ray made life too difficult, so she took a deep breath and started over. “About last night. I thought you were asleep, or I would've given you a heads-­up. I'm sorry Cy startled you.”

Ray snorted. “He did more than startle me. He tried to take off my leg.”

Another deep breath. “Cy's not vicious, Ray. He was probably trying to make friends. But I admit he can be scary to look at.”

“I still think he's a hellhound.”

Which explained the line of salt across the threshold.

Chris pressed her palms on the counter. There was no reasoning with Ray when it came to demons and hellhounds, so she changed the subject instead.

“What's up for you today? Another casting call?”
Please say yes, please say yes.

“A job interview.” Disgusted. “My father set it up. He says he's done writing checks.” Ray rolled her eyes, drama-­queen style. “Can I borrow your car?”

“What happened to yours?”

“The cops booted it yesterday. Can you believe it? Just because I forgot to pay some stupid parking tickets.”

She'd probably get another on Chris's car. Small price to pay to get her out of the house.

Chris set the keys on the counter. “Bring it back as soon as you can, okay? I need to run some errands before six.”

“Why, what's happening at six? Mr. Movie Star coming back for another bang?”

Chris clung to her temper by her fingernails. “Actually, he's taking me to dinner.”

“Someplace ritzy, I hope. It's the least he can do.”

“A little place called Maria's in Malibu, as a matter of fact. Very romantic.” She shouldn't get so defensive, but Ray pushed her buttons.

“Woo, big spender.” Another eye roll, Ray's default expression. “Whatever. As long as he keeps that butt-­ugly mutt out of here.”

That was the last straw. “Cy's welcome in my house,” Chris said through her teeth. “I think it's time you look for another place to live.”

Ray gasped.

Brushing past her, Chris said over her shoulder, “Good luck with the interview. I hope you get the job.”

Because come the end of the month, sister, you're out on your ass.

H
IS HAIR WH
IPPING
as they rolled up Highway 1, Kota glanced over at Chris. “I can put the top up if the wind's too much.”

She'd tucked her own hair into a scrunchie. “No, I love it.” All of it. The wind that stripped the day's frustrations away. The man, framed by the ocean, backlit by the sinking sun.

And the car. She rubbed her palm over supple leather. Her Eos was a convertible too, but comparing it to the Porsche was like holding box wine up to Dom Pérignon.

He must've noticed her petting the seat. “This is the one I'll keep,” he said, “when I get out of the business.”

Her jaw dropped. “You're going back to school?”

­“People keep reminding me I'm not getting any younger.”

She touched his arm. “Oh, Kota. This is great. I'm so happy.” Giddy, in fact, as if the Dom was fizzing in her stomach.

He smiled like he was pleased to have pleased her. “Gotta finish this project first. Wrap up a few things. Prance around in some Levi's with my shirt off. Then it's bye-­bye Hollywood.”

“Wow.” It was a major move for anyone. But for one of the world's biggest stars, it was unprecedented.

“I'm keeping a lid on it for now,” he said. “I told Em and Tana, but nobody else knows yet.” He squeezed her hand. “So keep it to yourself, okay?”

“I will.” Warmth suffused her from head to toe. He'd entrusted her with a huge secret. It was a start. More than a start.

It was a new beginning.

Wanting to share something meaningful in return, she spoke out impulsively. And shocked herself when she said, “I'm not going to write my mother's bio.”

His brows went up. “Why not?”

“My heart isn't in it.” Hard to admit, even to herself. “Every time I open the file, I end up daydreaming.”

“About?”

“Myself.” Embarrassing, but true. “I had a weird childhood. Nine months a year living in war zones, three months living like a rock star.”

“Most ­people never do either of those things. We grow up somewhere in the middle.”

“While I lived at both ends of the spectrum, with no idea what the middle was like.”

He nodded like that explained a lot. “You should write about it.”

“Ha. Who'd read it?”

“I would.”

She couldn't hug him while they were driving along a cliff edge, so she feigned shock instead. “You read?”

“I skip over the big words.”

She patted his leg. “I'll help you with those.” She'd help him with anything. “That reminds me. You mentioned a fund-­raiser for the shelter. Did I miss it?”

“It's in December. I'm Santa Claus.” His smile dazzled her. “You in?”

“I'm in.” Oh boy, was she in. Over her head, and loving it.

“Something else,” he said. “Adam and Maddie are tying the knot next month. I'm looking for a date.”

“I'm in for that too.” Her heart floated like a balloon. She'd never been happier. Never in her whole life.

The sun set in splendor as they drove, turning to twilight as they reached Malibu. Kota hooked a right onto a road with no name, swung a U-­turn, and parked in front of a tiny restaurant disguised as a house.

When she reached for the door handle, he said, “Hang on. It's our first date. Let me open your door.”

Folding her hands in her lap, she watched him walk around the hood, six feet four inches of gorgeousness packaged in a white button-­down and black Levi's that revealed nothing but hinted at everything.

To the untrained eye, he looked formidable, built to lead armies through impassable mountains over pitiless terrain. To conquer entire civilizations, annihilate their men and enslave their women.

But to her, he was the gentlest man she'd ever known.