Confused.
Shocked.
I can’t imagine what this is like for her. I live this every day, but for me, it didn’t happen overnight. My fame grew slowly. The first time someone recognized me in public, I was thrilled. The first time someone asked me for my autograph, I thanked them and bought their coffee. I didn’t wake up one morning and have a camera shoved in my face. It grew over time into the hysteria it is today, but Mae just got thrown headfirst into the batshit crazy.
This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Announcing our relationship was supposed to happen on our timeframe, under my control, not like this. This was not my plan.
Mae trembles next to me. She wouldn’t admit it, but she’s scared. The adrenaline coursing through her body right now is surely through the roof.
“I can’t stop shaking,” she says, looking at me.
Wrapping both my arms around her, I hold her tightly, hoping she’ll settle, but she continues to tremble. As with most limos, this one is stocked with all kinds of drinks and snacks. I offer Mae both, but she simply shakes her head, clinging to me.
“I’m here,” I say, kissing the top of her head, but my words offer no comfort. My promises are useless at the moment.
There’s nothing I can do to change what just happened, but I can help her body quiet down. Fear is an enormously powerful aphrodisiac. It’s part of the reason people get off on the idea of sex in public, being caught. The fear heightens the arousal. I know it’s worked that way for Mae in the past. Why should now be any different?
“Let me help,” I say, gently tugging on her yoga pants.
Her lips part, but I’m not going to give her a chance to think about it, to talk herself out of this. So, I kiss her sweetly, letting my tongue slowly stroke hers. I’m sure sex is the last thing on her mind right now, but she needs a release, and I’m going to give it to her.
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I slip both her pants and panties down, then I guide her hands under her thighs, urging her legs apart. “Spread your pussy.” I lean back on my heels, taking a good look. I’ve been all over the world, and nothing compares to Mae spread wide for me. “You’re so fucking open.”
She whimpers a little, wanting me to touch her. Normally, I warm her up, teasing her, but not today. Today, she needs to come, and I’m not going to make her wait. I reach over to the champagne chilling and grab an ice cube. Her eyes spark. Ever so lightly, I outline her, watching the water drip, her heat melting the ice. She cries out a little, her nails digging into her skin.
In one smooth motion, I slip the ice cube inside her, give her pussy a smack, unzip, and bury myself inside her. Her body jumps slightly, like she’s about to jump out of her skin. She’s biting her bottom lip so hard, I’m afraid she’ll draw blood.
Neither one of us cares that the only thing separating us from the driver is a privacy window. We don’t care how fast we’re going down the road, or about any potholes or turns we might make. All I care about is her.
I grind my hips into hers in a few short, hard thrusts. “Oh, oh, oh,” she cries, her muscles convulsing as she comes all over my dick.
It took all of two minutes, but her body relaxes in my arms. I’m not concerned with my own orgasm at the moment. This was truly all about her. I slip myself out of her, readjusting our clothes. My dick is pretty pissed at me at this point, but he’ll just have to get in line. I’m pretty pissed at me, too, for not anticipating the disaster at the airport, for not having a contingency plan in place.
I pull Mae into my lap, cradling her. Her body is relaxed in my arms, the trembling gone, but I know her brain is working overtime. She rests her head on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Mae,” I say. “It shouldn’t have happened like that.”
I feel her tears soaking my shirt. She’s not making a sound, but there’s no hiding her tears. As much as I hate her crying, and want to tell her to stop, that everything will be okay, I don’t say any of those things right now. She just had her whole life turned upside down, and she’s got to be freaking about her job. If all that doesn’t deserve a little cry, then I don’t know what does.
So, I just hold her while she cries. It’s a different kind of release, but one she needs just as much. After a few moments, she lifts her head and takes a deep breath, composing herself, as ever the good little soldier. I guess she gets that from her father.
“I just wish I’d had on some lip gloss or something,” she deadpans.
Pushing her hair off her face, I say, “You look beautiful.”
A little smile on her lips, she says, “Well, that’s over and done with. Now we don’t have to hide anymore.”
“I tried to call you when you got off the plane,” I say. “To warn you.”
“You knew they were waiting for me?”
“My agent, Heath, got a call wanting a confirmation that we are together.”
“How did they know? How’d they know my name?”
“Heath suspects that Denver reporter tipped them off. Probably got paid a pretty penny. It’s all a game to these fuckers.”
“What happens now?”
“That depends a lot on you,” I say. “We can issue some sort of statement. We can do nothing, and let them speculate all they want. I’ll do whatever you’ll be comfortable with.”
“You must have an opinion,” she says.
“Issuing a statement gives us a little control over the narrative. It gives a feeling like we are playing nice. Doing nothing is more like flipping them the bird.”
She proudly holds both her middle fingers up in the air.
That’s my woman.
*
There’s pressure when showing a woman your house for the first time. My house in Malibu is prime California real estate. I’m not so much worried about her liking the house or its location on the beach or how it’s decorated. I can always renovate or redecorate to her preferences. It’s not about any of those things. It’s more about her feeling at home here. I hope she’ll be spending lots of time with me, and I want her to be comfortable. I want it to feel like her home, too.
There are a few paparazzi waiting at the gate as we pull in, but the most they’ll get is a far away photo of us as we walk into the house. After the airport experience, that’s nothing.
The limo driver takes her suitcase to the door before he leaves. I hand Mae a key—her key to my place. She smiles, and I motion for her to open the door. This is the beginning of our life here. I know it’s going to be different for her, and it’s not the fact that I have a maid that comes twice a week, or a trainer and private chef—although I did give them all the week off. I want to have Mae all to myself.
The Pacific Ocean greets us as we walk inside. Once you get past the foyer, the view really opens up. When you live a life like I do, you sometimes feel trapped. I have the means to go anywhere I want in the world, but what good is it if you have to stay in your hotel so you aren’t mobbed, or forced to travel with security all the time? It can be stifling, so I don’t want my homes to feel that way. I need them to feel open and vast, like I’m free.
“I think my whole house could fit in this one room,” Mae says, looking around, mouth open.
She’s exaggerating. Besides, it’s not the square footage that matters. It’s the feel of the house that’s important. And her cottage on Wildflower Lake in Haven’s Point feels exactly the same as this house—limitless.
“I might get lost.”
I take her hand. “Then I’ll just show you the important rooms. The kitchen and bedroom.” She laughs, following me around the house. Mae’s not a cook, so I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate the state-of-the-art range or pasta arm, but she smiles just the same. The master bedroom is downstairs, and all the other bedrooms are upstairs, along with the workout room, theater, and library. I take her upstairs first, showing her around there, before leading her into my bedroom.
It’s got floor to ceiling windows just like most of the rest of the house, so if the curt
ains aren’t drawn, you can wake up to the ocean. There’s no balcony from the bedroom like off the main part of the house, but the view is just as spectacular. The master bath has a huge shower with body jets and a deep soaker tub. It even has these lights on it that change the color of the water. Why anyone needs to make their water pink is beyond me, but I point it out to Mae, anyway.
We end the tour by stepping out onto the balcony, the crashing of the waves providing background music.
“When we talked on the phone, and you were here, I never imagined this,” she says.
“How’d you imagine my house?”
Her cheeks start to blush the faintest hint of pink. “It’s silly, but I always imagined you in your old teenage bedroom.”
“I’ve upgraded since my twin bed.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I want you to like it,” I say.
“Of course, I like it.”
“No, I mean, I want this place to be like a second home.”
“I remember when I first walked into the cottage,” she says. “It was so out of date and a disaster, really, but when I walked through the front door for the first time, I just had this feeling about the place. It just felt like I belonged there.” She gives me that incredible smile of hers. “I had the exact same feeling when I walked through your front door.”
“I lo . . .” I don’t get the rest of my words out before my cell phone rings. Whoever said love doesn’t wait must not have a cell phone.
“Hey, Heath,” I say then mouth to Mae that he’s my agent, in case she’d forgotten. It can be hard for me—let alone anyone else—to keep up with who’s interfering in my life these days.
I listen to him tell me that the pictures of Mae at the airport are already hitting the tabloid sites. He’s talking a mile a minute, wanting to know how I want to play it. I tell him to do nothing, to say nothing. I know he doesn’t agree with that tactic. He’s more of the mindset that you should give the press a little nibble to keep their craving for more under control. Normally, I agree with him, but if Mae’s not ready, then I support her one hundred percent.
Listening to Heath drone on, I watch Mae wandering around my place, her fingers grazing the fabric of the sofa. I don’t know if she’s redecorating in her mind, or trying to picture Christmases here with me. Either way, I can’t wait to start christening the place with her.
I’ve never lived with a woman before. That’s not to say that past girlfriends haven’t slept over in this house, but no one has ever lived here, left stuff here. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever spent more than a couple nights in a row with a woman, unless we were on vacation somewhere. I plan on changing that. I’ve got four nights here with Mae.
If all goes well, my plan is that she’ll never have to bring a suitcase to come here again. I’m not expecting her to uproot her life and move to Malibu. I know that’s not going to happen, and I wouldn’t want it to. But she can certainly have one of the closets, a dresser, a few drawers in the bathroom. Both our jobs are flexible enough that we can split our time between our houses. They’re totally different lifestyles, but that’s okay. As long as we don’t have to spend huge amounts of time apart. I don’t want that.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I’ve just seen too many relationships go south because of distance, because of work. It’s the curse of acting. You can be gone shooting a movie for months on end, sometimes thousands of miles away. That’s hard on any relationship, and it’s not something I want for me and Mae. I want to be with her.
I’m at a place in my career where I can be picky about the projects that I take, so I’m not worried about never working again. That’s not going to happen, and even if it did, I’d be fine financially. Plus, I’ve got my own production company in the works. I’m hoping that keeps me home a little more, or at home with Mae a little more.
Malibu, New York, Haven’s Point? I don’t care where we are as long as she’s next to me. I’ll do what it takes to make that happen.
“You have everything set up for tomorrow?” I ask Heath, glancing at Mae. When he confirms, I say, “Thanks for setting that up.”
Ending the call, I shove the phone in my pocket. “What’s tomorrow?” Mae asks.
“A surprise.”
*
I’ve had Mae out on the balcony for a good hour while her surprise was set up in the house. Yesterday, we laid low. After the surprise attack at the airport, I figured Mae needed some time to decompress.
The house is set high up on a cliff with enough hedges that the paparazzi can’t get very good shots of us. There’s always ongoing debate about the beaches here. Landowners want them to be private, but the fact is, most beaches are public areas. So while I’d love to take her for a walk on the beach, broad daylight might not be the best time.
So far, the stuff with the press is manageable. Her job identity is still a secret. She looks adorable in the photos, and while the press is clamoring for more details about Mae, it’s all positive. Apparently, me dating a “normal” girl is very appealing to the American public, not that I give a shit about their opinion.
Mae seems to be handling things well, too. The best advice I could give her was not to look at stuff online. Even though it’s sometimes brought to my attention, it doesn’t need to be brought to hers. She wants things to stay as normal as possible, and looking at pictures of yourself online is anything but.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mae
From Knox’s balcony, the Pacific Ocean stretches out before me, endless. The blue water meets the blue sky, and the world seems vast, which is ironic since Knox lives under a microscope. I guess now I do, too.
His arms tighten around me from behind as we stare out to the horizon. It’s been about twenty-four hours since news of my relationship with Knox broke. I’m not going to lie. What happened at the airport scared the crap out of me. Maybe if I’d been prepared, my reaction would have been different, but being blindsided like that really shook me.
I’ve stayed away from all media since. I don’t want to read whether people think I’m pretty enough for Knox, or hear what they think about our relationship. Their opinion isn’t important. The danger is not what the public thinks. The danger is when we start to care what they think. I had a blackout on Knox Merrick for years, pretty successfully. I’m going to do the same thing now.
The only thing I really care about is that I don’t get linked to Mother Superior. And so far, from everything I’ve heard from Knox, my secret is still safe. And no friends, family, or business folks are hitting up my phone to say I’ve been discovered. I did give a call to my bosses at the station, and, while not thrilled about the media attention, they were okay for the moment. They basically reiterated that my future is in my own hands.
Knox kisses my shoulder, leading me back inside the house. I know Heath is there to talk to him, and Knox is cooking up some surprise for me. Knox makes a quick introduction before Heath disappears into Knox’s office to wait while Knox leads me toward the bedroom.
The door opens, and a beautiful woman steps out, giving us a bright smile. My eyes go to Knox, having no idea what to think. “Mae, this is Brynn. You two have fun!” he says before kissing me on the cheek and turning to leave.
“Wait!” I call out.
But Knox doesn’t stop. He simply smiles back at me and says, “You’re in good hands.”
What is going on? Knox left me here with this gorgeous woman who could make any supermodel feel self-conscious. I look back at Brynn, who’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“I wish my boyfriend looked at me like that,” she says.
I look her up and down; the woman is stunning. “If he doesn’t, you should dump him.”
Brynn laughs. “Knox said you were a firecracker in a small package.” She motions for me to walk into the bedroom. “Let’s get to work.”
“I’m a little confused.”
“That chicken shit didn’t tell you?” Brynn asks, shaking her fist
in the direction Knox that disappeared.
“No.”
“I’m your stylist, sugar.”
I’m really not in Haven’s Point anymore. “Knox!” I scream, half smiling, half annoyed.
Knox doesn’t come back in. “He knew you weren’t going to like it. He told me you like simple things, not a lot of fuss or money spent.”
“I have clothes. I don’t need . . .”
“A dress for the movie premiere,” she says. “That’s why I’m here.”
I haven’t even agreed to go to the premiere. I know it’s getting close, and I have to decide, so I guess I do need a dress, just in case.
“No one is going to care about what I’m wearing.”
Brynn opens her arms, motioning around the bedroom, the walls lined with racks and racks of dresses. “Who do you think gave me all this?”
“I assumed Knox . . .”
“These were all given to me by designers who want to dress Knox Merrick’s girlfriend—that’s you.”
“But . . . I mean, how . . . the public only found out about us yesterday!”
“Things happen fast in Hollywood,” she says.
I run my fingers over a box, and Brynn lifts the lid, a pair of diamond and emerald earrings inside. “This is so weird.”
“I know, but this is your life now. Knox is the hottest male actor in America right now. This all comes with the territory.”
“So you’re doing this for him, too?”
“He’s a little easier, suits and tuxedos.”
I sit down on the bed, overwhelmed. “I know most girls probably love this, but I feel like everyone is going to judge me. It feels like the whole world will be critiquing me.”
“My job isn’t to make a new you. It’s to make everyone else want to be you.”
*
I’ve always wanted to walk into some fancy salon where highbrow people go, sit down with a hair dresser who charges an exorbitant amount of money, and let him cut my hair any way he wants—to see what an artist would do with the mop on my head.
Being with Brynn is kind of like that, but with clothes. Quickly sizing me up, she eliminates half the dress options simply based on colors. She cuts another third because they are, in her opinion, hideous.
Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel) Page 18
