More Than Anything

by Serena Grey

  I waited until the performance was over and joined in the applause before abandoning that part of the room. I crossed an archway that led into yet another large living room where a beautifully decorated Christmas tree held pride of place in the middle of the room. There were snippets of conversation all around me.

  “Apparently, he was fucking the maid, the nanny, and the piano teacher—who’s a man, by the way.”

  “How exciting! Do you know who did his eyes? I know he had something done.”

  “She’s an asshole in the worst possible way. No talent whatsoever, but she gives good head.”

  “My therapist says I’m suicidal over my Oscar snub. She hasn’t met my wife.”

  “Ally!”

  I didn’t have time to look in the direction of whoever called my name before I was pulled into strong arms and pressed against a male body that smelled heavily of cologne and booze. Thomas Kane, pop bad boy turned actor. He held me close, shoving his hips forward in a way that made his arousal was unmistakable as his hand drifted toward my butt. I slapped it away.

  “Ally,” he crooned, unfazed. “It’s so good to see you.”

  I pushed him away. We’d known each other in the early days of our careers, but since he’d become a big deal, so many girls had fallen into his lap he was convinced he just needed to flash a little cock in a woman’s direction and she’d be all wet and ready to ride.

  “Tom.” My voice held a note of warning.

  He grinned. “It’s me, your friend. It’s been too long. Let’s catch up. Let’s leave this dead party.”

  He slurred the last few words, and I ducked my head under his shoulder, abandoning the archway and making for the first door I saw. It opened into a large kitchen, where some wait staff were bustling around. I ignored their curious stares.

  From the kitchen, another door opened into a short hallway. There was a service elevator and a door that led to the stairs. I considered the elevator, mapping out my journey to the underground parking, finding a cab to my hotel…I’d likely be recognized before I made it that far, and it would turn into a hassle pretty quickly.

  It was probably better to hide out in the stairway. Someone would come looking for me soon enough, but at least for a few minutes, I would be by myself.

  Three

  Braden

  I jogged briskly down the steps. It was just a little bit cold inside the concrete stairway, but it didn’t matter because of how rarely they were used.

  Just before I’d left the apartment, Lilianna had called, unhappy about being left behind at the Douglases’ party, unhappy I’d instructed the driver to take her home instead of to my apartment, mad when I’d told her as gently as I could over the phone that it was better if we stopped seeing each other.

  I dismissed her from my mind. She would find someone else soon enough, rich enough to afford her expensive requirements, maybe even interested enough to marry her and set her up for life.

  I slowed down, wondering when my thoughts had become so jaded. There had probably been a time when I used to think the best of people, before I built a career in tech investment banking, before making billions with my own private equity firm. I’d seen the worst of people in the later part of my twenty-nine years, and it had colored my perspective.

  Maybe I just needed some sweetness in my life.

  I turned to go down the fourth flight and ground to a stop when I saw a figure seated midway down the stairs, facing away from me.

  Waves of gleaming gold hair covered her neck and were swept over one shoulder to reveal the perfection of her bare back, arms, and shoulders. Even as she sat, I could see the hints of her sensational figure in the cut of her soft pink gown, the slim waist and the gently flaring hips.

  I forgot what I was doing on the stairs, inexplicably drawn to the figure in front of me. Was she a guest at the party? It was very likely. What was she doing out here? Was she drunk? Or worse, crying in the privacy of the stairwell? I couldn’t decide whether to walk past her or just return to my apartment, somehow hesitant to disturb her solitude.

  She raised a small hand to smooth her hair, and there was something vaguely familiar about the gesture. I frowned as it occurred to me that I’d been standing and watching her for far too long. Maybe she was waiting for someone, a boyfriend, in which case she wouldn’t be too grateful that I was standing there gawking at her.

  I took a step forward, and the noise alerted her. She turned around, her eyes wide and startled.

  I froze and reached for the handrail to steady myself against the force of her stunning emerald gaze. Recognition flooded me, followed by wonder, and for a moment I completely forgot who and where I was.

  God, she was so fucking beautiful.

  More so in the flesh than on screen. Her face was heart-shaped, with a delightfully pointed chin below full pink lips with a perfect Cupid’s bow. Her nose was small and straight, her eyebrows perfectly arched, but it was her eyes—those twin pools of cool, burning verdant—that made me unable to look away.

  I stared, breathless, a memory of the first time I’d seen her face coming unbidden into my mind from a movie premiere I’d attended with a woman I could barely remember now. She had transfixed me, and throughout the movie, I’d been unable to take my eyes off her perfection.

  Allie Gilbert.

  Actress

  Movie star.

  Sexiest woman alive.

  America’s sweetheart.

  I realized I probably looked like an idiot, frozen and just staring at her. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so awkward around a woman, and I’d been around some of the most beautiful and sophisticated women in the world. I tried to tear my eyes from her face, but a stubborn part of me decided the loss would be too much. I wanted to look my fill, to drink in the beauty in front of me.

  She cocked her head to one side and gave me a measuring look. A small frown flitted over her stunning face, and her eyes stayed on mine for a long moment of silence then her lips curved slowly.

  I tried to smile back, but it felt like I had forgotten how. How was I supposed to react to running into a movie star in an empty stairwell? I’d never been interested in Hollywood people much. The faces usually came and went as the world gained and lost interest.

  She, however, had been on the cover of every newspaper and magazine for the past year, words like ingénue, multitalented, and extraordinary beauty repeatedly used to describe her. She had been compared to every movie star of Hollywood’s Golden Age, and I could see now that neither the comparisons nor the praise had done her justice. She was too extraordinary for description, and I felt lost just looking at her.

  “Seriously, you have to stop staring at me like that, or else I’m going to start thinking there’s something wrong with the way I look.” She sounded amused, and her voice was light and soft, making me think of satin sheets, of her naked body splayed over those sheets, her moans of pleasure sounding in my ears.

  It took some effort to get rid of the explicit thoughts. “I’m sorry,” I said, wondering why I was so affected, so off balance. “I didn’t expect to find anybody here.”

  “I was counting on that,” she said with a shrug of those slender shoulders. “Nobody being here, I mean. I got tired of all the noise and the partying.”

  Of course, she had been at David Hurst’s party. That would explain the number of paps outside the building—people couldn’t get enough of her. A picture of her doing anything, even something as mundane as walking to the store, was in high demand long before it was taken.

  “You weren’t at the party,” she stated, peering intently at me. I almost got lost in her voice again. When I’d heard it on screen, I’d convinced myself it was fake, a contrived whisper she put on for the cameras. Now, listening to her talk, so close to me, it felt real, even softer, lighter, more arousing.

  I let out a soft breath, willing away the ache of arousal. I’d never wanted for a woman’s companionship in my life. I wasn’t vain, but I knew I was good-look
ing and rich—very rich—so there was no reason on earth that I should be feeling like an awkward teenager around any woman.

  “No, I wasn’t,” I said in reply to her question.

  “I thought so. I would have noticed you.”

  I was silent, sad in a way I couldn’t quite explain. It was undoubtedly something most men felt when they met her, the realization that she would probably never be theirs. It was a feeling I wasn’t familiar with, but with her, somehow, I knew in my gut she wouldn’t throw herself at me just because of my money, and even if I pursued her for the rest of my life, she wouldn’t budge unless she really wanted to be with me.

  Even though I’d only just met her, I knew I wanted that, almost desperately.

  “You live here then?” It was a question. “You’re not one of the press trying to trick me into saying something for the headlines?”

  I laughed, amused at the thought. “No, I live here.” I own the building, I almost added. Even though I was sure that wouldn’t impress her, I still felt the urge to try.

  “I hope you’re not offended,” she said. “I just…you never know.”

  “I understand. I’m not offended.” It was unlikely that anything she said would ever be enough to offend me.

  “It used to be fun when they’d burst out of a hedge to take a picture. Now it terrifies me how they can appear everywhere. These days I check under the bed in hotel rooms.” We both laughed, and then she patted the seat beside her and looked up at me, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. “Won’t you join me?”

  I didn’t need to be asked twice. I took the offered seat and stretched my legs two steps below. Her legs were bare, her pretty feet together, her toes painted a glossy nude, and her shoes, beautiful and uncomfortable-looking stilettos, were lying on a lower step. I imagined her legs in them anyway, long, bare and sexy…I took a deep breath and turned my gaze back to her face.

  She was looking at me, her head cocked to one side, a small smile playing on her lips. “Why aren’t you spending Christmas with your family?”

  “My family?” I shook my head. “My parents are vacationing in Europe. I had no desire to travel that far.”

  She grinned. “I’m an awful flirt,” she said. “I should have asked if you were married since that’s what I really wanted to know anyway so…hey, I know we just met, and I don’t even know your name yet, but you’re kinda hot, and I want to know—are you married?”

  Hot. She thought I was hot. “I’m not married,” I assured her quickly. I spared a small thought for Lilianna but I quickly dismissed it. We’d only been together for a short while, and it had never been a relationship in any real sense. “I’m very single at the moment.”

  Allie raised perfect brows. “At the moment?”

  I shrugged. “Well…”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re a playboy?” Her voice was serious, but her eyes were teasing.

  “I have no idea what that word means,” I replied with a smile.

  She gave me a look from under long lashes. “It means manwhore, ladies’ man, womanizer, philanderer…” She drew the last word out, putting in a dramatic touch, obviously trying to keep herself from laughing.

  “I’m not any of those things,” I said frankly, “but I do love women…and pleasure.” Our eyes held, and blood and heat rushed down to my groin. I swallowed, watching as her beautiful pink lips parted like a silent invitation to cover them with a kiss. My whole body tensed and then too quickly, she looked away.

  “My parents are abroad too. They’re doctors spending this Christmas working in Bolivia so…” She shrugged.

  There was an unmistakable note of loneliness in her voice. I thought of the thousands of screaming fans who would give their limbs to spend Christmas Eve with her, and yet, she was alone. “Well, I’m glad you’re here right now, with me, on these stairs.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled then suddenly added, “I’m Allie Gilbert.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay.” She chuckled. “You know they say all actresses of the same age look alike. We’re all surgically enhanced to fit into one boring mold of Hollywood beauty. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t think you were talking to someone else.”

  My eyes drifted to her lips again, and I swallowed. “I’m sure nobody else looks like you.”

  She smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “Braden,” I told her. “Braden Rhodes.”

  “Oh!” She frowned. “Oh…” she repeated the word, her brows going up. “Wow! Oh my God!”

  I paused. “OhmyGod good or ohmyGod bad?”

  “OhmyGod I can’t believe I’m sitting in a stairwell talking to Braden Rhodes. This is insane.”

  At least she knew who I was. “It’s not that insane when I live here.”

  “You probably own the building.”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  She shook her head. “You’re definitely not an ordinary guy.”

  “Is that something you’re particular about?” I asked, holding her gaze. “Ordinariness?”

  She held my eyes, the sparkling green of hers drawing me in until all I could think about was how her body would feel against mine. Then she looked away, choosing not to answer my question.

  “I was reading about you a few days ago,” she said, changing the subject. “Gilt Homes—there was an article about one of your homes. There was no picture of you. There are hardly ever any pictures of you. If there were, I’m sure I would have recognized you before you told me your name.”

  I wasn’t very fond of having my picture taken. “You mean Gracie House,” I said. I’d allowed the magazine to do a showcase on the newly restored mansion.

  “Built as a holiday home for Gracie Asquith by her industrialist husband,” Allie smiled. “I love historic homes and some of the stories behind them. Kykuit, Rosecliff, The Breakers…I’ve visited most of them. You did a great job with Gracie. The pictures were lovely.”

  “Would you like to see it?” I asked on impulse. “I could give you a personal tour.”

  “You’re smooth,” she said with a small chuckle, but then she paused. “You’re serious?”

  “I was already on my way over there,” I told her, hoping more than anything that she would say yes.

  She paused for a long moment, her eyes searching my face. She took a soft breath and nodded. “Yes, I’ll come—if you can get me past the photographers outside.

  I stood and held out my hand. Her hand found its place in mine, fitting perfectly and sending a tingle of awareness through me. I met her gaze, trying not to be unnerved by how much she affected me.

  “Well,” I said. “What are we waiting for?”

  Four

  Allie

  The hard part was descending the stairway. Braden gave me his jacket, and I followed him down the many flights until we were out of breath as we stumbled into the underground parking.

  I spared less than half a thought for the fact that I was leaving alone with a practical stranger. There was something about him that made me feel as if I wouldn’t mind going anywhere with him.

  I’d felt him behind me on the stairwell, and when I’d turned around and met his beautiful blue-eyed gaze, it had felt like…magic, like a jolt of recognition inside me.

  He was handsome, so handsome it was almost disorienting to look at him. Waves of silky black hair framed his face, just long enough to touch his collar. Deep blue eyes made me feel like he could pierce my soul with them. His nose was strong and finely cut, and his lips made me want to kiss them just to find out if they would feel as good as they looked.

  His body didn’t disappoint either. He towered over me, his simple black clothing showing off broad shoulders and a litheness that pointed to an active, fit lifestyle. I knew his body would be hard and ripped under his clothes, and I didn’t care that just a few moments after meeting him, I was almost desperate to find out just how much.

  I spent a lot of time around neurotic, vain, vapid men, but he was so d
ifferent it was refreshing. He seemed like someone who knew who he was and what he was doing. He wasn’t eager to fill the air with the sound of his voice, and that was enough for me.

  His name didn’t surprise me. Somehow, seeing him standing there, I’d recognized the demeanor of a man who made a success out of everything he touched.

  Now, he led me to a gleaming black Vulcan, a beautiful car, powerful, like the man who would be driving it. Braden opened the door to the back seat and faced me.

  “You have to keep your head down so the paps out on the street won’t see you.”

  Temporarily mesmerized by his eyes, it took me a moment to reply. “I know the drill,” I replied, feeling a little tension in my belly as our bodies brushed, just a little.

  I imagined what it would feel like to be crushed to his beautiful body, to feel his hands and fingers on me… Heat warmed my belly, and I lowered myself into the cool leather interior of the car. The seats were soft and almost creamy. In LA, I sometimes drove a Ferrari, a blood red machine that went from zero to one eighty in ten seconds. It had been expensive. I loved it, but in no way did it compare to the luxury of Braden’s obviously customized car.

  He got into the driver’s seat and looked back at me as I lay with his jacket covering me. His gaze was somehow tender and full of concern. “You’re comfortable?”

  “Very comfortable.”

  He turned and started the car, making it purr to life before maneuvering it into the brightly lit street outside. I could hear the faint sounds of Christmas carols. I imagined the photographers losing interest in the car as soon as they decided it wasn’t occupied by a celebrity—not that Braden didn’t look like one. With the defined angle of his jaw and the faultlessness of his profile, he was what you imagined movie stars looked like in the flesh.