Celebrity

by De Ross, Melinda

  Blake rose and began to pace the room. After the extensive police interrogation, we’d arrived home long after midnight. Blake insisted we take a long, hot bath, and now we were both wearing clean, thick robes.

  “I found him trying to rape you. Do you really think any charges against me would stick?”

  I lowered my eyes, dejectedly. “I hope not. But it doesn’t matter. Can’t you see, Blake? I’ve ruined your reputation. Before you met me, there was no trace of scandal around your name. Now you’re a tabloid star.”

  Despite my resolve not to cry, bitter tears filled my eyes. Blake looked exasperated for a moment, but then he walked toward the bed. He sat beside me, taking my hand in his.

  “Right. You’re the black sheep, the bad juju in my life. Is that what you think?”

  “Sort of,” I replied softly. My lips were cracked and swollen from Danny’s vile kisses. “I... just don’t think I’m good for you, Blake. I’m not good for anyone.”

  He raked a hand through his hair, staring at me with a puzzled expression, as he slowly shook his head.

  “How in God’s name can you say that, when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me? You’re the first and only woman I’ve ever loved, Kendra. Do you think that’s bad? Do you think the fact that you make me happier than I’ve ever been is bad?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off.

  “And you say you’ve ruined my reputation. Christ, that’s hilarious! People will gossip and lie no matter what. Will you let these vicious snakes destroy what we have, the miracle of us? If so, you’re not the woman I thought you were.”

  I gazed intently into his eyes, trying to see into his soul, and make him look inside mine.

  “No. I don’t want to lose you, Blake.”

  He linked his fingers with mine and brought our joint hands to his lips.

  “Then don’t.”

  EPILOGUE

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said, leaning over to give Blake a deep, lingering kiss.

  “The happiest ever,” he agreed, smiling idly as we clinked the champagne glasses.

  We sat and sipped for a few contented moments, enjoying the feeling of absolute happiness. Judging by his snores, Duke shared our thoughts. He was sprawled next to us on the large sofa in my living room, which was lit only by firelight and the TV screen. The stone-paved fireplace was a hasty but inspired addition—one of Blake’s many Christmas presents. He’d heard me say once that I’d like to have a fireplace, and that very evening he showed up at my door, accompanied by the entire team from Masonry Fireplaces.

  They had done an astonishing job. The stone was brown and beige, with subtle black veins here and there, which gave it an antique, classy look, accentuated by the glossy, deep oak mantelpiece.

  “Do you think we should find a better spot for them?” I asked Blake, nodding toward the two majestic gold statues that stood there.

  “Hmmm... Maybe we will, one day.”

  I settled myself more comfortably against his chest, feeling warm and cozy.

  “I still can’t believe it, you know,” I said dreamily, contemplating the two Oscars. “I was sure you’d win the one for the Best Actor in a Leading Role. I mean, you were fantastic! But I never dreamed I would get an award for Best Writing. It’s still surreal.”

  His mouth curved into a smile and he drew me closer to him, tugging the thick blanket around us.

  “You deserve it, Kendra. Without you, The Diary wouldn’t have existed. As soon as I read the script I knew it was going to make history.”

  It had. My movie—I selfishly thought of it this way—had the biggest box office earnings of the last decade. The premiere had been well promoted, but not even Mark or Marie had expected it to be such a success. Personally, I thought it was only partially due to the story itself, but most of all, it was the masterful skills of Blake and Sandra. Their professional chemistry and acting had transcended beyond the screens, and into the viewer’s minds, just like the gothic scenery Mark had created. All in all, it was a work of art.

  “And so it has,” I replied slowly, my eyes glued to the TV screen.

  We were watching the Oscar ceremony my dad had recorded for us, when it was transmitted live from the Dolby Theater. My skin tingled every time I remembered that night, the excitement, the nerves, the feeling I was Queen of the World when I stepped out onto that red carpet holding Blake’s arm.

  It had been the most magical night in my life, and it showed on my face as I smiled into the cameras, toward the myriad lights. Now I knew how Cinderella felt. I knew why Hollywood held such power, and why so many artists were willing to make supreme sacrifices to stand just once in that spotlight, to be the center of attention in the entire world.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t cry,” I said, doing so now as I stared at myself on the screen. I was simply glowing in a long, red dress as I accepted my award with calm and dignity. “I wanted to jump, squeal, scream!”

  Blake laughed. “I know. I was so proud of you. You conducted yourself like a pro, like the true lady that you are,” he said, laying a soft kiss on my palm.

  “Thank you. But you were even more magnificent. When they announced you as the winner, I thought my heart would burst with pride. You were amazing up there, so sexy and charming... When you looked at me and said I was the one who made this possible, then I did cry.”

  “I know. All the cameras were on you. Your tears sparkled like diamonds on that huge screen.”

  “God, are we turning into a couple of narcissists?” I asked giggling, lifting myself on one elbow to watch him.

  “I think we’re entitled to, just for a few days more.” His grin was unrepentant. “Now that we’ve finished singing praises to one another, I’m hungry. Where are our parents? Are they having a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner or something? It’s almost ten,” he said, frowning at his watch.

  “No. Our moms went shopping, and our dads said they were going bowling. They all said they’d rather celebrate tomorrow, when they go back to their homes. Between you and me, I’m pretty sure our dads hit the strip joints.”

  We burst out laughing again, with the hilarity of stoned teenagers. Blake was the first one to recover. “Well, then, we’d better order something. Or would you rather go out?”

  “Are you kidding? And leave this comfy nest? No way!”

  He gazed at me thoughtfully for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached down and pulled me to my feet.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” I grabbed the slipping blanket, ignoring Duke, who was growling lazily in his sleep. “Where are we going?”

  “Just out on the porch. I want to show you something. Take your blanket.”

  Puzzled, I followed him through the dimly-lit house, out to the front porch. He opened the door, then ushered me outside. When I looked at him intrigued, I saw his teeth gleaming white. The mischievous sparkle in his gray eyes made me wonder what was going on, and then I saw his gaze move beyond me. As I turned to see what he was looking at, my jaw nearly dropped.

  There, far against the dark sky, a message was erupting in a zillion lights that connected to one another in a single sentence: MARRY ME, KENDRA!

  “Oh, my God!”

  I don’t know if the whispered words referred to the gorgeous skywriting, or to the proposal itself. I just stood there, gaping, until Blake interrupted my trance by taking my hand.

  “I think you should say something now.”

  Despite the light joke, I could hear the nervousness in his voice. I turned to him, my lips slightly parted. I shook my head wordlessly for another few moments, until I noticed the expression on his face became increasingly agonizing.

  “Um... I... I don’t know what to say, Blake. God, this is...” I stammered incoherently, desperately trying to get a grip on myself. Finally, I took a deep breath.

  “We’ve never talked about marriage before. Are you... sure you want to marry me?”

  His smile was tinged with relief. “
Pretty much, yeah. Besides, the press has married us already, at least a half dozen times. We’re the golden couple in Hollywood, remember? Soon, they will be calling us Blakendra, or something equally atrocious.”

  I choked out a nervous laugh, then looked up at him again. “Where would we live? I worked so hard on this house. I really don’t want to move, even though it will be too small for us.”

  “It’s perfect, and I love it. I already live here with you, most of the time. I just thought I’d make an honest woman out of you.” He grinned again, sliding his hands around my waist. “So, what do you say?”

  I glanced at the fading skywriting one more time, then back at Blake. I thought the smile was going to split my face.

  “Yes! Yes, I will marry you. I love you so...”

  The rest of my declaration was lost in kisses, as Blake lifted me off the ground and covered my mouth with his. We kissed for a long while, unmindful of the cold, until the smoky letters faded away, leaving the sky to the stars once more.

  “You know, I can’t believe this was the first problem that came to your mind,” Blake said after a while.

  “What problem?”

  “Where we were going to live.”

  I shrugged, trying to choose my words carefully. “It wasn’t a problem. I would go to the end of the world for you. I hope you know that. It’s just that... I put a lot of heart and work in this house. I bought it with the money I earned myself. It means a lot to me. Besides, there’s one more mystery about this house that’s nagging me, and I didn’t have time to pursue my plan of getting Vicky—the realtor—drunk, so she can tell me who it belonged to. She said it was some celebrity.”

  “Oh, you don’t know who owned this house?”

  My eyes widened at his disbelieving tone. I turned to face him, incredulous.

  “You do? Who? Who was it?”

  His lips curved slowly, and a sly look appeared in his eyes. “What will you offer me in exchange for that highly confidential information?”

  I punched him lightly in the stomach, half amused, half annoyed. “Come on, tell me.”

  He pretended to consider the question for a moment, then said, “Let’s just say the former owner was possibly the most famous blonde in the world.”

  I didn’t think my eyes could become rounder and larger, but they did. “Who? Marilyn Monroe?”

  “I’m not saying any more until we discuss the payment terms.” Before I could press him for more details, he went on, “In fact, since we are talking about this house, I do have a condition of my own. I mean, if I am to marry you and live here, I’m practically half owner.”

  I raised one eyebrow, pursing my lips. “What would that condition be?”

  He looked me straight in the eye, his face as serious as it could possibly be, then said, “The purple Johns have to go.”

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read Celebrity! If you enjoyed it, it would mean the world to me if you’d post a review here to help me find more readers. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.

  Thank you again!

  Melinda

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Melinda De Ross is a USA Today bestselling author of multi-genre fiction novels. A prolific writer, she weaves humorous romance and tension-filled thrillers with the same enthusiasm. Her books combine the elegance of European literature with the modern appeal of American culture. While she's a law graduate and professional target shooter, she prefers to spend her days spinning tales for her readers. In her downtime, she'd rather read or watch a classic movie than go to a noisy club. She loves to hear from readers, so if you have a question or want to learn more about her books, visit her website: MelindaDeRoss.com

  Check out UNABRIDGED, the next Bookish & Sexy novel, a sexy, sassy, fast-paced love story full of humor, which will keep you turning the pages and wanting more.

  THE STORY

  The past always comes back to bite you.

  Just when Angelina Jameson thinks she has the perfect way to kickstart her career, her hopes go up in flames. When she steps into her boss's office ready to pitch him a satire article about ‘Billionaires, BDSM and Blah-blah-blah’, she discovers that another man has taken the reins of Unabridged—the literary magazine she works for. A man she knows all too well.

  Looking for a change to clear the mess in his life, Blade Spencer accepts the job as editor-in-chief of Unabridged, not knowing Angelina, the woman who broke his heart, works there. Given their new circumstances, maintaining a professional distance is essential, but controlling his feelings proves to be a challenge.

  Amidst humor and melodrama the reunion unfolds, taking the reader on a wild ride. Will Blade and Angelina be able to deal with the past, or will the emotions simmering under the surface set them both on fire?

  THE EXCERPT

  Have you ever had one of those days when you thought you’d finally arrived? That was the way I felt that morning as I walked to work in downtown Seattle.

  Everything started with a popular book about BDSM and an idea I had for a tongue-in-cheek article about it and the genre in general. I don’t have any strong opinions either way about said book or its particular theme, but the subject matter was too juicy not to milk. While it occurred to me that the book’s supporters, more numerous than those who espoused the Bible, might be upset, I’d hoped Howie, my much-despised and highly annoying editor-in-chief, would agree to let me run with it. In the event he wouldn’t, my Plan B was a speech prepared on why this satire feature should appear in Unabridged—the literary magazine I worked for.

  Howie Stewart was a small, paunchy man with bad breath and rounded, dandruff-covered shoulders that reminded me of donuts sprinkled with sugar. Ours was a mutual love-hate relationship. The only reason he’d hired me had been because of my writing abilities and useful connections not only in the city but beyond. In his mind, I was an overachieving feminist hunting for his job.

  He was right up to a point, but I didn’t want his job. At the moment, being editor-in-chief wasn’t my life’s ambition. I was content with my position because it gave me the freedom to write about what I liked for the most part, and freelance an article or two whenever I found something interesting to pursue.

  As soon as I reached the office building where the magazine was headquartered, I headed straight to the elevators, miraculously finding one that was almost empty. The occupant, a middle-aged man I didn’t recognize with a body heading in the same direction as Howie’s, smiled at me.

  “Floor?” He gave me the onceover, his grin telling me he liked what he saw, as if that should somehow make my day.

  “Seven, please.”

  I turned away to avoid eye contact with the Lothario, the last thing I needed this morning. I’d never thought of myself as a bombshell, but I was often ogled by men. Most of the time I didn’t appreciate it, unless the ogler looked like Gerard Butler—not that it had ever happened.

  Annoyed, I turned to the mirrored wall to check if I had suddenly turned into a juicy piece of meat, which might have justified this guy’s stare.

  Nope. I was the same twenty-five-year-old woman with dark-blonde hair that brushed my shoulders, green eyes enhanced by gray eye shadow, and lips colored my favorite shade of mauve.

  The stranger’s gaze roamed along my body, starting at my patent leather heeled pumps, moving up my legs to the hem of my short, black skirt, lingering along the curves created by the pushup bra I wore under the fitted blouse and jacket of my business suit.

  His leering was starting to make me uncomfortable, but thankfully the elevator door opened. I rushed out without looking back, took a deep breath to settle my nerves, and headed straight to Howie’s office, not giving myself time to reconsider approaching him. This was my moment.

  Isabelle Berkeley, Belle to her friends and coworkers, had left her office door ajar. I could see her on the phone through the crack—a cute, petite, curly blonde dynamo—but I didn’t pause to say hi. I hurried down the hall to Ho
wie’s office and stopped in front of the door.

  I cleared my throat, took another cleavage-expanding gulp of air, and knocked twice. Without waiting for a reply, I burst in.

  “You’re gonna love me!”

  “I did, once.”

  I stopped dead, one heeled foot in midair, miraculously managing to stay upright and not end up face down on the floor. Behind Howie’s desk sat my nemesis, Blade Spencer, the first man I’d ever loved. The brief time we’d spent together had been the most beautiful period of my life.

  As I stood there staring at him, bittersweet memories flooded me. I recalled picnics in the forest, walks in summer rain, strolls in the park, stolen kisses, hours spent making love, and promises of eternal bliss. That last thought brought me back. Our relationship hadn’t ended in eternal bliss. Far from it.

  “Hello, Angelina.”

  His deep husky voice rumbled through me. Blade was the only one, other than my mother in a rage, who’d ever used my full name. As I grasped the reality of this situation, my heart pounded so hard I was certain he could hear it. Heat rushed into my cheeks, and at that moment, I was probably redder than any cosmetic blusher could make me.

  “Blade.” The word gushed out of me, and I steadied myself on the back of the chair in front of Howie’s desk. “What... what are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  ***

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