I lean in to give Willa a kiss when I turn on the engine while Margo is still standing there and pull away from her a second before the kids run out to wave good-bye.
I will miss those little people, but there’s a private hot tub, an outdoor rain shower, and a king-size bed with Italian linens waiting for us, ninety minutes away.
* * *
I don’t know why it’s so important to me to stake my claim as the first guy to do certain things for Willa, but being the first person to drive her up the 101 between Ventura and Santa Barbara felt good and it was fun—almost as good and fun as being the first guy to get a blow job from her in the shower. Driving her down the olive tree and lavender bush-lined lane that leads up to the front desk cottage of the resort as she leans out the window to inhale the scented air is a singular delight. Because I knew she’d love it, and I know I’m the only person who’d ever think to bring her here.
“Shane! It’s so pretty here!”
“This is just the beginning.”
I chose the accommodations, but my business manager’s office made the reservation. I’ve been checking into hotels under the name Milton Shine for the past couple of years—an alias I came up with when I was sleep-deprived, but it amuses me that it sounds like I’m a producer from the golden age of Hollywood or a vaudeville comedian in the Catskills. I can’t help but crack up when the front desk clerk calls me “Mr. Shine.” Willa is outside, taking pictures of the gardens and the view of the Santa Ynez mountains. The property’s designed like a French country garden, but every cottage has its own cobblestone parking spaces and total privacy. The Gardenia Cottage that I booked is right next to a little orange grove, and it has a view of the wildflower garden. I called yesterday to make sure the orange trees are in bloom—don’t ask me what kind of strings I would have pulled to get them to bloom if they weren’t, but I definitely would have made more calls.
Fortunately, orange blossoms are abundant this time of year, and as soon as I open the French doors, Willa dashes through the 1800 square foot cottage, through the bedroom, to the enclosed back patio with her nose raised. “Orange blossoms! Jasmine! Geranium! Lavender! Rosemary! Oh, Shane! Holy shit! Do you smell that?” She spins around, runs back to me, and leaps. I catch her, hiking her up so her legs can wrap around my waist. “They’re all aphrodisiac scents!” she says, peppering my neck and face with kisses.
“I don’t think I need any help in that department, but it does smell nice.”
“We’re going to have to be quiet,” she whispers into my ear as I carry her to the bed.
“Why?”
“Because I want to keep the doors open while we fuck.” She winks at me. “Oym a good gurl, I am!”
Fair enough!
“Eliza, where the devil are my slippers?” I say as I quietly rip apart her blouse and bury my face in her tits.
“Hey! I like this blouse.”
“I’ll buy you ten new ones.”
She pushes me away to pull my T-shirt over my head, leaning in to lick and bite my chest. “This is the nicest place I’ve ever had sex in, Mr. Shine.”
“You’re the nicest place I’ve ever had sex in.” I stop just short of calling her “Mrs. Shine,” but dammit it just feels right.
The performer and the perfumer.
Us.
I grab her face, devouring her lips, invading her mouth with my tongue. The drive to be inside her in every way possible consumes me. It could be the weeks of missing her body, it could be the aphrodisiac scents, it could be that I know for certain that nothing and no one is going to interrupt this for us, or it may just be that I am completely stone cold crazy about this girl.
All of the desire that I’ve been keeping under control is being unleashed on her now, and she meets me head-on with the same furiously happy kisses.
She wriggles around beneath me as she unzips my pants and reaches inside them with one hand, pushing my underwear down with the other.
Heavy breathing, blinding passion.
I’m lost in the waves of her dark hair and the divine scent of the pulse point behind her ear and then down to the base of her throat where her gold heart meets mine.
I’ve never craved anything as much as this, on any level.
She is wearing a loose skirt, clever girl, and I am pressing myself inside her as soon as I get her panties down.
No fanfare this time, just sweet fucking heavenly relief.
The moan that escapes me isn’t loud, but it is deep, and it vibrates through me.
I’m home.
Tight. Warm. Wet. Pulsating. Highly sensitive. Always responsive. Endlessly engaging. Definitely the nicest place.
“Willa. Baby.”
Her hands are in my hair, and I have no idea what’s going on with the rest of our bodies or the rest of the world, because all that matters is that I’m inside her and we’re moving together and this is the only thing we have to do today.
Her sighs and gasps are as quiet as a gentle breeze, but when she whispers my name, it sets my soul on fire, and I start pumping harder and faster, and fuck it this is the first of many times we’ll be doing this.
She cries out, clenching around my cock. Somebody heard and nobody in this room cares.
“Shane. More. More!”
Spring.
Break.
The magnificent darkness is closing in as I thrust, ruthlessly, with wild abandon.
“Everything, everything.” I don’t even realize I’m saying it out loud until I’ve probably said it five times, but I can’t stop. “I’m gonna give you everything.”
Even in my delirious state I know that it can only be completely true until Saturday morning and then maybe in thirteen years when the twins are off in college, but it is true.
“I’ll take it,” she says, digging her nails into my back. “Give me all of it.”
Jesus.
Christ.
And I do.
* * *
Dinner is at the resort’s formal restaurant so we could stroll through the grounds to get here, drink wine, and stumble back to the cottage for more grown-up spring break sex.
I’ve never seen Willa dressed up before, and although she is wearing a simple knee-length black dress with red lipstick and sandals, I am awestruck and fully aware that she is turning more heads than I am tonight.
We dine on a patio, surrounded by small trees that are covered with warm white lights. There are heat lamps, a wood-burning fireplace, and potted plants everywhere. Willa is thrilled, and my only complaint is that the tabletop hides her slamming bare legs.
I’ve only ever shared one glass of wine with her before, and she is already on her second glass of Merlot before we’ve finished the appetizers. Tipsy Willa is nearly indistinguishable from sober Willa, except that her cheeks are more flushed and she never stops smiling or swaying, almost imperceptibly. in her seat.
“Do you miss the kids already?”
“What kids?”
She giggles.
“I always miss them when I haven’t seen them for a day or more. Do you miss them?”
She nods and then squints at something or someone behind me.
“Is that Al Pacino?”
I look over my shoulder and see a tanned, dark-haired elderly man in a white shirt and black pants. “Who—the waiter?”
“I think it is.”
“I think you’ve had enough wine.”
“Hoo-ah!”
“That is literally one of his worst performances. It’s a joke that he won an Oscar for that.”
“I like that movie.”
“Why? Because it has the word ‘scent’ in the title and he talks about perfume?”
“Yeeesss.”
“You honestly like that piece of crap but you hate my movies?”
Her eyelashes flutter and her lower lip sticks out. It’s a total Summer Miller move, but I think this is Willa’s natural response. “I never said I hate your movies.”
“You just hate the scr
ipts for the movies I’ve done?”
She shakes her head. “I mean, I didn’t love them, but the truth is…” She sits up straight, her eyes searching mine until she comes to some decision and nods. “The truth is, it was just hard for me to watch them because I hated thinking about how you were with Margo when you made them. Some of them, I mean. I guess you were already divorced when you shot most of them, but still…”
I reach across the table to touch her hand.
“I mean, it wasn’t my idea to watch them. Chantal, the mother of the family in Versailles, she happened to be a fan of yours. I didn’t even tell her that I’d met you or that my brother knew you. She had the DVDs and always went to see your movies on opening weekend. I went with her and the kids and sometimes her mother.”
“So you saw my comedies in French? Mon Dieu.”
She shakes her head. “In English. With subtitles.”
“Did people laugh?”
She nods vehemently. “Your charm and attractiveness transcend cultural boundaries.”
I have to laugh at the earnest way she delivered that line. “Shut up.”
“I mean it! I mean, would I have chosen to spend my time watching those movies if you weren’t in them? Probably not. But they make people happy. And you’re always really good and likable.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t like those movies either.”
“No, I do. I want to do more serious stuff. The indie I did—the one we’re going to see a rough cut of this week—it’s a comedy drama. It’s the first time I was able to show some range since I was a sexy vampire… Did you watch that show?”
“Not once I found out you were dating Margo.”
“You didn’t miss much. Anyway… It’s really hard to transition from teen star to serious actor. First-world problems, though.”
“Yeah.” She sighs and polishes off her second glass of wine. “Careers, huh?”
“Well, yours is starting out pretty well.”
She stares at me, blinking, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if she should say something again. Finally, she nods and says, “I got an e-mail from my mentor in Versailles. Yesterday.”
“Oh yeah?”
“He told me he spoke to someone at a big company about me. They’re based in Germany, but they’re global suppliers of fine fragrance and flavors. And they have a perfumery studio in New York. I guess they’re expanding there.” She watches me for a reaction.
My reaction is immediate and gut-level and I fucking hate how I feel, but thank fuck I’m an actor so I can keep my expression neutral. “And?”
“And they’re looking for perfumery technicians. It’s lab work. I’d—the technician—would be supporting the perfumer by doing compounding. Something like 280 pours a day, so it’s a lot of lab work. No designing. But it’s a good company. I’d—the technician—would be part of a team. I’m more than qualified and the salary is good, but you know…I’ve had sales and good reviews on Etsy already, and I’m going to try to get some local boutiques to carry a couple of my scents.”
“That’s great. You should do that. How can I help?”
“Oh, you don’t have to help me.”
“I want to.”
She smiles and gives me a what do you know about perfume look.
I get it. I mean, I probably know more about perfume than Al Pacino does now, but I get it. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Do you want to live in New York?”
“I used to. I always assumed I would one day. Anyway—I’d still have to interview. I haven’t set anything up yet.”
“Well, I hope you get to do whatever it is that you want to do, wherever you want to do it.”
She tilts her head. “Thank you.” She leans in and says, perhaps a little too loudly, “I want to do what we did in the hot tub again after dinner.”
“We’re on the same page, then.”
The waitress brings us our entrees, but I can’t take my eyes off Willa. I don’t want to take my eyes off her. Ever. In the glow of the candle and string lights, she has gone from unique everyday beauty to beguiling and stunning. When the waitress leaves, I finally have to ask the thing that I’m wondering every time I look at her: “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
She smiles and looks down, rearranging the napkin in her lap. “I have an idea. I just don’t think about it very much.”
“Really? Because I think about it all the time. Ever since I saw you at Erewhon.”
“So, just over a month.”
“Feels longer.”
“Well. I’ve been thinking about you ever since I met you twelve years ago.”
God, it breaks my heart a little every time she brings that up.
She shivers and rubs her bare arms before picking up her fork.
“Are you cold?” I stand up to remove my blazer. I’m only wearing a T-shirt underneath, but I’m a thick-skinned stud. “Here.”
“Oh, I don’t need that.”
I stand behind her and help her put it on. She sniffs the collar and smiles up at me. “It smells like you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When I sit back down, she’s grinning mischievously. “This blazer reminds me of your Greyson outfits from That’s So Wizard. You were so cute.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks. I didn’t wear blazers or high-tops for like five years after the show was cancelled.”
“Oh, but you were so cute! I loved your little ties and your button-down shirts. There was a guy at my school who tried to dress like you, but he just couldn’t pull it off.” She purses her lips, and I can tell there’s something else she wants to tell me, but she doesn’t. She takes a bite of her pasta.
“What?”
She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“Okay, but it’s so dumb. But I never told anyone—oh my God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but here goes. Before I met you…” She smacks her lips together, places her fork on the side of the dish before continuing. “I did an online quiz. Which Disney Channel Character Should be Your Boyfriend? Guess who my boyfriend was?” She covers her face.
“Me?”
“Greyson Manning.”
“Fuckin’ A. That’s so wizard.”
“It was! I mean, I don’t even remember the questions.”
“Liar. You remember every word of the quiz.”
“Yeah. I do. One of them was ‘which song would you pick to dance to with your boyfriend at Homecoming?’ The choices were, ‘Bye Bye Bye’ by NSync, ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’ by Ricky Martin, ‘Get This Party Started’ by Pink, and ‘Just My Imagination’ by The Temptations.”
“What’d you pick?”
“‘Just My Imagination’ of course.”
“Because Greyson liked Motown.”
“So did I. Which was why we were so perfect for each other.” She giggles and wiggles around in her chair, and it’s so adorable I can’t even eat.
Shit.
I already know what I’m going to have to do before she’s even finished telling me all of the questions she answered. If Nico finds out, he’ll never speak to me again. Not because of what I’m going to do to her but because it’s so fucking cheesy. But I know I’m going to do it, just as surely as I know why.
I am hopelessly in love with this woman, and I don’t want her to go anywhere without me.
22
Willa
Orange blossom. Jasmine. Geranium. Lavender. Rosemary.
I’m going to blend all of these heavenly scents together as essential oils when we get home, but for now I’m going to lie here on this chaise lounge on the enclosed patio while Shane is out “running an errand.” We had breakfast in the room. We had in-room massages. We made out in the hot tub. We even Skyped with Summer and Lucky. Summer wanted me to sing “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” with her, but I was so blissed out I forgot hal
f the lyrics.
It’s like I lose an IQ point every time Shane gives me an orgasm.
I’ll be down to zero by the time we’re back in LA.
This is such a beautiful place, and I don’t want to leave it.
I want to wake up with Shane Miller between gazillion thread count Italian sheets every morning.
I don’t want spring break to end, but it will.
I don’t want to think about the New York job, but I have to.
I don’t want to think about what I’ll do or what it will be like for me and Shane once I stop working for him and Margo hires a permanent nanny, but I have to.
But not yet.
For now, I will lie here with my eyes closed and the sun on my face, enjoying the orange blossom, jasmine, geranium, lavender, and rosemary.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but I’m suddenly hearing music from inside the cottage.
Motown. The Temptations. “Just My Imagination.”
“Aren’t you Nico’s little sister?” asks a familiar voice.
Without opening my eyes, I reach up, take hold of the waist of Shane’s jeans, and pull him down to me. Just like he did to me that time he fell asleep watching Austin Powers. I squint up at him, but it’s not Shane Miller that I see. It’s Greyson Manning.
His hair is gelled straight up, and he’s wearing a blazer, white button-down shirt, and a loose skinny tie. I open my eyes, sit up, and look down at his feet—Converse high tops!
“You wanna dance?” he asks, grinning as he holds his hands out and stands up.
I cover my mouth, nod, and take his hand so he can pull me up.
He leads me over to an open area on the patio, pulls me in, placing both hands on the small of my back. I hold my hands behind his neck and gaze up at him, head shaking in disbelief, heart bursting. “Wow. This is even cheesier than the necklace. I can’t imagine how filthy you’re going to have to be to get me to forget how fucking adorable you are this time.”
Sleeper Page 17
