by Chelle Bliss
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, my stomach knotting at her words and the sadness hidden so deep, if you weren’t looking, you’d totally miss it.
“You grew up with parents who cared. A mother who loved you enough to make you soup. Cousins who liked you and wanted to hang out, even after they’ve seen you at work or the day before. You, no doubt, have aunts and uncles who fawned over you. Do you know what I had?” She lifts her chin higher, almost defensively, as her fingers curl around the hood of her car.
“I’m guessing not much.”
“I had a nanny, a maid, and a chauffeur. I didn’t have parents who cared beyond me keeping my image clean so we didn’t make the papers, and the rest of the family stopped talking to my parents when I was young. So, I had three people, all of whom were paid to pay attention to me.”
I suck in a breath, feeling her words like a punch to the gut. “I can’t imagine.”
“No. You can’t, and for that, I’m thankful. It may not be the worst thing in the world, I know I had it better than most, but it doesn’t give a person the warm fuzzies.”
Without even thinking, I move forward, pushing her legs apart with my hand and nestling my hips against her knees. My arms are around her, holding her. As if we’ve done this a hundred times, she folds her face into my neck, her lips pressing against my skin. I flatten my palms against her back, rubbing her gently. “Babe, you got the shit end of the stick.”
There is silence for a good ten seconds, and then her body starts to shake, followed by the hum of her laughter flowing out of her lips and against my neck. “Shit end of the stick? What does that even mean?” she asks, pulling back but not away, only far enough so she can see my eyes.
“Fuck if I know.” I smile, soaking in her beauty while her guard is down as I slide my hands closer to her neck. “Just something we say.”
Her hands finally move from the car to my sides, gripping on to me tightly. “Maybe someday I’ll be as blessed as you and have a family of my own. Then I can do things right and vanquish all the bad shit from my childhood. One can cancel out the other, yeah?”
I give her neck a light squeeze, resisting the urge to kiss her. “You deserve that and more, babe.”
Her shoulders relax, and her head falls forward to my shoulder. “You know,” she adds, her face tipped toward where our bodies meet. “Underneath your crabby exterior and tough-guy bravado, you’re really sweet.”
I squeeze her neck again, smiling. “I am what I am, and I don’t have bravado.”
She lifts her head again, her eyes searching my face, her lips twitching.
I stare back at her, my face unmoving and emotionless.
“See,” she teases, her face breaking into a full-on smile. “That right there is what I’m talking about.”
“Babe, it’s my face. I can’t change it.”
She laughs softly. “It’s your stony façade,” she teases, pausing for a second as her face softens and her laugh quiets. “But when you smile, you could light up a room with the warmth that emanates from you.”
“You use a lot of flowery words. But coming out of your mouth, they sound like the most beautiful compliment even if they’re said after something so—”
“I’ve never said anything mean,” she cuts me off, sliding her hands up my sides until they’re on my ribs. She sucks in a breath, our eyes locked, and the air grows thick. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, Nicky.”
There’s a heaviness in my chest from the way my name rolls off her tongue, and her gaze dips to my mouth before slowly gliding upward and back to my eyes. “I can say the same about you, Jo.”
“I’m boring,” she sighs, slouching forward again.
Moving one of my hands, I find her chin, always forcing her to look at me when anything gets too real or when she talks down about herself. I never would’ve guessed the woman doesn’t think highly of herself. Someone who comes from money or Hollywood, I always assumed was full of themselves. Maybe she was or at least had been, but being around me and the realness of my family has placed some cracks in her carefully polished and practiced veneer.
When her eyes meet mine again, I shake my head. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” she asks.
“You’re not boring, babe. There’s something deep inside you, something you’ve hidden for far too long, that’s dying to come out. There’s a wildcat in there, prowling the perimeter, ready to break free and explore the world outside their perfectly crafted cosmos.”
She blinks as her lips pull down. “I don’t have the luxury of breaking free.”
“Babe.” I move closer as she slides her hands around my back, locking her fingers together. “Here, you can be whatever you want to be. Here, you can do whatever you want to do. You’re not in Hollywood anymore. You’re not under the thumb of your parents, their people, or the prying eyes of the media. We’re surrounded by trees, rednecks, and nothing but road. You want to explore that wildcat, I’m the man to help you bring out that side of you.”
She stares at me, her eyes locked on my mouth as I speak. “I don’t…”
Fuck, the heat from her body overpowers the warmth of the sun and the humid Florida air around us. Everything else fades away, including the sounds of power tools coming from the garage. All that matters in this moment is us. All that matters is that she feels like she can be whoever or whatever she wants when she’s with me. I won’t judge her on her life choices—except for Jamison; he’ll always be a fucking tool.
She’s so beautiful in this light, and the way she’s staring at my mouth tells me one thing; she wants to add me to the list of living life on the edge and exploring a side of herself she never has before. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I…” Her eyes flicker to mine, widening. “I…”
“Yes or no? Simple answer.”
She swallows, eyes still wide, and nods. “Yes,” she breathes, holding my gaze as she licks her lips. “Please.”
I tighten my hand around the back of her neck, the other still on her face, sliding up her cheek. When I bend forward, she tilts her head to the side, closing her eyes, waiting for the moment our mouths meet.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to myself that my stomach is knotting in the same way it used to when I was nervous before a big game. My chest tightens, my cock grows hard, and I pull her face to mine before crushing my lips against hers.
Her arms tighten around my middle as I curl my fingers around her neck with my palm against her cheek.
I breathe in the sweet smell of her skin as I take her mouth hard and fast, leaving no room for doubt that I want her.
The moan that escapes her lips sends signals firing throughout my body, ending straight at my dick. I kiss her deeper, wanting more of that sound, more of the feeling the simple noise caused in my body.
As she curls her fingers around my T-shirt, lifting it from my skin, the air no longer feels cool. Her skin finds mine, scorching me with the lightest touch.
I tangle my hand in her hair, tipping her head back, letting my tongue slip deeper as hers dances around mine in the most carnal of movements.
A click off to the side whirs in my ears like the annoying buzz of a mosquito, but I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I’ve wanted to kiss her since the moment she was curled up on my couch, hair a mess, face smashed into the pillow, looking so damn cute it made my balls ache.
Another click and Jo freezes, pulling back, eyes opening and then widening. “Oh my God,” she mumbles with her lips swollen from my kiss. She glances around, her head moving fast, scanning our surroundings. “Fuck. They found me.” Her hands pull away a second later, pushing against my chest a moment after that. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” I blurt out, reaching for her, grabbing her by the arm as she tries to shimmy off the hood of the car, scrambling to her feet.
She yanks her arm free of my grip. “I can’t do this. I have to go. I have to go. I have to go,” she repeats, moving frantically toward her
driver’s side door.
“Jo, wait,” I plead, holding out my hand. “I’ll take care of whatever it is.”
Another click.
My eyes follow hers to a black lens peeking out from the side of a tree at the garage’s property line.
“What the fuck?”
“Photographers are the scum of the earth,” she mumbles, sliding into her car seat. “I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Sorry?” I scratch my head, dick still hard, lips wet from her mouth being on mine. “Don’t go.”
She sticks out her arm, curling her fingers around the inside handle of her car door. “Thanks for being you and showing me there’s more out there than I knew possible,” she says, slamming the door and closing herself off from me and the prying eyes of the asshat hiding behind the tree.
I barely take a breath before she fires up her car, peeling back, my dinner falling to the blacktop near my feet, and she takes off, driving away like she is in a race for her life.
I growl, curling my fingers into my palms, stalking toward the dickhead who interrupted a beautiful moment and my dinner date for the evening.
“Hey!”
A man with black hair and his baseball hat turned backward backs away, taking quick steps.
I advance, moving faster, not willing to let him get away. “Stop!”
He runs, but I run faster, my legs a good six inches longer than his, needing fewer steps to cover the same ground.
“Don’t!” he screams, lifting up his camera and his hands. “Don’t hit me. I’ll sue.”
I slow my steps to a trot until I am within arm’s reach, ready to swing on him, lawsuit or not. “What the fuck, dude? What gives you the right to come on to my property and invade our privacy? Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t beat your ass right here, and don’t mention a lawsuit because I can guarantee I have the law on my side around these parts.”
He swallows, still holding his hands up in the air, the camera in one hand. “Technically, I was never on your property.”
“You’re not giving me a good reason not to knock your lights out.”
“I’m only doing my job, man. I take photos. That’s it. I only know who, but not what or how. I’m trying to make a living and feed my kids.”
Fuck. I knew Jo had something cooking in California. I knew her parents were important and had some form of celebrity status, but when she had mentioned photographers followed her around, I thought she was pulling my leg. Never in a million years did I think they’d be hiding behind trees, trying to take a photo of her doing something tabloid-worthy.
I reach back, going for my wallet. “How much to make sure those photos never see the light of day?”
The man’s eyes follow my hands, and I can see the hunger in them. He’s driven by greed and nothing else. A man like him is easily bought. “Two thousand.”
I tilt my head, blinking at him. “Two grand for some photos of us kissing?”
“I could get more from my publisher, but for you, I’m willing to give you a discount. I’d really hate for some of these to make the front page.”
“Front page,” I grumble, glancing toward the sky. “Who cares what Jo does? It’s completely ridiculous.”
“You know who she is, right?”
“Of course,” I scoff, pulling out five one-hundred-dollar bills from my wallet, knowing I’ll have to go to the office and beg Tamara to lend me the other fifteen hundred.
“Who is she, then?” he asks, sounding snide and not at all worried anymore that I’m going to punch him square in the jaw.
“She’s Jo. Her parents are celebrities.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “She’s Josephine Carmichael.”
“And?”
“Carmichael,” he repeats, but slower like I’m a freaking moron. “Her parents are not only celebrities. They are the celebrity couple of the decade. Not only that, but her grandparents were Hollywood legends, too. That doesn’t make her a celebrity, but Hollywood royalty.”
“Carmichael,” I mumble to myself. “Carmichael.”
The name is familiar, but Hollywood isn’t my thing. Celebrities aren’t my thing either. Never have been, and never would be. I don’t give two fucks what happens on the other side of the country where tofu-eating barefoot hippies dance on the beach, smoking weed, and communing with God.
“Madeline and Michael Carmichael,” he tells me, being more specific. “Four Oscars, twelve Golden Globes, and more films than I can count. Those Carmichaels.”
“Carmichael,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I mean, I kind of know who they are, but it’s not my thing, man. All I care about is those photos don’t leave this property.”
He holds out his hand, and I place the bills against his palm. “You’re light.”
“I’ll get the rest, but you’ll have to give me a minute to grab it.”
He glances toward the garage. “I’ll stay here while you get it.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, stalking away, more pissed than I was before.
Not at Jo, she is the innocent in this, but at the douchebag that holds her life in his hands and profits off her happiness or misfortune. What a shit way to live. I can’t imagine being followed, always looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed or there isn’t someone holding out their cell phone, looking for the most inopportune moment to change my life with the simple click of a button.
I peer over my shoulder at the cocksucker, standing near the street, a smug grin on his face. He shoves the money into his pocket and waves, rubbing my face in the fact that he has me by the shorthairs.
Part of me doesn’t care who sees the photos.
But the other part of me, the part that had his lips planted on her, drowning in her warmth, wants to give the guy the money and then beat him into the ground so he’ll think twice before following her again.
It was a kiss.
Only a kiss.
There is nothing salacious in something so simple and beautiful.
But I know, somehow, the prick is going to make it look more sinful than it really was, doing everything possible to ruin Jo in the process.
11
Nick
“What the hell do you need fifteen hundred dollars for?” Tamara blinks, her mouth hanging open. “That’s a lot of money, Nicky.”
I lean over the counter in the office, trying to keep my temper in check. “Don’t ask, Tam. Give it to me, and I’ll have it back in the till by the end of the day.”
“Did a bet go bad?”
I tilt my head, staring at her. “What? No. I need it for something I hadn’t expected.”
“Twenty bucks is for something you didn’t expect. Fifteen hundred is for something you brought upon yourself, and not in the good way either.”
I clench my jaw, talking through my teeth. “Tam, I don’t have time for this shit. I’ll go to the bank and get you the money right after.”
She purses her lips and glares at me. “Why can’t you go to the bank now? What’s the rush?” Her eyes flicker to the security cameras, spotting the man standing next to the tree. “Is it him?” She points at the screen and leans forward to get a better look.
“Maybe,” I grumble, peering up at the ceiling, cursing under my breath.
“Well,” she says, “you don’t have to worry about the money because he took off.”
I almost fly over the desk, trying to get a look at the screen. “What? Where?”
“There.” She points him out, nothing but his back visible to the camera as he heads into the parking lot of the small corner store next to our property. “And, he’s gone,” she groans as he slides into a car.
“Fuck!” I hiss, slamming my hands down on the countertop. “Asshole has my five hundred bucks and the photos.”
Tamara’s eyes flicker to mine as her eyebrows draw downward. “Photos?”
“Of me and Jo.” I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair. “Goddamn it.”
She blinks, staring a
t me in total confusion. “What in the hell does he want photos of you two kissing for?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, wishing I hadn’t let that lying prick out of my sight. “Fucking shit.”
“Seriously, why?”
“Do you know who the Carmichaels are?”
“The old couple down the street from Grandma and Grandpa?”
I shake my head. “No. The Carmichaels in Hollywood.”
She stares at me for a second with a blank expression, her eyes blinking open and closed, open and closed. “Um,” she mumbles, but then her eyes widen. “You mean Madeline and Michael Carmichael, like, the biggest celebrity couple of all time?”
“Those would be the ones.”
She glances around, looking like someone smacked into her and she was stunned. “And what about them? I’m so confused.”
“They’re Jo’s parents.”
She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh. My. God. Jo is Josephine Carmichael, heir to the Carmichael dynasty and fortune.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes, biting back the anger that’s at a full-on boil inside of me. “A bit dramatic, aren’t you?”
She shakes her head as she stands, bringing her face close to me. “Nicky, she’s not the kid of a celebrity, she’s a celebrity unto herself. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize her when we were at the bar, but fuck me, it is her.”
“Cousin, she’s a person like me and you.”
Tamara raises one of her perfect, dark eyebrows. “She is not a person. She’s way more than that. I’ve been following her for years.”
“And somehow you didn’t recognize her?”
“Well, she looks different in person and without all the makeup and filters.”
“What the fuck is a filter?” I ask.
She lifts her phone and shakes it in my face. “You know, on a camera to make you look better.”
I blink, feeling stupid. “People use filters to look better?”
