Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy

by Amalie Berlin

  Find some way to stop her words from playing on repeat all night. No rewind fantasies this time.

  She couldn’t take it if he once more failed to live up to them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TIME TICKED ON. Grace met with Liam daily to check on him, changed his exercise regimen and measured his progress every other day. The days that she didn’t see him he still came in to use the pool. Exercise in only his hotel’s pool limited his ability to exercise several times a day so lately he’d spent more time there than the twenty minutes she prescribed three times a day.

  And not once in all that time had Liam’s poker face slipped an inch. She had no idea whether or not her words to him had made a difference, all she knew was that she was out of gumption to chase things.

  Three days ago she’d added dry-ground exercises to his program, in addition to the pool strengthening techniques. They’d see him through to the start of his first project, and he’d reached the point that he didn’t need monitoring. That meant today he was being discharged from supervised rehabilitation.

  Grace stepped out of her office, clipboard in hand with the discharge paperwork snapped in, and headed to the pool therapy room, hoping to catch him before he got into the water.

  “Liam?” She called him out of the locker room.

  Hearing a splash, she turned back to the pool in time to see him rising above the closest edge, every muscle in the man’s arms and chest flexed, the tattoos he bore on his shoulder rippling in some breath-catching combination of strength and water running off tanned skin.

  The clipboard in her hand felt as heavy as her tongue.

  This was it. This moment was the end of whatever insanity they’d been cycling through for the past three weeks. She’d talked to him before about the papers, now she just had to find some way to remind him. Some words to say.

  She had nothing.

  He was going to let it go without a backward glance. She was probably already in his rearview mirror.

  Spinning the clipboard paper side out, she gave it a little shake and then laid it on a nearby bench with the pen.

  There. Message delivered.

  She showed him her keys too as farewell, then turned and hurried out.

  Someone else would lock up. They stayed late. She needed to go.

  At least this time it wasn’t humiliation eating a hole in her, even if he clearly didn’t want her as badly as she wanted him.

  Whatever it was could just remain undefined. She didn’t have any energy left to roll it around in her mind. Not when there was wine chilling in her fridge and yoga pants waiting for her.

  * * *

  A knock on the door interrupted Grace’s night of sulking and drinking.

  She flopped back against the plush pillows on her couch and stared at the ceiling.

  It was probably Nick. Yesterday, when she’d called him to catch up, she’d refused to talk about Liam and had hoped that would be the end of it, but that’s never how things went with her protective older brother.

  At least since her accident. Before that mess he’d pretty much left her to her own devices when it came to the guys she dated. Which probably informed his protectiveness now because no matter if she chose hot bad boys to date, they were never good for her. And they were never a good enough stand-in for Liam for her to keep playing that game when it became clear to her how fragile her hold on this life could be.

  Another knock came, but no yelling. Not Nick.

  She took another drink of her wine to fortify herself, and to empty her third glass, set it down and peel herself up off the couch.

  Emboldened by booze, she flipped off one security device after another, locks and stoppers designed to allow her to peek without subjecting herself to the danger of a full door opening.

  But the security in her building was too good for that to be a real issue.

  She flung the door open and there Liam stood.

  Or leaned, one shoulder resting against her doorjamb, hair wet and disheveled, his black T-shirt clinging to him like he’d not taken the time to even dry himself properly before throwing his clothes on and coming to find her.

  The heat and hunger in his eyes sent sparks licking all over her body and burned away any doubts she’d been nursing through her second glass of wine.

  Once again she was struck by her inability to predict this man.

  “I don’t have a trench coat,” he said finally when she’d failed to come up with even a single word of greeting. “Can I come in anyway?”

  Instead of answering, Grace reached directly for his belt and dipped her fingers into the front of his jeans. Soft hair brushed the backs of her fingers and she closed her hand around the buckle to tug him insistently through her apartment door.

  One step inside and she launched herself against him, arms flying around his shoulders as she pressed as close as she could get, hungry mouth glued to his.

  He managed to close the door and flip some locks, then she was against the wall, the tank top she’d donned to laze around the house inched up. Soon her belly burned with the heat of his firm, muscled torso against her.

  More. She wanted more skin, the only thought strong enough to barrel through years of need coiling in her belly.

  When her shirt reached her arms she let go of Liam long enough for him to whisk the material over her head.

  He tossed the flimsy tank top and then stepped away from her, his eyes rolling down her body, which heated her skin too, just not as well as his skin against hers.

  She once more closed the distance between them, needing his flesh against her. Before she could slide her arms around his shoulders once more, his hands landed on her hips and he pressed her back against the wall, falling to one knee as he did so.

  He was going to hurt himself. A trickle of rationality made it through her fuzzy brain. “Your ankle.” The get-up he had on might be meant to tantalize, but he’d still known better than to take off the boot cast he’d been in since they’d returned from New York.

  “It’s fine,” he said, pressing his face against the flat plane of her belly, then trailing wet kisses from one hip to the other, the stubble he wore so well rasping along her skin.

  When he dug his fingers into the waist of the pants and dragged them down, along with the flimsy panties, she realized his intention.

  No sooner had they wrestled her legs from the cotton tangle than he had one of her legs over his shoulder and his hot mouth pressed into her.

  His tongue stroked and his lips plucked as if he were starved for her, as if he’d spent every night for the past six years dreaming of exactly this. She couldn’t tell whose moans were louder.

  All she could do was grab the frame of her front door for support as pleasure blazed through her, arching her back so hard she would’ve fallen without his hands clamped to her hips.

  The fervor with which he loved told her he wasn’t stopping until he’d wrung her out for their first course.

  All the bad boys she’d dated...there could be no comparison. It might not be her first time but deep inside, for that girl who’d yearned for him for so long, it was her first time.

  But she needed to touch him so, sparing one hand, she plowed her fingers through his hair, down that tattooed shoulder and the muscled arm...until she found the hand that held her hip. Instinctively, her fingers wrapped around the first digit she could get hold of.

  Connection completed, the orgasm given by his greedy mouth almost split her in two.

  The name that had secretly echoed in her heart for every lover finally passed her lips. She cried his name, and then again. And again.

  When the last spasm burst, her supporting leg buckled, unwilling to hold her anymore.

  Quickly, he turned the fall into a controlled slide, and once she touched the flo
or he crawled up her body, still hungry.

  “Here?” He panted the question more than asked, eyeing the open window not ten feet away before he looked back down at her. “Not here.”

  “We’re going to do this right. If it’s the only time...and it is, right? You...you agree that it’s the only time?” He pulled her up against him but stayed where he blocked the window.

  When she nodded, he pulled his T-shirt off, baring that sculpted perfection that was his chest and belly. He wrapped the black cotton around her hips and tied the corners. “Then we need a bed. I want...everything to be perfect. Cool cotton sheets and pillows...”

  “Bed. That way.” Her words still slurred just a little, drunk with pleasure.

  But she scrambled to her feet and offered him both her hands to tug him back up, her faculties slowly returning. “Use the booted foot to stand. The other one can bend...”

  “Don’t worry about my ankle,” he said, but he still took her hand and did as she instructed. “It’s fine.”

  She backed toward her room. Looking at him was too good. He didn’t try to hide his want at all, and the front of his jeans strained over a heady ridge of flesh.

  Oh, God, this was real. He was really there. Not just here in her mind, not a fantasy.

  She didn’t even want to know what had changed his mind. Later. She could ask later, or not. Maybe it would be better if they didn’t talk about anything else, didn’t get more attached. Just one time, and then...let it stay perfect in memories.

  Don’t think about after.

  “My turn,” she said, as they passed through the door into her room and she felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs and released his hands to let hers roam up and down over his chest, alternating gentle touches with little scratches anywhere she found hair. Down, over his belly, and she fell to her knees beside the bed.

  “No. I can’t wait. Next time.” The words strangled in his throat, and it only took one look into his eyes for her to know the reason for it.

  There would be no next time.

  This was supposed to be a farewell.

  The thought almost put her off the whole thing.

  Almost.

  Grace was a big girl. She was the master, not her emotions. And this had been her idea. Her only chance.

  She unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and eased the zipper down, her eyes still locked on his.

  “Please? Just for a moment?”

  He read people, he knew what was on her mind. He could call the whole thing off; now would be the time...

  The moment lengthened, with him clearly struggling with all this as much as she was. When he didn’t say anything, she took his silence as consent and brought the head to her mouth, letting her lower lip rest against the crown, letting him stop her.

  No stopping. He nodded, jerkily, and reached down to touch her face as the impressive manhood she held in her hands bobbed against her mouth.

  “One night,” he managed, as the heat of her mouth enfolded him. “I want the whole night.”

  She nodded, and she worked him deeper into her mouth, letting her tongue luxuriate in the slick skin and the salty evidence of his need. He slid his fingers into her hair, his eyes on hers, letting her see what every flick of her tongue did to him.

  Right now he was hers, without barriers, and that was enough. It’d have to be enough.

  It wasn’t long before he gasped and gestured urgently, trying to pull himself free of her mouth. But she didn’t want that, she wanted everything she could get from him tonight—her one and only night—and grabbed his hip and drank him down.

  When she finally moved back, he collapsed onto the bed, hands closing on her arms to pull her up to him so that her cheek rested on his chest and he tangled one hand in her hair.

  “No holding back. One night, no holding back,” she whispered against his skin, kissing her way back down to his boot.

  “Okay.”

  A couple of strategic Velcro rips and she had his foot free. “Thank God, you’ve got the bandage too. I don’t think I could control my fingers enough to wrap it.”

  He laughed. “I’m already on the bed and I’m not sure if I can get up to the head of it.”

  She crawled up onto the bed, fetched condoms from the nightstand to have them within easy reach. “For when you’re able.”

  He nodded, and just pulled her back to him, still struggling to catch his breath.

  “Aren’t you able yet? It’s been at least fifteen seconds. I thought you had stamina.” She couldn’t stop herself from teasing. She wanted that too—no holding back meant giving everything, pleasure and passion and the playful side of both. That’s who they were. That’s what she wanted, the real Liam, not the polished celebrity adored by the masses.

  He dragged himself more fully on the bed and reached for her. Soon they lay face-to-face, him on his good side—and she let him as it’d minimize the pressure on his ankle. “Can’t have you doubting my stamina. But in my defense that was a cripplingly good orgasm. I might need a minute to get my mojo back.”

  His humor had returned to match her own. She couldn’t stop herself smiling. “So long as you’re not done.”

  “I’m far from done,” he assured her, running his hand over her hip as if he couldn’t quite believe that he had his hands on her. “I’m going to need at least two more rounds before I’m done. Maybe three. If you don’t fall asleep.”

  “Me?” She laughed and scooted closer so that their noses all but touched. “Let me remind you that I’m the one who worked for this. Seducing you is exhausting, Mr. Carter.”

  He took her tease in the spirit it was offered, and slid his arms around her as she hooked a leg over his hip to keep him close, little adjustments to get closer and closer. She could already feel him growing hard again against her inner thigh.

  His expression sobered a little. “I’m sorry. But you know it’s not because I didn’t want you. You wouldn’t believe how I’ve imagined this. So long. You got me through some dark days, Gracie. Actually, this is probably going to sound pretty creepy, but when I was penniless in LA, doing all those awful jobs that got me from audition to audition, my favorite pastime was thinking of you. Off at school. Standing in front of that apartment door with the trench coat open and sheer black bra and panties...I could still draw a picture with every detail preserved. If I could draw.”

  “You pictured me a lot?”

  “Every day.”

  “Just dark times?”

  “No, of course not. Good times too. When I had some time alone. Going to sleep. Running.”

  “Was I the carrot?” she asked, leaning down to kiss him again, her fingers combing through his hair in a way that was both soothing and arousing at the same time. Increased pressure encouraged him to roll over, and she went with him.

  “Sometimes,” he murmured.

  “Sometimes it was some other woman in her underwear?”

  “No,” he said, pushing her hair back from his face, the tenderness in his eyes making her inexplicably teary. “I don’t think I’ve ever daydreamed about another woman like I do about you. But I don’t always run happy. Sometimes...”

  “Sometimes you run mad? Sad?”

  “Yes. Though that doesn’t always work out well. Running if you’re too distracted can result in a sprained ankle.”

  Sprained ankle? She probably shouldn’t ask, but it was right after he and his girlfriend had split. “Because of Simone?”

  “No. No, not Simone.” He slid a hand around the knee she had hooked over his hip and rolled to his back so that she was on top of him.

  She sat up then, settling herself against him at the wrong end for penetration, but still in a place where she knew he’d enjoy a little friction.

  “What were you upset abou
t? The part?”

  “No. Less talk. More... Where’s the condom?”

  “Not until you tell me what made you fall,” she said, flattening her hands against his chest and grinding her hips down just enough to slicken him.

  His eyes got that unfocused look of pleasure and he grabbed her hips to keep her right there, even as he groaned his complaint. “Not fair.”

  “I don’t play fair.” She usually played fair, actually, but if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t be trying to hide it. “No holding back. You agreed.”

  He sighed then and stopped her hips. “It was the anniversary of my father’s death. It’s always a bad day.”

  A bad day, he’d said. Like those words were powerful enough to carry all the meaning that went with them.

  When she’d first met Liam she remembered thinking he was different, and the discussion she’d had with her parents about foster care, and why Liam was in foster care. Her parents had told her enough that she’d have been nice to him even if he hadn’t been the most handsome boy she’d ever seen. But Liam wasn’t much for sharing. He minimized things. And she was beginning to understand that the things he minimized most were the things that hurt the most.

  “Did I kill the mood?”

  Grace realized she’d been staring at him a long time and that she had tears in her eyes.

  That no-holding-back rule... “Does that happen on your mother’s anniversary too? Or were you too little when she died to really—?”

  “I don’t remember much about that.” He lifted that tattooed shoulder, minimizing further.

  “But you do remember your father’s death. Were you there?”

  “No. I found him later.” His words were delivered so flatly and emotionlessly...

  Her heart ached, her eyes burned, and she leaned forward to kiss him, unable to say anything.

  Warmth slid up her body as his hands crept to her cheeks, and as he accepted and returned every wet kiss, his thumbs brushed away her tears.

  When she’d kissed him enough to give him a glimpse of all the sorrow she felt on his behalf, she leaned up to look at him again. The tears still came, but his eyes were dry.