by Selena Kitt
“Ah!” He lets out a breathy sigh, then looks down at his feet and runs his hand through his hair, looking like he’s toying with the idea of fleeing the scene.
“I’m sorry, I—I really shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t really want you to know that I know who you are—”
He raises his hand to cut me off. “Please, it’s all right. I should have known that someone, even here, would recognize me. I do hope that you’re the only one who’s figured this out.” He pauses and almost inaudibly continues, “Because after the last two weeks, I really don’t wish to cut short my vacation because things get out of hand. I don’t get many vacations away from the mainstream, if you know what I mean.”
I nod at him, though he doesn’t see. I drop my shoes to the sand, and his head jerks up. Extending my hand toward him, I decide introductions are in order. “I’m Cameron Enders. But please, call me Cami.”
“Hi, Cami” He nonchalantly points to his chest. “Tristan. But then again, you already know that.”
I giggle. “Yeah, I did. Sorry. Again.”
He shakes his head at me. “Stop, it’s all right. I accepted my fame a long time ago. It comes with the territory of being me.” He chuckles again.
“That’s a good thing, Tristan, believe me. I’m still making failed attempts at coming into my own reality.”
He gives me a quizzical look. “Your own reality?”
“Don’t ask. It’s a very long and rather uninteresting story to be told another day.” Provided I get to see you again after tonight, I add in my head.
“Fair enough, we can discuss another day.”
My heart goes pitter-pat at the thought. “So why are you in Tarah?” I ask innocently.
He stiffens at my question but responds. “That too is a conversation for another day.” He looks at me, almost as if trying to place me somewhere. “What did you say your last name was?”
Oh no. “Enders,” I say wistfully. I’m afraid of his response.
It takes only a moment before the look of recognition crosses his face. “Cameron Enders, as in Robert Enders?”
Yup, there it is. Fuck! “Please believe that your affiliation with Bold has nothing to do with my coming out here.” I take a deep breath. “I came out here because you bought me this fantastic drink. I owed it to you to say thank you and to drink it in your presence.”
He looks at the drink in my hand. “What’s wrong with your drink?” he asks. “Don’t you like it?”
Crap. “I haven’t tried it yet. I was determined to drink it with you, but you left, and I found you out here.” Smiling, I raise my glass in a salute and take a sip.
Oh holy hell. Before swallowing, I roll it around on my tongue for a moment and then let it slowly slide down my throat. A small moan escapes my mouth. “That is amazing. Thank you. But in the future, please don’t feel that you have to buy me such an expensive drink.”
“Oh, no worries. I knew that you needed to experience a real Cosmopolitan in order to truly appreciate how good they can be.”
“Just seems like a waste of hard-earned money.”
“Oh, well yeah, I suppose when you put it that way. I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiles. Holy hell, that smile is amazing. I flush and look down. “Please…” He places his hand under my chin, lifting it slightly so that I look up into his eyes. “Don’t hide your eyes from me. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I’m suddenly awestruck by his boldness and the tingle that is now rushing through my body from his touch. “I’m sorry, I’m not normally a shy or blushing person. It’s just these last couple of days have beat me up emotionally and, well, all those Cosmos are finally going to my head.”
“Believe me, I understand completely. I’m exhausted myself. I’d like to see you finish your Cosmo and retire to my room.”
Without thinking, I raise the glass to my lips, tilt my head back, and pour the rest of the drink down my throat. I swallow and smile. “Problem solved?” I giggle then because the look of absolute astonishment on his face is comical. “Sorry, I um…told you it was a waste. I’ll pay you back.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “No need. I would buy you another, just to watch you do that again.”
I smile. “Bloody hell”
He’s still laughing. “I have to admit, that is my favorite expression and I hear a bit of an accent. Are you British?” He asks. No doubt comparing Bobbie and me. Bobbie was far from British.
“No. I might as well be, however. I grew up in England, under the care of a matron, then in boarding school in Surrey, England. I only managed to convince my father to let me move home about nine years ago.” Wow, what is with my mouth running off with all this full disclosure? “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”
“On the contrary, I think I do.”
I am quickly realizing that I don’t know much about him. But I want to know more. A lot more.
“Tristan—. Can I call you that or would you prefer Barney?” I giggle, feeling the alcohol really starting to mess with my brain. And to be honest, I’m not even sure I’m talking properly. I know that I need to leave Tristan to his evening before I make a complete ass out of myself.
He smiles his big, drop-to-your-knees-for-me smile. “Tristan please, Cami.”
“Tristan, I need you to know, more than anything, that I am not out here because of who you are. I came out here to thank you for the wonderful drink and to say hello. Who you are is who you are. It doesn’t matter to me what you do for a living.” I take a deep breath. I need a minute to get ahold of myself. Tristan’s expression is cool and calm, so I continue. “To be honest, the only reason that I know who you are is because I find you attractive and have always been mesmerized by your image – not the stories – on the covers of the magazines in the grocery checkout aisle and nothing more. I’ve never seen your movies, and I am not going to fall over and grovel at your feet like some crazed lunatic. You don’t need that, and frankly, I would probably be liable to do something really stupid to regret tomorrow…” I’ve lost all the steam I’d built up for my little speech, but there’s just one more thing I need to say. “It’s your eyes.”
So much for getting ahold of myself.
Oh yes, those eyes. The ice blue penetrating eyes that always seemed to bore into me from the covers that grace all the tabloids and even the respectable magazines. They’re staring at me now, dumbfounded at my rant.
I decide that it’s time to go.
“I’m sorry, Tristan. I just thought that you should know.” I take a deep breath. “I’m staying in room seventy-one twenty-one, and I know that you are staying in the penthouse. If you would like to see me again, you know where to find me. It has been a pleasure, Tristan.” I extend my hand again. “I hope to see you soon.”
He takes my hand and that zing is back. It shoots straight to my heart with a jolt. I’ve really drank too much tonight. I release his hand. He is slow and reluctant to let go, his eyes locked with mine. For a moment I’m unwilling to let him go, too. The fear of never seeing him again strikes through me.
Realizing that I’m being ridiculous, I pull up my big girl panties, turn, and start to walk away. I feel eyes burning huge holes in the back of my head as I head back to the hotel. I turn my head, just so that I can confirm my suspicions, and smile when I see that he really is watching me walk away. I smile wider when I realize that there is a tent forming at the apex of his thighs.
Suddenly feeling bold, I start to sashay my way to the deck of the bar. When I reach the deck, I bend over very slowly to put my heels back on. Ass in the air, I’m able to see between my legs as I buckle up my heels. He is still staring at me, open-mouthed, and I giggle to myself when I see his cock twitch.
Chapter Seven
Tristan
Skin, the bottom of her dress nearly exposing the round, beautiful, tight ass sticking up in the air. Begging to be touched, caressed. And an opening begging to be filled. My cock twitches again. She strides across th
e deck and to the door. Her beautiful body on display, wanting. She’s trouble personified.
Her black hair with electric blue streaks tells me right off the bat: this girl is different and probably not to be messed with.
Until she came outside and convinced me to turn around, I hadn’t yet faced the beauty that is Cami. The tattoos she has on her shoulders are beautiful on her skin. The color contrast is amazing. Both of them have the same hearts and stars mosaic with tribal-style fairies in the center. One is very obviously an angel, or a representation of an angel. The halo and feathery, rounded wings are what make the angel stand out. A good fairy.
Her other shoulder, the right one, is the opposite in color: reds, oranges, and some yellows resembling flames, but without the fire. The center contains a fairy with horns and a pointed tail. The wings are sharp, pointed at the top and bottom. The bad fairy.
And those wings! Like me, she has wings on her back. Fairy wings, done in black and purple. The back of her halter top cut the wings in half, so I’m unsure how far down they go, but after tonight I’m determined to find out.
My eyes shift around the dark deserted beach. My body is casting a very long shadow in the moonlight. The scenery around me is inconsequential when compared to my thoughts about Cami. What forced me into buying her drink was the way she leaned against the bar. Back to the bar, elbows up, with her breasts pushed out. God, she was like a goddess standing there. The finishing touch, the thing that forced me into ordering her a drink, was when her nipples hardened. And popping up on either side of her full, plump, deliciously suckable nipples was hard evidence that her ears aren’t the only things she has pierced. My God! Barbells…right through her nipples. AMAZING! I feel the excitement stir in my shorts at the thought of finding what other secrets she holds beneath her clothes. Granted, that dress left very little to the imagination…
She’s right upstairs, you idiot, go find out.
I shake my head, trying desperately to clear the images from my mind in a vain attempt to calm down. “Stop it! Stop thinking about it,” I start to beat myself up. What exactly would a beautiful woman like Cami want to do with me?
Obviously something, I realize. She followed me onto the beach and gave me her room number. Not to mention the fact that she made a very pointed attempt to get my attention while putting her shoes back on. I feel the smile spread across my lips just thinking about her bent over. Ass in the air, unsheathed from her dress and panties. Nothing but raw naked skin and suspenders from her garter to her thigh highs. Should she keep the shoes on? Yes, yes she should. With her bare back exposed, begging my fingernails to run firmly but gently along her spine. Burying myself deep inside her wet, waiting pussy.
My knees give out and they crash into the sand. Sitting on my haunches, my hands fist, nails digging into my palms as I try and regain some sense of control. She is right upstairs and all I have to do is knock.
Something about this gorgeous girl screams to me that I can’t just bed her. She’s better than that. She deserves far better than me fantasizing about her on a darkened beach.
I continue to toy with the idea of going to her room, but I know that if I do, it will only end one way – horizontal. That’s something I know that I don’t want, not yet.
Believe me, I want Cami. But am I really ready to sleep with someone I’ve just met? I know the answer to that question: no, I’m not.
I’ve been with women before, and it always seems to end badly. I like to believe in karma, but I can’t seem to fathom anything I’ve done in my past to warrant Layla’s betrayal. I trusted her with everything, told her everything. She made me feel like I was really important, that we were made for each other. How wrong was I?
I’ve never felt so out of place and lost in my entire life. These last few days have been a complete disaster. I ended up in Tarah on a whim because I had to get away and get into hiding before the storm starts. This morning when I checked my email I had six different emails from Trinity, my public relations representative at Bold International, desperately wanting to know where I was, why my voicemail was full, and why I hadn’t appeared at the meeting with them on Wednesday. The answer, to me, is obvious: I’m in Tarah and want nothing to do with anything pertaining to Hollywood.
There was even an email from Vincent, which surprised me. He’s my agent, in charge of selling my image to perspective buyers in Hollywood. That means directors, producers, and studio executives. I’m quite sure that his email was in response to Trinity’s requests to track me down. Though Vinnie and I get along really well, I’m not sure that it extends beyond a professional level.
Turning around to face the moon, I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins. Staring up at the bright white of the moon and the deep blue of the ocean makes me feel so small and alone. But I know I can’t hide here forever. Eventually I’ll need to face the music. Trinity can be relentless when it comes to me, my actions, and my decisions. I’ve come to understand from other actors that Trinity is pretty calm in comparison. She doesn’t get worked up over little details, and she doesn’t do anything to try and control my life. I’m pretty sure this has more to do with the fact that I make a point of keeping my nose clean and out of trouble. I generally don’t have to go running to her with every little thing that doesn’t go my way.
Jesus, she is going to fly over the top with this story. When Layla told me about this story, my instinct was to stop it. To call Trinity and put a stop to it. But what would that accomplish? Saving Layla’s skin? I’m certain I’m no longer responsible for her, her career, or the outcome of this story.
I was concerned momentarily about the impact this story was going to have on my career. Then, in an instant, I realized that I don’t care. While I love acting, I’m certain that I could find something more to do with life than answer to directors and the pretentious actors and actresses on set. Is acting really something I want to do with the rest of my life? That’s one of the dozens of questions I need to answer.
I’m concerned about Layla, but how can I help her at this point? She really needs help – rehab or psychiatric help. Neither one of these options are things that she will willingly do on her own. I have no grounds to stand on in making her go. The thought of threatening her or bribing her has crossed my mind more than a few times, but in the end, it will accomplish nothing. It is no longer my battle to fight. She needs to make those choices on her own. About the only thing I can do is get in touch with her dad. Get him involved, and he can take care of her.
I know that eventually I’ll need to reply to Trinity, and eventually I need to fill her in on what’s going down. Oh, that is going to be a joyful conversation I’m not eager to have.
Before I can register what time it is, or even how long I’ve been out here on the beach, the sun begins to rise. I start to get this prickling sensation all over my body, the someone-is-watching-me feeling. I look over my shoulder and see Tyson sitting at a table on Blu’s patio. The bar is closed and all is quiet on the beach, for now. With the sunrise will come guests to enjoy the beach, so I get up and walk toward him. As I get closer I realize that his back is to me, and I still have that feeling like someone’s watching me.
My eyes instinctively scan the beach and the area surrounding the hotel. I don’t see anyone or anything that is out of the ordinary. I look up at the hotel. It’s beautiful in the fading moonlight. Almost white, though it was more of an orange stucco in the daylight. As my eyes scan the west-facing side of the hotel, they skip past the lower levels and shoot toward the top.
In the middle of the building, a floor below my own, there is a faint light and the silhouette of a person. A woman. A breeze kicks up and I see her hair flare out off her shoulder. Through the pale backlight I catch a hint of blue.
“Cami.”
Chapter Eight
Cami
“Busted,” I mutter to no one in particular. For the last fifteen minutes, at least, I’ve been out here watching Tristan from my balco
ny. His dragon’s wings brilliant against his pale skin. His shoulders tight, head bowed, and his entire upper body hunched forward. His head on his knees. I sit like that sometimes when I’m deep in thought or worried about something. He’d been in that position when I’d gone to bed two hours ago.
He looks up at me a second time, and in the light coming off of the deck I can see he’s smiling. I wave, and he waves back. Then he just stands there staring up at me.
“I wonder if he can see that I’m standing here in my birthday suit,” I muse out loud. If he can see me, then he’ll see I’m blushing at the thought; thinking about Tristan seeing me naked has the warm, ever-present wetness growing hotter between my legs.
After what seems like half a century, he breaks off his staring and looks sharply down toward the bar’s deck, like someone’s called his name. I can see that he’s talking to someone, but I can’t see who it is.
I gradually back up toward the door, slipping further into the shadows. All while keeping my eyes on Tristan.
After a very long, hot shower, I towel off and put on a t-shirt and the pair of boxer shorts I love to roam around the house in. While I work the brush through my hair, I pick up the phone and order room service for breakfast.
I’d hoped that something good would come of last night, but the reality has taken me completely by surprise. Tristan Michaels is staying in the same hotel as me. He bought me a drink. He talked with me on the beach.
What in the world was with the magnetism of the evening? I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It took everything I had not to turn around and go back to him. I was desperate for his voice, for more conversation, and I’m hoping that we will see each other again tonight. I can’t get a grip on the desperation I feel to be near him, for reasons I can’t even begin to imagine. All I know is that all night I wanted to be down on the beach sitting with him.
