What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  I’m puzzled because I’m not exactly sure what he’s referring to. “What do you mean, ‘not because of Layla’?” I ask.

  “I haven’t received very many new scripts. The ones that I have received were either poorly written or they were B movies with unreasonable production schedules.” He takes a bite of his salad. “I’ve been wondering if it has to do with my acting ability or if it’s just the movies that I’ve done. A lot of my popularity stems from the character I play, not necessarily my acting abilities.”

  Our waiter returns to clear our salad plates and bring us our main course: blackened duck, roasted potatoes, and mixed vegetables. I pick up my fork and knife and slowly slice into the duck. It’s tender and juicy.

  Before I take my first bite, I say to him, “Vincent has four scripts sitting on his desk – at this moment – waiting to be released to you. He’s just waiting until we have a final production schedule and tentative contract in hand. From my understanding, he holds the majority of your scripts until he has more information. He tries very hard not to bombard you with scripts that turn into nothing or with demands for production that you can’t meet.”

  His expression changes from grim to slightly excited.

  I take my first bite, and it’s delicious. Mouthwatering. I swallow and take a sip of the wine, which tastes crisp after the rich meat.

  “You’ll be able to pick and choose or possibly do them all,” I continue. “According to Vinnie, the tentative production schedules would not overlap, and you could meet the timelines on all of them.”

  Watching his reaction intently, I see how his body shifts from bent over and tense to a looser, straighter position. A smile spreads across his face, and his eyes warm.

  We eat in silence for a few minutes as I mull over the fact that I haven’t told him everything I know, and it’s nagging at me. Finally I take a deep breath and speak up, bracing myself for his reaction. “I’ve seen the article.”

  “Wha…? When? How?” He’s pretty cute when he’s flustered, actually.

  “Trinity sent me the article today. She received it yesterday but waited to forward it to me until the pictures were validated. There’s also a video, but that won’t be released to the public. It confirms that it’s her, though, without doubt.”

  “She admitted to cheating.”

  “Right, she did. To you and no one else. At least that we know of. Validating the photos is standard in scandal stories because if they’re faked we would fight it and file a law suit to stop the story. In this case, the pictures are pretty good quality. They haven’t been altered or enhanced.”

  “Well, I guess that’s something,” he sulks.

  “Tristan, the article tears Layla apart, claiming that this is not the first time she’s done this. Though the source requested anonymity in the article, the magazine did receive written permission to disclose their information you and to Bold.”

  He looks at me, completely puzzled. “You know who took the photos?”

  “No, I don’t know who took the pictures. But I know who sent the pictures to the magazine, and I also know why the source chose Entertainment Now to release the story to.” I had never considered who the source might be until it was brought to me. The source’s anonymity is being protected by Bold until Tristan decides he wanted to know. I am hoping that the person who sent the pictures will reveal themselves to Tristan in their own time.

  “Why EN?” he asks. I can tell that he is doing all he can to calm himself. But surprise washes over me that he asked this question and not who.

  I take a rather large drink of the wonderful wine. It seems like a waste to gulp it, but I am suddenly feeling the need to steel myself for the rest of this conversation. “EN was chosen because they have a reputation for verification. Also, they only publish once a month, and they tend to sit on the stories until the person or persons involved have a chance to respond. They do all that so they can fully attempt to verify the validity of the claims. The creators of the magazine feel it makes for better magazines if they report the truth.”

  The waiter interrupts us with another bottle of wine and our desserts. I take a sip of my wine, thank him, and watch him disappear back into the cabin.

  Tristan is pale. His gaze is locked on the table.

  I really want to reassure him. I take a stab at what might be bothering him the most about all this. “EN has given Trinity ample time to submit a statement, but per your request, she has not. Fortunately for you, EN hasn’t been pressing Trinity for a response. They understand that you had very little to do with this and that you are truly a victim in this situation.”

  I watch as his face relaxes some, but his eyebrows are still furrowed. “I’m trying to decide if I want to know who sent in those pictures. From the way you’re talking, it seems like you think I know this person. Which makes me wonder why they didn’t just come to me with the story.”

  “I think I can answer that without telling you who.”

  “Go on,” he encourages.

  “My best guess? The pictures were released to EN rather than you personally because they wanted her to be painted in the light that she deserves to be painted in. This person probably knew that if you got the photos, it would end your relationship with her but you wouldn’t make Layla’s betrayal public. You told me yourself her career was already in jeopardy after the Burning movies. I’d say it’s deader than dead now.”

  “I guess I can’t say I’m surprised. She always caused so much trouble on set, and the constant coaching was awful and painful to have to watch and listen to. She really is a horrible actress.” He takes a bite of his dessert and a sip of wine before continuing. “It would not surprise me if she slept with someone to get the part of Alyssa.” He pauses, seemingly deep in thought.

  It suddenly strikes me like a freight train going ninety miles an hour. “That’s why she slept with you, isn’t it?” I ask, completely breathless. The revelation has knocked the wind right out of my lungs. Suddenly my heart aches for Tristan.

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “It would be logical. She kept me close to her so that she could have me on her side, both on set and in her battles with the production company. She was constantly fighting with them, and it was natural that I would stand up for her.” He seems to sober as he speaks about this.

  “The bottom line in all of this, Tristan, is that Layla used you to further her career. When she realized that your success was not helping her any, she took matters into her own hands.”

  We’ve barely touched our desserts, but I feel full, and now I’m struck by the urge to be close to Tristan again. I get up and walk around the table. Squirm my way onto his lap. I sit straddling his legs, my arms wrapped around his neck, looking squarely into his eyes.

  He smiles. In his eyes I see desire, affection, lust, need. I snuggle closer into his body, and he starts rubbing my back in a very tender gesture.

  “Are you ready to know who sent in the pictures?”

  Tristan

  Do I want to know who sent in those pictures? Absolutely. But not right now. All this heavy talk is a bit much. Tonight is meant to be about Cami and me.

  I shake my head slightly. Kiss her nose. She blushes deeply, which sends my blood flying through my veins. The erection I had from before dinner comes back with a vengeance. She is so beautiful. Her makeup is very subtle, natural almost, but, like before, it shows me that she cares enough about herself and her appearance to take the effort. I won’t compare her to anyone, but it is very nice to see.

  “Let’s go back to the hot tub,” I whisper, and she nods. She starts to get down from my lap, and I hold her tight. “Nuh uh, you’re not walking.” I let out a chuckle and stand. She really is light, and I have no problem carrying her back to the hot tub. As we pass by the waiter I say, “Can you please bring us some more champagne? Then please have Jessie make us a round of drinks?”

  “Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”


  Once we make it to the tub I set her down in the chair and reach for the hem of her shirt. She lets me pull it over her head, which leaves her in shorts and bikini top. She’s smiling coquettishly at me.

  Then she stands, kicks off her flip-flops, and starts to undo her shorts. She is purposefully trying to make a show of taking off her shorts again. It’s working, and I grin wickedly at her as she turns ever so slightly and slowly lowers her shorts to her ankles, bending at the waist.

  With her ass in the air, perfectly smooth, she steps out of her shorts, batting her eyelashes in a vain attempt at innocence. I smirk at her. She takes two steps in my direction and reaches for the hem of my shirt. But before she gets a grip on it, I grab her hands, intertwine my fingers with hers, and bring them out to the side, forcing her to take that last half step that brings our bodies together.

  I can feel her breasts pressed against my diaphragm, and I bend down, finding her lips, and I kiss her. The moment our lips meet, I feel the sweet sting of the electricity that flows through us, and the strings of conscious thought are lost. All I want is her. Here, now! But I can’t.

  I pull back and, slowly opening my eyes, I see her peering at me with her coquettish grin. “Oh, dear, sweet Cami. The things you make me feel.” I smile at her. It’s true; she makes me feel alive.

  I start to pull my shirt over my head, but as the shirt covers my eyes, I hear her sharp intake of breath, then her hands are sliding up my stomach along my abs to my pecs and then up around my neck. With the shirt still covering my eyes, she tugs my head in her direction and I let her.

  Her lips crush into mine. My body lights up like a live wire. With my sense of sight cut off, everything seems that much more intense.

  Her hands release me and she starts tugging at my shirt. I let her remove it the rest of the way and embrace her. I pick her up again, further deepening our kiss.

  Slowly, I walk us toward the tub and gingerly climb in. The water is warm. It sends shivers through my body and into Cami’s. We both let out a breathy laugh. I sit down on the submerged bench that runs along the tub’s sides.

  The acknowledgement of my desire to wait is there in her eyes as she looks at me. Something else passes over her face, and I feel the now-familiar tingle of emotion run through my body, knotting my stomach in a very good way.

  We both know that tonight is not the night, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I suspect that she, too, is about done cooling her heels for me.

  Slowly we pull back from each other. With her straddling my lap, I pass an Eskimo kiss over her nose. We stay like this for most of the rest of the night.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cami

  As my eyes begin to flutter open, the first thing that comes to mind is an image of Tristan, wet and warm from our hot tub escapade last night. The memory of his hooded, lust-filled eyes is warming my insides and forming an unsatisfied ache between my legs. Tristan’s self-control has me weak in the knees; I don’t know how much longer I can resist him. I roll onto my side in an effort to stop myself from giving into this urge to go upstairs to his room.

  I think about satisfying the ache myself, but when I look at the clock I see I’ve slept in. It’s seven; I only have about an hour before I’m supposed to talk with Trinity about Tristan and the story, and I still have to shower, eat, and get dressed.

  I clamber into the shower thinking about last night, trying desperately to avoid thinking about our wonderful make-out session. I’m barely keeping it together as it is.

  After such a short time I’m afraid of the feelings that are beginning to blossom deep down when it comes to Tristan. While we were discussing Layla last night, I realized that Tristan’s selflessness knows no bounds. Regardless of all the pain that Layla has put him through, he still wants to help her. Today when I talk with Trinity, I’ll suggest that she get in touch with Layla’s PR people so that they know about her drug use. Layla’s team needs to be aware of the path that Layla is headed down. Maybe they can help her.

  The pregnancy, of course, complicates things, but I would hope it would give her the necessary motivation to get cleaned up and back on the right path. I don’t know whether or not she is fully addicted to the drugs she’s using or if it’s recreational, but if she’s pregnant, she needs help no matter what.

  I was a little surprised that Tristan decided he wasn’t ready to know who sent the pictures, but I have a gut feeling that it won’t be long before we have that conversation. Unless the person who sent them speaks with Tristan first, which would be my preference.

  But right now our biggest issue is maintaining Tristan’s anonymity in Tarah and keeping him away from public scrutiny. This is definitely something I’m not ready to handle on my own. I’ll be grateful for Trinity’s advice on that today.

  As I put on the fluffy white bathrobe, I hear a knock on the door. The timing is such that it makes me wonder how long they’ve been knocking. When I reach the door I peer through the peephole and see what appears to be a hotel staff member carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. I smile to myself and reach for the door handle.

  “Good morning, ma’am.” He nods as he makes his way past me and into the room. “Where would you like your flowers?”

  “The coffee table, please.” I gesture to the table where my phones and iPad are sitting. Then I notice he’s carrying more than just flowers.

  He places the flowers in the middle of all my electronics, then turns to me to ask, “Are you familiar with a MacBook, Ms. Enders?”

  I giggle. The one thing that I didn’t bring with me was my MacBook. Shortly before I’d left Phoenix it had met the floor in a not-so-nice way. I hadn’t gotten around to picking up a replacement. I had noticed an electronics retailer with an Apple logo in the mall downstairs, but I wanted one of the latest models and doubted they’d carry them.

  “Very familiar. Is that what you have in your hand?” I say, pointing to the box he is holding.

  My level of annoyance rises within. No doubt this is the work of Tristan, and after all I’ve told him, I hope he realizes how unnecessary this gesture is. It’s so over-the-top for an expense for a blossoming relationship.

  “Oh. Yes!” He stutters slightly. “Compliments of Mr. Rubble. I believe there is also a card inside the box.”

  I nod because I’m not sure I can keep the irritation out of my voice. Buying me a Mac is hardly necessary. I’m more than capable of purchasing one on my own. From the looks of the box in the gentleman’s hand – George, I can finally see his name tag – I’d been wrong about the store not carrying the most recent models. This is the fifteen-inch, two-point-six gigahertz model with retina display.

  “Thank you, George.” I paste on a smile and turn toward my purse.

  “No need, ma’am,” he says. “Mr. Rubble took care of it already. Also, your breakfast is on its way up.”

  “Well, thank you kindly, George. You have a wonderful day.”

  “You as well. Thank you again,” he says and leaves.

  I walk over to the table to read the card attached to the flowers. It says:

  Good Morning My Sweets,

  I do hope you enjoyed last night as much as I did.

  I look forward to seeing you again. Tonight? 6:30 in Blu?

  I hope each time you look upon these flowers today you will think of nothing else but me.

  Have a fantastic day!

  Tristan

  My, my! Mr. Tristan Michaels wants another date with me tonight? Of course, how can I say no after these flowers?

  The arrangement is mostly yellow, white, and pink roses. I can spend hours breaking down what this means, but mixed in with the roses are stargazer lilies. Stargazers are by far my favorite flower. The center coloring of these is so bright and vibrant they must have opened up this morning. They’re beautiful.

  Before getting into the box that George placed on the table, I need to let Tristan know I received his flowers and thank him for his delightful gesture. I pick up
my iPad and email him, knowing he’ll be able to read it from his phone:

  Good Morning Yourself Handsome,

  Sweets, huh? I have a feeling I’ll need to get used to that, but no worries, I like it. Your beautiful flowers have taken pride of place upon my coffee table so that while I’m busy working today, I can be distracted by their beauty while thinking of yours.

  The MacBook box is a little more daunting and I’ve yet to open it. So for now, I thank thee for my beautiful flowers.

  Yours, Cami

  While I’m waiting for Tristan’s response, there’s another knock on the door. I’m about halfway there when my BlackBerry chimes, letting me know I have about ten minutes before my Skype meeting with Trinity. I reach for the door and open it.

  It’s a server with breakfast. A breakfast I didn’t order. Regardless, it smells divine. Sitting on the cart is another, though significantly smaller, vase containing purple irises and purple daisies. I have to give him credit, he has great taste in flowers.

  My BlackBerry chimes again, indicating that a message has been received. Odd. I’d sent my email to Tristan from my iPad.

  As the server finishes laying out my breakfast on the dining table I ask, “How can I place a flower order for hotel delivery?”

  “Dial star one nine nine on the phone and you will be connected directly to the flower shop.”

  “Perfect. Thank you so much.” I go for my purse again and am quickly shot down. It’s apparently already been covered. I nod and he leaves.

  I return to the coffee table, where my flowers and the ominous box are sitting. Grabbing my two phones, I return to the dining table, take a seat, and uncover my plate.

  Under the warming cover are two pancakes, two slices of whole wheat toast, two sausage links, two strips of bacon, and two sunny side up eggs. Tristan obviously paid attention Saturday morning. I pick up the syrup and cover my pancakes, grab my fork, and dive in.