Famously Bad: (A Movie Star Romance Novella)

by Katana Collins

  Was he trying to piss me off? Because he was succeeding. Hollywood star or not, he was cocky as shit, which normally I hated. But with him? I also desperately wanted him to tear my clothes off of me because there was something in his arrogance that was different than the others. Between my legs, a pulsing ache deepened, and I hated myself a little bit for how much I was drawn to him.

  I crossed my arms, refusing to step back. I would not be the one to step away first. Hell no. “Tried and failed. Just like all the others,” I whispered.

  His hand snaked around the back of my neck, his thumb brushing just at the base of my jaw. “Sweetheart,” he whispered and the warmth of his breath caressed my parted lips. “The difference is, I wouldn’t fail.”

  I sucked in a sharp, fragmented breath. “That’s what they all said. So what makes you so different?”

  His gaze snapped to mine from where he was staring at my mouth. That thumb inched over and brushed across my bottom lip. “Because I’m not so dumb to think it will be easy.” He trailed the backs of his knuckles down the line of my throat while talking a breathy gasp escaped from my lips. “I know how complex a woman’s body is. And how her mind is even more complex.”

  His mouth brushed against mine, not quite kissing, but as he spoke, the movement of his lips left me panting and needy. “And I would be sure I didn’t come until you did.” He took a step away and the heat rushing through my body cooled immediately. The absence of his lips and heady scent combined with my arousal left me light-headed. “That, Emma, is the difference.”

  3

  We docked in Korcula three hours and twenty minutes later, and I had successfully managed to avoid Pierce Whitley’s stare for the remainder of the trip.

  Even still, I could feel his eyes on me. Lingering. Watching. My face burned every time I looked down at the text message Lainey sent. Every time I remembered his proposition, I remembered the grip of his hand on my neck, the brush of his thumb on my jaw. Did he do this every time he was abroad? Proposition random women into having sex with him? Did he tour the world promising orgasms to all naïve, inexperienced women? Although, I was neither naïve or inexperienced.

  What was wrong with me? Pierce Whitley was an Oscar-winning actor — and he was offering to pop my orgasm cherry. What woman in her right mind would say no to that? And frankly, he wasn’t wrong when he said that this whole plan of coming to Croatia and meeting up with a stranger for random sex was a terrible, dangerous plan.

  It was a terrible plan… is a terrible plan.

  One that I blame Lainey for. Because I never intended to make good on Operation Emma’s First Orgasm anyway.

  When we exited the boat, I was surprised that there was no paparazzi waiting for Pierce. I always imagined that celebrities never had a moment’s peace, not even abroad on a tiny Mediterranean island.

  Just off the boat, two limos awaited. One man held up a sign that read Mr. & Mrs. Langley, and I cringed. How many times on this damn trip was I going to need to explain myself?

  After a deep breath, I made my way to the limo and gave the driver the biggest smile I could manage. “I’m, um, I’m Mrs. Langley… sort of.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, opening the door. “Identification, please?”

  Oh, fuck. I had made the reservation for the Langley’s because the limo service told me that as long as one of us had the last name on our passport, that’s all they needed. “Right. Um, Mr. Langley actually isn’t joining me anymore.”

  The man’s brow crumpled and he grabbed his clipboard, shuffling through paperwork. After a moment, he pointed to the form I had filled out online. “Mr. and Mrs. Langley,” he repeated. Despite his thick accent I could understand him well.

  “I know,” I said, pulling out my passport and showing him my ID. “There was a change of plans. Mr. Langley isn’t coming anymore… it’s just me. Ms. Cochran.”

  There was more shuffling of papers before he responded, “Apologies, but I must see the ID of a Mr. or Mrs. Langley.”

  I had managed not to cry since the wedding day. Not in the days after when I returned all the wedding gifts. Not when I was packing up my belongings from James’s apartment. Not even when I had discovered his real reason for calling off the wedding was because he and his ex-girlfriend — his high school sweetheart — had been rekindling their relationship for weeks prior to our wedding.

  But right now? Tears swelled in my eyes, burning a path up my nose.

  Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry over a stupid limo, Emma.

  “I’m sorry,” the driver repeated again.

  “Can’t you verify that my ID matches the name on the credit card I paid with?”

  He pointed to the fine, italicized print which I had checked off when I booked the limo. The names you give must be present to accept the limo service. No exceptions.

  How far was my hotel from the dock? It was a small island… it couldn’t be too wildly far. Or maybe there was a taxi service I could call. As I stood there, on the sidewalk of a foreign country, tears threatening to fall, I felt a warm hand fall to the center of my back.

  “Emma,” Pierce’s deep, baritone voice rumbled from behind me, deep and masculine. “Get in the limo.” Even though it was a command, his tone was gentler than it had been since we first met.

  “I can’t,” I whispered. “I booked it under Mrs. Langley… and that’s—” my voice cracked. “That’s not who I am.”

  His sharp breath was hot against my ear and I could smell traces of mint from the gum he chewed. “Not that limo,” he said. “My limo.” He increased the pressure on my back, tenderly guiding me to the left where another limo was waiting. His was bigger… surprise, surprise. “We already established we’re going to the same hotel. Come on.”

  I could have objected. Maybe if I hadn’t been so broken, so raw and unhinged and an emotional wreck, I would have. But the truth was, I didn’t have a lot of choices and even though it bruised my ego, I’d rather be safe and smart than proud and robbed… or worse.

  I let Pierce guide me toward his limo where the driver was waiting for us, with the door open. Pierce effortlessly lifted my bags into the back and gave a nod to the driver before sliding in behind me.

  Inside, it was the sort of limo you see in movies. Plush leather seats that were soft and buttery surrounded me, and I could have curled up and taken a four-hour nap right there. Bottled water was chilled and awaiting us as was a bottle of champagne and a bowl of candy. No wait… not just any candy, boxes of Nerds.

  I reached out, taking a box of the strawberry flavor and shook it, the candy sounding like maracas. “Are these Nerds? What a weird thing to have in Croatia,” I said.

  He grabbed a box of the grape flavor, tore it open and dumped the whole thing in his mouth, giving me a tight smirk. “They’re my favorite,” he said once he had chewed and swallowed the wad of candy.

  Then, he reached over and grabbed a second box eating the whole thing once more. How freaking unfair was that? He could down what was basically pure sugar in god forsaken quantities while still only having something like three percent body fat — not freaking fair! If I ate even a bite of a donut, I bloated like I was five months pregnant.

  I put the box of nerds back in the bowl and gave him a weak smile. “Well, since they’re your favorite, I better not eat them.”

  His grin widened. “What’s mine is yours.”

  “Thank you… again. You must be tired of saving me.”

  “You’ll find I don’t grow tired very easily. Especially not when it when it comes to serving a beautiful woman.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Casanova. Let’s recap the day’s events. So far, I’ve puked on you, cried in front of you, and rolled my vibrator over your toe. I’m no expert, but those things are hardly foreplay.”

  He smiled, but leaned back in his seat. “Oh, come on. You’re hardly a damsel in distress. The first time I ever filmed a scene on a boat, I puked over the railing.”

  I winced, feeling hi
s pain. “Oof. That sucks,” I empathized.

  “It sucked even worse because our producers were on the deck below watching the monitors. I puked all over the screen.”

  I laughed, a loud noise that came out like a horn honking and quickly clapped my hand over my mouth. “No!” I said. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.”

  He nodded. “Believe me… I get it. Motion sickness sucks.” He paused, catching his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “And traveling with your vibrator? That’s hot as hell. Don’t be embarrassed about that.”

  His eyes were locked onto me, and impossibly, they seemed even bluer here than they had on the boat; a pale blue color that matched the hue of the sky on a cloudless day. An intense current between us buzzed, coming to life as we locked eyes. He was so gorgeous, so ridiculously sexy. Everything from the top of his sandy brown hair down to the toes of his Italian loafers was utterly perfect. Which begged the question… what the hell did he see in me?

  I swallowed, my mouth feeling sandy and dry, and that chilled bottle of water was suddenly extremely inviting. I cracked the cap open and took a swig, mustering up a bit of bravery, channeling my inner Lainey. “You could have any woman you want,” I said, shaking my head. “Why me? Why would you want to be with someone who’s a mess? A woman who was left at the altar less than a week ago?”

  He slid forward on the seat, bracing his elbows onto the tops of his thighs and his knees brushed against mine. His tanned forearms flexed with his hands that momentarily balled into fists. His gaze leveled me and my stomach fluttered with a heated, buzzing sensation.

  “Because when I walked onto that ferry and saw your text, I haven’t stopped thinking about what your face will look like when you come. I can’t get it out of my fucking head. I want you.”

  I swallowed, my mouth dry and a frigid breeze from the air conditioner hit my skin. My nipples went immediately hard and I tried to convince myself it was because of the air conditioning… not because of Pierce Whitley’s words. “You… you don’t even know me.”

  “I don’t have to know you to know I want you.”

  My pulse quickened and I could feel the fluttering thrum against my throat.

  My face must have given me away because an amused smirk tugged at his mouth. “Does that make you uncomfortable? Me saying how badly I want to fuck you?” He dragged his thumb across my lower lip, pinching it quickly before releasing me from the deliciously sharp sensation. “How just the thought of this mouth whimpering my name has my cock hard?”

  I cleared my throat. “No.” I was a freaking liar. Because for the first time in my life, being in the mere presence of someone was turning my blood to liquid fire.

  And he knew it.

  He freaking knew it.

  I swallowed and tried again, rolling my shoulders back. “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. But I think it’s pretty damn arrogant of you to think that all I need is a good fuck to get me to come. I’ve been fucked Mr. Whitley. I’ve been fucked, I’ve been made love to, I’ve had sex, I’ve been devoured for thirty minutes… and nothing. So, no. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. But it makes me think you’re full of shit.”

  His mouth tightened and I grinned triumphantly. I finally got to him. I got to him in the same way he’s been getting to me for hours. Inwardly, I gave a triumphant fist pump.

  What the heck was it about Pierce Whitley that brought out this side of me? This witty, clever girl who managed to say just what I wanted to? Maybe it was the European air. Maybe it was Pierce himself. Or maybe it was the jetlag. But either way, I kind of liked this new me.

  We pulled up to the curb of the hotel and I jumped out of that limo faster than he could call my name and chase me.

  I yanked at the trunk of the limo to get my bags, only … it was locked. Dammit. My bravery would and could only last so long and it was waning. Fast.

  Pierce was beside me in seconds, towering over me. “Tell you what Ms. Cochran. Meet me tonight for dinner in my room, and you don’t have to worry about replacing my Burberry luggage. One dinner and we’ll call it even.”

  I gulped. I wanted to meet him for dinner. My panties were soaked and my sex was throbbing with unfulfilled desire. “Quid pro quo?”

  He shook his head. “I just want your company for dinner.”

  “And in your bed.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly, but the intent behind was anything but. “One thing at a time. Of course I want you in my bed. I think you want that, too. But if you come for dinner, I won’t force anything on you. That’s a promise. I can even request hotel security to be positioned outside for your safety and an escort back to your room if you so choose.”

  He held out his hand for me to shake, and I hesitantly took it. “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  With a sharp tug, he pulled me flush against his body. My nipples were pebbled and hard and felt delicious pressed against his muscled chest. “Do that,” he said. “I always stay in the penthouse when I’m here in Korcula. You can access it with a key, which I’ll have delivered to your room.”

  “But you don’t know what room I’m staying in—”

  He cut me off with a brutal kiss, but even with the firm movements of his mouth, his lips were surprising soft. His tongue dove into my mouth, parting the seam of my lips and I moaned, opening up to him. The rough stubble around his mouth scraped my skin and my body went rubbery beneath his hold. Like a riptide, he was taking me under, drowning me.

  “I assume you’re in the honeymoon suite,” he said, then released me, entering the lobby.

  My knees were already weak from a simple kiss. Pierce Whitley was the best kind of bad.

  4

  What was I doing? What was I doing, what was I doing, what was I doing? I thought as I pressed the hotel keycard against the elevator and hit the button that said PH.

  I didn’t do things like this. I could walk the walk. I acted tough and sexy, but the truth was I was a big wuss. Yet, here I was in my favorite little black dress, sexy patent leather pumps, and a thong that was so far up my butt crack, I was sure I’d have to excavate it, paleontologist style, in order to remove it.

  The elevator door slid open, and I was met with sleek, white marble floors and a circular marble table with an exquisite vase filled with roses. I stepped out, my heels clacking against the floors, echoing through the foyer. His hotel room had a foyer, for god’s sake.

  Immediately, I was hit with the delicious smell of dinner and when I looked down the hallway, Pierce stood backlit by the Croatian sunset, his back to me. I paused, taking a moment to admire his breathtaking silhouette. When in the hell would I ever get this sight again? And I didn’t mean the Mediterranean sunset.

  He was gorgeous. His back was broad and through the button-down shirt he wore, I could see the sinews of muscles pushing against the high cotton-thread count. His hands were casually resting in the pockets of his dress pants, but his rigid shoulders told me he was anything but relaxed. He was aware. He knew I was here. He was just waiting for his moment.

  To his left was a small table set with covered plates, a burning candle and another vase of roses.

  “You came,” he said and the sound of his voice startled me, making me jump.

  Slowly, he turned, redirecting that gaze of his from the window to me.

  “Well, I don’t exactly have six-thousand dollars laying around to pay for your new Burberry luggage, so this felt like a good… alternative,” I joked.

  His mouth twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. “Come here,” he said. “Take a look at this view.”

  I hesitated for only a moment before I crossed the room to him. He took a hold of me, his hands encasing my waist, and he pressed me against the open window frame. The cool evening breeze caught my wavy blond hair, sending the strands whipping across my face. Outside, the sky had warmed into a sherbet shade of orange with streaks of blue. The orange sun was low in the sky, half covered by the horizon, and it reflected off the water creating a sight that Mon
et, himself, would have been jealous of.

  Below us, people walked by on the cobblestone streets of the historic downtown area. If I closed my eyes, I could hear their laughter and chatter, and the sound of forks hitting plates and wine bottles opening.

  Behind me, I could feel Pierce. I could feel his hands gripping my hips, his fingertips digging into my waist. I could feel his broad, muscled chest pressed against my shoulders, his hot breath skimming the back of my neck. And his hard cock pushing into my ass.

  My sex squeezed. I wanted him. I wanted him to make good on his promise. I wanted to know what it would feel like to come at the same time a man released inside of me. I wanted to feel myself pulse around his length and bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

  I wanted the magic, the connection, the intensity of an incredible orgasm that you share with someone else. And right now, I wanted that someone else to be Pierce.

  I sighed and arched my back against his hard length, feeling the tremor in my pussy. His fingers circled higher up my torso until he was tracing the swell of my cleavage.

  “I want to touch you, Emma. May I touch you?”

  God yes. But words didn’t form in my mouth, and instead when I parted my lips, merely a gasp escaped.

  He nipped my ear. “I need to hear it, babe,” he whispered.

  “Yes. Touch me. Please.”

  He tugged my dress and bra down, then quickly covered my exposed breasts with his hands, kneading them and rolling my nipples between deft fingers. “Right here?” I asked. Anyone could look up and see us through the open window.

  “Are you shy, Emma Cochran?”

  “When it comes to strangers seeing my body? Yes.”

  He made a thoughtful hmm sound before tugging my dress back into place and instead, hiked the hem up to my waist. Curling his fingers around the thin strip of lace at my hips, he slid them down my thighs until they hit the floor. The window ended at my belly button, so to the world, it looked like I was just staring out a window. But inside the room, Pierce had my panties down around my ankles, my bare ass exposed.