“Ever since I was a little boy.”
“I bet you gave your parents a run for their money.”
I grinned. “You could say that.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “How did you get that scar?”
“What scar?”
“The one on your cheek?”
I sipped my drink. I didn’t know why the hell she was trying to strike up a conversation with me. Hell, she hadn’t even asked me my name. What in the world was she really doing here? Because judging by her predatory stare, she had something up her sleeve.
Just like Elizabeth always did.
“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Sycamore?” I asked.
“Oh, please. Call me Syn,” she said.
“I’m Gael.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
She nodded. “Mhm. You’re our main stuntman on set. Of course I know who you are.”
“Hunter’s your main stuntman.”
“Hunter?”
I chuckled. “Go ahead and tell me why you’re here. You have my attention. Use it wisely.”
“Wisely, huh?”
Her eyes slid down my body, and I prayed my cock wasn’t pressing as heavily against my pants as it felt.
“Well,” she said as her gaze slid back to mine, “I was hoping to have a nice conversation with a man tonight, but if you’d rather me go elsewhere…”
“Do you always want to have nice conversations with men while your friend listens?”
“Nat’s my assis—”
A slow smile crept across my face as Syn licked her beautiful, red, pouty lips, making them glisten in the dim lighting of the bar.
“All right, you caught me,” Syn said.
“You might play the detective on television, but I’m very good at reading people,” I said.
“Have you always been like that?”
I took the liberty of running my stare down her body, clocking her like she did me, but it was a mistake. Because the more of her I took in, the harder my cock grew. I swallowed my growls and gripped my glass a bit tighter. Anything to keep myself from reaching out and pulling her into my lap. After all, this was Syn Sycamore. The A-list actress that had the whole of Hollywood buzzing about.
I didn’t need to piss her off.
“Tell me how you got this scar,” she said again softly.
She raised her hand toward my face, and I leaned back. But then, something flashed behind her eyes. A kind of pain I’d never seen on her face before, or any woman’s, really. It gave me pause. Enough of a pause for her fingertips to fall against my cheek. And when her fingers slid against the stubble of my face, electricity ignited in my gut.
Sizzling me from my toes to my nose.
“I was twelve,” I said.
Her hand fell away from my cheek, and all I wanted was for her touch to come back.
“What happened?” she asked.
Her eyes found mine, and I could’ve sworn I saw genuineness in them. An attentiveness that made me feel as if I were the only man in the room. She crossed her leg over her knee. She wrapped her lips around the edge of that glass, and as she sipped her drink, I followed suit.
“I was twelve and swimming in the ocean. A pretty massive wave came up out of nowhere and dragged me underwater. And my cheek slammed against a rock on the ocean floor.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That must have been painful.”
I nodded. “It was. My father had to rush me to a doctor. Fourteen stitches that busted open twice before we could get it fully healed.”
“Why did the stitches burst open?”
“Can I get you anything else to drink, Miss Sycamore?”
The bartender interrupted us, and I grinned.
“You can get this beautiful lady a chocolate martini,” I said.
4
Syn
“Tell me about this tattoo,” I said.
I let my fingertips swirl around the red design just underneath the cuff of his T-shirt. He slid the sleeve up, giving me a glance at what was underneath. And once I got past gawking at his chiseled upper arms, I studied the tattoo—a red boat with oars extending into what looked like a red ocean, and beyond it, the shading of a blue sky.
“What’s the quote wrapped around it?” I asked.
I squinted before Gael started rattling off the smoothest Spanish I’d ever heard.
“Nunca serás capaz de cruzar el océano hasta que pierdas de vista la costa.”
My gaze found his, and my heart stopped at the way his smile curled up his lips.
“In English, it means ‘you can never cross the ocean until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.’”
I smiled. “That’s beautiful.”
He smoothed his sleeve down. “It’s the first tattoo I ever got.”
“So, it must mean a lot to you.”
“More than you could ever know. My father went with me to get it. When I told him about my dreams to become a stuntman, he knew he’d have to relinquish me in order for me to pursue that dream. He said he wouldn’t stop me, but that he wanted me to have some sort of a permanent reminder of the courage I’d need to take on this kind of a life.”
“Which is why you got the tattoo.”
He nodded. “Exactly. I see it every day. Every morning, and every night. It reminds me of why I’m doing what I’m doing.”
My heart melted at his words. “That’s beautiful.”
The more I listened to his stories, the more I felt my hardened shell cracking. I’d been talking with Nat about this all day, devising a plan to get this man alone so I could proposition him regarding my idea. But the more he talked—with his accent and his stories and his beautiful tattoos—I felt myself softening to him and forgetting all about my little plan.
Almost.
Madison had been declining requests for interviews all day on my behalf. The blogs were already painting me as the woman scorned. And according to Madison, one of the entertainment media outlets had already run a rumored story about a woman tossed out into the dirt by the new leading man in some Hollywood action film. It made me sick. I had to rewrite that narrative, and fast.
And the only way to do that was getting this stuntman to agree to my plan.
No one around me thought it was a good idea. Nat chewed my ear off on the way to the bar about it being a disaster. Madison tried to forbid it, saying it would create more of a PR nightmare for her to clean up if things went south. Or, worse, if Gael turned down my offer and then went to the press with it. I had to take that chance, though. If I didn’t my reputation would be ruined. My brand would disintegrate.
I had worked much too hard for that brand, too.
“So, are you going to tell me?” Gael asked.
His voice ripped me from my trance. “What?”
“Are you going to tell me why you’ve tracked me down to this bar?”
“What makes you think I tracked you down? Maybe I come to this bar often.”
He chuckled. “No one seeks out a place like this. The only reason it’s convenient for me is because I live across the street.”
“Wait, you do?”
He nodded. “Yes, I do. A little studio apartment that isn’t fit for anyone to live in.”
“Sounds dreadful.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Can I get you anything else, Miss Sycamore?” the bartender asked once more.
I shook my head. “No, thank you. Just the check. I’m picking up his tab, too.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” he said.
“I want to, though. Because you’re right. I did try to find you for a reason. You left set so quickly this evening that I didn’t have a chance to catch you before you walked right out the door.”
“It has been a trying day.”
“That’s actually what I’d like to speak with you about.”
I saw the confusion on his face, but I didn’t let it deter me. I handed the bartender my car
d and he cashed out both of our tabs. I tipped him well because I figured he probably had to put up with bullshit customers all night. “All right, you officially have my attention,” Gael said.
I drew in a deep breath. “I overheard you and your friend talking today.”
His face fell. “Syn, that was just nonsense on Hunter’s part. He didn’t really mean—”
I held up my hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t hear much. But before I go into what I’ve got in mind, can I get you to confirm some things for me?”
He paused. “Sure.”
“Thank you. You said that someone ended an engagement today? Were you engaged?”
“I was, yes.”
“Is that the deal you mentioned? Or was that something else?”
He sighed. “Ah.”
“Ah, what?”
He turned himself toward the bar, and I grew worried. I didn’t have any other way of approaching it. It wasn’t every day I was about to ask a man to fake a relationship with me to save both of our asses, but I needed all of the details in line first, before I made an ass out of myself.
And when Gael cleared his throat, I settled in for the story.
“Elizabeth and I had an arrangement,” he said.
“That your fiancée?” I asked.
“Ex-fiancée, yes. She called me this morning and informed me that the wedding we both agreed to have to benefit us was off. Our deal was null and void.”
“What was the deal?”
He shrugged. “She wanted to piss off Daddy Dearest, and I need a green card to keep my job. We get married; we both get what we want. Except, Daddy Dearest threatened to cut her off. And I sure as hell don’t have the money to upkeep the lifestyle she’s used to.”
“I’m so sorry, Gael.”
I snickered. “I probably dodged a bullet, but that was the deal, and that’s also my dilemma. Without a green card, I can’t get my visa renewed in time so I’d be deported back to Spain.”
“You’ll lose your job.”
“I’ll lose my dream.”
I leaned toward him a bit. “What if I told you I had an offer that could solve both of our issues?”
He slowly looked over at me. “Well, you already have my attention.”
I grinned. “Plainly put, you marry me. You get your green card. I get to reveal to the press that I wasn’t the person getting dumped, my ex will be pissed, my reputation is saved, and you get to keep your dream.”
“I feel like I’m missing some components to this story.”
“Liam, my former costar?”
“The one you were dating, yeah. I remember him.”
I snickered. “He left the show to pursue a movie contract. And now he’s been seen out and about making a show of himself with Anna Heckov.”
“I recognize that name. Why?”
“Doesn’t matter. Come morning, you’ll know her as the woman who pushed me out of the picture. The blogs are already painting me as a woman scorned, someone who is completely broken up about Liam leaving me for another woman. It won’t bring good press onto the show, and I could get billed as a difficult person to work with.”
“You don’t think they’d really do that to you, though, right? I mean, you’re what they built the show around.”
“It’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m like you, Gael. I’ve worked too hard to have something as miniscule as this jeopardize my career. This business is temperamental, especially for a woman. If I want to get ahead of all this, I have to paint this as if I was the one that dumped Liam.”
“For another man.”
I smiled. “A better one, too.”
He snickered. “So, essentially, you’re offering me the same deal I struck with Elizabeth.”
“Except I have my own money. So, you won’t have to contend with that.”
“Does that mean I can request an allowance, then?”
I shoved him playfully. He smiled, and it stopped my heart in my chest. My God, this man was handsome. His striking blue eyes were deep and rich, like the ocean. His black hair was ruffled and disheveled, thick against his forehead, accenting his squared-off jaw. And his lips, always curled into that effortless grin. Not to mention the muscles. Holy fuck, the man was stacked. And the closer I moved toward him, the more aware I was of my nipples puckering against my bra.
I hope to hell on high he can’t see those through my shirt.
“Look, we both got dumped out of blue. We might as well help one another get over our breakups and crawl out of this hole we’re in,” I said.
“Did you love him?” Gael asked.
I blinked. “What?”
“Did you love Liam?”
I sighed. “I had a crush on him.”
“But you didn’t love him.”
“I think I could have. Our relationship was… complicated.”
“Engineered for your benefit?”
“Gael.”
“You have to be honest with me if we’re going to do this. At least, with me, if not with yourself.”
I snickered. “I’m almost painfully honest with myself.”
“I can back that one up,” Nat said.
I jumped at the sound of her voice. Holy shit, I’d completely forgotten she was back there. How the hell had I forgotten she was with us?
He’s got you just like you’ve got him.
I shook the thought from my head. “Will you think about it, at least?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Under one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Tell me about the scar on your forehead. Where did you get it?”
5
Gael
I needed something to distract me. Anything to take my mind off what Syn was really proposing. A beautiful, wealthy, well-known actress wanted to marry me. Right away. Just to get revenge on an ex that did her wrong. How the hell was I even supposed to interpret that kind of an offer? Syn was beyond attractive. Her fiery red hair, those big hazel eyes, those ruby-red lips, and her creamy skin smattered with soft freckles captivated me. She had long legs for days, soft curves in just the right places, and breasts that would be perfect handfuls for a massive palm like my own.
I already wanted to beat the brakes off her fucking ex.
But I needed to slow things down for a second. I wanted to peel her layers back. Because peeking out beyond that hearty layer of dismissal and cunning guile was a beautiful, empathetic angel she had hidden from the general public. While I saw part of the reason why people saw her as a bitch, it didn’t take long into our conversation for me to see that she was simply putting up a front.
Like most Hollywood actors and actresses did. It was typically for survival in a business known to turn on you on a whim.
I didn’t know Elizabeth going into our agreement. I knew she was hot, I knew she was a good lay, and I knew she wanted to piss her father off. She was a ditz, which made our arrangement easy to tackle. She wanted to rebel against Daddy’s wishes and I needed a green card. A simple transaction, along with some very raunchy benefits. And she screwed me over without a second fucking thought.
I had to make sure Syn wouldn’t screw me over like that too.
“My scar?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Your scar. The one right here.”
I raised my finger and caressed it. I slid it over the faint outline right at her hairline. So miniscule, most people probably missed it on her, but not me.
I wanted to drink in her every detail.
“Most people miss that,” she said.
I nodded. “Figures.”
“What does that mean?”
I put my hand in my lap. “Too busy staring at your legs to notice anything else.”
She grinned. “So, you’ve been staring at my legs.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Fair point.”
“What happened?”
“Why do you care about a small scar?”
I shrugged. “You cared about the sca
r on my cheek.”
She nodded. “Yes. I did.”
“So, why don’t you let me care about yours for a second?”
She smiled softly. “Okay, then. Um. Well when I was six, I wrestled with my father on the floor beside the Christmas tree. I remember Mom cursing underneath her breath; she was trying to tell us to break it up because we were too close to the brick fireplace.”
I grimaced. “Oh, buddy.”
She nodded. “Yes, buddy. Dad whipped me off his back, and I fell face-first into the edge of it. Cracked me open right at my hairline, and we spent Christmas Eve in the ER so I could get stitches.”
“How many did it take?”
“Only seven. The biggest part was them having to hold me down while they numbed me up. Not a fan of needles.”
“Trust me, I’m not, either.”
She furrowed her brow. “But your tattoos.”
I chuckled. “Getting a tattoo and getting a needle stuck in your face are two very different sensations. A tattoo is dull, over a long stretch of time. Your body numbs itself to the rhythmic motion long before the pain becomes too unbearable.”
“That sounds horrible.”
He chuckled. “Better than a shot to the forehead.”
She shivered before she tipped back the last of her chocolate martini.
“Want another one?” I asked.
“Actually, no. I stop myself after two drinks.”
“Always?”
She nodded. “Always.”
“Why’s that?”
She paused, and I saw the hesitation on her face.
“Just some personal reasons,” she said softly.
I knew when I needed to stop pressing. And that wasn’t territory I needed to be trekking into just yet.
“Fair enough.”
“Gael?”
“Yes, Syn?”
Her eyes fluttered up to mine, and my gut clenched tightly. She held my stare, and I saw the silent words against her lips, wanting more than ever to tumble off. But her chest stopped moving, her cheeks tinted, and I could’ve sworn she was holding her breath.
“Syn?” I asked.
She cleared her throat. “You said you live across the street from here?”
I nodded. “Yep. Literally the building across the street.”
His Secret Baby Page 3
