Max ran a hand through her hair and sighed. The thought of sitting down and talking rationally with the man who had just shooed three gorgeous women out of his penthouse made her stomach clench with nerves.
I don’t have to do this. Cam didn’t know of her plan. Max could just walk out of this hotel and never have to see him again. For a moment, the idea was attractive, but then she stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall and took control of her errant thoughts.
Just in time. The elevator doors slid open and Sholto stood before her. Intense green eyes held her spellbound. Above them, his forehead creased in a frown.
His gaze travelled from her face to her toes and back again. “Max?” He stepped to one side and flashed a panty-melting smile. “How did you know where I’m staying?” He rubbed the back of his head. “Aw, hell, that doesn’t matter.” He checked his watch. “I’d love to talk, but I have an appointment. Can I ask you to wait in the lobby? I’m expecting someone but I shouldn’t be long, I’ll come down and find you.” He stared at her mouth with blatant hunger, just as he had the previous night.
Heat pooled between Max’s legs.
He reached around her to the buttons on the display. “I’m glad to see you.” His voice was deep and husky, filled with sexual promise. He pressed a button.
She flattened her hand on the closing elevator door to halt its progress and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not leaving, Sholto.”
His eyes widened. “Look, baby, I’m expecting someone.”
“I should hope so.” She stepped out of the elevator. “After all, you knew I was coming. Have you forgotten me?” She held out her hand. “Maxine Goode, but I go by Max these days.”
Chapter Three
What the fuck? The woman before him bore no resemblance to the brown-haired girl he remembered. His tongue felt clumsy, incapable of forming words, like a man woken from sleep, unable to make sense of his surroundings. Stupid. Wrong-footed. For a long moment the world was blocked out as he stared. Long, straight, blonde hair. Full, pillowy lips enhanced with a lick of cherry lipstick. Killer cheekbones. Dark blue eyes and long black eyelashes. Her mouth curved in a smile and a little dimple appeared in her left cheek. A dimple he vaguely recalled from years ago.
The girl he remembered wore homemade clothes but Max’s tailored pantsuit had come from the exclusive collection of a designer—he’d bet his last cent on it. Pointy high-heeled shoes poked beneath the tailored pants. Under the jacket she wore a gunmetal grey silk shirt open at the neck to reveal a string of black pearls.
He breathed in her scent. Roses. “Is it really you?”
“It really is.”
Caro’s penthouse door opened and a couple of girls stepped out—no doubt more survivors from her all-night after-party. The sound of which had kept him awake for hours.
Max’s eyes widened. “Oh. I thought you were alone. I can come back…”
“Not my penthouse.” He took her arm and walked her to his door. “My co-star held a party last night.” He’d dropped in for a couple of hours but had grown tired of being addressed as Damon, rather than his own name. It was as if many of the women there wanted him to keep playing the role, wanted him to be sexy, witty, and scandalous all night and when he wasn’t, were disappointed. So he’d bailed. Alone.
Inside, with the door closed firmly behind them, he ushered Max to the pair of sofas, and then waved a hand in the direction of the wet bar. “You could have made your identity known last night.”
She shrugged. “I guess I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Her mouth curved. “I thought after speaking so recently you’d put two and two together…”
“Yeah, well, apparently not. I wasn’t expecting to see you there. Especially not with Jasper.” He burned to know more about her relationship with the director, but there would be time to tease out the details. “Would you like a drink?”
“It’s a little early for me.”
“Tea, then? I can call room service.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to take up much of your time.” She folded one hand atop the other on her clamped-together knees. She looked like a schoolteacher—well, the schoolteacher in a teen boy’s wet dream.
“You have a proposition for me.” He sat next to her on the sofa. Close enough to hear the little intake of breath. “I must admit to being intrigued as to what it is.”
“I run a business.” She reached into the bag she’d dropped on the floor and handed over a business card. “Fantasies Made Real.”
His eyebrows rose. “An upmarket concierge service?”
“Well we can get anything for our clients. In the past we’ve obtained tickets to sold-out shows, organized a wedding in the middle of the jungle and a dinner on a glacier—but we also arrange other more unusual requests.”
Sholto leaned closer. “Such as?”
She turned her head and stared into his eyes. “You name it.” Her gaze flickered to his lips, then back up. “The sky’s the limit.”
“Have you come to find out my fantasy?” Awareness shimmered in the air between them. The gunmetal grey shirt was open at the neck, revealing a hint of creamy cleavage. Her lips were parted a fraction, and slowly a full-blown, very detailed fantasy involving the two of them naked took form in Sholto’s mind.
Her long, dark eyelashes blinked.
She shook her head, the dimple making a reappearance. “I’m sure you can fulfill any of your own fantasies without any help from me. No. I’ve come to ask you to fulfill one of mine.”
Even better. He reached out and stroked the hair back from her face. She jerked away, eyes wide. “It’s not what you think.”
Even though he was starved of sleep, he could think of nothing more satisfying at this moment than making Max’s fantasy come true, if it involved both of them naked and sweaty. He was already semi-hard at the mental pictures her words were painting.
“I’m not your fantasy?”
She laughed. “No.”
But her gaze was on his mouth again, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She wasn’t indifferent, not by a long shot. He leaned in. “There’s no shame in admitting it. A lot of women want to sleep with Damon Fitz.”
“Not me.” She folded her arms. “If I had a fantasy, it wouldn’t be you—or any character you play on screen. I know you, remember?”
She did. And her memories… “I want to apologize.”
She brushed him off like a sunbather brushing off a mosquito. “No need. What happened between us was a long time ago. I’m well over it.” She angled her knees away from his. “I have a client who would like you to accompany her to a school reunion.”
“You want me to screw one of your clients?” Anger bubbled up under the surface—once again; his body was all that was wanted. His outer shell. “How much does a celebrity fuck cost these days?” He stood and stalked to the fireplace.
She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “No sex required. My client…my client had a bad time in school. Her ex-husband will be there.”
“And she wants a trophy boyfriend to make her look good?” He strode back and pulled her to her feet. “I’m fucking insulted,” he ground out, his mouth inches from hers. “I’m not a piece of meat.”
“This is important to my client.” Max’s voice was high and filled with passion. Her eyes flashed. “I want to make this happen for her.”
“You sound like a pimp.”
Max stepped away. Her teeth gritted. “I thought maybe, for the right fee, you might agree.”
“Money?” He had more than he could possibly spend, and a cut of the profits of After Ecstasy. Money wasn’t going to cut it.
She tilted her head to one side, a spark in her eyes. “I could make your fantasy come true. What’s your fantasy, Sholto?”
*****
She was playing a dangerous game. The subtext was obvious, shimmering in the air between them. She hadn’t walked in here with the intention of offering hersel
f up on a platter to whatever fantasy might be running though Sholto’s mind, but the look in his eyes, the way he looked at her as though he might devour her, revealed that their minds were focused on the same thing.
On ripping off their clothes and getting hot and heavy.
She’d avoided watching him on television. Or at the movies. He’d been potent enough as a teenager; there was no way she wanted to spend any more of her time and energy on what-ifs. But after last night, she couldn’t erase the image of his naked form from her mind, or the memory of his fingers caressing her…it was as though a fog of attraction emanated from him, drawing her closer, drugging her. Journalists might call it personal magnetism.
Catnip for women. An intoxicating scent that made them want to press themselves to his solid chest, and rub against it, purring. To roll around on him in bliss.
She should have gone with her instinctive reaction when Cam mentioned his name and never made contact. He was beautiful, but duplicitous. Hadn’t she learned anything?
He can have any woman in the world without lifting a finger.
The thought was a cold splash of reality.
She swallowed and tried to step back, but the sofa blocked her. She was caught between him and a soft place.
“I’d like to take you to bed.” He trailed a finger across her collarbone. “Strip off your clothes, and stroke you all over.”
Heat pooled between her legs. It had been months since a man spoke to her like that. She hadn’t been to a bar or club, or anywhere she might meet a single man since Joel. Time had marched on, the weeks since his arrest stretching into months, but she still couldn’t bring herself to be so vulnerable again. Couldn’t risk letting down her guard and allowing a man in, even for a quick lay.
She hadn’t even been tempted. Until now.
His hand dropped to his side. “That’s one of my fantasies, but not one I’m willing to trade for. When we fuck I want it to be because you can’t resist me any longer, not because you’re trading it for a lucrative business deal.”
He was making her uncomfortable. Not because his attention was unwanted, but because his words turned her on, despite her misgivings. She could tell him this wasn’t a business deal, it was a favor to one of her dearest friends, but the set of his jaw, and the anger glittering in his eyes kept her silent. It wasn’t an important detail to impart.
“Are you sleeping with Jasper?”
“No!” Did he really think she’d have let him touch her if she was going home with another man? “Jasper and I are just friends. He needed a date at short notice, so I stepped in.”
His expression changed. “How good friends are you?”
“Platonic friends.”
“So this trade…” He stroked his hand down her arm. “I know what you need. I need a screen test.”
“A screen test?” He couldn’t possibly be serious. “You’re hot property in the business right now, I can’t think anyone wouldn’t give you whatever role you want. Hell, they must be lining up.”
“Your dear platonic friend is making a movie about John Weatherly, the guy who was shipwrecked on an island and wrote that book, Solo, about his experiences. I wanted to talk to Jasper last night about it, to persuade him to consider me for the part. Get me that role, and I’ll trade you a date with your client.”
“Give me your private number.” Max took out her cell phone. “The reunion is in a month—on the 28th of June. Will you be available then?”
“If you get me that role, damn right I will.” He rattled off a number that she tapped in to her contacts list.
She picked up her bag and pushed him lightly on the chest to make him step back. His chest was like stone beneath her fingers. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t move, but then with a smile, he retreated to allow her to walk around him to the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want to waste a little time with me? To catch up?”
His deep voice made her fluttery inside. “This is business, Sholto. Strictly business.” He was charming. Sex with him would be spectacular, and she was over the incident with him that had scarred her in the past. She hadn’t even thought of it for years. But a lingering emotion hung in the air between them. Distrust.
She grasped the doorknob. “I’ll be in touch.”
*****
“Jasper.” Max tracked across the carpet in Jasper Watson’s office.
The director rounded his desk and engulfed her in a warm hug. “Max, you look fantastic as always.” His lips brushed her cheek. “I wish you’d let me take you out to dinner last night after the movie.” He waved at his desk, stacked high with scripts and manila folders. “But I guess I’ll have to just take you where I can.” His lips curved. She was so glad their date was for show only, because Jasper was a man she could flirt with. One who always made a play, but not a serious one. Flirting was hardwired into his DNA—heck, he flirted with men and women alike, and she was one of the few people on the earth who knew his tastes were unusual.
Even if she took him up on his offer of dinner, there wasn’t any possibility of them ending up in the sack together. She was the wrong age. About three decades too young.
He led her to a chair, and sat back down behind his desk. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here on a mission.” She crossed her legs. “I know you’re casting the John Weatherly movie, and I’d like to suggest an actor you should screen test.”
Jasper grinned. “You’re here on behalf of a client.”
“Yes.”
“I adore you, Max. But I don’t adore anyone enough to screw up this movie. The actor who will play John has to be perfect for the role. Has to be able to be him. Who is this actor? Have I heard of him?”
He sure had.
“It’s Sholto Kincaid.”
Jasper threw back his head and a laugh bubbled up from his throat.
Crap, this will be more difficult than I thought.
When Jasper got his laugher under control, he shook his head. “Sorry, honey. But Sholto Kincaid? That guy—he’s not even in the running. He was fantastic in that piece of shit yesterday, he almost elevated it to a good movie, but he’s shallow—I need a character actor with depth. Kincaid couldn’t survive on a deserted island for a day, never mind three months. Before John fell off the cruise ship, he was an overweight accountant. An overweight accountant who was on holiday with his mother for chrissakes. His transformation over the months on the island was intense. Can you see Mr. hot, buff, and sexy pulling that off?”
Max’s mind was whirring with ideas, because failure wasn’t an option. Not this time.
“What if Sholto could survive on a desert island? What if he could prove that?”
Jasper’s lip curled.
“I know a survival company who would take him to an island and maroon him there. I bought Solo yesterday and have skimmed it. He found some items on the island that helped him survive—what if Sholto had only those same items, and he had to hunt, to fish, to find water, just as John did. Would you consider him then?”
“He could pay off the company, hide out in a five-star resort somewhere.”
“What if it were filmed?”
“That’s even worse.” Jasper shook his head again. “The guy has enough money to pay a film crew and make a mockumentary. I wouldn’t trust him an inch.”
Max sucked in a breath. She knew exactly what was involved in surviving in the wild—her survivalist father had taught her well, and a couple of years ago, she’d honed her skills by going on a wilderness survival course with one of the world’s foremost survival experts, Abe Kingston. “Do you trust me?”
Jasper’s gaze was keen. “Of course I trust you.”
“So what if I went with him?”
“You wouldn’t want to do that—the conditions would be…”
“My father was a survivalist, Jasper. I’ve had a lifetime of training. And I did a month-long jungle survival course with Abe Kingston.”
Jasper’s eyes
widened. “For real?”
She pulled out her phone and called Abe’s number. “Ask him.” She handed the phone over, and waited as Abe confirmed her story to Jasper.
When he handed the phone back to her, there was respect in Jasper’s eyes. “I never would have believed it. You’re a real bad ass.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Okay, set it up. If he can survive, I’ll give him a screen test.” He flicked open his diary. “We’re checking out possible locations in Indonesia in two weeks.”
Perfect. “The island I’ve been scouting is Indonesian too. It’ll take a couple of days to get everything together, but we could fly out and run the experiment for…” she ticked days off on her fingers… “nine days, and meet you at your hotel straight off the island.”
Jasper held out his hand. “It’s a deal. But be warned, it’s more than surviving, he’ll need to dig deep, reveal more of himself than the usual shallow surface he gives to the world.” He slid open a desk drawer and retrieved a heavy sheaf of paper. “Here’s the script. I’ll expect him to have a passage prepared.”
*****
Friday was girl’s night. Cam had organized a babysitter, and she was due over for dinner and altogether too much red wine. They’d made Friday nights a tradition, if neither of them was busy doing something or someone else, and for the past couple of months neither had missed it.
Forcing down the clawing need for sex had been difficult, but with the help of her suitcase of sex toys, Max had managed. She’d never really considered herself marriage material, so she played with other, like-minded, fun-loving singles, but after the sex party at Hazzard Hall where her fuck buddy Joel had almost killed someone, she’d retreated from even casual sexual encounters.
Being with Sholto, hearing the hot words he murmured, had jump-started her libido, and so, rather than slave over dinner, she’d climbed into bed with her vibrator—just to take the edge off. They could order out.
She lay naked on the cool sheets. Closed her eyes, and allowed herself to think of him. The memory of the boy he’d been, the one she joked with in class, mixed with the man she’d met in his hotel room formed a disturbing combination of the past and present.
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