A Taste of Pink (Shades Book 4)

by Stephanie Hoffman McManus

  “Yes, but with the right shot, one glass of celebratory champagne can turn into a headline about the leading actress getting trashed at her own premiere. Not everyone has moved past the scandal. Some will still be looking to paint you in a negative light. Don’t give them that chance.”

  “Fine.” I set my half full glass on a passing tray, and then excused myself to the ladies’ room. I bumped into Elisabeth Tramblay and Letty Medina inside.

  They were touching up their makeup in front of the mirror when I joined them.

  “So, just between us girls, is it Hunter, James, or both?” Liz asked as she reapplied her lip color.

  “Neither,” I said on a laugh. “Come on. You guys know better than to believe everything you see and read.”

  “Maybe,” Letty shrugged.

  “Well I hate to break it to you, but I came alone tonight, and I’ll be leaving that way.”

  “Except for the part where James will be going home with you,” Liz laughed.

  “You know what I mean. Unattached. I’m not with either of them. It’s all publicity.”

  “Uh huh, sure.” The two of them shared a conspiratorial look, and then left the bathroom to rejoin the party.

  James was leaned against the wall, waiting for me when I emerged a few minutes later. “I forgot how much fun those two were.”

  I didn’t have to ask who he meant.

  “Oh boy, what’d they say to you? Do I even want to know?”

  He smirked. “Probably not.”

  I turned the corner from the hall and plowed into Scott Lengel. He caught my arm to help steady me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “It’s okay, I was hoping to bump into you tonight, so this is fortuitous.”

  “Oh. Do you have another project in the works?” I couldn’t help the hopeful ring in my voice.

  “Actually, same project. The Nancy Wake role is yours if you want it.”

  Stunned, I managed a disbelieving, “What?”

  “Camille is out, and I heard you might still be interested.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” I sputtered, unable to fully believe what I was hearing.

  “So I should have the contract sent over?”

  “Yes!” I was bobbing my head like a maniac.

  “I’m very glad to hear that. I’ll have it sent over first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Thank me after we make magic onscreen.”

  “Right,” I giggled like an overexcited child. You’d think this was my very first role. Truthfully, back then I was happy just to have a part, any part. This, however, was something I’d wanted so badly, like down in my bones. That Scott Lengel, The Scott Lengel believed in me enough to give me this potentially career and life changing part was . . . I couldn’t even find the words to articulate what it meant to me or how I felt in that moment.

  Scott’s eyes lifted to something over my shoulder. “Ah, James, it’s good to see you again. I’m glad we were able to talk the other night. You did me a huge favor.”

  I jerked my head around to stare at James.

  “I’m glad it panned out for you.” The two men shook hands like old buddies, and then Scott excused himself. I couldn’t stop staring at James.

  “Did you do this?”

  “Do what?” He could feign ignorance all he wanted, but I knew better.

  “You talked to Scott for me.” When I was busy trying to make him jealous with Hunter, trying to hurt him, he was thinking of me and trying to help me. I was struck by the gesture. The thing in me that I’d hardened toward James, softened in that moment. My insides went all flippy floppy, and my heart thudded just a little bit harder and faster.

  “I overheard him complaining about the troubles they were having with the other actress. I merely let him know that you turning down the part was a misunderstanding. He did the rest.”

  I shook my head. “No. What you did was huge.” Bigger than he could ever understand. “Thank you.”

  “You deserve it.” He reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers. “You deserve everything, Riley.”

  Oh God.

  His words penetrated right to my center and created an ache inside my chest cavity, but it was sweet pain. I squeezed his hand, and parted my lips to tell him . . . I don’t know what I was going to tell him, but it didn’t matter because someone called my name and the moment was lost. James released my hand and indicated I should go. I did so, reluctantly, but everything had changed. And he knew it. It was in his eyes every time our gazes found each other and suddenly all I could think about was getting through the movie.

  “So, I guess that’s that.” Hunter slid smoothly into the seat next to mine, dragging my attention away from James’ spot on the wall across the room, where he watched over everything, but mostly just watched me.

  “What’s what?”

  “You and him.” He didn’t sound angry or bitter, just resigned and maybe a little bit disappointed.

  I didn’t bother denying anything this time. To anyone paying attention, it would be obvious what I was thinking every time I looked at James.

  “I’m sorry, Hunter, for all of this. I never should have agreed to go along with it, knowing that your feelings were real. You’re such an amazing guy, and under other circumstances, if I hadn’t met James, then I have no doubt falling for you would be effortless. But I did meet him, and for all his faults and our differences, he’s . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know, he’s Captain America.”

  My eyes drifted across the room to James again. “He’s something else entirely. I didn’t know guys like him were even real.”

  “I’ll try not to let that bruise my ego too badly.”

  I winced, looking back at Hunter. “I really am sorry.”

  He shrugged it off. “It’s okay. I think I knew all along, but I had to take a chance anyway. I don’t regret it. At least I got to kiss you. For real, not for the cameras.”

  “Yes, you did, and you did it well, if that makes you feel better.”

  He grinned. “It helps a little.”

  I had little doubt that Hunter would recover from this just fine. I just hoped he didn’t go back to Mila, or another like her. He deserved more than that. More than the endless drama, cheating, and using that made it so hard to keep a relationship in Hollywood alive. We were always going to be fodder for the tabloids. That’s the life we chose. Didn’t mean we didn’t deserve to find a little something real in the midst of all this.

  Real.

  That’s what James was, and I think that’s why I’d fought this so hard. When your whole life is pretending and acting and being exactly who the world wants you to be, real is kind of terrifying. To love someone as me, and to let them love me, to let them see all of me, even the unglamorous parts, was intimidating as hell.

  My walls were down. Had been for a while around him. He’d laid me bare and seen the worst of me. Yet . . .

  Yet.

  He seemed to like the unglamorous parts. My truths. Maybe even more than the airbrushed image sold to the rest of the world.

  I’d never experienced this rush of terror and excitement. I was twenty-six and falling in love not for the cameras for the first time. It wasn’t what I thought it’d be. I knew life wasn’t a fairytale, I wasn’t completely delusional or cracked, but I just always had this notion in my head that real love was this epic thing, this force of nature that was impossible to resist, that swept into your life and suddenly made the sun brighter, the starts shinier, the flowers more colorful and all that nonsense. I thought it would be magic and butterflies and like gravity pulling two people together.

  I didn’t realize it would be quiet, like a ninja, sneaking up on me, striking without my even realizing. I didn’t realize it wouldn’t look like being swept off my feet all sweet and romantic like, but knocked to the mats on my ass over and over. I didn’t realize that looking back, I’d find lo
ve not just in soulful, longing gazes, deep, passionate kisses, grand gestures, and eloquent declarations, but I’d find it in arguments, and teasing, and sparring, and challenging one another, sharpening one another.

  I didn’t understand that it wouldn’t be warm and fuzzy every moment, although, there were certainly some warm and fuzzy things happening to my insides right now. I hadn’t known how love could hurt as much as it healed, but it does. Because love is not just this feeling inside of you, but it’s like a living, breathing thing that slowly invades your mind and body and soul, and it’s uncomfortable because you realize you can’t stay the same. You realize you have no choice in it at all; it’s going to change you whether you want it to or not. It makes you aware of all your faults, all your rough edges, and it starts smoothing them. That shit doesn’t always feel so good. It’s like a poison that seeps in and takes ahold of you without you knowing you’re infected, until it’s in every drop of your blood, cell of your body. No, not a poison. A cure. The cure. Only you didn’t know you were sick until you weren’t anymore.

  Then there are the other moments, like in the movies, only the movies can’t really capture them. The moments when a single look turns your insides out. When being near them steals your breath and a simple touch lights you on fire. When one thoughtful act breaks you into a thousand million pieces. The movies try to capture this, they do their best, but it’s impossible. Because love is too big. It’s not epic like I thought it would be. Epic isn’t a big enough word. There isn’t any word for it. Except love. And we try to define it, to classify it within the rules and structures of our languages, but it defies them.

  It is a thing, but it’s not just a thing. It is an action, but it’s also the reason for action. It’s a feeling but it’s also the reason to feel. It’s the what and the why and the how. And it turns us all into rambling, nonsensical poets. We all wish we were Shakespeare when trying to give voice to the thing inside of us that contradicts reason and common sense, but it all sounded so lame and inadequate inside my head.

  It’s why people had to write songs and books and poems and make movies about it. We all wanted to express this thing. Share it with the world, make everyone feel what we felt.

  Excitement.

  Fear.

  Wonder.

  Passion.

  Those were the symptoms and I had them all. That’s how it is when it finally hits you. When you finally realize that you’re a goner. And you give in.

  I was giving in. Was I ever. Despite the success of the premiere, my favorite moment was sliding into the car when it was all over.

  I chewed my bottom lip as I eyed James on the seat across from me, so relaxed, without a care.

  “Can’t this car go any faster?”

  He chuckled knowingly. “There’s no rush, sweetheart.”

  Maybe not for him. I felt like a live wire about to ignite. My dress was too tight, and my skin too sensitive. I leaned forward in my seat, satisfaction tugging at the corners of my mouth when James’ eyes dipped to the V in my dress. There was no mistaking the hungry look. Maybe he was more affected than he was letting on.

  “Isn’t there? Haven’t we waited long enough?”

  “I would have waited longer, Riley.”

  I sat back. “Why?”

  “Some things are just worth it.”

  That’s why it was him. Why it was always going to be him.

  Twenty-Six

  Riley

  “If we do this, you’re mine, Ava Riley. There’s no going back.”

  Mine.

  I loved the way it sounded on his lips in that low, raspy growl.

  “I want you closer, not farther away,” I whispered into the quiet of my bedroom.

  With one step the gap between us was destroyed. Each ragged breath propelled my breasts against his hard chest.

  His voice dipped lower, and he scraped his rough jaw over mine. “This close enough?”

  Never.

  My blood was laced with gasoline, his body the match. Sweet mercy I wanted to light it and watch us both go up.

  I slid my hands up his taut stomach, taking pleasure from the way his body trembled ever so slightly beneath my touch. “I’m not sure it’s possible for you to get close enough.”

  One hand curled around the nape of my neck and gave a gentle but possessive squeeze that I felt all the way in my . . . well let’s just say somewhere much more intimate than the back of my neck. A shuddery breath escaped me.

  His hand released my neck and slid down over my shoulder. It slipped beneath the sleeve that hugged my arm and pushed it lower. His other hand did the same to the other sleeve and the front of my dress dipped. With one little tug, it plummeted to my waist, exposing my upper torso. My breath caught, and I watched James drink me in. The flames in his eyes licked my torso. Heat spread through my belly and my nipples hardened.

  All my life, especially in the last eight years, I’d been told I was beautiful, but I’d never felt more so than right then. Every line of his face was etched with raw desire and something softer . . . more intense that made my insides clench and my pulse pound.

  His gaze lifted and met mine. The grey blue of his eyes sparkled with naughty promises I wanted to see fulfilled. He took my jaw in his hand and traced his thumb lightly across my bottom lip. When he pulled it away, my tongue tasted the same path and then I scraped my teeth over my lip, biting down and closing my eyes, giving in to my other senses, soaking it all in. The tickle of his breath on my cheek. The light caress of his rough fingers as they trailed down the column of my throat, stealing my breath as they went.

  He traced the little dip at the hollow of my throat with the tip of his finger. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, exhaling with a shiver. My eyes popped open when his hand splayed over the center of my chest, and pushed, forcing me backwards. He stalked toward me until the backs of my legs bumped into the bed. With another light shove, my butt hit the mattress and I stared up at him, transfixed.

  He ditched the blazer first. Then reached behind his head and peeled his shirt off, casting it aside along with the jacket. I was filled with the desire to run my hands all over that beautiful flesh and rub my face against him like a kitten. I wanted to trace my tongue over every ridge of his abdomen and lower.

  As if he could read my thoughts, his arctic blue eyes darkened, and a devilish grin pulled at his mouth.

  The mattress dipped when he pressed one knee and then the other on either side of my hips. I reached out, snaking my fingers into the waistband of his jeans. I pulled myself up and pressed a kiss at the base of his throat. His hands reached out and caught the bedposts. I wiggled myself from between his thighs, the skirt of my dress still tangled around my legs, and maneuvered to my knees, winding my arms around his neck and leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Will you kiss me already?”

  A slow grin snaked across his lips and he released the bedposts. “My pleasure.”

  His lips came down hard on mine and we both tumbled onto the bed. His body crushed mine and still I clutched at him tighter as his mouth coaxed my lips apart and his tongue swept into my mouth. Rough hands roamed every inch of bare flesh, grabbing, and squeezing. My back arched, and I dug my nails into his back. “Too many clothes,” I forced out breathlessly.

  He wedged a knee between my legs and pressed his thigh to my center. Heat pooled there, and I whimpered needily. He chuckled darkly against the skin of my throat and nipped at my ear. “So impatient.”

  “Always,” I breathed, raking my hands down his back. I shoved one beneath his waistband and grabbed the tight flesh of his ass.

  “Are you telling me you’re not enjoying yourself?” He ground his thigh between my legs again and tweaked my nipple with his fingers. I bit down hard on my lip.

  “More. I need more.” I squeezed his ass again and began shoving at his jeans, trying to get them down, but it proved impossible without unbuttoning them. He pushed himself up on his forearms but made no move to assist me in str
ipping him. I groaned, “James, quit teasing me.”

  With a laugh he pushed himself up onto his knees and then climbed from the bed. I sat up and watched as he made short work of stripping out of his jeans and boxer briefs. My heart kicked up.

  He was so beautiful. Even in this world of mine, full of people so beautiful, beauty was nothing, this man left me in awe. It hurt, deep inside my chest. His beauty wasn’t bought, it wasn’t forged by trainers and surgeons and makeup artists. It was raw, and masculine. A harsh kind of beauty. With rough edges. I could see the scars on his skin that couldn’t be caused by anything but bullets and blades, reminding me that he wasn’t an on-screen hero, but someone who had really been to war. Someone who had known violence and brutality. Who didn’t blink before putting his life on the line.

  His beauty didn’t cut me so deeply simply because he was easy on the eyes. No, he left me breathless because I couldn’t look at him without seeing the man beneath the skin. An honorable man with a sense of duty. A man with a protective streak. A man that would fight for what was his—who was his.

  And I was so his it wasn’t even funny.

  He climbed back onto the bed and crawled over me. My back returned to the mattress as his hands curled into the material of my dress and began dragging it the rest of the way off my body. I didn’t even bat an eye when he tossed the expensive silk garment to the floor.

  “Always trying to be the bad girl,” he teased when he saw that I didn’t have a scrap on under the dress.

  “Only for you.”

  Those were the last words either of us spoke for a while.

  At least the last coherent ones.

  His body covered mine, fitting perfectly into the cradle of my hips. My skin was feverish beneath his mouth as he tasted his way down from my lips, over my breasts, lavishing special attention on them, before delving lower.

  I surrendered a little more of my body and soul with each passing moment.

  Every tender kiss and gentle, reverent touch undid me until I was a writhing, wanton creature beneath him. My gasps and breathy moans filled the room, driving him wild. When he peered up at me from between my legs, I could see something building in his dark gaze.