by Nana Malone
There was a vulnerability about him that tugged at her. He was certainly all man, as evidenced by the erection nudging her ass, the hard planes of his chest and his mouthwatering abs. But, in the early-morning gray, there was childlike openness about him. It pulled at her nurturing instincts. Unable to speak, she nodded.
He released a long breath and finally let her go. "I'll only be a minute, okay?"
"Yeah, okay."
He stood smoothly, and it was clear he took care of his body. And Jesus, fuck me, Christ, that ass was a thing of perfection, with those pinstriped pants hanging loosely off his hips. He didn't turn before entering the adjoining bathroom.
When the door to the bathroom clicked shut, she sighed. He wanted her to stay. Wanted to talk to her. But the threads of niggling doubt infiltrated her mind. What was there to talk about really?
It didn’t matter; she couldn’t stay. This was not a guy she could date. For starters, he frequented prostitutes. Secondly, she got the impression that though he wanted her, he wasn't particularly pleased about it. And finally, the last thing she needed was another Ryan situation. The moment the thought about her ex floated to the surface, she ruthlessly suppressed it again. This guy was not Ryan. He didn't scare her, but there was an edge to him that should. Maybe if she’d paid closer attention to that edge in Ryan, she wouldn’t have ended up where she did.
He is not Ryan. Logically she knew that. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her like Ryan had, but she certainly wasn’t taking that risk…again. Last night had been a fluke. A stupid moment she wouldn’t be repeating.
She shivered as her brain started fully functioning. There was the little matter of her taking Miriam’s place last night. Essentially, she’d been there to render services for money. She'd slept with him. Okay, maybe not technically, but she’d gotten him off…for money. As far as he was concerned, she was an escort.
Imani swallowed hard. The conflicting emotions of shame and desire warring for attention. She’d needed that money. Still needed it, but this wasn’t her. Sliding her glance at the envelope on the mantel with the colorful pound notes spilling out, she shuddered. What they’d done last night. It hadn’t been about money. She couldn’t take it.
She sat up quickly, and her abdominal muscles protested. So did her hip flexors. It had been a long time since she’d used them in any fashion pertaining to sex. She threw the covers off, shivering in the early-morning air. But now wasn't the time to focus on her chilly toes, it was the time to get the hell up and out of dodge before she had to face her decisions in the cold light of day.
After dressing quickly, she left the envelope where it lay on the mantel and strode out of the flat as quickly as she could before she was tempted to take it. There had to be another way, and she’d find it.
Something was wrong. Xander knew it the moment he got out of the shower. She was gone. But knowing it didn’t stop him from calling out for her. "Imani? Are you here?" His heart tripped as he stalked into the bedroom with the towel slung low on his hips.
The bed was still rumpled and his dick twitched just thinking about how they'd messed it up. But no Imani. To be sure, he ran into the sitting room to see if she was still there, but no luck. "Fuck."
On the mantel, the envelope full of cash sat where he’d laid it. Picking it up, he slapped it against his thigh before sinking down on the couch. He’d held her for hours last night, afraid she’d vanish into the ether. Afraid that he’d wake up to find her gone, having only imagined the night before. He’d even convinced himself that maybe she would go to Paris with him. He’d thought he could hire her. But he looked at the money clutched in his fist and it became even clearer to him that she was no escort.
That was the first orgasm he'd had with another person in years and she'd walked out on him as if she didn’t feel anything last night. It doesn’t matter. So what if she’d run? Not like there weren’t plenty of women in London. If he’d come with her, he could come with someone else. Maybe it was all over. Maybe he was cured now. Wishful thinking.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." But she was the one he wanted. Too bloody bad. You can’t have her. He’d be better off if he could forget her. Maybe last night had nothing to do with her. Liar. Though there was one way to find out.
This was so fucked up. Why her? And why now? When he was so close to getting everything he wanted. She was a hell of a complication he didn’t need. He had a plan and chasing after this girl wasn’t part of it.
Remember what happened last time you chased after a girl? Yeah. He’d been gutted because Christie hadn’t had any faith in him.
When he was younger, he’d wondered how fucked up all the shit in his past had made him. Early psychologists had told him that just because he'd been abused by his mother's boyfriend didn’t make him gay, nor did it mean there was anything shameful about sex.
Logically he knew that. Had known it. He liked girls. Lots of girls. And life had been just fine. He’d buried the past and set a mental dragon to guard the dungeon in case it ever tried to escape. He might have taken a little advantage, especially when he was younger, sleeping with every model he could get his hands on. Every city he’d been to, he’d never slept alone unless he chose to. It might have felt a little empty, but he could function and survive. Eventually he’d fallen for someone and started to settle down.
But everything had changed five years ago. After he’d seen Silas’s son again. Alistair had apparently been living in the states for some time and had just returned to London. Once they met, the past refused to stay buried. The nightmares had started. And the women… He’d never forget that night.
Alistair had approached him at a benefit party acting like they were long-lost pals. He’d had the gall to pretend he hadn’t helped destroy his life, Lex’s life. As if he hadn't deliberately shattered Xander from the inside. Alistair had vowed to ruin him if he kept spouting lies about him. And he’d given Xander a taste of how bad it could be.
A week after the benefit, he’d gone home to find Alistair coming out of his place. That twat had told his fiancée just enough about his past for her to doubt him. She hadn't had enough faith in him to believe him…to stay by him. With Christie gone, he’d spiraled out of control. It hadn’t been pretty. There had been so many women. Too many as he tried to fill the void Christie left. But after several months of trying to fuck himself into a stupor, the women became faceless, nameless, warm bodies. And then one night he couldn’t come at all.
Good thing it hadn't taken him long to realize that he could come on his own just fine, just not with company. So he’d found a way to cope. Even if he had wanted a relationship, there was no way he’d want anyone close to that secret. Or the shame he felt after every time he made himself come.
There was no shame last night. God damn it. He had to stop. He’d felt more alive in one night than he had in a long time. Screw what she could do to his body with just a look. He wasn’t going there…again.
He checked the clock and swore. He was late for the RADA shoot with Abbie. He needed to get his shit together. He was supposed to be training her.
He dressed quickly then snagged his phone out of his coat pocket. Six missed calls. Two of them from Abbie. Bollocks. With the phone braced in position between his shoulder and his ear, he shoved his feet into his shoes.
Concern laced Abbie’s voice when she answered. "Xander, are you okay?"
She'd worried about him? An uneasy feeling rolled through him. What the hell was that? Guilt? It was foreign; he didn’t recognize it at first. He shoved it aside. "Yeah, all right."
She breathed a long sigh then said, "I've been worried about you. It's not like you to be late. We’re supposed to be at RADA for the shoot in an hour."
"Sorry, love." He almost bit back the word, but fuck it. "I overslept. I'll be there in twenty."
"Okay, I'll wait."
Guilt—so not an emotion he wanted to repeat. Not a fan at all. He made it a point to be on time to things for her. She was there to learn from him
and he didn’t like robbing her of that time.
Also, you’re half in love with her. Your brother's fiancée. Except the usual sickening feeling that lurked in the pit of his stomach had eased somewhat. His mind conjured up an image of Imani and he groaned.
"Xander, you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to do this today. I’ll call and reschedule."
"No, I'm sure. I'm on my way. Wait for me, please."
There was a beat of silence. "Uh, okay, but you're okay though?"
He knew why she was asking. In less than thirty seconds, he’d already said “please” and “sorry.” It was unlike him. "Yep, just knackered. On my way." He hung up with her before he could say anything stupid.
As he ran out the door, he rang Miriam. She answered on the first ring. “Xander, what the fuck?”
“You’re taking the piss, right? You sent me a replacement last night.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to shag her. She wasn’t a bloody escort. Just a friend who needed the dosh.”
“Miriam, this is so fucked up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he unlocked his car. “Is she—“ He swallowed hard as the question filtered through his brain. “Is she okay? She sort of skipped out on me.”
“I didn’t talk to her. She just left me a message that just said she wouldn’t be doing that again and that she’d left the money behind.” She gave a mirthless chuckle. “In the two years you’ve been coming to me, you’ve never shagged me. God, I swore you were gay. It was the only reason I sent her.”
Gay? Seriously? “No. Not gay. And I didn’t shag her.” He slid into the front seat of his Pagani Huyra. “Not…exactly anyway. Look. It’s complicated. Do you know how I can find her?” Fuck, he sounded like a desperate twat. That’s because you are a desperate twat.
“I have her number, but there’s no way I’m giving it to you without her permission.”
Fuck. “Get her fucking permission and give it to me. I need to talk to her.” He needed to do a lot more than talk to her. His gut twisted. What the hell was so special about her? She was beautiful, sure but it was more than that.
“Fine, I’ll ask. What was so urgent you wanted to see me last night anyway?”
Paris. But did he still want to take her? Last night, while he’d been holding Imani, his sex-dazed brain had entertained the possibility that she could go with him. If that was even her name. At least he wouldn’t have to fake a connection to someone while under that kind of scrutiny. At least I wouldn’t have to be alone.
“I’ll talk to you about it later.” You need her. Maybe not. He might find Imani first.
Seven
"You don’t have to be nervous, you know. It’s going to be great. You’re my star."
Imani rolled her shoulders and forced a smile for her director and mentor, Charles Adams. Without him, she probably never would have made it through the program. “I’m hardly a star, Charles. I’ll be less nervous if you just tell me who my costar is.” It had been announced nearly two weeks ago that she would be starring as Carmen. But at the time of her announcement, they had still been looking for the male lead. It wasn’t uncommon to use an alumnus. Her vote was for Matthew McFayden or Tom Hiddleston if that were the case. Though she was not possibly that lucky.
“Nonsense. You have to start believing it, my girl.”
She shrugged. “I’m not looking to be a star. I just want to breathe life into my characters to the best of my ability. And get paid for what I love.”
“And that will be good enough,” he said with a paternal grin. The man was more of a father to her than her own. “You don’t have to wait any longer.” With her arm looped into his, she let him lead her down the auditorium stairs of the rehearsal hall to the stage.
“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping the male lead such a secret.”
He chuckled. “I wasn't allowed to say anything because I didn't know if we could get him released from his current filming obligations in time, but here he is. I believe you are already familiar with Ryan Ellison.”
Imani’s step faltered at the sound of the name, making Charles take the final step without her. As a result, she stumbled into the one person she never wanted to see again. Ryan was technically a student at RADA, but he’d put his studies on hold for a BBC series. After the series, he’d gotten a big Spielberg film. He was a huge star now. He was also her ex, the one person with the power to hurt and destroy her.
Imani flinched from his touch on reflex when he reached out to steady her. Run. Say something. Anything. This was not happening. There was no way she could work with him. Not after what he’d done to her. How he’d hurt her. When she opened her mouth, all that came out was “I—wh-what…”
Ryan, it seemed, did not suffer the same affliction. “Imani, it’s good to see you. Congratulations on being cast as Carmen.” His smile was warm, engaging. It was the smile he’d given her a million times. The one he used to make people trust him.
Charles found the words for her. “Ryan, Imani, I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself. We’re going to make the production one for the ages. Ryan, with your star power and Imani’s rising star, there is no reason we can’t take this production and its stars to the West End.”
Panic started to overtake her. She couldn’t work with him. But you can’t quit, either. This is your dream. She’d worked hard to get here. And there was no way she was giving it up because of this asshole. She’d talk to Charles.
“Actually, Charles, if I could have a moment—“
But he had already slung an arm over each of their shoulders. “I have another surprise for you two. Since this production is such a big deal, the school has arranged for a photo shoot with the cast.”
“That’s great, Charles,” Ryan said. Everything about his voice made the anger simmer inside. She turned slowly to face him, schooling her expression. Projecting a calm she didn’t feel, she managed to keep her expression placid and cool.
The doors to the studio opened and in walked a pretty black girl with reddish-brown braids. She laughed as she said something to someone behind her.
"Oh, here are the photographers now. I can’t believe we were able to get Xander Chase to photograph for us. A photo shoot with him normally costs more than my car."
"Who's Xander Chase?" Imani frowned.
Charles chuckled and tilted his head. "That's Xander Chase."
Imani tracked the direction of his chin and the gaze of every other female in the room. They were all focused on the doorway.
Behind the girl strode in the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And he was all too familiar. His sandy-blond hair fell over his brow and he was laughing with the girl in front of him. His smile was unfiltered and had the power to make women stare. “Oh shit.” Alexander.
Charles laughed. "Yeah. You would not be the first woman, or man for that matter, to say that."
“I—uh. I'm not, uh..." Stop talking. Just stop. There was something about the way he looked at the girl. He was totally smitten with her. A knot of pain twisted around her stomach. Suck it up, not like last night was special. As far as he was concerned, she was the worst escort known to mankind. Why was this her life? First Ryan, now this.
"Wipe the drool off your lip, darling.” Ryan’s voice was mocking. “Let’s go meet our photographer."
Charles led the way while Imani tried to find a good reason for escape. Her breathing accelerated as she drew nearer to him. Hot and sexy looked up with a smile, his gaze focused on her director. "Charles?" He stuck out his hand. "Good to meet you, mate." Indicating the girl, he added, "This is my assistant, Abbie Nartey."
"Pleasure." Charles tugged Imani and Ryan closer. There was no way to avoid it, so she went with it and stumbled forward. "These are our stars, Imani Brooks and Ryan Ellison."
She didn’t dare meet Xander’s gaze. Not that she could avoid it. Not like there was some kind of manual to deal with these kinds of situations. Like, here is what to do in the instance of pretended to be an
escort the night before, then running into the person the next morning. Nor did she think there was a Hallmark card for such an occasion. Cowardly as she was, she chose to shake Abbie's hand first. It was probably safer that way. The girl smiled warmly at her. "Congratulations, I hear Carmen is a great part." Imani relaxed marginally. "You’re American.”
Abbie laughed. “It’s nice to hear a familiar accent.”
“It is. And thank you. We’ll see if I can do the part justice." Peripherally, she could hear Ryan and Xander exchanging greetings. Be calm. Be calm. Be calm. And shit, if you can’t be calm, fake that shit till you make it. Inwardly bracing herself, she turned her attention to Xander and offered her hand while Ryan introduced himself to Abbie.
Xander’s jovial grin had morphed into a scowl. The slight cock of his head indicated confusion and his narrowed eyes did an excellent job of communicating his anger. The intensity of his glare was enough to make her teeth lock together. Would he out her? He couldn’t. At least not without outing himself too.
He glanced at her hand, then back at her face and heat prickled her skin. She sure as hell wasn’t going to be intimidated, though. It wasn’t as if she’d planned this. Stubbornly she kept her hand out, daring him to shame himself by not taking it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Xander. Charles was just telling me how lucky we are to have you both."
His scowl only deepened and his slate-gray eyes darkened. Lips pressed into a thin line, he took her hand and she immediately wished he hadn’t. It was like holding on to a live wire, the spike of electricity was so strong.
His much larger hand enveloped hers and his nostrils flared slightly as his pupils dilated. Despite the hostility, the flicker of awareness bloomed and as far as her body was concerned, they were the only two people in the room. Her brain did her no favors as it recalled the hot need flooding her veins as he took her nipple into his mouth, or the way he’d coaxed her orgasm out of her with his words.
