by Julie Leto
“So, how is she?” he asked.
“She’s recovering. Doctors say she just needs rest.”
“Is that the truth or the official line?”
“Both. She just needs sleep and some TLC. She’ll be back to herself in a few days.”
“No short-term memory loss?”
“Are you really a doctor or do you just play one on TV?” Helen quipped.
“Just play one on TV,” he admitted.
“Too soon to tell,” she answered, “but I talked to her and she seemed okay.”
“Then why are you heading back upstairs?”
“I don’t want to leave her alone.”
“Your office said you haven’t left the hospital since her accident.”
She cocked a brow, questioning his inside information.
“My agent called your office for me. I told you: I was concerned.”
“Well, Lauren doesn’t have any family, and she’s not one of those stars who surrounds herself with admirers.”
“So you’ve appointed yourself the royal guard? What more can you do? Since the attack, the hospital staff is already tripping all over themselves to make sure she has her privacy.”
A shiver shot up Helen’s spine.
“How do you know what they’re doing inside her hospital room?”
He smiled sheepishly. “One of the plastic surgeons on call here was in my acting workshop last year.”
Helen frowned, but her instincts told her to believe him. While he might be willing to go to extreme lengths to secure a part in the final Athena film by saving Lauren’s life, she doubted he was a crazed fan.
Helen pocketed her cell phone and started toward the door. “This town is all about contacts.”
“Exactly. So why don’t you let me take you home?”
Helen eyed him pointedly. “My home or yours?”
He stepped onto the industrial rug in front of the door and, as the glass slid open, gestured gallantly inside. They’d have to cross through the ER to the parking garage on the other side of the campus. “Your choice.”
A cool air-conditioned breeze hit them as they passed through the sliding glass doors. Helen watched David out of the corner of her eye, and she had to admit that he looked utterly delicious in blue scrubs. But then, what man didn’t? Since Patrick Dempsey and Goran Visnjic donned stethoscopes, scrubs had become the new tuxedo.
“I can call for a studio car,” she said as they passed through the hallway that led to the parking garage.
“You can,” he agreed, “but then I wouldn’t be able to ply you with my charm and convince you to replace your new leading man with me.”
She arched a brow. “Not trying to be sly about it?”
“You’re too smart for that.”
“Ah, flattery.”
“Getting me anywhere?”
“Too soon to tell,” she answered.
His car was nice. Clean, at least, if a bit nondescript. Older model. Chrysler. Ford. American-whatever, but kept in excellent condition. And large. Spacious, even. Her mind flickered with backseat fantasies, and she imagined she’d simply gone way too long between lovers again. Helen wasn’t exactly promiscuous or insatiable, but she had a healthy sexual appetite like any other red-blooded woman. And she could certainly see the advantages of a binge with this hottie in the very near future.
He unlocked the car and, with a flourish that teetered on being hokey but didn’t quite tumble over, opened the car door and handed her inside. She promised herself that if he reached across to buckle her seat belt, she’d bolt.
He didn’t.
Damn it.
David Drake was turning out to be incredibly intriguing. Temptation like this was better than the pomegranate-chocolate-chip ice cream she’d stored in her fridge to satiate certain hungers that had nothing to do with sex.
Oh, who was she kidding? Everything in her personal life boiled down to sex. Getting it. Not getting it. Wanting it. Even her professional life hinged on lust. In Hollywood, “sex sells” wasn’t a cute sound bite, but a religious mantra. And she’d been practicing that chant for a really long time.
David slid into the driver’s seat and revved up the engine.
“The part you wanted has been taken by a man Lauren hand selected,” she said. “And I’m not sure I can find any other roles in this particular film that would showcase your talent.”
“A disappointing turn of events.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” he said, his turquoise eyes twinkling. “But you wouldn’t make an actor sleep with you in order to win a part anyway, right?”
“Make?” she asked, aghast. “Make? Do I look like a woman who needs to make a man sleep with her under any circumstances?”
“No, but the possibility could be pretty hot,” he replied. “Tough gal like you bossing around a tough guy like me.”
He eased out of the parking lot and paid the female attendant with cash and a charming wink, as if he suggested domination play to women he barely knew on a regular basis.
“You into that sort of thing?” Helen asked skeptically. She’d met quite a few guys who were into kinky shit, but this one gave off a vibe that said he liked his loving hot and slow and intense—with no need for accoutrements.
“Actually, I’ve never tried it,” he admitted.
“But you want to?”
“Will I get a part in the movie if I do?”
She laughed. “No guarantees.”
“Boy, your casting couch sucks,” he quipped.
“Take it or leave it.”
The silence was filled with regular traffic sounds. Loud engines. Overzealous bass vibrations. Car horns. Tires on pavement. David trained his eyes on the road until they reached a stoplight. He threw the car into park, reached across and slid one hand behind her neck and the other up her skirt. In seconds, his lips were on hers and the world turned upside down.
Her nerve endings exploded from his quick and skilled assault. She couldn’t stop herself from shifting in her seat so that his fingers pressed against her panties. Intent on exploring just as brazenly, she grabbed his crotch. He was rock hard—probably had been for quite some time. The minute his size registered in her brain, her body liquefied.
“Pull over,” she told him.
“Right here?”
She squeezed his dick a little harder. “I don’t care.”
He tried to hide a grin as he looked around for a secluded spot, but she knew from the pulse in his cock that she’d made him an offer he wouldn’t refuse. He accelerated the car with a lurch, then pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store.
She glanced around at the glaring lights streaming into the car.
“Not shy, are you?” she asked, rubbing him until his breath caught.
He peeled out and drove fast until they darted down a side street. The residential area wasn’t exactly perfect for an automotive interlude, but the hotter and harder he got beneath her touch, the more impatient Helen became. She’d give him the damned job—any damned job—if he’d just find a place to stop the car.
“Perfect,” he said finally, maneuvering the car into the driveway of a dark house with a FOR SALE sign prominent on the lawn and a computerized lockbox hanging off the front door.
She eyed the surroundings and figured this was good enough. If anyone was home, well, David would have to scoot them out of here in a hurry. But then, she wasn’t planning on taking all night.
One after the other, they dove into the backseat. He barely had the drawstring scrub pants loosened when she tossed aside her thong and climbed atop him. He was inside her in one swift stroke.
“No…condom?” he asked, shifting in a delicious rhythm that nearly struck her blind.
Oh, yeah. That.
“You clean?” she asked, balancing on her knees so that when he moved, the tip of his head curved against her G-spot.
“Tested…last…year,” he answered. He tore her blouse, grabbed at t
he bra until the lace cups yielded and then plunged his face between her breasts, inhaling her hot skin before he surrounded her right nipple with his mouth.
She smiled and increased the tempo, loving the feel of his hardness inside her and adoring the little swirly thing he was doing with his tongue.
“Me…too,” she replied.
And then from that point on, all bets were off. Clothes disappeared. The windows fogged. After his first orgasm and her second, they toyed with the idea of getting dressed and leaving before anyone caught them, but when David pulled out a pack of cigarettes, they cracked the back window and lit up. Lounging against the backseat, David drew lazy circles around her areola as she lay against him, his soft but impressive cock nestled in the small of her back. She took a hard drag from the cigarette and enjoyed the buzz.
“So,” he said, tweaking her nipple and then soothing the shot of pain with the pads of his fingers. “What part are you going to create for me?”
She laughed, then, tossing her hair with clichéd flair, leaned to the side and held the cigarette to his lips. “What part do you want?”
“Don’t care,” he answered. “I’d prefer a line or two, but I’m not particular.”
He twisted to exhale out the window, and she noticed that the man had amazing lips. Not plush or plumped, but thin and straight. A man’s mouth. Nice jaw, too. In fact, just about all of him was perfect, so she couldn’t help but wonder why he was working so hard for a part that didn’t exist.
“Why do you want on this film so badly?”
He plucked the cigarette out of her hand and tossed it outside. “Why did you want me so badly you’d do it in the backseat of my car? Doesn’t feel like your typical venue. You seem more like the scented-oil-on-silk-sheets type to me.”
“I’m impulsive and you’re hot,” she answered simply.
“So’s Lauren Cole,” he replied.
Helen inhaled quickly, but then covered her shock. Because, really, was she surprised? “I don’t happen to swing that way, but I suppose you want to do her next?”
He shrugged. “I want to be in one of her films,” he admitted.
“Because you’re hot for her?”
“I was,” he said, “until about twenty minutes ago.” A jolt of pride arched through her. So she wasn’t his first choice. Did it matter?
“I can’t compare to her,” Helen said.
“Then don’t,” he replied, locking his fingers under her chin and forcing her to look into his dreamy, Pacific blue eyes. “You were straight up with me; now I’m being straight up with you. I pursued this role because of Lauren Cole. That hasn’t changed just because you took about ten minutes to rock my world.”
“I rocked your world?” She couldn’t help it. The guy not only knew how to fuck, he knew how to talk to a woman afterward, even when he was confessing that he was attracted to her best friend.
“Couldn’t you tell?” he asked.
“You’re an actor.”
“I don’t do porn flicks,” he countered.
“You should,” she answered, but she was kidding. He flipped her around, and she could tell by his quirk of a smile that he got the joke. His dick was hard, but she wasn’t in any hurry to do him again. The night was young, and so was he.
And so what if he was hot for Lauren? What man wasn’t? But she certainly wasn’t going to give in again so easily if he pined for someone else. Helen wasn’t a prude, but she had her pride.
“So what about Lauren Cole makes you want a part in her film, beyond the obvious?”
Suddenly his eyes turned very hard and had their bodies not been squashed together, Helen might have backed away. “She owes me.”
Swallowing deeply, Helen chased away a chill suddenly spreading across her skin.
“Everybody in this town owes somebody something,” she assessed. “Why are you any different?”
“Well, let’s just say that without me, Lauren Cole would not exist.”
Seventeen
“Ms. Cole, I hear you’re going home in the morning,” the nurse said brightly, fluffing the newly changed pillow.
“That’s the plan,” Lauren replied, not breaking her gaze away from the shades of gray playing on the tinted glass of the window beside her bed. Three days cooped up in the hospital had been more than enough. She still had bouts of dizziness and her muscles felt like jelly, but she was counting the hours until the doctors signed her release and the studio arranged her escape. In anticipation, she’d insisted the nurse transfer her to the bed by the window, just so she could watch as the day faded into night—when Aiden would return.
After taking the quickest bath in the history of handheld hospital showerheads, she’d bundled in the robe Helen had brought her from home and waited for the sunset. She’d slept almost continuously since the attack, waking in short intervals during the night to either see Aiden standing over her bed or curled up beside her, or in the daylight, to feel his presence so near she could touch him wherever she placed her hands.
During an earlier visit, Helen had been frantic when she’d found the sword missing from the bag where she’d hidden it. Luckily Lauren had been lucid enough to assure her friend that the weapon was safe. Helen had offered to move it to Lauren’s house, but of course, she’d refused.
She wanted Aiden close.
Hell, she just wanted Aiden.
Starting this afternoon she’d refused any more pain-killers. She wanted to remain alert. For days she’d dreamed about nothing but Aiden. Seeing him. Feeling him. Making love to him. But with a constant stream of doctors, nurses, studio executives, police and friends parading through her hospital room as if it were her suite during a press junket, she’d hardly had a chance to talk to him in the daytime, and the drugs had held her captive and quiet once night had fallen. She knew he was there, though. But for how long? What were the rules of this curse of his? What would happen if she didn’t find a way to free him soon?
The nurse finished fussing, said something about hoping Lauren had enjoyed her stay at their hospital, as if it were some five-star resort, then headed toward the door.
“Can you keep out any visitors tonight?” Lauren asked. “Even staff? I’m disconnected from all the monitors, and if I need anything I can give you a buzz.” She lifted the call button device and gave it a jaunty twirl.
The nurse stopped and turned, her eyebrows hitched up into her curly bangs. “Even that man?”
Lauren frowned. “What man? The one who attacked me?”
The police had made no progress in finding out who had sneaked into her room, and Lauren hadn’t told anyone that he’d wanted the sword. Afraid the police would confiscate the weapon as evidence—or, worse, return it to Ross—she’d allowed everyone to subscribe to the crazed-fan theory. Once she was strong and recovered, she’d delve deeper into who knew about Aiden’s sword, and who wanted it badly enough to attack a high-profile celebrity in a relatively public place, but in the meantime she just wanted one lucid night with Aiden.
“Oh, no,” the nurse reassured her. “The man I keep hearing you talk to at night.”
Lauren blushed. Exactly what had she been saying in her drug-induced sleep?
“I’m just running lines,” she lied.
The woman beamed. “Then that’s one movie I definitely want to see. From what I’ve heard you mumble, it’s going to be hot.”
Lauren rewarded the woman with her best red-carpet smile. “You have no idea.”
The woman left with a spring in her step, and Lauren turned back to the window. The sky had definitely darkened. A full and sensuous quiet descended on the room, broken only by the hum of recycled air pushing through the vents and the muffled chatter from the hallway outside. Lauren ran her hand through her damp hair, and then, after taking a deep breath, whispered Aiden’s name.
He did not reply or materialize.
How dark did it have to be before the sword released him?
Lauren settled into the mattress and closed he
r eyes. She was still tired, but, nestled in the brushed cotton of the robe, scrubbed clean and damp from her bath, she let her awareness of her body push to the forefront of her mind. No longer trapped in her dreams, memories of Aiden touching her in the shower just before the accident slipped into her consciousness. At the thought of his invisible tongue flicking inside her sex, a surge of desire swelled within her. She needed him to touch her, to make love to her, to fill her with the raw passion they’d exchanged just days ago—to remind her again that she was, indeed, alive.
“Aiden?” she whispered.
“You need not call me twice, my lady,” he said.
Her eyelids fluttered. Aiden emerged from behind the curtain that separated her from the now empty bed near the door, where the sword remained stored.
Her mouth watered. She tried to remember the last time that merely setting her eyes on a man had caused such a flutter in her chest. And lower. Yes, she was achy. Her muscles were unsteady and her joints protested against most movement, but she still couldn’t resist leaning toward him as he walked nearer.
Reaching out to him, she inhaled sharply when he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. The current that shot through her nerve endings had nothing to do with electricity, but with desire. His eyes, such a penetrating liquid silver, flashed at her from under thick, dark lashes.
“What have you been doing all this time? Just watching me sleep?” she asked.
She patted the bed, inhaling his rich, musky scent as he sat beside her. The essence of his maleness took her mind instantly off her pain. She couldn’t help but lean a bit closer. God, he was like living, breathing Percocet.
“I’ve been listening,” he replied. “Learning. This place offers much more information than the mantel in your husband’s study.”
“Pardon me?”
“Ex-husband. We’re divorced, remember?”
“I do not forget, my lady. But I fear he has. His visits have been brief, but frequent.”
Lauren shook her head, wholly unconcerned by the frequency of Ross’s appearance at her bedside. “I’m just an investment to him now. He doesn’t care about me.”
