Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance)

by Christa Wick

  A black-haired, ultra thin, blue-eyed harpy stopped mid-screech to stare at Declan, who hadn't covered himself and seemed to have no interest in doing so beyond a discreetly placed hand that could only screen half the problem.

  "Shayna," he said, his voice as cold and distant as Melanie had ever heard it.

  Melanie looked from the intruder to Cammie, who had apparently been chasing the woman down the hall when the doors were thrown open. The dancer's mouth hung open, her gaze locked on Declan for a few seconds before they jumped to Melanie. The gaping maw of appreciation snapped into a grin and she gave her friend two enthusiastic thumbs up.

  Melanie jutted her head forward, eyes bugging out in a begging directive for Cammie to go. The entire situation was mortifying and, the smaller the audience, the better.

  Unfortunately, Cammie didn't understand the look or chose to play dumb. She walked straight up behind Shayna, hands poised to capture the publicist and drag her away -- while her eyes kept dancing in Declan's direction, soaking his body in from head to toe.

  At last, the publicist peeled her eyes away from her client to lock on the cause of Declan's nude state.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" The words came out deflated. She returned her attention to Declan. "Did she drug you?"

  His irritation flipped to anger in a heartbeat.

  "Go downstairs, Shayna. Now." He stood up, all modesty forgotten as his gaze cast around for where he'd left his running pants on the floor. "I will deal with your intrusion momentarily."

  Either the publicist didn't recognize the quiet rage evident in Declan's tone or she thought she was immune to his wrath. She planted her hands on her hips, her legs taking up a stance that put her feet about eighteen inches apart so her body was braced against removal.

  "If this sow didn't drug you, why did you fuck her?"

  "Bitch!" Cammie barked and gave the woman a shove that only served to push her further into the room.

  Shayna reined in her forward momentum before she fell. As she flapped her birdlike arms to regain her balance, her attention landed on the nightstand, the already wide blue gaze stretching wider and rounder.

  Melanie followed the woman's line of sight, her stomach suddenly sick when she realized the dildo was still out. Twice he'd put it in her, first while sucking at her clit, the second time he had her stretch out, on her stomach, legs far apart while he drove it in slow and deep for well over half an hour before he finished her off with his real cock.

  Disgust and betrayal mingled in Shayna's voice. "You fucked her with that?"

  "Downstairs, now!" His voice boomed but the woman didn't move. Growling, he stepped into his running pants and approached the publicist. "Think very carefully about what you do or so much as say next."

  She blinked, then looked up at him. Cutting a side glance at Melanie, she pointed a finger.

  "THAT is going to ruin your brand."

  Melanie swallowed roughly, her nose and eyes beginning to sting. It was clear the THAT to which the publicist was referring was Melanie's overgenerous flesh. Hell, the woman probably thought even Cammie, with her muscular dancer's physique, weighed too much.

  "Your audience," Shayna continued, jabbing her finger in Melanie's direction again, "doesn't want to see THAT on your arm on the red carpet or cuddling poolside at some resort."

  Declan wrapped a hand around the woman's elbow and tried to turn her without force, the muscles of his arm relaxed but his jaw flexing with a seething rage.

  "If that's what you think, you don't fucking know my audience."

  "Oh, I know them," Shayna crowed. "I have to squeeze by them in checkout at the grocery store. I have to look around their fat asses in line at Starbucks. And you better fucking believe that when those bitches are imagining themselves curled up next to you, they don't imagine themselves looking like THAT!"

  Melanie closed her eyes against all the hate rolling relentlessly in her direction. The hand clutching the comforter to her chest shook. She wanted to throw up, Shayna's words making Melanie's chest flame with anger, adrenaline surging into her body too fast to compensate for.

  Shayna tried to twist her arm free, her body angling in the direction of the bed, her teeth bared as she issued her warning one last time.

  "You are destroying your brand!"

  "I'll risk it," Declan grunted as he wrapped an arm around Shayna's waist and lifted her off her feet as she flailed. "If you're right, it's not the brand I want."

  Turning toward the hallway, Declan's voice dropped ominously low. "What I won't risk is employing a hateful viper."

  "What?" A sudden panic turned the woman's question into a chirp.

  "You're fired," he growled, carrying her out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cammie stood, back flattened along one wall of the hallway as Declan passed. She remained frozen in that position until he disappeared around the corner to the first step leading downstairs.

  Her head whipped in Melanie's direction. "Should I follow him? In case she says he did something he hasn't?"

  The dancer missed the hollow look in Melanie's eyes, only noticed the shrug.

  "Okay, I'm going." She started off then spun around to flash another two thumbs up and a grin. "I was totally right!"

  She sped off before Melanie registered any reply.

  This, Melanie thought, was exactly what she had known would happen, even after she had accepted his interest as genuine. She hadn't envisioned the particular details, of course. Not the long hours of sensual lovemaking mixed in with a little frenzied fucking, nor his using the toy on her. Not both her friend and his publicist catching them naked in bed, the toy that had been so pleasurable suddenly twisted into an added point of humiliation once discovered.

  But the "sow" remark? Yeah, she'd seen that coming from miles and miles away. The look of shock and disgust on Shayna's face -- that, definitely, only she knew it would soon be reflected on faces all across America.

  She could imagine the Instagram photos, women and men with their features contorted for comic effect to display a range of unfavorable emotions, with captions that passed for witty on the internet.

  Just saw what Declan Bain fucked last night -- does PETA know?

  Did they have internet in London? Silly question. She knew they did -- but maybe the Brits didn't waste their time watching profile feeds from America.

  At least no one had snapped a picture or knew her name, at least not yet.

  Exchanging the comforter for the fur throw, she wrapped it around her and gathered up her clothes before speed walking to the princess suite on the opposite side of the second floor. Hearing the front door slam, she added a final burst of speed and crossed the threshold into her room, immediately locking the door.

  Declan would argue with her, of course. He seemed to relish getting her wound up. She had to get dressed and out of his house before he had a chance to wear her down.

  Standing and stepping into her underwear, she grabbed her phone from the top of the dresser and hit the power button. She had three texts, two from Cammie saying she was awake, the third from her mother. She clicked on Cammie's and typed a quick reply.

  "Pack ASAP. Please!"

  She stuffed a leg and then the other into her jeans, then fired off a second text to Cammie. "Text me when you are done."

  She'd get her stuff together and wait for Cammie to have hers loaded in the car, then they could go down together and leave. Declan might have lost his cool with Shayna, but Melanie had a feeling he'd keep it toned down with just her and Cammie in the house.

  It wasn't as if Melanie would be insulting him as she left, just telling him this was something she couldn't do, that last night had been amazing, but it would never be repeated.

  Fastening her bra, she slipped a breezy blouse on top, her body already sweating from the adrenaline of Shayna's visit and the building heat outside the house.

  Looking around for the slip-ons she'd worn last night, she froze as a determin
ed double knock landed on the bedroom door.

  Declan had come upstairs and found his bedroom empty.

  "Getting dressed," she called, considering it only a half lie since her feet were still bare.

  "I've seen it all, remember?"

  Somehow, despite the rage she'd seen boiling in him during Shayna's tirade, he had recovered enough to inject a little dry humor into his voice.

  "Seen it," he continued, "in various positions, all of them mouthwatering."

  Her heart skipped a beat at the rapid change in tone as his voice dropped low and seductive.

  She shook her head and pulled another set of slip-ons out of her bag.

  Her phone chirped as Cammie replied.

  "Gf, are you crazy or what?"

  Melanie's thumbs flew across her screen in response.

  "I really need you to not argue with me on this one."

  She put the phone down, opened the top drawer and scooped all her bras and panties out.

  Declan repeated his knock, his voice changing yet again as he seemed to realize her intent. "Mel, do you really think there are doors in my house that I can't unlock in two minutes or less?"

  Damn! She hadn't paid attention to the outside of the handles, whether there was a little keyhole or anything like that. Fine -- she had two minutes or less to pack. London was colder than Los Angeles, anyway, and it was very early October. She really only needed her laptop, tablet, phone, checkbook, passport and wallet. With just that, she could walk out the door to the nearest public transportation. Cammie could stay and pack in leisure without worrying about Declan.

  Melanie started stuffing everything into her backpack, fingers fumbling with the zippers as if they were as set as Cammie on delaying or thwarting her departure.

  Computer? Check.

  Tablet? Check.

  Stylus? Freaking hundred dollar art stylus...sneaky, hiding piece of...

  Check!

  Swiping the phone off the dresser to stuff in her back pocket, Melanie half flung it as Declan fumbled with the lock and her fingers went numb. She spotted it about two feet away, took a step and managed to kick it under the dresser.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  She dropped to her knees as Declan opened the door and entered the room.

  "If you're trying to hide," he mused lightly, "all of the furniture is too low to the floor. A baby couldn't crawl under there, Mel."

  Ignoring the joke, she reached, the phone at an odd angle to where she had lowered her body. She pressed her cheek against the wood face of the drawer and gained another inch.

  And lost it a second later as Declan wrapped his hand in her hair and reeled her to him.

  "I know you want to run," he started, the slight pull on her hair forcing Melanie to settle onto her haunches.

  "Let go."

  He did no such thing. Dropping onto his knees next to her, he tightened his grip.

  "But running isn't who you are."

  "You don't know who I am." Her voice turned growly. "Now let go."

  "I know you've spent three years in the business," he argued. "That's three years around bitches like Shayna and the jerks who worship her type. I know you've got hustle and talent."

  Lifting her gaze, she tried the death stare on him.

  And he laughed.

  "Mel, I've seen fiercer looks on kittens...and one drunk squirrel."

  Slowly, he unwound his hand from her hair, his fingers gently combing through the strands so everything settled around her shoulders with no trace of his having used it to rein in her panic. Dipping down, he slid his longer arm under the dresser and retrieved her phone, tossing it behind her where it bounced along the bed.

  "Now we're going to talk -- like adults."

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, resenting his insinuation that she was acting like a child. He watched as she shoved her hands in her armpits then lifted his brows with a tired amusement.

  "Maybe we should set parameters on what talking like adults entails."

  "I'm leaving, end of discussion."

  His mouth twitched, grew narrower at the same time his nostrils flared. "I hope your follow up statement doesn't include something about you moving to London."

  Feeling a pout begin to push her mouth forward, she mashed her lips into a thin line. "I already told you I'm not going back to work on that damn banana hammock movie."

  Slowly reaching out, he cupped one side of her face. "And I said you don't need to worry about money."

  Arguing with him was exhausting, especially when he touched her so tenderly, his gaze earnest and full of affection she didn't think he could fake, even as good an actor as he was.

  "I want to go home." She kept the whine out of her voice but not the slow creep of defeat. "Last night was amazing, but that's all it was -- a night."

  His face hardened. His hand retreated to his side.

  "Shayna's got the kind of memory you'd expect if you crossed Stalin with an elephant," he warned, his tone slicing from crisp to sharp. "She saw you on the set one of the times you were dressing me--"

  Something whipped across his face, another flash of anger, maybe.

  "What?"

  He shook his head. "No detours down memory lane, baby girl. Just believe me when I say she'll remember where she saw you if she hasn't already. By the end of the day, she'll have your name and the address you had on file for the film."

  Melanie sucked a sharp breath in. Cammie's name was the only one on the apartment's lease, but Melanie had listed the address with the union and all of the work agreements she'd signed since moving in with the dancer. Whatever trouble Shayna might make by sending the paparazzi over to the apartment would hit Cammie, too.

  Melanie wasn't sure Cammie's family fully understood what she did for a living. Based on some of the half-heard phone conversations, Melanie was pretty sure they thought Cammie was a waitress at the clubs and kept all her clothes on.

  The corners of Melanie's mouth began to pull down toward the end of her chin.

  "Don't," he softly teased and tried to erase the frown with a stroke of his fingertips. "It'll freeze like that."

  She moved away, crawled up onto the bed, her feet touching the floor and her elbows propped against her knees. She opened her mouth to make one last protest but couldn't get it out before she buried her face in her hands.

  Cammie would need someplace to stay other than the apartment.

  "Won't the photographers be camping out here, too?" she mumbled around her palms.

  Hell, there had probably been at least one up in the palm trees when she crossed from the main house to the guest house and back again last night. For all she knew, her image was probably up on some gossip site already.

  "Yeah," he admitted, joining her uninvited on the bed. "Are you asking for your roommate's sake or yours?"

  "Cammie's," she whispered. There was no way to keep her own name out of it, but she could try to keep Cammie's face and name from being plastered around as some side dish of speculation.

  "You stay here, with me," he offered, "and I'll get her someplace nice to stay and pay off the rest of your lease."

  Her head shot up at the proposal. Nothing in his tone sounded meretricious, but she was skeptical.

  "Stay?" she asked.

  His mouth twitched. Half irritation, half amusement, but he sounded perfectly casual as he answered. "Any bedroom in the main house you want to claim is yours."

  She scowled at the ambiguous response then covered her face again.

  "I need a shower," she said from behind her hands. "Coffee with lots of sugar and cream and a little time to think."

  "Wouldn't think of demanding otherwise," he said before planting a soft kiss on her shoulder. "You get a shower while I make the coffee."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stepping out of the shower fifteen minutes later, Melanie found Cammie, not Declan, holding a tray with two lattes on it.

  "I know you were expecting someone tall, golden and hotter
than a ghost pepper," she said, putting the tray down and handing Melanie a cup. "But I insisted on satisfying myself that you were okay. I mean, he seems like a great guy who definitely digs you, but..."

  "I might injure myself with my own drama?" Melanie asked with a raised brow.

  The astute, down-to-earth blonde had warned Melanie before about Melanie's propensity for...

  Her mouth twisted as she tried to remember Cammie's word for it.

  Oh, yeah, "engaging in confirmation bias."

  Cammie's theory was that, if Melanie thought Declan couldn't possibly desire her or, even if he did, that the world would never accept her by his side, then Shayna's little performance would be twisted until it fit Melanie's view of the world.

  Woe is me.

  "I was going to say that I don't really know him and appearances can be deceiving." Cammie took a sip of her latte then winked at her friend. "But now that you mention your unfaltering opinion that the whole world despises big girls, there's a definite possibility that you might have been up here murdering your chances with one of the planet's hunkiest hunks."

  Melanie's face contorted into something forlorn. He was more than just a hunk. When he was in action, whether before the camera or just moving through life, he absolutely took her breath away. The way he spoke, especially when his voice went all husky or his eyes did all the talking, the way he moved -- everything.

  "So, I'm just gonna come straight out with it," Cammie started before hiding behind a longer sip on her latte. "Declan...he, uh...told me about the offer he made you...to help shield me, put me up someplace for a while and get us out of the lease on Normandie -- if you 'stay' with him."

  Melanie offered a blank stare and Cammie reached out to curl her hand around Melanie's arm.

  "I don't want you making any decision based on what you think my needs are." She gave Melanie's arm a soft squeeze. "This is your heart you're deciding. I've always known I was going to have to come clean some day with my family and I'm not ashamed of what I do to give my..."