by Whitley Gray
“We’re wasting water this way, you know,” I said. He felt so perfect moving inside me as I held on, like I was floating in his arms. And God, but watching the shift and dance of his muscles drove me wild. I loosened my grip enough to touch his shoulder and to feel the hard sinew move as he held me in place in front of him. I might’ve apologized if I were actually sorry, but I couldn’t apologize for feeling like a loved woman.
“We’re not,” he said, not quite breathless. “We’re showering together. That saves water.”
“Hmm, good point.” My pussy tensed and pulsed. I smiled, anticipating the climax building up inside me hard and fast. “We should do this more often.”
As if he felt the same, his grip grew tighter and his movements faster. “I won’t let you shower without me the whole time you’re here.”
“How ecological of you.” It gave me a moment’s pause to consider in a few days I’d be showering alone again, but I shut my eyes to it and buried my face in his shoulder, instead focusing on how it felt now, in that moment, his cock hard and tight inside me, pushing me up against the warm stone wall, our bodies sliding together in perfect rhythm. “Oh God, yes, Aaron, now, please.”
“Now,” he echoed, and his hips slammed into mine. My head hit the wall and whether I saw stars from the bump or the orgasm, I couldn’t tell. Maybe a little of both, but the climax quickly overwhelmed any pain I might have felt.
Chapter Seven
Aaron drove the Alfa into LA while I gaped and gawked the whole way. Smart move on his part, since he knew how to get there and all I could do was ask, “Is that really Stallone’s house?” I was so starstruck, I’d have crashed the car before we got out of the driveway. Which only made me laugh—to myself, of course—because amid all these celebrities, I was still recovering from a very thorough shower with Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelor. This wasn’t just a vacation. It was a fantasy.
The guard at the studio gate handed Aaron a guest pass for me to wear. Before pinning it to my shirt, I took a picture of it with my phone.
Aaron laughed. “I can tell the guard you want to keep it, you know. They make lots of those.”
“And this one is mine.” I ran my fingers over my name on the laminated card. It meant, if only for a few hours, I belonged somewhere. “Beats the shit out of my garage coveralls. I might even wear it to work.” I ignored the knot in my stomach. It was only the first day. I didn’t need to think about the fantasy ending yet. There was still so much time to live it.
He looked over at me, brows wagging. “I haven’t seen in you those yet. I wonder how you look.”
“Like your average grease monkey,” I said. “I’d have my hair pulled back and work boots on. Chances are good I’ve been up to my elbows in grease, and there’s some on my face. I’ll shower when I get home, but I still can’t get the smell of gunk off my skin.”
“Keep talking, baby. You’re making me hot.”
“Ha-ha.” I shoved at his arm, so warm and firm that for a moment I forgot to be depressed by my low stature in life.
He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “No, I’m serious. I want to see you in that overall someday, covered in grease and smelling like…I don’t know, whatever you’ve been working on. But under that overall, you won’t be wearing a single stitch of clothing. Then I’m going to watch you peel it away inch by inch.”
I blinked, shifting in the passenger seat, because if he said one more word, I’d need a change of underwear. Worse yet, I envisioned myself in the garage, giving him a striptease in front of an SUV. When I looked in his eyes, I wanted to do that for him more than I wanted my next meal.
My throat was dry as the desert when I said, “I’ll try to arrange that.”
He raised my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You do that. We’re here.” He made a sharp turn and pulled into a parking space next to a Mercedes so high-end I’d never seen one in person before. My heart stuttered. Whoever owned that car owned a hell of a lot more. Maybe even people.
I crept out of the Alfa so as not to even breathe on the Benz. “This isn’t the director’s car, is it?”
He took a binder from the backseat and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but when we get inside—”
I held up my hand, my stomach churning hard. “Uh, you know, I could walk around out here while you’re busy.” I pointed at the badge. “See? I won’t get thrown out.”
He walked around the car and took my hand before I could pull away. “Come on. Craft services will lay out a table, and we’ll all sit there reading aloud and stuffing our faces. You’ll get to see how movies are born. It’ll be fun…unless you don’t like movies.”
I squeaked. “I love movies, but I don’t want to be in the way. I mean, who else is in this thing?”
He pulled me gently away from the car. In a herculean show of faith, I released my death grip on the door handle. “Jerry Marshall, Sean Hadley, Rick Babik, and Tanya McGowan. Man Cave 3.”
“Wait, what? There’s a third? I didn’t know there was a second one.” He held a door open for me. The hallway ahead looked like something out of a Stephen King movie, endless and bordered by a multitude of identical doors. “Offices?”
He chuckled. “You didn’t think we were walking onto a sound stage, did you? That’s not for a few weeks yet. They’re still building the sets. For today we’re meeting in a conference room.” His hand at my back led me past the doors. “And yes, the second one comes out in time for Christmas.”
I wished I’d checked the outside door for a sign warning me to abandon all hope. The smell of paint and carpeting and plastic gave me a headache, or maybe it was lack of oxygen in my brain. “Why would they make another one?”
“Because the first one did so well.”
I stopped walking and touched a wall, needing to feel something solid. “But a sequel is just the same old thing, rehashed. Don’t you want more than that?”
Heat flickered in his eyes. “Of course I do, but it doesn’t have to be this movie. Can’t I just do something fun?”
“Fun? Or for the money?”
The heat around him flared. I read it off his entire body like a bat signal. “Really? I didn’t see you complaining about the first-class ticket that got you here, the house I live in, or the Alfa. That costs money, and movies like this let me keep it. I don’t have to be all about art all the time.”
“Maybe once in a while it might be nice to put in that kind of effort, don’t you think? If you’re going to earn an Oscar, a sequel isn’t going to bring it to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, this is fluff. They’re using your name to draw people to the box office. I bet your shirt is off at least three times in this movie. Am I right?”
His eyes darted to the binder in his hands. “So what? Are you complaining?”
I blinked. Hell no, I wouldn’t complain, but I also had the opportunity to see that miracle of nature in the flesh. I didn’t have to pay to see it. Or did I?
“I’m saying you’re better than that. You can do better than that.”
“Says the auto mechanic.”
My hands curled into fists, but I kept them at my sides. “And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means, don’t you want better than a job where you get your hands covered in grease, and that’s on your good days? Because I’ve seen your scars. I don’t usually end up with stitches after a day’s work. You don’t want it easier than that?”
“No, why would I? I like what I do. It’s not easy, but I do it well. People ask for me when they come to the shop the same way directors ask for you when they’re making a movie. Maybe I don’t make six figures, but I have a good life.” I felt like the tumblers in my chest all clicked into place, and something inside me opened. I hadn’t lied to him. I did have a good life, and I liked it. It wasn’t pretty or easy but it was my choice. I didn’t go to work wishing I were somewhere else.
“So do I. I like that
house on the beach, and I like that car in the car port which is yours, by the way, so don’t tell me I’m not making good career choices.” He turned to storm down the hallway.
I hurried behind to follow up. “What?”
“Try to keep up. I should’ve been here half an hour ago. These things never start on time anyway.”
“What did you mean about the car? You’ve giving me your hybrid?” Which was fine, I guess, if a little weird. I liked my Honda, but his little hybrid sedan was ten years newer, though why he was giving it to me—
“No, the Alfa. I bought it for you.”
I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. “Why would you do that?”
Some of the anger left his face and was replaced with a touch of sheepishness. “It’s a gift. I like you. I appreciate what you did for me back in the mountains. I might’ve…well, we know what might’ve happened. It was my way of saying thank you. Your Honda’s okay, but I wanted you to have something nice. I knew you’d appreciate a car more than a charm bracelet from Tiffany’s.”
“I…” My brain emptied of words, even as my heart raced. He bought me a car. He bought me a car? What was I supposed to do with it? “How am I going to get it home?”
Those beautiful lips curved into a smile that would’ve taken my breath away if I’d had any left. “I wondered if you’d notice. Your plane ticket was a one-way.”
Eyes wide, I rammed my hands into my shoulder bag, digging the ticket out. Hopefully, he didn’t notice that I’d planned to keep it with me at all times in case I needed to leave for home in a hurry. It hadn’t occurred to me to look for the return ticket. I assumed it was there. But when I pulled out the little envelope…nope, nothing from LAX to PHL. “Shit.”
He reached for my hand and dropped the keys into my palm. “You’re welcome.”
I stared at the keys. To my car. Oh my God. I’d never even dared dream about fixing a car like that. Maybe, at best, someday I could hope to own a classic T-Bird that I might’ve fixed up myself with a little help from my friends at the body shop. I owned an Alfa Romeo? Free and clear? It didn’t compute.
He brushed the tip of my nose with his finger, Sundance-style. “If you don’t mind, I have to get to the read-through so I can continue to pay for things like that. Unless, of course, you still think I’m underreaching my potential.”
Before he could turn away, I reached out for his arm. “Wait. I still don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
“I told you. To thank you.”
“No. I mean, you didn’t tell me before this. Here I’m criticizing your career choices and you hand me a car. Why?”
“I was going to surprise you with it later, but since you did push me, I wanted to show you you were wrong about me. Now, if—”
“I can’t accept this.” I put the keys back in his hand. Saying the words hurt like the time the air wrench almost took off my finger, but I couldn’t, in any kind of good conscience, accept a gift like that. I felt guilty enough about the airline tickets. I let him go and turned for the door.
And how, exactly, was I going to get home? Oh crap.
He ran in front of me, blocking my exit. “Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Where? Why?”
“This isn’t right. None of this is right. I don’t know why I’m here. What we had…I don’t even know what we had. It was a fling. A one-night stand. It shouldn’t—”
“Yes, it should have, and I’m glad it happened. Are you regretting it now?” I saw pain in his eyes for a moment before he buried it. If nothing else, it convinced me even more he had it in him to be an amazing actor because he’d been pretending to be happy forever. “Look, I really need to get to this thing now. Just come with me. We’ll talk about it afterward, I promise.” His shy smile could’ve talked any other woman out of her panties, but it only served to make my heart ache. “I even had a little surprise planned for after, but now I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea.”
“What kind of surprise? I don’t know if I can take much more.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said before he brushed a kiss across my lips. “This is a little of what my life is like. Maybe it will change your mind about me.” Taking my hand in his, he turned and led me back down the hall toward wherever we were going.
“What if I don’t want you to change my mind about you?”
“I wonder if that’s a good thing, but let’s save that for later.”
Chapter Eight
When I was a kid, my mother had to buy a dress for a wedding. She took me shopping in a high-end department store whose name I don’t remember. All I knew was that I didn’t belong there. The price tags had numbers higher than I could count, and everything seemed to sparkle. The sales staff looked down on me like I was Oliver Twist, and every five minutes, they approached my mom, offering help. It seemed more to me like they weren’t sure why she was there or if they should call security.
Walking into the giant meeting room, I was whacked upside the head with déjà vu. Everyone greeted Aaron as if he were their personal savior. Most of the women were a lot like Gisele: thin, elegant, and lovely. Most of the men looked like Ken dolls on steroids or retired male strippers. I couldn’t tell which gender had had more plastic surgery. When they turned to me, their faces changed and almost contorted as if to assess what on earth I was doing there with their hero.
After a few introductions with various names and faces, he led me to a buffet table in the corner.
“Get yourself a plate,” he said, an “I’m in my element” flash in his eyes as he squeezed my hand. “You’re going to need your strength for later.”
I held on to his hand for dear life, trying to smile but no amount of teasing was going to make me relax in this room. “I’d rather have another one of those snap dogs we got on the pier yesterday. You know, that nice quiet booth, just the two of us.” Not in this laboratory they called a conference room. I suddenly knew how zoo animals felt.
“Maybe we’ll go back tomorrow. Tonight I have something better in mind.” He looked past my shoulder, and his face broke into a broad grin. “There she is!” He held out his arm for a woman with a short blonde bob and a tailored suit sharp enough to slice paper—or hopes—-to shreds. She air-kissed his cheek, but the hand gripping his shoulder was wildly proprietary. “Grace, this is Abigail Barrow, my manager. This lady single-handedly made me into the man I am today. Without her I’d still be selling luggage at flea markets and doing community theater. Abigail, this is Grace Bennett.”
I tried to smile and look fine. He didn’t describe me as anything specific to this woman who ruled his life. Not as his girlfriend, friend, or acquaintance. Not even his mechanic. Not that I needed a label, but in a room full of people who “knew” him (in the Hollywood sense), it might’ve been nice to know where I stood.
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Her grip could’ve been measured in PSI, and her eyes were as coldly assessing as my diagnostic equipment.
“So you’re the mystery lady he doesn’t tell me much about,” she said before leaning close, her voice slightly above a whisper. “Thank you for saving him. He’d forget to put gas in the tank if I didn’t text him.”
“It wasn’t an empty tank. It was the water pump.”
Her brows shot up. “You really are a mechanic. I thought it was a euphemism.”
Aaron looked innocent. “For what?”
She shot him a look that, well…it wasn’t far from the looks I’d given him when we bantered. Had he slept with Abigail? Or was everyone in Hollywood like this?
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Oh ye of little faith. When have I lied to you?”
“When you ate a Nick Tahoe’s Garbage Plate at the premiere in Rochester. I should’ve made you do burpees all the way back to Manhattan for that.” She slapped him in the chest. The move looked comfortably familiar. I banked my curiosity and, like everyone else, faked lo
oking happy. “Did you get the changes to the script?”
“No. What were they?”
She nodded toward the rest of the room. “Go talk to Jason. I’ll take care of Grace for you.”
A voice in my head shouted, “Security!” Aaron gave my hand a last squeeze, but before I could get a death lock on his hand, he went off in search of Jason, whoever that was.
Abigail turned to me. On the outside her smile was friendly enough, but I couldn’t help thinking she was trying to determine how much trouble I was going to be. “He’s a good kid,” she finally said, reaching past me for an overpriced bottled water.
“He’s thirty-seven,” I said. “That’s kind of past ‘kid’ stage, isn’t it?”
The lift in her brow said puzzle pieces were coming together in her head. “For women, maybe. For men, they’re always kids. The bigger the boys, the bigger their toys. Am I right?” But her tone said she was on guard. That went double for me, considering I was still getting sideways-eyed from every corner of the room.
She tipped the bottle in my direction. “You ever do any acting?”
Did acting comfortable count? Because if it did, I could’ve earned an Oscar of my own. “Not even in grade school plays.”
“Any interest?”
“Not a chance.”
Now her eyes changed, narrowed, a different kind of assessment going on in her head. “You’re what? Twenty-eight?”
“Thirty.”
She waved her hand like a gnat had passed her nose. “Ah. Never mind. You have a nice facial structure, but at your age, I couldn’t sell you. Too bad.”
My stomach dropped. I wasn’t sure if I were insulted or relieved. “I wouldn’t—”
“Don’t say, ‘Oh, I could never,’” she said, wagging a manicured finger in my face. “I’ve seen less likely people make it big. It isn’t always about talent, my dear. Success in this business is fifty percent hustle and fifty percent being in the right place at the right time. Oh, and ten percent of ‘who you know’ doesn’t hurt too.” She turned to look out across the room like she was surveying her fiefdom. When her gaze locked on Aaron, I felt insecure in a way that I never knew before. She looked at him like she owned him, body and soul, and I might be lucky if I only wanted a chance at his heart.
