“Would you grow the hell up?” I reached her, bent at the waist and threw her over my shoulder.
“Stop this! Stop!” She kicked her feet against my abs and beat against my back with her fists. I didn’t feel anything.
“You’re pretty weak. Do you need to maybe work on your muscle mass?”
“Shut up!”
I reached her room and threw her down on the bed. She glared up at me. We were both breathing heavy—her because of the temper tantrum, me because I was fighting between wanting to kill her and wanting to fuck her senseless. Her legs were splayed apart, her dress midway up her thighs. Her hair was mussed, a golden cloud around her head. Her tits heaved up and down as she gasped for air.
It was what she wanted. She wanted me to take her right there, with the both of us all worked up and ready to go. And I wanted it, too.
What did I want more? To take what I wanted or to make sure she didn’t get what she wanted? I didn’t like who she was turning me into.
“Put on some shoes and clean up your mess. I won’t do it for you.” I turned and walked away before she could say anything to stop me.
Chapter Thirteen – Charlotte
“I’m tired of being a hermit,” I said, pacing back and forth across the bedroom floor. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m in prison. It’s not my fault this is happening, but it’s like I’m the one who did something wrong.”
“It’s important to play along,” Janine said, for once speaking her mind. It wasn’t the right time, per se, since I didn’t want to hear that I was acting like a baby. But who did?
“You play along,” I barked. “I’ll wonder what the hell is taking the cops so long to get this taken care of.”
“It’s only been a week,” she pointed out.
“Good thing I’m not missing, then, because I would be decomposing in a ditch somewhere by now. Or in a hole in a basement where some guy told me to put the lotion on my skin.”
She snorted, then bit her lip. “Sorry,” she murmured.
I couldn’t help a little grin. “Yeah, well, you see what I mean. If this were you, if you were the one in trouble, wouldn’t you want them to work a little faster?”
“Of course. God, this isn’t me, personally, and I still want them to work faster.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
A knock at the bedroom door. I noticed out of the corner of my eye the way she sat up a little straighter on the bed. She even smoothed a hand over her poker-straight hair. I bit back another grin. So she had a crush, did she? “Yes?” I asked, making sure he knew exactly how annoyed I was with him.
“Are you on the schedule for tomorrow morning?”
I rolled my eyes. He didn’t even bother to try to learn about what I did.
“Yes, I’m on the call sheet for tomorrow,” I said. “I’m the lead in the movie, in case you forgot.”
“How could I forget?” he called out. “There’s no chance of forgetting.”
“Good!” I folded my arms and waited for him to come up with some stupid response, but he didn’t. I let out a slow, quiet breath as I felt the tension leave my body. He got me worked up like nobody I’d ever known, and that wasn’t a compliment.
Janine waited a long time before speaking. “What was that about?” she asked in a tight whisper.
“What?” I picked up my script to go over the following day’s shooting. We’d have to get back to the scene I’d ruined with Mark. I was actually looking forward to that scene, too. Mark was such a great little scene partner.
“The little argument through the door. I thought you two were getting along well.”
“He’s annoying and condescending and he thinks he knows everything. I don’t like knowing how he looks down on me, the snide dick.”
“I get the feeling it’s not just you,” she whispered. “I think he’s a really deep lake.”
“A deep lake?”
“You know what I mean. Still waters run deep and all that.”
“I guess. But I have no desire to hear about his life or the way he thinks or what he cares about. Not a single bit of it.” I felt a tightness in my chest. I could hardly see straight. When I flipped the page on my script, my hand shook.
“You don’t have to push everybody away who cares about you, you know.” She stood, stretching. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave for the night. I’ll meet you on-set in the morning, yeah?”
“Sure.” I sat cross-legged on the bed, script in my lap. I couldn’t stand it. Even she thought she could tell me what to feel and how to act.
I needed out of there. End of story. Fresh air, people, excitement. Something interesting. Something, anything. I had never considered myself a party girl. I even liked being at home, except it was always my choice to be there. I hated being told what to do more than anything else.
I tapped a pencil against my script, drumming out my frustration. Could I sneak out? Not when the douchebag was asleep on the couch. And he probably didn’t sleep very deeply, either. He’d probably jump right up and throw himself across the door. Then he’d drag me back to my room by my hair and lock me in. It was so hard not to feel a little turned on when I imagined it. I wished I could forget how it felt to be with him.
A night on the town would help me feel better. God, I missed drinking. I missed losing myself in a bottle of vodka. Probably why I’d enjoyed losing myself in Spencer so much, because I had no other outlet. I was stuck with myself all the time. I couldn’t forget who I was or how empty I felt.
He usually went to sleep around ten or so. I’d wait an hour and sneak through. With any luck, whoever was watching wouldn’t be watching just then. They’d…doing whatever they did at night when normal people slept. I picked out an outfit and waited, running through my lines in the meantime.
***
Once eleven hit and I waited by the bedroom door to listen for a noise coming from the living room, I didn’t hear a single thing. I pressed my ear to the elaborately carved wood and closed my eyes. Not a thing. I was confident.
I turned off my bedroom light before opening the door slowly, holding my breath as I did. There were no squeaks or creaks. I held my shoes in on hand and my purse in the other, then tiptoed down the hall. He was on the couch, as always. I waited just before entering the living room, leaning against the wall, watching and listening hard to be sure he was sleeping soundly. He didn’t move. His breathing was slow, steady. Just the way it was when he was asleep behind me in bed. I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the wall. It was so hard to keep from remembering that. But I couldn’t seem to stop, no matter how hard I tried.
I had to go, and fast—with the way my luck was going, I’d wait too long and he’d wake up. I tiptoed across the living room and did the whole breath holding thing again as I opened the front door. The light was on in the hall, something I hadn’t considered when I’d put the whole plan together. I slid out as carefully as I could, barely opening the door, then sliding it shut with a quiet click before dashing down the hallway on my tiptoes.
I put my shoes on in the elevator, feeling exhilarated and free for the first time in days. It was a rush. I was in control again for the first time a long time.
Where would I go? Did it matter? I’d happily go see a movie or get a piece of pizza. It didn’t matter so long as I was on my own for once. Nobody trailing behind me. I could blend in—I’d made it a point to dress down from my usual “going out” clothes, choosing a pair of jeans, a sweater and ankle boots. Nothing special.
Walking down the street was a thrill, and I took deep breaths. I felt the stress of past the week or so fall away as I kept going, far away from my apartment and Spencer. Spencer who never quite left my mind no matter what I was doing. He was always there, lurking, reminding me how good it felt when he held me and kissed me, when he touched me and made me feel safe and wanted. Not because of what I could do for him, not because of who I appeared to be in public or in my mo
vies. Just me. What a rush, almost as good as the rush I felt being alone.
I walked and walked, hands balled up in my pockets to keep them warm. It was freezing out, but my jacket was fleece-lined. I hadn’t had the time to find my coat and gloves.
The great thing about walking around in the dark was the way so few people looked at me. They were busy enjoying their night—drinking and laughing, smoking, hanging over each other. Drunk girls were the best.
“Hey.” One of them took me by the arm and pulled me to the curb, where she and her friends were waiting for a cab. My instinct, of course, was to yank my arm away and tell the bitch to keep her hands to herself. I was suddenly scared to death—I didn’t know that my attacker was a man, not for sure.
But she was too quick for me. “There’s a guy following you,” she whispered.
“What?” I turned my head without thinking.
“Don’t look! Don’t look!” She pulled me closer to her. I was sure she didn’t know who I was—if she did, she would’ve asked for a selfie or an autograph. “He’s real big, and he’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt. He has his hands in his pockets and the hood pulled down low.”
“How do you know he’s following me?” I asked.
“He was walking with his eye on you, and when I pulled you away, he ducked into a doorway.”
I shuddered. “Thank you for the heads up,” I whispered.
“You want to share a cab with me and my friends?” she asked. “You’ll be safer.”
“No. It’ll be okay. I don’t live far from here at all.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” I gave her a smile, as much of a smile as I could under the circumstances. “And thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Girls have to stick together,” she said, sounding like a wise old sage instead of a drunken twenty-something. Just then, I felt the lack of girlfriends more strongly than ever. I wouldn’t know that girls have to stick together because girls had never stuck by me.
I looked over my shoulder as I continued down the street, wondering where to go. I wished I were anybody else but myself just then—if I were just Jane Doe, I could’ve taken a cab with those girls and been done with it. But then they’d figure out who I was and they’d put it all together, that somebody was following me, and I’d be all over the news. I couldn’t have that.
One block. Then another. She was right, whoever she was—the guy was definitely stalking me. He always stayed maybe half a block back, hands in pockets, head down a little so the hood would cover his eyes. I wished I could just make him out.
I made a right turn at the next corner with the intention of making another right at the next, then doubling back. I had to get home. This suddenly seemed like a really terrible idea. I walked close to the inside of the sidewalk, close to the windows and lights, close to where people were congregating with their cigarettes. I could stand smelling like smoke if it meant never leaving myself open to getting yanked off the sidewalk. And if I was in the middle of a crowd all the time, the chances were slim that he'd get close to me.
The next time I looked behind me, he was much closer. My heart was in my throat. It took all my self-control not to take off at a run. I fought to walk at a decent pace, something that wouldn’t get the attention of everybody around me. That would be the last thing I needed.
He was so close, and still I couldn’t tell who he was. Only steps away from me. I panicked and instead of continuing down the sidewalk, I turned and hurried though the open door of a bar. Maybe I could lose him in there.
Once I got inside, I fought my way through the crowd to the back of the bar. And there were a lot of people, which was a big help. Never would I ever appear in a bar—not ever, since that would only feed the gossip. All I needed was for one person to take a picture with anything resembling a drink anywhere near me and I’d be in trouble.
I hid out in a dark corner, eyes darting back and forth as I looked around for my stalker. Had he followed me in? Was he that crazy? Hell, he was crazy enough to hit me and strangle me on a packed film set. He’d drugged me. Sure, he’d follow me. He was that desperate to hurt me. I wanted to scream, to beg somebody for help. But who would help me?
I saw the hood in the crowd. He was there. Right there in the bar. I looked around for a way out, a way around him. I decided to cut to the left and work my way to the other side of the room, then work my way out. If I stayed low, he might not notice me. There were tables there, and people standing around them, and loud music and dim lighting. I’d blend right in. I just had to be fast.
I started elbowing my way through, eyes down, excusing myself all the way. The door was close, closer all the time. I’d take the first cab to come along. I’d do what I had to do to get home where it was safe. Spencer. I needed Spencer. I should’ve called him when the guy first showed up.
A hand clamped over my arm, and my heart just about stopped beating. The person attached to the hand was swearing a sweatshirt. I opened my mouth to scream as I looked up—straight into Spencer’s eyes. The hood was still up over his head.
“You’ve been a bad, bad girl,” he growled.
Chapter Fourteen – Charlotte
He didn’t say a word on the way to the apartment. He didn’t even look at me. I sat in one corner of the cab, arms wrapped around my waist, the side of my head against the window. The city passed in a blur.
So it was him all along. I hated myself for getting so scared, but there was no way I could have known. And the fact that it was him was a good thing, right? Didn’t I want him with me when I was afraid somebody was after me? Wasn’t he the one person I wanted more than anything or anybody in the world?
We walked side by side through the lobby, then into the elevator.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he murmured, hands clasped behind his back. “Did you? I mean, you know there are cameras everywhere. They were watching. They called me.”
“I’m sure,” I whispered. He only snickered. Meanwhile, I felt like the biggest fool in the world. Why did I think I could get away with it? What was I thinking?
“I want to talk to you—somewhere they won’t be able to see us.” He jutted his chin up toward the camera in the corner of my living room ceiling. I led him to the bedroom, sure he was about to chew me out. He could do what he wanted, since I was just grateful to be home and safe again.
Once we were in the bedroom, he took my shoulders and turned me to him, then covered my mouth with his. My eyes flew open in surprise, but my body took over before I could think to fight him off. I melted into him, throwing my arms around his neck.
He wasted no time in stripping me down. He tore off my sweater, his big, strong hands cupping my breasts through my bra cups. He knew just how to manipulate my body, just how to turn me on. I reached back to unhook the bra, giving him access to my bare flesh. I moaned when his thumbs stroked my nipples, teasing them into hard peaks as little electric shocks ran through me with every flick.
He took me in his arms, his hard, unyielding body pressing against mine. His body was perfect, and I could barely help running my hands all over him. I pulled his t-shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor. We worked at each other’s jeans, breath coming in short little gasps. It felt like we were trying to overtake each other, desperate to finally ease the tension between us. It would kill me if we didn’t find a way to ease it.
I closed my eyes, throwing my head back as I wrapped my arms around Spencer’s neck. I needed to hold onto him or else run the risk of falling to the floor. I could barely stand on my shaky knees thanks to the way he touched and kissed me, explored me like a starving man. I felt like he was devouring me, and I loved it. I wanted him to take me and make me his and sweep away everything else around us. Abandoning myself to him was the sanest thing I’d ever done.
Once I was down to my thong, he threw me onto the bed. There I was, on my back in the nearly dark room. The only light came from the hall, the open door allowing it to
spread across the floor and over Spencer. I couldn’t keep my eyes off his flexing muscles as he dropped his jeans to the floor. Then came his shorts. I licked my lips in anticipation of his long, thick manhood, remembering in every nerve of my body how good it felt to have him inside me. I hadn’t understood until just then how much I craved him.
He took my ankles in his hands without a word, circling them easily. He made me feel helpless, except in a good way. A sexy way. I gasped when he pulled me to the edge of the bed. He looked down at me, lust in his eyes.
He released me suddenly, and a cry of surprise turned into a moan when his fingers slid beneath my thong. His rough touch almost tore the lace to shreds. When he inhaled deeply when his nose got close to the center of my need, a delicious shiver ran through me. I groaned as he got closer and closer, and the heat between my swollen lips was enough to drive me nearly mad. Then he dove between my thighs—he didn’t tease, he didn’t play, he went straight for the center of my heat. His tongue lapped at my outer lips, then dipped between them and flickered against my swollen clit.
My back arched instantly, and the rhythm of his tongue drew a long cry from my mouth. My fingers tangled in his thick hair, keeping his head close, urging him on, begging for more without saying a word. Not like I could speak coherently, anyway. All I could do was moan again and again, crying out, letting go of all the insanity and confusion and fear. Letting it leave so pleasure could flood into its place. And it did, filling me, building, growing, tightening, setting me on fire.
He took my wrists and pulled them from his head, pressing them into the mattress. So he wanted total control. A shiver ran through me at the thought. I let him hold me. I’d let him do anything as long as he never stopped pleasuring me.
“Oh…Spencer…” I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. I could only work toward what was sure to be a shattering orgasm, letting it come, letting him take me there. It built and grew and almost scared me. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it when it finally hit. I considered backing down but decided to let it go, to ride it out and see where he took me.
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