Fame (Not Like The Movies #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  “Tate, Mikaela.” Janie steps toward her brother and Mikaela, and I scramble in her wake. My hand flies to my hair. God, I hope it looks okay. “You remember my friend from yoga, Madison, right?”

  “How could I forget?” Tate’s eyes sizzle, and I steel myself under his sexy gaze. Nope. I am not attracted to you. Not one bit.

  “Well, Maddison’s from Sydney, Australia, where she works as a journalist.” Janie emphasises the last word.

  As she says it, I study Tate. Nothing. His face is as impassive as Arnie post-botox.

  “So nice to see you again,” Mikaela purrs.

  “Since this whole volcanic ash cloud thing has taken over, we’re going to utilise the resources we have here and grant Madison a feature on your relationship. How it’s stronger than ever.” Janie’s eyes flick from Tate to Mikaela and then back again.

  As if on cue, Tate takes Mikaela’s hand and envelops it within his two large tanned ones. God, his fingers are perfect. How can one man be this attractive? “Whatever you need.”

  What I need is a cold shower. Instead, I rack my brain and settle for, “Well, I find what works best for stories like this is just to observe the two of you together. You know, to get some idea of the natural interaction between two people who are very much in love.”

  I twist my fingers around each other and bury them in the folds of my dress. Really, what I want is more time spent with them to observe their relationship. More time where hopefully, one of them will slip up. Please don't see through my charade.

  “Makes sense.” Tate speaks slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Well, when do you want to start?”

  “Why not now?” I shrug.

  “Sounds fabulous. I was thinking of hitting the beach.” Mikaela glances down at her bikini-clad body. “After I wash off this makeup, of course.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Meet you down here in ten?” Tate asks.

  “Great.”

  Tate turns to walk toward the multi-storey apricot building behind us. The muscles across his back flex and pull as he moves, and as if he can feel my traitorous eyes, he turns back to look at me. My breath butterfly-dances from my lungs.

  “Tate?”

  Janie and I both snap our heads to look at Mikaela.

  “Hmm?” he asks.

  “You forgot to kiss me goodbye.” She smiles sweetly, and I hate that my stomach twists. She’s his girlfriend. He’s not mine to be jealous of.

  Tate clears the path in four strides. His hand curls around the back of her head, and I look down. I don't want to see this.

  “Not into PDA?” Janie nudges my arm, and I look up, giving her a wan smile.

  It’s just in time. Tate presses a short kiss to Mikaela’s forehead, then walks away again.

  This time, he doesn't look back.

  ***

  Tate

  “This is without a doubt one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.” I run the wipe over my face, getting rid of the ridiculous makeup caked on my skin.

  “No, it’s genius.” Janie’s voice crackles through the telephone line on speaker. “She’s a sweet girl, and her heart’s just been broken by some dick. Madison wants to believe in true love. And the feature will do her career wonders.”

  I bite my tongue. No need to tell Janie that Madison may not be such a believer in the Ta-kaela love story, thanks to one hotter-than-hell night on the beach.

  “Just let her follow you for a few days. The photographer arrives tomorrow. Then we finish the movie, everyone gets paid, and you and Mikaela can never see each other again, for all I care.” Janie sighs.

  I clench my jaw and study my reflection in the mirror. The makeup’s gone now, and I’m just the normal guy I’ve always been. The only difference is, I’m about to have enough cash to take care of my sister and her little boy.

  That’s why I’m doing this.

  Even if this means I have to spend more time with a gorgeous reporter who’s managed to rattle me more than any woman I’ve met in as long as I can remember.

  I’ll just give her space; that’s what I do. She can hang out with Mikaela on the beach and I’ll go for a surf. That’s enough for what she needs … right?

  “I’ve got this,” I say, but my voice wavers a little, and I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—me or her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Madison

  I glance down at my watch. More than thirty minutes have passed since Tate and Mikaela said they’d meet me here.

  I guess I shouldn't be surprised. They’re big-arse movie stars, and I’m just some idiot journo they think they’re going to con into believing the story of their love.

  I shift my toes, and the white sand covers my feet. There’s a swell out in the ocean on this side of the island, and a group of guys, some of whom I recognise from the shoot before, pass me with surfboards under their arms, heading toward the water.

  The last of the group slows when they reach me, and I glance up to find Tate Masters.

  “Thought I’d catch a wave.” He states the bleeding obvious as the rest of the group whoop and holler, hitting the water with several large splashes. “Do you surf?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Does Mikaela?”

  Something flashes in Tate’s eyes. “No. She doesn’t.”

  Surf breaking against the shore punctuates the silence between us, and one of the guys yells out, “Come on, Tate,” from the waist-deep ocean.

  “I should …” He glances over his shoulder at the waves that look way too big to be safe to swim in. I scan the beach. Mikaela is still nowhere to be found.

  Then I make my decision. I have to get this story.

  Even if it means following this guy into the ocean.

  “Great.” I place my bag down in the sand and strip the white dress over my head, leaving me in just my bikini.

  Tate’s eyes bulge. “What are you doing?”

  I frown. “Getting my interview.”

  “I thought you’d want to wait here for Mikaela. You know … not ruin your hair, and all that.”

  It’s the last line that does it. “I’m not afraid of getting wet.”

  Tate raises his eyebrows, and I cringe, preparing for his no doubt dirty joke. Instead, he gives a small smile. “You’re something else, Madison.”

  Those words make me feel far too good inside.

  And that’s how I wind up jogging after Tate toward the water, trying not to stare too hard at the muscles on his back as they curve and flex, or at the shapely tone of his calf muscles.

  He strides through the water and when he gets to the breaking waves, places his long board flat and jumps on. His head flicks back, drops of water weighing down the ends of his blond-brown hair, and he looks at me. “Come on.”

  I take one step forward.

  Ice.

  Cold.

  FREEZING.

  I shake my head. “The water is broken.”

  “Broken?”

  “Someone forgot to turn the temperature up.”

  Tate gives me a grin. He pushes the board down as a wave coasts in, one of the crew riding the crest. “Just do it, Madison. Just let go.”

  The words ring in my head. Just let go. All my life I’ve been in control. Letting go isn’t what I do.

  I study the water, each wave rolling in seemingly colder than the last.

  “If diving under that wave and freezing your ass off is the worst thing you do today, is it really that bad a day?”

  Huh.

  Those words …

  Yeah. Is this really the worst thing that can happen?

  Hell yeah!

  I tense my muscles and charge.

  I bolt toward the water, splashes flying up my legs and over my torso as I push through the opposing current. When the water reaches waist-height and a wave peaks in front of me, I dive.

  It’s cold, so cold my brain feels as if it’s frozen. I kick out and break free to the surface. This time, when I open my eyes it feels as if I’ve had five coffe
es, all at once. Every cell in my body seems to dance. It’s fresh and it’s free and it’s invigorating.

  I’ve never felt so alive.

  “Not so bad, huh?” Tate grins. He’s beside his board now, one hand on the white surface. Water glistens across his carved chest, and up close to him like this … gulp. Tension crackles between us.

  “It’s great.” I smile, and he rewards me for it by swimming closer, until there’s just a piece of fibreglass between our two bodies.

  “Come on up.” Tate pats the surface of the board.

  I frown. “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack, lady.” His eyes darken, and he looks at the board, then back at me. “Come on up. We’re teaching you to surf.”

  His use of the ‘we’ word isn’t lost on me, even though the members of the crew are a good ten metres away from us. He wants to make it clear that this isn’t me and him hanging out alone. We’re in a group. Not doing anything untoward.

  I slide up onto the board obligingly. Tate moves around under the water, and seconds later his hands wrap around on my ankle. I stiffen at the contact. Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts.

  “I’m just putting the leg rope on, Madison,” he says, although I swear his voice has a hint of husk to it. “Nothing to get funny about.”

  He straps it around my ankle, then points the nose of the board toward an incoming wave, and I float over the top, a relaxing up and down movement. He’s close, so close I could lick the saltwater from his bicep, up his neck, to that stubbled jaw.

  He pats the board on the nose. “This baby is called a mal. It’s a bigger—”

  “Australian, remember?” I smile. “I know what a mal is. I used to body board when I was a kid.”

  “Really?” Tate cocks his head. “I wouldn't have picked you as the type.”

  “There’s a lot of things you don't know about me, Tate Masters.” Ain’t that the truth.

  Tate smiles. “And here I was, all thankful that the surf is small today.”

  I glance at the waves that seem giant to me, then back to Tate. “This is small?”

  He nods. “Really. It is. But I’ll pick you a tiny wave, too, ’cause I’m a nice guy like that. Then I’m gonna turn you around, and …”

  His mouth keeps moving, but I’m stuck on turn you around. And I’m hoping what follows is a whole lot more sexual than the words I’m fairly certain are actually coming from his mouth.

  “Got it?” he asks, his eyes earnest.

  I nod, because saying “No, I was thinking of all the lewd things I’d like you to do to me” doesn’t seem an appropriate response.

  “Okay.” Tate moves his hands down the board and turns me to face the beach. It’s then I experience two completely rational fears:

  What if I try to catch a wave, but I fall off? And then I’m swimming, and the board smacks me on the head as I try to surface, rendering me unconscious? And then I drown?

  What if Tate is looking at my arse right now and noticing the severely inconsistent tan-line? Or the slight hint—well, Courtney says it’s only slight—of cellulite on my thighs?

  “I don't think this is such a good idea.” I shake my head. The board rises with a wave and slaps as it rocks against the ocean’s surface. I clutch to the sides of it, my body flat.

  Tate treads water beside me, his breath warm on my cool arms. “You’re gonna be fine. Think of it as … part of your interview. A shared experience.”

  I swallow. It’s now or never. “Speaking of … you don't think this is a little weird? An interview about how in love you are with Mikaela when you and I … well …”

  “Well what?” he asks, and I swallow.

  “We … we …” I search for the way to describe what we did. Kissed? Got half-naked? Fooled around?

  “Here it comes! Paddle, Maddie, paddle!” Tate yells, and then the board flies forward as he pushes it.

  I glance over my shoulder at the—holy mother of sea monkeys, the giant wave racing toward me. I want to get off. I can’t do this. This isn’t something I can—

  “Paddle!” Tate yells, and it’s at that moment that I realise I have no other choice.

  It’s paddle or get dumped. Sink or swim. And I don't want to drown.

  I paddle, my arms carving through the water to propel me along. The wave surges behind me and thrusts me toward the beach. The board starts to dip forward and instinctively, I shift my weight back. My hands cling to the sides of the white fibreglass, my body pressed flat against it.

  I fly through the water like I haven’t done since I was a kid. It’s fast and exhilarating, and so damn magical. Blood pumps through my veins in a way it hasn't for years, and I’m alive—I’m so alive. So much more alive than I was living in my perfect, safe apartment with my perfect, safe fiancé.

  “Wahoo!” I yelp. Somewhere behind me, I hear Tate’s congratulations, but the blood roaring in my ears all but drowns him out. I’m doing it. I’m really doing it. I may not be standing, but I’m catching a wave. I’m catching a—

  From nowhere, the lip of another wave smacks down on me, and I’m no longer riding this beast. Instead, I smash like a nail against the ocean floor, my body flipping from the board and slamming against the sand. My calf jerks one way, the rest of me the other, and then suddenly I’m set free, the leg rope no longer connected to the board. Pain scores the left side of my body. Water swirls angrily as I flip from side to side. It jerks my body this way and that, and I don't know how to get out. Which way is up?

  My heart hammers in my chest, and my lungs burn with the sting of saltwater. I squeeze open my eyes, but the salt bites at them, and the ocean is just an angry green mess with golden swaths of sand stretched through it. I kick, pushing out with my hands, trying to swim away from the current, the vicious tide that tosses and turns me around.

  And then?

  Light. Directly above me.

  I kick as fast and hard as I can, pulling my body through the water with my hands. When I break the surface I cough once, twice, three times, trying to clear the liquid from my lungs.

  “Maddie.” Tate’s voice is terse with worry, and I glance over to see him swimming toward me with two of the other guys from earlier. His board is gone, and I glance toward the beach. It’s washed up on the shore, as if it didn't just try to kill me. Murdering bastard.

  “Are you all right?” Tate asks.

  I manage a wan smile, like I almost drown all the time.

  That’s when I see it.

  The piece of red material floating halfway between Tate and me.

  Oh no.

  Please, no, don't let that be—

  I glance down.

  Yep.

  That’s my bikini top.

  Somehow, it’s as if my clothing read my mind and decided to remove itself as a barrier between Tate and I. Why didn't I think to add that to my list of surfing fears?

  “Don’t come any closer!” I choke out, holding one hand up in the air.

  “Huh?” Tate cocks his head, but stops his swim toward me.

  “I … uh …” I move my hand to cover my chest below the ocean’s surface, even though I doubt he could see anything from the distance and angle he’s at. “I need to get my …”

  Tate’s eyes flick to the red piece of material, then back up to my face. He grins, a huge shit-eating grin, and I narrow my eyes. “Shut up, Tate.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just a little …” Tate tries to control his mirth, but a giggle slips through anyway. A giggle. It’s simultaneously the cutest and most embarrassing thing to happen to me, all at once.

  “Guys, I got this under control.” Tate waves the two board-riders back, and one of them says something to him before they turn and re-join the group, leaving just Tate and me.

  Well, Tate, me, and my traitorous bikini top. My legs work double-time to tread water as a small wave crests, letting me rise and fall with it.

  “So I’m going to swim toward you, and you can turn around and
not look.”

  “Wouldn't it make more sense for me to swim to you?” Tate asks. “You look tired.”

  I shoot him a murderous glare. “Just do it.”

  Tate holds both hands up in surrender and turns around, and I paddle toward him, angling my body as vertically as I can. When I get close, I reach out and snatch the bikini. I fumble as my feet work the water, and I attempt to tie two straps around my neck and cover my chest with the triangles on the front. It’s so hard to do this and tread water at the same time. Stupid piece of designer crap. What I need is a real swimsuit. Something I can do this all again with—only this time with less nudity.

  When I’m covered up, I turn and swim back toward the shore.

  “Hey!” Tate calls from behind me. I duck under the water as a wave washes past, letting it carry me in closer to the sand. Pain shoots down my left side as I raise my arm out of the water but I push through it.

  When I reach the shallows, I stand. My knees wobble beneath me, and I take one long, shaky breath. That was intense.

  “Hey!” Tate calls again. I glance over my shoulder. He’s closer now, the water waist-deep as he strokes through the waves to get to shore. “Are you giving up?”

  God, do I want to give up. I want to give up on this stupid attempt at surfing. I want to give up on this story, and give up on the niggling attraction that twinges in my chest every time he’s around. I want to give up on trying to find inner peace and deep breathing. I want to give up on pretending I fit in working on this holistic magazine, when it’s everything I’m not.

  But I won’t.

  I gave in and fell for a man who I thought would be a well-suited match for me, even when he wasn’t.

  And now, I’ve learned.

  I’m better than that.

  My eyes harden as I gaze at Tate. “Aussies don’t give up.” I march down the sand toward the evil board, picking it up and staking it in the sand. “I was just getting the board to go again.”