Fame (Not Like The Movies #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  ***

  If you’re searching for inner peace, the best place to find it is at Deep Springs Wellness Resort. Here, I spent two blissful weeks trying to attain some space from the hectic buzz of the corporate world—and boy, did I ever.

  I glare at the screen. Boy, did I ever? It’s hardly going to win me a Publishers Australia award. I slam my computer shut and grab my purse, tucking the big candle inside. It’s time to go, anyway.

  I stroll along the beach, the moon’s silvery glow creating a path that leads across the ocean to the horizon. Stars twinkle above, and the air is cool, a gentle breeze rustling the trees. My maxi-dress swishes around my ankles, and I breathe in the ocean air. In through my nose. Out through my nose. In through my nose. Out through my—

  Am I doing yoga breathing? Without even meaning to?

  I give myself a mental high-five and make my way to the dirt road that leads to the shanty town. Gay coloured lights offer pops of colour between the different buildings. Voices call in a language I don't speak, and the smell of charred meat lingers in the air. As I walk by the bar, I glance in. It’s just as it was the other night—a few men in one corner, the bartender knocking back a beer. The projector-screen television isn’t on, though—mustn’t be a good game night.

  I round the corner and make my way through the trees that lead to the beach. It’s dark, shadows taking the shape of completely unlikely assailants, and I clutch my purse tighter to my body. Why did I think this was a good idea? I’m alone on an island in the middle of the ocean. If Tate’s running late, or worse, hasn’t come at all, who would hear me scream?

  I push through the last of the foliage and step out onto the sand. Who would hear me—

  “Wow,” I breathe. To my left is a large woven rug, stretched out over the sand. A stack of pillows sits in one corner, a basket in the other. A projector beams light from behind the blanket to a giant white sheet strung up between two trees, creating a big-screen movie effect right here on the beach.

  And there, in the middle of it all, is Tate Masters. My sex date for the evening. The guy who definitely doesn't like me.

  “Hey,” he says, a lazy smile toying with his lips.

  “H … hi,” I squeak out. Wow. Just wow.

  He steps toward me. “You said you like the classics, right?”

  “I did.” I did, way back in the bar, back before I really knew who Tate was.

  “I thought since you seemed so stressed, we could watch them together.” He gestures to the projector. “I have Gone With The Wind, Breakfast At Tiffany’s, Back to the Future—”

  “Back to the Future?” I giggle.

  “Some might say it’s a classic, Winters.” Tate steps closer to me and places his big, warm hand on my lower back. “Get comfortable, pretty lady. For the next three, four, five hours, nothing else exists but the here and the now.”

  I look up at him. Moonlight casts his face in half-shadow, half-light. The sexy stubble on his chin, the blue of his eyes, the gorgeous planes of his face—I take it all in, and I know. If this is it, if this is even just one night, I’m going to make the most of it.

  I stretch up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his. They’re soft, and I can taste a subtle hint of whiskey on his breath. God, I could drink him in.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, and my heart melts just that little bit further, and I fall just that little bit harder, even though I know I shouldn't.

  I wrap my hands around his neck and kiss him properly, opening my mouth, our tongues teasing and taunting mercilessly. His hands wrap around my waist, pushing our hips together, and through the thin material of his shorts and the sheer silk of my skirt, I know exactly how much he wants me.

  “Wait.” His voice is strangled as he pulls away. My chest rises and falls. He’s stolen my breath. I’m falling for a thief. “This is about you. Not seducing you. Just letting you be … relaxed.”

  “Oh trust me, this is very relaxing.” I trail one finger up his tanned arm, over his biceps to his shoulder, up his neck to his ear. “So relaxed.”

  “Come on.” Tate steps back and gestures to the cushion pile, then walks over to the basket and pulls out a bottle of champagne and two flutes. “Drink?”

  “Please.” I grin and make my way to my assigned seat, settling down onto the rug. “I can’t believe you went to all this trouble for me.”

  He pops the bottle, and the cork flies across the sand. “No trouble.” He shrugs. “I just hate seeing you sad, Madison.”

  I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything at all.

  He selects a movie and we lie down and start to watch. The fizz of champagne buzzes through my system, and even though I know this whole thing was done for me, I can’t keep my eyes off of the man lying to my right. He’s somehow sweet and sexy, all rolled into one.

  “You’re not watching the movie.” His eyes never leave the screen.

  “Nope.” I agree. I run my hand over his chest up to his face, trailing the backs of my fingers against his skin. “I rather like watching you, though.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Madison.” His mouth barely moves as he says the words. It’s as if all his focus is involved in ignoring my touch.

  Curious to see just how far this display of willpower extends, I trail my hand down his arm, around his belt, to the bulge in his shorts. The whisper-thin fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he hardens under my gentle caress.

  “Still watching the movie?” I ask.

  “Still—”

  I grab his cock and stroke it through his shorts at the same time as he snaps off his sentence with a growl. His hands spin my body until I’m flat on my back and he hovers over me. He smells like ocean and cologne and man, and I lick my lips. I want this. I need this.

  “I was trying to do a nice thing, you know,” he says, but it’s not a question. “I thought sex would be something you just didn't need.”

  “I know.” I smile. “But I do.”

  “You need me?” His eyes are intense with lust as he gazes down at me.

  “So very much.”

  Those three words unleash the floodgates. His lips fly to mine in a passionate frenzy, all need and sex and want. Our tongues collide in a desperate dance. My hands tear at his shirt, our mouths only leaving each other to allow the material to be thrown somewhere, anywhere—just not on this rock-hard chest above me. He nips at my lip, and I arch my back with desire. His skin is warm, and it feels so good to touch, explore, taste—I’m high on all that is Tate Masters.

  All thoughts of Mike and work and the Madison I’m supposed to be fly out the window. For now, there’s only this. Us.

  And I just want to be.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tate

  Dress. Too much of it. Too long and hard to remove.

  “Off.” I tug at the silken fabric, and Madison grins, pushing herself up to shift the long layers of fabric over her head.

  “Better?” She grins coquettishly, and damn, if she doesn't know what she’s doing to me …

  Black sheer panties and a strapless bra. They’re the only obstacles between me and what I want.

  “Fuck you’re beautiful,” I rasp, then I close in. My hands unclip the bra while my mouth works her neck, kissing, biting, sucking my way down to her boobs. One hand toys with her nipple, tracing circles until it comes to a tight peak, while my tongue flicks at her other one.

  “Tate,” she groans, her head lolling back, and I suck the bud into my mouth.

  My hand travels over her flat stomach to her sex, and I pull her panties to one side and push my finger in. Her nails press against my back as she cries in pleasure, and I bring the finger back up to my mouth, tasting her on me. Her eyes flash with desire and she pulls at the drawstring on my shorts.

  “Did you bring the candle?”

  “In the bag.” She points to the tan handbag sitting to the side of the rug, and I reach over and pull it out. “What do you want it for?”
>
  “Wanna play?” I raise one eyebrow, and she shivers.

  I take the lighter from the basket and set the wick alight. It glows a warm yellow, the flame dancing this way and that in the soft breeze coming off the ocean.

  “Take off your panties,” I order, and Madison swallows, then shucks them off, reclining in front of me once more.

  “Are you going to join me?” She eyes my shorts as if they’ve committed a cardinal sin.

  I place the candle on the ground and stand to pull the offending items down. “That can be arranged.”

  Her breath sucks in and her eyes go to my dick, and before I can think about my next move she’s on her knees, her soft lips wrapped around me.

  “Fuck,” I moan as she slides her mouth back and forth. Her hand works in time with her lips until they’re performing the hottest act in the world, and my dick’s the star. She deep throats, and my balls tighten, my hands tangling in her soft brown hair. Damn, the way she makes me feel …

  I’m so close to coming, it’s dangerous.

  I pull her head back, and she looks up at me, her swollen lips gleaming in the low light. “I’m gonna come all over you if you don't stop that.”

  “Maybe I want that,” she purrs seductively, and fuck, if I don't want to take her up on that offer.

  I drop to my knees and kiss those damn talented lips, dance with her forthcoming tongue, and fall deeper into this woman who’s consumed all of my senses. I push her to the rug and her soft body complies, her hands pulling at my ass to bring me down with her. Instead, I lift up and trace one finger through her folds. She’s wet, soaking wet for me, and I can’t wait to bury myself inside that sweet little pussy. I thrust one finger inside her, then two, and her walls clench around me. Her breathing quickens as I pump in and out, and her hand flies to her breast, playing with her nipple. It’s the hottest thing, and I want to be inside her so badly, it burns.

  Instead, I take the candle, holding it high over her stomach. Madison looks up at it and licks her lips, and I know she knows what’s coming. I tilt the candle and let a small drop land on my inner arm. It’s hot, but not too hot. Perfect.

  “If it hurts bad, or you don’t like it, you tell me.”

  She nods, and I grin.

  “This is you letting go of your control. Trusting me.” Blood pumps through me, and my cock stirs. “Giving in to desire.”

  Then I tilt the candle, ever so slightly. White wax meets the pale skin of her lower stomach, and she sucks in a gasp.

  “Okay?” I ask, and she nods.

  I move the candle and tilt again, a white trickle landing on her inner thigh. She’s so vulnerable there looking up at me, and damn, it makes me hard. This powerhouse of a woman is giving it all up for me.

  “God,” she whispers, her chest heaving in rapid pants. “This is so …”

  One more line of wax meets her smooth skin.

  Her hips rise off the ground. “Please …”

  “Please what?” I ask, the word torture on my lips. I want her so damn bad.

  “Please, touch me.”

  They’re the only words I need. I huff the candle out and throw it on the sand, then fall to her sweet pussy in one swift movement. My tongue lashes inside her, and her cry is so loud, I’m sure they hear it in the village. I lap at her sweet spot, her taste divine on my tongue. She thrusts her pelvis toward me, eager for more, and I lick at her clit, drawing circles with my tongue then sucking it into my mouth. I pump my fingers in and out of her, increasing the speed with the quickening of her breath.

  “So close,” she whimpers.

  “Come on my face, baby.” I thrust my fingers inside her once more, and she does, her juices coating my hand, her body quivering.

  The wax is removed from her skin, and she groans again.

  “God, that feels good,” she says, and I smile. I think I’ve found my perfect woman.

  I grab a condom from the basket and roll it over my dick. In one fell move, I’m inside her, and fuck, it’s good to be back. She’s warm and wet and needy, all rolled into one. Her hands claw at my back, and I fuck her. I fuck her hard, I fuck her slow, I fuck her every damn way I know how.

  And then, at some point, I cover us with the blanket and we sleep, our bodies worn from being so thoroughly consumed.

  ***

  Madison

  I open my eyes to the grey pre-dawn light. Tate lies beside me, one arm over his head, the other wrapped over my middle.

  Last night was incredible. I’ve never done anything like that before—from the candle play to everything else. He turns me on in ways I’ve never thought possible.

  “Whatcha thinking?”

  His eyes don’t even open as he asks the question.

  “How’d you know I was awake?”

  “You changed your breathing.” This time he treats me to those gorgeous blue eyes. One hand tucks my hair behind my ear, then he pulls me closer. “So spill.”

  And even though I feel I should hold back, the Madison I am with Tate Masters isn’t the one I used to be. She’s not the girl who plays by the rules, who studies hard and makes sure everything is correct and in place.

  She’s just … herself. “I was just thinking how much you turn me on.”

  Tate smiles a long, lazy smile, and his hand ventures lower till it cups my sex. “It’s safe to say the feeling’s mutual.”

  His fingers play me like a renowned pianist, and tension builds in my stomach. How is it possible I still have an orgasm left in me?

  The shrill ring of a phone interrupts us, and Tate sighs, his fingers still inside me as he glares at the flashing light.

  “Get it.” I nod toward the cell. “We have all the time in the world.”

  Tate sits and takes the phone, holding it to his ear. “Hello?”

  His cock is hard and right in front of my face, so I do what any sensible woman would do.

  I put it in my mouth.

  And I suck.

  “Ah—I’m just at the beach. You?” His voice hitches as I move up and down the long shaft. He hits the back of my throat and I push deeper again, pumping faster as he talks.

  The call ends and he throws the phone down, pulling me from his dick.

  “You ain’t playing fair,” he husks, then grabs a condom, rolls it on, and pins me to the ground. His hands hold my shoulders as he hovers above me, a grin on his face. God, he’s hot. And I’m so ready for him.

  We have sex again, our bodies reaching climax at the same time. We’re in sync—two bodies that despite having known each other only a short while have become so finely in tune.

  When we collapse back onto the rug, our bodies slick with sweat, the first light of the sun creeps over the horizon.

  “You are …” Tate trails off, then shakes his head. “You’re something else, babe.”

  “I bet you say that to all the ladies.” I laugh the line off, but can’t deny how warm it makes me feel inside.

  “You know there aren’t any others, Madison.” Tate pauses. “I haven’t been with anyone for a long time.”

  “Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it.

  Tate shrugs and looks up at the sky. A few stars still sparkle there. “Well, there’s the whole Mikaela thing. And before that, I was working. Sure, I like to look at women, but … I had to focus on improving my craft to get to the top, you know?”

  “I get that.” And I do. “It seems strange to think of the great Tate Masters as having to study so hard he was celibate though.”

  “I didn't say I was celibate,” he says. “But I just … growing up, Janie and I had a real rough ride. Our parents died in a light-plane crash when I was five.”

  What? I press a kiss to his shoulder and salt coats my lips. “That’s horrible …”

  “Yeah. It was the worst.” Sadness clouds his face, as if it hurts him to just say the words. “Then we had the same old story. Bounced around from foster home to foster home. Pinballed between dickhead dads and sleazy siblings. A few
of them have tried to sell their stories, cash in on the whole celebrity thing, but most of them have just faded away …”

  Something dark flashes in his eyes when he says most. I reach out and take his hand, lacing his long fingers through my own. “Most?”

  Tate looks at me, really looks at me. “I don't talk about this. But for some reason, with you, I feel I can. You challenge me. And you trust me.”

  I nod. “I do.”

  “Janie—the father of her kid is a douche. He was one of the kids at a home we grew up in—spent four years living under him. He’d beat me black and blue, then threaten to do worse if I went to his parents. Said it was my toll—my punishment for being there.”

  My heart breaks at his words. I can’t imagine how horrible that would have been.

  “Janie didn’t know; she spent all her time working to save enough money for the two of us to move out. But one night, after the whole Mikaela thing was established, she told me how she ‘ran into’ Danny again … well, I lost it.” He trails off, and even though I’m dying for him to finish, to tell me if that means his horrible foster brother is the father of Janie’s child, I don't. It’s not his story to tell. “Anyway, when Shade leaked the film, I knew it was nothing. The date was manufactured. It’s just that her brother, Danny … he has something on Janie, too.”

  My mind whirs. If Shade had a sex video, I could only imagine what Danny has in his possession. “Is that why this Mikaela thing is so important?”

  He nods. “It’s why I keep up the lie.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, him no doubt thinking of his past, me amazed that the man I’d once written off as just another shallow A-lister has so much depth to him. So much courage in the face of challenge.

  Warm orange light streaks across the ocean, highlighting the crests of the waves, and I reach for my dress, pulling it on over my head, then ball my underwear up and put it and the candle back in my bag. Tate pulls on his shorts too, both of us in silence, as if we’re still meditating over all that has happened. It's only the third night we’ve spent together, but there’s a shift—something has changed between us. A connection that runs so deep, it scares me.