Fame (Not Like The Movies #1)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  “I know. She’s a fruitcake. She did it because she thought it would help make things easier for me.”

  The lines that crease Madison’s forehead are somehow incredibly cute. I kind of want to run my tongue along them.

  Then I think of other parts of her I want to run my tongue along. Oh, yeah. My heart surges with affection, and I decide to just do it. To tell this crazy woman how I feel. “She thought it would make it easier for me to tell you that I love you.”

  Madison’s jaw drops. Her eyes bug, and there’s this crazy moment where I think she might be about to cry or to launch into one of her speeches where she tells me all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

  I do the only thing a man can do in that kind of situation.

  I kiss the shit out of her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Madison

  He kisses me, as if he didn't know I was just about to cry or speak, to ask him what the hell and tell him he can’t say things like that all at once. But his tongue works magic in my mouth, his lips so soft against my own, his body wrapped around mine, and I can’t fight it. The attraction between us is as intense as it’s ever been, all-consuming and all-evolving all at once.

  My hands reach around up his back to pull him closer to me even though there’s not a skerrick of air between us, as if simply by pulling him I can somehow mould his body to mine. His hands twist my hair. Fire burns within me. I thrust my hips toward his, feeling his hard length against me. It burns so good, I rub up and down like a dog on heat, desperate for the friction only his cock can create.

  His hand falls from my hair to my side, grazing over my breast. My nipples ache for his touch, his mouth, his everything. It’s only been four days, but the want building within me is intense. God, I can’t wait to touch him, to have him thrust his—

  “Ahem.”

  Freeze.

  Tate’s lips move against my own. “That’s your mother, isn’t it?”

  I slowly pull back, and cover my no doubt swollen lips with one hand.

  Mother raises her eyebrows at me. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour, if Tate would like to stay.”

  He turns around, and I quickly glance to his jeans to check his hard-on isn’t as visible as it felt.

  Nope.

  It’s there, all right.

  “Yes thank you, Mrs Winters.”

  “Good,” she says. “And when I cook the sausages, I’ll use protection. To make sure they don't splatter against—”

  “Mum! For the love of God, stop!”

  Mum gives a not-so-innocent wink. “Just makin’ sure my baby is careful.”

  She walks away and I slump down in the porch swing, my head in my hands. “Did that really just happen?”

  Tate lowers down beside me. “I think it just did.” He places one hand on my leg and slides it higher, so close to my sex that I just want to thrust forward and make contact myself. “Now, where were we …”

  His lips make their way to my neck, kissing, licking, sucking, and I want so much to have him inside me. So much to make him my own.

  “Wait.” I place my hands on his shoulders. My breath comes fast, my chest rising and falling as if it’s simmering.

  “Wait?” Tate repeats.

  “I … I want this.” I cross my legs, but the burn is still there. Holy mother of Jesus, do I want this. “But I think we should wait.”

  “You know we’ve done this before, right?” Tate asks, but there’s no mirth in his eyes.

  “I know. I just …” I search for the words. “Tate, I fell for you hard and fast on that island. You changed my idea of what I was in myself—of who I am. You proved to me I was more than just Mike’s girlfriend, or the magazine girl.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” he asks, hopeful.

  “Yes.” I bite my lip. “And no. Betty just died. Her funeral is in a few days, and I still have to sort out what sort of job I’m going to look for. I don't know if I can work in magazines anymore. My last few articles have been rubbish.”

  “So make a fresh start,” he rushes out. “Come to LA with Janie and me. There’s plenty of work over there—Americans love Aussies. We can figure this out together.”

  I shake my head, sadly. “Don't you see?” His questioning look tells me he doesn’t. “That’ll mean I go straight from being Mike’s girl to Tate’s.”

  Tate slumps back in the seat. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again.

  I reach one hand over and trail it down the side of his face as I’ve done so many times before. Emotions well inside me, and I hope to hell I’m doing the right thing. I hope that the pain in my chest isn’t a warning, telling me this is the worst mistake I’ll ever make. “It hurts to say this,” I admit, swiping an errant tear from my eye. “But I think we need to do this right. I need time to be completely sure I’ve healed from Mike and found myself. Because I love you, Tate Masters. And I don't ever want to stop.”

  This time, there’s no holding back the floodgates. Tate pulls me into his arms and rubs my back until I don't even know why I’m crying anymore. I love him too much, too soon, and my life is too broken to let that in.

  He does what he’s done this last month, though, and he just lets me. He lets me cry all my tears, running circles over my skin, whispering sweet nothings and sometimes sweet somethings about how much he wants me. He presses kisses to my hair, my forehead, my lips, and at one point, the pain stops being so damn unbearable and starts to become a sort of numb ache throbbing in the base of my skull.

  It sucks.

  But life isn’t always meant to be fair.

  Epilogue

  Madison

  Healing isn’t easy. Love is a keloid wound. When you feel it true, it scars you deep within, not letting you ever forget. You’ll love again. You may even love harder, faster, stronger. But the pain remains, even though it dulls over time.

  I’ll never forget Betty—I know that like I know the sky is blue and that magazines will always sensationalise stories, even when they’re unsure of the facts.

  But always remembering doesn't mean I can’t move forward. They can be one and the same.

  And one day, I finally find myself. I sit on the cliff-side at Bondi Beach, watching the waves crash below me. Courtney’s running late for our afternoon walk, but it isn't really a surprise—magazine office hours vary like that.

  The wind blows salt air through my hair, and overhead, a seagull calls. Deep breaths. In and out. I’m at peace. Zen.

  “’Scuse me, miss?”

  I look up into the eyes of an English guy, around thirty. “Yes?”

  His grey eyes twinkle down at me, and he flashes a winning smile. “This sounds really cheesy, and you probably get this a lot, but you’re beautiful.”

  Heat flushes to my cheeks. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Look, I’m waiting for a friend. Do you mind if I join you, uh …?”

  “Madison,” I finish for him.

  “Madison.” He holds out a hand, and I shake it. “I’m James.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I reply on autopilot.

  He squats beside me and looks out to the ocean. “So tell me about yourself, Madison.”

  “I …” I open my mouth to give the spiel I would have given just a few short months ago. Twenty-three, working in magazines, engaged to my high school sweetheart. They’re words that are so easy to run off my mouth.

  But I don't say them.

  In fact, if I’m honest with myself, they’re not even front of mind.

  “There’s not much to tell.” I smile. “I like to surf. I like to laugh. And I love my friends and family.” The wind whips at my hair one more time, and my heart seems to dance along with it. “I love to live.”

  And I know in that moment just how true that is.

  I am defined by just being me.

  ***

  Two months later …

  Tate

  Sonny’s first ever day of being alive is a time I’ll
remember forever.

  He came kicking and screaming into the world, a little angry red face with a set of lungs that Kanye would be jealous of. Of course, I wasn't in the birthing room. There are parts of my sister I simply do not need to see.

  I was waiting in the hall, though.

  And when they called me in, I was the proudest uncle in the history of the world.

  I spent all day at the hospital with my healthy sister and her seemingly healthier baby boy, if his vocal cords were anything to go by, then left for home late that night when Janie all but pushed me out the door.

  Our house is perfect to raise a kid in—a big four-bedder in a quiet, high-security gated community. I did what Janie said—I took a chance, and let Danny run the photos of her, even though it went against everything I stood for. He made a fuss, but I haven’t heard from him since. And more importantly, I haven’t seen any pics of my sis in compromising positions. Halle-fucking-lujah.

  Not paying him off meant Janie and I were able to settle in comfortably, thanks to the endorsements Marty and Bill lined up. We’re okay until the premiere of Tropical Love, which is now just two short months away, thanks to my recent media ‘good’ behaviour. Mikaela and I released a joint statement, announcing that the story about our “fake” relationship was a sham, but that we had decided to amicably part ways. We still speak to each other a few times a week, and even though she hasn’t yet broken the news to her father about her enjoyment of all things pussy, she’s planning on doing it when she next heads out to the country, as soon as she gets a break in her busy shooting schedule for the next rom-com she’s signed up to do.

  As for my career, unlike before, when I was just a struggling actor and success was so far out of my reach, things are looking up. I’ve had three auditions in the last week alone, and my schedule is booked for the next year. Better than that, I’ve said no to a few things—it’s because I believe in myself now, and I’m not so focused on trying to make sure everyone else is happy. I believe I’m worth fighting for.

  Madison Winters taught me that.

  I twist my key in the door and open it, letting it creak open in the darkness. I switch on the hall light and shut the door behind me. I chuck my wallet and keys on the side table, then take the cigar from my top pocket. Because hell yeah! I’m an uncle. If this isn’t a cigar-worthy occasion, what is?

  As I reach the back patio, my phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket and pick up, juggling it and the lighter in my hands. “Hello?”

  “Hey sexy,” Madison purrs as I spark the cigar up, tossing the lighter down.

  “Hey.” God, she sounds good. Just her voice is enough to have me harden. I take a puff on the cigar instead, trying to keep my mind out of the gutter. She knows when I jerk off while talking to her.

  It’s happened before.

  “How you feeling, Uncle Tate?”

  I release a stream of smoke. “King of the world, baby. I can’t believe he’s here.”

  “I can’t wait to see him.” There’s a wistful note in her voice.

  “Hey, you’ll see him soon enough. You’re still coming out for the premiere, right?” I sit up straighter, the cigar falling to my side.

  “About that …” Madison sighs.

  My stomach lurches. She promised she’d come out to visit for the premiere of Tropical Love. She can’t back out now. My heart might break.

  Or, more realistically, my dick might.

  “Maddie, please, don’t do this to me.” I take another pull on the cigar, then rest it on the side of the wooden deck chair. “I can’t do this long-distance shit. You asked for space, and I’m doing what you want, but you can’t make me wait any longer. I can’t handle that.”

  “Handle what?” she asks, but there’s laughter to her voice.

  Doesn't she understand how serious this is? Doesn't she get how—

  “Seriously, you need to move that cigar now. The lit bit is so close to the wood, and it’s starting to stress me out.”

  What?

  I check the screen of my phone, in case I’ve somehow accidentally FaceTimed her in, but it’s dark. “Honey, how the hell do you do that? We must really be in sync, because—”

  “Because I stole the key from Janie and broke into your house.” Her voice comes from behind me, and I jerk my head.

  There she is.

  Madison Winters.

  She stands in the doorway to our patio, one hand on her phone, the other by her side. She looks exactly the same bombshell as she was the last time I saw her, only something’s changed. There’s a lightness in her eyes that wasn't there before. A joy I’ve never seen in her smile.

  “Seriously? I flew like twelve hours to see you, and you’re just going so sit there and—”

  I don't let that smart mouth finish another word. I launch myself at her, our lips colliding in a kiss that’s hot and heavy and sweet and sincere and everything. I want her, so badly I could tear her dress from her body and take her over the sunlounge right now, her sweet ass in the air, her long brown hair in waves down her back.

  She pulls back for a moment, her eyes glittering in the low light, and I cool my thoughts. She’s just got off a plane. And just because she’s here now doesn't mean she’s ready to just launch back into the sexy stuff.

  “So, you know the job I told you I went for?” she asks, her voice light.

  I nod. Ever since the article she wrote for Live Well blew up online, she’s been hunting for a good columnist gig. Turns out she writes best for the heart, not the headline. Most recently, she’d applied for a gig with Lola’s older sister magazine, Women.

  “I got it!” she squeals.

  “Hell yeah!” I wrap my hands around her tiny waist and lift her. “Congratu-fucking-lations.”

  “Thanks.” She grins. “But the best part is, my office can be wherever I want it to be. I work from home now.”

  I frown. “You do?”

  Does that mean …?

  “So if you’ll have me, I’m here to stay for a few months.”

  My heart does some stupid girly shit, and I growl, picking her up once more and kissing her like she’s the last breath I have, kissing her like she’s all I’ve got. And in a way, she is. She pushed me to take a chance. She saved me. Even if she doesn’t know how much.

  I pull back and stare this hottie in the eyes. “I love you so much, Madison Winters.”

  She grins, a devilish smile I know all too well, thanks to the miracle of FaceTime. “I love you too, Tate Masters.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip. “Now, let's go see how quick we can get naked and in the shower.”

  Oh hell yeah.

  I thought she’d never ask.

  THE END    

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read Fame. This is my first foray into “books for grown-ups”, and I so appreciate you reading. If you enjoyed this book, I’d love it if you signed up for my e-newsletter here, or joined my reader group on Facebook (where we mostly just talk about cute boys and give away free things).

  A huge thank you goes to my fabulous team of beta readers—Kristine, you were amazing with that scene. Jenn, you provided epic insight (and made me want to go shopping on an island!). And Stace, as usual, you nailed all the details and put a stop to my pesky love for the “O” word (Outback. I’m talking Outback). Simone, you rock and make everything awesomerer (go on, correct me. I dare you). Also, a special shout-out to Eva for her flying-while-pregnant knowledge.

  Sali, I adore your face, woman! Thanks for helping fine-tune this book and offering your epic surfing tips.

  Kylie and the GMB team, you all ROCK! Thanks so much for everything you do promotion-wise.

  Kim, your patience when it came to making this cover was saintly. Thanks for being the best designer in the biz.

  Of course, I also need to thank my family. I love you all very much! And Pete, you know what they say—when you know, you know. I’m so glad you’re my husband
(even if it took us a while to get the whole “knowing” bit).

  Finally, thanks so much again to you, the reader. Without you, this wouldn't be possible. If you’d like to leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads or iBooks, I would so appreciate it. Thanks for making my dream come true.

  Want more of FAME?

  Stay tuned for book two in the Not Like The Movies series, FORTUNE, coming soon …

  Grace Storey can’t wait to escape her small-town hell and head for the big city for three main reasons: Work. Better cell-phone service. And the prospect of meeting her very own Prince Charming. After all, when the guy you crushed on since high school turns out to be a psychopath, and the only viable alternative is Creepy Keith, you need to take drastic measures to ensure a life as a crazy cat lady is not in your future.

  What she doesn't need is a bad-boy musician with a penchant for getting under her skin. Sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll are the last things on her mind.

  Darcy Fortune has three things on his mind: Sex. Drugs. And rock ’n’ roll (in that order). It’s how it has to be to keep the pain from his past at bay. After all, when you’ve lost someone you love, it’s easier to numb the hurt to keep on surviving. Easier to turn off your feelings than face the cold, harsh truth.

  What he doesn’t expect is the sassy reporter with so much soul in her eyes. Could this woman be the one who breaks him?

  Playing it safe has never been as dangerous as this.

  If FORTUNE sounds like your cup of tea (or your glass of vodka, because who am I to judge?) check out The Vine, releasing April 5, to see just what it is that inspires Grace to make her big move to the city.

  And keep your eyes out for Janie’s story in book three, FAIL, coming next.

  About the Author

  Lauren K. McKellar is the writer of contemporary romance reads that make you feel. With a passion for all things fiction, she is a hybrid-published best-selling Australian author.