by Shayla Black
But as the affection in her eyes and in her touch joined his own feelings and drove him too high too fast and too soon, he said, “Brooke…baby…I’m gonna—”
She slipped her mouth off his cock, surged up the bed, and covered his mouth just as his orgasm broke. His brain whited-out. She drank in his growl of release and kissed away his groans of pleasure while continuing to pump him.
Then kissed lazy trails along his neck and over his chest as he sank against the bed and caught his breath.
“Baby…” he panted, letting his eyes fall closed as he stroked his hand over her hair and down her back. “I’m…never gonna…be the same.”
He already wasn’t the same. And he didn’t fucking know what he was going to do about it. But he had about two hours before he had to head to the airport, which gave him very little time to convince Brooke to reconsider her “this can’t be any more than tonight” so they could figure out how to see each other again.
They showered together, something Keaton hadn’t done with a woman in eons. And the shower they’d shared was something Keaton had never done—a slow, drawn-out exploration of bodies with hands and mouths and finally soap, leaving them both starry-eyed and grinning.
While Brooke dressed, Keaton turned on the news and made coffee. He stood in the middle of the living area, looking out at the Colorado River, breathing in the scent of coffee. With the sounds of a woman getting ready in the other room, her voice touching his ears as she spoke with her boss, Keaton should be itching to get out of here. Should be feeling some sort of knot in the pit of his stomach over how he would end this cleanly.
But all Keaton felt deep inside was…
Stillness. Comfort.
Fuckin’ joy.
Jesus Christ. He couldn’t be more domestic or happier right this minute.
And who the hell had ever imagined that would happen?
“Are you a CNN guy?”
Brooke’s voice pulled his gaze. The sight of her knocked all his thoughts out of alignment. She was wearing a sleeveless little black dress that fit her curves perfectly and ended at least four inches above the knee. And her black heels made her legs look like they went on forever.
“Whoa.” He made a full turn and looked her up and down. “Hell-o, gorgeous.”
Her makeup was soft, but it made her beautiful blue eyes pop and added color to her cheeks and lips. All that gorgeous brown hair had been straightened, parted on one side, and smoothed into a sleek knot at the base of her neck.
Smiling, she came to him, wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hell-o to you too, handsome.” And she rose on tiptoe to kiss him. “Thanks for the coffee.”
She turned, pulled two mugs from the cabinets, and poured, repeating her question. “Are you a CNN guy?”
He glanced at the television and shrugged. “I don’t know, why?”
“Because I’m a FOX girl. I thought we might have finally found something to argue about.”
Keaton laughed.
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Black is fine.”
She handed him a mug, then slipped into a cropped taupe blazer with black piping. Damn, she looked stylish. She looked fuckin’ New York City stylish.
Shit, he couldn’t get used to this; Keaton was already used to this. “Those are some seriously hot work clothes.”
She giggled and sipped her coffee. “Well, thank you.”
“You have to dress up for this gig?” he asked, just holding his cup.
“Yes,” she said, sounding less than pleased. “Especially when we’re meeting a crew for the first time. Only after that will she let me dress down. Lately, she’s been easing up. Even said I could do casual Friday.”
She took another sip, then reverted to holding her cup as well. Their gazes held. And the gorilla that had been hanging on the chandelier all night, the one they’d successfully ignored until now, finally jumped down and faced them. It was time to say good-bye. And Keaton felt the physical drain of happiness as it slowly leaked from the room.
“You don’t want to say it any more than I do,” he finally said.
She pushed her mouth into a cardboard smile that lasted two seconds. Then glanced down at her coffee. “Sometimes we have to do things—”
Her phone rang. Again.
Brooke clenched her teeth and closed her eyes.
But Keaton’s frustration spilled over. “You don’t have to live like this, Brooke. Why don’t you find another job?”
“It’s not that easy. I—”
His phone rang. It was the first time the damn thing had made a sound since they’d been together, but it was still shitty timing.
“Sonofabitch.” He set his coffee down on a side table, rubbed his eyes, and drew out his phone. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “No, go ahead.”
He glanced at his phone with his hopes of seeing Brooke again plummeting and found Jax’s name on the display. “Guess it’s call-the-employee morning.” And answered, “Hey, boss.”
“Hey.” Jax sounded upbeat as usual. “Great job on the series. Talked to Drogan last night. They want you back next season. But you probably already know all that.”
“I do, but it’s always nice to hear it from you,” he told Jax while he watched Brooke wander to the kitchenette’s counter and lean her hip there, scrolling through messages on her phone. “What’s up?”
“Drogan’s jumping over to the Avengers movie that started up a few weeks ago there. He’s working with Copalli.”
“Uh-huh.” There were half a dozen series and movies being filmed in Austin at any one time. Keaton had run into crews and actors working on the newest Avengers film in town.
“You know Dupleaux, the stunt guy from France?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He took a bad fall yesterday. Drogan and Copalli want to know if you’ll step in until Dupleaux’s ready to jump back in.”
Hell yes. The reaction was instantaneous, and excitement bolted through his body. He darted a look at Brooke, who’d abandoned her coffee and was staring off into space, looking restless. A sliver of insecurity opened in his chest. Was she ready for this to be over? He pushed the split-second thought aside. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t say no to Jax either way.
But he answered with a far more subdued, “Of course.”
After agreeing to check in on the set first thing to run through the day’s stunts and meet with the actors and directors, Keaton disconnected.
Brooke looked over and smiled, but the sparkle in her eyes was gone. He hoped this news replaced it.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Better than okay.” He strolled toward her, hoping his heart didn’t get trampled in the next two minutes. At the counter, he pulled her into his arms. “Jax said another stuntman here hurt himself, and they want me to step in until he’s back on his feet.”
Brooke inhaled sharply. Her eyes brightened. Her hands curled into his shirt.
And just like that, Keaton’s heart grew wings.
“Does that mean…?” she asked excitedly, then pulled back. “Wait. What does that mean?”
“If that spark in your eyes is any indication, it means I’m going to have to invest in a very large box of condoms at some point today.”
Brooke broke into a smile and laughed. “So you’re staying? How long?”
“Don’t know.” And right now, he didn’t care. More time was more time. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her. “I’ll know more after I work with the crew today.”
She pulled on his shirt to drag him into another kiss, her mouth open and warm. “Mmmm,” she murmured between kisses, her lips curved with a sweet smile. “So happy.”
Her phone rang. Her shoulders slumped. Her head dropped back. “Oh my God.”
Keaton laughed and kissed her neck. Then murmured in her ear, “Rendezvous with me at the steps on the trail after work, and I’ll make you forget all about her for the rest of the night.”
>
Five
Brooke sat across the limo from Jillian, trying to hold on to her patience in the face of almost no sleep and Jillian’s unreasonable demands.
“Ms. Dempsey?” The secretary for the Entertainment Tonight reporter they were supposed to be on their way to meet said on the other end of the line, “Are you still there?”
Brooke opened her eyes. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, but this morning is Hugo’s only opening for the next six weeks. Are you sure Ms. Bailey can’t make it?”
“Um…” Brooke’s gaze skimmed across the limo to Jillian, and she tuned in to her boss’s conversation with Charlotte, Jillian’s agent.
“Look,” Jillian was saying in her you-work-for-me, how-can-you-be-so-stupid tone, “this is very simple, Charlotte. It’s not a negotiation. How many times do we have to go over this? You tell Blue Sky Airlines that if they want my face representing them, then free first-class airfare wherever they fly in perpetuity is part of the contract. Period.”
“No,” Brooke told the woman on the other end of the line, simply not up for attempting to rationalize her boss back to the interview today. “I apologize for the schedule change, but she’s not going to make it.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem for me.” The woman was perky and friendly. “That means I can grab a latte from the barista next door, who also happens to be really hot.”
Brooke thought of Keaton and smiled. “Lucky you.”
She disconnected and double-checked the rest of Jillian’s appointments.
Jillian didn’t say good-bye to her agent. The only way Brooke knew she was done talking to her was the long-suffering sigh from across the car.
“Honestly,” Jillian said. “The incompetence in this industry is unfathomable. I don’t know how so many people make so much money.”
Brooke had learned to stop commenting on Jillian’s statements within the first week of working for her. She’d also learned which questions to answer directly, which questions to answer with questions, and which questions to ignore completely.
The ping on Brooke’s phone hadn’t even died out before Jillian barked, “What’s that?”
“Confirmation of your cancelled interview with ET,” Brooke replied smoothly as she read the text from her sister.
Another long night. These fall allergies are so hard on Justin.
That news made Brooke’s heart sink. She instantly pictured her nephew curled up on the couch watching cartoons with an oxygen mask on, coughing and wheezing. And while Jillian bitched about something that didn’t matter, Brooke asked her sister: Are you seeing the doctor today?
Yes. Follow-up appointment with the allergist. He’s consulted with the pulmonologist who saw Justin in the hospital, so I’m anxious to hear what kind of treatment plan they put together. I’ll get the final report they sent Provident too, but not for another week. I’ll likely hear from the program before I get the report.
Tension crept into Brooke’s shoulders. That report was the last element they needed to complete the file for Justin’s entry into the bronchial thermoplasty research study for children. A procedure that offered Justin one last hope at a normal childhood.
Fingers crossed. Keep me posted, and hug Justin for me.
Will do. Don’t kill you know who. At least not until after we find out about the program. If he doesn’t get in, do what you need to. I’ll always help you hide a body.
Brooke huffed a dry laugh. Will do my best.
“Are you texting privately during work hours?” Jillian wanted to know.
“No, ma’am,” she lied.
“Then why are you laughing?”
Brooke lifted her gaze to Jillian’s. Her boss’s eyes were blue as well, light blue to Brooke’s dark. And Jillian was a blonde. While the other woman was also twelve years older than Brooke, she looked the same age. Her skin was alabaster perfection, her makeup applied in a rigid routine every morning. Jillian was media perfection personified. The woman was absolutely gorgeous. And her body was as flawless as her face. Her looks had won her a lot of roles and earned her a lot of money. The glamorous facade had left the woman beneath bitter and bizarre and lonely.
“I was laughing because Hugo’s secretary was all but licking my boots to get you back for the interview.”
At first, the ease with which Brooke had learned to lie to Jillian had unnerved her. But she’d quickly realized that what she did and who she was with Jillian didn’t affect who she was with the real people in her life.
And when a slow, haughty, satisfied smile came over Jillian’s beautiful face, Brooke relaxed.
Someday, Brooke would get caught in a lie. And when she got caught, she’d get fired. Vanity wasn’t Jillian’s worst trait. Vengeance was. And for Jillian, vengeance stemmed from insecurity.
But if Brooke just kept all that in perspective, did her job, and watched her back, she’d make it through another year.
And that was all she needed. One more year.
Then she could take Keaton’s advice and find another job.
“Rendezvous at the steps on the trail tonight.”
Remembering his words murmured against her ear sent shivers through her again. She bit the inside of her lip to keep her smile at bay opened the cover of her iPad, and tapped into Jillian’s calendar.
“I cleared your schedule this morning, but I haven’t filled in this extra time on the set.” Brooke glanced at Jillian, who was inspecting her manicure. “Did you have specific people you’d like me to contact for meetings? A schedule you want me to put in place, track, follow? What’s the purpose of this change? And of going in early?”
Jillian’s lashes, woven to extend them to a ridiculous length, lowered. Her lips, filled every three months with Botox, pursed, hiding a secretive smile. And Brooke knew with absolute certainty that whatever came out of Jillian’s mouth next would be a lie. So she closed the cover on her iPad and waited.
“I heard someone special was going to be on the set. I thought we could scope things out.” Jillian’s foot swung a little, and her gaze traveled out the window with an evil little gleam. “There are a lot of big names and handsome men starring. I hope you won’t get distracted.”
Brooke had lost count of the number of movie sets, parties, and events she’d attended in Jillian’s shadow, but never once had she acted inappropriately. And, oh, the opportunities… They appeared around every corner. This business was second only to a brothel in sexual activity.
Don’t kill J. At least not until after the appointment.
Brooke ground her teeth and pictured her nephew.
Another year for Brooke was nothing. Justin still had a lifetime to face.
“You’re always my first priority, Jillian.” Brooke forced a smile and held Keaton in the back of her mind. Knowing she’d get to see him tonight would be what got her through another trying day. “I haven’t heard you talk about anyone special in a while.”
“Hmm. I reconnected with him last month at Steven’s birthday party in Beverly Hills. The one you didn’t attend because your nephew had a little…contest of some sort, remember?”
It had been a robotic competition that Justin had been working toward for six months, and he’d won first place in his age group for the entire county. So Brooke smiled at Jillian’s attempt to make her feel jealous over missing Steven Spielberg’s birthday party, which couldn’t have meant any less to her. Nothing against Steven, but she’d never met the man. Justin, however, would have been crushed if she’d missed his competition.
“I do,” Brooke said, remembering how excited Justin had been that day. And she also knew what Jillian meant by reconnecting, but she wasn’t touching the topic of her boss’s sex life, so she refocused on work. “I can check around when we reach the set to see if we can get some promo shots today, how does that sound? You look gorgeous today, and photos of you in blue always make your eyes pop in magazines.”
“That’s a nice idea,” Jillian said, staring out the window. “
Even nicer if we can find my friend. I’d love to get some…suggestive…candids with him.”
Brooke frowned. Jillian was in a drawn-out divorce from a billionaire entrepreneur who had turned Jillian in for a much younger, perkier model two years before. It didn’t help that the soon-to-be-ex himself was also younger than Jillian. Or that Jillian was struggling against a bulletproof glass Hollywood ceiling where the age limit was set so low, anyone too old to limbo might as well lie down and die.
But Jillian’s narcissism had perpetrated a lot of her own problems. That coupled with vengeance for her husband taking up with a younger woman… Well, simply put, nothing good could come of Jillian’s desire to see this mystery man—today or any day in the near future.
“At our last meeting with Charlotte, didn’t she say it would be better if you didn’t—”
“Charlotte doesn’t understand publicity.” Jillian waved Brooke’s comment away.
In fact, Charlotte was one of the best publicists in the industry. And she’d told Jillian to lay off the younger men—for her career and her divorce. Pictures of herself in “suggestive candids” with this guy were Jillian’s way of walking into the fire because she needed to feel the burn to know she was alive. She could be self-destructive in a lot of ways. This was only one.
“You two, I swear, you’re both so young.” Jillian sighed in exasperation, then looked down at her hands with an expression Brooke had never seen before. Confusion? Pain? “You’ll both understand someday. It’s not easy to get old. Especially in this business. It strips you down. Takes everything. Leaves you with nothing.”
A pang of pity pulled in Brooke’s chest. Pity was an emotion Brooke rarely experienced. Everyone had problems, and everyone chose how they dealt with them. She didn’t have a lot of sympathy for people who simply chose poorly and wanted to sit around and complain about it.
But from Brooke’s perspective, Jillian’s life was hard in a lot of ways that weren’t visible to the naked eye. She may have money, but money didn’t provide the kind of security Jillian needed—job security, emotional security. Everything Jillian produced for her job came from inside her. Jillian created something out of nothing but raw Jillian. And when a person gave and gave and gave without some other source of support, without some other way to refuel and refresh their soul…shit happened. Addiction, depression, and suicide happened. Crazy happened.
