by Lucy Lambert
Vance didn’t reply with words.
Before the slimeball could react, Vance snatched the camera from his hands.
“You can’t do that!” The man screamed. He was like a little, gibbering goblin.
I have to admit I enjoyed myself. I wished I’d been brave enough to reach out and grab it from him.
“I think,” Vance said, examining the camera while casually dodging the slimeball’s attempts to get it back, “You mean that I shouldn’t do this. Because clearly I can do it. Just like you think I shouldn’t do this but, as I am about to demonstrate, that I can do it.”
He found the object of his search: the button that ejected the micro SD memory card. This little wafer of black plastic he snapped between thumb and forefinger.
“What the hell?” the slimeball shouted.
Yes! This is amazing! I thought, watching the whole thing. I felt all giddy, like I wanted to clap my hands together and cheer him on. I restrained myself. Wasn’t discretion the better part of valor, or something?
“I’m not finished,” Vance said.
The slimeball realized just a second too late. He reached out, but couldn’t stop it.
Couldn’t stop Vance from whipping the camera against the asphalt. It shattered. A few pieces of shrapnel hit my shins, bouncing off harmlessly.
“No!” the man screamed. Then he looked up at Vance with venom in his eyes. “I’m going to sue you! I’m going to sue your ass off!”
Vance put his hands in his pockets, hooking his thumbs over the edge. He made a show of looking around.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
The man’s face turned a shade of red I most associated with an old Looney Toons character about to literally blow his top.
“What? You just broke my camera and my memory card! That was a real Sony!”
Vance shrugged. “All I saw was some bumbling tourist drop his expensive camera. A tourist far away from his tour group. Isn’t that what you saw, Erin?”
He looked at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Normally I might have had some sympathy for the guy. I knew how hard it could be to make any headway in the entertainment business and any business related to it.
But I knew you shouldn’t do it at the expense of other people’s dignity. Like he’d been willing to do with me.
I crossed my arms. “You’re right. That’s all I saw.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, Vance,” he said, “And you, girlie. Little black-haired cutie, you’re a…”
Vance’s hands came out of his pockets as he stepped forward, eliminating the space between the two of them.
He squeezed his hands into fists so that his knuckles cracked.
“The camera’s not the only thing that will be broken if you finish that sentence,” Vance said.
The slimeball looked around.
Yeah, that’s right. How does it feel to be the one searching for help with no one in sight?
The slimeball came to a similar conclusion. He stepped back, glanced at me, then looked back at Vance.
“That was a mistake,” he said.
“No,” Vance shot back, “getting pineapple on a pizza’s a mistake. This was karma.”
The slimeball’s jaw worked, the tendons near his temples pushing out against the pale skin there.
He must also have realized that discretion was better. Because he ran off without even retrieving the shattered remains of his camera.
We watched until he turned the corner around a warehouse. Then I turned on Vance, who looked pretty damn pleased with himself.
“’Pineapple on a pizza,’ are you kidding me?”
It was like a line out of an eighties Schwarzenegger cheese-fest.
He shrugged. “It just popped into my head. I’m an actor, not a writer. And here I am again, saving you.”
“It’s your fault. You saved me from something you caused. I think that cancels out any good karma,” I said, stressing the last couple words to try and point out how ridiculous that was as well.
Still, no one said he needed to do anything like that. He could’ve walked on by, or watched the whole thing unfold. But he didn’t. He saw I was in trouble and needed help, and he helped.
He more than helped. He smashed that guy’s camera to make a point!
The proof lay in a glinting pile of plastic and glass on the sun-bleached asphalt just a couple feet away.
I reached out and touched his arm, just above his wrist. I tried to not think about how nice his skin felt, how warm and soft, with hard muscle layered beneath it.
I didn’t take my hand away, and he didn’t step out of my grasp.
I have to say, even though I knew I was right about him saving me from something he himself caused, there was something undeniably sexy about what he just did.
What woman didn’t find a man willing to fight for her sexy?
When was the last time anyone fought for me?
If any of my roommates or friends asked me about it, I’d tell them they were crazy. I wasn’t that kind of woman.
Secretly, though, I found I loved it. Maybe because it’d never happened before. My ex certainly never fought, and especially not for me.
My stomach fluttered, and I stepped closer to him, liking the nearness.
I thought maybe I’d been too hard on him this whole time. It really was nice being close to him. I started thinking of some excuse so I could put my other hand on him, too.
“But thanks. I was about to break down there, I think.”
“Don’t worry about it. However, there is one thing that might be worry worthy.”
He still didn’t remove my hand, and I made no effort to do so.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“These guys are vultures. They can smell this sort of thing and they hang around until they see their chance to swoop down. There will be more around here. A bunch of ones not so clever as he was, all stuck at the gate. Maybe a couple more wandering the lots. Who knows?” He said.
“How do you deal with it all?” I asked. It was part question, part honest admiration. Mitch was right, I really didn’t know what living at that level of fame was like.
He considered the question, then looked down at me. That same twinkle remained in his eye.
“Honestly? Just lay low for a bit, wait for some other juicy story to come along. One always does.”
“So… Go back to my apartment for a while and ride it out?”
He rubbed his chin. His stubble scratched against his palm. It reminded me of the feeling of that stubble against my cheeks.
Why do I keep thinking about all this? I couldn’t get him out of my head. Couldn’t stop touching his arm with my hand.
Couldn’t stop thinking about that dream I had the other night. The one where I woke up with my sheets all in a tangle and my whole body throbbing.
“No, definitely not,” he said. “They know where you live. Someone will be there, guaranteed.”
“Where, then?” I asked.
He considered me again. “Do you trust me?”
“No.”
He smiled, and my heart tried to jam up into my throat. Why is this happening?
I knew why, at least a little. The adrenaline rush, the almost-fight. Him swooping in to save me again.
Just hormones. But that was an understatement. And also, I thought, not entirely true.
I knew, rationally. But that didn’t stop the hot pump of blood through my veins, the kindling heat inside of me. No, it didn’t stop any of that at all.
“Well, you’re going to have to. A lot of people in my position have places rented in someone else’s name. Places where the landlords and neighbors won’t say anything. I want to take you to mine.”
“Oh,” I said.
Is this a bolt-hole, or a secret love nest, or both? I wondered.
“You know,” I continued, “I feel like your intentions here aren’t entirely honorable.”
He offered me that cocked
grin again, then looked pointedly at my hand, still laying against his skin. “And yours are?”
“Right,” I said. It took more than a little willpower to break that touch.
He lifted my chin with the side of his finger. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I know what this is like. Better than most. So trust me.”
His slid his hand so that he cupped my cheek. His palm was warm and soft against me.
“Okay,” I said.
“Come with me to my place. It’s safe there. And private.” The pad of his thumb brushed out over the sensitive skin beneath my eye.
“Okay,” I said again. Oh God, is this really happening?
It was, though. My whole body hummed with it. Then Vance took me by the hand and led me away from the broken heap of camera.
Chapter 15
VANCE
I shouldn’t have done that, I thought.
My mind was a twisted tangle because of this woman. The one whose hand I held. The one I led towards my car and from there towards the condo I kept downtown. A nice place I rented where the buzzer read “L. Burgess” instead of my own name.
I kept thinking about Erin. About how nice her hand felt in mine. About how I wanted to kiss her right there in broad daylight where any other idiot with a smartphone might grab a picture.
The camera. I shouldn’t have done that.
I was pretty sure that little sleaze harassing Erin was someone sent by Rudy. Someone to grab some pictures, some story to go with, something to fuel this new fire.
And I’d been about to let it all happen. Because I wanted it all back, all the fame, all the fans.
But then I saw Erin standing there, about to lose it. And then I couldn’t stand by any longer.
And now we’re running to my apartment.
For privacy, yes. But for more, too. I saw the way she looked at me now, the way she kept finding excuses to touch me, stand closer to me.
My body reciprocated. My desires ran wild. I wanted to shove her against the wall in an alley and just savage her while she moaned my name over and over.
But I knew we needed to wait until we got to my place.
The anticipation was killing me. I hadn’t wanted someone so bad in so long.
Besides, I wasn’t certain, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if that guy had a partner lurking around, taking pictures without us noticing.
“How far away is this place?” Erin said. I wondered if her thoughts went along the same line. I hoped so.
“Downtown,” I said.
We got to the private lot reserved for cast members and senior crew. It was a lot full of gleaming, expensive glass and steel. My ‘vette sat there surrounded by Mercedes, BMWs, high-end Lexus cars.
We weaved our way through them, my ‘vette chirping at us when I thumbed the security fob in my pocket.
She stopped short before getting in, her fingers grasping the handle. She looked at me over the sleek, low roof.
She considered me. I could see her struggling against the force of her desire.
“What about filming? You’re still in costume!”
I thought again about other photographers who might see us. Thought that Rudy might like this even more. Vance Tracker Saves New Girl From Paparazzi, Runs Off for Tryst.
For just a second there, I thought about telling Erin to go someplace else. Someplace away from me.
It took one look at her to get rid of that thought.
In the small cabin of the car, I could smell her. She smelled of strawberries. Ripe and fresh. I wanted to kiss and taste every last inch of her.
I throbbed, low and hard for her.
I’m really not a good person, I thought. I wanted her too badly. And I got what I wanted, no matter what it took.
No matter who it might hurt.
I’ll make it right, I promised myself. I didn’t yet know how. But I would. I wanted that, too.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll let them know I need some personal time. They’ll probably just shoot more of the scenes where they don’t need me. It’ll be fine,” I said, grinning.
Rather than let her say anything else, I lowered myself into the driver’s seat and closed my door. After a moment, Erin sat on her seat and closed her door. The noises of the outside world disappeared.
I slotted the key into the ignition. But before I could turn it, Erin put her hand over mine.
“Vance… I know what this looks like. I just wanted to make sure you know that I do want this. Even if that hadn’t happened.”
“I know. I do, too,” I said. Then was not the time for coy little word games.
That drive from Hollywood to downtown LA was the longest of my life. Longer than driving through the Libyan desert to reach a remote filming location for a Crusades feature I’d done.
The longest, and also somehow the shortest. Because when I thumbed the fob to let us into the underground parking for the condo I could hardly remember the ride.
And then we got upstairs and Erin was the only thought in my mind. Erin and the way her lips fitted to mine, the way her body pressed against mine, her body rigid with need when I pulled her against me.
Chapter 16
ERIN
I don’t know how we got upstairs. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about his condo, other than the air was pleasantly cool against my skin.
It was a blur around us. Because only he and I existed at that moment.
His mouth was fire against mine. His lips and his tongue against mine. His hands slipped down my back and cupped my butt. He pulled me hard against him.
The ridge of his hardening desire pushed against me the tighter he clutched me to him.
Then, one of those hands slid up between our bodies. He cupped one breast with that hand, his fingers almost gentle at the bottom of that swell of flesh. They moved from that bottom swell to the stiffening tip.
Electricity raced through me.
We shared our breaths, each breathing in what the other gave out. It excited me down at a level I never knew existed.
It was like I was in heat, unable to control the force of my desire. Except it wasn’t desire, but need. I needed him with me. I needed him in me. I needed to feel our two bodies pressed together into one.
Most of all, we need to get rid of all these clothes.
The air no longer cooled my skin. Heat reigned, inside and out.
I leaned back from him with great reluctance. My lips ached and throbbed almost to numbness from how hard he kissed me.
“What is it…?” he asked, searching my eyes.
But then I grabbed the open throat of his costume shirt and tore it open. The buttons flew off, but I didn’t care.
I kept pulling until I wrenched all the buttons free, and pulled after that to get the shirttails out of his trousers.
Then he worked, too, shrugging out of it.
There was a sudden and stark moment of clarity among this surge of desire.
Why? Why now?
It was a confluence of events and feelings. Him saving me from that other guy, the thrill of running away like this. The desire for him, which still lingered under all the hate I thought I had.
The willingness to finally let go of myself and be a little more spontaneous.
But it felt like I knew him so much better now. And he wanted to know me, too.
Then he stood before me, shirtless. His bronzed body was a sculpted marvel of muscle. I traced my fingertip down the groove between his abs, ending at his belt buckle.
When I put my hands on his bared chest the skin almost burned me. He let out this low moan at my touch. One that vibrated down to my deepest core.
He grabbed me up against him, crushing my hands between our bodies.
He kissed my mouth, then his fiery lips moved along my jaw, then down my throat. I arched my back, grinding my hips up against his.
His hands found the hem of my shirt, and I lifted my arms up as he pulled it off.
The molten line his mouth trace
d on my skin went from my throat down the center of my chest, where he nuzzled and kissed between my breasts.
I ached for him. My breasts ached. My nipples pushed stiffly against the padding of my bra and they ached, too. Ached to feel him slide the heat and wetness of his mouth over them.
“Take it off. Please, take it off…” I whispered.
With one deft movement, he shifted a hand up to the clasp of my bra and undid it.
He didn’t pull it off right away, though. Instead, he slid the straps down my shoulders, pushing his thumbs into my skin.
“Please…” I whimpered.
“Not here,” he breathed.
He walked backwards, looking down at me, leading me through the hall.
There was a big square of bed, a king size, in a bedroom pooled with light from the floor-to-ceiling bay windows that looked out over the city.
He turned us around so that I was the one moving backwards.
“Trust me,” he said.
I closed my eyes. He lowered me down to the bed. The spread was soft and silky and cool against my bared shoulders.
His mouth was hot and insistent on my throat again, his stubble a discordant but welcome roughness against me. I opened my eyes again, watching him trail his kisses downward. He slid my bra off and tossed it away.
My back arched up when he took me in the heat of his mouth, first over the tip of one breast and then the other.
His hands slid up beneath that arch and hugged my bare stomach against the hardness of his chest. My hands knotted in his hair.
He held me hard and close against him. I liked that, liked that feeling of his barely restrained desire.
He unwrapped his arms around me so that he could push his face back up near mine. My breasts ached from the ferocity of his mouth. My lips felt that same ferocity when he kissed me again.
He pushed his hips in between my thighs and I rose to meet him, grinding my body against his in a way that made me spark and quiver.
I ran my hands over every last bit of his bared torso, from the sculpted muscles on his back to his broad shoulders and chest. I put my hands on his arms, the biceps rigid to the touch while they flexed to hold him in place.
