“Is there another Reed staying here tonight? Speaking of, why are you here? And would you please cover up your junk?” She waved a hand at the bed, but the way her nipples were straining against her bra told him that it wasn’t anger at him so much as other emotions that made her talk to him like that. Embarrassment for sure, based on the blushing, but it seemed some level of attraction was involved, too.
A glance down showed the sheet was actually covering his cock, but barely. While he didn’t plan to push his luck, he wanted to see how far she was willing to twist herself up over this. Besides, so long as she was here, she wasn’t with Reed. “You were the one who uncovered it, so I think I’ll leave things as they are. I’m here because Saul called a cast meeting for nine in the morning. It was simpler to spend the night than drive home at two and be back by then. And what the fuck were you planning to do with Reed Russell?”
The color rose even higher, her ears pinking now. Her gaze, however, kept shifting toward his cock, then back to his face. “He asked me to come back.”
Jesus. And he’d thought her ex was a tool. Reed Russell was the kind of trouble that needed to come with a warning label and multiple levels of tamper-resistant packaging. The idea of her having sex with him, or even letting him touch her, turned Dante’s stomach.
“Bad idea. Didn’t you hear any of the stories about what he does to women for rejecting him? Or the ones about the women who’ve lost their jobs shortly after getting involved with him? You know, the ones that supposedly involved video footage as evidence?”
“Sure.” She found her shoes and put them back on, her posture a bit defensive. “I’ve also heard about how my brother knocked up a bunch of sisters. You know, the ones he never met. Both of us are very well aware how much shit tabloids manufacture when it comes to celebrities.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes they don’t have to get quite so creative.” He remembered all too well finding Jeanie, an extra who had told Reed no. The ass had beaten her and left her on set—naked and bruised—for anyone to discover. Dante had personally driven her to the hospital and held her hand as they collected the rape kit. Jeanie could have sent Reed to prison, but she’d been broke as shit and embarrassed. She’d agreed to keep her mouth shut about what he’d done in exchange for a nice, fat check. She still called Dante sometimes when nightmares woke her in her little house back in Kansas. Far away from her demons, but no matter how much money Reed had given her, she hadn’t been able to get far enough.
He grabbed his pants from where he’d tossed them at the end of the bed and yanked them on. “You can do a lot better than Reed Russell, Vicks.”
“What? Like you?” She moved to pick up her purse, but in her rush, bumped it off the table. It fell with a crash and the contents scattered. “Damn it.”
“Yeah, well you could do a lot worse than me. After all, there’s a reason I make a point of only playing heroes.” Granted, she knew nothing about his history other than what the general public did. And his friendship with Lee Corbitt and the disaster that followed would never be included in any interviews he was willing to give. He knelt down on the floor as she scooped up her wallet and keys. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need any help.” She released a sigh and scrubbed at her face, suddenly looking completely exhausted. “I really just need to go home. This was stupid.”
Dante tugged on his shirt, then strode toward the door. His bare foot caught on a scrap of lace, and he bent to pick it up. The hard-on that had softened upon discovering Vicky’s real plans for the night threatened to come roaring back. He held the fabric toward her. “You might want to take these with you.”
“Shit.” She snatched her panties from his fingers and stuffed them in her purse. Keys dangling in her hand, she stepped toward the door. “I can see myself out. I don’t need an escort.”
She might not need one, but he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until she was far from Reed’s reach. “Too bad. You woke me up. I get the right to lock the door behind you.”
She yanked open the door and stepped into the hall, laughing for the first time all night. It was like the five years standing between them vanished for a second, and they were right back to how they used to be. “You’re such a jerk sometimes.”
“I am. I really am,” he said, then she froze, panic eking into her features. Dante followed her line of sight. Mortensen. Crap. He plastered on a smile, doing his level best to act like this was no big deal. “Hey, Saul, have you met Vicky?”
Saul Mortensen frowned, lines of irritation carving deep into his face. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” Regardless of how polite his words seemed, there was venom behind them. Vicky was breaking house rules. Guests could mingle at their leisure, but Saul detested when they mixed with the staff hired for one of his parties.
Dante nudged her forward. “You know my good friend Evan Stone? Vicky here is his younger sister. I haven’t seen her in years, and we were just catching up. I know it’s technically against the rules, but I didn’t think you’d be upset since we’re old friends.”
Without another way out, Vicky raised her hand toward Saul and forced a smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for hanging around. It was just such a surprise seeing Dante at your party that I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to find out what he’s been up to. Now that Evan’s married and splitting his time between here and Detroit, I don’t get nearly as many updates on his friends. I hope you don’t mind.” She twisted her face into a mask of innocence most starlets couldn’t have pulled off.
Saul softened immediately and took her hand. “Of course, Miss Stone. We’ve had some trouble tonight already, though, so please forgive me, but I must ask you to leave.”
“No problem. I was just on my way out anyway.”
Dante nodded to him, then walked Vicky out to the driveway. “You handled that well. I’m glad you played along.”
“I didn’t think there was much choice. Play along or lose my job. Decisions, decisions.” She shifted her hands up and down like they were a scale. Dante chuckled, and she pointed to an Acura in the shadow of some trees. “That’s me. I can handle the rest of the walk on my own.”
“Or you can let me make sure no one’s hiding in the bushes to jump you.”
“Right.” She stretched the word out like her sarcasm could go on forever, but she didn’t argue as they kept walking. Unlocking the door, she cast a glance at him. “Thanks for saving my job back there. I do appreciate it.”
Dante nodded, watching as the breeze caught her hair, blowing golden strands across her cheek. “Not a problem. For the most part I even managed to tell the truth. I’m just glad you didn’t bend over or the evasion would have been blown by your lack of panties.”
Laughing, she brushed the loose hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Thanks for not dropping anything, I guess.” She got quiet again, and time seemed to stretch between them. He could almost feel heat pouring off her. Then she said, “I’ll…tell Evan you said hi.”
As she moved to climb behind the wheel, Dante threw logic and caution to the wind and laid a hand on the door. “If you really want to thank me, you can text and let me know you got home safely.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Humor me.” When she only stared at him, he pulled out his trump card. “If anything happens to you and Evan finds out I was here, he’ll have my head.”
Sighing she dug her phone from her purse and handed it over. “One text—it’ll either say I’m home or that I’ve been kidnapped. Either way, I’m passing out after I hit send.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” He added his contact info and gave her the phone back. “Drive safely.”
“Please.” She snorted. “At this time of night I only have the drunks to worry about. Much safer than the traffic.” Then she slammed the door and started the engine. She was pulling away before he could think of anything to say.
Probably just as well.
Back in the house, Dante locke
d the slider and made his way toward his room, pausing as raised voices hit him.
“I don’t care how much money your films make, Reed. My home is not your personal whorehouse. If you want to have an orgy, do it on your own time and your own damn property.” Saul slammed the door across from Dante’s room.
“That was the source of the trouble?” Dante arched a brow at Reed’s room.
“Isn’t it always?” Saul rubbed his temples like he could chase the pain-in-the-ass actor away. “Three women. One possibly underage. If he wasn’t already under contract for this film, I’d cut ties.”
Three other women? And Vicky had planned on going in there, too? Reed Russell was the scourge of Hollywood. The sooner he was blacklisted, the better off the world would be. “Morals clause?”
“I’m not sure this is covered since they were caught before intercourse, but I’ll be discussing it with the legal team prior to our meeting in the morning.” Saul headed toward the stairs. “Get some sleep, Dante. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
Maybe, but to Dante it seemed like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Vicky was gone without any further interaction with Reed. She was safe from him, whether she knew it or not.
And the knowledge made Dante’s heart beat a little steadier. Vicky might never realize it, but coming into his room instead of the one across the hall had saved her from the villain of this particular story. If he could find a way to make sure they never ended up together, maybe she’d cut him some slack for playing hero and rescuing her.
Chapter Three
Vicky texted as promised when she made it back to her apartment, then promptly stripped and fell into bed. It had been too long a day to do anything more. Her sleep was peppered with odd dreams she couldn’t quite recall, but they woke her over and over, her heart racing and her sheets damp with sweat.
When sunlight seeped through the slits in her blinds and woke her fully, she rolled over with a groan. I wish the monsters would stop chasing me or that the wild dream sex actually gave orgasms.
As if summoned by the thought, her clit started to ache with need. Vicky groaned. This was what she got for going to the wrong room last night. No O, a body that sorely needed one—especially after seeing Dante…touching Dante—and a lunch date with Jade to get ready for. She slapped a hand on her nightstand until she found her phone to check the time. It was early enough. She could take care of business and still get cleaned up without getting to the restaurant late.
Thank goodness.
If Jade got even a hint that she was this needy, she’d wind up making back-room arrangements with the busboy. No thanks.
The drawer on her nightstand squealed as Vicky opened it. She’d have to oil the tracks later. Overuse was making them cranky.
“Hello, BOB, funny meeting you here again,” she said to the purple vibrator in her hand. BOB, her battery-operated-boyfriend, was not nearly as good a substitute as she’d expected him to be. All the fun, none of the drama. Sure, she’d gotten a significant drama decrease, but all the fun was a big exaggeration. Not everything could be replaced by a machine. Or even a machine and a good imagination.
And Vicky had an excellent imagination.
It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to the deal with Jade in the first place. Only now she was paying for it in multiple ways. At least one of them she could take care of prior to lunch, though.
Closing her eyes, she let her hands skate down the swells and dips of her body, imagining it was him touching her. No name, no face. Just him. Her mystery man. Her muse. It could have been Reed. Or the cute guy at the bank. Or even the damn busboy. Here she didn’t care. Here, they were all just BOB.
In her mind, the hands on her were bigger, rougher, scratchy against the softness of her skin. Friction like that made her want more touch. More pressure. She squeezed her nipples between her fingers, arching off the bed to the imaginary body above her.
He was naked, her mystery lover, and strong. He propped himself above her, his erection teasing, inches away from where she wanted it most.
Not wanted. Needed. She needed him.
Her hands left her nipples and glided down her body. Her right found the nub of her clit and started to rub as her other hand found her center. She slowly flicked those fingers at her opening like he would do with his tongue. Wetness seeped out, slicking her fingers as she imagined him going down on her, tasting her, feasting on her.
More. She needed more than this.
She imagined him crawling up her body as she grabbed BOB and turned on the vibration. Rubbing it against her clit, her lips, slipping ever so slightly into her opening, she could almost feel the tattooed man above her taking her breast in his mouth as he stroked into her at last.
She tilted her hips, giving herself access to that most sensitive spot inside. BOB hit it over and over again, pushing her higher and higher, keeping her on the crest of a wave she couldn’t quite make it over.
The imaginary man lifted his head from her breast and smiled, sunlight catching in his brown eyes and making them twinkle as he said, “Bet you wish I’d left the piercing in, don’t you?”
The orgasm tore through her with so much force, BOB was completely forgotten, yanked out as panic took hold. But even that couldn’t overpower the strength of her release. She was still shaking by the time she grabbed the vibrator and shut it off.
Dante. Of all the people in the world…she’d imagined having sex with Dante Palladino. There were so many things wrong with that picture she wasn’t sure she could count them all.
Brother’s best friend.
The guy who’d almost broken up her engagement.
The one who had probably had more women than there’d been in her graduating class.
The one who likely saw her as nothing but a box on his bucket list. Screw best friend’s little sister. Check.
The one she could have had just last night.
She could keep going, but she didn’t need to. He was her brother’s best friend, and the last guy she should be thinking about having sex with—ever. What she needed was a shower. She hadn’t felt this dirty in forever.
And she didn’t like how good it felt.
Not at all.
She made it to the café right on time. As usual, though, Jade was already there, flirting with the waiter. How her friend went so long between boyfriends Vicky had never figured out. Jade was the kind of woman who could find a guy anywhere and not only catch his attention but leave him lusting after her.
Vicky still remembered the time she’d left her purse at their table and had gone back to a restaurant just in time to hear the waiter and the bartender arguing over who had a better chance getting a date with her best friend…the friend who was already in her car and headed out of town.
She wished she had that sort of ability. Apparently Vicky gave off a fuck-you vibe instead of a flirtatious one. At least it was several steps up from the pathetic post-divorce funk she’d wallowed in for a while.
“Hey,” she said as she approached the table.
Dismissing the waiter, Jade smiled up at her, then the grin shifted to something more contemplative. “You look different.” Mouth dropping open slightly, she slapped her hand on the table. “You did it, didn’t you? You got laid.”
Vicky sat down on the vintage patio chair and scowled at her. “Could you keep it down a tiny bit? Not everyone needs to know about my sex life.” Her shoulders slumped as she thought about last night, and worse, the aftermath that had been this morning. “Or lack thereof. BOB and I had a lovely time, though. Thanks for asking.”
The frown aged Jade, making her look every one of her thirty years rather than the twenty-one she could normally pass for. “You’re telling me there wasn’t a single worthwhile guy at that party who tried to get in your pants? Or are you telling me you pussed out?”
“Does everything negative with you have to be compared to something female?”
“I’m not a misogynist. I
’m a linguist. ‘Pusillanimous’ means lacking in courage.”
“And to every normal person, it means pussy, as in vagina, as in female.”
“Don’t knock the vag—those things can take a pounding and come back for more.” Jade waggled her eyebrows, breaking the weird tension of the moment.
“Pervert.” Vicky laughed.
“Prude.”
“In answer to your question, there was a guy. A hot guy. And then there was a comedy of errors that led to no sex. No sex led to an interlude with BOB this morning that was its own kind of what-the-fuckery.” Vicky sipped at the tea Jade had kindly ordered for her—chai rooibos, her favorite.
The waiter chose that moment to return, and they quickly put in their orders. The café had the best chicken salad sandwiches this side of the Pacific Ocean—possibly either side—they’d both known what they were getting without looking at the menu. “So, you’re telling me there was a yummy man at the party who wanted to bang your bony ass…and you’re here, having lunch with me?”
“First, my ass isn’t bony.”
“Yes, it is. Your badonkadonk was the first casualty of the divorce diet.”
Where Jade embraced her size-ten curves and flaunted the hell out of them, Vicky had been a size four before Brandon left—with minimal curves—and she was almost back to that now. It was funny how she’d married the one guy who didn’t fawn over her looks—initially it had been appealing, but over time it had become insulting. To the point that he’d compared her unfavorably to her friends. For a while after they split, she’d been borderline skeletal because of wallowing and not eating.
“Whatever. Point is, I missed my chance. Party’s over. Today is meetings about some new movie.” Vicky’s phone buzzed in her purse, and she reached in to grab it, seeing a message from her boss about tomorrow’s staff meeting. “And tomorrow is work…” When she went to stuff the phone away, she realized she wasn’t having to stuff quite as much as normal. Frantic, she dug through the tiny bag.
Blackmailed by the Hero Page 3
