by Lynne Silver
What the hell…
Oh, right. He’d been sleeping on the narrow couch, because like a moron, he’d said no to sharing a bed with the most beautiful woman in the northern hemisphere. Speaking of…
There she was. Over on the bed, sitting cross-legged, long hair hiding her face as she picked at her guitar strings and stopped every few chords to make a note in a composition notebook at her side.
“Sounds good,” he said.
She visibly startled. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah.”
She shoved the guitar to her side, and he got the sense if she could’ve, she would’ve made it invisible. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
“You didn’t wake me.” He sat straighter, aware that his normal morning wood had shifted to full-blown morning erection at the sight of Hannah nearly naked in bed. She was definitely Hannah this morning with no makeup on, tangled hair, and playing out her vulnerabilities in song. “What are you working on?”
She hid the notebook under the comforter. “Nothing. Just playing around.” She reached for her phone and held up the screen. “Did you see? We were a hit last night.”
He stared for a second at the place where the notebook had disappeared. “I didn’t know you wrote your own music. Did you write Loving on Life?” he asked, naming one of her songs he liked.
“No,” she said curtly. “I’ve never used my own songs on my albums.”
He looked at her, shocked. “For real? Why the hell not?”
She shrugged then looked away. “It’s complicated.”
“How?”
“The music industry doesn’t care what a twenty-something-year-old girl has to say. They prefer to get songs from proven writers.”
“That’s stupid. For what it’s worth, I think your music and words are worth listening to from the little I heard. Fight for your voice, Hannah.”
She stared at him with widened eyes that looked glossy. Shit, had he made her cry?
“You don’t understand, Carlos,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Probably not. I’m just a bartender from the wrong side of the highway.”
“I love that you believe in me.” She gave a visible shake of her shoulders, and then her smile widened revealing that almost too-bright Hollywood white. “Want to see the gossip sites from last night?”
Not really, but he decided to allow her the deflection and leaned over to squint at the phone screen she held up. He feigned interest in the gossip news site. There was a grainy video of Dakota getting her hair pulled by Fatima. He could see himself in the background pulling his ex off his fake girlfriend. God, when had he become the star of a telenovela?
“I’m going to hop in the shower,” he said, suddenly done with this weird fake world he didn’t much want a piece of.
She brightened. “Want company?”
He made a face. Because, hell yes, he wanted her company in the shower, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it. Remaining silent, he fled to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Once in the white marble bathroom with touches of dark teak wood, he flattened his palms on the counter and leaned forward to stare at his reflection.
There was a quiet knock on the door and he groaned, knowing it was Dakota come to tempt him to insanity.
“Los,” she called through the door. “Your phone is ringing. Do you want it?”
He turned and opened the door a crack big enough to have her thrust his phone into his waiting hand. “Thanks.”
He answered it without checking who was calling.
“Carlos?” A man’s voice.
“It’s me.” He recognized his boss, Charley, on the line.
“I need you, man.”
Charley was forever needing him on his off days.
“Told you. I’m booked solid this week,” he said. No lie. He had another gig, playing escort to a celebrity.
“Come on, Los. I had a rough night at the track and I’ve got a booking that’ll make up for my losses.”
Carlos wanted to tell Charley it wasn’t his problem that Charley couldn’t keep his wallet in his pants at the Greyhound track. But after Dakota was gone and her money spent, he still needed the extra cash he got working Charley’s fishing charters. He couldn’t afford to piss off his boss. “What day?” he asked, mentally reworking his schedule and hoping Dakota would be willing to spend a morning solo at the pool.
“Tomorrow.”
“I’ll text you in five to tell you if I can.”
“Great,” Charley said, obviously taking Carlos’s non-answer as a yes.
Carlos hung up and left the bathroom to go tell Dakota his plans, and hoped she was a generous employer.
He wasn’t expecting her to grin and say, “Sure. Sounds fun. I haven’t fished in forever.”
Carlos stared at her. “Um…I…you weren’t…”
She flushed. “Oh, you meant just you.”
“I guess you could come, too,” he said at the same time. “I’ll be working. Definitely no paparazzi.”
A look he interpreted as hurt flashed across her face. “I don’t always need to be on camera,” she said.
He wanted to gather her in his arms and whisper in her ear that he knew who she was deep down. That she was really Hannah, a woman he could be with. But she was playing a high stakes game as Dakota, and he had to keep his distance. “Fine,” he said instead. “But it’ll be work. Not a pleasure cruise.”
“I haven’t always been rich and famous, Carlos. Before my first album went big, I worked the drive-through window at an In-N-Out Burger, and at nights I swept floors at a talent agency. I can work.”
He looked at her, surprised, but then realized he shouldn’t be surprised. Every time she opened her mouth, he saw a new facet of Hannah slash Dakota, and all of it was interesting and sexy. “I’ll call my boss and tell him he’s getting two for the price of one.”
She grinned at him. “Go shower.”
He stayed in place, smiling back.
“Unless you want company.”
He totally fucking did. She laughed at the look on his face, which told him he’d been completely obvious. He had to make it two more days without grabbing her and kissing her and doing all the other dirty things he’d fantasized about.
They lucked out on the boat. The family of five who’d chartered the boat was from China and didn’t have teenage daughters who would’ve recognized Dakota Starr in a heartbeat. They spoke a few words of English, but were mostly focused on fishing and the kinds of bait they’d need.
Dakota had braided her hair and tucked it under a baseball cap and threw on ancient cut-off jeans and a bikini top. She wore not a stitch of makeup and Carlos barely recognized her. He also thought she looked the prettiest he’d seen her.
Hannah bent down to hand an icy bottle of water to the patriarch of the family who’d chartered the boat. It had been a surprising morning. Surprising, because it had been a lot of hard work, yet it had been totally fun.
She turned her head slightly to watch Carlos toss a rejected fish back in the water. His biceps strained and moved sinuously with the throw. She remembered running her palms up and down his muscled arms the first night when they’d slept together. Her hands ached to feel his warm skin under her again.
He must’ve felt the intensity of her stare because he turned and winked at her, then lost his grin when she didn’t smile back. It felt as if she were a piece of metal and he a magnet. She was caught by his field, unable to resist his tug.
She turned her back to the paying customers and walked over to Carlos like an automaton, too aware of him to resort to her natural flirtatious state. Flirting was easy with men who didn’t matter. Less than a week with Carlos, and he mattered.
“Looking good, Starr. Want to work a night shift behind the bar with me?” he said.
Yes. Yes, to whatever he was offering. Without thinking or weighing the consequences she stood on tiptoe and softly touched her lips to his. He accepted the affection, and his hand grippe
d her forearm tightly, holding her fast. He didn’t deepen the kiss, and neither did she, content to be near him, to feel his touch.
“Hannah,” he whispered when he pulled away. Their gazes were locked and she wished the other family would fall over the railing into Biscayne Bay so she could be alone with Carlos and explore how far they could take the kiss.
“Los! Fish on.” Charley’s bellow came from a few feet away. Carlos broke away with an expression on his face Hannah couldn’t interpret. Regret? Longing?
She knew her emotion was plain for anyone to see. Desire and wanting. She followed him in a daze to watch him help reel in a huge fish.
When she got too close in the danger zone of getting hit with a flopping wet fish, Carlos pushed her away, but he did it gently with his hands on her ass, his fingers finding a sensitive spot. She sucked back a breath at the intimate touch. What was it going to take to get Carlos to back down on his stance of no sex? She understood and respected his decision, but seriously, was he immune to the scorching heat that breathed fire every time the two of them got in touching distance?
Charley and Los finished reeling in the fish, saw it was a protected species, and tossed it back. She hovered nearby like a groupie desperate for a bit of attention. He turned away from facing the ocean and eyed her, his face expressionless.
“I need a drink,” Carlos said suddenly, stepping away, leaving her cold and needy for him. Her gaze followed, staring hungrily at his ass and back of his head.
“Calling it a day,” Charley said loudly, moving to stand behind the large silver wheel. “Girlie, go grab all the trash. Don’t want anything blowing off.”
She stifled a smile at being called girlie and ordered about. She liked Charley, and liked revisiting her past back when she was another worker bee in the city and not one of the Hollywood elite. She’d never want to go back, but a few hours’ visit was fun.
“You got it!!!”
Hannah blinked down at the text which had come in while she and Carlos rode the hotel elevator up after the fishing trip. Her eyes widened and an excitement bubble formed in her belly and shot straight through her body. She wanted to scream, dance, and grab Carlos for the biggest kiss and hug, but she remained frozen, her gaze locked to her phone screen.
“Everything okay?” Carlos asked, holding the door to the hotel room open so she could walk through. “You have a weird look on your face.”
“Oh, um, everything’s fine. Better than fine, actually,” she said, playing it cool. Then she gave in to her excitement and leaped on him, forcing him to catch her, hooking his arms under her ass while she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to his neck. “I got the part. The movie part!”
He grinned. “That’s great, babe.”
Without thinking, she tightened her grip and kissed the shit out of him. His grip on her body tightened, and he returned the kiss.
The desire that had simmered all day on the boat returned en-fuego. His tongue found its way into her mouth, and she sucked on it. He groaned and carried her farther into the apartment.
He tried to place her on the bed, but she hung on, pulling him down on top of her.
“Dakota,” he warned, but he stayed in place.
He was bigger and stronger than she, and if he wanted to move, it’d be zero effort. But he didn’t move. He remained over her, her spine on the mattress, his hips pushing her deeper. He was aroused, his hard dick pushing through the thin fabric of the board shorts he’d worn on the boat.
If—no, when—his fingers found their way into her panties, he’d find her wet and soft and ready for him. She wanted him to shuck off his reservations, forget that this had been a business relationship and give into passion.
From the way his hips pushed his erection into her crotch, she suspected he was right there with her.
Before he could change his mind, she reached between them and slipped her hand into his board shorts. They’d ridden low on his hips, and if he was a true beach bum, there’d be nothing…yep. No pesky underwear in her way to stop her from grasping his hot, hard cock in her palm and giving it a stroke.
He groaned and thrust into her grip. He froze for a minute and opened his eyes, staring deeply and intently into hers.
“Carlos?” she whispered, asking permission to continue. He’d made his position clear, and she didn’t want him to have regrets.
She looked at him knowing there was a sultry expression on her face, but to her horror he wasn’t looking down at her with love, or even with like. Instead he looked conflicted.
She removed her hand from his dick to grasp his hips with her palms and tried to tug him forward, but he stepped back and remained rigid, out of reach. “Carlos?” she asked hesitantly.
“Shit,” he said. “I let this get out of hand.”
“No,” she said, trying for a joke. “You were in my hand. Now you’re not.”
“Dakota, stop. I can’t do this. Not with you paying me.”
She started to say that she wouldn’t pay him, but she also knew he needed the money. It wouldn’t be fair to make him choose between sex with her and all his financial obligations. She slipped off the bed and went to go find her Lululemon hoodie and wrapped it around herself like a shield while she dug her checkbook out of her carry-on bag.
“What are you doing?” he asked from across the room.
“Paying you,” she said, wanting to go into a full crying jag.
She was being ridiculous. She’d known Carlos for four days. Four. Days. Yet it felt as if he’d been the love of her life and they were ending a long-term relationship.
“The week’s not up,” Carlos said.
“But I got the movie part. Mission accomplished. Don’t worry. I’ll still pay you the full amount.” She signed the check with a flourish and handed it off to Carlos, who took it between two fingers, not saying a word. His expression was stony.
Rip it up, Hannah willed. Carry me to bed. But he didn’t. He went to his suitcase—the one he’d never bothered to unpack—and grabbed a dry T-shirt. He shoved his few belongings in without folding anything, strode to the bathroom and returned with his toothbrush. When he slung the duffel over his shoulder, he turned to her. “Guess this is goodbye.”
“Goodbye. Good luck with everything. It’s been fun.” She remained still like a statue, gripping the back of the sofa, lest he come try for a hug, which would break her. She definitely deserved an Oscar for this role, the one no one would ever see, except for the one man who obviously didn’t realize the acting chops it took for her not to cry and beg him to stay.
He stepped to the door. “Bye. See you in the movies.”
The moment the door was closed behind him, she let the smile fade and the tears appear. She allowed herself a good cry. “Get it together, Hogarth,” Hannah muttered to herself. She stopped crying, went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, then faced the rest of her day.
Her sojourn in Miami was over. As she’d told Carlos, they’d accomplished her goal. She’d effectively turned the paparazzi attention off Tyler Taylor’s public dumping, and she’d scored her first real movie role.
“Time to pack and get out of here.” Nine hours later, she was walking into the small bungalow in Pacific Palisades she’d bought the year before. She dumped her bag on the wood floor of the front hall and headed straight through the house to the small patio out back which she’d converted into a Zen-like retreat. The covered patio had been the first area of the house to get furniture. She’d slept on a mattress on the floor for the first month, but her patio had super cool modern outdoor furniture with comfy lounge chairs and couches. Her favorite piece was the colorful wicker swing that looked like an egg. She went there now and let the gentle rocking motion soothe her as she looked out over her adopted city.
She sat for a long while, then got up and went into the house to her computer. Logging into some gossip sites, she searched for her own name until she found what she was looking for. Six minutes later, she was
closing the back of a picture frame on a photo of her and Carlos dancing that first night. She’d printed it on photo paper and now the picture held a place of honor on the long side table in her living room.
“Thanks, Los,” she whispered.
Four Months Later
Carlos finished pouring the last of the shots with a flourish. There was a bachelorette party in here tonight, and a little flirtation meant big tips. A few months ago, it would’ve also meant a sex date for him later, but he hadn’t been with a woman in four months, not since Hannah.
He was embarrassed to admit it, but he was now one of TMZ’s top stalkers. He religiously checked the gossip sites for glimpses of Hannah every morning. There’d been nothing for the weeks following her leaving Miami, and then one morning there’d been a photo of her and one of her co-stars. It was reported that things were smoking between them on set.
Devastated, he’d taken a gossip hiatus for the week following, but then like an addict, he’d gone back for more punishment. “Just Friends,” was the headline with yet another photo of Dakota Starr and the same co-star asshole.
She’d fucking ruined him for other women, and obviously he’d been nothing more than a blip on her vacation. It hurt his heart and pride that she’d been able to move on so quickly. Maybe he did need to put a little more effort into flirting with one of the bachelorette party women.
He employed his move where he braced his forearms on the bar and leaned closer to the group of women, a small smile on his face. A smile that said it would get bigger for the right woman.
As he leaned forward, a sound from the stage overlooking the dance floor had him looking up in surprise. It was the sound of an acoustic guitar, nearly unheard of in this club. The woman holding the guitar was perched on a lone stool, cowboy hat covering long blonde hair that hung down, hiding her face from his view.
But he knew the woman. Had seen her in that pose a few short months ago. “Hannah,” he said, staring.
