Contents
Say You Love Her, An L.A. Love Story
License Note
Available Books in the LOVE in the USA series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Say You Love Her
An L.A. Love Story
(LOVE in the USA series, #3)
by
Z.L. Arkadie
Learn More About Z.L. Arkadie
Cover Design by Karri Klawiter of Art by Karri Photo Illustrator
Copyright © 2014 Fuller Avenue Publishing, LLC
License Notes
All rights reserved, including right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form or by any means whatsoever without prior written permission from the author.
Links To Available Books in the LOVE in the USA Series
A sexy kind of LOVE…
Find Her, Keep Her - A Martha’s Vineyard Love Story
There’s Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story
Say You Love Her, An LA Love Story
Say You Love Her, An L.A. Love Story (LOVE in the USA, # 3)
Charlie Lord has loved Daisy from the moment he first laid eyes on her, only she’s head-over-heals in love with and married to his brother. He’s tried just about everything to get over her. He’s positive that the irreverent Monroe Blanco is the one woman who can cure him of his obsession. Then he meets Angelina Beauchamp. He’s instantly attracted to her. Aside from being Daisy’s long lost sister, Angelina could be his real thing. But is Charlie truly ready for the “real thing?” He’s about to find out.
Next book to read after completing this one:
Getting To Know Her, A Chicago Love Story (Coming Fall 2014)
About The Author
Born and raised in Southern California, I consider myself a sensual and emotional writer. Essentially, I write to make you feel whatever's on the page. That's my brand. Whether contemporary romance, paranormal romance or sci-fi fantasy, the reader can look forward to be taken on a highly charged emotional and sensual journey. I have a BA in Broadcast Journalism and an MA in Communications Studies from California State University, Los Angeles. I've read scripts, providing coverage for production companies and screenwriting contests. I have been writing fiction steadily and honing my craft for a very, very long time.
Chapter 1
A Return to Tinseltown
“Dump the porn star and get your ass back to California,” my cousin Maggie says as Vincent Adams carts her off. I thought she had bigger aspirations than a cliché like him.
I spring to my feet and catch a glimpse of Daisy, my brother’s wife, who parts her lips, tosses her head back, and laughs. It’s getting chillier, and she looks like a burrito wrapped up in that black sweater blanket of hers. The final remains of sunlight that are peeking behind the shifting clouds capture her beautiful face. One of my San Francisco friends once said that the face of the one you love stands out in a crowded room. It doesn’t have to be a pretty face, although Daisy’s is stunning. It’s simply the one you see no matter who else is around. He said it more poetically than that since he’s a poet and I’m not.
I try to focus on the girl I’d brought with me—the kind of girl I would never notice in a crowded room—or even an empty one. I don’t know why I brought her to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend. She’d stripped out of her top before she ran off to kick at the water along the shoreline. Doobie, Bobby, Conner, Dillon, and Mark are nursing the boners her bare tits had aroused. I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “Andy! Or Anne! Andrea? Whatever the hell your name is, let’s go!”
Daisy is watching me with an amused smile. I pretend not to see her. Maybe it’s because I’m ashamed of the way I feel about her. She chose Jack over me and she’s better for it. Everybody sees me as Jack’s loser younger brother, even Daisy. Maybe I’ll wise up to that fact in another month or two when the film I’m making bombs.
Andy or Anne jogs up the beach as if she’s a lifeguard on Baywatch. There’s hardly any bounce in her tits. What the hell was I thinking bringing some chick whose name I can’t even remember to Martha’s Vineyard?
“Leaving so soon?” Daisy asks.
Ah, her bright eyes suddenly remind me why I brought Andy. I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“That’s too bad.”
All I see is her smile. Does she know what she does to me? Sometimes I think she does.
“What the fuck, Charlie,” Andy says as she closes in. “We just got here.”
I rip my gaze away from Daisy’s face. “You can stay if you want, but I’m leaving.”
She drops to her knees. “Well, I’m staying.”
“Then get a hotel room and book a flight back to L.A. because you can’t stay with my brother and his wife.”
“And it’s Amy.” She tugs her flimsy T-shirt on over her head.
“Who’s Amy?”
“Me! I’m Amy!”
“You can stay with me, Amy,” Dillon, Jack’s friend from Philly, says directly to her headlights.
Jack has a hand on Daisy’s pregnant belly and his lips on her cheek. We haven’t been here one day and seeing them like that is already annoying the hell out of me. I turn away from them and kick up sand on the way to the steps.
“Hey, Chuck,” Jack calls after me.
I stop even though I want to keep going. “What?”
Andy is trotting in my direction. I had hoped she’d take Dillon up on his offer. He would’ve really gotten a kick out of her.
“You’re leaving?” Jack asks. Daisy has her head on his shoulder. They can’t seem to go without the PDA.
“Yep.”
He lifts his hands as if to say “what the hell.” I turn my back on him, realizing that in one gesture he’s managed to make me look even more like a capricious loser to everyone. Everyone except Andy, who really has chosen to follow me instead of cashing in on Dillon’s offer.
I pay a hefty fee to fly us back to L.A. from Vineyard Haven Airport on a whim. We’re back in the sky in less than two hours. My eyes are closed. Andy’s massaging the inside of my thigh. The back of her hand keeps rubbing my dick. It’s crystal clear that I’m not in the mood for sex. If there’s one woman who could stop the dreams where I’ve banged Daisy in a million and one ways, it’s Monroe Blanco. She and I share a sexual chemistry, the kind that I’ve never had with another woman. I can even look her in the eyes while fucking her, which is uncharted territory for me.
I like Monroe. We didn’t do much talking that night in Manhattan when I banged her—or did she bang me? She rang the doorbell to Maggie’s apartment and when I answered she asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?” That’s when I thought it would be fun to see if I could do just that, fuck her. She zipped past me, carrying garment bags.
I followed her and leaned casually on the threshold to Maggie’s bedroom. “What have I ever done to you to make you hate me?” I asked her while she fiddled around in the closet.
“I don’t hate you, but you are a jackass.”
“Jackass? You’ve been listening to Maggie for too long. Why don’t you get to know me for yourself?” I pointed my chin at the bottle of wine peeping out of her bag. “We can bond over that.”
She walked out of the closet and tugged at the zipper of the garment bag on the bed. “I’m not going to be one of your brain-dead conquests, Charlie.”
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I rushed over to help her with the zipper. She smelled good, sweet, and floral. “You know what I was doing before you got here?”
“Jacking off?” She smirked.
“Besides that.”
“Watching porn.”
“Close. Reading your book.”
“You read my book?” She lifted one side of her mouth like she didn’t believe me.
It was time to reel her in with the James Dean smirk, which is underrated. We stood close. I waited for her to step away, but she didn’t.
“My favorite part,” I said, “was your devirginization.” I grinned at the word.
She sat down on the bed. After a moment she took the wine out of her bag. “One drink,” she said.
We ended up finishing that bottle plus half of everything Maggie had in the cabinet. She told me more about that experience that I said I liked, which I did. When Monroe was eight years old, she was sneaking through the part of their Upper Eastside apartment that was off limits to her and discovered her mother fucking some stranger. She watched them all the way until he finished. She had sex for the first time when she was fifteen and wanted to emulate her mother. It hurt like hell, which led her to the conclusion that her mother enjoyed pain. She didn’t do it again until she was twenty-one. It wasn’t so bad the second time around, but it wasn’t that good either.
“I heard about orgasms and how fantastic they felt. So I went on a sex spree in search of one. One week. Thirteen guys. Number fourteen knew how to eat pussy,” she said.
“That part wasn’t in the book,” I said.
We were sitting on the barstools in front of the breakfast nook, and she turned to face me. The way she pushed her chest up and curved her back into an “S” said she wanted me.
“Too bad you didn’t call me. I could’ve given you multiple orgasms and in more than one way.”
She tossed her head back when she laughed. Her tone told me that I had her where I wanted her. She wore a dress, which allowed me to easily put my hand between her thighs and massage all the way up to that tiny hard button between her legs. Her pussy was hot and steamy. We locked eyes. The rest is history.
Back on the plane, Andy squeezes my package. She’s struck gold. Memories of Monroe have made me hard. She purrs, unzips my pants, and sinks my dick into her wet mouth.
“No.” I lift her face. It felt good but wrong. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to,” she whines, still rubbing my dick. “Don’t you want me?”
I clamp down on her hand. “I’m not in the mood.”
She pitches her tits against my shoulder. “Just sit back and relax.”
“I can’t relax if you’re doing that.” I stuff my dick back inside my pants and zip. There’s nothing she can do to get me excited about receiving a blowjob or anything else. Our time together is over. I wish her well.
Her eyes are watery and turned down at the edges. She needs me to want to fuck her to feel good about herself. Chicks like her have been my bread and butter. For the first time I’m confused about who’s the pathetic one in this situation, she or I?
“I don’t understand,” she says.
I bet she doesn’t. Nearly every guy in the world would fuck her from here all the way back to California. But I’m turning over a new leaf. I can be serious about one girl, who happens to be someone who’s got some deep shit going on inside of her like Monroe. So to take the horny edge off, I beep the flight attendant. “How about we have some drinks?” I ask Andy.
She grabs my cock again and squeezes. My dick is soft. “What the hell ever,” she replies snappishly. Now she’s pouting.
Three bottles of bourbon later and Andy has backed away from my zipper. She’s groggy and slurs when she speaks.
“See, it’s not personal, Andy…”
“Amy,” she says. “Why the fuck can’t you remember my name?”
“Sorry, Amy. It’s not personal. I’m in love with another woman, and maybe her name is the only one I can remember at the moment.”
The bourbon is doing a number on her. “You mean the pregnant lady. She’s pretty. Isn’t she your brother’s wife?”
“Not her.” I’m quick with my retort.
She shakes her head. “You love her. I can tell. You weren’t looking at me like that. I even took my shirt off. She’s pretty. Did I say that already?”
“You did.” I down the rest of my bourbon, frowning when it burns my throat. Who else noticed me watching Daisy? “Hey, Andy, Amy, was I that obvious?”
She responds by snoring. She’s asleep, and I’m unsatisfied. I want to convince her that I’m not the pathetic loser who’s in love with his brother’s wife. I’m in love with Monroe, my cousin’s best friend. I want to convince her that Monroe is the only reason I cut our weekend short.
Her snoring gets louder. There’s no waking her at this juncture. She’s had too much to drink. “Shit,” I mutter. I recall that night in Daisy’s hospital room. Daisy had fainted after experiencing heavy bleeding. She and Jack had to cut their honeymoon short and return to Manhattan. Maggie caught me by surprise when she asked me what I loved about Daisy. I couldn’t answer truthfully right there and then. Not while Jack and Daisy were in the room. I only pretended to be lost for an answer. I know exactly why I love Daisy. I love her because of everything Jack said and more. She’s soft. Her voice, her gestures, her walk, her exasperated sighs are all soft. I’ve read every article she’s ever written. The way she writes. Daisy’s more than adventurous—she’s curious about every damn thing. I feel alive whenever I’m near her. She’s warm with life. I would’ve changed everything about myself if she had chosen me and not Jack. But… She loves him. And I can’t get her out of my blood, out of my fucking head. Monroe can save me from the misfortune of loving my brother’s wife.
The plane arrives at the Santa Monica Airport at eight thirty. The bourbon still has Andy wobbly and drowsy so I help her down the ramp and into my silver Ferrari. I drive her to her apartment in Venice and help her to her door.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask. I’m the only thing keeping her steady on her feet.
“You don’t want to come in?”
“Not today.”
She wraps her arms around my neck. “Why do I feel like I’m never going to see you again?” She grinds her pussy against me.
“Hey, I got to go.” I take her arms off of me.
She looks down at my dick. “No takers?”
I shake my head. “Not here.”
“Fine, Charlie.” She sighs. “Will you at least kiss me goodbye?”
I have no problem doing that. I kiss her quickly on the lips, mouths closed, no tongue. That’s enough to get her inside, and I leave.
It’s a crawl to Bel-Air on the 405 Freeway. It gives me time to think about what to say to Monroe. She’s been squeezing my balls ever since she learned I was involved with the movie version of “The Great Dame.” She tried to sic her lawyers on me, but my lawyers were better. In the last seven days she’s wreaked havoc on pre-production. She rewrote the script after I approved the final draft. Shane Winters, the director and a pretty good friend of mine, said that the second draft was worse than the first. At least the first one he could fix in production. The second draft was unsalvageable. I kind of washed my hands of the whole situation. I don’t want to fight with her anymore. There’s a lot of work that goes into making a movie, and you have to like it to stick with it. I finally have the perfect excuse to walk away without hearing “I told you so” from Maggie. If Monroe wants me out, then her wish is my command. I’ll remain the sole investor, but that’s it.
The gates are already open when I arrive at her place. I recognize the midnight blue BMW that’s parked along the roundabout. It’s Shane’s.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I ask myself. I have a bad feeling in my gut, but I decide not to jump to any conclusions. He’s the director and she’s the writer. Shane is probably trying to convince her to see things his w
ay.
I park behind his car, cross the bridge to the front porch, and ring the doorbell. A few beats pass. The door opens, and I’m looking at the unruly hairs on Shane’s chest.
“What’s up, Charlie,” he says. The asshole is smirking. “I thought you were in Nantucket.” He has a towel around his waist.
I sneer. “Nope. I’m right here. Where’s Monroe?”
“Hey, man, I know what it looks like but…”
Monroe appears behind him wearing an oversized T-shirt. “Charlie? I thought you were in Martha’s Vineyard this weekend.”
Her skin is flushed, and she has a sexy case of bed-hair. It takes less than a second for my hopes to die and go straight to hell. “I’m going to go,” I say and get the hell away from both of them as fast as I can.
“Shane, go inside. I’ll be back,” Monroe says and then calls, “Charlie, wait!” as she runs after me. Her hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Why didn’t you call first?”
“I’m not angry,” I say. I’m way beyond that. I’m pissed off. “Go finish having your fun. I should’ve known.”
“Known what?” She yanks my shirt. “Will you stop so we can talk?”
I stop. I make sure I have the right expression on my face before I turn around. “What?” I’m not feeling shit for her at the moment. She might as well be Andy or Angela. Whatever the hell her name was.
“Why do I feel like I betrayed you?” she asks.
“You shouldn’t feel that way. Hey, I’ll see you on Monday at the production meeting.” I try to sound indifferent.
She smashes her hands onto her hips. “Why didn’t you call first?”
“I would’ve if I’d known you’d be busy fucking Shane!”
“Ha. Low blow.”
“That wasn’t meant to be a low blow. Weren’t you just fucking Shane?”
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