by Claire, Ava
"Who's in charge here, Leila? Whose needs supersede anything else?"
God he was so close. "Yours."
"That's right."
His tongue ran along the perimeter of it and I forgot the English language, words coming out in gibberish. All the buildup thrust me head first into sensory overload and when he took it between his lips and suckled it, I hurtled to the pinnacle of pleasure. He thrust inside me in time with his mouth and I couldn't hold back.
I screamed, the release shooting from the deepest part of me like a bullet, ripping my self doubt in two. This was irrefutable proof that I wasn’t dirty or unattractive. I was just waiting for the right someone. Waiting for him.
And he wasn't done.
He rose up like some waking dream, eyes savage and muscles flexing. One hand kept me from collapsing into a post coital heap on the floor while the other steered his engorged desire inside me. I looked up into his face as he moved within me, the impassive mask long gone. He filled me, pounding and grunting and cursing until he surrendered.
We didn't say anything for a long moment, lying side by side until our labored breathing relaxed.
I turned my head and felt my body flush as he stared at me. The way he looked at me was unlike anything I’d ever known. He took me in like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
I reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip. "Jacob, I-”
He turned away, stretching his arms to the ceiling. "I think I’ll grab a shower."
The sting of his brush off echoed through me, but I didn't dwell on it. He'd stayed the night and with this morning it was clear he had some feelings, some attraction to me. For now, that would have to do.
I pushed off the bed and moved past him to the minibar, letting out an 'Aha!' as I wielded a bottle of vodka. "I could use a drink."
He peered over at me strangely before a smile tugged the corners of his mouth upward. "A good, hard drink, huh?"
"Worse ways to start a day, right?" I winked. I glanced around for an ice bucket because even I wasn't bold enough for the warm burn of room temp vodka. I found the plastic container then retrieved his crumpled white shirt from the floor and pulled it over my naked frame. "Be right back."
I knew I looked just like hot, sweaty sex, but I barely scoped out the hallway before I swept toward the ice machine at the end of the hall. I felt sexier than I'd ever thought possible; powerful even. But my new found confidence was wasted since the hallway was practically deserted except for a cluster of men at the opposite end. They were huddled together, probably talking about something other than the woman not wearing any pants.
I turned into the concession alcove and scooped a hefty amount of ice into the bucket. When I went to put the scooper back into the holder, it slipped from my fingers. I bent over to pick it up, a strange feeling sending goosebumps all over me.
The room lit up around me and I blinked, pausing before I stood upright. That was weird. The brightness of it was kind of like a camera flash.
And then it happened again.
My heart dropped like a stone as I slowly turned to face the photographer. No—photographers. The same men who'd been standing at the end of the hall.
"Miss Montgomery!" the first said in accented English before snapping a picture of my horrified face. "How long have you been sleeping with Jacob Whitmore?"
****
I stopped pacing but my head was still in motion, stuck on some demented carousel—and all I wanted was to get off.
Nausea settled in my gut and I took a deep breath and let it go before I glanced at Jacob. When his attention remained on the iPad in his hands, the bubbling fear in my gut turned to scorching fury.
"Are you even listening to me?"
His finger glided across the screen and his forehead scrunched in concentration. He was clearly not listening to me.
My mouth opened in frustration but I snapped it shut, muting a string of expletives. To be honest, a choice word or two paled in comparison to what I really wanted to say.
"Jacob!"
His eyes flickered to mine, darkening with displeasure. "Yes?"
I crossed my arms tight against my chest, trying to keep my shaky limbs from overshadowing the colossal mess my life would be when those pictures hit the internet.
"Maybe you didn't hear me." My tone was sharp enough to cut and I could tell I was close to losing his attention to whatever was on the screen, just to prove a point.
I changed my tone to something less combative and pretended I was about to list off the museums I wanted to see instead of repeating that photographers snapped pictures of my rear. "There were men-"
"Paparazzi, correct?"
I frowned. "Yes, I guess they were."
He shrugged his shoulders. "It is to be expected." He gave me a long look and I thought I saw an undercurrent of sympathy in his eyes before his attention reverted back to his tablet. "You forgot the ice?"
I dropped my arms, my hands balling into fists. "Yes, I forgot the goddamn ice! Excuse me for being more concerned that photographers were asking me intimate questions and snapping pictures of my vagina!"
He peered closer at the screen. "They snapped one of your ass, but the picture is grainy at best."
I launched to the bed, snatching the device from him. I gasped when I looked at the screen and saw a magnified picture of me bending over to pick up the ice scoop. I swept my finger to the left and there was a shot with me looking like a deer in headlights, my face contorted in terror.
"Oh my god." I shuddered and pressed a hand to my temple. This couldn't be happening. "It happened an hour ago. How can it be up already?"
"‘How can it be up already’?" he repeated incredulously. "To be honest, I'm surprised it took this long." He took the tablet from me, pressing a button that turned the screen dark. “I have a feeling the local photogs had help.”
I raked a hand through my hair. “What do you mean, help?”
“Someone with a bone to pick.”
“Rachel,” I spat, like the name was something sour on my tongue. “That bitch.”
He reached for the bottle of vodka and I could tell from the tremble of his hand that he was struggling with using some expletives of his own. He took a sip of the liquid and winced as it went down. "Woman scorned and all that."
I frowned at his flagrant disregard for the seriousness of all of this. She'd actively put my name out there and if she was behind the paparazzi and pictures, my face. Aside from the fact that I was clearly in a very powerful woman's cross hairs, I'd be linked with last night and labeled as one of Jacob Whitmore's women forever. All it would take was a simple Google search.
I felt dizzy and suddenly grateful I hadn't eaten anything to vomit all over the floor. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
"For better or worse, I'm a public figure, Leila. The one place that isn't very private is my private life." He tossed the tablet on the bed and took my face in his massive hands, forcing me to look him dead on. "I know it's not fair, but it is what it is. And it could have been a lot worse."
His thumb stroked my cheek and for a beautiful moment, I lost myself in the gentle caress, letting the rare show of tenderness carry me to a place where there was no one, nothing, but he and I. But the niggling feeling of invasion crept back in when his hands trailed down my body, cupping the curve of my bottom...the same bottom that was probably plastered all over blogs.
Oh my God, I thought frantically. What if the mainstream press runs with this?
I could picture my mother perched on the couch, cursing the keyboard as she pulled up her home screen. After checking her email, she always clicked over to the ‘Entertainment’ section to get her fill of Hollywood gossip. She’d probably think her eyes was playing tricks on her before she let out a squeal that would rock Daddy from his nap in his old recliner.
When I told her I’d been promoted and was leaving the country on a business trip, all on my first day, she’d winked and said I must’ve made quite
the impression. To her, the only weapon a woman had in her arsenal was her wiles and I’d spent most of my adult life trying to show her that brains were just as important. Those pictures would negate every single argument and when I called home, the first words out of her mouth would be ‘I told you so’.
"Everything is going to be okay, Leila."
I glared up at him, not sure if I wanted to hug his neck for trying to make me feel better or wring it for obviously missing the point.
"My mother might see my derriere over dinner tonight." I reached behind me, gripped his wrists and broke his hold. "Things couldn't be further from okay." I scanned his face, hoping some part of him was digesting the gravity of this situation and how it affected me, but I came up blank.
Of course he doesn't get it. He's used to his sexcapades being splashed all over tabloid rags.
Jacob re-hooked his arm around my waist and sent my body crashing back into his. It was obvious he wasn't taking me seriously.
He leaned down, achingly lush lips pressing against mine, trying to wear me down. Trying to get me to let go. But not even his kisses could dull my frustration.
I pulled away with a sigh of aggravation that went ignored. His fingers gripped my chin and he forced his mouth back on mine. I kissed him back, feeling his arousal swell against me before I gave myself a mental slap and yanked from his grasp.
Distance was good; vital if we were gonna discuss this because I couldn't think with him so close, knowing he was still burning hot for me. My head was filled with dirty thoughts. Things I wanted him to do to me.
I took a step back and the space between us reminded me of a sobering fact. While he knew the ins and outs of my body and ways to fit inside me like some lost puzzle piece, outside of the bedroom he was all thumbs. An indifferent stranger that couldn't grasp that a couple of photos would change everything.
He took a step forward and I took two back, stopping when I ran into the vanity. I heard the crystal baubles tinkle and my gut clenched at the memory of my fingers tracing them just yesterday. Suddenly it all felt like a fantasy, like I was living someone else's life. Someone who slept with billionaires and tangoed with mega celebrities and was supposed to shrug off tawdry pictures as no biggie.
The patience in Jacob's voice was nowhere to be found when he squared his jaw. "I don't understand what this is all about. The possibility of paparazzi was outlined in the contract. In the past, it blew over as soon as they found something else to fixate on."
"I thought we weren't dredging up the past?" I snapped, a flare of jealousy slashing over me. "Last night you acted like bringing up an ex was a capital offense." I held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. "It's okay, I get it. You're in charge. You say jump, I say how high. You get to ride the fence and act like what we have is different and special—until you decide that I should just follow the script like all your other little toys.” From the way his eyes stormed, I knew that I was all but playing with fire, but I couldn’t back down. Not until I said it all. “I’m not some toy. I’m not some ass shot or headline that’ll be forgotten. I’m a real, breathing person. And if-” My voice caught in my throat and I stopped, swallowing before I started again. “When this whole thing between us fizzles out, I won’t have a limitless bank account to fall back on.”
I expected the glacial look on his face to stay the same. Uncaring. Frigid. Instead, it flickered and I watched as the ice melted and his attractive features softened. “Is that how you think I see you? As some toy to be discarded when I get bored?”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to believe that I’d seen something fundamental change in him when we were together. But it would be a lie. There was still a part of me that knew that rich or poor, a man that gets skittish whenever you open up is generally someone that isn't looking for something beyond the physical.
And wasn't that the whole point of a contract? To remove all traces that this would be anything other than a business arrangement?
So I looked at him and told him the truth that hurt. "Why wouldn't you? I let you have me in some shady stairwell fifteen minutes after we met. I knew you gave me the job and the promotion because of whatever chemistry we had and then I signed a contract agreeing to be at your sexual service." I felt the tears brim at my eyes, and they punctuated every word. "I have no right to expect anything more of you. You've made it perfectly clear from the beginning that anything more would be a mistake." The tears I'd been struggling to keep at bay broke free and spilled down my cheeks.
He stood there awkwardly, clearly disturbed by my outpouring of emotion and it just made me cry even harder. "You know what? Just forget I said anything." I turned my back to him and snatched up a fistful of tissues, blotting at my leaking eyes. "You should go. There's Rachel's press conference and the junket-"
"No," he cut in, stepping up behind me.
I glanced at him in the mirror for a moment before I looked down. I was embarrassed to have him see me like this. Embarrassed that I let him get close enough to have this effect on me.
"Rachel can do these things with her eyes closed,” he said matter-of-factly.
I rolled my eyes at that, knowing he spoke the truth. I couldn't help but wish that maybe she woke up this morning with a blemish she couldn't hide or some paparazzo caught her tripping or with her finger up her nose. But she'd be stellar, completely on point—especially when she saw the unflattering pictures of me over her morning coffee.
I gripped the edge of the vanity, trying to exorcise her from my mind. When I still couldn't see anything but her smug grin, I just gave up. Even if I hated her guts, I still had a job to do and not even Rachel Laraby could take that away from me...unless I let her.
I straightened my spine and faced Jacob. "I need to get ready for the conference. So do you."
The callous man that had shrugged off my concerns was replaced by one that took both of my hands in his. There were no orders. In fact, he was the one looking to me, trying to show that he would follow my lead.
"Let's just spend the day together. We can go sightseeing."
I faltered. "You would go sightseeing with me?"
He nodded. "Anywhere you want to go."
Yes was on the tip of my tongue. I longed to see St. Mark's Basilica and Teatro La Finice. "So you and I are gonna play tourist while we feed our client to the scandal hungry press?"
"I'm just trying to make you happy, Leila," he said, looking at me intently. "I'm trying to show you that you mean more to me than some headline."
I couldn't stop the warmth from spreading over me at his confession. It wasn't much by normal standards, but for Jacob Whitmore, it was huge. And as much as a day in the city with him by my side would thrill me, I needed to show I was there to do more than sunbathe and museum hop. I was there to do a job.
I nibbled on my lip then dropped it. Say it—even if all you want to do is ask him to cart you away on his white horse.
"If you really want to help me, you'll let me get ready for the conference. We'll support Rachel and make sure it goes off without a hitch."
Disappointment colored his eyes. "You're sure that's what you want?"
I was so far from sure it was ridiculous and had a feeling Rachel was going to be especially vicious, but I forced a smile. "Of course." When he looked ready to knock me over the head and carry me off like some prehistoric caveman, I insisted. "Let me do the job you hired me for."
He scratched his chin, the faint shadow of stubble giving him a warm, lived-in look that made me want to take him back to bed. I let out a sigh of relief when he gave me a curt nod and began pulling on his clothing from the day before.
He paused at the door, giving me one last chance to change my mind. "I guess I'll see you at the venue."
My stomach was in knots, but I pushed away the urge to say the hell with it all. "I'll see you there."
****
The ballroom was packed with reporters buzzing like locusts, their eyes locked on the makeshift stage and the celeb
rities perched behind it. The movie that brought us all to the panel, You and I, featured an up and coming actress and even a veteran actor or two but they weren’t even a blimp on the radar. Question after question was directed at Rachel.
"Ms. Laraby, how challenging was the shooting experience so close to your release from Haven Rehabilitation Center?"
Rachel gave the reporter a demure smile. "Shooting a new film is always challenging. Leaving family and friends for an extended period of time, being immersed in the story, falling in love with that journey and hoping the viewer falls in love with it too—it is all extremely stressful." She glanced to her right at one of the actors from the movie. "You remember that contest you did the first weekend of shooting? First person to figure out and remember all the names of the cast and crew?"
I let out an impressed chuckle as the man picked up the baton and she settled back into her seat. She might be a bitch, but she was an expert at this. For the past thirty minutes the press fired one question after another, trying to trip her up, find some chink in her armor they could run with. She'd effectively deflected every single attempt.
"She must have been a politician in another life," I murmured, leaning toward Jacob. He gave me a smirk before turning his attention back to the stage.
The press manager cleared her throat behind the podium. She'd been slowly losing every trace of color in her cheeks over the course of the conference until she looked physically ill. She was probably envisioning the chewing out she'd get from the studio for not steering the press back toward the movie.
"U-Uh the last question is from Marguerite Salazar from El Cine."
The reporter stood promptly. "My question is for Ms. Laraby."
Of course. The rest of the cast just wore the same uncomfortable grins. This was the Rachel Laraby Show—but at least it was almost over.
"One of the biggest themes of the movie is that love, however inappropriate, conquers all. Is there anyone in your life now that makes you feel the passion you carried for the antagonist throughout the movie?"
The press chattered excitedly, ready and waiting for the first scoop on the state of Rachel's love life. She'd dated Mark Stone, an action movie star, off and on for three years, but since she'd emerged from rehab she'd kept a pretty tight lid on her romantic inclinations.
