I was thankful.
Thankful I got the experience.
The memories.
I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
“Hey, hooker,” I said, “You better have a good explanation for last night. For real…all the details, and they’d better be good.”
Knowing Elle, it would be all kinds of good.
Silence echoed from the other end, and then Elle’s voice came on, almost incredulous. “You’re seriously calling me hooker right now?”
I paused. Frowned. Confused. “What?”
“Hello pot calling the kettle black. Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?”
A twist of unease tightened in my chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell me you didn’t sleep with Paxton Myles last night.”
I gasped, my head shaking as I took a step back. “How…how…?”
“Oh, God.” The words were low, coated with worry. “Kay…you don’t know.”
That twist of unease grew into a cyclone of anxiety. “You’re freaking me out. Tell me what you’re talking about.”
Elle hesitated, then said, “I’ll be right over.”
“Elle,” I begged.
The line went dead.
I glanced at my phone. I had a ton of missed calls from my mom and my sister, not to mention the slew of texts from the two of them. That anxiety churned and twisted when I saw I’d also missed a bunch texts from a few of my co-workers and acquaintances from the school where I worked.
People I rarely, if ever, spoke to outside of school.
Dread balled at the base of my throat, and I shuffled into my living room. The sheer drapes pulled across the arcadia door glowed like fire. It cast the rest of the room in warm blues and bright shadows.
I leaned over the back of the couch and reached for the remote I’d left sitting on the seat cushion. My hands were shaking like crazy when I clicked on the TV that had been set to mute. Pointing the remote, I changed the channel, because even though I didn’t want to believe it, I knew.
I knew.
Still, I wasn’t prepared.
I wasn’t prepared in the least.
There were pictures.
Pictures in a little square box that kept popping up above the reporter’s head. Playing out on a reel. Paxton on the red carpet, looking like a million bucks as he flashed that megawatt smile. Another of him with his friend Philip.
But it was the ones of me that hooked my breath on the lump at the base of my throat.
The first was one of me walking the red carpet, looking so out of place, like a timid, plain mouse who’d lost her way. The second was a fuzzy shot taken in the hall outside the women’s restroom in the hotel, my back pressed to the wall where Paxton Myles’ big body concealed mine.
The reporter’s mouth moved a million miles a minute as he waved his hands in excitement, even though I couldn’t hear what he said.
Even if the volume had been turned up, I’m still not sure I would have heard. Because a low buzz started to hum in my ears, obliterating all senses except for what my eyes were forced to see.
Because the first two weren’t what brought on the rush of horror.
No.
It was the ones of me outside Paxton’s Hollywood Hills mansion from this morning. Shots of me as I strode down the drive through the slots of the wrought iron fence, though they somehow made me appear as if I was limping, my shoulders slack with shame.
There were more of me climbing up and jumping over the gate.
They’d obviously been snatched from a distance. The pictures were cropped to bring me nearer and were a little grainy.
But that didn’t matter.
Because they were so utterly clear.
My hair was even worse than I’d imagined, a matted mess on one side and poofed up on the other, my dress twisted and wrinkled, black mascara smeared around my eyes.
Barefoot.
For some reason, that seemed the worst.
Nausea swelled.
I didn’t know why, but there was something about it that made me look used up. Cheap and trashy.
I glanced back where my heels had been abandoned on the floor just inside my front door, toppled in a messy pile.
Why the hell didn’t I put on those damned shoes?
What had I done?
My phone rang again.
Almost numb, I lifted it to see who was calling. My mother’s sweet face was smiling back at me.
Without a doubt, she wasn’t smiling right now.
What had I done?
Knees feeling wobbly and weak, I mindlessly moved around to the front of the couch and sank down onto the cushions. In horror, I sat there and watched in silence as the same thing played out over and over again on my television, different reporters piping in, giving their own salacious opinion.
My private life nothing less than entertainment.
What had I done?
I dropped my face into my hands. I didn’t even realize I was crying until my shoulders started to heave up and down.
How much time had passed before there was banging on my door, I didn’t know, but I jolted with the impatient rattle of the knob, a key shoved into the lock.
The door flew open and knocked into the wall.
Warily, I looked that way over the back of the couch.
Elle stood there in all her glory, holding a big paper sack to her chest, my best friend a blur where I watched her through bleary eyes.
“Holy shit, Kay Kay. What have I always said? If you’re going to do it, do it big. You sure as hell knocked it out of the park.”
Elle emerged from my small kitchen wielding two glasses of red wine. She passed one to me. “To taking life by the balls and making it your bitch.”
My laugh was part incredulous, part scoff. “Pretty sure life’s making me its bitch right about now.”
“Pssh.” Elle waved the thought off and curled her legs up underneath her where she sat down next to me on the couch. She took a sip of her wine, narrowing her brown eyes as she searched my expression. “Don’t tell me last night wasn’t amazing. I mean, we’re talking Paxton Myles here. One of the most sought-after bachelors in all of Hollywood. And you snagged him.”
I lifted a brow. “Shagged, not snagged. He doesn’t belong to me.”
Elle almost spit out a mouthful of wine. She slammed her hand over her mouth to hold it in, laughing so hard I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit, too. She finally got the wine down, her words rambling out on jutted spurts of laughter. “Oh my God…did you actually just say shagged?”
I shrugged. “What?”
“It’s not 1950.”
I pointed at the TV that was, surprise, surprise, once again talking about Paxton and my illicit affair. “They sure seem to think so.” I scowled with a pout. “You’d think I stole Paxton’s virginity.”
Elle howled. “Yeah right. That boy has been around the block more times than I can count.”
Ouch. I chose to ignore the insinuation.
Elle gestured to the TV. “But you know how these assholes are going to play it… no name girl tries to sink her greedy claws into Hollywood heartthrob.” She touched her hand over her heart, the words dripping sarcasm.
“Oh, the scandal. The vultures are going to eat that one up.”
I cringed.
Vultures.
Just like Paxton had warned.
I guessed he’d been right all along.
Elle winced when she realized what she’d said. “Sorry. You know that’s not what I think.”
“I know that. But you know that’s what everyone else is going to think.”
She gave me a shrug and a lascivious grin. “Who cares what everyone else thinks? You got to shag Paxton Myles.” With a grin playing all over her mouth, she poked me in the side. “Tell me how it was…are the rumors true? Heard the boy is packed and he’s a king in the sack.”
I could feel the redness crawl to my cheeks. I shook my head,
diverting. “Eww…Elle…so crass. And why don’t you tell me where you were last night?”
She scoffed. “Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this one. My pretty much prude of a best friend spent all last night doing all kinds of dirty, delicious deeds with the Paxton Myles. You can’t go and hook up with one of the hottest guys on the planet and not dish the details. That’s like…best friend foul number one. Don’t go and break my heart.”
More redness.
She prodded me again. “Tell me.”
“Okay, okay…he was…”
“Yes…?” she drew out.
I slanted my attention her direction, and my voice went soft. “He owned me, Elle.”
Elle’s expression did the same, and she tilted her head as she touched my hand. “Hey…are you okay? I know this has to be a lot for you. You’re not exactly the love ’em and leave ’em type. I’m honestly kind of shocked.”
Yeah.
So was I.
I dropped my gaze to watch the deep red liquid swirl in my wine glass. “I’ll be fine. It was just…it was supposed to be one night. Between him and me. Private. It was a big deal to me, and now the entire world is talking about it like it’s entertainment. It’s…embarrassing.”
Wrong.
Humiliating.
Mortifying.
I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.
And people needed to learn to mind their own damned business.
She patted my knee. “It’ll blow over, Kay Kay. You’ll see. Give it a couple days and no one will even remember it. Paxton will be back to being a player, and you’ll be back to being the old schoolmarm who never sees any action.”
She winked at me, and I slugged at her arm. “That’s not nice.”
She rubbed her arm. “And that hurt.”
“Good.”
My phone lit up with another call from my mother, and I cringed as I held it in my hand, letting it ring until it went to voicemail.
Elle inclined her head toward it. “Seriously, Kaylee…give it a couple of days. It’ll all be good. I promise.”
I could only hope she was right.
Chapter 8
Paxton
The morning sun assaults me, and I barely manage to crack an eye open before the pounding in my head starts. A pleasureful ache had settled into my muscles, surely from the hours of wild sex Kaylee and I indulged in just hours ago.
I can still smell her on my skin and selfishly I need more.
Want more.
With a pillow over my face, I extend an arm to pull her closer, wanting to brush my fingers across her soft, fair skin…wanting to pull her underneath me for another go at it this morning.
Morning sex.
The sure-fire way to cure a hangover.
I reach farther across the bed, looking for her, and come up empty handed. Flinging the pillow from my face, I sit up quickly, noticing my abs are deliciously tender from having my way with Kaylee last night.
I quietly listen for any sign of Kaylee. I listen for the shower, but it isn't running, and I don't hear movement from the kitchen.
I search for her clothes on the floor, or her phone on the nightstand, and come up with nothing—she's gone. Her absence is immediately noticeable. Disappointment washes over me at the thought of her leaving—without a goodbye—without even a phone number.
It's then I hear the dull buzz of a phone. Instead of bothering to find it, I throw myself back on the bed and cover my face with the pillow again, ignoring it. I'm not ready to deal with reality when all I want to do is be lost in Kaylee.
Closing my eyes, I succumb to the memories of Kaylee last night…on top of me, under me, and in front of me. On all fours, on her back, and with her legs wrapped tightly around me.
We tried damn near every position and every single one of them was my favorite—or maybe it was just her. She made me feel things I've never felt before—and I fucking loved it. I need more of it. Sex with Kaylee is like a drug. I'm dying for my next fix.
My mouth waters as I remember how she tasted.
That neck.
Those breasts.
Her pussy.
I'll never forget how my tongue explored every inch of her soft, sweet body. My skin tingles as I remember how my fingers touched every inch of her.
I try to doze off, shrugging off the disappointment her absence has left, but the damn buzzing of my phone won't let me. It's when the doorbell rings over and over that I force myself out of bed. Twisting a sheet around my waist, I shuffle down the hallway to the door.
“Hold on,” I mumble as I approach. Through the peephole, I can see the stick straight dark hair and bright red lips that can only belong to Kendall. Fuck.
“Morning, Kendall!” I smile as I open the door and step back to let her in. I run my hands through my wild hair and wait for her reaction.
She steps inside, her long legs covered in leather pants, and an oversized sheer white shirt covers her tan skin. An arm full of bangle bracelets make all kinds of fucking annoying racket as her heels click on the floor, causing my head to pound even harder.
With her cell phone pressed to her ear, I can hear copious amounts of yelling on the other end. She remains calm, which tells me she's dealing with another client issue.
Thank God.
But, it's when she turns toward me that I see the look in her eye. The look I've seen more than a couple times when she's bailing me out of the bullshit I drag her ass into. The look that says I'm fucking dead meat. The look that tells me I better get my shit together—and fast.
Finally pulling her phone from her ear, she just looks at me. I'm not sure if it's disappointment, disgust, or hatred. It's a look I've seen all too often from her, though, and I hate that look.
“What in the ever-loving fuck were you thinking?” she barks at me as she shoves her phone into her back pocket.
I sigh exaggeratedly. “What, Kendall? I'm a grown man. I can bring a woman home if I want too.” I don’t know how Kendall even keeps me as a client. I swear, this is my excuse every time. I mean, what am I supposed to say? I shouldn't have to have an excuse to get laid every now and then. A man has needs.
Her eyes are so narrow I can barely make out the color of her irises. “Have you even turned on the television, Pax?” She points to the large television that sits on the wall in my den. “Whatever her name is, was seen crawling over your fence this morning. They have pictures of her, Pax, climbing…over…your…fence…in a dress. Who is she?” Her voice is high-pitched and fast. She wants answers, and my brain is moving at the speed of a snail in molasses right now.
“Calm the fuck down,” I tell her and walk toward the den where I throw myself onto the oversized sectional, reaching for the remote control. Pushing a few buttons, the TV roars to life and, sure as shit, there is Kaylee…black dress, bare feet, and wild hair, scaling my gates. I try to crack a smile as I see her struggle to get over. God, she’s beautiful.
“Who. Is. She. Pax?” Kendall asks bitterly, following me into the room. I don't even know how to answer all the questions she's asking me, nor does she deserve an answer. Kaylee isn’t her business. She slams her hand down on the sofa table to get my attention.
“Who is she? How did you meet her? Are you dating? How do you know her?” She pulls her phone from her pocket as it vibrates wildly in her hand. “Give me some goddamn answers, Pax! I have every fucking media outlet in the United States and half of them from Europe blowing up my phone. They want a statement. They want to know if America’s most eligible bachelor is off the market, and I don’t even know this bitch’s name!” she yells at me. “And for the love of God, put some fucking clothes on.”
She rolls her eyes at me and steps away to take the call that’s coming in.
I don't care about clothes right now. All I care about is right there on my television set. Kaylee. Her picture scrolling across the television.
Mystery woman.
Escort.
Who is she?
; My stomach flips when I see a breaking news banner begin flashing before my eyes.
Mystery solved! Kaylee Burton. Kindergarten teacher, it reads.
They know who she is. The sudden urge to protect Kaylee from this mess takes over. She didn't want this life. She didn't ask for this. My selfish ass, wanting her—needing her—brought her into this.
“Fuck!” I yell, jumping from the couch, hurrying down the hall to my bedroom in search of my phone. Tossing clothes left and right, I finally find my pants. Reaching into the pocket, I find my phone and a slew of texts and calls from Kendall, Philip, and even my sister.
I scroll through my contacts, hoping like hell I was gentleman enough to at least get Kaylee's contact information before sticking my dick in her—but nope.
“Fuck!” I yell again in frustration. It's about all I can conjure up right now. Slamming my bedroom door closed, I drop the sheet I have tied around my waist and head to the shower. Some hot water and peace and quiet is exactly what I need to figure out what in the hell I need to do.
Kendall can't save me from this one—hell, I don't want her too. I don't need saving, I need to find Kaylee. I need to make this right. I step into the glass encased shower, allowing the steam to fill my lungs and the hot water to prick my skin.
Water stings the light scratches on my back from Kaylee and every muscle is gloriously sore from last night's marathon of sex. No woman has ever had me tied up in knots like this, and I almost chuckle as I think about how one wild night turned into one fucking nightmare.
Chapter 9
Kaylee
I didn’t sleep.
How could I?
Exhaustion warred with the paranoia, a dueling duo that churned in the pit of my stomach. Clutching the steering wheel, I peered out at the small private school in front of me from where I was parked in the staff lot.
You can do this.
It was the same pep talk I’d been giving myself since I’d finally dragged myself from the fitful tossing of my bed and into the shower.
Yesterday I’d decided to ignore all the calls and texts that had come in from my co-workers, demanding to know what happened.
One Wild Night Page 5
