by Lucy Score
He reached for her again, gently this time. His hands were warm on her upper arms. “Angel.”
She could hear the pain, the regret, in that one word.
“I was wrong. I was scared, and I was so wrong. I had never felt what I felt for you, and I’d almost lost you. My world was upside down.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”
He leaned in, and she could see the earnestness in his eyes. “I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for hurting you. But understand this, I’m going to spend the rest of my life fixing this. You give me a second chance, and I’ll make sure you never regret it.”
“I can’t do that! I can’t love you again!” The words came out a sob.
He took a deep breath, and she felt him purposely loosen his grip on her arms. “Waverly, I need you to cut me some slack.”
“Slack? You want me to cut you slack? You brought me home from the hospital and made me beg you to stay, and then you just walked out on me.”
“I’m sorry!” he snapped, his fingers tightening on her again. “I’ll say it a thousand times if it takes the hurt away. I’m sorry, Angel.”
“You made me think my worst fear had come true. That I was too damaged to be loved.” Tears filled her eyes, but there was anger there, too.
He stilled and brought his hands up to gently cup her face. “Oh, Angel. I’m so sorry.”
He was. She knew he was, knew he understood now, maybe for the first time, the blow he’d dealt her. He’d known her deepest secrets about her family, about how her childhood had affected her. And by walking out on her, saying the words she’d feared for so long, he’d leveled her.
“Waverly.” He said her name with a tenderness that sliced into her.
She squeezed her eyes closed. “No, don’t be nice now. I don’t want to cry,” she sniffled.
“If you cry, it will gut me,” he warned her.
“Well, at least there’s an upside.”
He gathered her to him and picked her up. He carried her to the couch where he sat with her in his lap. She didn’t try to bolt, but she didn’t relax either. She just took slow deep breaths and tried to force back the tide of emotion.
Xavier tucked her head against his chest and rested his chin on top. “Angel, don’t ever question if you’re good enough to be loved. And don’t ever, ever let a man dictate whether you can be loved.”
She hiccupped softly against him, and he stroked her arm.
“That’s what I’m going to teach our daughters. I figure we’ll have three. At least to start.”
“Xavier.” And suddenly she was tired, bone weary.
“Shh, Angel. Just think about it.”
“I can’t think when you’re so close to me,” she confessed.
“Maybe don’t think. Just feel. This connection is real. Nothing you tell yourself is going to make it go away, believe me. I’ve tried.”
“I’m sure there was a long line of women helping you try,” she muttered.
“There have been two since you. Two in five years, Waverly. Same as you.”
“What do you mean, same as me?”
He ignored her question. “I think part of me always knew I was meant for you.”
She pushed away from his chest but didn’t leave his lap. “How exactly were you keeping track, Xavier?”
“I didn’t want you to be with anyone who would hurt you,” he said by way of explanation.
“Are you kidding me? You ran them? You ran background checks on anyone you thought I was interested in, didn’t you?”
“You never stopped being important to me.”
“I suddenly know how your sisters feel,” she said, with a heavy sigh. “You can’t do that kind of stuff, X. You have to trust people to make their own decisions.”
“It’s what I do,” he protested. And her heart cracked open just a sliver for the man who would do anything to protect the ones he loved from hurt, however misguided and controlling his actions were.
A thought hit her. “Are you the reason Trent transferred in the middle of a semester, never to be heard from again?” She’d casually dated Trent her junior year at Stanford. He was cute and charming in a preppy fraternity brother kind of way. They’d never gone beyond kissing, though. She’d never trusted him enough, and there’d been good reason why.
“He was still seeing his ex on the side,” Xavier protested.
“Oh my God, Xavier! You didn’t have him killed, did you?”
“Jesus, Angel. No! I just had someone scare the shit out of him, and he left Stanford on his own accord.”
“I’d found out he was still seeing his ex because I’m not an idiot! And when I did, I handled the situation.”
“He was still calling you,” Xavier pointed out.
“I don’t even want to know how you knew that.”
“I had a couple of guys have a talk with him. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“X,” Waverly took a deep breath. She felt a war of emotions within. She’d spent so much of her life surrounded by people who used her. Just knowing that Xavier had tried to keep her safe even after they were through undid her. Yet his methods were insane. “You can’t run people’s lives like that, especially not from a distance.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“How about let everyone make their own decisions and deal with their own consequences?”
“I let you make your own decisions, and you got yourself shot,” he pointed out.
“I need to process all of this,” she told him. “I’m going to go to bed.”
“Did you mean what you said about Dante?” She heard it in his voice, the hope and fear, the need to hear it again.
“I’ve never felt what I had for you with anyone else,” she whispered, closing her eyes for just a moment and burrowing into the warmth of his chest.
“Kiss me goodnight,” he ordered, his voice gruff.
“Xavier—”
“Just a kiss. I promise.”
She knew she’d regret this, just as she knew if she didn’t kiss him, she’d spend the entire night tossing and turning and thinking about what an idiot she’d been to turn down that masterful mouth.
He was leading her into a trap, but did it really count as a trap if her eyes were wide open?
“Just a kiss?” she repeated.
“I promise.” His lips moved feather light over her hair. “I won’t even offer to help you get out of those boots. His fast fingers traced the tops of her boots around her thighs.
Her lips curved. That earnestness, that playfulness from him was enough to have her ignoring the warning bells and finally give in to the craving.
The pulse in his neck thrummed faster beneath her fingers as she closed the distance between their mouths. Slowly, slowly, she moved with a patience never before tapped. She paused a whisper away feeling his breath hot on her face. Her blood felt thicker, and there was a buzzing in her ears. His lids, thickly lashed were heavy and half closed.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was sealing her fate with one kiss.
He waited for her. She knew he wanted this to be her choice, wanted to give her that power. And she took it. Lightly, sweetly, softly, she laid her lips to his. They were hard beneath hers, everything about him was, thick biceps, broad chest and shoulders, the granite of his thighs. He’d already been hard when he sat her in his lap, but he’d done nothing to push her.
She wanted to take them both to the edge, to make sure she could come back from it. She spun in his lap and straddled him. He brought his hands that had been fisted at his sides to her hips where they gripped. “Just a kiss, Angel,” he whispered. Gentle words at war with the frenetic need she felt from him.
The skirt of her dress rode up indecently high as she spread her thighs over his lap. She brought her hands to his face, stroked his jaw, his neck, and dove her fingers into his hair.
He sighed into her mouth, and she used that acce
ss to deepen the kiss. Her tongue stroked into his mouth, claiming new territory.
She could feel his heartbeat thumping against her breast. Still he let her take. She changed the angle of the kiss, went deeper, and when he couldn’t take being submissive any longer, she sucked the tip of his tongue as he thrust it into her mouth.
He pulled her hips down so his erection was cradled tight between her spread legs. She whimpered once and felt a glow, warm and bright, spread through her. She’d been kissed before, but this seduction? This lazy sampling of pleasure? It was something only Xavier could give her.
“My Angel.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe, not with the weight of so much desire on her. Not with the current of love that was flowing through her. His love for her, he poured it into her through the sweetness of a kiss. She had no doubt now that he loved her. But that didn’t mean she could just blindly follow him.
As if he felt her thoughts, Xavier snaked a hand behind her head. Holding her against his mouth when she would have pulled back. He deepened the kiss on a long, sinful stroke, and she felt his penis throb beneath her. She wanted him. Wanted to move against him. Wanted to reach into those urbane navy trousers and release him so he could finally be inside her again.
She wanted his hands on her body, stroking and teasing. She remembered everything about every time they’d ever made love. He was sparking an inferno in both of them that would never be extinguished. With just a kiss. Just a kiss.
Finally, he pulled back on a shaky breath, tucking her head against his neck.
She could feel the flush of her cheeks and the swelling of her lips. He’d ravaged her body and mind with a kiss. A kiss that was a promise of so much more.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
She trembled on his lap. “Goodnight, Xavier.” When she made a move to slide off of him, he stopped her by holding on to her hips.
“Hang on. I’d hate to embarrass myself so early on in our reconciliation.” He picked her up off his lap and deposited her on the cushion next to him. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and took a few deep breaths.
“That hard, huh?” she asked, suddenly feeling smug.
“If you don’t get your perfect ass and those sexy boots up those stairs by the time I count to three, I’ll show you just how hard.”
Waverly jumped away from the couch but took her time sauntering up the stairs. She felt him watching her the entire way.
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It was a little too early to deal with Gwendolyn Riddington-Macks, but Waverly made an exception that morning. “Hello, Waverly,” the cool, blonde publicist grimly swept in through Waverly’s front door wearing a cashmere coat and Jimmy Choos. Behind her, Waverly’s agent, Aisha Leigh breezed in, dropping a kiss on Waverly’s cheek.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Aisha said, her tone miles friendlier than Gwendolyn’s. “How ya feeling?”
Al, as she preferred to be called, was a Mississippi-bred champion of contract negotiations for actors and writers. She wasn’t afraid to get dirty in a fight. And her fierce loyalty was what had convinced Waverly to hire her after she and her mother’s agent, Phil, had amicably parted ways while she was still in college. She’d never regretted her decision to hire Al. The woman had Waverly’s back in every negotiation and showed her support at every event. Her flawless dark skin was complimented by a curve hugging peacock blue turtleneck and crisp charcoal slacks. Suede booties clicked on the floor.
Next to them both, Waverly felt like she was wearing pajamas. But she was in her own home and felt no need to put on airs. Her capris and cozy hooded sweatshirt would keep her comfortable during what was sure to become an uncomfortable morning meeting.
Waverly led the way back to the kitchen where she had coffee, water, and a few Hollywood-approved snacks arranged on a tray on the dining table.
Gwendolyn, still frowning, accepted a mug of coffee and ignored the rest. “So why don’t you tell me why you decided to jaunt off to rehab without giving your publicist a head’s up?” she said, her tone clipped.
Waverly didn’t bother taking offense to Gwendolyn’s comment. With her list of high-profile clients, the woman had literally already seen everything and nothing phased her. Al, on the other hand, picked up a cherry Danish and sat back, ready to absorb whatever it was that Waverly was going to share with them.
“It was supposed to be more of a vacation. Like a yoga retreat,” Waverly began. “It had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol. I just needed a break to reprioritize.”
“Mmm,” Gwendolyn frowned, sliding on a pair of gold-framed reading glasses to take notes on her tablet. “So no drugs or alcohol involved in the accident. I’ll see if we can get law enforcement to confirm. What facility did you go to?”
“There won’t be any confirmation from any law enforcement, and I’m not willing to talk specifics on where I was.”
Gwendolyn set her tablet down on the table with a snap. Al’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifted, appreciating the entertainment of the brief show of temper.
“So what exactly am I doing wasting my time here?” she asked.
“I’m telling you that there are certain aspects of the story that were leaked to the media without my permission that aren’t entirely accurate. So rather than going to war with Target Productions, I’d like to find a way out of this without pointing fingers and maybe earning a couple of bonus points with fans.”
“You want me to spin a vague stay in a potentially non-existent rehab facility so you come out on top?” Gwendolyn clarified.
“Yep.”
“Well, then let’s start with some misdirection. Where is Xavier?”
Of course Gwendolyn had seen the photos of them flying in to L.A. and yesterday’s cozy coffee shop stop. Waverly’s attention was caught by movement outside on the patio. An arm rose out of the steaming water of the pool and then another, followed by Xavier’s head and torso. The son of a bitch was wearing the scandalous swim trunks her mother bought for him in Greece all those years ago. The red and blue Grigioperla suit left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
“Holy hotness,” Al breathed next to her, the Danish fell unheeded from her fingers to the tabletop. Even Gwendolyn’s armor showed some cracks as she slowly removed her reading glasses to stare.
Xavier reached for a towel and slowly dried the water that beaded across his vast expanse of chest. Steam rose off of his muscled shoulders in the morning chill. “Is he moving in slow motion, or am I drunk?” Al wondered.
He padded barefoot to the door, the saunter of a man with an audience and no cares in the world, and let himself in.
“Ladies,” he greeted them.
No one said a word. Waverly couldn’t stop staring at the indecently short trunks that barely concealed what looked like a weapon. But that wasn’t a gun in his shorts.
Xavier swooped over her and snagged Waverly’s coffee. He drank and winced at the sugar.
“I can make you your own cup,” Waverly muttered. She was embarrassed that she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him and annoyed that Gwendolyn and Al seemed to have the same issue.
“Yours is fine,” he told her and playfully tugged the hood of her sweatshirt. “I’m going to go shower.”
They all watched in reverent silence as he loped up the stairs and crossed the loft above them to his room. He shut the door, and all three women let out the collective breath they’d been holding.
“Oh, boy,” Gwendolyn breathed. “I can work with that.”
“Please tell me he wants to get into acting,” Al sighed and picked up her Danish. Waverly had seen the men who accompanied Al to events. The woman knew fine male stock when she saw it.
Waverly snapped her fingers at them. “Focus, ladies.” She rose and returned to the coffee maker for a new mug to replace her stolen one. “We need a message that deflects from the whole rehab thing without coming right out and saying it was bullshit.”
&
nbsp; “I’ll handle the message,” Gwendolyn said, returning to her reading glasses and tablet. “As long as you’re comfortable with playing up a little romance with Mr. Hard Body Saint up there.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I checked in with Kate last night,” Al told her. “Traffic to your social media accounts exploded in the last forty-eight hours. You and Xavier are the world’s living, breathing love story.”
“The world is a twisted place,” Waverly complained.
“Honey, if you’re not taking advantage of having Xavier Saint living under your roof, you’re the twisted one,” Al warned her.
“So we’ve got a message, or we will have one by noon,” Gwendolyn said, checking the glittering Cartier on her wrist. “Where do we want to shout from the rooftops?
“I’ve got the perfect forum,” Al grinned. “You’re going to love it,” she told Gwendolyn.
“Good. The sooner we clean this up, the sooner we can start pushing the new release.”
“Agreed,” Al nodded.
The next film in Waverly’s release line up had been written by one of Al’s other clients, a hot screenwriter named Jackson Pierce who had strutted onto the scene a few years ago with talent and guts, taking Hollywood by storm. She was particularly fond of this film as she’d made it with Dante.
“There’s one more thing. I need to be prepared to handle questions about Dante.” She could tell by their expressions that all it had taken was Xavier Saint in indecent swimwear to wipe any memory of Dante Wrede’s existence from their minds.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Waverly skimmed through the interview notes again from Gwendolyn. Happy, healthy, and coy about her love life. She was to flirt and laugh and speak earnestly about the importance of priorities. She knew Gwendolyn was painting a picture of a breakup with Dante and a reconciliation with Xavier but without actually saying anything.
She fidgeted with the hem of her dress in the backseat of the Invictus SUV. She’d gone with classic and virginal white to show off the healthy tan she’d gotten in Belize. The dress was fitted from the chest to the hips before flaring out into a subtle tulip skirt. It could have been demure with the three-quarter length sleeves, but the plunging V neckline and red patent pumps kept it from being boring. She’d worked her hair into a messy, curly ponytail, keeping her makeup bright and fresh.
