Before You Go

by Ava Claire

  Before You Go

  Ava Claire

  Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire

  E-book License Edition Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the e-retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thanks to my assistant, Danielle. You truly helped me retain my sanity! Thank you to everyone that emailed me, wanting to know what was going on with Meg and Cade. And the biggest thank you of all goes out to my fans. Your comments/tweets/emails about how much you enjoyed my stories make me all sniffly. I love y’all!

  Babe,

  Thanks for being a trooper when I watched my favorite action movies over and over again (for research purposes, of course ;).

  xoxo

  Chapter One

  Cade

  Afghanistan, 2005

  She smells like heaven.

  If you met me, you’d know the gravity of me thinking anything like that; just how twisted and unlikely it was that someone like me would have that flowery shit race through my head.

  My mom used to joke that I came out six feet tall with a dumbbell in my fist. Tall, naturally athletic; all the right genes to make me look like GI Joe come to life, complete with blond hair, green eyes, and a bad attitude.

  I’m not the kind of guy who says sappy crap like ‘she smells like heaven’. Ask anyone. But it’s the God’s honest truth. Or maybe it’s because being in the desert where everything stinks of dirt, sweat, and boredom, anything that smells clean and soft and beautiful is enough to make me feel poetic.

  She stares up at me with big, brown eyes. Like nothing in the world exists outside of this moment. Like we’re not in the pantry a few feet from the mess hall, surrounded by canned vegetables and powdered milk.

  She parts her lips, licks the bottom one coyly and says two words.

  Five minutes.

  I stripped the both of us in seconds, our uniforms a camouflage colored bundle beside the instant mashed potatoes. She only has two jobs: shaking her waist length blond hair loose from the required bun at the nape of her neck—I like something to grip when I’m inside of her—and bending over the table top a few feet away so I could take in her ass.

  PFC Victoria ‘The Cheeks’ Lenoir. She’s a petite thing, barely above five feet and hardly hundred pounds soaking wet, but her ass is something to behold. It was a weapon in and of itself, swallowing her thong before I came up behind her, ripping it downward.

  My hands caress her fevered body, her erratic breathing swelling me to the point of no return.

  I thrust inside her, flesh slapping, blood roaring. This bliss is the next best thing to world peace. Every part of me is alive and buzzing as we connect, moans bit back and stifled. Her body melts around me, and I lose it, letting out a hissed ‘Fuck!’ as I come. The clock’s ticking but I savor it, not stepping back until every drop is inside her.

  One last kiss and I’m ducking my head out, making sure the coast is clear, then hustling back to the mess hall.

  Most of the people in the room are busy stuffing their faces, oblivious to me, but my boys give me looks like they can smell the sex before I even get to the table. They’re dying for details, her name, but I’m Fort Knox.

  We dump off our tray, and Victoria is standing there, face a mask of indifference but her eyes hold our secret. Outside, the stink of Afghanistan is the same, but all I can smell is her soap, flooding my nostrils, hardening my cock all over again.

  “You don’t deserve her.”

  Conversation dies around me, and I sigh and face the familiar voice. Joshua Herman—some white bread grunt who quotes the Bible and appoints himself as the morality police.

  I tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about, and he gets in my face, surprising everyone. I could snap him in half without breaking a sweat, but he takes me by surprise. He usually spouts his sermons from a safe distance.

  My boys move to pull him back, but I call them off. I can handle Herman. But his eyes are locked on me, little brown beady things that sear to the bone. They pluck out my soul, weigh it, and find me wanting.

  His lips pulled into a scowl. “You don’t deserve her.”

  And with that, he marches away. My friends laugh it off. I laugh with them, but there’s a heaviness in my chest that won’t go away. My conscience is eating away at me like a parasite.

  I don’t deserve her. Not Victoria. The wife back home. The woman I gave my last name...and cheated on more times than I could count.

  My heart clenches in time with my fists at my side. I make a promise, one I know I won’t keep.

  Tonight was the last time.

  *

  I ducked my chin to my chest, barreling toward the entrance of my hotel. The camera flashes were unrelenting, the questions making me want to pummel something.

  “Were you with Leila Montgomery, Cade?”

  “Rumor has it she dumped you—how does that make you feel?

  One particularly brave bastard leaped in my path, snapping a picture before wisely darting to the side. “Anything to say, Cade?”

  The doorman hurriedly jerked to action, opening the door for me. He gave me my exit strategy. Two strides and I’d be inside and out of reach. I knew better than to engage the press. My latest movie, Soldier’s Creed, was coming out after a string of box office failures with my name attached. I knew their tactics; knew exactly what they wanted. Common sense told me to keep walking, and keep my mouth shut.

  I ignored my better judgment, throwing a dig over my shoulder.

  “My mama always said if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

  The door shut behind me, and the doorman’s apology buzzed along with the chatter outside. None of it was loud enough to dull the bite of Leila’s words. Sure, she hadn’t chased me out of the coffee shop when I’d run into her, but her eyes were filled with the same wariness from our last confrontation.

  Maybe you’re used to ignoring everyone’s feelings but your own. Kissing who you want. Fucking who you want. But I said that this conversation is done. Over. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. I’m not your wife!

  I blazed a path to the elevator, my olive colored eyes hot with rage. An older woman with an armful of flowers and a pleasant expression almost joined me before she thought better of it and decided to take the next one.

  Great. Not only had I screwed up a chance at a real friendship with Leila, I was scaring old ladies too.

  Leila Montgomery...I should have known she’d be trouble.

  When my assistant, Lisa Jones, started gushing about the normal girl that Jacob Whitmore was dating, I couldn’t have cared less. My life had been a tabloid column from the moment my debut drew comparisons to Bruce Willis and Vin Diesel at their prime.

  People lived vicariously through cel
ebrities, devouring the state of their love lives as if they were their own. It sold a lot of pictures and put a price on the lives of the famous. Jacob Whitmore’s squeezes were always a revolving carousel of pretty faces and empty smiles, but I took notice of Leila the moment Lisa shoved her iPad in my face and asked if I thought she was pretty.

  Pretty didn’t cut it. Leila was beautiful. Not in the stereotypical way though. Not glamorously beautiful with makeup and designer clothing applied with military like precision, surrounded by an entourage, or balancing shopping bags on her arms. Leila had been in a cafe in the photo, peering into the camera over her shoulder. Her hair was a mess of dark brown curls, wild like the chocolate brown eyes that shot the photographer, and people who dared interject themselves on her personal life, such scorn. There was something refreshingly genuine about her. Something that drew me to her like a moth to a flame.

  So I went out of my way to meet her. Busted into Whitmore and Creighton and found out that she was a fan of mine. She’d been sweeter than I’d expected. It had been disarming being around someone so open and excited about my project, but she reminded me of how fake me playing a war hero really was. It felt downright disrespectful. But her faith in me, her adoration, it made the guilt go away...even if it came right back as soon as we parted ways. Instead of telling Leila about my feelings, I put her in an awkward position with her boyfriend—the pompous, self-involved billionaire at the helm of the company trying to save my career.

  Even though she and I had chemistry—I could feel it—-it was no match for love. She loved Jacob Whitmore. And wanted nothing to do with me.

  And that’s just what you deserve.

  I stepped off the elevator, the hall stretching and twisting before me like some horror flick. How the hell did I get back to this place? This bottomless emptiness where I was alone and stood neck deep in a shit storm of my own creation? I stopped halfway to my hotel room, a high pitched voice cutting through my pity party.

  At a couple of inches above five feet, a stick thin frame often clad in band t-shirts, whispery knee length skirts and combat boots, and short, mahogany hair with a splash of hot pink running through her bangs, I called Lisa my manic pixie dream girl. At the moment, her bright blue eyes were bulging from her head as she paced back and forth in front of my hotel room.

  She had the ‘manic’ part of her nickname down.

  I briefly entertained being a coward, backing up very slowly and getting back into the elevator. Whatever had her strung out obviously had everything to do with me, and after the run in with Leila, I wasn’t in the mood to be called an asshole twice in under an hour.

  Too late. Lisa stopped hard, like she’d hit some imaginary brick wall, and whipped to face me.

  Yep—I was in trouble.

  Lisa, the world’s most patient personal assistant, stormed toward me. She was miniature compared to my height, but she cast a shadow that towered over me. Her face darkened in anger as she clutched the phone in her hand. She trembled with anger that set the air on fire.

  “I am so sorry, Leila. I know you helped out after the incident at the studio. You’ve gone above and beyond for Cade.” She glared at me pointedly. She was close. Almost within Choke Out Cade distance. “I can’t believe he’d...” She paused, her olive skin turning sickly pale. “Leila...Miss Montgomery, I know he’s a handful, but I think he works so much better with you than he would with Missy Diaz.”

  Her cotton candy perfume sliced me like a razor blade as she paused in front of me, staring me down like she was David, and I was Goliath...and she was about to knock me the fuck out.

  She swallowed, the knot in her throat rounding, then melting behind her necklace. The necklace was a simple, delicate gold chain with a single pearl at the end. A family heirloom passed down from her grandmother. Lisa had inherited her badassdom from her; the woman who raised her for a daughter that had no business doing any procreation of any kind. When Lisa was on the edge of a complete meltdown, she fiddled with the pearl like she was praying for her departed grandmother to give her strength.

  The pearl dangled in front of white, acrylic letters that spelled out The Beatles.

  I relaxed slightly, playing dumb and mouthing ‘What’s up?’, even though I knew exactly what was going on.

  Lisa’s eyes turned into lasers, filleting my innocence. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider, Miss Montgomery?” From the way she nibbled her lip, I had a feeling Leila said no. Probably hell no.

  “If I can ask, what did he do?”

  My jaw tightened, anger flashing through me. I couldn’t hold onto it, even though I wasn’t a fan of the parental exasperation in my assistant’s voice. I had screwed up. I’d just wanted to apologize and somehow, I just made things worse.

  Lisa paled, her hand moving to the pearl.

  I knew I’d need a shot for what came next so I steered around her, mentally plotting just how liquored up I could get before Lisa got off the phone.

  She was hot on my heels, apologizing effusively. Promising Leila it wouldn’t happen again. That much was obvious. The disgust, the fear in Leila’s eyes, laid waste to any romantic notions I might have had.

  Lisa gripped the door, making sure I didn’t let it click closed behind me. I made a beeline for the minibar. Glasses were nowhere to be found, so I just unscrewed the top and took a hearty gulp. The vodka singed my taste buds and barreled down my throat. The warmth it filled me with dissipated when I glanced at Lisa. She was off the phone...and mad as hell.

  “Cade...” She drew out my name, turning the single syllable into something countless and worrisome. She glanced down at her hands, the phone trapped in her death grip. Taking a breath, she put her phone and keys down. She pressed both hands against the table top, her back to me.

  “What in the world were you thinking?” she hissed. “I told you she was off limits. She’s dating Jacob freaking Whitmore! You’re a client—and he could ruin you with a snap of his fingers.”

  I hadn’t forgotten. I remembered him all but marking his territory with bodily fluids every time the three of us were in the same room. I had no doubt that he could ruin me, hell, with the box office returns on my last three films and canceling the interview, I was doing a great job of ruining myself.

  Lisa threw a glare over her shoulder. “You know who we’re gonna get now? Missy Diaz.”

  Missy Diaz. Sharp tongued. Her ebony colored hair that was always constrained. High buns, low buns—uptight. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to free those locks, bend her over something and—

  Lisa bridged the distance between us in a blink of an eye, snapping her fingers. “I know that look. That look is what got us in this mess in the first place. No hooking up with publicists.”

  “I got it,” I said gruffly. Even though a part of me knew the best way to clear my head was a good lay. Something told me Missy Diaz was a freak behind closed doors.

  Lisa knew me all too well. She stepped closer, chin up, eyes hard as stone. “I mean it, Cade.”

  I faltered, giving her a crisp nod. “All right.”

  “I don’t know why you keep sabotaging yourself.” Her eyes softened. “This movie is great, you’re amazing in it. You deserve these moments—you know that, right?”

  I cashed in all my acting chips and plastered a bright smile on my face. Lisa was like the little sister I never had, and even though she’d never say it out loud, I knew she saw me as family. The hard part about that was the last piece of family she had died five years ago, and the rest were just colossal disappointments. If I told her the truth, who I was before Cade Wallace meant something, I’d disappoint her too. I didn’t deserve the money or the fame.

  I stepped around her, taking another swig to keep the mask in place. “So did you stop by just to let me know Leila is through with me in person, or is there something else?”

  She walked to the table where I’d put the vodka bottle and capped it. “Actually, I came here with good news. The first reviews are gr
eat and the pictures from the premiere?” She whistled. “Even I want to jump your bones.” She practically skipped to where her phone was. This was the Lisa I loved. Bright and as bubbly as the tooth-rotting cotton candy perfume she wore.

  She swiped her finger across the screen of her phone, then handed it to me. I flipped through the slide show. I always found it amusing that they found a million ways to photograph a plain black suit, and put every single one up. I nearly handed it back to her but changed my mind when I caught a flash of red in one of them. I enlarged the picture and the stirring in my gut that I’d only felt for Leila came rushing back.

  She was Leila’s friend, Megan. She was statuesque, with ivory colored skin and strawberry blonde hair. She fit the redhead stereotype to a T, feisty and uncensored. As soon as she laid her emerald green eyes on me, she’d made up her mind. She thought she knew exactly who I was.

  I remembered going after her and in a fleeting moment, seeing something in her eyes that made my heart race.

  I passed the phone back to Lisa. “Find out everything you can about the redhead. Her name is Megan—”

  “Isn’t she a friend of Leila’s?” Lisa groaned and threw her head back in frustration. “What are you doing, Cade? Are you still going after Leila?”

  “No,” I snapped a little too quickly. Too defensive not to garner an arched eyebrow from my assistant. I cleared my throat and started again. “I liked Leila. But we weren’t right.”

  “Because she had a boyfriend?” Lisa piped.

  ‘No’ was hot on my tongue. The fact that I wasn’t bothered by the fact that Leila was taken was a can of worms I wasn’t ready to pry open. And the truth that she saw who I really was, damaged and impulsive, was even worse.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “More fish in the sea. Like the redhead.”

  “Cade—”

  “Work your magic and find out all there is to know about her, Lisa.” I nodded at the door. “Have a good night.”

  Her nostrils flared defiantly, but she stomped toward the doorway. She paused, gripping the handle. “Do me a favor and call it on the booze for tonight, okay?”