Wanted_Big Bad Single Dad_A Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

by Daphne Dawn

  With my running shoes on, my hair tied back, and water bottle in hand, I get into my car. Once at the canyon, I park and do a few stretches. The last thing I want to do is pull a muscle or strain a ligament.

  To my relief, there aren’t that many people up here today. It is a very popular walk, and sometimes it can be difficult to park your car.

  I set off. My mind mulls over the Brad dilemma. I’m a firm believer that it’s no good to be involved with a work colleague, and there’s no arguing Brad is a work colleague.

  I’m the head writer and he’s one of the main stars on the show. It could get complicated.

  But then, of course, I could be overreacting. I’ve made no plans to see Brad again, nor has he suggested another date. Of course, sex isn’t really a date anyway.

  Kayla, when did your life become so complicated? I thought to myself.

  I round a corner in the path and collide with something soft. It’s a human being. It’s a man.

  A man I know.

  For a second or so, I hold my breath. What’s he doing here?

  “Hey, Scott,” I say and try to bring my breathing under control. Scott is holding me by my shoulders. “Are you stalking me?” I’m joking, of course, although I always regret saying it.

  What if he thinks I’m a weirdo?

  “I am,” Scott replies, and the look in his eyes tell me he isn’t entirely lying. Okay, what’s going on in here?

  His touch is messing with my brain, desire wells up in me, and nerve cells start to tingle.

  “You are?” I repeat to try and hide my feelings. My heart rate is increasing even though I’m standing still. I hope my yearning for his touch is not too obvious.

  “I can’t lie.” Scott finally lets me go and takes a step backward. He’s grinning at me.

  I try to say something witty back, but I draw a blank. Instead, my gaze feasts on his six-pack and bulky shoulders. Weightlifting is definitely part of Scott’s workout.

  His thigh muscles are bulging, and I know I’m staring at his crotch. I can’t help but wonder…how big is his cock?

  “I know why you’re stalking me,” I say, eventually forcing myself to look into his face.

  “You do?” Scott lifts his hands in mock innocence.

  “You’ve heard one of you is going to get killed off. And you want to know if its you.”

  Scott takes a little bow.

  “You’re correct, dear madam. But only partly correct.”

  I raise my eyebrows and say, “Really? And what would the other reason be?”

  Before he answers, I can guess what is coming. His eyes speak volumes. I’m wearing my cropped running top and knee-length tights.

  His gaze has practically undressed me already. And yet I want to hear it from him.

  “I’ve come out here today to go for a run with the gorgeous head writer of our show. I want to get to know you.” The grin of the cat that caught the mouse accompanies his words.

  I laugh. Luckily, he cant’s see under my clothes. Between my legs, a little wetness appears already. It catches me by surprise; am I really reacting like this around this hunk of a man several days after Brad has fucked me?

  Can it be something in the water? Has someone tampered with it and added some form of aphrodisiac? I vow to buy bottled water for the next few weeks, knowing my theory is totally baseless and borders on silliness.

  I slap him on the shoulder. The tips of my fingers burn with desire as my flesh touches his.

  “With only one purpose in mind, I bet.”

  Scott’s grin widens. “Is it that obvious? Or are you able to read me better because you are a writer?”

  Instead of a reply, I decide it is time to issue a challenge.

  “Well, dear prince,” I start and turn back toward the way I had been going. “If you want to find out who is going to be killed at my hand, you better race me to the top.”

  “What’s the prize?”

  I turn back to him one more time.

  “We’ll race to the end of the trail. If you win, I’ll tell you who gets killed.”

  “And if you win?”

  Instead of an answer, I turn and start to run.

  My feet fly across the uneven ground. I keep my eyes peeled forward. I don’t want to collide with anyone else.

  Usually I take time to admire the magnificent view from up the valley and the homes below, but not now. There’s purpose to my running.

  I’m driven to impress. It’s not that I don’t want Scott to win. Truth is, I still have no idea who is getting killed and who stays.

  I don’t like the idea, and so I haven’t written the scene yet.

  No, the run has taken on a different purpose all together. The minute I had laid eyes on Scott in skimpy shorts—shorts so short that not much is left to the imagination and a wide-cut singlet—an almost animalistic desire awakened deep within me.

  I want to impress Scott. I want him behind me and feasting on my backside.

  In my imagination, I picture myself pulling his shorts off and freeing his throbbing cock.

  After another bend in the track, I have to slow down. A stitch in the right side of my abdomen is making it difficult to keep at the pace I had started.

  “Keeping up, snail?” I call over my shoulder to Scott, who’s now a little distance behind me.

  “Insult me all you want. We are not there yet.”

  I keep running. I’m enjoying this.

  “Hope you’re enjoying the view back there.” I can’t resist the urge to needle him a little.

  “More than you can imagine” comes the instant reply.

  Scott’s gaining on me.

  Part of me tries to pick up my pace again, but another wants to keep the distance between us small so I can keep teasing him.

  I want him to take the bait.

  With the end of the trail in sight, I need to plan my next move. If I win, what prize will I claim?

  My nerve endings are almost screaming at me to ask for him, all of him inside me, but I wonder how I should play the game.

  Here I have been worried about my antics with Brad, and to solve that problem, I’m now considering throwing myself at my other main star in the show.

  Talk about from fire into the frying pan.

  Of course, I could let Scott win, and then I wouldn’t have to ask for any prize. But where would the fun be in that?

  I turn back to see Scott steadily closing the gap between us. His expression is full of lust.

  “Come and get it,” I taunt.

  Scott

  Running usually relaxes me, but this run is anything but. My mind is racing with a thousand images flashing through my head.

  I’ve only ever seen Kayla behind a desk, in the writer’s room, or at a table read, and she always has her head down, pecking away at her keyboard. Until now, I never looked at her closely, or thought about her as a woman.

  Maybe she’s a decent person, who knows? It’s damn hard to trust anyone in Hollywood. This industry is callous, and she probably doesn’t give two shits about my character or my career. If she decides to kill me off…well…I don’t know what I’m going to do. My mortgage isn’t going to pay for itself. A multi-million-dollar mansion doesn’t come cheap after all.

  If I didn’t need the money so badly, I would give them all the finger and go back to indie films. But let’s face it, there are major perks to being on a hit TV show, and The Kings is one bad-ass series. I gotta admit I like raking in the big bucks every week, and the star treatment, the separate trailer, the personal assistant, and all the swag.

  If I’m being honest, low budget movies are ghetto in every way, and besides, the food fucking sucks.

  I’m no prima donna, I just like the creature comforts I have right now. I think I've earned them, and everyone deserves a few pleasures in their life. Right?

  There are some actors who think it’s annoying to be constantly hounded by groupies, the paparazzi, and anyone else looking to get into their person
al lives.

  But, fuck it. My mother always said, you gotta take the good with the bad. So, if the bad means going through gyrations with the public in order to enjoy some luxuries, then, I’m all in. Because continually looking for my next gig is not what I consider a good time.

  So, this Kayla person needs to come through. Big time.

  She wants to race me for the answers, fine. I’ll play along with her game. But it’s working my last nerve, because I’m forcing myself to be nice, and nice isn’t usually how I play.

  I just want to know – Is my character dead? Or am I staying on the show?

  I slow my pace so I can run next to her. I want her to know I’m pissed that I have to tackle this dumb-ass trail just to find out what she has in mind for me.

  I turn to say something, but I hold myself back from releasing the shit storm inside of me. Not the reaction I expected from myself.

  She gives me a sideways glance and suddenly I don’t feel angry.

  Hmm…what am I feeling for this woman who has the power to delete me from the script with one keystroke?

  Damn.

  Seeing her here in the great outdoors with her cute little running shorts, and I do mean little, as in petite, as in barely there, makes me want to see more of her.

  Scott, get fucking straight. You’re here for one reason only, to discover your fate.

  I hate when I talk to myself. This woman is somehow getting to me. Not what I want to happen. Not at all. I’m a tough guy. Not a pussy.

  “Tougher than you thought,” Kayla teases.

  It takes me a minute to understand she's talking about the trail.

  “Ha,” I force a laugh. “Ain’t nothin’ tough about it. Just enjoying the view.”

  I’m running, but I’m not trying to beat her. I just let her set the pace and continue to take glances in her direction. Damn, she’s pulling me in.

  Stealing glances at her face, I can see that without any make up, this woman’s skin looks awfully touchable. And her naturally pink lips are just begging to be kissed.

  I know Kayla’s not gonna tell me what I want to know until we're done playing this little cat- and-mouse game. Okay, fine. As long as I have to play by her rules, who says I can’t have fun? Time to shift gears, let her get ahead of me. I might as well enjoy the view while I’m out here working up a sweat.

  I slow it way down, and rub at my side. I make her think I’ve got a pain and let her pass me. What the fuck – I’ll pull out a sprint in the last eighth of a mile and get what I came for. In the meantime, I’m going to get a look at her from behind.

  I admire beautiful women, and I’d have to be crazy not to see that Kayla is one piece of deliciousness wrapped up in a neat package. Her tight buns, long lean legs, and slim waistline are much better scenery than these rolling hills. So, yeah, it’s time for her to take the lead. I want to just watch for a bit.

  “Better look out, you’re going to fall behind,” she says in a breathy voice as she passes.

  “Yeah, that’s the plan,” I say under my breath.

  I hold back and I smile, because I’m finally relaxing.

  But Kayla keeps turning to see how far ahead she’s getting, and I’m careful to keep the distance just enough to look and her hips in motion, but not too much that I can’t take her in the end.

  As we move along the trail, I know there’s no way to go any slower without her knowing I’m copping a look. I gotta make this look natural, so I bend down to re-tie my shoelaces.

  “Hey, you okay?” Kayla asks, turning and jogging in place.

  I keep tying, and look up. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

  Kayla doesn’t stop running in place. A slow smile spreads across her face and I’m captivated by that mouth of hers. Kissable. Supremely kissable.

  “Like hell you will,” she says.

  “Huh?” I seem to have missed a beat in the conversation. It’s those damn lips.

  “Catch up with me,” she says laughing, and then takes off up the trail.

  I get up and follow in hot (and I do mean hot) pursuit.

  We're getting close to the finish line now and I want some answers, so I have to ignore that bulge pressing against my jock strap and put some steel in my stride.

  After a few more seconds I pass her and give her a wide grin. As I round a bend in the trail, I can almost see the finish.

  “I hope you’re ready to spill the beans,” I call over my shoulder.

  “Ha! You’ve won nothing yet,” she yells back.

  Then without realizing, I see Kayla pass me on the inside of the turn. I literally do a double take, because I didn’t think she had it in her. But clearly, she’s digging deep for that last kick.

  As if running ahead of me isn’t enough, she turns completely around, taunting me.

  “You got lead in your shoes, pretty boy.”

  “Seriously, that's the best line you can come up with?” I’m panting a bit, but I keep smiling.

  She’s running backwards and she keeps smiling.

  “Come on, pretty boy, show me what you got,” she says in her best taunting voice.

  I’m about ready to surprise the shit out of her, ‘cause I still have plenty of juice left, and I’m not about to save one ounce. I’m going to pass her so hard and so fast, she’s gonna scream.

  “Oh, shit!” Kayla cries, flying backwards. I can see she's tripped on a tree root and she's now airborne.

  She lands flat on her ass and the look on her face is one of total agony.

  Kayla

  I cannot believe my own stupidity. As soon as I look forward again I know I’m going to fall. The tree root seems to have come out of nowhere.

  In slow motion I trip, my arms flail trying to stop the inevitable, all to no avail.

  The ground seems to be coming toward me at incredible speed. Reality is I am falling face forward onto the gravel path. Before impact I close my eyes. This is going to hurt.

  Sprawled on the path I lie there. What would the chances be of the earth opening up underneath me to swallow me up so I can disappear forever? Very slim, I know. Non-existent actually, my brain reminds me and I do a mental head to toe check on possible injuries.

  Nothing broken from what I can gauge.

  “You ok?”

  I wish the ground would swallow me up and spit me out on the other side of the earth.

  “Fine,” I mumble and get on to my hands and knees. I’m not fine, not really. Everything hurts and I can see blood from grazes on my knees, elbows and palms of my hands.

  Tears threaten but I bite them back. I’m not going to cry.

  “Here let me help you up.”

  I feel Scott’s strong grip pull me onto my feet.

  As soon as I put weight on my right foot, pain shoots through it.

  “Ouch,” I wince and shift awkwardly onto my other foot.

  “What’s the matter?” Scott peers at me.

  “Ankle,” I say and point to my right foot. Ouch. My right ankle’s throbbing. The grazes hurt, and my pride, well it had been trampled on by a heard of elephants.

  “Here,” Scott put his left arm around me to support my weight. “Let’s get you over onto that log so we can take a look at your ankle.”

  The minute my body touches his, all my pain evaporates and is replaced with desire. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his muscles.

  With incredible tenderness, he lowers me onto a fallen tree. Then he gently undoes the laces of my shoe.

  “Is this ok?”

  I nod. His touch is pushing all my sex buttons. If we weren’t out in the open I don’t know what I would do. Maybe rip the little clothing he was wearing off his body and explore it with mouth and hands.

  Once my shoe is removed, Scott works on my sock. Instead of ripping it off, or rolling it down, he takes his time gently pushing it downward inch by inch. Every few seconds he looks at me for any sign of discomfort.

  My insides are turning into jelly and my brain is threate
ning to go on strike. Touch me, I want to whisper but I don’t. Please, please, pretty please touch me. But I stay strong.

  Once my foot is bare, Scott holds it in his hands. His fingers press gently on different parts, asking if it hurts.

  Each time I shake my head. Agony, this is sheer agony, with my body screaming for more. My pussy is so wet I could just take him here and now.

  Suddenly, Scott’s thumb finds the injured spot. I flinch as his fingers gently prod the area.

  “I think it’s a sprain.” Scott keeps holding my foot.

  I nod. My mouth is parched and I’m afraid my voice will betray me.

  I feel Scott’s eyes look right into my soul.

  I myself am looking inward. How can this be happening to me? A few days ago I was bewitched by Brad and had the best sex of my life, and here I am practically begging another man to take me and fuck me.

  “I’ll help you back to the car.” Scott’s voice penetrates my foggy brain.

  If I could I would put some distance between us so I can think better. His presence is unnerving and I cannot think clearly.

  As slowly as the shoe and sock came off, Scott puts them back on.

  I try and stand but I’m a little unsteady on my feet. I waver and Scott holds onto me.

  Please don’t let me go, I whimper silently. Scott, who seems to have turned into a mind reader, keeps his arms around my waist.

  “I think I better carry you,” he says and before I can protest I’m in his arms.

  Fire rips through me. I feel the hardness of his muscles. He really is the proverbial muscle pack. There are muscles I didn’t even know men had.

  “You work out then?” I say and look at his profile.

  No effort seems to be expended in him carrying me. It is as if I’m light as a feather. I wish I were. I know I’m slim, but like every other woman in LA I wish I could lose a few of those pesky pounds on my thighs and hips. And if anyone ever talks about childbearing hips again I swear I’ll scream.

  Scott glances at me.

  “Not as much as I’d like to.” Lust flares up in his eyes.

  Butterflies caress my skin. I put my arms around his neck.

  “Comfortable?” A pause. “There are different positions we could try, you know?”