“All right.” I gulped as I untwisted the towel. Being naked while he was holding me was one thing. Being naked while he leisurely raked his cobalt-flamed gaze over me was another.
“We should get some sleep.” He reached for me, pulling me into his rock-hard side as soon as I climbed into the bed.
The soft kiss he pressed to the top of my head made me feel adored like a child, and not like a woman who had just had sex for the first time.
“But I’m not tired yet.” Warmth painted my cheeks as soon as I said the words. I sounded like a petulant child.
“I imagine you’re not.” He skimmed his fingertips across the line of my clavicle, and I shivered, my nipples tightening to points. “I’m certainly not thinking about sleep after making love to you, but it’s late, and you have an early start tomorrow. Plus, I bet you’re sore.”
“Only a little.” It was a pleasant ache, one that reminded me of the pleasure, but a yawn sneaked up on me that I had to suck back. Okay, maybe I was slightly tired. “Was . . . I mean . . . did I do it . . .”
“Best sex I ever had.”
My cheeks heated further and I nodded, grateful he had filled in where I’d faltered.
“Go to sleep now, shug. Not many hours left till morning.” Tucking me tighter, he stroked my hair.
I closed my eyes. Max’s rhythmic touch was soothing, his body was warm, and he was a solid, comforting presence beside me. But I’d never slept naked before. It made me feel vulnerable, especially as my mind continued to actively turn over what hadn’t been said tonight.
Where had he been the past few days? Why hadn’t he kept in contact? He’d been planning to leave. Who had he been talking to in the guest bedroom for hours?
I’d given him a pass, believing him when he said what I didn’t know wouldn’t change the way he felt about me. It reassured me, and had been enough at the time. I’d wanted him so badly. Needed him so badly. He was the one my heart wanted.
But as the minutes and then the hours clicked by on the digital clock beside the bed, his grip on me loosened and my certainty waned. One thought kept spinning in my head.
What Max hadn’t shared might not change the way he felt about me, but would my knowing change the way I felt about him?
• • •
“Wait in the other room.”
My agent’s sharp voice woke me. I snapped open my bleary eyes to see her standing in the doorway to my bedroom. Her head was turned toward someone behind her. She seemed to be trying to block their view of my bed.
“Do you know what time it is?” She frowned at me.
“No, I don’t. I—”
“I let her sleep in,” Max said. “She was exhausted.”
“I’ll bet she was.” The crease between Olivia’s eyes deepened. “But I wasn’t asking you, Mr. Cash.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking ownership for messing up, knowing from experience it was the best and quickest way to dispel her displeasure.
“Apology accepted.”
Olivia shook her head, though, and her hair up in her usual chignon remained confined. Being sorry might ease her disappointment, but it didn’t completely remove it.
“You need to give me advance warning for a development of this magnitude. I came over with a crew in tow to get you ready for the premiere. One of the stylists just caught an eyeful of you and Mr. Cash, word of which will likely be all over the internet soon.”
“I don’t care if people know.” But I drew the sheet up to my chin.
“You’ll care when they make crude insinuations about you that detract from the premiere.”
Max cursed under his breath and bolted out of the bed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, frustrated pressure building behind my eyes as I heard his clothes swish and his belt buckle rattle. It seemed like he couldn’t get out of my bed fast enough. It reminded me of how he’d reacted when the pictures of us in New York came out.
“Can you keep the stylist quiet?” Max asked Olivia, and I opened my eyes to see him fully dressed and looking as unhappy as she did.
“Not likely, and if I ask her to, it’ll only fan the flame in her mind. But I don’t work for you.” My agent narrowed her gaze on me. “How do you want to play it?”
“What do you suggest?”
“She’s likely to talk. Acknowledgment is what I recommend. Be forthcoming with a couple of details about the two of you. Downplay it, and the public and your fans will lose interest faster.”
“Okay. Sure. Then that’s what I’ll do.”
I glanced at Max for confirmation. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t seem to like that idea. His jaw was clenched so tightly, I imagined his teeth hurt.
“Go ahead and get dressed,” Olivia said in her no-nonsense way. “We have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time.” She turned to Max. “You haven’t said much. What’s your decision? Are you her boyfriend or her bodyguard?”
“Bodyguard publicly, for as long as I can remain just that.” He held my irritated agent’s gaze, seeming to avoid my attempt to catch his eye. “I’d appreciate it if you would ask whoever just saw us in bed together to be discreet. I’d like a little time to adjust before my life becomes as big a spectacle as Hollie’s is.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you slept with her.”
“It was about all that deterred me. That and her age, or I would’ve made my feelings known to her sooner.”
My heart latched onto Max’s declaration. It seemed he wanted me, and his feelings matched mine. But his reticence to make our relationship public concerned me. What if he decided being with me wasn’t worth the trouble?
“I’ll see what I can do.” Olivia gave him a single nod. “It would help facilitate the ruse if we could get you back into your uniform as soon as possible.”
“The security firm dropped me.” His eyes were as hard as sapphires and trained on her.
He was definitely avoiding looking at me. My spinning unease returned. Briefly, I considered running through a surely, certainly, and truly scenario to settle myself. But I wasn’t that girl anymore, was I? I was a woman now. His woman. I hoped.
“Blazer. Khakis. Button-down minus the Security You Can Trust pin. It will have to do. You can represent yourself as an independent contractor, but we need to class you up. A Tom Ford charcoal three-piece suit will do nicely. Black-and-white striped or a checkered tie. Get both. I’ll leave you the name of one of my personal shoppers at Nordstrom. I want you to contact her tomorrow. Got it?”
Max nodded.
“Good. Now get out.” She inclined her head to the door. “Hollie and I have work to do.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
* * *
After I emerged from my shower, I belted on a robe and stepped out into the living room.
“There you are. Finally.” Olivia made eye contact with me and clucked disapprovingly from her spot on the sectional. “No time for personal training or a masseuse. I sent them both away. We’ll have to rush as it is to get you ready.”
In the background behind her were two stylists I vaguely knew—Miranda, a quiet brunette with her hair in a ponytail like mine, and Tonya, a blonde who delighted in sharing celebrity gossip. Which one had seen me naked in bed with Max, I didn’t know, but given my luck lately, it was probably Tonya.
“Is there any coffee?” I asked as I moved deeper into the main living space. The stamped concrete was cool beneath the soles of my feet.
Reaching Olivia, I glanced around, looking for Max. I didn’t discover him amid the racks of designer gowns, trays of jewelry, and rows of shoes. The disarray splashed frenetic color all over the monochromatic room. The coffee table was barely visible beneath the hair products, makeup boxes, and the photo albums I knew contained pictures of different looks for me to choose from.
The morning before a premiere was always chaotic, and my inner turmoil was as significant as it had been before I announced my lawsuit against Samuel. Remembering that ramped up m
y anxiety now. I pressed a hand to my empty stomach as it whirled and churned.
“Here’s your coffee,” Max said from behind me. “Black, just the way you like it.”
I turned to see him stepping out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in his grip. “Thank you.”
I took what he offered, curling my hands around the mug, but wanted so much more. I wanted the hope I felt like being his would give me. Yet when I tried to find the confirmation I sought in his eyes, he dropped his gaze and drifted away from me. The porcelain radiated welcome heat into my palms, heat I now desperately needed with him acting so distant.
Filled with unmet expectations, I stared at him, watching him move into a vigilant position along the windows near the far edge of the room. In a navy blazer and khakis, he was dressed as Olivia had suggested. The bodyguard had returned. His decision rankled, yet I didn’t let on, not now, nor had I earlier in my bedroom, but it hurt that he wanted to keep our relationship private.
My throat tight, I brought the mug to my lips and took a small, careful sip. Steam rose to warm my face. The caffeine was a much-needed boost to my lagging energy level, but my stomach lurched when the liquid sloshed inside it.
Did what Max and I had shared mean to him what it meant to me?
Lacking courage and the privacy I needed to press the issue, I pasted on a professional mask of my own and turned to Olivia. “What should I wear?” I asked, focusing on the practical.
There was no need to discuss further with her what to do about Max. She and I had talked before my shower. We had a plan in place should the topic of him come up during the Firelight press junket.
“I suggest something dramatic.”
“All right.” I bowed to her expertise.
Setting the mug of coffee on the end table, I moved closer to the racks of dresses that a myriad of designers had sent over, hoping I would choose one of theirs for my big night. As I flicked through them, I looked for one to catch my eye while trying to ignore my unsettled feelings for the handsome but distant man I could feel watching me.
I dismissed one garment after another—a pristine white, a ruby red, and a black one, the last merely a bra and panties stitched together with see-through mesh. Too virginal. Too flashy. Too trashy.
I stopped on a floor-length black dress in a high-sheen satin that looked like it had crushed diamonds sprinkled all over it. Sliding it off the bar, I turned and showed it to Olivia.
“What do you think of this one?”
“Hmm.” She slid her reading glasses down her nose and took a long moment to study the gown and me. “It’s dramatic, but stark. With your coloring, I’m afraid it might wash you out.”
“Okay.” I spun back around to rehang it when she spoke again.
“However, if your hair color were different, say an icy platinum rather than strawberry blond—”
“I’m not dyeing my hair.” My response was immediate and firm. We’d had this discussion before. Recently.
“The Valentine people—”
“I told them I’d wear a wig if the blonde-bombshell look was what they wanted for the part.”
“You’ve blown them away in the test reads so far,” she said as I turned around. Her gaze was as firm as my clipped rejection. “They’re considering expanding your part. If you go all in to give them the appearance they want, you’re likely to impress them with your commitment to the role. I guarantee you, other producers are watching everything you do right now. Tonight, especially since Firelight is your first mature starring role, I suggest you look the part. The black dress is a solid choice. It’s daringly styled, and the cut will showcase your figure. A change to your hair would be the final piece to make everyone pay attention.”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s only hair color. You can change it back.”
Could I? Probably. “But it wouldn’t be me any more being true to myself.”
“You’re an actress. You’re meant to be a chameleon. It’s good to reinvent yourself from time to time. Underneath, it’s always you, my lovely. Do this for me, if not for yourself. I think a change is just what you need to let out that bolder part of you that I rarely see surface except on film.”
I glanced at Max, unable to tell if he had an opinion. His gaze was straight ahead, his expression indecipherable.
I got it. He wasn’t my boyfriend publicly. But did he even want to be privately? In the heat of passion last night, we’d left so many important things left unsaid between us.
What if he was relieved to return to his bodyguard role? Had having sex with me only satisfied a curiosity? Was a curiosity all it had been? A dissatisfying one?
Had I misread everything with my hopes? Did he just want to fuck me like Diesel had said? Was he more like the Dirt Dog’s bassist than I thought?
Time would tell, I guessed.
On that discomforting thought, I dropped my gaze to the garment I held in my hands. With so much uneasiness floating around inside me, I found it difficult to decide what to do. Under normal circumstances, I would call Fanny. But I couldn’t call her. I could guess what she would say anyway. No. No to the revealing dress. No to the new hair color.
But it wasn’t up to her. I gripped the hanger tightly. It was up to me now. This was my career. My life. The time had come for me to live it, to fail or fly as the result of my own choices.
“All right, I’ll do it. The hair color and this dress.”
“Fantastic.” Olivia nodded with approval.
I heard a groan that sounded like a muttered no and turned my head toward Max. His eyes were bright, and he focused his gaze on mine with an intensity that renewed my mind spin. But other than the intensity, he gave no other clue to his thoughts.
“Tonya’s an expert at platinum,” Olivia said, refocusing me on her.
“If she can make my hair look as good as hers,” I turned to the hairdresser, “then I would agree.”
“Easily.” Tonya came toward me with a winning smile. “I think with your dark auburn brows and light complexion, the platinum blond will be a great look for you. I was hoping you’d agree. Would you allow me to trim the length afterward?” She reached up and smoothed her hand over hair that was shorn nearly as closely to the scalp as Fanny’s was after the street gang shaved her head. “Something like mine?”
“No, just the hair color.” Turning my head toward Max again, I added, “I’ve had enough changes in my life recently.”
• • •
Did Max get it? How desperate I felt, going from my first time with a man—my first time with him—to complete silence?
I wasn’t sure he did.
I wasn’t sure of anything with him.
Not even if he liked my new icy tresses.
I only knew that I did. The color was high drama. It made me feel different.
Olivia had been right. I now looked less like the girl next door and more like a vixen.
Exiting the limo, I threw back my shoulders and lifted my chin while cameras flashed all around me. I knew there were a ton of photographers, but my eyes couldn’t adjust to their individual forms through the brightness.
But I told myself that was okay, that I was okay. After all, Max was beside me.
He guided me, his hand warm on the small of my back, directly on the skin the plunging V of the dress exposed. His fingertips were practically skimming the swell of my ass. His touch felt proprietary, and my mind went where it wanted to, imagining things the way I wanted them to be. Floating down the red carpet on the buoyancy of those wishes, the red soles of my black-crystal-encrusted Jimmy Choos seemed to levitate above the ground.
Once we stepped inside the lobby of the historic theater, we paused yet again to be photographed. Both his hands at my waist, Max stared down at me, and when the vertical grooves in his cheeks appeared, he looked happy. His eyes sparkled, perhaps fueled on the same magical hopes as my own. He ignored the questions about our relationship status. Maybe he’d only needed to adjust to the idea of a
n us.
“Hollie.” Bronson Price, one of my Firelight costars, looking handsome in his tux, slipped through the throng of photographers and came toward me. “You’re late. Everyone’s been asking for you.”
His gaze dipped to take in Max’s hands on my waist, and when it rose, questions brimmed in his eyes that I wasn’t at liberty to answer.
Without a word of warning, Max abruptly released me. As he moved away, the grooves I loved disappeared, and his mask slipped back into place. He was a bodyguard once more before he even faded into the background.
My wishes crushed by reality, I numbly accepted the air-kisses my costar leaned in to give me.
“I’ll escort you to the others.” Bronson’s tousled brown hair falling into his dark eyes, he gave me his easy grin as he drew back. His effortless warmth usually made me smile, and I did smile, only it wasn’t easy or genuine. And even that fakeness disappeared the moment I heard a mind-chilling voice.
“Hello there, daughter.”
A renewed eruption of flashes blinding me took me off-balance as I turned to face my stepfather. Dread filled my body with lead. Dark memories assaulted me like he had that night.
My movements were slow, and my heart froze at encountering him and his icy expression. In the confusion regarding Max, Olivia and I hadn’t had time to discuss what to do about Samuel, and he took advantage.
He was always taking advantage.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
* * *
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Samuel Lesowski’s gray-green eyes narrowed to calculating slits.
Where had he come from? It seemed as though he’d materialized out of nothingness.
“You’ve been talking and talking to anyone who will listen, telling extravagant tales, yet when I’m standing right in front of you, it suddenly seems as though you no longer have anything to say.”
“You . . .” I sputtered, unable to speak. This was the first time I’d come face-to-face with him since that terrible night.
(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5) Page 107
