Star Crossed

by Jennifer Echols

  As she considered the sixteen-year-old Daniel, the older one finally came into focus for her. His need for control, his perfectionism—it all made sense to her now. With that knowledge came a wave of longing. She wished she could reach out to smooth her fingertip over his dark brows and stroke away some of that pain. But she didn’t dare. Whatever temporary and tenuous alliance they’d formed, that would crumble the instant he felt she was treating him like a child.

  She simply turned back to the forms, placing her body at the ready, and relaxed a little when his head finally sank onto her shoulder again.

  A few minutes later, he jerked away from her, as if he were embarrassed to be seen in a moment of weakness, when a doctor stepped into the room to give them the report. Daniel did have the drug in his body, but the level was low enough that, since he hadn’t had respiratory failure already, he would be okay in another eight hours.

  Back at the casino hotel, as they got out of the taxi, he murmured to Wendy, “Rick will see us and know I’m fucked. It’s not safe for you.”

  His paranoia was catching. But she honestly didn’t feel like they were in danger. “Nobody’s going to do anything in a crowded casino,” she assured him.

  “I can’t walk straight,” he said.

  “Lean on me,” she said. “Act like we’re lovers.” She slipped her arm around his waist, and they made their way through the lobby.

  Inside the elevator, he pushed away from her and backed against the wall. “I’m so sorry. I’m all over you, and I don’t mean to be.”

  “You’re not all over me,” she said stoically.

  “Yeah, I am, and you know why? You’re hot, and I am very attracted to you.”

  She laughed lightly. “You’re high, as we’ve established.”

  “No, seriously. I’ve been hot for you for a long time.” He settled his shoulders against the wood-paneled wall of the elevator and gazed at her sexily through half-closed eyes. “In Dr. Abbott’s class, you used to wear this blue tank top, and I would think, Does she know how low that shirt is cut? Does she know what that looks like when I’m standing up and I pass by her desk?”

  Staring at his shadowed face, she felt herself flush. She had known how low that blue tank top was cut. She’d worn it to get his attention. She’d thought it hadn’t worked.

  They both started as the doors slid open at their floor.

  “Come on.” She held one arm out to him. They walked down the hall together, weaving only a little.

  “I am so tired of this gargantuan hotel,” he whispered. “It’s like walking from my apartment to the Lower East Side.”

  “Where’s your apartment?”

  “Chelsea.”

  “Mine, too. Do you ever go to the Hell’s Kitchen flea market?”

  “All the time.”

  They arrived at his room. He leaned his forehead against the wall as he reached into his pocket for his wallet, drew it out, and stared at it.

  “Need some help with that?”

  He laughed. She loved to hear him laugh. An hour before when he’d laughed, she’d been afraid for his health and his sanity. Now that she knew he would be okay tomorrow, it moved her to see him so undone. She treasured the moment, because she knew she’d never see him like this again, unguarded with her.

  Putting her head close to his, she peered into his wallet and plucked out the room key card. She swiped it through the lock. He pressed down on the handle. As he pushed the door and followed it into the room, he gave her a hard look over his shoulder, suddenly lucid. She wasn’t sure whether he was wishing she would stay out or sexily urging her in. Either way, she followed him inside, because she would have felt uneasy leaving him alone like this.

  He shut the door behind her, turned the dead bolt, and placed the chain in the lock with surprising dexterity. And then she got her answer about what his look had meant. He backed her against the door, slid his hands around her waist, and kissed her.

  Instinctively she opened her mouth for his. He accepted her invitation and swept his tongue inside her, making her shudder with want. She couldn’t do this, though. If he half remembered this later, he would hate her for letting it happen when she had control and he didn’t.

  She would let him kiss her only for another second. She pushed her hands back through his short hair.

  He released his hold around her waist. Propping one hand on the wall behind her, he stepped even closer so that the whole length of his body lay along hers. As he massaged her mouth with his, she felt his body heat burn through his jeans, through her jeans, into her thighs. And then his other hand crept across her crotch.

  “Okay,” she gasped, moving her hands from his hair down to his chest. “We can’t do this, Daniel.”

  “Seems to me we’re doing a pretty good job,” he murmured against her lips.

  “You might not remember this tomorrow,” she said softly. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. She thought this was his way of acquiescing. He would back away now, and their strange, sweet night together would be over.

  Instead, his hand kept moving up her jeans. He yanked the buttons of her fly open in quick succession. His fingers found their way beneath her panties and shoved the material to one side, stretching the elastic. “But it’s okay if I take advantage of you, right?”

  Before she could answer in the negative, his fingers plunged inside her.

  She cried out in surprise and ecstasy. His mouth came down on hers again. The rest of her cries were only guttural noises in her throat as he moved his fingers out of her, then in, then out, then farther in. She tipped up her hips so he could slide his hand even farther into her.

  But when his thumb rubbed her clit, she stood straighter in shock and found the strength to push his hand away. “Daniel,” she said firmly, “We can’t. I won’t.”

  “Are you sure? You’re so wet for me.” He traced the pointer finger that had been inside her along his bottom lip.

  Oh, Lord.

  He was so dangerously handsome, tasting her, his dark eyes drilling into her.

  As she watched, his hard gaze on her relaxed. His eyelids fluttered.

  “No,” she repeated firmly, “I can’t.”

  He relented, letting his hands fall to his sides. He leaned against the wall above her.

  She wrapped her arm around his waist and led him across the room to the king bed. He weighed more heavily on her than he had all night. They barely made it to the bed before he stumbled on the carpet and collapsed facedown on the luxurious white duvet. He rolled over on his back and blinked at her, struggling to stay awake.

  She said, “Give up, Daniel.” This time she had the courage to bend over him and run her finger across his black brows. “You’re safe with me. The only way to get better now is to sleep. Give up.”

  His whole face relaxed, going slack. She’d come to associate him with a calculating expression and a gleam in his eye. Without these now, he didn’t look like himself at all.

  She glanced down his long body. He was fully clothed. After their intimate episode, she thought it would be okay to take his clothes off, but he was built solidly, and she knew from supporting him through the lobby how heavy he was. She only slipped off his shoes and stowed them in the closet next to the others in a neat row. She would have just flung hers somewhere, but Daniel’s shoes deserved better. Then she found an extra blanket in the top of the closet and spread that over him. His brows went down, disturbed in sleep.

  She settled on the plush carpet next to the huge window, looking down over the Strip in all its neon glory. She could have stared at it for hours. Briefly she imagined that this was her room, too, that she and Daniel were staying here together as a couple. But that would do her no good. She erased that thought from her mind. With great reluctance, she dragged her phone out of her purse and clicked through the screens to Lorelei’s latest updates. She hoped to God that Franklin had gotten her out of
the Horny Gentleman without any public nudity.

  “Wendy,” Daniel said softly behind her. He lay on his side, watching her. His sleepy eyes blinked slowly. “Did I lock the dead bolt?”

  “Yes,” she assured him.

  “Did I lock the chain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t open the door for anyone until I wake up.”

  He stared so earnestly at her that she asked, “Why?”

  “You’re missing more hair.” He held out a hand toward her.

  She put up her own hand where he was pointing. Another big lock had been hacked off the side.

  She went cold.

  When had this happened? Not playing poker at the casino. Lorelei would have noticed Wendy’s hair was missing in the taxi. And not before Wendy pole danced. Someone would have seen.

  She remembered pulling Daniel through the crowd. She was several steps ahead of him, and Colton pushed by her. Colton, who would have asked her why she and Daniel were leaving without everyone else.

  That hadn’t been Colton.

  “If he breaks down the door,” Daniel whispered, “send him over here and tell him to get down on my level. I’ll punch him in the knees.” He was making light of it through his haze, trying to put her at ease, but his eyes were worried. They fluttered closed.

  Heart racing, she tried to take her mind off her stalker and put it back on her job, where it belonged. She checked the most prominent gossip sites. The photos of Lorelei and Colton going into the strip club separately or—better yet—leaving it together most likely wouldn’t have been uploaded yet, but perhaps comments had been posted about the paparazzi seeing them there. That would start the rumors on the path that Wendy and Daniel wanted them to travel.

  But on the very first site she visited, she came face-to-face with the photo of Lorelei’s untoward dragon tattoo.

  So much for Maybe that won’t happen.

  She scrolled to other sites, stomach sinking as she went. All of them had posted the picture. Each headline was more creatively insulting than the last. And the comments below the articles—oh, the comments. Accusing Lorelei of drinking, spiraling, going insane, hating her mother, turning out exactly like her.

  As she read this last tidbit, Wendy realized she’d clapped one hand over her mouth. Bile rose in her throat.

  She glanced over at Daniel again, sleeping now, oblivious to this new obstacle, but dreaming through so many of his own. She’d doubted she could do this job of saving Lorelei. She’d felt better about her chances when she teamed up with Daniel. But now she knew it was going to take more than the two of them to get through this ass scandal, Lorelei’s TV mini-concert tomorrow, and her party tomorrow night, while convincing the public that she and Colton were a couple worth watching on Friday. And avoiding Wendy’s stalker.

  Who possibly was Rick.

  Hoping and praying that Sarah would be awake in the wee hours of the morning, she texted her. Both hands shook as Wendy composed a couple of messages explaining the photo and the drugging. She left out Rick. She would save that until Sarah came, if she came.

  She was so relieved when Sarah immediately replied:

  I told you, when it’s whack, it’s crack

  And just after that:

  There’s not a flight now but Tom and I will catch the 6 a.m. and be there at 9 a.m. Vegas time. Hang on.

  Wendy breathed more easily knowing Sarah and Tom were coming to help. In the meantime, her body surged with adrenaline, itching to take action, but there was nothing she could do. She checked Lorelei’s accounts and Colton’s. They’d posted kind things about each other, details of their trip to the club, and then nothing. Eerily, nothing. She half expected Lorelei to post outraged and vulgar reactions to what her “fans” and detractors were saying about her photo. Nothing. She watched with increasing panic as the updates scrolled past. The trolls composing these insults stayed up for a long, long time.

  Wendy did, too.

  12

  Daniel woke at dawn, facing the view of the Strip. Above the casinos, the sky was strange and colorless, bathed in sunlight but still missing the sun itself. The neon lights glowed more intensely in that gray moment than they had in the black night. Against this backdrop, Wendy lay on the carpet, high-heeled boots kicked away, legs bent comfortably. One hand lay over her heart, on top of her phone.

  He remembered the night before. Watching Wendy execute a pole dance like a professional had been an intense, heady fantasy laced with poison, because that’s when he’d begun to realize something was wrong with him.

  The longer the night had gone on and the more confused he’d become, the better he remembered it, possibly because he’d been so mortified that Wendy had seen him that way and he’d needed her help. It pained him that he’d come on to her and she’d rejected him. He’d handled the end of their night so badly that they’d ended here, with him on his bed and her on his floor.

  He rolled off the bed, taking a blanket with him that she must have tucked around him. His clothes dug into him everywhere: jeans, belt. He padded to his closet, silently stripped everything off, and hung the items away. Closing the bathroom door behind him so he wouldn’t wake her, he brushed his teeth and took a shower, washing away the hospital and at least half the stigma of being tricked. The doctor had told him to expect to feel terrible at least until lunchtime, but he felt great, never better.

  He slipped into sweats, then returned to Wendy. Carefully he teased the phone out from under her hand. She must have been tracking Colton and Lorelei. He could have turned it over and viewed the horror himself, but he wasn’t quite ready to do that. It was cool and quiet here in the dead calm of daybreak. He liked this peaceful time and space, being out of touch. He slid her phone onto the bedside table.

  Then he gathered her up in his arms, rounded the bed, and placed her in the sheets. She hardly stirred, shaking her head and murmuring, “Fuck off.” He pulled the covers up to her chest and slipped into bed beside her.

  “How do you feel?” she asked him throatily.

  “Good,” he said.

  “How much do you remember?” she asked.

  “I remember everything.” He wished he didn’t.

  * * *

  The next second, he opened his eyes and she wasn’t there.

  He sat bolt upright in bed. Midmorning sun streamed through the window. The back of his neck was hot with it. Wendy was gone.

  “Wendy,” he called. No answer. But a scrawled note was propped on his closed laptop: Call me as soon as you get up!

  He snagged his phone and collapsed on the bed with a throbbing in his temple and a lighter heart.

  She picked up immediately. “Hey! How are you feeling?”

  “Worse, actually,” he admitted.

  “I was worried,” she said. “If you hadn’t called in the next ten minutes, I was going to come check on you. You were completely dead to the world when I left. But to me, the obvious sign you weren’t yourself was that the room and the bathroom were a complete wreck.”

  He frowned into the phone. “Are you sure that wasn’t you?”

  Her laughter warmed him. “Seriously, your clothes are in the bottom of the wardrobe like you meant to hang them up and missed the hanger, and there was water sloshed everywhere in the bathroom. Maybe you got up and thought you were okay, but you weren’t. Just promise me you won’t try to shave.”

  “Mmph,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “In my own room. With the door locked,” she added quickly. “We’re going to use this room as a conference room. I’ve called Stargazer for backup. Sarah and Tom will be here within the hour.”

  Of course she’d called them. It made perfect sense for her to ask additional Stargazer reps to come help her on this difficult case. But he felt like he’d let her down.

  “Lorelei’s bare ass showed up all over the Internet last night,” Wendy was explaining. “With that out there, and Lorelei’s TV appearance today and her party tonight, and someone attackin
g me and now you, I felt like we could use some extra hands today or we’re going to drop this ball.”

  “We,” he muttered.

  “We’re working together,” she reminded him. “The job you do affects the job I do. The job I do determines whether I still have a job next week.”

  “Okay,” he grumbled.

  “Come down here and we’ll talk about it,” she said. “Don’t forget what I told you about shaving.”

  Ten minutes later, he slid his key card through her lock and walked into her room. She sat up on her bed with her laptop open on her thighs. She looked gorgeous, more like a star herself than a professional helping one. The lopped-off ends of her hair were hidden in a stylish loose bun. She’d dressed up to greet the TV station for Lorelei’s appearance in a few hours. She wore a tight tan tweed skirt that ended temptingly just above her knees. Her matching suit jacket parted for a pink silk blouse. A big necklace didn’t quite hide her cleavage. She’d kicked off her expensive high-heeled sandals. He hoped she wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with him today, especially if he appeared as low as he felt.

  “Aw,” she said when she saw him, confirming how bad he looked.

  He went for the chair beside the bed, trying to control his fall, but he more collapsed than sat. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. “Wendy, I came on to you last night.”

  She nodded, her face blank and nonjudgmental, just as she’d looked when he tried to explain why he couldn’t quit the family business.

  With a sinking feeling that he’d ruined everything between them—if there had been anything to begin with—he said, “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. It won’t happen again.”

  “Daniel,” she said gently. “You weren’t yourself, and I understood that.”

  “I want you to feel safe with me.”

  “I do feel safe with you. And actually, I didn’t mind.”

  He laughed and instantly felt better.

  “See, you’re still not yourself, as evidenced by the easy laughter. Come lie down.” She patted the bed beside her. “You have a few minutes for another nap before Sarah gets here.”