Star (Beautiful Book 5)

by Lilliana Anderson

  I pull my hand from his grip, the tingle of our connection mingling in my already confused mind. “No. Normal is good. I don't want a life where I’m constantly wondering if the man I’m with is acting.”

  "It's my job that bothers you?" He frowns.

  "Yes. No. It's a lot of things. I don’t think I can go down that road with you, Jonathan. I thought we were friends. Things have been great for us as friends. Why do you want to mess that up when we’re great?" Why does my voice sound pitchy?

  “Yeah. We’re great.” His eyes flash as he sets his jaw, and I think he’s going to turn away but then his hand shoots out and grips the back of my neck, his lips pressing against mine as all of those feelings I’ve been trying to ignore jump to life and swirl around my body excitedly. My mouth responds to his, my lips parting to allow his tongue entry, and a whimper escapes me at the glorious sensation of his demanding tongue moving against mine. My body seems to merge with his, as his arms wrap around me, transporting us both to a world where common sense doesn’t matter anymore. Just pure, unbridled emotion, forcing me to feel things for this man I didn’t want to feel, forcing me to face things I’m not ready to face, but I can’t seem to stop myself from loving every moment, every touch, every taste. I could die right now and I’d be OK with that.

  Finally, he pulls away, and we’re both breathless as he looks into my eyes with a defiant glint in his. “Is that what friendship feels like, Red?”

  My breath hitches and my eyes burn as I’m suddenly catapulted back to reality. Letting out a small whimper, I shove against his chest.

  “Why did you have to do that?” I demand, stepping away from him.

  “Red,” he implores, hands on his hips.

  “No!” I yell. “I told you I didn’t want this.”

  “Stop lying to yourself.”

  “I’m not. Just…stay away from me.” Then, walking as fast as I can away from him, I make my way to my car, confused and annoyed and a whole bunch of other things that cause my head to ache whenever I try to think through how I feel about that kiss, about the fact he’s always around, always the first person I want to talk to when I wake up each day, the first person I want to see when work is through. He’s also the last person I slept with, and I’m late. Three weeks late.

  God damn Jonathan Masters. He’s crashed into my life the way Lisa crashed into his house, and he’s done nothing but confuse me and mess things up. I never wanted this.

  Twenty-Two

  Jonathan

  I weave my way through a stream of people, head down so I’m not easily recognised. She’s going on a date with someone else. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to become so close that the idea of dating someone else felt wrong.

  “I give her butterflies, goddamnit,” I say as I burst into the training room where I’m expecting to find Joel. Alone. But he isn’t alone. A tall blonde woman is standing next to an equally tall blond man, and she points at her chest with her brow knitted.

  “Me?” she asks, confused until recognition lights her eyes and she grabs the guy’s arm. “That’s Jonathan Masters.”

  “Be cool, baby girl” the guy stage whispers.

  “Jono,” Joel interjects, moving towards me and shaking my hand. “This here’s David Taylor and his wife, Katrina. David and I work together, and Katrina has just started taking self defence classes with me.” On Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, Joel volunteers his time to teach women self defence at the kickboxing gym he trains at. Doesn’t make a cent out of it. He does it for the love. The man’s a badass saint.

  “I’m a big fan,” Katrina gushes, grinning at me as I shake her hand. I meet her delighted eyes and smile, noticing a jagged scar running down one side of her face. Actually, there’s a bunch of scars all over her arms too. She must have been in some kind of accident. I hope she wasn’t attacked. Joel gets a lot of survivors reclaiming their power. He says this is his way of giving back after my parents saved him. Mum thinks he’s a champion.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, before releasing her hand then shaking her husband’s.

  “I think she’s a fan of yours,” David says with chuckle, and I decide he’s all right.

  “Sorry to barge in on your conversation,” I say. “I didn’t realise anyone was still in here.”

  “It’s all good. We were just leaving, anyway,” David says. “Wanted to say goodbye to Joel before I whisked Trina away. We have three more hours of child-free time, so we need to make it count.”

  “Would it be weird if I asked for a photo?” Katrina asks.

  “Not at all.” We do a quick pose while David takes the photo. Then we get Joel to take a picture of the three of us with my arm around Katrina while David stands to the side scowling. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to do this pose, and I doubt it’ll be the last.

  After thanking me and Joel while laughing at the images on their phone, the two leave, holding hands and huddling together like kids in high school.

  “They newlyweds?” I ask once they’re gone and I’m helping Joel clean up the training gear.

  “Nah. They’ve been together forever. I think they were friends a long time beforehand, but they’ve been married a while. Their kid’s two or three.”

  “Huh, relationship goals, right?” I hand him punching pads, and he pauses as he takes them, a tiny smirk pulling the edge of his lips.

  “Tell me about her, man, I know you’re dying to.”

  “She’s going on a date,” I blurt immediately.

  “With the chef?”

  I run my hand through my hair and nod. “Tonight.”

  “Ouch. I’m guessing operation treat her so good she’ll never want you to leave isn’t going as planned.”

  “And meanwhile, Coop is a total cunt to Belle and she keeps going back for more. I don’t understand women.”

  “Well, if it’s advice you’re after, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I have the worst luck with women. They say they want a good guy, a nice guy, but you treat them like a queen and they dump you for some guy who treats them like garbage.” He slides the punching pad over his left hand and holds it up to me. “I can help you work out the frustration though.”

  I give the pad a halfhearted, punch. “Are you saying I should treat her like shit?”

  He gestures for me to hit harder. “That depends. Is the nice guy thing an act?”

  “No. I genuinely want to shower her with attention. I’m fucking obsessed.”

  “Why are you obsessed? What is it about this girl that has you working so hard?”

  “She’s like us,” I say straight away and he frowns so I explain. “Like, she’s loyal. She’s got principles.”

  “Such as?”

  “That first night we met her, she got in my face to defend Leisel. Then she got in Marcus’s face to defend me. Neither of us deserved her standing up on our behalf, but she did it anyway. She sees the best in people but she’s not naïve. She hasn’t spoken to the press once even though she’s in the industry. And she makes me feel like a regular guy, I can be myself around her. Oh, and I don’t just want to fuck her, I want to keep her too.”

  “That’s a long list.”

  “Like I said, man; I’m obsessed.”

  “Then don’t start playing games. You’ve said she’s worried you’ll get what you want then leave, so stay. If she means that much to you, stay even though it’s hard to see her with someone else. She knows how you feel. You know she’s scared. Stay until she sees you the way you see her.”

  I drag my bottom teeth across my top lip and nod. “You got time for a workout then?”

  “For you. Always.” He grabs another pad for his other hand then holds both his arms up, running me through some drills until the lactic acid in my arms builds up and we switch to jumping rope and sprints.

  “You are the worst,” I moan when my entire body burns from exertion.

  “Nothing good in life comes easy, Jon. You have to work for i
t. Whinging and whining is for sissies. Now, move! Show me what you’ve got.”

  I turn around and sprint the length of the court-sized room again, pushing myself harder, because he’s right. Nothing good comes easy. And if Sandra needs to date some chef to realise he’s all wrong for her, then I’ll be right there waiting. Desperate, but waiting. Fuck, I want her so bad.

  Twenty-Three

  Sandra

  I’m freaking out.

  “Tell me more about your trip,” I ask, my voice a little high pitched. I’m lying on the blanket Brad brought to the open-air cinema for our date. He’s talking, but I’m not listening. But I need him to keep talking because I’m freaking the fuck out.

  I’m pregnant.

  I’m pregnant. I’m fucking pregnant, and the baby is Jonathan’s. It has to be. He’s the only guy I’ve been with in, well, too long to count.

  Did we use protection?

  I don’t know.

  We were drunk.

  I can’t remember much past the orgasms…

  I’m pregnant. To Jonathan Masters: the movie star, my friend, the guy I didn’t want, but who kissed me so hard today that I can still feel him on my lips.

  Jonathan is the father.

  I’m having a baby.

  Fuck.

  “And they use a really interesting technique that—Am I boring you?” Brad frowns, though he sounds amused.

  “No. Not at all. I find the whole process fascinating, and I’m really interested in hearing about your trip. I just think I got a little too much sun today,” I say, offering him a reassuring smile.

  “Are you sure? Because we can talk about something else. You could tell me what story you’re working on, for example.” Or we could talk about the pros and cons of having a baby with a movie star while I’m dating a celebrity chef…

  Sitting up, I push those thoughts to the back of my mind and take a hold of his hand. There’s no sense in ruining our date when I haven’t had time to process the information myself. I don’t even know if I want a baby. And if that’s the case, perhaps I shouldn’t tell anyone at all? “Tell me how you came to be a chef. When did you decide that food was your calling?”

  Brad has a glint in his eye that only those who truly love their chosen vocation have. When he speaks, he rubs the pad of his thumb soothingly across the back of my hand, and it’s that I draw comfort from. Just keep going through the motions, Sandra. Focus on the moment and worry about everything else later.

  “When I was fifteen,” he says. “I applied to do work experience at a hotel not far from where we lived. I’d eaten in the restaurant with family, and the food and the presentation amazed me. Once I got in there, I worked so hard that they ended up offering me an apprenticeship. So, when I finished year ten, I took them up on it and worked my arse off. I gained the notice of a few food critics, which meant I was offered positions at more prestigious establishments and then when I turned twenty-four, I was offered the job at Quay as the youngest head-chef they’ve ever employed.”

  “From what I’ve read, you’re a bit of a visionary.”

  “I don’t know I’d say that, exactly, I just love what I do and so far, my risks have paid off.”

  “And what about Bradley Rae, the man? Are you living the life you envisioned for yourself?” I feel like I’ve slipped into my reporter persona, but I’m feeling numb, and I can’t help it. I pick up an olive and drop it in my mouth, and I see the way his eyes follow the movement and darken with desire. I focus my attention on that, focus on the blue of his eyes and the strong line of his jaw. I watch his smooth lips move as he talks, and I remind myself why I’m here and why Brad is right for me. Granted, Jonathan has gone to a lot of effort to prove he’s more than the man in the media. But I’d be crazy not to guard my heart around him. Crazy to keep this baby, too. It’d mean we’d be linked together. Forever. And then I’d always wonder if he stayed for the child, or stayed for me.

  “I don’t know that I ever had a specific plan outside of cooking. But there’s lots of travel. A lot of great experiences. Beautiful women I meet in elevators.”

  “You said you don’t meet that many,” I tease.

  “I don’t.”

  He leans forward, nearing my mouth, his eyes dropping and lifting as if he’s looking for my permission. My breath holds for a moment and I don’t know how to respond. I should want this man. I chose this man who ticks the right boxes and makes me feel special. I should kiss him, right? It’s not wrong to. Sure, I’m pregnant with another man’s baby and that man kissed me like an animal today. But I didn’t ask for either of those things. Besides, if I don’t let Brad kiss me, he’ll know something is up. Kiss him.

  Reacting to my internal coaching, my tongue snakes out, wetting my lips as I remind myself that Brad is the man I’m interested in romantically…

  Closing my eyes, I lean forward, waiting for the connection, and when it comes, it’s a soft brush of lips, a gentle suck that shifts to soft presses along my jaw, moving slowly toward my ear. My stomach is still. Where are the butterflies?

  “There’s dessert at my place if you’d like,” he whispers. “I don’t live far from here.”

  He pulls away and meets my eyes, and I nod without thinking, smiling as he takes my hand and presses it to his lips. Maybe I’m in shock? Unexpected, life-changing news does that to a person.

  I want to make something with the man in front of me. The man I chose from the start. We could be good together. I like him and he likes me, and together, we could work. It’s fun, and it’s light, and there’s none of that confusing intensity that makes everything so hard to see clearly. He’s nothing like Jonathan….

  Helping me to stand, Brad collects what remains of our picnic while I fold up the blanket and together, we leave the area quietly so as not to disturb other movie goers.

  He holds my hand, his strong fingers lacing with mine, holding me securely as he walks with me to where he’s parked his car. A beep of his key fob. The basket is placed in the back before he opens the passenger door for me like all gentlemen do. Jonathan just tells me to get in. He doesn’t even come to my door. He just texts and expects me to run outside.

  I smile, knowing this is right. That this is the man I want. I take in his dark hair, his lean build and I watch him as he walks around the car and slides into his seat, asking me if I’m ready before we drive to his city apartment only a few blocks away from his restaurant.

  “Here it is, home sweet home,” he says as he lets me into his apartment.

  “This is handy for work,” I comment, glancing about and noticing that I can see a slither of the harbour in between the tall buildings that surround us.

  “The big selling point. I can walk to work.”

  Taking in the apartment, I look around as we walk through the living area. It’s clean and very man-like, with dark furniture and little decorative flair. He leads me into the beautifully appointed kitchen, kissing me softly and lifting me onto the large stainless steel benchtop, offering me wine as he sets about preparing our dessert.

  I refuse the wine and ask for water instead, watching him place ingredients in a bowl before whipping them together. I admire his skill, admire the man, telling myself this is right, this is what I want. Over, and over.

  “Taste this,” he says, offering me a wafer thin biscuit topped with a mixture of something that tastes like the lightest cheesecake filling imaginable.

  “Wow,” I say, smacking my lips together in pleasure. “This is amazing.”

  “I’m thinking of adding it to the menu. It will have a strawberry coulis with it, but I remember that you’re not a fan, so I have raspberry here if you’d prefer.”

  “I like raspberry,” I respond quietly, and he prepares another biscuit and adds the coulis, holding it up to my lips.

  With my eyes locked with his, I take it in my mouth and close my eyes, savouring the richness of the flavour with a light moan.

  “I love the way you enjoy food,” he whispers
, cupping the side of my face as his fingers slide into my hair.

  “It’s the only way I’ll keep these curves,” I return, readying myself, knowing that he’s about to kiss me. Will pregnancy ruin my curves? Wait. Am I considering keeping this baby now? I don’t know what I’m doing. Except being deceptive.

  I’m being deceptive to everyone around me, including myself.

  Brad’s lips are moving and I’m not listening.

  “I really like your curves. I dreamt about them quite a few times while I was away.” His lips are just a breath away from mine, and I seem to stop breathing, suddenly nervous about what I know we’re supposed to do here. Stop lying to yourself. Jonathan’s voice reverberates in my mind.

  Brad’s mouth touches mine, and I hesitate slightly, unsure. I manage to respond and move my lips with his and attempt to feel the enjoyment that comes when a man’s hand slides down your side and he pulls you against him.

  I even let out a gasp when his mouth moves down and his lips gently press on my neck and my collarbone, his hand moving to brush against my breast.

  I whimper when his mouth returns to mine and he pulls me tighter to him, his hands moving to my thigh and brushing against my skin.

  It all feels good, and I’m responding the right way, but at the same time it feels… wrong.

  “Stop,” I gasp against his mouth, placing my hand on his chest to hold him back. “Please, stop.”

  He pulls away, a slight look of confusion and concern. “Are you all right?”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just…” I slide off the bench and head for the door, talking nervously and tripping over my words as I rush away. “I have to go,” I manage. “I’m so sorry.”

  Then I open the door and race down the stairs and out into the street, breathing in deeply when I hit the open air, trying to fill my lungs and calm down.

  “Sandra,” Brad calls out, and I look up seeing him leaning over his balcony a few floors up. “Wait there, I’ll drive you home.”