by Devney Perry
“She saw me frozen and immediately took over. She wiped the kids’ faces clean with her shirtsleeves. She helped me unload every one of those kids from the back and was calm the whole time. Touched each kid, hugged the ones who needed it. I didn’t even realize she’d been shot until the bus was empty. She didn’t say a word.”
It wasn’t until another police car arrived that the kids started crying. Then it was deafening wails as they clung to Margaret and me.
“Wow.”
I nodded. “Like I said, it was the best day because they all lived. And the worst day too.”
“I read an article about it, after you got to town.”
I raised a teasing eyebrow. “You googled me?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Sorry. I was hoping it would make me dislike you.”
“Did it?”
“You’re drinking my beer and I gave you the good chair.”
I chuckled. “Touché.”
“There was no mention of Margaret. If you hadn’t told me about her, I would have thought you saved those kids yourself.”
“The official press release included both of our names, but the mainstream media latched on to me. Mostly because some asshole from the grocery store took a bunch of pictures with me and the kids and sold them to the tabloids. Margaret had already been loaded into the ambulance.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I thought so too, but she was actually glad for it. She didn’t want any part of the publicity. Our commanding officer asked if we’d make a statement, and she told him no, so I did it all. She doesn’t get much credit for that day.”
“Sounds like she didn’t want it.”
“True. I might have killed the guy, but she was the hero.”
“You both are.”
“I’m no hero. I just play one on TV.” I stole Presley’s words, hoping to lighten the mood, but her expression remained serious. “I did what every other cop in my position would have done. What most do every single day.”
Then I’d quit.
I was no hero. I was a selfish, greedy coward.
“Did you have a hard time taking a life?” she asked.
“No.” There was no hesitation in that answer. “Never.”
“So why did you quit?”
Why? That was a whole other story, one I wasn’t ready to tell. But I’d explain when. “I went into SWAT training after that and joined a team, but the media were still following me around. The paparazzi could make a buck from my pictures so they took it. An agent tracked me down and asked if I’d ever thought of making a movie. One thing led to another and I had this contract in front of me for half a million dollars.”
“You were a sensation.”
“He wanted to exploit the situation and I let him.” Thanks to some lucky breaks and the fact that I had talent, I’d ridden that wave to the top. “I wish I could say I had a noble reason for quitting, but I don’t.”
“You did it for the money.” Presley’s tone wasn’t judgmental, more matter-of-fact.
“I’m still doing it for the money. This money, it’s . . . it’s life-changing money. It’s legacy money. My kids won’t have to live on ramen noodles or peanut butter sandwiches when police department budgets get cut. My parents don’t have to worry about retirement. My sisters and their husbands won’t go into debt paying for my nieces to go to college.”
“I think working for your family is a fairly noble cause, Shaw.”
“I’ve always felt like a sellout.”
My old squad had teased me about it after that first movie. They didn’t know the whole reason for me leaving, neither did Presley, but the money had been a major factor. Their teasing had felt more like accusations than jokes.
I bet that new car rides smoother than my Honda.
It only took me twenty minutes to get here from the station. How was traffic from Malibu?
Surprised you can even stomach the cheap beer.
“You’re not a sellout.” Presley’s hand was on my arm again, sparking desire and soothing worry with a single touch. Then her hand was gone, and I wanted it back. “I’m going to go order pizza. Want another beer?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
She stood and walked away, her perfect ass encased in those shorts. I savored the natural sway of her hips, drinking in the chance to stare before she disappeared inside.
The warm air filled my lungs and a lightness settled in my chest, the weight of the past drifting away. I hadn’t talked much about that time, maybe because there hadn’t been a person around I’d trusted to listen.
Presley had my trust. I wasn’t sure why, but my gut said she deserved it. She’d guard it fiercely.
I stood from the “good” chair and followed Presley inside.
She’d just hung up the phone when I found her in the kitchen. “I forgot to ask what kind of pizza you like.”
“I’m not picky.” I stood against the counter beside her, our shoulders nearly touching. “And it’s your birthday.”
Leaning closer, I let my elbow brush the skin of her forearm.
Presley darted for the fridge before the touch lingered, pulling out two more beer bottles. She handed one to me and took up a rigid stance three feet away. “We should be able to hear the doorbell from outside.”
Except I didn’t want to go outside. I put my beer on the counter and stepped into her space. If she really wanted to go, she could sidestep me and leave the kitchen, but she didn’t try to make another escape.
Her gaze stayed locked on mine as I shuffled her backward until her tailbone was pressed against the counter. “What are you doing?”
“Something I’ve wanted to do for weeks.” I lifted a hand and ran my knuckles down the curve of her cheek. I bent low, my mouth hovering above hers. If I left Clifton Forge without one taste of Presley Marks, I’d regret it for decades. “What would you say if I asked to kiss you?”
Her eyes darted to my lips.
“What would you say?” I repeated.
Presley’s lashes lifted, those blue eyes sparkling. Then, on an exhale, she whispered, “Yes.”
I crushed my lips to hers, not giving her a chance to rescind. Then I pinned her to me, wrapping her petite frame in my arms and holding her close.
She sank into me, her soft lips gentle under mine, hesitant at first. Cautious. Then it was like she said fuck it, because she dropped any pretense and kissed me within an inch of my life.
The hold I had on her was nothing compared to the way she gripped me with her free hand, hauling me down by my shirt. Her cold bottle of beer between us pressed into my abs. She licked the seam of my lips, demanding entrance, and when it slid against mine, I swallowed her moan. Or was it mine? With the licking and the tangling and the heat—holy shit, the heat—the world around us disappeared. There was only me and her and this inferno. There was only her fresh, citrus scent tinted with the sweetness of vanilla.
My blood thundered in my ears. My head was dizzy. This kiss was likely going to make my brain combust but I dove in deeper, shuffling my legs closer and pressing my arousal into her hip.
It was her gasp I swallowed that time.
Then she was gone, just when it was starting to shift from a kiss to foreplay. She ripped her lips away, planted her palm against my heart and shoved me onto my heels.
“Sorry.” I swiped a hand over my wet lips. “I got carried away.”
“No, it’s—” She shook her head and dried her own mouth before burying her face in her hands.
Son of a bitch. Was she going to cry? Maybe she was thinking about her ex. Was it too soon since the failed wedding?
One day, maybe I’d remember that Presley rarely did what I expected. Her hands fell away and she burst out laughing. The smile I’d hoped for on the deck, that carefree, unguarded laughter, made my knees weak.
There she was. The wall was gone and it was just her. Breathtaking. Real. A beautiful, magnetic woman, and I couldn’t look away.
Presley pulled hers
elf together, her musical laugh ended too soon, but the smile stayed. “That was . . . wow.”
My heart dropped from my throat. Wow. Wow was good. “Wow, yourself, woman. I’ll need a cold shower later.”
She giggled. “Someday, years from now, I’m going to remember that time the gorgeous movie star kissed the hell out of me in my kitchen on my birthday.”
And any time I thought of Montana, I’d remember the woman with eyes bluer than the big sky. Or maybe I’d just think of her, no trigger needed.
Maybe when it was time to go, there’d be no leaving her behind.
Chapter Twelve
Presley
I approached the corner to my street, my foot hovering over the brake as I held my breath and scanned Shaw’s drive.
Phew. Empty.
It had been a week since my birthday, a week since Shaw had kissed me in my kitchen, and I’d been avoiding him like I avoided public places during flu season.
Last night, his SUV had been in the driveway when I’d come home from work. I’d parked and run inside like a bear was chasing me.
Four nights ago, he’d knocked on my door. I’d crept through my entryway like a ninja, barely breathing, and watched him through the peephole.
Suffice it to say, I wasn’t dealing with his kiss very well.
In the moment, it had been everything I’d wanted. That kiss had been hot and consuming and so incredibly passionate. I’d laughed and smiled because that kiss had blown my mind.
It was the best kiss of my life.
Cue panic attack.
After Shaw had kissed me, he’d gone about the night like it had never happened. The pizza arrived. Shaw carried the conversation, talking about the movie shooting they’d done that day. He told me about his three younger sisters and their collective brood of girls, his nieces. He showed me pictures and I recognized Matine from my Google search—the woman I’d thought was his girlfriend. We ate on the deck with our beers and when we were done, he went home. Not once did he touch me again. He didn’t kiss my cheek when I escorted him to the door. Shaw just waved and jogged down the steps.
Meanwhile, every moment that passed, I became more and more freaked out.
I loved that kiss. I wanted a kiss like that every day until I was in dentures. But Shaw was leaving. He wasn’t boyfriend material. He was a goddamn movie star.
What exactly had I been thinking? I was supposed to be protecting my wounded heart, not tossing it to a man destined to smash it to smithereens with his very capable hands. What the hell was he even doing with me?
Shaw Valance.
He was the Shaw Valance.
And I was . . . me.
I was a random woman from Montana with enough baggage to sink a cargo ship. Except Shaw didn’t make me feel random. He looked at me with those stunning eyes and I felt in the spotlight. I was in the room and I had his attention. Entirely.
He’d confided in me too, about the movie and the school bus. He couldn’t know how I treasured that trust. Shaw had told me there were feelings, and damn if I didn’t want them.
It had been so long since I’d felt that anticipation and excitement around another person. The anxiety that came with standing close, wondering if he’d touch me.
Had Jeremiah and I ever had that electricity? Or had I conjured a spark that hadn’t really been there? Jeremiah had been a constant. He’d been easy and familiar.
Shaw had pushed me so far out of my comfort zone I didn’t know how to act. Hence, my avoidance—something I couldn’t afford.
The days were ticking by too fast. Shaw would be gone before long and I was wasting time being a chicken, hiding in my own home.
But here I was, doing it again tonight.
I went inside, shutting the door behind me, and flipped on the lights. I went into the kitchen and my gaze landed on the spot where he’d kissed me senseless.
My fingers drifted to my lips. It had been a week and I could still feel him there. He’d tasted so incredibly masculine. His spicy cologne, sandalwood and musk, had disappeared days ago, but I searched for it in the air all the same.
Sweet lord, that man could kiss. His costars were lucky, lucky women.
I shivered and opened the fridge, searching for my open bag of baby carrots. I took a handful and began crunching. Then I wandered into the living room and plopped down on the couch, taking my phone from my pocket.
There was nothing interesting on Instagram. I scrolled aimlessly through pictures and then pulled up the search bar. I entered Shaw’s name, like I had every day this week, and looked at his latest post.
He was fishing.
When had he gone fishing? The post said yesterday. He was holding a fish with a wide smile stretched across his face. Sunglasses shaded his eyes and his baseball cap was turned backward. #Montana.
More like #sexy.
And this man, with over a million likes on that photo, had kissed me. Me.
I swiped through his pictures for the thousandth time, chewing my carrots. None of Shaw’s posts from the time he’d been here indicated anything about the movie. If anything, it looked like he was on a vacation. There were only five photos, three of his face, one of the mountains at sunset, and one he’d taken at the garage of the unfinished bike. It was from the day he’d shadowed Isaiah.
The bike was nearly done now. Dash had told me this afternoon I could call Shaw and arrange for him to pick it up next week. I’d avoided making that call too. Shaw was giving me time, he was being respectful—which I appreciated—but my time was running short. It was like an egg timer, winding down to zero. With every tick, you knew it was coming, but you’d still jump when it buzzed.
Shaw was getting close to zero, of that I was certain. Hunger. Excitement. Desire.
There was the threat of more in that kiss.
He wanted it.
So did I.
It was only a matter of time.
There was no way Shaw would finish this movie without seeing me again.
After Shaw had summarized Dark Paradise for me, I’d passed it along to the guys at the garage. We’d agreed that while the movie wouldn’t paint anyone in a great light, it also wouldn’t do much damage. Isaiah would ensure Genevieve stayed far away, not that she had a desire to go. It had taken her a while, but when she’d learned that her mother’s portrayal would be mostly positive, tragic but positive, she’d accepted it.
Her strength astounded me.
She had no interest in seeing the movie, but curiosity was a funny thing. It made you do dumb things.
Like kiss a movie star in your kitchen, just to see if his lips were as delicious as they’d looked.
They were.
The doorbell rang and I leapt from the couch, my phone falling to the seat.
It was Shaw. I was sure of it.
The egg timer was dinging, and avoidance was no longer an option.
I walked to the door and hovered behind the lock.
“Presley.” His voice carried through the door. “I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing.”
I froze. Damn it.
“Not to sound like an arrogant asshole, but most women open the door if I’m on the other side.”
“Smug bastard,” I muttered. He was goading me, and I took the bait. I swung the door open and scowled. “Your ego is beyond comprehension. You should see a doctor about it.”
He grinned. “But I got you to open the door.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes and stood aside, gesturing for him to enter.
His deep chuckle filled the space between us as he strode toward the kitchen.
“Oh, no.” I stopped him and pointed to the couch. “You’re not allowed in my kitchen anymore.”
“And you think a living room with this plush, soft couch is better?” He sat down and threw an arm over the back like he owned my sofa.
This was the problem with movie stars. They commanded attention and we mere spectators were helpless to resist.
I stayed
standing, making sure I wasn’t in a place where he could back me into a counter or a wall or a bed. Near the coffee table, I had an escape route on both sides.
Shaw glanced at my phone, which had landed face up where I’d tossed it. Face up with his face on the screen. Oh, hell.
He smirked. “Anything good on Instagram today?”
I stomped to the couch and swiped up my phone, then retreated to my safe spot. “How was fishing?”
“Awesome,” he answered. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Yep.” There was no use denying it.
“Care to tell me why?”
“Because you kissed me.”
He sighed, the bravado dropping. “Was it a mistake? Because it didn’t feel like a mistake, but if it was, I apologize.”
“No.” Maybe it wasn’t smart, but definitely no mistake. “Don’t apologize.”
“I like talking to you. I don’t want to lose that. I mean, I like kissing you too, but if I had to choose, I’d pick talking.”
“Really?” I cocked my head and studied his expression. It was so sincere.
“Every day of the week.”
I fought a smile. “I like talking too.”
Discussion with Shaw was different than with most people, especially the guys at the garage. I was a good listener, I was always available in the office, so I was the one Emmett or Leo came to if they needed to unload. Dash too until he’d met Bryce. But no matter what, I always felt like the guys held back, just a little, because they were in protection mode.
Shaw didn’t shelter me from his truths.
So I wouldn’t hide away in mine.
“I’m confused,” I admitted.
“Because of your ex?”
I scoffed. “No. He’s a memory. Because you’re you. You have millions of people who follow you. People across the world stalk your Instagram, desperate to feel some sort of connection with you. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fame.”
“It’s not real.”
“Isn’t it? Because it seems like you’re really famous.”
“The fame is real, but that guy, the image, isn’t. This is.” He waved a hand up and down his torso. “I spend more time working out than I want. I hate running, but I go at least four times a week. My signature on autographs is nothing like the one I put on your contract at the garage. I have two smiles: camera and off camera.”