Gavin: Pure Passion (Hamptons Book 1)

by Taylor, Drucie Anne

  I take a taxi home.

  “Oh, God, you’re finally here!” Macey cries. “Where have you been?”

  I narrow my eyes. “I was having fun . . . with some wine.” I head for my room.

  “And a guy?”

  “Not really. I stayed the night with a guy, but nothing happened.”

  “What?” she says, confused. “I thought when you stay the night with a guy, it’s because something happened.”

  “I have no idea if anything happened, because I drank so much I can’t remember anything,” I say as I do a belly flop onto my bed. My face hits the pillow, and I feel like dying. At least then I wouldn’t be embarrassed anymore by what happened yesterday evening. Mostly I want to forget the disaster after the kiss.

  “How much did you drink, anyway, you little lush?” Macey asks with a laugh.

  “Very funny. You know I can’t handle much. It was only two glasses of wine.” I moan as I raise my head. Her damn laughter is even worse than Gavin’s grin.

  She sits on the bed next to me. “Who were you out with?”

  “With the dancer,” I say.

  “Which dancer was that?”

  “That guy that Julie is dancing with on Celebrity Dance Hall. Gavin McLeod.”

  “Wait, stop! Do you mean Gavin McLeod from Downstair Alley?” she asks, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “At Jake’s dance school. He’s practicing there. He came to my class yesterday, and invited me out for a drink afterward, which became two drinks. I’d love to know what I said to him when I was three sheets to the wind.” I sigh, feeling a little desperate. If I knew what I’d said, the whole thing wouldn’t be half as bad.

  “You probably got all sentimental about Brooke or Jonah,” she says, thinking out loud.

  Brooke was my best friend; she killed herself three months ago. She was a victim of cyberbullying—personal attacks and actual threats—just because she started a relationship with one of the contestants on the last season of CDH. It’s true, he was pretty hot, but he was also a total bastard, the way he treated her once he started to get tired of her. The press had an awful photo of her that they loved to ridicule, and the guy’s fans gleefully piled on top. They constantly humiliated her. I tried to be there for her, but at some point she stopped communicating, until one day I found her suicide letter in my mailbox. It arrived the morning she was found dead in her apartment. She’d cut her femoral arteries in the bathtub, and her wrists, too, so she’d bled to death very quickly. At her funeral, they’d put makeup on her wrists to cover the wounds.

  “That’s possible.” I shake my head to rid it of the memory of her lifeless body in the coffin. Her death threw me into a deep pit of depression. With difficulty, Jonah managed to pull me out of it, only to push me back in two weeks later. Remembering Brooke makes my eyes fill with tears. “I miss her.”

  “I know. I miss her, too,” Macey says softly and cuddles against me. “But back to the subject of Gavin McLeod . . . Why aren’t you more excited?”

  “Because he totally blew me off.”

  “What?”

  “He kissed me, and it started to get really intense, until he suddenly let go of me and said he had to go take a cold shower,” I tell her, humiliation heating my cheeks.

  “And, knowing you, you ran off while he was in the bathroom without waiting for an explanation, didn’t you?”

  I nod sheepishly.

  “Lane!”

  “What? I was embarrassed that I woke up in his bed, and then discovered that I’d been overly emotional, and we kissed. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.”

  “He was probably a lot more uncomfortable when he came out of the shower and you were gone,” she says observantly. “Does he have your number, at least?”

  I groan and blow a lock of hair off my forehead. “No. He just has my damn bicycle.”

  She laughs again. “Did he steal it, or what?”

  “No. He put it in his car yesterday when we went to his hotel, and said he’d bring it to the dance school today. I left a note for him, to ask if he’d tell Jake to put it in the garage if I don’t have a class today.” As soon as I say it in a small voice, I know she’s going to try to convince me to go to Jake’s.

  “Doesn’t he want to go with you to the show tonight?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  She looks at me questioningly and raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Well, I asked him yesterday, and he wanted to, but after this morning, I doubt he does.”

  Macey clicks her tongue and looks at me like I’m a little kid who’s trying to put a square peg in a round hole. “The guy kissed you, even though you have killer morning breath. You should brush your teeth and get to Jake’s so you can invite him again.”

  “I doubt he’ll want to go after practicing with Julie all day. He’ll be exhausted. Besides, the timing is a bit tight. I definitely don’t want to be late for the show.”

  She stands up and goes to the door. “Good, then I’ll call Jake now and tell him to make sure he throws Julie out by six so you can come to the show with Gavin. Do you think I can bribe him with free tickets?”

  I shrug. “Can I multiply loaves and fishes? I have no idea, Macey.” Then I suddenly realize what she said and sit up, which sets my head spinning. “You’re joking, aren’t you? You wouldn’t do that.”

  She grins, shrugs, and leaves the room, calling back, “Who knows what I’m capable of?” with a wicked laugh.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of!” I shout as I jump up. Now my head feels like it’s about to fall off. “Macey, please don’t! That would just make me more embarrassed.” As I enter her room, I see she’s already on the phone. My eyes go wide, and I hope Gavin won’t be too offended.

  “Yes, Jake . . . Come on, please . . . I can’t organize that many comp tickets, two at the most . . . OK. Thanks.” She smiles coyly. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight . . . Sure, Madeleine will be there, too. Does she have any classes today, by the way? . . . No? That’s great. And you’ll give Gavin the info? . . . OK, cool. See you tonight, then . . . You, too . . . Bye, Jake.”

  My stomach suddenly leaps with nausea, and I’m hit with a wave of dizziness. I sit on her sofa bed and put my head between my knees, gasping for air.

  “Are you all right?” Macey asks, looking at me with concern.

  “I . . . You just . . . Are you nuts?” I ask desperately.

  “Not that I know of, but we can try to figure that out tomorrow. Today we have to make sure you look great at the show.”

  “Did you really ask Jake to tell Gavin?” I’m still breathing deeply to keep my head from spinning too hard.

  She nods, her curls bouncing around her face. It looks like they’re caressing her cheeks. “I asked him to give Gavin our address so he can pick you up at seven.”

  “I have no idea what to wear!” I groan, and lean back onto the couch. My heart is hammering in my chest.

  Macey goes to her closet and pulls out a few dresses. Fortunately, we’re almost exactly the same size and shape, although her style is completely different than mine. Sexier. “We’ll find just the right thing for you.”

  “Somehow I doubt it,” I murmur. Her scathing glance tells me she heard me.

  “I think the green dress would look good on you. It’s even got a high neckline . . . at the front, anyway.” She grins and turns it around so I can see the back.

  “That will show my butt.”

  “No, it stops right above it. I think it will look awesome.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Why not? When you dance, you wear things that are much more revealing.”

  “Those are costumes, and they cover what they’re supposed to cover.”

  “So that’s why you’re OK with shaking your almost-naked butt in front of the judges, Lane,” she says, giggling.

  “I’d never go out with an alm
ost-naked butt,” I argue as I get up and take the dress from her. “I’ll try it on, but don’t you dare laugh!”

  “I doubt I’ll have a reason to,” she says, more seriously.

  I turn around and take off my clothes. When I have the dress on, I spin to face her. “How stupid does it look?”

  “It doesn’t look stupid at all. Well, your hairstyle doesn’t really match, but otherwise you look great.” Macey pushes me in front of a mirror.

  “I don’t feel comfortable.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the back. I can’t wear a bra with it.”

  “That’s why I have a stick-on bra.”

  “As if I would want to stick a layer of foam to my boobs.”

  “Don’t be such a party pooper. You look great. And why do you want to wear a bra, anyway? It’s not like you really need one.”

  “Uh, because I don’t want anyone to be able to tell that I’m cold?” I answer, although it should be obvious.

  “No one will be able to tell with the stick-on bra—that’s what it’s for. But you don’t want to wear it.”

  “Because you’ve probably already worn it.”

  Macey looks offended. “It’s brand-new.”

  “Well . . . OK. But you’ll have to help me put it on. First I’m going to lie down for a while, and then take a shower.”

  “You know that I have to leave at five, don’t you?”

  “I do now. So, in that case, how do I put the thing on?”

  “Just peel off the backing and press it around your boobs.”

  “I hope I’ll be able to make it look right.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. And besides, it comes with instructions. Nothing can go wrong.”

  “Do you have any other dresses I can try, just in case it doesn’t work?” I ask.

  She grins at me. “This one is perfect. Gavin will be charmed by your beautiful back.”

  I close my eyes. “I’m going to take a nap; my head is killing me.”

  “Don’t forget the show starts at eight, and he’ll pick you up at seven. I can’t wait to see you with him.”

  “I’m sure you can’t wait to see him,” I say with a giggle, while wriggling out of the dress.

  “You’ve lost a lot of weight, Lane. It looks a little scary,” she says softly.

  “No, I haven’t,” I argue, but I’m lying. Of course I lost a few pounds after losing Brooke and breaking up with Jonah. But my clothes still fit, so I’m not worried.

  “It’s totally obvious. Why are you losing weight? You’re already so thin.”

  “Macey, we’re exactly the same weight. I am not too thin.”

  “You’re two inches taller than me, Lane!”

  I roll my eyes. “I eat plenty, but at the moment it’s not sticking. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Macey puts her arm around me and looks at me with concern. “Are you really eating enough?”

  “I eat so much I feel like I’m going to burst, but I still lose weight.”

  “Maybe you have tapeworms,” she speculates, making me grimace with distaste.

  “OK, now you’re being ridiculous. I’m going to bed and will try not to have nightmares about tapeworms.” I give her a brief hug and let her go.

  “Sleep well, Lane,” she says after I pick up my clothes.

  “Thanks,” I say as I leave the room.

  When I’m in my room, I put on the Ramones shirt that I more or less swiped from Gavin and lie on the bed. I breathe in deeply and realize it smells like him—the way he smelled this morning. I immediately get turned on, but I don’t want to be, so I press my legs tightly together. When I’ve finally calmed down, I close my eyes, and it feels like Gavin is next to me again. I feel his soft lips kissing mine, and his hard body pressing against me. It’s unfair that if you have such an intense physical reaction to someone, it makes you feel powerless.

  I fall asleep with my stomach in a nervous tangle about tonight. I also have a pulsing heat between my thighs, and I end up in a fitful dream that has nothing to do with tapeworms, and a lot to do with Gavin McLeod.

  My cell phone rings. It’s the alarm that I set to remind me about Macey’s show. If my phone were an alarm clock, I would have thrown it against the wall more than once.

  “I hate you, phone,” I say, feeling around for it on the pillow next to me. I always put it there so I have to search for it, because I usually take the pillow in my sleep and the phone falls down. Then I have to get up and look for it, no matter how tired I am. I started doing that when I was at Juilliard. I couldn’t afford to miss any classes, even if I’d partied all night. The trick with the phone helped, and I’ve done it ever since. But this time it’s still on the pillow. I must have slept like a rock. I sit up and finally turn off the alarm. A look at the clock, which tells me that Gavin will be here in an hour. I obviously must have pressed the snooze button in my sleep.

  “Shit.” I slide to the edge of the bed. Then I head for the bathroom, where I take a long shower to wake myself up. After I’ve dried off, I brush my teeth with extra care, having shamefully neglected them this morning. Then I get the hemorrhoid cream to put on the puffy, dark circles under my eyes. I know you shouldn’t do that, but I only reserve the treatment for emergencies, usually if I don’t have a chance to get enough sleep before an important performance. I carefully spread a tiny amount of the cream and allow it to soak in while I blow-dry my hair. I have no idea if I should wear it down or up. The easiest thing would be to put it up with a simple barrette. Well, not so simple. The barrette I’m thinking of belonged to my grandmother. It’s made of silver, in the shape of a butterfly. I think it would be perfect tonight.

  Half an hour later, I’m still trying to decide if I want to use the stick-on bra when the doorbell rings. Shit! “Who’s there?” I ask through the intercom.

  “It’s me, Gavin.”

  I sigh and press the intercom button again. “Come on up,” I say, pushing the key button. After I hear the lock click in the door downstairs, I hurry to my bedroom, where Macey has laid out the dress and bra for me. I try to stick the cups over my breasts, but they look all wrong. I pull them off, which makes me shriek with pain. No time to figure out an alternative, I slip into the dress, deciding I couldn’t care less if my nipples are visible. A guy shouldn’t stare at your chest, anyway, and if he does, he’s rude.

  “Madeleine?” Gavin calls.

  “Come in, I’ll be right with you,” I answer as I slip into my shoes. Fortunately I already did my hair and makeup, otherwise we’d be late. Macey also left a scarf of the same material and color as the dress for me. After I toss it over my shoulders like a stole, I go to look for Gavin, who’s in the kitchen. “Here I am.”

  He turns around and then freezes when he sees me. “Uh . . . Hi.”

  “Hi,” I reply quietly and push an escaped strand of hair out of my face.

  “Shall we go?”

  I nod and grab the tickets from the sideboard as he approaches me.

  “I came with a driver from the hotel today, so I can have a glass of bubbly with you and your friend after the show,” he says.

  I force myself to smile. “To be honest, my excesses from last night are still giving me a headache, so I’ll have to drink orange juice, instead.”

  His quiet laugh vibrates in my ears—and not just there. “That’s OK.” He offers me his arm. “All set?”

  “Yeah.” I put my arm on his, and we leave the apartment. After I lock the door, we go downstairs to the limousine that’s parked in front of the building. For this part of town, it’s really a highlight. Obviously my neighbors think so, too, because they’re all looking out their windows. Macey and I live in a less exclusive part of town, but we’re happy that we can even afford to live here at all, in the city that never sleeps.

  As I relax into the cushy leather seat of the limo and try to fasten my seat belt, the stole slips off my shoulders. Gavin’s gaze alone is enough to make my nipples
stand at attention.

  “Shall I help you?”

  If he comes too close to me right now, I’ll definitely lose my cool. I shake my head. “I can do it, thanks.” My voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper. His own indescribable, fresh scent, which has mixed alluringly with his woody aftershave, is enough to drive me crazy as it surrounds me.

  “I don’t know if I’ve already told you, but you look beautiful, Madeleine.”

  “Sorry?” I say, distracted by a fantasy about the two of us naked in bed, or on a table, or something.

  He repeats his comment.

  “Oh . . . thanks. You look good, too,” I reply, after checking out his black suit. He really does look damn good in it. His face is so incredibly beautiful. Not handsome, beautiful. His eyebrows are angular and perfectly shaped, a well-cared-for three-day beard adorns the very bottom edge of his jaw, and his lips are so sensual that I can’t wait to kiss him again. He’s also so tall that I have to look up to see his face when I’m standing next to him.

  “Thanks,” he says with a smile and leans back. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m completely satisfied.”

  “Not completely happy?” he asks skeptically.

  “To be happy I need something more,” I say quietly.

  “And what would that be?” Gavin turns toward me and puts his left arm across the seat above my shoulders. His fingers are just a few centimeters away from my shoulder. “Will you tell me what it takes to make you happy?”

  I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and think about it. “I know I’m happy when I feel a warm feeling spreading through me.”

  “You’re happy when you’re warm?” he asks with irritation.

  I smile shyly. “What shall I say? Maybe I’m just low maintenance.”

  The left corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I like low-maintenance women.”

  “Why?”

  “Because as a famous musician, you almost always find women with very high expectations. It’s like all they care about is the money.” He sighs and looks out the window.