Down.
Down.
Down.
I wanted her to see what her touch does to me . . . and does she ever. Her mouth hangs open and she inhales sharply before looking back up to me. She is standing in the shower, soaking wet, the sweat pants so heavy from water they’re sliding off her hips.
“Like what you see?”
She snaps her mouth closed and scoots back, looking up at me.
“No need to get your feathers in a ruffle. I’m just messing with you, Princess.”
Even though I am fully capable of washing myself, I really am grateful for her help, although my intentions to get her in the shower with me may have been slightly selfish.
I want to peel those clothes off her and press her against the tile wall—instead I meet her eyes again and mumble, “Thanks for the help.”
She nods nervously before turning around and fleeing, leaving me needing, wanting more of her.
Her touch.
Her body.
Just her.
* * *
I hobble aimlessly out of the bedroom and find Elle standing at the large kitchen island, now dressed in a pair of skintight yoga pants and tank top. Her long, wet hair hangs in strands, and she looks at me nervously, a blush crawling across her cheeks before she offers me a shy smile.
“We’ll have breakfast on the patio.” She motions toward the wall of glass that opens to a large balcony while she’s chopping fruit on a cutting board. I manage to hobble—a little more dramatically than I had been—through the living room and outside before dropping onto a comfortable chair.
The view of the Hollywood hills is simply amazing. Elle joins me, carrying a tray. On it sits a bowl of scrambled eggs, fresh cut fruit, yogurt, granola, and two mugs full of steaming hot coffee. I inhale sharply as the aroma of the coffee hits my nose.
“Hope you like healthy.” She sets the tray down before taking the seat across the table from me. She reaches for a mug of coffee and leans back into her seat. “Help yourself, I’m sure you’re starving,” she urges when I don’t immediately make a move for the food.
Pulling the mug of coffee from the tray first, I sip the hot liquid carefully. It’s like a drug in my veins, and I smack my lips after that first sip. She watches me carefully, her eyes narrowed.
I try to break the tension that I undoubtedly caused by having her help me in the shower. “So maybe we should start over, huh, Elle?”
“Start over?”
“Yeah, like, let’s pretend you didn’t try to kill me by running me over . . .” She rolls her eyes and sets her mug of coffee down. “If we had just run into each other, let’s say”—I tap my chin—“at the market.” I grin widely at her. “I’d walk over to you and have some really cheesy line about how beautiful your eyes are.” I pause and really look at her. “And you’d smile and fall for my pick-up line. Then we’d end up at some café having coffee, much like we are now. We’d have to do all the getting-to-know-you questions like normal people that date do.”
Her eyebrows shoot halfway up her forehead when I say that. “We aren’t dating, Kas.”
“Yet,” I amend and continue. “So, Elle, what is your last name?”
She plucks a strawberry from the fruit bowl before popping it in her mouth. She chews, swallows, then answers my question.
“Ward.”
“Elle Ward.” I smile at how her name rolls off my tongue.
“Nice to meet you, Elle.” A smile tugs at her lips, but she doesn’t respond. “What do you do for work?”
She runs her finger around the rim of her coffee mug and looks away from me, out over the L.A. skyline that seems endless.
“Advertising,” she says quietly. She seems distracted, distant, and suddenly somber.
“It’s your turn to ask me two questions.” I pick up the bowl of scrambled eggs and dump most of them onto my plate. She shakes her head and raises the mug of coffee to her lips. “Come on, Princess. How else are we going to get to know each other?” I joke with her.
She continues to shake her head slowly before she finally settles her eyes on mine.
“Tell me one more thing about you then.” I prod her for more information. I’m not sure if the look on her face is annoyance, frustration, or disdain, but she watches me carefully before setting her mug back on the table. This time instead of a soft click of porcelain against glass, it makes a loud thud, as if the sound in and of itself is trying to convey whatever her expression can’t, and she leans in, ever so slightly.
“One more thing, huh?” she asks, licking her bottom lip. “This is probably the most important thing you’ll need to know about me, Kas.”
I’m intrigued. Hell, I’m almost fucking giddy she’s going to share something with me. I set my fork down and wait for her to share.
“Spill it, sweetheart,” I coax her.
She takes a deep breath before releasing it slowly. She studies my face, her eyes dropping from my eyes to my lips and back up. “I don’t date actors.”
The words are firm, decisive, and forceful. Those four little words squeeze at my heart, and I swallow hard against my suddenly dry throat.
Without another word, Elle stands from the table, taking her mug of coffee, and walks back into her condo. I hear her mumble something about, “Fucking Hollywood,” just before a door slams in the distance.
Seven
Elle
It’d been a long day by the time I climbed into the elevator from the garage floor. So it kind of sucked that I felt almost reluctant to press the button for the penthouse floor.
I mean, it was my home. I should have absolutely no reservations with walking through its doors, and I wouldn’t if I hadn’t have been so crazy and left a model / up-and-coming actor to his own devices for the entire day.
How stupid.
But I just couldn’t be in that space anymore after waking up wrapped in his arms this morning and then finding him completely naked in the shower, having to get into it with him, of all things, the man flaunting himself like he was some kind of model.
Oh right.
He was.
That, I could handle.
Kind of.
Because it’d left me flushed and heated. It’d left me wanting the man in a way I most certainly couldn’t allow myself to pursue.
So I told him straight.
I don’t date actors.
I didn’t.
Not after Christopher. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The very hard way.
I beat back the unsettled feeling and jabbed at the button, my stomach lifted to my throat as the elevator quickly ascended. It wasn’t as if I was some timid virgin, but still my knees were shaking when the metal doors slid open.
Blowing out a breath, I headed down the hall and slid my key into the lock, turned the knob, and prepared myself for whatever I might find inside.
What I did, I was most definitely not prepared for.
Kas was in my kitchen.
Shirtless.
Attraction beat through my body, heavy and hot, and the most delicious aroma glided through the air and struck my senses.
I was pretty sure I was standing there with my mouth hanging open when Kas shot me a grin from over his muscled shoulder.
Good God, the man’s back was a work of art. No filter needed. He was the real deal.
Hell, he might as well have been on one of the huge canvases decorating my designer living room, signed and stamped.
A priceless original.
“Welcome home, Princess.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, somehow taken aback and surprised and totally caught off guard.
Here I’d figured the guy had probably trashed the place. I’d definitely been planning on using that as an excuse for kicking him the curb.
I didn’t know if I felt defeated or relieved.
“Uh . . . what does it look like I’m doing? Making you dinner.”
“Your ankle is broken,” I argued, t
hinking if he could make us a gourmet dinner, he could most definitely take care of himself.
Because the man needed to go.
He was way too gorgeous and apparently a little too sweet. You know, all mixed up with that infuriating personality of his. Or maybe I was really just furious at myself. Because there I stood with my mouth dry and my girly bits on high alert.
Bad girl.
He stirred the sauce he had simmering on the stove. “That it is . . . and it’s honestly throbbing like a bitch from standing here for the last hour, so why don’t you get that gorgeous ass in here and fix us some plates? Not sure I can stay standing for a second more.”
Every word that fell from his full lips was delivered with a straight shot of sexiness and the faintest hint of a tease.
Swallowing all the confusion swirling through my mind, I slid my laptop case onto the floor and headed his direction. “When’s the last time you had any pain medication?”
He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Sixteen hours ago?”
“What on earth? Are you insane? The doctor instructed you to take it every four to six hours.”
He grimaced a little as he tried to balance on his good foot. “This is Hollywood, baby, but the last thing I’m looking to do is become another sad cliché.”
Crack. Crack. Crack.
There he went, hammering into my reservations.
“It’s prescribed, Kas.”
“It always starts out that way, doesn’t it?”
I gulped. “I guess a lot of times it does.”
“So, it’s just better not to go there,” he said before he let his sexy mouth tip up at the side. “Besides, I figured you could kiss it, make it all better.”
“Not on your life.”
“Hey, you almost took my life.”
“The dramatics.”
His smile widened. “I came here with the dream of becoming an actor, remember? I just can’t help myself.”
That was what I was afraid of.
Moving the rest of the way into the kitchen, I shooed him away, hating that I didn’t mind it all that much when he used me for support as he hobbled over to the bar. I plated our food, sat beside him, and answered a few of those questions I’d shot down this morning.
Where did I go to school and why did I choose advertising and did I ever want to do anything else.
UCLA.
I love being behind the scenes.
Never.
On the last question, I left out the part where I’d once dreamed of being a director like my dad. He didn’t need to know who my dad was. I’d already slipped up this morning when I’d given him my last name.
Luckily, he hadn’t caught on, the name too mundane and common to spark any sort of recognition.
“That was delicious,” I told him when we finished, gathering our plates.
He quirked a brow. “A compliment, huh?”
My head shook. “Just the truth.”
He sat back in the stool with a satisfied sigh, patting his flat, defined belly.
Was it wrong I wanted to lean down and lick it?
“Good enough to keep me around? A man could get used to this.”
I shot him a wry grin. “What, making me dinner?”
“Nah, seeing your face when you walk through the door after a long day at work.”
I ignored him and his damned infectious charisma and charm. Ignored the way my entire home felt different when I moved to the sink to quickly do the dishes. The way his presence filled the massive, vacant space, making it feel warm and comfortable.
I rinsed our plates and leaned over to place them in the dishwasher. I gasped when I suddenly felt him behind me.
The front of his jeans pressed right into my behind. My thoughts were instantly back to this morning, the way he’d taunted me with that huge cock.
The boy didn’t fight fair.
He leaned over me, his lips brushing my cheek as he reached around and dropped the silverware into the basket. “You didn’t think I was going to let you do dishes all by yourself, did you?”
Nope, not fair at all.
Before I gave into the want speeding through my veins and pressed back, I whipped around, almost losing my footing when he was right there, his hands going to the outside of my arms to steady me.
Funny how he only had the use of one foot and I was the one close to dropping to my knees.
What the hell was wrong with me? This was L.A., for God’s sake. I was no stranger to a pretty face.
But there was something about him that felt . . . different.
Or maybe it was just my issue that I’d always loved to ride on the wild side.
He reached up and brushed his knuckles down the side of my cheek. I shuddered through a breath, my stomach tightening in a knot of want. “I meant it,” he murmured softly, his dark eyes moving across my face.
“What?” It came out a little hard because I couldn’t let this boy get to me.
“I think I could look at your face every single day and never get tired of it.”
My chest tightened, and I forced out a scoff. “You’re delusional. You’ve known me for all of a day.”
“Call me a good judge of character.”
He leaned in and my heart spun and my lips parted.
Oh God. He was going to kiss me. He was going to kiss me and that made me nothing but a damned fool.
I jerked back, almost sending him toppling, trying to smooth myself out with my shaking hands. “I think we’d better call it a night.”
He grimaced before nearly sending me reeling from the power of his smirk. “Trying to get me into bed already, huh, Princess?”
I rolled my eyes and headed for my room. “Not on your life.”
His laughter bellowed against my walls that no longer felt so big. “You sure don’t mind betting on my life, do you. Careful now. You never know what kind of trouble you’re going to get me into.”
He truly was delusional.
Because the only one in trouble was me.
Eight
Kassius
This time, I am legitimately hobbling. Hobbling because my ankle fucking hurts like hell. A combination of throbbing and burning, but the pain was worth it.
The look on Elle's face when she walked through the door after work and saw me cooking was priceless. A look of confusion, gratitude, and downright appreciation all twisted into one on that beautiful face of hers.
"Wait! Let me help you." Elle rushes over to meet me at the edge of bed, helping me get situated and propping my foot onto extra pillows. I sigh, loudly, in relief when my back hits the mattress and my foot finally rests at a comfortable incline.
My phone is plugged in and sitting on the nightstand, and Elle flicks the television on, tossing the remote onto the bed next to me. "Need anything else before I go clean up?" She pulls a large silver bracelet from her wrist and works the backs off her earrings before tossing them onto her nightstand.
"Nah, I'm good."
She nods, turning to walk toward the bathroom where her walk-in closet is attached. I noticed it yesterday. It's more than a closet, it's a fucking spare bedroom, with a large island in the middle and more racks and shelves than I could ever fill. Her closet is as big as my bedroom at my apartment, and there isn't a square inch that isn't covered in Elle's clothes, shoes, and purses.
Just as I settle in and begin to relax, my phone buzzes. I chance a glance and see Dominic's name flashing across the screen . . . again.
I can't avoid him forever, but goddamn, it's been nice not to be rushing out the door the last few days to work out at the gym or run to auditions and photo shoots. I almost forgot what it felt like to relax . . . and it has felt nice. I mute the television as I grab my phone.
"Dom," I say, answering his call. He wastes no time getting right to the point.
"About goddamn time you answer the phone. I've been trying to get ahold of you." He sounds out of breath, as if he's calling me while he's out for an evening
run.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I've been resting, staying off my ankle." It's amazing how easy the lie rolls off my tongue. I hate lying. It isn’t in me, but I have been avoiding his calls for no reason other than wanting to spend my time with Elle.
He barks at me. "Well, answer the phone when I call."
"Sorry, man." I rake my hand over my face and apologize. Dominic is a pushy motherfucker, but rightfully so. This last year has been a whirlwind of modeling contracts and supporting roles in feature films as we wait for the big one to land in my lap, all thanks to him.
He has connections and is one of the best agents in Hollywood, and he has yet to steer me wrong. The last thing I want to do is model, but he promises it will open doors for me.
And let me tell you, the second I hit magazine spreads and billboards in a pair of designer underwear, everything was suddenly on the table for me. Modeling, movies, television . . . all were mine for the picking. The guy knows what he's doing.
"A script landed on my desk today, it's perfect for you."
"Tell me more," I grumble and turn to see Elle brushing her teeth in the en-suite bathroom, her long, dark hair piled on top of her head and her perfectly round ass squeezed into a pair of tight pajama shorts that leave little to the imagination.
"It's a Roger Ward film, Kas. You'd be perfect. This role was meant for you."
Roger fucking Ward. Hollywood's hottest director right now. This man can make or break careers. Dominic definitely has my attention.
I sit up a little straighter in bed. "Send me the script."
"Where to?" he asks, his voice piqued with interest. "I stopped by your apartment twice today, but you didn't answer."
Because I conned my way into staying with the most beautiful woman I've ever met.
She frustrates me, excites me, and fucking turns me on. She also tried to kill me with her car, I want to tell him, but I refrain.
"Ah, yeah. I'm staying with a friend. She's helping take care of me since I can't really get around right now."
"She?" he questions, and I can hear the challenge in his voice when I mention my friend is a female. I've told Dom for months that my sole focus is my career, that I have no desire to date, and that women are nothing but trouble.
One Wild Ride: A Hollywood Chronicles Novel Page 4