Dirty, Dark, & Dangerous: A Contemporary Romance Boxset

by Luciani, Kristen

  I can almost hear Jules’s screeching cries over the phone lines when Louise made the call.

  I should have been smarter, recognized the signs. But I didn’t. I believed his intentions were good, that he was actually looking out for my best interests, that he was my friend…until he pulled a knife on me.

  Pressing my fingers to my temple, I let out a shaky sigh. “I’m okay, Jules.” Lie number three. I’m not okay. I’m just desperate for normalcy, something I agreed to give up when I plunged into the Hollywood scene a few years ago.

  “Look, I don’t want you to live in fear for the rest of your life. I just want you to be more aware of your surroundings. Don’t always think the best of people. There’s a lot of evil out there, and you’ve got a big ass bull’s eye on your back.”

  “You’re so jaded.” I peer into the large mirror in the massive white marble bathroom and smudge the black eyeliner under my eyes so they look smoky. The makeup gives my eyes a sultry look, so different than my normal all-American squeaky-clean and fresh-faced appearance. My natural blonde hair is dyed a deep reddish auburn, and it’s chemically straightened to eliminate any traces of my signature curls. Colored contacts turn my crystal blue eyes a deep shade of hazel, and dark framed glasses finish my new look. “I’m completely unrecognizable.”

  “Only until you’re spotted on the cover of a magazine in that new getup. It’s only a matter of time.” Jules sighs. “Just be careful. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t drink anything alcoholic. Don’t go for walks on the beach alone at night. Don’t—”

  I grab a deep plum lip liner from my makeup bag. “Jules, if there’s more of a list, just fax it to Louise. I promise to read, review, and initial it for you.”

  “Tatum—“ I hear it, the impatient sigh. My sister, who also happens to be my attorney, does not appreciate my cavalier attitude about life. At all. I know I need to be more careful, more suspicious of people, but I can’t change who I am. I won’t turn into one of those basket cases who refuses to leave the house because some loony-toon might jump out of a bush and attack.

  I plaster on a smile and make a kissy face at the screen. “Don’t worry. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

  Jules rolls her eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. Now, who’s going to dinner with you?”

  “Jeremy,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. I know Jules will be relieved to hear it, since Jer is my largest and most menacing bodyguard.

  She grins and claps her hands together. “That’s great! Okay, I feel much better now.”

  “Jules, it’s one more night. You know we leave tomorrow for the shoot. I’ve been absolutely fine here. You can’t get more remote. Please stop worrying. It’ll give you premature wrinkles.”

  “Having you as my sister pretty much guarantees I’ll look like I’m eighty when I’m forty. So, thanks for that.”

  I line and fill in my lips then pucker before sweeping a peachy shade across them.

  “Beautiful. I love that lip color on you.”

  I smack my lips together. “Thanks, sis. Now, don’t you have a date or something?”

  She rifles through a pile of papers on her cluttered desk. “Nah. I have a huge caseload right now. I need to work through some depositions tonight.”

  I frown. “You work too hard. You need to enjoy life a little more.”

  “I’ll take it under consideration. Give Jer a kiss for me.” She waves. “Night!”

  “Night!” I blow her a kiss and hit the end call button on my laptop.

  I feel a little bad about lying to her, but this week has been so fantastic. Anonymity is such a blessing. I’d always worked so hard to make sure everyone knew my name, it’s a nice change to fly under the radar. I’d forgotten how liberating it felt.

  I just want one night of freedom, one night to escape my Academy-award nominated famous self. One night. And now that my undercover entourage has moved on to get everything set up for the film shoot, I’m probably one of five guests left here anyway. Jules really doesn’t need to worry.

  A tiny shiver runs through me. I’m finally alone.

  Unfortunately, that means I have no choice but to listen to the voices in my head, and right now they’re chanting.

  Be careful what you wish for…

  I roll my eyes. Traitors.

  Chapter Two

  EVAN

  “How were the waves today, handsome?” The pretty brunette bartender leans forward, giving me a glimpse of what’s beneath her shirt. More than a glimpse, actually. It doesn’t really qualify as a shirt, either.

  I smile, backing away after picking up the glass she set in front of me. I hope she gets the message that I’m not interested today any more than I was a week ago when I’d arrived, and she’d all but jumped me on the way back to my villa then. “Perfect, as usual. It’s going to be hard to leave this place.”

  “Only because of the waves?” The bartender, Mina, twists her full lips into a pout.

  I force a chuckle. I’m probably in the minority here, but I’m not trying to get laid. Not my usual MO, but I didn’t come all the way here to fuck my way through the week. I needed to get the hell away from my life for a little while. Being here won’t change anything, and it sure as shit won’t eliminate the guilt that’s plagued me every day since the accident. But I needed an escape, a place to clear my head, and to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life now. Sure, I could have screwed Mina six ways to Sunday…she’d made it clear that was her objective…but I didn’t need to travel halfway around the world for pussy. I have my pick of it whenever, wherever, and however I want it; just one of the many perks of being a World Surf League champion.

  Yeah, my life was pretty fucking incredible until a few months ago.

  “Nah, I’m gonna miss the pig roasts, too. Don’t see much of that back home.” I hold up the glass of scotch, ignoring the innuendo. Ain’t happening. Not tonight. Not ever. “Thanks, Mina.”

  I see the look of disappointment flash across her face, but I’m sure someone else will turn up and catch her eye. Another thing that doesn’t really entice me. Mina can probably park cars in her pussy. I’d rather not stick my dick in that Petri dish of STDs.

  The bar is set inside of a teak wood hut right on the beach. I sink into a wicker chair facing the glow of the horizon. The ocean breeze is intoxicating; the scent of the sea air so much sweeter than it is in California. I can actually breathe here. The air doesn’t choke me like it does at home. I know it’s because of the choice I made, the one that has plagued me for months, the one that I came here to escape.

  I swirl the scotch around my glass and take a long gulp. Everyone tells me not to blame myself, but I was the one person who could have changed the outcome of that fateful day. It’s a fucking jagged pill to swallow, which is why I needed to get away from there so badly. Everything reminds me of him – Vroman’s bookstore, where he’d spend hours upon hours devouring the latest and greatest sci-fi thrillers while slugging back that disgusting sludge the café tried to pass off as espresso; Rick’s Coffee Shop, that dive we’d go to every Sunday morning for breakfast before hitting the beach; the surfboard standing against my bedroom wall…

  I let out a deep breath and stare at the gently rolling waves stretching as wide as my eyes can see. They weren’t so calm the day Brendan died. They were rough enough to claim the life of someone whose second home was the ocean. He was better on his board than me. So much better, so much stronger. But he had issues…demons that refused to vacate his mind. They poisoned him, tortured his soul, and made him reckless. We all tried to help him, and for a while, it worked - the medication, the therapy - but one day, he just slipped out of our grasp. It happened right after I’d signed the biggest endorsement deal of my career. Life was fucking perfect. Until it wasn’t. I ignored Brendan’s cries for help. I was too consumed with myself and the opportunities that came pouring in after I’d won that surfing championship. When he’d stormed off that morning, something felt wrong…off. Bu
t I let it go…let him go.

  It’s been six long months since the accident. The guilt crippled me for too damn long, and it’s time to get back to living. Resurrecting my career is next on the list.

  A strong breeze carries away my cocktail napkin and I twist to grab it before it blows any farther. That’s when I see her. I swallow hard as she walks toward me. Her thick, reddish-brown hair cascades over one bronze shoulder, her sinful body poured into a long, flowing floral dress. Her movements are graceful and so fucking seductive at the same time. I’d had an eye on her all week. She was damn hard to ignore, with those luscious tits and bitable ass. When she showed up alone on the beach today, I figured I’d take a shot. But once word got out that I was staying at the resort, guests came out of the woodwork to watch me on my board. Some even asked for surfing lessons. Most of the women wanted more than that, but none of them made my dick hard. Not like her.

  The corners of her lips curl into a slow smile when she passes my table. Those eyes flash like greenish-golden flames that singe every square inch of my body. Christ, I want to let that fire rage through me.

  I watch as she gracefully sinks into a nearby wicker chair overlooking the sand, her long hair fanning out around her. My cock twitches as images of her in that skimpy metallic bikini flash through my lust-clouded mind. I groan inwardly, my fingers aching to grasp the perfectly rounded globes of her ass, the diversion I so desperately need.

  I came here to escape, not to get sucked into this woman’s aura, but somehow, that’s exactly where I’ve ended up. I crane my head around, looking for her posse, but it looks like she might actually be flying solo again.

  Tonight. Last night. Last chance.

  I’m not the guy who sweats over talking to women. I’m more the guy who needs to beat them off with a stick. Well, it’s usually my stick, and they never leave willingly.

  But this woman is different. She carries herself with a confidence that’s sexy as fuck, and those eyes…I could easily get lost in them with no hope of ever finding my way out. The way she flips her glossy hair over her shoulder, the slope of her neck, those tight legs… I’ve been dreaming about having her body pinned under me for the better part of this trip. I can’t explain why I’m so drawn to her, why she’s unknowingly cast some sick spell over me, when I’m the guy who can have any woman drop her panties in exchange for a sliver of my attention.

  These are the kind of crazy thoughts that should send up the red flags. Since when do I even pay attention to shit like eye color? And watching her all week like some lunatic stalker? Who the hell am I? It’s got to be this goddamn heat making me act this way. That, or a week without sex is dangling me over the brink of sanity.

  Something about her is so familiar, yet untouchable. A challenge. I need to meet her. Actually, I need way fucking more than that, but you’ve got to start somewhere.

  I grip my glass, admiring her profile out of the corner of my eye. Her jaw twitches, her gaze focused on the glittery waves crashing onto the shore. She is almost trance-like, not blinking, perfectly still, barely breathing.

  A shattered glass followed by shrill laughter pierces the peaceful silence in the hut. The sound seems to startle her, and her head twists in the direction of the bar, until our gazes connect. It only lasts a second or so, but the thrum in my chest jolts me like I’ve just stuck a wet finger into an electric socket.

  Yeah, I’m severely fucked right now. The spell is cast, and I hope it never breaks.

  I stand, willing my legs to cooperate, and close the space between us. Her gaze is unwavering. It never leaves my face as I inch toward her, mesmerized by her expressive eyes, glowing skin, and soft features. A classic beauty. I have no idea if she’s alone here, if she’s married or has a boyfriend. I don’t give a flying fuck. Her pull on me is almost magnetic. She’s sucks me in like she’s a funnel cloud and I’m just in the wrong place at the right time.

  Crazy. I am absolutely fucking bat-shit crazy. Obsessing about a woman I don’t even know, fantasizing about fucking her senseless in the sand, unable to sleep because I can’t stop wondering who she is and why she’s here. Jesus Christ, I’m not that guy!

  At least, I haven’t been for the past twenty-six years of my life.

  Her smile widens as I approach. “So, you’re the famous surfer everyone’s been talking about. I saw you on the beach earlier. You were pretty incredible on that board. I can barely stand on mine.”

  I grin and stick my hand out. “Evan Montrose, at your service. I’m always happy to give private lessons.”

  She reaches out and squeezes, sending a pang of electricity straight to my groin. Firm grip, skin so soft and smooth. Christ, I’d like to feel those hands wrapped around my cock right now—

  “Lila Haywood. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She cocks an eyebrow. “So, about those lessons…?”

  “The hotel rents me out during the day, but my nights are usually free.”

  A giggle escapes her lips. “Usually? That’s surprising.”

  “I like to keep my options open.”

  She nods. “I think my window is about to close. I’m leaving tomorrow, so if I haven’t gotten the hang of it by now, I think I’m going to have to stick to my day job.”

  “You don’t seem like the type of woman to walk away from a challenge.”

  Her eyes twinkle. “Last time I checked, I was still sitting here.”

  “So does that mean I have a shot to get you on that board?” Or anywhere else, for that matter?

  “Is that why you came over here? To prove that you can teach the unteachable?”

  “I don’t like to fail.” The words hang in the air between us, the double meaning obvious. I pause, a slow smile curling my lips. “And, for the record, nobody is unteachable. You can learn to do anything. You just have to want it badly enough.” That’s why I’m standing here right now. I see something - or rather, someone - I want. And I never walk away from a challenge.

  Her eyes cloud over. “I know,” she murmurs. Her expression is shadowed by something…sadness, maybe. But as quickly as it comes, it’s gone, replaced by her bright and teasing smile. “You certainly sell yourself well. I think I’d be foolish not to take you out for a spin.”

  She may not have intended her tone to be as seductive as it was, but her words are full of promise, and that promise makes my cock twitch. Oh, fuck yeah! I’ll give you the ride of a lifetime. “Trust me, I never disappoint.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” She looks down at her sundress. “Do I need a wetsuit? Or is my bikini okay?”

  My cock twitches for the second time. Stripping her out of that silky material would have been preferable if she were going to be sprawled out on my bed, naked and begging for me to plunge into her pussy. I grit my teeth, trying to block out the X-rated images from impairing my already lust-filled mind. “You’ll be fine without the wetsuit.”

  She drums her fingertips on the table. Her mouth never moves, but I can see streams of thoughts racing through her mind. Some hesitation, a little bit of fear, and a lot of curiosity. My throat tightens. I can’t let her walk away, not when I’ve come this close. I sound like some sick, pathetic fuck. I know. But unlike that ocean out there, I’ve never navigated waters like these; ones where I could easily drown without a care or a second thought.

  And that’s exactly what I want. What I need. What I’ve been closed off to for so long.

  Last chance…last chance…

  * * *

  TATUM

  Is it so horrible to want to feel normal, even for a few hours?

  I know that sounds bad. People would give their right arms to live my life, to deal with my so-called first world problems. And I love it, I really do. I’m incredibly lucky, in more ways than I can count.

  My eyes lock on Evan’s ice blue ones. He has no idea who I am, and I can’t lie, it excites me. I love that in my otherwise chaotic world, I can cling to a sliver of anonymity. I can live like I want, without anyone watching, t
alking, stalking, photographing, gossiping…it’s refreshing. And freeing.

  I need this. It’s been a long few months, and even with work, photo shoots, interviews, and award shows occupying so much of my time, it’s a lonely life when you don’t feel like you can trust anyone or believe that they may be interested in you for who you are, not for what they can get from you.

  After Luke, I felt like I’d never get back to anything remotely resembling normal again. I’d been hiding for too long, sacrificing my own happiness, paranoid that he’d eventually find his way back to me and finish what he’d started.

  But I’m tired of living in fear, in a world of what-ifs. And after a week of being flanked on all sides, I’m ready for a little taste of freedom. Especially one who comes wrapped up in a delicious package of rippled bronze muscles and eyes soulful enough to melt my insides. Yes, he’s exactly what I’ve been craving. He may also be the reason why I sent my team to the next venue a day early.

  Fuck it all. I just want one night to remember what it feels like to be desired, to laugh without a care in the world, and to be myself without concern for who may be watching.

  Evan’s broad shoulders are covered by a t-shirt that stretches tightly across his chest, but I can still imagine what lies beneath the fabric. I grasp his outstretched hand and allow him to pull me out of my chair. Goose bumps shoot up my arms and down my legs in response to his touch, and I can only imagine how my body would react to those hands dancing across my skin.

  I hope I don’t have to wait too long to find out.

  God, I’m so sexually repressed.

  He stands aside so I can step onto the path leading to the beach, his hand on the small of my back. The heat generated by his fingertips alone is enough to burn a hole through the fabric. Jesus, I’m in trouble if I can’t even hold it together enough to make it to the beach before I melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. I set my foot down on the tiled path, my head still a little woozy from the alcohol, and my foot slips out from under me. I let out a yelp, my body lurching forward, bracing for impact on the hard terra cotta. Evan’s strong arms snake around my waist before I can face-plant on the ground. He manages to free my very insensible shoe from the groove and dangles it in front of me. “You might want to trade these in for flip flops. Just saying.”