by M. Leighton
My smile is bland. “Rayelle. What are you doing here?”
Her lips curve in a gesture a hungry lioness would be proud of. “I came to help you with your lines. Tony wanted you to rehearse, and who better to help with that than me?”
Likely story. I don’t have to ask what she’s really doing here. I know. I can see it in the eyes that are eating up my mostly naked form.
She came for me. Plain and simple.
I grin at her. “That’s awfully nice of you, but I’ve got plans for tonight. In fact, someone is coming over to read lines with me, but thanks for the offer.”
Obviously not one with whom subtlety is effective, Rayelle takes a step toward me, leans in to smash her tits up against my chest and plants her mouth onto mine. Her tongue is working its way between my lips at the same time that her hands are skimming their way down my bare stomach to the waistband of my shorts. I don’t push her away. I wait until she breaks the kiss. This is going to be awkward enough as it is.
I look down into her smoky eyes as she reaches inside my shorts. That’s when I take her wrist to stop her hand.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not in the script,” I tell her lightly.
“Not yet. But you know it’s coming. Why not get a little practice in? You know, for the love of the craft. Make it as convincing as possible.” Her smile is sexy and feline as hell. She’s all but purring and rubbing herself on me like a damn cat. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“As, uh, tempting as that sounds, it’s just not a good time.”
The heat in her eyes fades just enough that I know she’s finally getting the hint. “Is this about Victoria? Are you two back together?” She steps away. No one wants to be on the receiving end of Victoria’s claws.
“No, it’s not Victoria.”
Now she just looks confused. I’m sure a girl like this can’t fathom any other explanation for being turned down. I doubt rejection is something she even considered when she was driving over here.
Her eyes narrow and then widen, like she just thought of the only possible reason I might not want a no-strings-attached bang. “Are you gay?”
I would laugh if it weren’t so pathetic. She’d rather chalk it up to me being gay than just not being interested. “Hell no, I’m not gay.”
“Then, what?”
“I’ve got other plans tonight. With someone else,” I say gently, trying my best to protect her ego. I don’t need any more claws pointed in my direction. Damn, these divas are complicated!
That only makes me appreciate Katie that much more. Only Katie’s not here. And my guess is that she’s not coming.
I’m relieved when my phone rings, interrupting what is becoming an increasingly uncomfortable situation. It gives me an excuse to get rid of Rayelle, which I do immediately.
“Thanks for coming, Rayelle, but I need to get this.” Without further explanation, I close the door in her shocked face and tap the ANSWER button. I don’t really give a shit who it is, but I want to thank the caller with an expensive bottle of scotch.
Until I hear the voice. And then I want to thank her with a long, hot kiss and three hours of worshipping her body.
It’s Katie. I put my number in her phone last night. I’d hoped she’d use it. Or better yet just show up. At least she’s doing one.
“Rogan?” she asks, uncertain.
“Damn, am I glad to hear your voice,” I tell her honestly.
Her laugh is light and pleased. “Why is that?”
“Besides the fact that it sounds like warm honey in my ear, you just saved me from getting devoured.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Surprise visit from Rayelle. Unexpected and not at all welcome.”
“Poor you. What a chore it must be to fend off the advances of beautiful women.”
“It is when there’s only one beautiful woman that I’m interested in. Are you coming over?”
Shit, bro, could you be any more anxious?
“No, that’s why I’m calling. Mona needs me to run some errands for her. It’s important. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it.”
“You can come after. Sunset over the pool would look amazing on your skin.”
“Uhhh, thank you, but I’d better not.”
“I assume there’s nothing I can say to change your mind.”
I’m disappointed. Very disappointed. I wanted to see her again. Hell, right now it feels like I needed to see her again.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
I don’t push Katie and I certainly don’t tell her my plan, but I will be seeing her tonight. I just need to get ahold of Mona to find out where she’ll be.
NINETEEN
Katie
I’d already been nervous about agreeing to see Rogan again today, so when my phone rang, I was relieved that it was Mona. I wasn’t really looking for an excuse to back out of my date tonight, but when my friend practically handed me one, gift-wrapped, I jumped on it.
“White had me arrange a party for some of the cast on his boat. He wanted to spend the day out here and then take them all to that little private island for the rest of the night. The problem is, the liquor for the bar hasn’t arrived. Ronnie is on the island now, setting up sound and some of the other stuff White wanted. He said the bar is still empty, though, and I’m freakin’! I mean, what’s a Hollywood party without alcohol?” she’d explained. There was panic in her voice, which is the biggest reason I agreed immediately.
“Okay, just calm down. What is it that you need me to do?”
“Could you go to the liquor store and pick up the things on the list I just texted you and bring it to the island? Please, please, please, please, please!”
“Mona, I don’t have a boat. How am I supposed to get it there?”
“It’s not a real island. They just call it that because it sticks out into the lake like an island. There’s a gated drive that leads to it from Downton Drive. Do you know where that is?”
“I know where it is. Give me an hour to get it and have it there for you. Will Ronnie still be there to help me unload it?”
“I’ll tell him to wait for you. You’re a lifesaver, Katie! Have I ever told you that?”
I smiled. “I think you might’ve mentioned it a time or two.”
“Don’t leave until I get there, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”
That was over an hour ago. I called Rogan and then left right away.
The guy at the liquor store was more than happy to help me cram my vehicle with boxes of assorted liters of alcohol. I wondered if my little car would even be able to move when I drove out of the parking lot. Heaven forbid I break down or get into a wreck. It would surely look like I have an enormous drinking problem. It seems to be doing fine, though, as I carefully take each curve on the way to the lake.
I slow down as I search for the gated drive that will lead me to the “island.” Even though I’m watching for it, I cruise right by the entrance. I drive farther down the road, searching for a place to turn around. It seems there’s just a big bunch of nothing past the very private entrance to the island. Finally, I just stop, check my rearview for oncoming traffic, of which there is none since this isn’t exactly a well-traveled street, then I steer the car into a wide arc and perform about a six-point turn right in the middle of the road. I’m relieved when I don’t get caught or hit. On my return, I watch more carefully for the gate. From this angle, I see that it’s slightly ajar. Probably Ronnie, making it easier for me to get in.
I smile as I think of him. The friendly redhead has been very very nice to me from day one at the studio. I see him almost every morning and he’s always kind and sweet.
The trees on either side of the road part farther, forming a clearing that boasts an amazing view of the lake. Six cheerfully-striped canvas cabanas housing intimate seating groups are set up in a semi-circle. They face a central tent in white canvas that covers several tables. Each is draped in linen and set with all kind
s of food. Sitting along the back “wall” is a tiki bar.
I look around for signs of life. I don’t see Ronnie anywhere, but at least I know where I’m supposed to take all this liquor.
I park sideways. I’m blocking the road, but I don’t really care. It’ll be easier to unload my car this way.
I lug the first of the boxes out of the trunk. I carry it toward the lake, between two cabanas and under the main tent to the bar at the back where I set it down on the ground. Dusting off my hands, I go to turn around. I yelp when I find Ronnie standing right behind me.
“Wow!” he exclaims, his eyes raking me appreciatively from head to toe. “And I thought you looked amazing in work clothes.”
I didn’t think to change clothes before I left. Not that I would have. I mean, the jeans and scoop-necked tee I’m wearing are hardly indecent. They’re just a bit more . . . fitted than the clothes I normally wear to work, which consist of either loose cotton dresses or dress pants and blouses. Nothing fancy, nothing with much personality. It’s been years since I’ve dressed to impress anyone.
Until Rogan.
Damn it.
“Thanks,” I reply casually. “Wanna help me unload some boxes?”
“Anything for you,” he declares with his easy smile.
A dozen boxes and enough liquor to rot a small town’s liver later, we are finished setting up the bar.
Ronnie is standing with his hands in his pockets, grinning at me. “What do you say we open up one of those bottles of vodka and break it in?”
I put on my politely removed face. “I’d love to, but I can’t.”
“You sure?” he asks, walking to the bar and pulling out a clear liter. He disappears for a second and when his head pops back up, he’s holding two martini glasses, a shallow dish of something and a lemon. “I make a kick-ass lemon drop.”
I’m just about to reiterate my refusal when my phone rings. It’s Mona again.
“Did you get the liquor? Did you find the place? Was Ronnie still there?”
“Yes, yes and yes. Now breathe.”
So she does. She exhales so loudly I can hear it whooshing in my ear. “You are an angel. An absolute angel!”
Even though she can’t see me, I shrug. “It was no problem.”
“I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. White would’ve . . . Ugh! Yeah. You know how that would’ve gone.”
“I know. Not pretty.” White is anal, which is probably why he makes such a good producer. He’s a details man.
“We should be there shortly. Will you stay for a few minutes after I get there?” Her tone is hopeful.
“Meh. I’m really not in the mood to—”
“Katiiie!” I can almost hear Mona stomp her foot. “You’re never in the mood. Can’t you stay? Just for a little while? For me? Pleeease!”
I frown. This isn’t like Mona. Normally all she ever needs is White and she’s happy as a clam. Unless things aren’t going well. “Is something wrong?”
The long pause and her short response say it all. “It’s White.” Her voice is small and wounded, and I can hear the resignation in it.
I don’t have to ask what he’s done. It’s the only thing he ever does to hurt Mona. Unfortunately, he does it with disgusting regularity. “Who is it?”
“Peony,” she answers miserably, bringing to mind the mental image of a trashy, raven-haired beauty. She plays the resident freak on the show and she’s very convincing. Mainly, we suspect, because she’s such a freak in real life. Dark, brooding, daring. Admits to loving sadomasochism. Observes some pretty scary “personal pleasure rituals.” Thinks the devil talks to her. That kind of thing.
“Peony? Ewww. Why?”
“I know, right? White doesn’t even like brunettes. And she’s named after a stinky old flower. I just don’t . . . I can’t . . .” I hear the tremor in her voice and I know she’s about to lose it. Now is definitely not the time to tell her that peonies don’t stink. They actually smell quite good.
I hold back my sigh. My friend needs me. “Of course I’ll wait for you.”
Like a ray of sunshine breaking through thick, ominous clouds, I hear the pleasure and relief in her voice. She needs to be with someone who won’t hurt her. Someone like me. “Really? You will?”
“Really. I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“You’re the best, Kitty.”
When we hang up I turn back to Ronnie, who is just slurping the last sip from his martini glass and preparing to make another. “Why don’t you make that two?”
Ronnie smiles and whoops enthusiastically. I feel an answering smile curve my own mouth.
An hour later, I’m two drinks in, Ronnie is starting to slur and Mona still hasn’t arrived. I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed a call.
Nope. Nothing.
“Excuse me for just a second,” I tell Ronnie when he pauses in his rambling long enough for me to get a word in.
I get up and walk toward shore, scanning the dark lake horizon for the lights of an approaching yacht. I see nothing except the reflection of the dozens of flaming tiki torches that are burning to illuminate the island setting.
I turn back and slip into one of the cabanas for a little privacy as I tap Mona’s number into my phone. The way she answers, I can picture her with one finger stuffed in her other ear so she can hear me on the phone. “Don’t leave!” she says without preamble, practically screaming. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“It’s getting late. I need to get home.”
“It’s nowhere near late, Katie! Don’t you dare leave yet. I’m coming. I swear.”
“I’ll wait as long as I can, but if you’re not here in another thirty minutes, I’ll have to go.”
She huffs. “Fine. But give me thirty minutes. We aren’t that far away. We’ll be there shortly.”
“That’s what you said an hour ago.”
“Well, that’s what I thought an hour ago. Nautical . . . stuff isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
“Okay, okay,” I say in frustration. “Thirty minutes.”
“See you soon.” And then the line goes dead.
I inhale deeply and turn to find my way back to Ronnie. And run right into him. He’s standing behind me in the cabana. I grab my chest to still my runaway heart. “Ronnie! God, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” he slurs softly. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say, taking a step back, away from his crowding closeness.
Ronnie takes a step forward. “You look so beautiful tonight. I just can’t get over the way your ass looks in jeans.”
What a crude thing to say, especially from Ronnie, who’s always fairly mild in his appreciation.
A little thread of unease weaves its way down my spine. “Thanks. I think. Let’s go back out to the tent. Mona said they’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”
I start to walk around him, but he winds his fingers around my upper arm to stop me, pulling me against his side. “Sit and talk with me then. Just for a couple of minutes.”
Still gripping my arm, Ronnie pivots slowly, backing toward the day bed–type structure that’s piled with pillows. There’s one in each cabana. As inviting as it looks, I don’t want to sit on it and talk to a drunk Ronnie.
I plant my feet, resisting his guidance.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ve had a lot to drink, Ronnie.”
He laughs, giving me a sharp tug that unbalances me. I careen forward, right into his arms, which he folds around me as we fall together back onto the makeshift bed.
I make a strangled squeaking sound, surprised by the sudden movement. Alarm flashes through me. I go from uneasy to distinctly uncomfortable with Ronnie’s insistence. I push against his chest in an attempt to find my feet, but rather than letting me go, he laughs and rolls until I’m trapped beneath his weight. Considering how short I am and what a big guy Ronnie
is, he holds me down with little effort. I’d say he’s easily twice as heavy as me.
“I think we’ve flirted around this attraction long enough, Katie, don’t you?” he says, his voice gruff with intoxicated passion.
Before I can set him straight, Ronnie smashes his mouth against mine. I clamp my lips together, my body going stiff as a board beneath him. That does nothing to deter him, however. He runs his overly wet tongue over my cheek and down to my neck, his hands multiplying by the second. They’re everywhere—massaging my breast, rubbing my side, gripping my butt, tugging my legs apart.
My alarm increases tenfold when he wedges his hips between mine and starts to grind against me. He’s moaning against my throat, licking and kissing and crushing me with his weight. I feel breathless, but not in a good way. It’s as though the pressure of his thick chest is collapsing my lungs.
“Ronnie, stop,” I manage in a pant.
“I know you want this as much as I do. You don’t have to pretend. I heard you on the phone. They won’t be here for a while. We’ve got enough time, sweet thing.”
As I struggle to bring up my chin and pull in gulps of fresh air, Ronnie’s fingers curl into the neckline of my shirt, dragging it down and pressing slobbery kisses to my chest. Panic begins to well within me when I hear the seam crackle.
“You feel so good, Katie. I can’t wait one more minute.”
Ronnie leans up as if to start taking off my clothes and I use the moment of freedom from his suffocating torso to twist my upper body out from under him. I try to wriggle away, but my movements seem only to further inflame him. “That’s right. Show me some fight. If you like it rough, I’m down with that.”
As if to prove his point, Ronnie runs a determined hand between our bodies, pressing his palm to the apex of my thighs and rubbing hard with the heel of his hand. I buck my hips against him, trying to unseat him, but he holds me down effortlessly.
“God, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he mumbles as he rubs.
I don’t stop fighting. I can’t.