Celebrity Pass

by Camryn Eyde

  Celebrity Pass

  A Short Story

  By Camryn Eyde

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2014 Camryn Eyde

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Camryn Eyde

  Discover other titles by Camryn Eyde:

  Taming the Boss

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Other Titles

  Connect with me

  Chapter One

  “Well, this sucks,” I muttered as my new three-inch pumps disappeared into a muddy puddle. Throwing caution to the wind, I dropped everything I was carrying and screamed at the storm raging above me. I steadfastly ignored the way my handbag splashed into the same puddle that murdered my shoes. How did such a stellar day end like this?

  My hopes had been buoyant right up until I passed the security checkpoint for the vast estate I was having a mental breakdown in. I’d travelled clear across the country to make an appointment at the mansion I knew was still several miles in front of me. The sun shone brightly, my spirits were high, but the instant I waved off the guard, it all fell apart. My tire blew a few miles from the security hut, and the sudden halt in the ditch because of it forced my face against the steering wheel. Shrugging off the inconvenience of losing my ride and the thumping bruise on my cheek, I made for the mansion, determined to make my appointment.

  Then I tripped in a pothole.

  The gravel road tore at my shear stockings and the tender flesh beneath it. Thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the skies had opened above me with a thunderous crash.

  I should have turned back, but the lure of the starlet waiting for me up the road was worth the pain and suffering. Isobel O’Donnell was worth anything and everything. She was everyone’s saucy fantasy and the hottest property at the box office. Sexy and darn near inaccessible thanks to her exclusive lifestyle, I had every intention of making it to her house for my rare interview opportunity, regardless of what condition I arrived in.

  I was a journalist, and Isobel, Hollywood’s superstar of the year, granted few audiences with the press. How I managed to secure a one-on-one appointment was beyond my comprehension, but I was hardly going to question it, regardless of the calamity befalling me as I neared her residence.

  Picking up my sodden bag, I took a deep breath and stared at the wet road in front of me and smiled. Isobel O’Donnell was up that road, and soon, I’d be knocking on her door. She’d come sweeping out of her house in a cloud of intoxicating pheromones, hair and makeup perfect, and she’d take my hand, kiss my cheek, and provide a lifetime worth of dreams in a single moment.

  Attractive barely began to describe the woman that Miss O’Donnell was. Thick, wavy hair currently the color of chestnut fell down her back in thick waves. Olive skin from her South American heritage set the green jewels of her eyes alight. Those lips. That voice. It was a recipe for every girl’s fantasy, and I had to admit, I fantasized about the woman on a frequent, and probably obsessive, basis. I’d spent many nights thinking of how soft her skin was. How supple her body would be. How my name would sound as it spilled from her lips in shameless gasps.

  I couldn’t help it. She was magnificent.

  And then she was right next to me.

  I yelped as the town car pulled up beside me with a wet roll of tires. The next thing I knew, the back window rolled down and that magnificent and worship-worthy woman was looking at me. There she was, staring out her window, her head cocked slightly and looking me up and down with a curious frown.

  Oh, God. My life was so unfair.

  “Need a lift?” she asked after a moment of studying my state of dress.

  She spoke to me. Okay. Act cool. Put your game face on. I blinked and nodded with a jerk. “I…uh…yeah.” Smooth.

  Her frown turned into a smile and my knees wobbled. She was stunning. The big screen lied to me. It made me think she was beautiful, but the woman was a hundred times more exquisite in 3D.

  “Well, then. Come in out of the weather.” She unlatched the door and swung it out.

  I swallowed what felt like a lump of mud stuck in my throat, and sat on her plush leather seats with a squelch. I grimaced at the noise. Water ran in rivulets down my body, and my ruined pumps created their own muddy puddle on the carpeted flooring next to my bag. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  Isobel O’Donnell smiled at me again. She really needed to stop doing that because, damn! Thank goodness I was sitting down this time. “It’s fine, dear.”

  My heart thumped about like a mad rabbit. She called me dear. I stared back, captivated with her eyes. They were like liquid jade, and I knew in the right light, they lightened to a brilliant emerald. Every movie of hers I ever watched told me so. Enhanced with eyeliner and a dusting of eye shadow, those orbs were truly framed as the window to her soul. Her soul, as far as I was concerned, was magic itself.

  “May I ask what happened for you to end up stranded on the side of the road in a storm?”

  I licked my lips as I watched hers move with her question. Painted a light pink, they looked plump, soft and I couldn’t help but wonder what they tasted like.

  She frowned slightly and cocked her head again.

  I gasped and widened my eyes as I realized I’d been staring at her mutely. “God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, God, you’re so amazingly beautiful.” Hell! What did I say that for? I smacked a hand over my mouth to keep any further nonsense in. “Sorry,” I mumbled through my sweating palm. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I’m not beautiful?” she asked, sounding offended.

  “God, no! You are. You most certainly are. You’re like a goddess. Those eyes, that mouth…and your body.” Unbidden my eyes scanned the tight-fitting maroon dress she was shoe-horned into. My scanning eyes got stuck at the plunging neckline revealing a scandalous amount of breast swell. I shut my eyes and groaned as I became aware of my completely inappropriate ogling. “I’m sorry. I’m being very rude.”

  A chuckle made me open my eyes again.

  I took a deep breath and started again. “My car crashed…sort of. Back there.”

  Her eyes widened. “It did? Are you okay?” Her eyes scanned my face and found the bruise aching on my cheek. All breathing ceased when she lifted a hand and turned my face to inspect and caress the injury. Oh, God. Oh, God. Her hands were silky and warm. Muscles deep between my legs clenched and pounded.

  “I, uh, hit a rock and blew my tire out.” My hand went to the bruising on my cheek and covered her gently probing fingers. “I hit my head a little. Maybe I have concussion, that’s why I’m being a complete imbecile.”

  Isobel hummed thoughtfully. Turning to the driver, she ordered him to continue before focusing once again on me. “May I ask who you are?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m from The Star. I have an appointment with you.” I grinned. “I’m Cass Hartley. Or Cassidy. Cassie to my lover.” Oh, no! Did I really just say that? I ducked my head and winced.

  “Cassie certainly has a nice ring to it.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Your knees?” she said, forcing me to look back up at her, crimson cheeks and all.

  “Huh?”

  My legs jerked whe
n one of her manicured fingers traced down my thigh to perch on my knee as she studied the slight grazing there. I tried to temper the fire now raging in my underwear. My way too loud moan filled the cab of the car when she circled the wound with her finger.

  “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  All I could do was shake my head.

  She looked at me for a long time as if trying to decipher my actions. She ran her hand up the length of my thigh and I tried my best not to arch into her touch. She pulled her hand away quickly and I knew I’d been caught practically making love to her soft touch. Mentally locating where my bag was so I could grab it before being turfed from the vehicle, she leaned forward as I fumbled for it, snatching the handle with a silent shout of glee. She smirked and gently pried my hands from the faux leather bag.

  “Relax,” she said in a deep whisper. My body throbbed as a whole and I prayed to God my nipples would tear their way through the wet lace at my chest. How can one whisper turn them to such lethal points?

  She put my bag on the floor and leaned into me. My body stopped functioning as it concentrated the blood flow to my undergarments. I vaguely registered that she reached for the door handle, no doubt ending my time in her company, but the way her body was forced close to mine because of it had my entire attention. Willing myself to resist her and consider defensive roll techniques from moving vehicles, the wash of her scent that surrounded me rendered my resistance rather pathetic. Under the guise of allowing her room to open the door and end my ride, I shifted and my face pressed softly into her bare shoulder.

  She stilled. One hand braced either side of me, she let my erratic exhales brush over her skin.

  “We’re here,” she whispered deep into my ear.

  Oh, Lordy, we most certainly were, for this, was every fantasy mingled into one.

  She opened the door beside me letting in the glare of the overcast afternoon light. Bracing myself and wishing I’d spent the last few seconds figuring out how to roll, I registered the complete lack of momentum. We had arrived at her mansion and her driver was hovering by the open door.

  She pulled away with a coy smile and gestured for me to exit, which I did so…clumsily. My nervous system was trying to regain its footing now that Isobel wasn’t pressed against me. Distracting myself, I took in the sights of the grounds and let wonder and awe take me away from a moment. I was facing the forest surrounding the opulent building behind me. Set part way up a hill, the views were as magnificent as they were endless. Lush grass rolled gently to the edge of the wild forest, and hedges helped shape the tiered drop as they complimented granite boulders and cobblestone paths and walls.

  “This way,” Isobel said.

  Turning, I smiled at the white stone of the Tudor-style mansion. I’d seen pictures of this of course, but nothing compared to viewing it in person. It was grandiose and set seamlessly into the landscape around it.

  “Ms. Hunter, please see my guest, Cassie, to the master bathroom,” Isobel said as an elderly woman greeted us by the doors.

  She called me Cassie. Wait! Master bathroom?

  Isobel smiled at my open shock. “I assumed you’d like to shower and change before we conduct our…business?”

  I blinked.

  “Miss Hartley?” Isobel frowned and leaned towards me.

  She knows my name. She knows me! “Oh…um…yes. Of course. Please.” Isobel inclined her head and entered her mansion, leaving me feeling foolish. Of course she knows me, I thought as Ms. Hunter took me around to the side entrance, I had an appointment to see her and I told her who I was. Imbecile. “Ugh,” I mumbled, face-palming my forehead. Ms. Hunter cocked an eyebrow at me.

  I looked around the marbled floors, the soft wood features of the walls, the antique collection of furniture, and remarked to myself at how sterile it all looked. Working away on feature films ten months of the year obviously shifted the priority of making her house a home a long way down the list. It was a shame. I could see this place holding true beauty with a few personal touches. Perhaps the sound of a family echoing around the rooms? A stray child’s toy, or perhaps a bowl for a pet?

  Ms. Hunter caught me smiling dreamily to myself as my fantasy took me away. “Miss Hartley, if you would follow me?”

  “Oh…” I skipped up the steps to the second level and found myself in the master bedroom. Here, personality thrived. Trinkets from travels scattered the shelves and benches as they stood proudly beside photos of Isobel and the woman that was her significant other. I fingered one of the frames as I passed, wishing I could jump into the picture and be the woman smiling alongside the phenomenon I assumed was now downstairs somewhere.

  Ms. Hunter cleared her throat. “I have run the bath. Miss O’Donnell will no doubt see to a new outfit.” The woman scoured my appearance with deep blue eyes.

  Yes, I get it, I’m a mess.

  “Perhaps an ice pack for your cheek?”

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling at her awkwardly.

  She inclined her head and gestured to the bathroom before leaving.

  Stripping self-consciously in the magnificent shrine to tiles and modern amenities, I relaxed into the bubbles Ms. Hunter prepared and smiled. If this was the life of a celebrity, then I didn’t mind it in the least. Hot water, soft blasts of water from the jets in the bath, and the sounds of soothing music piping through the house. Luxury.

  Closing my eyes, my mind turned to thoughts of Isobel as the scent of her rose from the perfumed water around me and sent my head spinning. She had aroused me to the point of insanity by her sheer proximity, and inhaling vanilla and jasmine from the water left me breathless as I shivered with recollection of the way she whispered in my ear. How was I supposed to interview the woman when I became a dimwitted, painfully aroused fool around her?

  I groaned. My editor was going to string me up from the nearest bridge. All because my panties got a little damp. Okay, so that was under-selling it. I had to peel my panties off me to bathe. They were a ruined, sodden mess beside my rain-drenched clothes.

  I needed to focus. I needed my wit to ask the poignant questions and get an insight on one of Hollywood’s most reclusive stars. To do that, I needed to stop thinking with my libido. I knew what I had to do.

  Cracking an eyelid to ensure the door was latched, I let my hand drift down my wet skin. I was positive masturbating in the bath of your fantasy woman’s home was up there with creepy and jail-worthy, but I couldn’t help the throb put here by the woman herself. She had invaded my space, whispered soft deep words in my ear, and sent goose bumps down my skin. She had smiled at me. She had looked at me. She was just…“Oh,” I whispered as I fingered the clit that was already swollen and sensitive.

  Licking my lips, my fingers delved lower and scooping at the frictionless liquid pooled between my legs, I gasped. Hot water invaded my tender skin, and wincing briefly at the discomfort, it soon faded, and as it did, my growing desperation increased. Teeth biting down on my bottom lip, I pushed a finger into myself. It teased and tickled the entrance before I let it glide deep into the heat inside. Careful not to wash away that Isobel-induced fluid, I left my finger pressing inside, and wiggled it against the ribbed skin on my upper wall.

  A moan escaped through my lips, and self-consciously, I checked the door was still closed.

  Confident my privacy remained intact, I continued with my brilliant plan to reduce my arousal around the woman. I began to move my finger with careful strokes against my upper wall as my other hand tweaked at nipples hard and cool as they poked out of the water. My need grew with each press against my nerve bundle and with each delicious shiver from breast to clit. Impatient and aware that I couldn’t linger in here for long, I neglected my breasts and drew lazy but firm circles over my clit while I continued to pump my finger inside me.

  Risking the loss of slick want, I pulled my finger out before replacing it with two. Curling and pressing upwards with a rapidly building need for release, I worked my clit furiously as images and the scent
of the woman I desired most invaded my mind. Isobel. Isobel. I chanted to myself. Picturing the woman herself touching me, licking me, tonguing me, made me groan long and hard as my climax rose. “Oh, Isobel,” I moaned as water splashed around me when my body shuddered and convulsed in orgasm seconds later.

  “Yes?” the woman’s voice called out through the door.

  “Jesus!” I sat bolt upright and snatched my fingers away from my twitching and climaxing sex. Ouch! “Uh…” I cleared my throat, acutely embarrassed at how hoarse and thick it sounded. “Do you have some spare clothes?”

  “Look on the counter.”

  I turned and studied the long bench housing basins, perfumes and moisturizers, and a white robe. I frowned. Was that there earlier?

  “I just put a fresh towel beside it,” she called out.

  Oh, God! She was in here? While I was doing myself. “Uh…thanks…” I said, my voice fading away.

  “You’re welcome. Let me know what more I can do for you.” She chuckled faintly.

  I moaned and attempted to drown myself in the bath. Surely drowning was better than dying of embarrassment.

  Dressed…mostly, a robe was all I had on, I escaped the bathroom to find myself alone. A situation that was just fine in my opinion. Convinced I was just caught masturbating and moaning the name of the woman that found me, I was more than happy to avoid her at all costs. Of course, that would make interviewing her impossible. The awkwardness and utter mortification of facing the woman was worth skipping the country and changing my identity.

  “You’re finished?” she asked as she waltzed into her room, a knowing smirk on her face.

  “Uh…yes…thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, dear. Now it’s my turn.” She winked and shut herself in the bathroom.

  I shuddered as my climax repeated itself. Damn, she was just incredible. Deciding to wait where I was, figuring that trespassing around the house may have been worse than getting off in the bath, I sat on the edge of the bed. The sound of the shower running was just audible through the door and I suddenly realized Isobel O’Donnell was naked and wet on the other side of that door.