I shrug into one of the plush robes in the closet and wander in search of Gavin. I spot him on the terrace in nothing but boxer briefs, and the sight makes me feel all warm and tingly in all the right places. However, my libido is instantly smacked down when I see his angelic face turned dark by a fury I have never seen from him before. He’s on the phone giving someone a tongue-lashing—and not the good kind.
My instinct is to go to him, but I give him some space. If this were a conversation he wanted to have publicly, he would have stayed in bed. We had mutually decided to unplug while we were here, and it was the best decision at the time. No texts or emails or anyone interrupting. Just him and me. But, since he’s on the phone, I guess we’re plugged back in, so I might as well be too. I turn on my phone to find my voicemail inbox full and a million texts waiting for replies. There are tons of numbers I don’t recognize, which I decide to ignore for now. Em has sent a bunch of furious texts. Rather than sort through them all, I just call her.
“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been worried sick! Do you know what the hell has been going on?”
“Hello to you, too. Gavin and I have been camped out in a hotel. There was a ton of press at my apartment, so we came here and have been lying low. Can you please tell me what all the drama is about?”
“The press is saying that you broke up Brooke and Gavin. I can’t sugarcoat it. They’re calling you a home-wrecking whore. The story is spreading like wildfire. It just keeps getting bigger and more out of control.”
“How is this possible? I didn’t even meet Gavin until after she was dead!”
“But the rest of the world doesn’t know that. And there are so many pictures of the two of you! Fucking camera phones. That FBI guy called me when he couldn’t get a hold of you. Sounds like there’s a zoo outside your house. They’re going through your trash, harassing your neighbors. Doing anything for some dirt on you. I’ve even gotten a ton of calls.
“Do you remember Chelsea Nixon from school? She was on The Today Show with pictures of you. Bad ones.”
My stomach churns. Chelsea and I knew each other in college, but we never got along. She’d never liked that her boyfriend and I were good friends. He broke up with her senior year, and she’d blamed me, even though I was already with Ash at the time. She would have access to some pretty good dirt on me. Em gives me all the horrid details. It sounds like Chelsea had a shoebox filled with mementos of all of my worst moments, just waiting to crucify me with them. Dancing half-naked on a bar in Mexico. Another of me dressed up for a Pimps and Hoes party wearing practically nothing. Me laying seductively on the roof of Ash’s car, again half-naked. Did I not wear clothes in college? Ever? It was Arizona, after all, and the dress code there is different from anywhere else. Sparse clothing is typical. But still, seeing it all laid out is scandalous.
Until this moment, I’d never been relieved that my parents were dead. Bile rises in my throat, and I think I’m going to throw up. I hang up on Em and run to the bathroom. I’m able to avoid being sick, but I break out in a sweat and can’t seem to catch my breath. The cool marble against my skin helps to calm me down. After pulling myself together, I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth. As humiliating as it is, I’ve got to go out and face the music.
I may have been out of the game for a while, but I am a trained journalist. I know that the best thing to do is to just let this story burn itself out. Something else will catch the media’s attention soon enough, and it will blow over. I just can’t give them any more ammunition in the meantime. But it will take all my restraint not to fight back.
Gavin comes back a few minutes later, looking defeated. Apparently, I don’t look so hot either because he says, “I take it you’ve heard.” He sits down on the bed and wraps his arms around me. Usually this makes me forget everything in the world other than him, but not this time.
“This horrible girl from college seems to have found a collection of ‘Lily’s Most Mortifying Moments’ and has shared them with all of America. Suddenly, I’m a money-grubbing whore that likes to break up happy couples in my spare time.”
“Luv, I’ve got my PR people on it. They think it will fade soon. Right now, the press knows very little about you. It seems like some blogger felt there was a story here and started buying up photos of us -”
“Why the hell were people taking photos of us? We’re nobodies!” I hear myself say the words, and I know they aren’t true. He is almost/not really British royalty and he was married to a Hollywood starlet and thus that makes him somebody. Being with him now seems to have made me a skank. I shake my head and sigh “I know why. I just wish this weren’t happening. I mean, haven’t we been through enough?”
He kisses the top of my head and rubs my back. “I know, luv. This isn’t fair. We’ll figure everything out together. I’ve been on the phone all morning trying to see what we can do to squash it.”
I look up into his gorgeous eyes, and my nervous stomach begins to settle. He gives me a soft kiss that makes me want to forget all of this drama and just kiss him, but the responsible part of me knows that kissing isn’t the answer.
“Can you say squash again,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
He rolls his eyes and kisses me.
“I interrupted you. Please tell me the rest of this horrid story. I’ve got to know what we’re dealing with. Sadly, just kissing you all day will not solve all my problems.”
He laughs and kisses me again.
The long and the short of it is that some blogger started selling the story that Gavin and I have been together since long before Brooke died. The angle then morphed into Brooke being so depressed over the affair that she committed suicide by driving into the other car—among other crazy theories. That’s when the fruitcakes must have come out. Seems this was a slow news week, because the story got a ton of play. Even some D-list actors swear Brooke had started talking about how devastated she was by the affair before her death. It seems they claim to have seen me sneaking around London with Gavin for weeks. Which is amazing considering I’ve never been to London. Then Chelsea appeared on the scene and painted me as a gold-digging slut.
Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame, I guess… except me.
A million questions brew inside, and I fire them out all at once. “So what do we do? What do your PR people think? And are they your PR people or Brooke’s PR people?”
“Mine. Don’t worry. They aren’t worried about how this will impact DVD sales of Covent Gardens. They think we should release a statement that your husband died in the accident with Brooke, that I’ve only done what I can to help you through this difficult time, as you’re all alone with no family to speak of. They think we should play up all the tragedy in your life. At least then, they’ll stop painting you in such a poor light.”
My stomach churns. “Urg, I don’t want to cry victim. That’s not my style.”
“That’s exactly what I told them you would say,” he says as he kisses my forehead. “Sully called and weighed in as well. He was not pleased with this development, as you can imagine.”
Hearing this news makes me wince. My pride has taken quite a beating already. I don’t want to think about the tangible dangers that may still be lurking out there.
The phone rings, snapping me out of all of the merry-go-round of horrible scenarios playing through my mind. It’s Gavin’s PR group calling with a new batch of ideas. He puts them on speaker so I can weigh in as well. Most of the angles have Gavin looking like the altruistic hero, which I’m not opposed to, but I’d have preferred it not be by making me look like some pathetic girl who can’t stand on her own two feet.
I’m trying to build a career as a journalist, and that won’t happen if I look like some floozy. Of course, based on the coverage from the last forty-eight hours, that may be my destiny regardless of what we do.
“What if we just ignore it?” I ask.
“Ms. Clark,” says a snooty voice from the other end of th
e line, “it could go either way. They could forget you and move on. Or they’ll sink their teeth in further.”
The room feels like it’s spiraling around me. I tap Gavin on the arm and point to the door with my thumb. “I’m going out on the terrace for some air,” I say as I bolt out of the room. I plop down on a double chaise and absorb the warm sun, trying to block out all the crazy “what ifs” that are running through my head.
About two minutes later, Gavin lies down next to me and holds my hand. I can tell he’s frustrated. He’s still breathing heavily, he’s fidgety, and his eyes have ferocity behind them.
I lean over to kiss him, in the hopes of soothing some of his anger. “My gut says to lay low and let this pass. If, in a week, it doesn’t die down, we can put out a statement. Not one that makes me look like some hooker you’re trying to save. Okay?”
He puts his arm around me. “In this whole sordid affair, you’re the innocent, and they’re raking you over the coals.” He slaps his free hand against the arm of the chair. “Bollocks! It infuriates me!”
He bites his lip and looks like a light bulb has just gone off in his mind.
“I hope you know I couldn’t care less about the press and what they say. I’m not at all bothered about this in regard to me.”
I love the way he says “at all,” with the long, drawn out “a.” So simple and yet so sexy. Oh, he’s still talking. Damn, that accent gets me every time.
“I’d be happy to walk out there right now and tell them to piss off. You and I are together and happy, and if they don’t like it, fuck them. But, if I were to do that, it may be worse for you in the long run. Bloody hell, this is a cock up.”
“Wait, what?” I ask.
“I said I’d tell them to piss off!”
“Not that part. The other part.”
He gives me a Cheshire cat grin. At last, his agitation melts away. “Well, we are, aren’t we?”
“Gavin Edwards, are you asking me to go steady?” I ask in my best girl-next-door voice. It makes him laugh.
“Well darling, I suppose I am.”
I lean into him and say, “Do you really think I would have done all that we have been doing here these past few days if we weren’t together? What kind of girl do you think I am? You can’t believe everything you read in the papers, you know!”
He doesn’t respond at first, and I fear he hasn’t gotten my joke. Then he shakes his head and laughs. “See, this is why I adore you! Even with all of this, you’re still smiling. You are extraordinary.”
Relieved that he understands me so well, I kiss him deeply. One kiss turns into another, then another. Hands start wandering, and very soon, my robe falls to the floor, and his boxers go flying.
“Gavin, we’re on the terrace,” I whisper as he kisses my neck.
“I told you, they can piss off. If I want to do naughty things to you on the terrace, I bloody well will. Let ‘em put pictures of that on The Today Show.”
“Well, let’s make sure to give them a good show.”
He plunges into me, and I scream with pleasure. Whoever said size doesn’t matter has clearly never experienced someone with an abundance of it. There are times for smooth and gentle, but this is not one of them. I want to forget about the press, my sullied reputation, and all my anger and frustration. There’s no better way to do that than to be thoroughly drilled by this extremely hot man.
The sheer pleasure absorbs any other emotion. All I can feel is my building orgasm. Gavin hits my sweet spot, and I come hard, but I’m not done.
I look deep into his eyes and say, “Harder.”
He smirks, as if to say, “Challenge accepted,” and satisfies my request. I can tell from his body language that he’s about to explode into me, but I’m not ready. “Not yet!” I order.
My bossiness seems to excite him further because he lets out a primal moan. He does as he’s told and hammers into me. He ravishes me until he pushes me over the edge yet again. I come so hard I think I may lose consciousness for a moment. I’m in a haze of ecstasy, my whole body tingling, and my brain still hasn’t quite checked back in yet. I can’t remember a damn thing about anything other than the full body high I have.
As I start to come around, I remember I’m not alone here. Gavin is lying there next to me, also looking like he needs some recovery time. I feel slightly guilty that the whole experience was purely selfish. I made it all about me and what I’d needed. And man did I need it. Something tells me he didn’t mind.
He catches my eye and smiles. “Feel better?”
I nod and smile. “Sometimes a girl just needs it hard, fast, and dirty.”
He cracks up laughing. “Well, I’m here for you anytime you need to work through your feelings. Want to go again?”
“Oh, I’m good and knackered,” I reply. “I can’t move yet. My muscles are complete mush.”
He scoops me up in his arms and carries me inside. “Look at you speaking British. I must be wearing off on you,” he says as he kisses me.
He brings me to the massive bathroom, sets me down on the counter, and draws me a bath. “You, my luv, need a good long bath after a proper shagging like that.”
“Care to join me?” I ask.
“I might take you up on a shower later, but I’ve got a few calls to make. Take your time and relax. You’ll need your energy for later,” he says with a wink.
Between the sex and the bath, I’m feeling fabulous. I find Gavin on his laptop, typing furiously. His blond hair is a total mess, but he pulls it off. So sexy! His brows are furrowed in thought.
I wrap the robe around me tightly. “If there’s anything on there about me, I don’t want to hear about it. I’m floating on my orgasmic high and have no interest in coming down. The bad news will be there tomorrow.”
We agree not to talk about the bad press. We only have one more night, and we don’t want to waste another second on anything negative. We order burgers from Bourbon Steak and attempt to watch a soccer game. I know enough about soccer not to make an ass of myself, but it isn’t my sport of choice. He tries to teach me about the players and the nuance of the game. His enthusiasm is adorable. We bicker about whether it’s called soccer or football. I couldn’t care less, but it annoys him to no end. I love pushing his buttons.
At halftime, he jumps up and drops his phone into the docking station, a sneaky grin plastered on his face.
“Get up,” he orders.
“No way. You’re up to nothing but trouble, Gavin Edwards. I will have no part of it.”
“Get. Up.”
“Fine,” I say with an eye roll and a foot stomp. “What torture are you subjecting me to now?”
Lively music streams from the speakers, and he says, “Time for you to learn how to jitterbug.” I recognize the song blaring through the stereo as “Jump, Jive and Wail” by the Brian Seltzer Orchestra. Gavin grabs my hand and twirls me around the room. I’m terrible at the dance, but it’s a lot of fun. Not that I’ll ever admit that to him. My dance lesson lasts for the length of halftime, but the second the game is back on, the music is off and we’re back on the sofa.
After the game, we head to bed with Chunky Monkey. It’s a good thing I’m not wearing pants because they wouldn’t have fit after my gluttony.
“How come ice cream is your thing and yet I’m the one who always ends up with the stomachache?”
“Because, luv, I have a well-defined sense of moderation, and you are just so American. You want it, you want it now, and you want all of it, even if it hurts.”
I pelt him with pillows. “You may have moderation, but I have ammunition!”
Our pillow fight becomes a rumble in the sheets, effectively burning off my ice cream indulgence. The post sex calm takes over us both, and I inch closer and closer to sleep. My mind takes stock of how perfect this arrangement feels. Being with him, sleeping in his arms. This time has been a slice of paradise, but in a few short hours, he has to leave. We haven’t even talked about it.
&n
bsp; “Gavin?”
“Hmmm,” he responds, half asleep.
“Don’t go.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t,” I reply.
“You can.”
“I can’t. Don’t go. Just stay one more day.”
He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, surrendering to the fact that he’s not going to sleep just now. “Lily, dear, I have a company with thousands of employees I have to think about. I have to go back. Explain to me why you can’t come with me. Help me understand.” He’s questioning, not pushing, and I’m thankful for it.
“I’m not really sure I understand myself. I just know I can’t.”
“You know more than that. Just start talking. It will come out. It doesn’t have to make sense at first. It will eventually. Trust me, just talk.”
I take a deep breath and just say the thing that first comes to mind. “I settled for Ashton because it was the easy, supposedly safe choice.”
He snorts.
“I know. Irony’s a bitch. I knew I wasn’t in love with him when I married him, but I thought I would still be able to live a good life. Boy, did it backfire. It was like when I married him, I made a deal with the devil and I gave up my soul in the negotiations. He sucked the me out of me. I have to take the time to put myself back together again. If I were to run away with you, it would be amazing, but it would fail. I need to be whole before I can be with you or anyone completely… If you swept me away from here and all my troubles, you would be my knight in shining armor, but I would make a lousy princess. Does any of this make any sense?”
“It makes perfect sense. I’ve reinvented myself a time or two. I know exactly what you’re talking about. You need to be able to look in the mirror and feel good about who you’re looking at. That takes time to sort out.”
When Fates Collide Page 15