Camera Shy

by Lauren Gallagher

  On the drive home, Simone thought about Gregory.

  He must hate me. And why shouldn't he? She'd put him through hell for the past few years and she wasn't exactly up for any Mother of the Year awards right then. He must have thought she was immature and irresponsible, and he'd be right. When they first married, everyone they knew cautioned them about the twenty year age gap between them, but Gregory and Simone had insisted they were in love, and that was all that mattered. Looking back, it wasn't the twenty years between them that killed the marriage; she was hardly more mature now at twenty-eight than she was at barely twenty. Gregory's new wife was two years younger than Simone, and she had a good head on her shoulders. Those two were soulmates if Simone had ever seen any, and she envied them for the happiness they shared.

  As Simone's marriage to Gregory nosedived toward divorce, she found what she thought she needed elsewhere. Maybe she would have gotten away with cheating on him if they hadn't been such public figures. But the paparazzi had their ways of discovering things, and when they did, the resulting photos adorned every tabloid,

  magazine, gossip column, and news site. The scandal, so close on the heels of her two film flops, nearly destroyed what was left of her career.

  Her cheeks burned at the memory. Even now, three years later, she couldn't escape her past. Whenever her name was mentioned—whether because of her new movie, or because of some other boy toy she'd been busted with—the reporters were sure to mention she'd cheated on Gregory and destroyed their marriage and every relationship she'd had since.

  Her thoughts drifted to Jason. She wondered what would happen with him, but really, how could it be any different? She'd been down this road before. Different names, different cities, same outcome.

  This is going to turn out the same way it always does, she thought. But still, she couldn't resist going to see him just one more time. She physically ached for his touch, craved him in ways she'd never craved anything before. Nothing in a bottle had ever had this kind of hold on her, and she'd certainly never wanted a man like this. She hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since she returned to L.A. Simone Farrell had a new addiction.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That night, as Simone packed for her trip, the phone rang, startling her out of a daydream about Jason. She glanced at the caller ID, and scowled when her sister's name appeared on the LCD screen. Bad enough being roused from a sexy fantasy about Jason, but to add insult to injury, it just had to be her sister calling. She debated letting it kick over to voice mail, but knowing Carolyn, she'd leave voice messages every ten minutes until Simone answered.

  She took a deep breath, and answered. "Hi, Carolyn."

  "Hey. What's up?"

  "Not much." She gritted her teeth. Just getting the hell out of town and not really wanting to talk to you.

  "I have tomorrow afternoon off. Do you want to grab lunch?"

  "I can't, I'm—" She hesitated. Did she really want Carolyn to know?

  "What?" Carolyn's voice hardened. "You're not going out partying again this weekend, are you?"

  "No, I'm . . . ." A party for two, maybe. She bit her lip. "I'm going out of town."

  "With?"

  "No one."

  "Please. You never travel alone."

  "I am this weekend." I'm not traveling with him. I'm traveling to him. And I can't get there fast enough.

  "What's going on, Simone?" Carolyn demanded. "You just came back from a trip."

  And I don't need to explain myself to you, dear. "I know; I'm just taking a vacation."

  "I see." Bitterness tinged her voice.

  Simone rolled her eyes. Carolyn was more than a little jealous of her success and wealth, no matter how rocky the last few years had been for Simone. Going on vacation on a moment's notice was a luxury Carolyn couldn't afford, and clearly anyone who could afford to do such a thing couldn't possibly be stressed enough to need to. If you only knew, Simone thought, but she didn't tell Carolyn why she was going out of town. She rubbed her forehead and changed the subject back to lunch. "We can get together when I get back. I'll be home in a few days."

  Carolyn huffed. "Well, I work on Thursday and Friday. Saturday, then?" Simone hesitated. Just what she needed after a few days of decompressing with Jason: lunch with Carolyn. Talk about counterproductive. She sighed. "Sure. Fine. The usual place and time?"

  "Bernelli's at eleven."

  "I'll be there."

  They hung up and Simone sat on the bed. Christ, did everyone need to know every goddamned detail of her life? Gregory pried, Anne-Marie demanded every detail,

  Carolyn never backed down until she knew every last tidbit, and, of course, the press had their ways of digging. But her relationship with Carolyn was strained, as it had been for many years. Only in the three years since Simone's divorce had she and her sister begun really speaking again, mostly because of concerted efforts on Simone's part. Carolyn was bitter that her own acting dreams were cut short before they started, and watching Simone live out that dream was enough to drive them apart. But still she pried. It was like a race with the press to find out what was going on in her life, whether for her own vindictive satisfaction or to be the first to put it in print. Simone was as loathe to share her personal life with Carolyn as she was with the press. The only one who didn't pry into her personal life was Jason, simply because he had no idea who she was. As far as he was concerned, she was probably little more than a booty call, and that was fine with her. He also lived a million miles from anywhere, hidden in a place where she could escape her notoriety and pretend Simone Farrell, the

  'Movie Star', didn't exist.

  Simone shoved another shirt into her bag. More than ever, the idea of being in the middle of nowhere, away from anyone and everyone except Jason— particularly Jason—made her salivate. Her mind wandered back into the fantasy Carolyn had interrupted earlier.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jason drummed his fingers on the counter. He glanced at the clock above the stove. Seven thirty-two.

  An eternity passed.

  He looked at it again.

  Seven thirty-three.

  "Jesus Christ." He picked up his drink and took a sip, grimacing as the Jack Daniels burned its way down. Anything to calm his nerves at this point.

  He wasn't nervous, per se, just anxious. She'd be there any minute. Any minute. His fingers drummed the countertop again. It hadn't even been two weeks, but it may as well have been years since he'd seen her. He needed her. Craved her. Ached for her. He wondered if this was what a drug addict felt like after jonesing for a hit and finally being so close, so fucking close, to getting that fix. She may as well have been a drug, for all the sleep and sanity he'd lost since she went back to her own world. He glanced at the clock again.

  Seven thirty-six.

  He groaned as he let his head fall back against the cabinet.

  Seven thirty-seven.

  Simone tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel. "Come on, come on, come on," she muttered at the highway that just refused to pass by fast enough. Her headlights washed over a faded sign. Tofino—19 Miles.

  She gritted her teeth. Less than half an hour to go—and she accelerated to shave a couple of precious minutes off even that—but still long enough to drive her insane. Shifting in her seat, she cursed under her breath. The week leading up to this trip had been difficult enough. The flight from L.A. to Victoria was excruciating. But this drive, the homestretch before she was in his arms again, was maddening. Less than half an hour and she'd see him again. Her mouth watered in anticipation of his kiss, of the taste of his skin. Little pulses of lightning radiated from her clit as if his tongue was already working its magic.

  Less than half an hour.

  Less than half an hour.

  She glanced at the clock.

  Seven forty.

  A tremor rippled through her and her foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

  Seven forty-one.

  Jason swallowed the last of the Jack Daniels in
his glass and put the bottle away. It hadn't done a damned thing to settle his nerves, but he didn't dare drink too much. Not with everything he needed to do to her as soon as she walked through that door. Though, as horny as he was, he could probably have polished off the entire bottle and still gotten a hard-on.

  But still, no more. There was no way he was taking a chance that he wouldn't be able to remember every last detail.

  Seven forty-three.

  Thinking about her was only going to make the wait that much worse, but he couldn't get her out of his mind. That smoldering kiss on the pier. The first time he fucked her on the couch. His mouth watered at the memory of the way she tasted, the way she tightened around him when she climaxed.

  He closed his eyes and exhaled.

  In his mind, he went back to that first incredible night together. Waking up in the middle of the night. Holding her. Kissing her. Almost unconsciously, his fingers bent against the counter, moving the way they had when he slid his fingers in and out of her while she came against him.

  He wetted his lips and looked at the clock.

  Seven forty-five.

  A groan escaped his throat. If she didn't get there soon, he'd to have to relieve some of this tension himself.

  Seven forty-six.

  Seven forty-seven.

  In her mind, Simone had already arrived at Jason's. A kaleidoscope of memories flashed through her mind, and she swore she felt his hands on her, his lips against hers, his cock inside of her, his breath on her neck, his—

  "Come on," she muttered.

  Almost there. She chewed her lip. Almost there. She squirmed in her seat. Almost there. A soft murmur escaped her lips.

  Almost there.

  Seven forty-nine.

  Seven fifty.

  The Jack Daniels wasn't doing a damned thing, but it kept his mouth busy. Kept his hands busy. Gave him something to focus on besides her. Besides her sizzling skin against his. Besides her tongue intertwining with his. Besides the way she sounded when she came again, and again.

  He drained the glass.

  "Come on, come on," he whispered, putting the bottle away again. His head spun, but the buzz he felt had nothing to do with the alcohol.

  Seven fifty-two.

  Seven fifty-three.

  She turned off the main drag. Down the winding road outside of town that led to one place and one place only.

  One more turn.

  Her heart pounded. Her clit pulsed.

  Seven fifty-five.

  Seven fifty-seven.

  Fingers drumming. Knees shaking.

  The ice in his glass rattled. It was just water this time, just something cold to keep him from catching on fire. A cold shower might not even do the trick at this point. Seven fifty-nine.

  Headlights in the driveway.

  The clock on the dash turned to eight o'clock a split second before Simone turned the key and the dashboard lights went dark.

  She took the porch steps two at a time. As she reached for the doorbell, the door flew open. Jason caught her hand, pulling her into a frantic embrace and a deep kiss. He instantly overwhelmed her. His musky scent mingling with his light cologne. His fingers in her hair. His hand on the small of her back. The sweet taste of his tongue against hers.

  They tumbled through the front door together, tangled in each other as they kissed and touched and tried to get out of their clothes.

  Jason kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. "My God, I've missed you," he breathed against her throat.

  "I've missed you too," she murmured, exhaling sharply as his lips set her skin on fire. She was vaguely aware that they were moving across the room, stumbling over each other and their clothes. It was all she could do not to pull him down to the floor. Something solid hit her hip, jarring her. They both looked down. She was up against the kitchen table.

  "This will do," he said against her throat.

  Before she could think, he slid his hands behind her thighs and hoisted her onto the table. She barely kept herself from moaning in anticipation of his cock. She wanted him, she needed him; Christ, no man had ever set her on fire like this.

  "Fuck me," she pleaded. "Please fuck me, Jason."

  "I will," he whispered, parting her legs and pulling her to the edge of the table.

  "Believe me, I will. But I have to taste you first." When his tongue found her clit, the overwhelming rush of sensations took her breath away. She tried to tell him how much she loved it, how much he turned her on, how much she needed his cock inside her now or she was going to lose her mind, but all that came out was a soft whimper. Icy-hot tremors rippled up her spine as his fingers slid inside her, bending just a little to beckon the powerful sensations out of her.

  She didn't remember it being this intense before. In all the fantasies she'd had since she left, he'd sent her to incredible heights, but the orgasm he was creating within her right now was almost frightening in its intensity.

  "Jason," she murmured. Her fingers ran through his hair. Grasped the edges of the table. Ran through his hair again. Clenched into trembling fists. "Oh God, Jason . . .

  ." Her back arched off the table, and still her impending orgasm grew, still it intensified, still it thundered inside her until she was certain the release would be nothing short of shattering.

  White light exploded behind her eyelids and she thought she might have called out his name as electricity coursed through her veins. She was distantly aware that his fingers had withdrawn, that his mouth had broken contact with her clit, but then foil tore, and she no longer cared.

  Jason stood, grasped her hips, and thrust into her. Her back arched off the table and she knew she cried out this time, completely overcome as he slammed into her, driving himself deep inside her as her orgasm went on and on.

  Even as it subsided, as the strongest shudders peaked and fell, the intensity remained, and still she wanted more. She hooked her hands over the edge of the table, pulling herself toward him.

  "God, yes, just like that." Her words were little more than a slurred whisper. Jason moaned, a breathless, helpless sound, and held her hips tighter. "Oh Jesus, Allyson . . . ."

  His eyes closed and his lips parted, revealing clenched teeth. The cords on his neck stood out and he grimaced, almost as if in pain.

  Using her grasp on the table's edge for leverage, she lifted her hips, simultaneously pulling him deeper and tightening around him.

  His eyes flew open and he gasped, and then shuddered against her. "Oh God," he said as he exhaled, almost choking on the words. "Oh my . . . God . . . ." He tensed, shuddered, relaxed.

  He released his breath as he slowly collapsed over her, holding himself up with his elbows and kissing her gently. Then he rested his head on her chest. She stroked his hair, which was cool and damp with the slightest hint of sweat. For a long time, they just listened to each other breathe, held each other as the last aftershocks rippled through them.

  Finally, he raised his head, kissed her, and whispered, "I'm so glad you're here."

  "Me too," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I've been dying for this for days."

  He grinned. "You aren't the only one, believe me."

  She blinked, pretending to be offended. "Jason Connor, have you been thinking impure thoughts?"

  "Every waking moment," he said, kissing her shoulder, then her neck. "And even some of the sleeping moments."

  She snorted. "I'm disgusted."

  "No you're not."

  "How do you know?"

  He kissed her mouth, and then laughed. "If you are, it's only because I haven't told you about all of the impure thoughts I've had."

  She tightened her lips to suppress a laugh. "I don't want you to tell me about them."

  "You don't?" His face took on an expression similar to that of a sad little boy, but the threat of a laugh tightened the corner of his mouth. "But I wanted to tell you all about them."

  "No," she said. She pulled him into a kiss. "Don't tell me. Show me."
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  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was nearly ten by the time they returned to the kitchen, where Jason made them a late dinner.

  Afterward, he put his hand over hers on the table and smiled. "I thought I was going to go out of my mind waiting for you today."

  "You're not the only one." She sipped her wine, turning her other hand over beneath his. "I could have sworn that drive was shorter."

  "You know, there are flights directly into Tofino. Mostly puddle-jumpers, but it might save you some time."

  Simone shifted slightly, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I, well, I figured with the layovers, it would be six of this, half dozen of the other." Jason's brow furrowed, and she wondered if he saw right through her. Then he shrugged and picked up his glass. "Can't blame you for that, I guess. I'd rather be out on the highway than sitting in an airport."

  "Yes, exactly."

  A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. "Though a plane might be safer than me behind the wheel on a day like this."

  "Oh?"

  The grin broadened and he winked as he picked up his glass. "Let's just say I wouldn't have been focusing as much as I should have on the road." She laughed. "I managed, but it did take some work."

  "Did it?"

  "Knowing I was coming to meet you?" It was her turn to offer a grin and a wink.

  "You're damn right."

  He trailed his finger along the inside of her wrist, laughing softly when she shivered. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. "I'm really glad you're here. I've been looking forward to this ever since you left."

  "Me too."

  "Though I feel bad having you come all this way," he said. "I'd be happy to come to your neck of—"