CONTENTS
Maid for the Hollywood Heartthrob
NEWSLETTER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
NEWSLETTER
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS
LAIRDS & LADIES
RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD
IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS
About the Author
MAID FOR THE HOLLYWOOD HEARTTHROB
AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
_______________________
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 200
FLORA FERRARI
Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
MAID FOR THE HOLLYWOOD HEARTTHROB
It’s the ultimate Hollywood fantasy: dreamy movie star meets attractive young ingenue. But will this romance have a happy fairytale ending?
Ashlee can’t believe her luck. A job cleaning Tony Fontana’s home, the Tony Fontana!
Just being inside her favorite actor’s house would have been enough. She never dreamed she would come face to face with the man himself… in his own bedroom.
From the moment she first laid eyes on Tony Fontana in the flesh, Ashlee knew this was the man she was supposed to be with.
Tony Fontana normally wouldn’t have been home while his house was being cleaned, but fate had other plans.
A cancelled flight. A missed Paris photoshoot. All divine intervention so he could meet this captivating young woman unlike any other.
The attraction is immediate. The passion, undeniable. Tony is determined for this angelic creature to be all his… forever.
But being a Hollywood celebrity comes with its hazards – snooping journalists, most of all.
Will secrets from his past and an increasingly intrusive paparazzi tear them apart? Will Tony’s mature worldliness be too much for young, inexperienced Ashlee?
Or will their powerful bond overcome any obstacle that comes their way?
Maid for the Hollywood Heartthrob is an engrossing story of intense chemistry and all-consuming passion. Follow Ashlee and Tony as they explore the ups and downs of a Hollywood romance… and each other.
NEWSLETTER
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CHAPTER ONE
Ashlee
“It’s whose house?” I ask, my mouth going dry and a buzzing in my ears ringing. I feel faint and have to steady myself against the wall to stay upright.
“Tony Fontana… Now do you see why I didn’t tell you?” my mom giggles before looking serious again.
After pestering me for a week, with a strange glint in her eye, I finally caved to come help her with her cleaning round on my day off.
She knows how much I love Tony Fontana, he’s an older guy, sure. But he can actually act and is the star of every single one of my favorite movies, even the outdated TV shows he did before he hit the big times.
“Tony… Fontana?” I exclaim again, under my breath as mom pops open the security gate with her pass key.
“Yep. Now, darling, make sure you actually help me here, okay? I need this job and it pays well, so don’t fuck it up for me, sugar. Okay?” she asks again, her big, wide eyes looking nervous, almost like she regrets bringing me, even though I know the house will be empty.
They always are.
It’s not glamorous work, but the Hollywood set pays better than most for a good job and they all know my mom always does a stellar job. And with complete privacy.
Me?
I’m already picturing myself dragging my sodden center across Tony’s bed, his clothes… Oooh! His underwear drawer… maybe he walks in and catches me? Eeeeee!
Okay… maybe not quite. But I’m pretty damned excited. Feeling tingles, and shivers I’ve never felt before.
I’ve never even kissed a boy before, let alone…
Oh my god.
Tony.
The man is a god. I’ve bought and got everything from his face as a screensaver to his prune based cereal that has his face on the box… for my mom, of course.
His chiseled jaw, and those smoldering dark eyes. Those perfect white teeth that highlight his dimpled chin.
Dark hair that has just the slightest hint of silver foxiness to it, and a body that wipes the floor with any twenty something guy who thinks he stands a chance against the original and the best.
Tony Fontana is all man and has chest hair to prove it. I sometimes… okay, often imagine myself curling my fingers into his chest hair as he holds me close. Laying with me after he…
“Ashlee… Ashlee!”
My mom is snapping her fingers in front of my eyes, bringing them back into focus.
“Like I said, kiddo, don’t fuck this up. I almost regret bringing you here already,” she chides me, brushing past me as we stand in the cavernous, slate lined entrance of Tony’s single story bungalow in the Hollywood hills.
Bungalow? It’s a goddamn mansion is what it is.
“Over a dozen rooms kiddo, let’s hustle even though we only have to do six today.” My mom reminds me, scrambling to shut off the alarm with the code she’s memorized.
I still feel giddy, but the smell of his house. The scent of him. It sets me straight in a moment, as if the man himself is right behind me.
It’s almost as if I can feel his eyes on me, even though we’ve never met.
It’s a woody scent, strong, but with some soft musk and something else… something I have an inkling only men like him exude.
Pure sex appeal is what it is, and all rolled up in the smell of real money.
His house is huge, but sparse. Chunky, leather and wood furniture. Lots of art, but stuff I can actually see, not just smears of paint. Real pictures. Real things.
A Japanese garden glows through a huge series of atrium windows, arcing up to a classical style glass dome ceiling.
Beautiful.
The art is mostly thick set women, showing more than just their heavy chests, but done so well it truly is art. And all in thick, heavy wooden frames.
Maybe there’s hope for me yet?
Maybe I can see myself in a couple of those old masters renderings? Maybe the classical figure is making a comebac
k…
Who cares? If Tony likes that sort of thing, I’ve got plenty of-
“Ashlee!”
I take a breath, roll my eyes and hustle to where my mom is, a large walk in closet filled with cleaning equipment at the end of the hall.
“Tony, Mr. Fontana, left for Europe today. We have to do a section of the house today and the rest through the week. He doesn’t like people in the house for more than an hour, so we need to hurry,” she says in her prim, clipped and professional tone, the voice she uses when she chews me out.
The voice she uses when I remind myself she’s my mom and has to tell me what to do sometimes. Even though I’m pushing twenty now.
Half talking to herself, half telling me what I need to do, she tells me to start in the main bedroom, giving me directions to start closest to the front door we just came through.
“And no fucking around, Ashlee. I mean it,” she says earnestly.
I’m already walking towards the scent, the feel, the opulence of his bedroom.
Tony.
The place is spotless, but I’m not complaining. Less work and more Tony suits me just fine.
Privy to Tony Fontana’s own bedroom… I figure my mom knows just how much this means to me, and I behave accordingly, treating each step into his private world as I would a religious shrine.
The huge four poster bed. The even bigger walk in closet. The simple elegance of the whole place.
Within seconds I’m sniffing one of his shirts, clawing at an open drawer for his underwear.
I can’t help it.
But all too quickly, something is terribly wrong.
Someone else is in the house, I hear the front door open, sensing a third person.
My heart backflips as I think of a home invasion gone wrong.
The deep, gruff voice of a man, followed by the front door slamming makes me freeze on the spot, then a warm rush of heat to my center makes me purr as I recognize that smoky, sultry tone.
“I don’t give a fuck about that, Paul. A canceled flight is worth calling me about, what the fuck am I paying you people for! Jesus man, a whole day’s delay? If I lose the Paris shoot I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got, which is mostly mine anyway. Asshole!” he growls angrily, hanging up his phone and sending soft designer luggage skidding down the hallway before turning sharply into his bedroom.
Stopping dead in his tracks, his eyes fixate on mine in a second.
His low growl extends from anger to intense satisfaction in a single moment.
He’s caught me sniffing one of his shirts with my hand wanting to glide between my legs along with some of his underwear; desperately trying to cup my own chest at the same time as I moan softly at the very sound of him, the very thought of him… the man himself.
Tony Fontana.
CHAPTER TWO
Tony
My homecoming from Europe is a little… okay, a lot sooner than I anticipated. I spot the agency’s cleaner’s car and groan.
I don’t feel like dealing with anyone right now, least of all busty, Malibu Barbie type cleaners.
I've only run into her once, by accident. And I never wanted to again.
I like things just how I like them, usually with just me and my lines to rehearse. Not a fucking audience that wants to gush over me.
Paul, my manager, is being a shit as usual. Sent me to the airport for nothing and now I’ve missed a whole day’s worth of scenes from my new movie being shot in Paris.
I’m expecting the director and producer on the phone any minute. ‘Time is money’, they’ll say. ‘The fees you’re charging…’ blah, blah, blah.
They’ll want to renegotiate on the whole contract. Pity. I really wanted to do the movie my way.
But what I see waiting for me in my bedroom is more than enough to make up for it.
All thoughts of the movie, the contract, hell even my whole acting career can go to hell once I see her.
Crazed fan?
Is she sniffing my shirt? Holy shit are those my...?
A low growl escapes me and my dick twitches as I take in her form.
Fuck, she’s perfect!
She is… she’s about to sniff my fucking boxers from the linen basket, while touching herself? Holy Christ.
We’re both frozen in place, staring at each other. I feel my brows go up, in time with the pulsing in my pants as all the adrenalin from my anger at the day changes into something new.
Something special.
Something just for her.
I watch her clear blue eyes grow wide with surprise, then guilt, fear and finally… arousal as her pupils dilate and then narrow slightly. A sound escaping her she can’t help.
A call for assistance, the signal to my own body that hers is going to be mine.
“I’m Tony. Tony Fontana,” I hear myself say, sounding like an idiot in my own home.
Her head nods slowly, as if in a dream and she mouths some words but there’s only some more of that sound, that whimpering, needful sound.
My instinct is to go to her, take her in my arms and well… to throw her on the damned bed and claim her as my own. To throw myself at her and hope she’ll have me. That’s what my instincts are screaming.
But first things first, who the hell is she and why hasn’t she been in my room before now?
Her long blond hair is tied up in two plaited ponytails, one on either side of her round, lightly freckled face. A button nose and dimpled cheeks flush with color that’s gone way past embarrassment, all the way to fuck-town.
I know that look.
I see it every time I leave the house. Every time a woman so much as looks at me.
But it’s never meant anything to me, not until today. Until right fucking now.
It’s hard to look away from her eyes, that angel’s face, but her curves are pulsing in tune with her breath under her thin white tee and slightly ratty white skirt.
The vacuum and other tools on either side of her do give her away, but I want her to be an intruder.
I want her to be here for something other than cleaning.
I want her to be bad, so I can teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.
Sniffing my clothes counts, right?
I groan audibly, watching her thick nipples poke out like searching missiles. Reaching out for me.
“I’m-” she starts to say until a piercing, screeching cry comes from the thumping sound along the hallway before we’re joined by a face I recognize.
Cleaner. Malibu Barbie, from the agency.
“Ashleeeee? What are you doin’? I told you not to… Oh! Mr.… Fon-ta-na…” she sighs, wheezing another breath in as she straightens her hair with both hands and sticks out her chest. Her eyes flutter like they’re full of something she’s just dusted.
“Ashlee,” I growl again, taking a step towards her, ignoring Barbie. Freshly annoyed that she’s not completely alone.
Yet.
“We were told you were away,” Barbie stutters, but I’m studying Ashlee’s hips now, torn between her hips and that full chest.
Both are perfect for squeezing and holding, as well as child bearing.
“Ashlee, I told you not to… what are you doing with Mr. Fontana’s-” the older woman starts to hiss, but I silence her with one glance as my eyes dart to meet hers.
“She’s mine!” I hear myself growl, taking another step towards Ashlee, nothing but confusion registering on Barbie’s face.
Ashlee mews softly, barely loud enough for me to hear but I do.
“I mean, she’s sorting my laundry,” I add, softening my approach a little and giving a smile in Ashlee’s direction.
I want this other woman out of here, and I know from experience a little charm goes a lot further than barking like a mad dog. Plus Barbie looks a little stabby, like she could go bat shit at any moment.
It can’t be her real mother.
“I was due to leave for Europe, but my flight has been delayed,” I continue, unable to shift my g
aze from Ashlee now that I’m a few feet closer, now that I have a name for the feeling she’s generated in me.
“I’m Stacy,” Barbie says, sounding harder by the second, “Ashlee’s mom, we’re both from the agency, cleaners,” she persists, punching her words out as her eyes narrow, registering my gaze return to her daughter.
Her mother… Really?
Ashlee must have her father’s good looks. Thank fuck for that.
CHAPTER THREE
Ashlee
“I was just sorting some clothes,” I squeak, almost hearing my arms and hands creak as I tear them away from my body, still not wanting to let go of his clothes. Not wanting to let go of anything to do with him.
It’s like he’s either stepped out of a dream or I’ve just walked into one. Good old mom though, she’s steamrolled herself right in here before I can even get a proper word in with Tony. I can hardly speak. He's made me so breathless.
Tony.
God, just hearing his name in my mind. It’s like it’s already replaced every beat of my pounding heart with it.
Tony… Tony… Tony…
I’ll say his name in my head forever now, I know I will.
He looks from me to my mom once she tells him she’s my mom. A strange glance.
But not one I haven’t seen before.
People look at me and then my mom. They don’t believe I could really be her daughter.
She’s so… well. She’s not built like me, to put it that way.
Mom’s got big hair, big boobs, bigger lips and a tiny everything else. Oh, and she’s got a big mouth too.
Me? I’m just big everywhere. Except in the mouth department. More like mouse department. Mom usually speaks for both of us, especially when it comes to work, even though I’m plenty old enough to handle myself now.
It looks for a second like Tony Fontana might be checking my mom out, but those steely, sultry eyes fall back on me again, making me shiver on the spot.
He wouldn’t be interested in me, right. He could have any woman he wants.
He makes another low sound, which vibrates through the air, seeming to find its way right up my skirt and into my pulsing mound as I feel a thick line of moisture forming there.
Maid For The Hollywood Heartthrob: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 200) Page 1