by Evie Claire
Why the hell do I care? I’m taking pictures as fast as my camera will go. I can’t believe how brazenly in love they are out in the open where they can so easily be seen.
“How many people know about this place?” I ask Maria.
“Not many. You hardly ever see people. Ten a.m. on a Monday morning? Ghost town,” she answers. “Why would he stop you from hiding the camera but invite you here?”
she asks in a whisper.
“He said the tabloids wouldn’t buy anything shot inside a private home,” I answer.
“Right.” She nods her head. “You don’t get any more public than the great outdoors.”
Jamie and Heather disappear inside the building.
“Fuck!” I whisper. “What are we supposed to do now?” I frantically search for another vantage point, phone still ready to snap more photos. What I already have is damning enough. But I need to bury the bitch.
“Carly!” Maria whispers. I turn back. She nods toward the powerhouse. Jamie is leading a reluctant Heather into the open. They reappear through the empty doorway. I hit the ground, lying as flat as possible and crawling back to the bunker behind the garden wall. They’re close enough to hear.
“Jamie, no,” Heather says. “What if someone comes?”
“Nobody is out here at this hour. Besides, we’d hear them coming before they could see us,” he pleads, then puts his lips over hers, silencing any further protest. Holy shit! Excitement sings through my body.
iPhoto can’t keep up with the rate my thumb is clicking pictures. I slow my roll. My hands are shaking. I take time to zoom in, focus and snap several photos that are worthy of a Hustler centerfold, if I do say so myself.
Whoa, it’s getting hot! I snap the mother lode of all paparazzi pics when Heather pulls back and proceeds to slowly lick the sweat glistening on Jamie’s neck. Heather Troy making out with a man who isn’t Devon Hayes in public. The tabloids will be scrambling over this like prized cocks in a fight ring. I tap Maria’s shoulder.
“Ready to go?” I silently mouth the words so they don’t hear. She nods and we start to back away. I’m almost out of sight enough to stand when she grabs my sleeve and pulls me back. “What?” I whisper. She nods back toward the powerhouse.
“Holy shit,” we whisper at the same time. Jamie wasn’t playing when he said I would get what I need. He now has her bent over a railing. A white lacy thong circles her ankles. Her skimpy tennis skirt is pushed over her back to reveal a brazenly bare ass. He smacks it so loudly it cracks through the trees like a whip. Heather moans.
I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle the inhale that rips from me. My eyes are dish-plate wide, and when I look to Maria hers are too. She’s got her phone out, filming every lurid detail of the foreplay unfolding against brightly painted cement. It’s like a kaleidoscope, all the colors mixing in a way that makes the eyes go crossed if you stare too long. And how could anyone help but stare at the show these two are putting on. In the middle of all the spray-painted chaos, Heather Troy in her gleaming tennis whites is getting her clock wound to within an inch of her life by her kid’s manny. It’s far from your basic, boring missionary fucking, which until recently is all I thought her capable of. Honestly, I’m kinda proud of the frigid bitch for knowing how to go at it like an animal in heat.
He’s got her bent over a railing, sliding his hand over the curve of her ass. He rears back and slaps it hard enough to leave red marks and scare the birds from the trees. Maria and I jump every time we hear it, even though we know it’s coming. Every time Heather moans like it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever felt. Keeping her head down, she reaches back for Jamie. He leans over her, planting a kiss on her shoulder before trailing his lips over her back. Then ever so gently, he places delicate kisses on the red handprints he’s left all over her ass. Without realizing it, I press my thighs together, somehow turned on by this display.
Heather stands. Jamie sweeps the veil of long black hair over her shoulder and starts kissing her neck. She spins in his arms, throwing hers around his neck and planting her lips on his. I raise my phone and begin taking pics again. My mouth goes dry when he lifts her off the ground, tucking her legs around his waist and walking her to the wall of painted graffiti. With an unseen hand, Heather pushes his shorts down until they fall to his ankles. When he’s got her back firmly against the wall he starts pushing. She grips him tightly, leaning her head back and taking in every thrust like her life depends on it. Damn, she’s a screamer.
“Jamie! Oh, Jamie!” she yells, her voice growing louder with each pulse. For someone who didn’t want to get caught, she sure as hell couldn’t give zero fucks right now. I zoom in as close as I can. She’s biting her lip and her face is so screwed up in pleasure she’s almost unrecognizable. Still, I snap as many photos as I can get.
“I’m coming!” she announces to anyone in a mile radius. It echoes down the damn canyon. Jamie reaches up and claps a hand over her mouth to silence her. I put a hand over my mouth to silence the laugh that bubbles from my throat. Holy shit. What a crazy fucking bitch. I elbow Maria. Her face is frozen in a dumbfounded look. Slowly, she turns that look to me and huffs a disbelieving laugh, her phone still held stock-still recording the public porn.
Jamie comes with a giant, manly sounding grunt. Maria bites her shirt to keep from laughing out loud. We turn and slide to our asses back against the cement garden wall, unable to believe what we’ve just witnessed and trying our damnedest to keep a lid on the schoolgirl giggles threatening to out us. For a few seconds, we sit there composing ourselves. Maria checks her phone to be sure the video is there and I scroll through my pictures. At this moment, our phones are easily worth a million dollars each. To me, though, it’s worth so much more. This video is our happily-ever-after. I upload my photos to the cloud and tuck my phone safely into my pocket, patting it for good measure.
I thumb toward the trail and Maria nods. On our hands and knees we crawl from our hiding spot so we don’t get caught. We’re silent, sprinting up from the valley floor as fast as we can. Neither of us says a word until we’re back in the car.
We pile in and Maria takes off as fast as she can get the key in the ignition. Two streets over, she pulls to a stop. We look at each other and start squealing. No words need to be said. We both know exactly what we have on film and exactly what this means. Devon and I are home free.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sweating is so not my thing, but when the glisten of just-fucked-silly perspiration dampens my skin I love it. What I love even more is the warm body that slides against mine when he rolls off and pulls me into the nook under his arm. A breathless kiss finds its way to my forehead and I greedily inhale the smell of our love. God, I relish everything about this man. He takes my hand in his and traces the line of veins running down the back of mine.
Sitting on the bedside table, my phone is impossible to ignore without the distraction of sex. I’m slightly mind-fucked to think a small rectangular device can hold the kind of damning evidence that will undoubtedly bury Heather. I should tell him. I have to tell him. He’s going to be so pissed at me, but maybe the lingering orgasmic euphoria will calm his rage. Here’s hoping.
“I want to show you something,” I say, leaning up and reaching for my phone. He grunts his disappointment at having our post-coital moment interrupted, but sits up and stuffs pillows behind his back. “Don’t be mad.” I fix him with a serious gaze and drop the phone in his hand. Heather’s pictures are already on the screen.
He gives me a playful side-eye before turning to my phone, ridiculously unaware of what he holds. I can’t watch. He’s going to go ballistic. I know he is. Sliding from the bed, I scurry to the bathroom and shut the door. I sit on the toilet, peeing as quietly as I can and listening for any sound on the other side of the door. Nothing.
Slowly, I emerge, peeking around the door to
get a glimpse of his face and judge his mood. He sits on the side of the bed, phone clenched in white knuckles, shaking his head, nostrils flaring. This is not good.
“What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” He holds up the phone like he wants to throw it. Standing, he marches toward me, his cock slapping against his thigh with each step. “I cannot believe you! Is this what you were doing all morning?” he demands, inches from my face.
I slink around him, moving away from his rage. “Yes.” I force confidence into my voice.
“How did you even...?” He throws his hands in the air, totally at a loss by what I’ve done.
“Sit down,” I say, throwing his pants at him and pulling on a shirt. He rips the pants up his legs and starts pacing, eventually throwing my phone on the bed.
“You better have a damn good reason for this!” His voice is beyond livid. I clear my throat, certain I’ve got seconds to explain my side before he completely loses it.
“Jamie told me to meet him this morning. Gave me an address.” I bite my lip.
“When do you talk to Jamie?”
“He caught me hiding a camera in Heather’s room. Turns out he’s just as desperate to get rid of you as we are to rid of Heather.” I try a laugh, hoping he’ll find the irony amusing. He doesn’t. My explanation only angers him further. “Maria and I went there this morning.”
“You brought Maria into this?”
“Of course I did.” I smirk at his accusation like he’s a fool for even asking. “I didn’t know what to expect. We followed them into the canyon and...well, Jamie gave us everything we need. Maria’s got it on tape. Those pictures are tame.” I point to my phone so he knows how much worse it gets.
“Exactly how much does she know?” Devon’s face goes slack, fearing how much I’ve shared with my BFF.
“She knows nothing more than how desperate I am to get rid of Heather so I can be with you.” My answer pricks his anger. The lines of his face soften. He turns away.
“What have you done?”
“What have I done?” I repeat his question like he’s mad, unable to believe he’s doubting me, that he doesn’t see what we’ve finally got. “Devon, this—” I wave my phone in front of his face “—is your bargaining chip. Heather’s now got a sex tape. With Jamie. No way she’ll want that to get out. She’ll have to be reasonable about a settlement.”
“No. What you’ve got is one more reason for her to twist the screws.”
“No.” I cross my arms defiantly. “This is our ticket. Either she comes to the table with a reasonable offer, or we release it.”
“It’s a sex tape, Carly.” He emphasizes the point with balled hands. “The Kardashians are built on one of those. But what she has would destroy me.”
“It’s something,” I argue, refusing to admit my plan is crumbling.
“It’s not enough.” He falls into a chair and takes his head in his hands. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but until Dylan’s tape is out of Heather’s hands, we’re dead in the water.”
I sink to the floor beside the bed, grabbing my own head. He’s right. It’s not enough. Sex tapes don’t mean much in Hollywood. A tape of Devon overdosing Dylan means everything.
The body bag zipping over her pale face is an image I’ll never forget. It plays in my mind at will, the shaky recorded image on a phone’s small screen. A single TV hung against a black glass wall.
“Is there a glass wall anywhere in the Malibu house?” I know I’ve seen that TV before.
He shakes his head. “Why?”
“The video she showed me, she was recording the security tape playing on a TV. She must have the original copy.”
“Probably. More copies means more chance of it leaking, but she’s too smart to store it in the house. Or on her phone. I could have that wiped clean with one call to Moretti.”
“No, I know that. The TV was familiar to me. I’ve seen that glass wall somewhere.”
“A glass wall says business office to me.” He shrugs.
“Black glass,” I say absently, chewing my lip as I think. Black glass. A faraway memory of a familiar glass wall with a wet bar and a bitch just as evil as Heather comes flying in from nowhere.
“India,” I whisper, leaping to my feet. “India has the tape.”
* * *
I reheat a cup of coffee in the microwave hoping it will clear my thoughts, and make my way to the porch for a smoke. After I figured out who had Devon’s tape, he made one call. Ten minutes later, Mr. Moretti’s slick Crown Vic pulled into the cover of my garage. Devon got in and I haven’t seen him since.
He was a mixture of angry, hurt and shell-shocked when he left, unable to believe the agent who made a career out of building his would betray him like this. To me, it makes perfect sense. Heather couldn’t keep the tape. Devon would’ve found it by now. She needed an accomplice. India has just as much to lose as Heather does if Devon decides to walk. She needs the insurance, too. Of course those two snakes would share a den.
As happy as I am to finally find our resolution to the whole Heather issue, it sucks to see him hurt by India’s betrayal. Devon’s circle of trust is small. She’s been with him from the beginning. It’d be like learning Tiny is a traitor. The only silver lining to this storm cloud is that Devon is so pissed off by it all, he’s letting me decide what to do with Heather’s sex tape. Once he has his tape in hand. The idea of buying commercial time during the Super Bowl is very appealing.
“Sunshine.” He whispers my nickname low and sweet, not a trace of lingering anger. It’s a relief, but I’m so consumed in my own thoughts, I didn’t hear him come in. Startled, I drop my coffee. It splatters over the flagstone at my bare feet. “Don’t move!” Devon leaps to action, kicking the broken glass away from me. “Hop on,” he says, bending down and offering me his back.
“What are you doing on my porch?” I ask, climbing on and letting him carry me inside. He puts me down and finds my lips. I love it when he finds my lips. Soft and sweet and gentle, the way a lover’s first kiss should always be. This mood is such a one-eighty from when he left, it can mean only good news.
“You really need to upgrade the security around here. Your gate doesn’t even lock.” His look alone tells me how disappointed he is in my lack of safety. I roll my eyes at his stall tactics.
“Did you get it?” I ask, fisting his shirt sleeve, unable to keep the smile off my face. We are so close. So fucking close. I can taste our freedom.
He sticks a hand in his back pocket and produces a small VHS, the miniature kind security systems used back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. “It’s all right here.” My eyes flare with disbelief, staring at the cassette in his hand.
“And India?”
“Surprisingly, she gave it up without a fight. She had it buried in a vault. Thought she was guarding it for us. She seemed genuinely shocked to learn what Heather’s been up to.”
“You’re sure there aren’t other copies?”
He shakes his head. “Moretti scanned it. It’s clean.”
“And her phone?”
“He’s wiping it as we speak.”
Sweet relief sings so loudly into my limbs I lose control. Limply, I fall against a couch. Devon grins like a schoolboy—fresh and free and just as dumbfounded as me. It’s the look of a ten-thousand-pound weight lifting off his shoulders. The storm clouds are clearing. Our living hell is over and happily-ever-after is finally here.
I grab my head in my hands, slowly running my hands over my hair, unable to believe this is it. This is actually it. I hold out my hand. He drops the tape in it. I death-grip the hard black plastic. I cannot believe how quickly the tides have turned. Now that we have this, the sex tape doesn’t even matter. Heather has zero control over the situation. She has to walk away.
“What are you going to do with it?” I ask.
“Burn it,” he says with zero hesitation.
“I’ve got a fire pit.” I point outside toward the stone structure.
“And I’ve got a match.”
“But first...” I give him a naughty look that needs no further explanation.
This calls for celebration sex. He sits and lands a kiss on the spot right below my ear that drives me crazy, obviously thinking the same thing. This spot makes me forget every thought that has ever taken up space between my ears, which is exactly what I want.
“Devon.” I chastise his bold moves like they shock me, but turn to him for more. Sometimes I like to think there’s the tiniest bit of lady inside me, even though everyone here knows what I slut I am where he’s concerned. For some reason I’m feeling bold and adventurous. Unstoppable, now that our number one problem is solved. Devon starts to sit up, and I know he’s going to lead me down the hall so we can have safe sex in my bed that won’t in any way jeopardize our situation. Fuck that. I stand, but pull him back to me when he starts to walk away.
“What?” he asks with a playful grin.
I step in front of him, my grin equally playful. I run my hands over his chest and down to his crotch. He’s already straining against his pants. I nibble at his lip and make quick work of his fly, whipping his pants and boxers down to his ankles before he can stop me.
“Carly!” he says, eyes wide with shock.
“Devon?” I answer, eyes brimming with lustful promises. He’s still trying to figure out what I’m doing, when I place my hands on his chest and push. He falls backward against the couch, legs spread on either side of me. He has zero time to protest before I rip my shirt over my head, exposing the huge breasts that have bloomed on my chest the past week. He inhales sharply at the sight of my new and improved bootylicious body. Never have curves been so dangerous. I sink to my knees, taking the time to rub these fabulous new tits all over his torso.