by Lyrica Creed
“Ready?” He took in the nervous dart of her gaze to the house beyond.
Ironically, in a repeat of the first party where they had looked for Ivy, they were detained and questioned in the driveway. After introducing himself, he waited as the security personnel texted into his phone and then they were given the go ahead.
He squeezed her hand again after they were admitted into the house. A server wearing a crisp white uniform made them a drink, and a party hostess escorted them to the back terrace. Feeling a tremble run through Scar, he rested his hand on her back above her waist, lending moral support. Other than a few glances, no one paid them any mind and she visibly relaxed as he guided her to a quiet corner where she could take everything in.
His own eyes skirted over the guests on the rambling lawn and stone patios, and he wondered if he would even recognize Ivy if he saw her.
“Gage Remington! My son texted just now and told me you rescued him and his friend.”
“Ah, yeah. They were having gaming and iPhone withdrawals.”
He had only seen Bradley in passing at various events and once out on the water when staying here last summer. The actor was a favorite of the tabloids and the women. The heartthrob’s short stature was always a surprise to see, given his larger than life effect on a screen.
They formally introduced themselves, and when he turned to include Scar in the introductions, he saw her moving away, her eyes focused as if in a trance. Following her line of sight, he found an older version of the girl he remembered sans dark hair.
“My assistant emailed me about you coming by the house. Sorry I missed you. He said the woman with you was looking for…” Bradley broke off. “Looks like she found her.”
Gage watched as the two women embraced but noticed the lack of a smile or happy face between them. When Bradley took a step in their direction, Gage quickly moved to intercept him with a slight step in front of him. “Maybe we could give them a minute?”
“Sure. Right.” Bradley agreed, but his eyes were watchful of Ivy. The actor offered to introduce him around, and although he wasn’t enthusiastic at meeting a bunch of strangers, he took him up on it to keep the other guy occupied.
Chapter 40
“I couldn’t—can’t face anyone.” Ivy took a gulp of her fruity drink, and her eyes wandered around the fancy conservatory. “You understand.”
Scarla dropped to sit on the piano bench with the baby grand behind her and watched Ivy pace the shiny marble floor. “I don’t. Your mother is freaking frantic. Why would you put her through this?”
At this, Ivy’s chin snapped up. “You know my mother. I’ve no doubt she needs to miss me for a while. That way she won’t scream at me for not living five minutes from her beck and call!”
“She thinks you could be dead!”
“Good. Then maybe she’ll be happy I’m alive!”
“No chance of that.” Scarla’s lips twisted in a mutation between a grimace and a smile. Despite her fury with her friend’s attitude, she couldn’t help but postulate the scene of Ivy telling Ms. Messlehof she had moved to Californication, was living unwed with a movie star, and ‘oh yeah Mom, there’s this video going around…’ “In fact she might kill you off herself.”
“See,” Ivy rang the reply out triumphantly.
Ivy had an incredible story. She had remained on the tour bus through the last dates and then had flown to L.A. with Pax from the band. Her phone had gone dead that first night and no one else’s charger had been compatible. Somewhere between Auburn and Sacramento, the phone had been lost altogether. She didn’t know Scarla’s number by memory. During her first weeks in Los Angeles, she had hooked up with Bradley at a party. This was the night of the infamous video, although she didn’t know of it at the time, and it would be a month before it hit the internet. Pax from the band kicked her out of the house the next day. “I didn’t know he knew what I had done or would even care if he did.” She’d figured he was simply an asinine rock star and he was tired of having her around. Which was fine with her, because Pax had some kinks she was tired of indulging, and she and Bradley had really hit it off so well that he had programmed his number into the new cell phone she was using. “I couldn’t replace my other phone because the bill was overdue, and at that point I had no money. It was way cheaper to buy the new one with some cash Pax had given me sometime before L.A.” Bradley had seemed happy to move her into his place. Because of his recent divorce, they had kept their affair quiet—until the video hit.
“You can answer to your mother whenever. But me?” Scarla shot to her feet, and Ivy backed down a couple of wary steps. “I’ve never done a damn thing except support you in everything you’ve ever done. There’s Facebook. Snap Chat. Twitter. Email…” Breaking off, she was distracted by Ivy’s designer clothing and accessories. “You’re so freaking selfish! Out here living it up while anyone who really gives a damn about you is worried sick.”
“I know it was shitty of me. But you have to understand.”
“I don’t.”
“You of all people understand dropping out of sight over… over public embarrassment.” Understanding seemed to dawn. “That’s what you’re doing here in the middle of nowhere. Where the paparazzi marks hide away. It’s almost the twentieth anniversary…”
Did Ivy truly believe what she was saying?
There was no way Ivy could equate not shooting at least one message to say ‘hey the rock stars didn’t murder me and toss my body in the Black Rock desert while passing through,’ with Scarla’s getaway to Lake Arrowhead. The most important difference was she herself would have let Ivy know where she was. She wouldn’t have dropped off the face of the social media map.
Scarla lost it and lunged at Ivy, slapping the fruity drink from her manicured hands. When the glass shattered on the floor, and the contents miraculously missed splashing the designer dress on the way down, she tossed her own drink and watched the stain spread on the silk.
Ivy’s eyes were huge globes before her lids narrowed in fury. “What the fuck! You bitch! Do you know how much this dress cost?”
“What do you care? You didn’t buy it, right? You―” She stopped herself just in time before calling her ex best friend out for whoring around with celebrities.
A slight cough alerted her to their spectators. They had begun the discussion in relative privacy, but now their raised voices and Ivy’s cocktail bath had drawn attention.
Scarla spun on her heel. Now that she’d seen with her own eyes that Ivy was safe, she wanted as far away from her as she could get. The next embarrassing scene spanned only a couple of seconds. Ivy shot her arm out. Scarla wasn’t sure if it was a silent plea or if a full-out bitch fight would have ensued, had she not tripped in her haste to get away from what felt like a betrayal of their tight friendship.
She was surrounded by tanned feet in open toed shoes on marble so glossy, she could see her reflection. Gasps and murmurs flew above her head. Pushing herself up, she kept her eyes straight ahead and ran for the door.
Chapter 41
Entering the empty cabin, she tripped again on the furry rug stretched in front of the den fireplace. Her hands stung with the impact of protecting herself a second time from a face plant. Instead of righting herself, she simply sat in the shadows.
The room was bathed in the gold hue of the sunset when Gage appeared. When he simply sank down in front of her, it reminded her of the night before in the pool. His fingers fiddled with her knot of hair, freeing it from the bun, and then the pads of his fingers brushed soothingly against her scalp. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, surrendering to the massage.
“Want to talk about it?” he whispered against her hair. She shook her head. He devoted a few more minutes to the soothing ministrations of his fingers and then stood. With the turn of a key, the fireplace leapt to life. The flames entranced her, easing even more of the tension from her tendons. He locked the door, drew the drapes, and dropped the blinds until they were in their own litt
le world. He took a moment to dock his phone and adjust the volume on a mellow playlist. As the first measures of the ‘feel better’ tunes began, he reclaimed his spot, but scooted forward, one leg on either side of her until their bodies were all but touching.
His fingers splayed her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips in what she was learning was his prelude to a kiss. She knew the action well now after only a few times—knew all she had to do was turn her head if she objected. She didn’t.
The kiss was as sweet and tender as the one in the water had been. She wrapped her arms around him, arching until her chest was flush with his. Their tongues mated and mingled until the tingly sparklers firing through her began to flare and flame. They hadn’t broken the seal of their lips; their breath only heated the kiss more. His fingers curved to her upper arms, and this is where they remained despite the rest of her body longing for his touch.
She pulled apart, and they sucked in breaths, refueling their cells with oxygen. He seemed disappointed, and then something akin to shame filled his face. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to kiss you better, take your mind off things for a minute. And then I meant to stop. I know it’s not the right time with all that just went down―”
The raspy apology ceased abruptly when she pulled her shirt over her head and let it drop. His lips parted slightly, seemingly in surprise, but in one sweeping motion, he had his tee shirt off too, and it landed in the vicinity of hers. Their bodies collided again, and she whimpered as their skin melded together.
“Damn, Scar.” He muttered into her mouth. “I lose my mind when you make that sound.” And in response, she vocally rewarded his words with another hum of bliss, dragging an echoing groan from his throat. His hands roamed, up and down her back, fingers dipping beyond the waistband of her jeans until they met resistance of the denim snug against her ass. Wandering to her front, his hands and fingers continued his nomadic exploration, around her waist, flattening over her belly, thumb swirling into her navel, and dragging upward with agonizing slowness, before dipping into her bra and coaxing another octave from her. The slight friction of his callus-roughened fingertips fed the frenzied fire lapping at her body.
As for her explorations, she couldn’t get enough. The heat of his skin. Silk and steel. Ink and indention… Her fingertips pressed until they dipped into the ridges of his ribs, and she swept her touch down to the heat of his abdomen, and down more. In one deft movement, she freed the top button of his fly and then ripped the zipper down. The whispering grate of metal sent a jolt of heat like lightning between her legs.
She reached, greedy for her prize, but right when her nails lightly raked the front of his briefs, he captured her wrist. Containing it in the curve of his fingers, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and used his weight to ease her back until she reclined. Locking the imprisoned hand to the carpet, he stretched over her, bracing his weight as he dipped in for another kiss.
She was panting as loud as Rascal had been in the boat. Her skin was ablaze. A sheen of sweat cooled slightly in the wake of his hot breath as he kissed and tasted every inch of skin his hands had traversed. If she could have spoken, she would have begged harder than the occasional “please,” when his tongue licked and lavished in delicious ways. Gage’s tongue was as skilled in its devotion to her body as it was in each kiss. It blazed down her cleavage, darting beneath the strip of bra. With his free hand, he pushed at the material enough to tongue trace the ultra-erotic zone beneath each breast. Brushing with his lips in a side-to-side motion, he trailed down bit by bit, teasing the hyper-sensitive valley where her ribcage met. And then with one long lick back up, he coaxed another frantic whimper from her lips.
At long last, he released her hand he’d held hostage and unfastened the fly of her jeans. Wasting not a second of this freedom, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down. When they reached her knees, he swiftly dragged them the rest of the way, releasing her ankles from the tight hems and yanking the denim off.
He sat back for a moment, feasting those dark eyes appreciatively over her. Her bra had been pushed up out of the way, but not unhooked, and now, she released the front clasp.
“Really? It would have been that easy?” He let one of his smirks fly, but a glint of adulation lit his gaze as he took in the twin peaks and filled his hands with their goodness. “So beautiful… I guess you know that, though. You get to see ‘em every day.”
She felt her lips curve in response to his antics and then gasped, bowing up from the rug when he dropped back down to both elbows and again worshiped that proclaimed beauty with his teeth, tongue and lips—this time without the hindrances of lingerie.
She tried to ease the ache between her legs, wrapping a leg to his waist and rubbing her throbbing core against his open jeans. The zipper pull settled for a moment in the perfect place on her silk panties, and she sighed out a pleasured hum. He growled against her skin and released her long enough to shuck his jeans.
He’d just pushed them over his hips when he stalled. “Shit. I have to get a condom.” He pulled them back up and ordered sternly, “Don’t move.”
“You don’t have one in your wallet?” She’d slipped the billfold from his pocket and tossed it to the side when it had dared to get between her hands and his fine ass. Her neck craned, seeing the wallet right out of reach. But she was talking to his back. He was already across the room and then out of sight.
She thought about following despite his order to stay put. Now when he was no longer distracting her with desire, the bed sure sounded more comfy than the carpet. It only took a second, though, for the musing to derail, becoming a speculation of how many had been in that bed. She remained where she was.
He was soon back, and as his jeans came off, she mirrored the motion, removing her last scrap of clothing. His touch on her, now without that little barrier of silk, had her struggling to hold back a scream. He fused his lips to hers and explored this new territory as thoroughly as he had every inch of her skin. The tips of his rough fingers trailed over, caressed, and then after one last trace up her slit, slipped inside. One long digit plunged deeply, and as exquisite as it felt, her insides clenched, wanting more.
Was that me? Had I expelled that desperate scream? He answered with a groan, and a second finger joined the first. This time a satisfied moan left her mouth.
“Open your eyes, Scar…”
She’d slipped inside a vortex of sensation without realizing her lids had drooped. At his quiet command, they flew open, finding his gaze inches from hers, staring into her soul. His thumb dropped, skimming over her most private lips, and then pushing past them. Without blinking, he held her captive look while caressing all around that sweet point of pleasure. She knew she was squirming, as he continued to finger fuck her. Instinctively her body worked to guide the touch of that elusive thumb, and maybe just as instinctively she held back a scream until he pressed—ringing her bell.
Only then did she subconsciously reward him with the crescendo of sound he’d plied from her body. He continued to strum, playing her as fervently as Claudine. Back and forth, around and again with his thumb. In and almost out, over and over with his long fingers.
Having been introduced to those skilled fingers in the shower around this time yesterday didn’t lessen the effect of his touch. In fact, it may have heightened every sense because she knew how exquisite the buildup and release was going to be. Thinking about our shower gave her a cognitive nudge, and she reached down, curving her fingers around what she’d deliriously deprived herself of last night. He groaned into her mouth and then cursed. His attentive touch fumbled for a half second when she slid her fingers down his silky steel length to the base and cupped the weight of his family jewels. She squeezed lightly, and another husky moan, mixed with a curse, filled their kiss. Curving her hand around him, she stroked.
Up. Down. Up down. Twist. She remembered and mimicked. His rhythm from the night before was etched into her mind.
He countered her ac
tion with his own attention to her ‘tunnel of love.’ The night before, the stretch, twist, and finishing hook of his fingers had been her big bang moment. But this time with her attention divided, a shriek tore through her lips and then a sound of frustration.
“Gage…” And her next mumbled words had never, ever, before slipped unheeded through her lips. Dirty talk was something she had always forced on occasion to speed up getting a guy off. Until now, crude four letter words had never slipped out in groans and pleas. “…your cock… inside me now…”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Obeying, he rolled on the condom and then filled her in one smooth move. He watched astounded when she uttered his name again—this time as a scream—and immediately exploded. She trained her eyes on his, basking in the emotion just beyond the fringes of his surprise. When she wrapped tighter to him and urged him on, she swore she saw a flash of cocky male pride. But then they were rocking and rolling. And in no time, she was again as worked up as him, her breaths as short, her cries crazed…
“Damn, Scar…” He eased his weight up some. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to crush you…”
“Breathing is overrated.”
He grunted something that may have been a syllable of a chuckle. Rolling to his side, he pulled her with him. “Sorry…” His lips brushed her forehead. “Seriously, I was out for a few seconds. That was… intense…”
“Intense.” She agreed and couldn’t stop a giggle from bubbling up.
“What? I just can’t think of any words spectacular enough for that.”
“Me either.” She touched her lips to the slight scruff on his chin.
He reached between them, and when the condom was tied off, he seemed embarrassed when he gazed around and then reached for his discarded boxers and rolled it out of sight inside them before collapsing again. She understood. She couldn’t have stood and carried herself beyond this spot on the floor if the house had caught fire. His voice was listless, clearly sapped of strength when he whispered, “You asked why it wasn’t in my billfold.”