by E V Darcy
As he stood up to stretch his legs and grab a bottle of water from the table behind—oh, and resist the urge to strangle one of the show’s fans—he heard a huff of irritation and an undisguised utterance of typical, from someone in his line.
He turned to face the person at the front of the queue, steeled to ask just what they meant, but stopped short upon meeting a pair of fine blue-grey eyes. His gaze travelled over the woman; her face was soft and round, but pretty with high cheekbones and a petite nose; her lips were full with a perfect Cupid’s bow and all this was framed by thick, dark shoulder-length hair. She looked far from simpering or dying to meet him; in fact, she looked distinctly unimpressed with the whole thing.
Or perhaps it was just with him?
He raised his eyebrow at her, intrigued at her indifference to his presence and held back a grin at a wicked thought.
As he cracked open a bottle and took a deep swig, his eyes never left hers. He drank deeply, his head back slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing with each deep, thirst-quenching drink. He had imagined her doing what every other fan probably would, blushing pink at the action and turning bashfully to her friend, but the woman didn’t blush or fidget and her unamused expression didn’t falter. As the bottle slipped from his lips, he dropped his gaze down over her body, taking in her curves under her no-nonsense outfit. There was no cosplay for this icy maiden, he mused, as he licked his lip of a stray drop of water.
She wore dark blue jeans and a t-shirt under a blue blazer. Her shiny blue, flat shoes finished off the outfit. She was well dressed—definitely designer labels—but casually so. No bust on display, no short skirts, tiny shorts or skin tight trousers to try and catch his attention. It was refreshing and without thinking he tipped his head to her in silent approval.
She blinked, her head jolting back at the action before a deep scowl marred her brow and indifference became very obvious disapproval.
A flurry of movement to her right caught his eye and he noticed a very curvy blonde the complete opposite of the brunette she stood beside. He ground his teeth as he moved back to his seat, and silently prayed Blondie wasn’t going to talk his ear off. She looked the type to go on and on. She’d probably shower him with praise and accolades, then tell him he had saved her life in some way.
He scoffed at the thought.
Although, he wouldn’t mind Ice-maiden giving him a few words, though. Preferably ones of yes and please as she—
He froze as he took his seat, as thoughts and desires he hadn’t felt for years came creeping up on him. Hell, the only women he’d kissed or touched since he had left Kelly all those years ago, were co-stars whenever the script called for it. And even then the writers knew to keep it short and to the point. He’d made them significantly tone down Lucifer’s character in that regard before he had signed the first contract.
He played with the markers for a moment as he settled his mind and willed his suddenly very awake libido to settle back down. Another huff of breath, followed by a whispered chastisement did nothing to help. He could tell without glancing at the duo, just who was making what noises.
‘—being insufferable—’
‘He’s a star! If he wants to—’
God, her piqued tone shouldn’t be such a turn on, shouldn’t be making him harder than he had been in years. If anything it should have rung warning bells, told him to get the hell out of there. He didn’t want or need those kinds of feelings running through his body, that’s exactly how he’d ended up getting into trouble with Kelly.
And at the thought of Kelly, his growing erection quickly wilted.
‘Are you ready again, Mr Matthews?’ his autograph assistant asked, a reminder that there were other people about than just him and the ice maiden. ‘Your queue is getting quite large again.’ Sarcasm dripped from the man’s words and made Marc want to laugh both in relief and mild hysteria. He had been whipping through his autographs so fast, the other volunteers had a hard time keeping up with escorting the attendees.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Marc finally relented, when he thought he could speak at his regular gauge instead of sounding like a pre-pubescent boy. He watched the brunette and her friend move forward, and saw the VIP badges that hung from their necks. They definitely had money available to them, he’d seen the prices for those passes! Perhaps that was why the woman was so unimpressed; she was used to associating with people of “status”?
As Blondie handed a literal stack of things she wanted signing to his assistant for prior approval, the brunette presented him with a single poster that already bore copious other signatures. He recognised Luc’s neat scrawl and BB’s loopy fake autograph. Casey’s was there, right next to Sophie’s happy stamp, and squeezed in right next to that was Rob’s overly large scrawl with a happy face nestled in the O. She had even managed to snag a few of the writers and producers. In fact, he realised, as he scanned it again, there were only two signatures missing; his and Paul’s.
He glanced up at the woman, expecting her to ask him for a personalisation. He had his sorry, but no personalisation ready on his lips—he wasn’t wasting his time writing a million different names—but the woman merely stared down at the poster and waited for his scrawl.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked without meaning to and internally cursed himself. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. ‘For the poster,’ he clarified.
‘You’ve been telling everyone you don’t personalise,’ she pointed out in a husky, decidedly British accent he hadn’t expected.
‘You want your name on it or not?’ he growled, forcing his mind not to insert that voice into his earlier brief fantasy. He scowled back at her, annoyed at himself more than the woman. Why the hell was she having such an effect on him, when she clearly didn’t even like him? It was disconcerting to meet someone so indifferent to his presence. Why wasn’t she fawning all over him? Surely she should be grateful for a modicum of his attention.
He gave himself an internal shake. He didn’t need the attention and he certainly didn’t want women offering it. That, again, was how he had got into trouble with Kelly, how he had ended up in his boxed-in little life. It was why he didn’t trust those around him, why he didn’t attend these events. He didn’t want to be put on a pedestal. He didn’t want to be people’s whole world, their reason to live; didn’t want that responsibility on his shoulder.
And this woman certainly wasn’t doing that…
‘Ellie,’ she answered after a moment of consideration. Her friend next to her had gone silent and he knew she was staring at the two of them, that his assistant was looking at him curiously, but he couldn’t pull himself away from the woman before him. What had he done for her to so clearly dislike him?
And why in God’s name was that a turn on?
His assistant cleared his throat and nudged Marc gently.
‘Ellie,’ Marc repeated as he looked down at the poster and picked the spot for his signature—right under his feet at the gates of Hell. ‘You’re from the UK?’ he asked as he wrote.
‘Yes.’
‘I guess this isn’t your first Destiny convention.’ He waved his hand across the poster to indicate the rest of the casts’ scribbles, particularly Sophie’s who wasn’t there that year. Lucky cow.
‘My fourth.’ She was still frowning at him when he looked up and slowly slid the poster back toward her. She made to pick up the print, but his hand lingered and she finally met his gaze.
He had no idea why he had wanted her attention. It had to be her lack of response, her complete and utter indifference that had thrown him for a loop. If she would just act like the rest of them, clawing to get to him…
They stared at one another for a moment, before Ellie finally pulled the poster from under his fingertips and stepped back from the table without a single word of thanks. She eyed him curiously for a few seconds before she slowly turned away, putting her back to him.
It was a moment before her friend cautiously stepped in front of him, h
er now approved pile of goods awaiting his scrawl.
He dragged his eyes from Ellie’s back, looked down at the neat pile and, without another word, began to write on each of the pieces. Ellie’s companion never uttered a sound as he made his way through the small mountain of merchandise, for which he was grateful.
When he’d finally finished, Blondie muttered a quiet thanks and hurried to her friend’s side.
‘What the hell, Elle?’ she asked before the two headed to their next queue and away from his. ‘Rude, much?’
‘You know what I think of him.’ Ellie sniffed rather indignantly. ‘I told you…’
Their conversation faded as they manoeuvred their way around the everlasting queues of his co-stars. Ellie’s words would stay with Marc and be replayed over and over with each person gracing his table.
Just what did she think of him exactly?
~ ~ ~ ~
‘I told you I was just going to get his signature. I have no interest in Marc Matthews. The guy’s a tool.’ The girls grabbed their VIP passes and moved towards Casey McManaman’s line manager, to jump the queue. The manager waved the duo down to the front and the pair pointedly ignored the sighs and sharp intakes of breath from regular attendees.
‘Ellie, the guy made an effort to speak to you! He didn’t bother with anyone else.’
‘Yes, I noticed, thanks.’
And that was the problem, Ellie had definitely noticed Marc. She’d always thought him handsome, the best looking of the cast—even if half the fandom deemed that title to be Luc’s—but she hadn’t expected him to be so striking in person. She’d always considered make-up a factor in his beauty on-screen or at interviews. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or some other visual effects that made his eyes so dazzling, she’d thought. But no; it was simply all him.
His bright blue eyes had sparkled at her from under long lashes and his untamed dark hair had been begging her to run her fingers through it. And when he spoke… God, his voice did things to her that no other man had ever managed. Quite simply, had she actually wanted to speak to him she wouldn’t have been able to manage more than what she’d uttered—and she’d forced even those few words!
She took a deep breath as they were waved over to Casey’s table. The star gave them both his trademark wolfish grin and a wink as he ran his fingers through his salt and pepper locks.
‘Morning, ladies!’
‘Hey, Casey.’ Ellie tried to smile at the man as she handed over the tiny Malphas action figure she had received free in her VIP gift bag. ‘It’s a much bigger event this year.’
The star nodded as he focused on where he could tag the small figurine. ‘That a northern English accent?’ At the sound of their British voices, he dropped his over-emphasised Newsreader-British tones, allowing a Mancunian accent to grace his tongue.
‘Chester,’ Ellie confirmed with a nod.
‘Long way to come,’ he commented distractedly, finding somewhere for his initials. He engaged her in small talk for a moment, and, at any other event, this would have been the highlight of the convention, but her interaction with Marc still nagged at her. Why had he chosen her to speak to? Why had his eyes lingered—oh yes, she’d noticed! There were nearly two thousand attendees at Desti-Nation; what had made her stand out to him?
She glanced around the room and back towards Marc’s table. She wasn’t sure if it was simply her brain in overdrive, but she could have sworn he’d been watching her for a second before another woman stepped in front of him.
Her frown turned into a fond smile as she turned back and caught her friend chattering away at full pelt to the British actor; she was certainly enjoying the little extra-special boost VIP prestige was giving them. The star was attentive and polite, but as Marie turned around—her full attention on her haul as she tried not to drop anything—Ellie caught Casey shaking his head at his young female assistant, who smirked back. Ellie glared at them both just as Marie looked up from her bounty.
‘Seriously,’ Marie started as they walked away, completely unaware of what had transpired behind her back. ‘What is with you? You’re glaring at all the cast as if they’ve tried to set a puppy on fire. You’re acting like you don’t want to be here at all.’
‘Maybe I don’t,’ Ellie snapped back. She was fed up with the squealing, with the sighs of adoration from every mouth as a star came into view. Her eyes swung between Casey—who beamed ardently at another young lady—and Marc’s desk, where he sat with a grumpy disposition, still signing people’s items yet refusing to even raise his head to acknowledge their presence.
She caught BB next to him as she left her desk and moved back towards the drink table. The starlet moved her lower jaw as if to alleviate stiffness, before she rubbed her cheeks vigorously, her olive skin taking on a rosy hue.
‘Come on. Let’s get Vreal’s auto and finish that poster of yours; we don’t really need anyone else’s.’ Marie grabbed her sleeve and pulled her toward Paul’s table. ‘We can go and get coffee like we should have done before we stepped foot in here. No wonder you’re a sourpuss. Hung over and running on zero caffeine. We’ll grab some coffee for Mallory and see how she’s doing.’
Ellie sighed and let her friend pull her along, musing that while Marc Matthews may well be an utter arsehole to everyone, he was at least an honest one—unlike the rest of the cast.
CHAPTER FIVE
…But you’ve never been this ill from a hangover! Ellie worried and fussed over her friend as they made their way through Hall A, following the VIP usher to their front row seats. Mallory had still been hugging the toilet when they’d gone back upstairs a little after ten. She’d joined them for lunch in line with the schedule, but had picked at a small salad and wrinkled her nose at anything greasy. Ellie hoped her friend was really feeling the effects of a hangover and not simply about to start a very unnecessary diet for her wedding.
I know, Mallory replied with a frown. Mind you, I was feeling a bit off yesterday morning too. If I have a bug, Mojitos, Cosmos and whatever the hell else we were drinking last night certainly won’t have helped!
Her comments caused Ellie’s frown to deepen.
Brilliant, just don’t be sick on me! Marie interrupted whatever Ellie had been about to reply, just as the assistant finally presented them with their seats. Marie shrieked with excitement and hugged Mallory as Ellie stared at the chairs situated front row centre, in shock. These were the best seats in the house—the pictures she’d be able to take would be amazing!
Everything okay? Mallory asked, bringing Ellie’s attention onto her. Marie stood just behind her shoulder, eyes narrowed, daring Ellie to make any unsatisfactory comments at the wonderful thing their friend had done.
Ellie gave her the finger before she focused on Mallory and exclaimed, Mal, these are fantastic! Thank you.
Aww, don’t thank me, the younger girl brushed her off. Thank Trent tomorrow when he gets here. He’s the one who organised it all.
Boy’s got some game, Marie told them before setting her bag down on one of the chairs. I didn’t realise he was joining us—that why you have your own room this year? Mallory nodded as she took the chair dead centre.
‘How do you want to do this?’ Marie turned to Ellie. ‘Bit different from the usual.’
‘Just a tad,’ Ellie agreed as she considered the set-up. For the past three events, they’d happily sat in row E in seats 1, 2 and 3 and it had been perfect; they could move a chair, so they didn’t block anyone’s view and turn it slightly so Mallory could see their interpretations. It also meant they could see the stars on stage.
There was only one thing for it this time. ‘We’re just gonna have to do a full one-eighty on it.’
Marie nodded, then relayed the situation to Mallory as Ellie moved her chair to face hers, so its back was to the stage.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded the usher, who’d returned with another VIP group. ‘You’re not allowed to move the chairs. Put it back!’
‘Wha
t— But—!’ Ellie exclaimed as the girl grabbed the chair from her hands and began to push it back into place.
Seeing Marie’s interpretation of the usher’s words, Mallory tapped the girl on the shoulder and announced clearly, ‘I’m deaf, I need to be able to see my interpreters for the panels. I won’t know what’s going on without them.’
The girl stood and stared at the group. The two VIPs she’d brought with her dithered awkwardly at her side. It was clear to Ellie that the usher hadn’t been trained to deal with additional requirements and was desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t get her into trouble.
‘I have my access pass,’ Mallory continued, holding up the additional tag on her lanyard. Marie and Ellie held up theirs too.
‘I’ll have to check with my supervisor,’ the girl mumbled.
‘You do that, hon.’ Marie shooed her away and Ellie put the chair back to where she wanted it.
‘Bloody idiot,’ she muttered when the girl was gone.
‘You sure you want to go first and miss Marc Matthews’ first ever panel?’ Marie asked with a smirk as Mallory took the centremost chair and Ellie settled herself in front of her friend.
‘If sarcasm was a meal, you could feed this entire hall.’ Ellie scowled back at her friend. Although she was loath to admit it, Marie had a point. This was Marc’s first ever panel. Probably the only one he’d ever do and it was also her last Desti-Nation. Did she really want to miss this? She bit her lip and fidgeted slightly in her seat as she internally debated if she was willing to be one of those fans. He was an arsehole, sure, but he was one of the main stars, the ones you tuned in to watch. He could command a scene with a facial expression, a pose, even just breathing… He was also very handsome.
She finally decided to screw it and grabbed her bag. She pulled her phone out and found the camera app. When she looked up, Marie already sported her told-you-so grin and had her hand out, waiting for the device.
‘Just get me some passable ones, okay,’ she huffed. ‘I’m not bothered how many—just enough to say I was here.’