by S. M. West
“No more than a week. I hope. This client is demanding, so nothing short of a few days will do. I wish Nash was here.” I can almost see her pout.
“You’ve got this.” I sink my head into the pillow, closing my eyes. “You’ll see him soon, right?”
She mumbles on the other end. “Okay, enough about me. Seriously. I need to know. Tell me all the things.”
“I had dinner with Eli,”—I pause and then deliberately cut off her squeal—“and his daughter.”
“His daughter!” There’s silence on the line, and I wait. She’s going to remember just like I did in the lobby. I truly can’t believe I forgot about the child. “Oh my God! Yes! I forgot one of them had a daughter. So, that’s Eli?”
“Yes, and I forgot too. Imagine my surprise when I ran into them in the lobby. There was Eli standing next to this cute blonde girl. She’s eight.”
“Oh my God, Pru!” She squeals again and I laugh. “So what happened?”
We’ve spent many hours since Eli came into my life gabbing about him and Trojan, including our crushes on the band back in the day and Eli kissing me in the elevator after drinks. I tell her all about the lobby exchange, dinner, and painting Crystal’s nails.
“Okay, what happened after she went to bed? Did you jump his bones?”
“Harley, no. His daughter and housekeeper were in the house. But he did ask to see me.”
“What does that mean? Like date you? Tell me you said yes.”
“At first, I said no.”
“What? No! Why?”
“We work together. He’s looking for something serious. He doesn’t have to say it, but I see it. He’s a father.”
“Okay, that’s all true, but excuse me, what you guys did at The Salon wasn’t exactly serious. If he was looking for a hook-up, it means he’s open to casual.”
“You have a point. I’d never thought about it like that.” I file that away for further contemplation. “Anyway, we agreed to see each other, but we’re keeping it on the down low at work. And it’s casual. For now.”
“And how are you feeling about that? You don’t sound too excited.”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine. Pru, cut the shit. It’s me, Harley.”
“Ugh. Dating a single dad isn’t something I want.” My chest spasms, because this is Eli and everything else aside, I want him. “He’s in a different stage of his life. A stage I’m never going to be in.”
“Pru.” She stops short of delving into the whole marriage and kids conversation, and I’m grateful for small mercies.
We are alike in many ways, but when it comes to long-term relationships, we couldn’t be more different. She’s going all the way, whereas I don’t want a husband, kids, and a dog. That lifestyle isn’t for me.
Sometimes I wonder what that could mean for my friendship with Harley. The time will come when our lives will be different. I only hope we stay as close as we are now.
“Okay, moving on.”
“All right, fine.” She scoffs, and it comes across the line as gale force winds. “Anything new on the search for your father?”
Before going out for nail polish this afternoon, I researched the three men mentioned in the email from Black Fox. All are famous in some way, all married, and all based in Los Angeles.
I fill her in on the email and what I discovered about each man. One was a high-profile entertainment lawyer, now deceased. Heart attack about five years ago.
The second is a movie star, still starring in a few films today. I can’t bring myself to even utter his name, let alone believe he could be my father. And the third is a tennis pro, retired now. All of them are my mother’s type.
“Wow. That’s good news. Any idea when they’ll know which one, if any, is your father?”
“Not really, they use a lot of language to cover their asses and I suspect to set my expectations. I’m hoping I’ll have an answer soon.”
“What will you do once you know?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I might go to LA once the movie is done.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Maybe if I’m there, see them in person, it might trigger something.”
“Like what? You’ll just know he’s your dad?” She isn’t mocking me, but I can’t help but get my hackles up.
“I don’t know. It feels like I need to be there. I need to see them with my own eyes.”
14
Eli
Unable to deny myself
“‘Night. Call me if you want to hang out,” Tristan says as I jump out of his town car.
“Thanks for the ride.”
I won’t be calling. I have plans tonight with Pru.
Since dinner at my place a week ago, not much has changed. We’re now filming the foreign scenes, which means our private trailer coaching sessions are less frequent.
And forget about time for us on set. For one, she’s strict about focusing on work. The problem is when she’s near, I want more. I want all of her.
Every time the opportunity arises for us to be alone, all I want is to kiss her and touch her. All reason or caution vanishes. I’m single-minded and on the verge of losing control.
And it’s becoming a problem.
For instance, earlier today, Bryce wasn’t happy with my line delivery and demanded Pru spend a few minutes working with me until I got it right.
Normally, my drive to succeed would kick into high gear. I always want to do better, nail the scene. Instead, I was filled with glee, eager to get her to myself in a dark corner of the set.
Nothing happened. There was no privacy, and Pru was all business. The closest I got to satisfying my need for her was brushing my hand against hers.
Tonight will change all of that. Crystal’s at a birthday sleepover, and Pru’s invited me to dinner at her place. Alone. At last.
I’m quick to shower and change, slipping on jeans and another T-shirt, this time Pink Floyd. She said dinner is casual, just the two of us hanging out. I don’t care what we’re doing so long as we’re together.
The ride up in the private elevator serves only to crank my excitement, and when I’m greeted with a stairway up to her place, the feeling magnifies. My senses ache to see, smell, taste, and touch her.
Tonight isn’t about sex. I want more with her, and first, I want to know all about her.
“Hey.” A slow smile crosses her face as she opens the door. “Come in.”
She steps back into the large foyer, and my gaze sweeps the length of her body. She’s wearing white shorts and a black Blondie tank top with an image of Debbie Harry on stage.
“Hi. Love the shirt.”
“Thanks.” She smiles and her short, golden hair bobs around her makeup-free face. There’s a freshness about her, bright and alluring, that I can’t get enough of.
“You know,”—I point at the shirt, entering her place—“‘The Tide is High’ by Blondie is a great cover.”
Her smile grows and she nods, taking the bottle of wine from me and placing it on a glass table. I wait for her to shut the door and then I’m on her, burying my hands in her silky hair.
On a gasp, she slides an arm around my waist and tips her head back, revealing her neck like an invitation to explore her smooth skin with my mouth.
Greed pulses through me. I want all of her but don’t know where to start. Lips? Neck? Collarbone?
My mouth covers hers and no coaxing hers open is needed. She swipes her tongue across my bottom lip and dives inside. Her hands are now on my face, her tongue tangles with mine and she presses her chest into me.
She moans softly in the back of her throat, and the sound shoots straight to my groin. My control is lost. Flames lick at the base of my spine, stoking my desire.
“I counted every second today, waiting for this moment.” My mouth wanders down her neck, kissing and sucking.
“Eli.” Her fingers plunge into my hair, nails gently scraping my scalp, and tiny sparks of pain interchange with pleasure.
My thigh wedges between hers, and she readily parts her legs. And when she shifts, the thin strap of her tank falls from her shoulder, uncovering the swell of her breast.
It’s hard to regret the best sex of your life, but I have a few from our night at The Salon. For starters, it was over all too quickly and we were mostly clothed.
I felt her breasts through her blouse but never had the chance to touch her flesh, taste her. I’m about to change all that.
Unable to deny myself, my head lowers, planting open-mouth kisses down to the hardening nipple that’s now cresting the edge of the fabric.
My stubbled chin nudges the fabric away, and she sighs as I swirl my tongue around one tight peak while increasing the pressure of my leg between hers.
She sighs, shuddering when my hand skates down her flat stomach and into the waistband of her tiny shorts. My fingers slide along the length of her panties, my gaze seeking hers, looking for permission.
Her eyes are the purest blue I’ve ever seen. Hypnotizing like the vast depth of the ocean.
“Is this okay?” I tease at the hem of her panties, this inconsequential barrier between us, and she nods. “I need words, Pru. Say it.”
“Yes.” Her consent is breathy and rushed. “Yes.”
I sink a finger into her, savoring the slick, warm feel of her as my thumb brushes over her sensitive bud.
“Jesus, you’re so wet for me. So tight.” My lips glide along her jaw, and she grinds against my hand, seeking more friction as she lifts one of her legs and hooks it around my thigh.
Pumping in and out, I add another finger while my thumb circles her swollen clit. She clenches around me, gasping and arching into my touch.
My mouth devours hers, swallowing her moans as she clings to me. Legs shaking, chest heaving, she opens her eyes, and when our gazes connect, that’s when it happens.
She detonates.
Muscles tighten, solid as steel, and she trembles. Her eyes glaze over, and she flushes a healthy pink.
Her body undulates in my arms, and eventually, she slumps into me like a rag doll. Carefully, I remove my hand from her shorts, keeping her close to me.
Pru steals a glimpse at me, then reaches up and kisses me. “That was…”
“I hadn’t planned on this. Despite how much I want you, I told myself we’d keep tonight PG.”
“Well, sir, I’d say we got an R rating.” She smirks and leans into me, gazing down at my erection, I’m sure.
She palms me through my shorts, hand gliding along my shaft and fingers giving the tip a light squeeze.
My knees almost buckle as I release a guttural moan and wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling it away. “I came for dinner.”
“True, but why can’t we have dessert too? It’s only fair. You took care of me, and I want to do the same.”
“And I want nothing more than that…but not tonight. Or at least, not now.” I take two steps from her, needing the distance because I don’t trust myself not to crumble like blue cheese.
Who the fuck am I? The woman I can’t stop thinking about wants to get me off, and I’m saying no. I must be insane.
“Okay.” Suddenly shy, she fixes the strap to her tank top and picks up the wine bottle. “Dinner’s ready in twenty. Want a quick tour?”
“Sure, sounds good.” I trail her into a grand living room with high ceilings and terraces off two corners of the room.
I follow her through each room, trying to keep my jaw from dropping onto the floor. The penthouse is spectacular. The second floor has two generously sized corner bedrooms with their own bathrooms and another terrace.
I marvel at the stunning views of the Hudson River and Central Park to the south. “Wow, this is amazing.”
She nods and heads back inside to a classic wrought iron stairwell. We climb the stairs to the third floor, and her long, smooth legs and heart-shaped ass are at my eye level. I can’t help but stare, stuffing my hands into my pockets to quell the urge to touch her backside.
The third floor is also surrounded by windows and has another bedroom with its own private terrace.
“This is my room.” She stands at the doorway, and before I can examine any more than the king size bed, she grabs my hand. “Come on. Dinner will be ready in a few. Let me show you upstairs.”
The top floor is a media room with the largest flat screen TV I’ve ever seen. We don’t stay long and trek back down to the kitchen.
Dinner—chicken piccata, asparagus, and basmati rice—is ready. We sit in the dining room where the table is set for two complete with candles and flowers.
“Is this how you eat every night?” I slide into my seat, and she hands me the wine to open.
“No. Most nights I throw together whatever I have in the fridge. My favorite is breakfast for dinner.”
“Bacon and eggs for dinner is great.”
She smiles and takes the glass I hand her. “Thank you. This was simple, and I like to cook. I don’t usually cook just for me.” Our glasses clink. “Bon appétit.”
“Cheers.” The crisp, fruity wine dances on my tongue. “It looks great. And thanks for the tour. If you don’t live here, where were you before?”
“Downtown in a loft, but it belonged to the company I used to work for.”
“Oh. Why wouldn’t you live here if your mom isn’t in the city? It’s beautiful, and there’s more than enough room.”
She sets down her fork. “This belongs to my mother, and if I lived here, adult or not, I’d have to live by her rules.”
“Fair enough. I’m not trying to be nosy, but I get the sense you aren’t close with your mother?”
“No one is close to Priscilla. What about your parents? Are you close?”
“Both are dead. They had me when they were older, nearing forty-five for Mom, and Dad was a little over fifty at the time. But yeah, I was close with them.”
“I’m sorry.” She reaches out and places a hand over mine.
“It’s okay. They passed a few years back, within eighteen months of each other. I miss them.”
“Tell me about them.”
“There isn’t much to tell. They were great parents. I had an average, working-class upbringing. They supported me in whatever I wanted to do, even my music. I want a life like that for Crystal.”
“Isn’t that kind of hard considering you’re a celebrity? Normal isn’t possible.”
“Maybe not.” I cut another piece of chicken. “But a stable family life. I want her to have a chance to be a kid and not have cameras in her face and all that. I’m grateful for everything I have, but I’m also ready to fade into the background.”
“I understand. I’d never want to be in the spotlight.” She glances to her plate, and silence falls between us.
“This is really good.” I hold up my fork full of food. “If ever you feel like cooking, you’re welcome at my place. I’ll buy the ingredients and be your helper, and you can tell me what to do.”
“I’m glad you like it.” She laughs. “And I might take you up on that. I can’t tell you how much I like the idea of bossing you around.”
“Oh yeah?” I lower my voice suggestively, and she flushes.
“So, this movie is your first, right? How are you liking it? Will you do another one?”
“I like it. I’m learning a lot, including how different filming a movie is from TV. And Bryce has been great. I want to direct films one day.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Bryce has been a big support, and he introduced me to a small production company looking for a new director. They want something original, and I’m surprised to say, but we’re in talks.”
“What does that mean? They could hire you to direct their film?”
“Yes. It’s tricky since I’m virtually an unknown in the film world, but Bryce has let me direct a few scenes for the movie, and I did work as an assistant director on one film back in LA when I was trying to figure out my next move.”
“That’s gr
eat. Very cool. Can you tell me about the movie? The production company?”
We talk through dinner about the small indie film and more about the movie we’re working on now. And when dinner’s over, we work together, cleaning up, and then take our wine out onto one of the terraces.
The night is warm, and the lights from inside the penthouse and the buildings are enough to see everything around us. I sit in a large armchair, and as Pru brushes past me, on her way to a similar chair several feet away from me, I grab her arm and pull her into my lap.
“Eli.” One arm slides around my neck, hanging on in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I anchor an arm around her waist, and I lean back into the chair, resting my glass on the table beside me. “We’re just talking. Relax.”
She doesn’t relax fully, but she also doesn’t try to get out of my grasp. “Fine.”
Leaning her side into my chest, she slides her legs over the arm of the chair and sips her wine.
“What were you doing at The Salon that night?”
My question causes her to stiffen once more. We haven’t talked about our first encounter since her first day on set. And even then, it was brief, both of us avoiding the specifics.
“I was there with Harley. She’d just left and I was about to when I saw you.” Fingers graze the side of my neck and I shiver in the wake of her touch.
“Lucky me.”
“You know, we almost didn’t meet.”
“Really?”
She shifts on my lap—Mother Mary and Joseph—the movement against my groin is sheer agonizing pleasure.
Oblivious or just not wanting to draw attention to my hardening length, she says, “Yes, I was going to bail on the night altogether. I wasn’t in the mood and felt like staying in and drowning my sorrows in ice cream and a rom-com. But Harley knows me too well.” Her gaze is shrewd as she stares off into the night. “She showed up at my door an hour before we’d planned to leave and made me go out.”
“What had you down?”
“I’d just been let go from CE.” She frowns, and I remember her brief explanation of how she’d gotten the coach position. “I was not only upset, but I also felt betrayed by one of my closest friends and partner.”