by Kim Loraine
His Hollywood Virgin
Kim Loraine
Copyright © 2018 by Kim Loraine
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.
Edited by Ellie McLove at My Brother’s Editor
& Wendy Kassler
Proofread by Allison Literary Services
Created with Vellum
Contents
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Acknowledgments
Also by Kim Loraine
Chapter 1
Jameson
Thumping bass hums through my body as I wander the dark club in search of the VIP room. I don't want to be recognized, not yet, and if I can get in there before someone catches on, I'll be thankful. It's my last night in Manhattan before I make the move back to the small town in upstate New York where I have my hideaway. No one bothers me there--ever. But that's partly because I'm rarely home.
A sharp pain blossoms in my ribs as someone's elbow digs in. With a cry of surprise, the elbow's owner falls against me, and I instinctively catch her up into my arms. Wide dark eyes blink up at me as she works out who I am. I can see it happening.
"Jameson Donoghue?" she asks, a frown furrowing her perfectly shaped brows. "I must be drunker than I thought, which should be impossible since I haven't had a drink yet." She yells the last in the general direction of the bar.
"You okay?" I haven't set her on her feet yet, and I don't know why. But she feels good against me, and I want to keep looking at her.
"Yes. Sorry. Someone shoved me out of the bar line."
I glance at the burly guy in line and jut my chin in his direction. "Him?"
She nods, taking her lower lip between her teeth as I place her back on her feet.
"What's your drink?"
"Whiskey sour," she says, and I fight a smile.
"You know that drink has been known to ignite a love story or two."
She cocks an eyebrow and laughs. "You wish."
"Maybe I do." I could fall in love with her for a night. She's gorgeous with her soft curves and full lips, and she smells like flowers.
"Do you steal those lines from your movies?"
"Never," I tease, making a cross over my heart.
"You're not what I expected."
I cock an eyebrow in question.
"You're taller. More rugged."
"That's because they airbrush me on camera. I'm a man, same as every guy here. Normal."
"I don't think there's anything normal about you. You're Hollywood. That's the definition of not normal."
"I don't know if I should be offended."
"It's good. Normal is boring."
"And you. Are you normal?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"I suppose I'll have to spend all night finding out." Her cheeks go a perfect shade of pink at my statement, but before she can respond, I'm heading for the line.
Chris, the bartender, catches sight of me and waves me to the head of the line. People complain, but I shrug it off. "What'll you have, Jameson?"
"Whiskey sour and a Jack and Coke." He nods, and I glance back at the ten people in line behind me. "Put the rest of the line on my tab, up to that big guy in the back. He can pay for his own damn drinks."
Chris sizes up the crowd and starts making my drinks. By the time I return to the woman who'd crashed into me, the crowd has grown, and murmurs of my name hit my ears even over the music. I don't care about being recognized anymore. I hand her the whiskey sour and hold up my own cocktail. We clink glasses and drink, our eyes locked the entire time. Before I know it, my glass is empty and hers is almost gone. I don't want to move from this spot. I want her.
"Dance with me," I say, leaning in so she can hear me. The song has changed to a sensual beat, and I want to get her close to me.
She nods, taking my offered hand after she downs the rest of her cocktail. We place our glasses on a side table and make our way to the dance floor. Fuck, she moves like she was made for me. Her body sways against mine, perfectly in sync, fitting to my shape in ways that make me ache to find out what we'd be like in bed together.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Hazel." Her eyes focus on mine, and I don't see awe or a sense of her being star-struck. This woman sees me. The real me. Not a movie star.
"Be mine tonight, Hazel." It's bold, but I can't let her out of my grasp. It's rare to find an instant connection, but I know it happens.
Indecision flickers across her face, but after a moment, she nods and brings her lips to mine. The kiss is all innocence and tenderness and like nothing I've ever experienced. Hazel is going to ruin me. I can already tell.
I cup her face and pull her closer, deepening our kiss. She tastes like the bourbon from her cocktail, a little spicy and sweet. When I pull back, her lips are swollen from my kiss and there's a flush on her cheeks. It's too loud in here. There are too many people crowding around us. Threading our fingers, I mouth, “Come on,” and tug her toward the VIP room. Once we're safely behind the door, everything changes. The music is soft here, the people quiet and not focused on who I am. We're all well-known in this portion of the club. No one cares.
"Are you abandoning someone to be here with me?" I ask. "A date?" I hate the idea of her with another guy, but she's too beautiful to be here alone.
"Just a few friends."
"Text them. Tell them you had to leave, so they don't worry about you."
She lets out a soft laugh. "Is this what you do? You find a willing woman and steal her for a night?"
My expression turns serious. I don't want her to think about me like that. "No. I've never done this before. I know it's crazy, but there's something about you. Tell me you don't feel it. There's a pure connection between us." She takes that bottom lip between her teeth again, and I almost groan aloud. I pull her close and take us to a private booth, closing the curtain the instant we're seated. I came here to blow off steam, and, instead, I found an angel who's going to take me to Heaven.
"Jameson," she sighs as I cup her jaw and run my thumb softly over her lower lip. "This isn't...I'm not the type of girl--"
I kiss her then, long and deep. There's something perfect about her softness. Pulling her across my lap, I groan when she rocks against the length of steel in my pants. My fingers trail down the column of her throat, over her collarbone and down her arm. "Your skin is like silk."
She moans and rocks against me again. Holy fuck, she's about to come from the friction. I know what a woman on the crest of orgasm looks like, and she's right there. Hazel shudders and her breath hitches as she grips me tight and crushes her lips to mine. Her reaction sends an orgasm racing through me without warning. I buck against her and come in my fucking pants like a teenager. God, does it feel good.
I need to take her home. To wrap myself up in Hazel for the rest of the night and escape from everything else in my life. She giggles and buries her face against my chest. "Oh my God. I...this isn't me. I don't do things like this."
When
she pulls away and climbs off my lap, I can see the bright pink blush on her cheeks. She's embarrassed. She was serious when she said she doesn't do things like this. Count me the luckiest man in the damn world, then. "We can do a hell of a lot more than that if you come home with me."
Her eyes go wide and indecision flickers in her expression. She rights her clothes and instead of leaning closer, she shies away. "I don't know."
"Look, I just wrapped up a film, and I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm not asking you to run off and get married, but, fuck, Hazel, I can't go the rest of my life without having you at least once."
She sucks in a sharp breath. "I...I'm sorry. I can't."
And just like that, I've lost her. I'm too fucking intense and she's gone. The woman bolts out the door and out of my life. I don't chase after her. I'm not a psycho. But damn if I didn't want to. Instead, I head to the bathroom to clean myself up, then I'll hit the bar and order another drink. I'll be dreaming of Hazel tonight. Who am I kidding? I'll dream of her every damn night.
Chapter 2
One week later
Jameson
"Hazel. Where are you, Hazel?" I scroll through my phone, searching for some way to find her on social media, but it's like combing through a haystack in search of a needle. All I have is her name and the memory of her body against mine. I should let her go, move on and forget about her. That's what most guys would do. Chalk it up to one night of heavy petting and take out their frustrations with another woman. I can't. Hazel is all I'm able to think about.
My doorbell rings, pulling me from my obsessive scrolling. Tucking my phone into my pocket, I stride to the door with the ridiculous glimmer of hope that Hazel somehow found me. Instead, when I open the door, my stomach clenches.
I stare at a face I haven't seen in close to eight years. Laura Foster, my former co-star, my ex...something. She's still icily beautiful, like a statue, and still as vicious as ever, but this time she's standing with a little girl, about six or seven years old who looks eerily like my mother.
"Laura? What are you doing here?"
She pushes the little girl toward me. "You have to take her, Jameson. She's yours."
All the air leaves my lungs, and the only sound is the hammering of my pulse in my ears for a long minute as my world flips upside down. Then everything comes into sharp focus all at once.
"How can she be mine? We haven't seen each other since Dirt Road."
She cocks a hip. "Exactly."
I think back to our last time together, eight years ago, when Laura and I got drunk and celebrated wrapping the final episode of our show. It had been fast and unsatisfying, a definite confirmation that the two of us were doomed to fail.
"It's been years. What happened to your big shot producer husband? You remember him, right? The guy you left me for."
She bites her lip, and her gaze flicks away from mine. "He left the country. He's been embezzling, and he's been indicted. Besides, I passed her off as his so I could marry him. Once he figured out I lied, our marriage was pretty much over."
"Why would you keep her from me?"
A shrug. That's all I get from this woman. Laura had vanished, dropped off the face of the Earth until recently. "I didn't need you before. You were a C-lister at best, and my career was taking off. Marrying Brant was supposed to take my acting career to another level."
"But you need me now?"
"I'm poised to make a comeback. I just landed the lead in a remake of Splash! I couldn't turn it down."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Kaia needs a parent."
I stare at Kaia, her big brown eyes wide as she hides behind her mother. "She doesn't know me."
"It's just six weeks. Hire a nanny or something to help you."
Six weeks? I can't take care of a kid for six god-damned weeks. Frustration grips my chest, but I don't want to scare Kaia. She already looks like she's about to cry. "Laura, you can't just leave her here."
"I'm sorry. I have to take this opportunity." She shoves Kaia toward me and drops a Louis Vuitton suitcase at her feet. "Momma loves you, baby. Kiss, kiss." The woman doesn't even hug her own daughter before she dashes down the walkway and to her waiting car.
Kaia stares after her mother but doesn't call out or cry. Instead, she grabs her bag and starts tugging it toward the front door. Alarm bells go off in my mind. A kid shouldn't act like this when her mother leaves her. She should cry and run after her. There should be some kind of attachment. Anger builds in my chest. Has my daughter been so neglected she doesn't even care if her mom leaves her with a complete stranger?
"I have no idea how to do this, kid," I say.
Kaia looks back at me. "She doesn't either."
Hazel
"Can you take over story time? I'm so nauseous." Clover, my boss, just found out she's pregnant, and morning sickness hit her hard almost as soon as she peed on the stick.
I cast her a sympathetic glance. "Of course. Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
She turns a little green but closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'll be fine. Just handle the kids this once."
Guilt swarms me. I just took time off a few weeks ago, but I didn't tell her it was so I could work a cleaning job. The pay was too good to pass up, more than double what I make here at the bookstore. Honestly, I haven't had the guts to ask Clover to look into giving me a raise, but if I don't get one soon, I don't know what I'll do. I already live in my aunt's attic with nothing more than a chest of drawers and a bed. I can't handle staying there anymore, but I can't afford to move out.
Clover hands me the storybook, Malala's Magic Pencil, and I make my way over to the group of kids who are sitting and waiting in the story corner. I fluff my vintage A-line skirt and settle in, taking the cozy reading chair and smiling down at the seven kids.
"Today, we're not reading about princesses or fairies, witches or dragons. Today we're reading a book about a real person." I open the book and show them the cover photo of the author. Then I begin reading. The story breaks my heart and fills me with an abundance of hope for future generations, causing me to briefly be overcome with emotion. My eyes flood with tears as the kids ask me questions about Malala and her life, and when I cast a glance over the crowd of parents waiting behind their kids, embarrassment heats my cheeks.
Taking a deep breath, I swipe at the moisture in my eyes and smile. "Wasn't that an amazing story?"
The kids nod, and I dismiss them to their waiting families. Everyone leaves except for one little girl. She must be about seven years old, all coltish limbs, but with the gentle roundness to her cheeks that speaks of early elementary age. Her wide dark eyes are trained on me, seriousness in her gaze.
"Where's your mom?" I ask, but she only shakes her head. "Dad?"
She shrugs, defiance shining in her eyes. "Doesn't matter."
"Yeah, it does matter. Do they know where you are?"
Another shrug. This girl is going to be a handful when she hits her teen years if this is how she acts now. She's got sullen down pat.
"Okay, how about you come with me to the counter? We'll get you a snack, and you can hang with me until we find your parents. Are you allergic to anything?"
She shakes her head. Thank God. I don't know if I could deal with a food allergy or something. I sit her on the high stool behind the register and start rifling through my secret stash of snacks. Handing her a packet of cookies, I smile.
"What's your name?" I ask. "I'm Hazel."
"Kaia." Her voice is small but confident.
As I assess her; it's clear she's well cared for. Her hair is brushed and braided into two long, dark braids. She's wearing clean, expensive clothes, new shoes, and she doesn't look like she goes hungry. Where are her parents? "Kaia, can you tell me where your parents are?"
"Mom left. I ran away from my babysitter."
Oh, God. "Where's your dad?"
"Working. The babysitter didn't want to bring me for story time. He said I was too old."
>
I shake my head. "So you ran off? That's dangerous. I'm glad you wanted to come for the story, but you can't run away. Your dad is probably worried sick."
The bell on the shop door jingles as a customer comes in and when I glance up, my heart leaps into my throat. Handsome doesn't begin to describe him. I spent far too much time fantasizing about this man when I was in high school and he was portraying my favorite sexy vampire on TV. But over the last few weeks, I've fantasized about the taste of his lips and the feel of his hard body against mine as we danced. Jameson Donoghue. Oh, my God. I never thought I'd see him again since I chickened out on his proposition. But now he's here. In the bookstore. Staring at me. No, not at me. He's staring behind me, at Kaia.
"Jesus, Kaia. You can't run off. How many times have we talked about this?" His voice is low and rough, laced with panic and not directed at me at all. Kaia? He's not her babysitter, of that I'm certain.
"Wait, you're her dad?"
He blinks and finally stares at me. "Hazel? What are you doing here?"
I cross my arms over my chest. This was not supposed to happen. I was never supposed to see him again. But now, he's here, a life-sized reminder of my most idiotic decision. When the sexiest movie star on the planet asks you to go home with him...you go home with him. Unless you're me. "Apparently I've been watching your runaway daughter. You're welcome, by the way."
His expression softens, excitement filling his eyes. "Thank you," he says and takes my hand. My heart flutters at the electric pulse between us. A connection, just like he'd said. His crystal blue eyes are even more vivid in the light of day, and paired with thick, carelessly tousled dark hair, he takes my breath away. Then, he releases me and turns his attention to the child behind me. "Come on, Kai. I have to get back to work. You'll just have to stay in my office until I'm done."