by Ana Gabriel
“Okay,” I say. “I’m sorry. And I think we’re clear now.” I stand up. “Is there anything else you need me to do today?”
“Yes, there is. You need to be ready for nine and you’ll want to be dressed in something nice. I’ll be picking you up after dinner with my mom.”
“I-I had plans tonight.”
“Plans?”
I hesitate. I had an acting class at the V. But I can’t tell him that.
He waits, and when I don’t answer, he shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t you just get through telling me you’ve been available 24/7? That was in the job ad, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say.
Cole checks his watch and gets up. “So . . . are these plans important?”
“I’ll be ready at nine,” I say, heading for the stairs.
“Rose?”
I turn to look at him.
“It really isn’t a big deal, and nothing has to happen ever again if you don’t want it to.” His expression is totally sincere, more serious than I think I’ve ever seen him. And I guess he’s trying to be nice, but the casual way he’s acting about the whole thing stings.
I give him a curt nod and carry on up to my room.
~
When headlights swing onto the driveway at nine sharp, I stand with my clutch grasped too tight in my hands. I tried on and discarded five dresses before the one I’m wearing now and pinned my hair three different ways after I decided on the dress.
I consoled myself about the acting class I’m missing by thinking about the audition I have tomorrow morning. I still have to ask Cole if I can take the time off to go. I’ll pick up breakfast on the way back and who knows, maybe I’ll even get the part. The familiar longing for it, deep down in the heart of me rises when I think about it. I shake it off and focus on getting through tonight.
Cole jumps out of the limo, but I’m already closing the front door. I want to be completely professional tonight. I turn to face him. “Mr. Dean.”
“Miss Weatherston,” he says, and the words fall out of his mouth in a distracted way. His eyes rake over me slowly and linger on the sky-high heels I’m wearing.
I get impatient. Yes, I know I’m not tan and blonde like everyone else in L.A. seems to be, but I can hardly help having milk-white skin with hair as red as mine is. I walk to the car where the driver’s holding the door for me. I’m not going to ask Cole if I dressed up nicely enough for him.
The doors shut and we’re alone in the back of the limo.
“Where are we going?” I ask as the driver pulls around in a circle to descend to the gates.
Cole shakes his head. “Supperclub. Birthday of a friend of mine. You look incredible by the way.”
I squash the little thrill that rushes through me. I picked a simple black dress that covers me from neck to mid-thigh, but the material shimmers and the shape of it drapes my body perfectly. It’s elegant and it makes me feel confident. I’m more concerned by what he just said, though, and I cut him a sharp glance.
“Can I ask why you need an assistant at a club?” I’m on edge, suddenly. Am I on a date? Or will I just be fetching drinks for him all night?
Cole smiles, stretching his legs out. “Don’t worry. All my assistants escort me to clubs. It’s just part of the job.”
I try to imagine Val sitting here next to him. More alarming is the thought of just how many assistants he’s worked his way through.
“Would it be alright if I ran a personal errand early tomorrow? I should be back before you need me to do anything.”
Cole tilts his head, and I wonder if I’m going to have to lie about the audition. “Sure,” he says.
I don’t speak for the rest of the journey, just look out of the tinted window and imagine that the limo’s mine. I get the part tomorrow and worrying about rent or having to keep this job disappears into the distant past when everyone starts wanting me for bigger and bigger roles—
“Rose?” Cole touches my shoulder and I startle.
He grins. “We’re here.”
The limo has pulled around to a back entrance you wouldn’t even know was part of a club, but the door is already open, a smiling woman waiting for us. I see her eyes change as Cole gets out of the car, but she recovers herself in seconds and ushers us into the building. Music comes through the floor and I wonder if the club is underneath us.
We’re handed glasses of champagne, but when I turn, I notice Cole didn’t take his. Alarm must register on my face because he waves his hand like it’s fine. I take a tiny sip, bubbles fizzing on my tongue, and we follow the woman down twisting steps. The music gets louder and I realize it sounds like jazz. Not what I was expecting.
But as we step out into a subtly lit, low ceilinged room, I see that the place is done out like a speakeasy. There’s a live band on a low stage, and some of the guests and all of the staff are even dressed up in 20s costume. Cigar girls with trays hanging around their necks and their hair in pin curls wander around handing out drinks. A woman walks past, her beaded flapper dress sashaying as she moves. She winks at Cole and gives him a wave with one slim, silk glove clad hand.
My stomach tightens and I take another, bigger sip from my glass. I recognize so many of the faces here and they are all stunning. I don’t know why Cole brought me here. Surely he doesn’t need assisting in having a good time in a place like this. As soon as I think that, I rephrase it in my head, because I will not be thinking about Cole or having a good time. Not anymore.
“Relax,” Cole says in my ear. His breath sends a shiver across my skin. “All you need to do is stick with me. Have a drink, if you want to. It’s fine.”
“You’re not having a drink,” I say, totally conscious of his body behind mine.
“Don’t think my sponsor would approve,” he says, with a smile.
Oh. Oh. I remember the headlines when he went into rehab. How could I have forgotten? “I’m sorry. I don’t need this,” I say, looking for somewhere to offload my drink.
“Hey, what did I say? It’s fine.” He stills my hand on the glass, fingers over mine. “If you want a drink, you have one. You think I don’t get exposed to this and worse on a daily basis in my line of work? I’m okay with it. Really.”
I nod. “Okay, Mr. Dean.” I finish the glass, but when a waiter appears, I decline the next one and leave the empty on his tray instead.
Without a glass in my hand, I don’t know what to do with myself, standing at Cole’s side. He can barely take a step without someone wanting to talk to him and my cheeks start to ache from all the polite smiling. A lot of it is business talk, which is interesting, but I feel out of place and it’s not like I can give my expert point of view on any of it anyway.
Eventually, I decide I need a break, and when a stunning woman calls out Cole’s name loudly, I quickly ask, “Where’s the bathroom?”
Cole points it out and I make my way through the crowd. I glance back. Cole’s talking to birthday girl, Casey Devenport. Yes, the Casey Devenport, who is so incredibly beautiful in real life I almost don’t know where to look. Next time I meet up with Kate, tonight is going to make for a good story if nothing else.
I push through the door into the biggest bathroom I’ve ever seen. It’s done out like an old-fashioned backstage dressing room – chaise lounges, strips of lights around the big mirrors behind the sinks, and even racks of dresses and feather boas against the walls.
I’m washing my hands afterwards when I hear a click. I look up to see Cole behind me in the mirror. He steps forward fast, pushing his body against mine. His chest is hot and hard against my back and his gaze in the mirror pins me in place. Fire shoots down my stomach. I can’t look away.
His jaw clenches as he holds my hips and runs his hands down the outside of my skirt. My high heels make me almost the same height as him. All of my muscles tense as he reaches the hem of my skirt and his hands run back up my thighs. I spread my legs a little further apart and hear him suck in a breath as he reaches the silky material
of my panties. I know they’re wet, my whole body is screaming for him to touch me. I realize I’ve been on edge with it ever since we were interrupted in the trailer.
But he takes his time, still staring straight at me in the mirror as his fingers push under the lace edges and then wait, wait, wait, until I gasp with wanting. When I make the noise, his whole body tightens, pushing me forward so I grasp the sink. I want to beg but all that comes out is a breathless sound.
“You’re going to have to tell me,” he says in my ear.
What? The look on my face must ask the question for me.
“Well Rose, you did make me say I’d never do anything like this again. Have you changed your mind?” His fingers hover over my skin and it’s unbearable.
“I changed my mind,” I breathe. If he doesn’t touch me, I’m going to lose it.
His body is pressed into mine, words low in my ear. “I want to be really clear, though, Rose.”
Dammit, he’s got a sexy half-smile on his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Please,” I gasp.
He trails his other hand lightly over my shoulder and down my arm. “Please what? I agreed not to touch you, didn’t I? I don’t want either of us to do anything you think is inappropriate.”
Fuck inappropriate. “I want you to touch me. Now.”
I’m on fire with it. I drop my hand to his, to make him touch me, but before I can, his fingers move, one slipping forward at the same time that two others push right into me, and fuck is all I can think.
My head falls forward, eyes tightly closed as heat builds.
“No,” he says, tilting my chin back up with his other hand. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes, little gasping sounds coming out of me as his fingers move. Sweat breaks out between my shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts to unpin my hair, one long, red wave at a time and his other hand between my legs keeps up its rhythm until I’m shaking and I can barely stand.
“Please,’ I beg.
The word lights his green eyes with fire. He takes his hands away, grasping my hips and pulling them back against him. I cry out at the loss and my voice is ragged.
“Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“You inside me now,” I say. There’s nothing I will ever need more.
He fists my hair, kissing my neck hot and rough, never taking his eyes off mine.
I push back against him and he moans against my skin.
“I thought I could wait. But I can’t wait. I can’t,” he says, voice low and unsteady.
His cock is solid against my ass. “Do it,” I say. “Fuck me.”
When I say that, his look is wild and he shoves my dress up, pushing my legs apart as he tears at his jeans. It takes moments, but I’m frantic with waiting and the second he pushes against my entrance I’m wild too, moving back onto him as he thrusts forward.
The shock of him filling me almost tips me over the edge. I moan and Cole digs his finger into my hips pushing into me again and again. He’s so hard. I want to tell him, but there’s nothing but stars bursting inside me. I come so suddenly and all at once that I’m shaking all over, but Cole holds me up, still plunging into me until everything starts tightening again and I can scarcely remember my name.
“I’m going to come again,” I say, voice barely more than whisper.
“Yes, you are,” he says and it spins me out again, pulsing over and over and this time he comes with me, hard and wild and fast, his body tensing and tensing until I lose my mind and finally he breaks eye contact, leaning over me and dragging a hand down my back as I shudder.
He says nothing, just turns me around and covers my mouth with a kiss that makes any chance I had of regaining rational thought impossible, then he pulls away from me and walks away, straightening his clothes. The lock on the door clicks open and he’s gone.
I try to steady my breathing, holding on to the unit in front of me because my legs are threatening to buckle. It takes a full minute before I remember the door’s unlocked now and someone else could come in.
I fix my dress, but leave my hair down. I need a drink. Right now. As I slip through the door, I feel like everyone in the club can see all over my face what we just did. My cheeks are pink and my eyes are hectic, but no one gives me a second glance. I waylay a waiter and drink another glass of champagne. A guy comes to talk to me, and I know if Kate were here she’d be telling me how hot he is, but I can barely focus on him. Every sense is filled up with Cole, and before I know it, he’s at my elbow telling me we’re leaving. I’m conscious of him next to me – the way he smells, the way his shirt fits over the breadth of his shoulders—all the way back to the entrance we came in by, but neither of us speak.
When he opens the door, he steps aside for me to pass and flashes a smile at me. I smile back, walking out into the heat of the street on legs that are still unsteady. The door closes and then something flashes in my face. I throw a hand up automatically, blinking away the light, and realize there are photographers clicking away, cameras on both sides of me.
“Cole!”
“Cole Dean! Over here!”
Cole stiffens at my side. The car is waiting for us, but one of the paparazzi holds a camera out right in Cole’s face. His jaw is tight, brows lowered, and when I look down, his fist is clenched. He’s instantly all energy and barely concealed aggression.
“Come on, Cole. Just one,” says the guy.
Cole rounds on him, shoving the photographer back with his shoulder. The guy’s face changes and he holds his hands up, backing off. Cole steps forward, every muscle tensed, but they’re all backing off now like he’s some kind of dangerous animal. Which is exactly what he looks like.
“Miss Weatherston.” The driver’s holding the door for me, so I get in fast, totally thrown by how angry Cole is. I mean, sure, it must get annoying, but this seems out of proportion.
He gets into the car, slamming the door. “Drive,” he says curtly, then throws himself back in the seat.
After the club has disappeared in the rear view, I shift in my seat. It feels like I should say something. “Are you alright?” I ask.
He waves his hand, still staring out of the window. I move a little closer. Clearly he’s not alright. I have to admit, it kind of shocked me how angry he got and how fast, but there’s clearly something I don’t know.
“What just happened?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says.
Any idiot could see this isn’t nothing.
We sit for a few tense moments. God, he’s so sexy even when he’s like this. I lean in without any thought at all and run my hand up his thigh and into his lap. His mouth parts in surprise but that devil’s look comes into his eyes and that’s all I need. I push my body up close to his, undoing one button on his jeans at a time.
His hand is spread on my lower back, holding me tight to him as I run my palm down his cock. When I squeeze gently, wrapping my fingers around him, he moans. I glance at the driver’s partition, but the glass is closed.
Cole grips me harder, muscles bunching under my body. I’m half draped on him and the ache between my legs is back. I stroke up and down, little movements that make him breathe fast. His hand comes up into my hair as he crushes me into a rough kiss that feels so good, I moan.
“You’re so hard. Always so hard.”
“And you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” he whispers against my throat.
I am. I want his hands and his cock and his tongue on me. I slide my fingers down the length of him until he hisses. I want him in my mouth, but he takes my face between his hands and grazes my lips with his, teasing me with little kisses until I’m matching my movements with his. I’m desperate for him to touch me too. And then he kisses me so deep and hard that I lose myself. I don’t care about anything but Cole getting hotter and harder in my hand until he’s gasping with every move I make. When he comes his cock pulses again and again in my hand and he crushes me against him. I find myself bitin
g his lip.
The driver clears his throat.
“Mr. Dean. You’re home, sir.”
And all at once, the spell is broken. Everything I promised myself I’d never do, I’ve done tonight. I’ve broken all my rules again.
Chapter Five
The waiting room is packed, every seat taken by girls who look like they stumbled over from a runway. Some of them read over their scripts while others hold up handheld mirrors to apply a fresh coat of lipstick or pick at their glossy hair. I shift uncomfortably in my flowered sundress and remind myself that the role didn’t call for supermodel good looks.
When Kate brought this casting call to my attention, I actually screamed with excitement. The advertisement was for an upcoming miniseries on Fox that centered on a group of hardware store employees who find themselves in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. The role I’m trying out for is Jessie, a freckled good-girl who finds herself having to be very bad if she’s going to survive. The role was practically written for me.
I block out the chatter of girls—and the memory of Cole pressing me into the sink at the club—and concentrate on my lines. But my mind keeps skipping back to Cole. To the way he made me beg for him. Heat blooms between my legs.
Dammit, Rose. Concentrate.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I pull it out, Cole’s name flashes across the screen. What could he possibly want on my morning off? Isn’t it enough that he’s destroying my concentration? Annoyed, I silence the call and slip the phone back in my pocket. Two seconds later, it rings again. I turn the ringer off.
“Rose Weatherston?”
I practically jump out of my seat. A woman brandishing a clipboard stands at the end of the hall. It’s finally my turn. My heart threatens to leap out of my chest as I flatten the creases out of my dress and follow her inside a room.
Four people and a huge camera sit along a table that faces a desk. They all wear matching earpieces and bored expressions.