MrBigStuff-epub

by RG Alexander

  Mr. Big Stuff had walked more red carpets in a month than she had in the last two years, always with a new woman on his arm. The photographers loved him. Her only consolation was that Jefferson didn’t appear to reciprocate their affection. His signature dimpled grin hadn’t been present in the most recent shots.

  She hoped that was why he was avoiding the producers and it wasn’t anything more serious. Jefferson wasn’t connected to the painkiller scandal that had disqualified the professional wrestler who’d been one of his contestants. In fact, other than his luck with the ladies, the cowboy from La Grange had kept his reputation noticeably undamaged. A talent in itself.

  Caroline finally chose a pair of tight, artfully faded jeans and a black tank top with delicate metal studs framing the neckline to go with her knee-length leather boots. Casual. Uncaring. He was just an errand for a friend, the outfit stated. Nothing more. If he liked what he saw, that would be his problem. She wasn’t dressing to impress him.

  Not twenty minutes later she was speeding up the winding roads that led to his house and wondering what Jefferson was up to, going off the radar so close to the finale. She imagined the men behind the show’s curtains were having blood pressure issues right about now.

  Jefferson was their golden boy. It was his face on most of the promotional billboards, his cowboy swagger and charm at premieres and in entertainment interviews and his love life picked apart in the gossip columns. As far as she knew, he was also the only one who’d been living in luxury on their dime. They wouldn’t like losing track of him.

  He was fresh, delicious meat and they wanted to make sure he stuck around until everyone had their fill and there was nothing left but bones. Fifteen minutes was all most people could handle of that kind of punishment. Being famous wasn’t for the faint of heart. Or people who wanted private lives.

  Maybe she should have helped Trudy talk him out of it back in La Grange. If she had, his sideways smile wouldn’t be plastered on every building in her neighborhood and she wouldn’t be forced to live in a continuous state of denial about her attraction. Wouldn’t have had to remember that one hot night every day for the last six months.

  The memory of her interlude with Jefferson was an ache. An itch. Continuous and aggravating. She honestly wasn’t sure why he got to her. He was beautiful, yes, but she’d been born and raised in the beautiful people’s Mecca. External beauty was currency here, it was true, but she’d long since learned to look beyond it. She thought about Robb—okay, so for the most part she looked beyond it. She was only human.

  Take away Jefferson’s movie idol looks and what was he? A daredevil of a man-child eleven years her junior who took nothing in his life seriously. A spoiled Texan who came from a town so small and full of nosy, colorful characters that she couldn’t believe it wasn’t the old set of Mayberry.

  They had nothing in common, unless she counted Trudy. He was more physical than intellectual, more cowboy than cultured. He had natural skills in the bedroom that could not be overlooked, and the chemistry between them was electric, but he’d probably never been to a BDSM club and he didn’t have a single tattoo on his perfectly sculpted body. More importantly, he was her best friend’s brother.

  And most importantly, he didn’t come after me the way he’d said he would.

  That dented her pride. Not that she would have allowed him to get more than a toe of his boot in her door if he had, but it was disheartening that he hadn’t even made the attempt to follow through on his sensual promises.

  Maybe one of those luscious young girls who’d been draped all over him at the party had changed his mind. Maybe they’d made him forget all the things he’d said to her that night. What he’d done to her.

  Lucky Jefferson. She’d been trying to forget for months.

  She pulled up into the long driveway and took a deep breath. She was here for Trudy as a favor. She couldn’t let it be about anything else. Jefferson was just another frog in the man pond. A mistake she shouldn’t repeat.

  As she walked up the inclined drive, looking around instinctively for any random photographers who might be lying in wait for Mr. Big Stuff himself, she wondered—not for the first time—if she should give dating women a chance. The best people she knew were women, other than her father of course. Some of her favorite play partners at the club were women as well. And more than once in her early twenties, she’d fulfilled fantasies for her love interest of the moment that included kissing and fondling an open-minded girlfriend—experiences she distinctly remembered enjoying.

  It wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever had.

  “How’s that for sexually intimidating, haggis-breath?” she muttered to herself.

  She was walking past the fence toward the front door when she heard the sound of glass shattering, someone swearing and then a loud splash of water.

  “Jefferson?” She swore under her breath before turning around, opening the fence’s gate and running toward the pool at the back of the house.

  What she found stopped her in her tracks. “Jesus Christ.”

  Chapter Two

  He was face down in the pool, blood flowing freely from—his arm? His wrist? She couldn’t tell. It was a small cloud of pink in the water but enough to set her in motion.

  No. She couldn’t let it happen. Not to him. Nightmarish visions of her aunt’s funeral raced through her mind while Caroline yanked off her boots and then swore impatiently, jumping in and wading her way toward him, blinking the panicked tears from her eyes.

  “Jefferson?” She reached down to lift his face out of the water and gripped him tightly. Please be okay, she prayed silently. Please. “Jefferson, you idiot, what have you done? Can you hear me?”

  She saw his lips twitch, and then eyes a brighter and lighter green than her own blinked at her in surprised pleasure. The water clung to his thick lashes in sparkling droplets and his dimples deepened as he grinned. “Sweet Caroline? You’re here.” He took in her expression and the smile faded. “You look upset. What’s wrong?”

  “I think that’s my line.” She placed her hand on her chest, feeling her heart pounding hard in relief. Thankfully he caught himself before he dropped beneath the surface again.

  “I must have fallen asleep.” He stood, glanced down at her body and snorted. “Or not. Why are you wearing clothes? You’re never wearing clothes.”

  Caroline had a sudden desire to grab his head and push it under the water. She lifted her hand and whacked him on the shoulder instead. “You nearly gave me a heart attack and you want to know why I’m wearing clothes? You’re not dreaming, genius, you’re drunk.”

  “I am.” He nodded amiably. “But naked and relaxed, so way ahead of you in that department.”

  She’d noticed. Completely naked. Focus, Caroline. “You’re also bleeding, Junior. Be a good boy now and let’s get out of the dangerous pool.”

  Jefferson glanced down at himself, lifting his hand from the water. His palm had several small but deep gashes that instantly welled with blood as she watched. “Glass broke,” he muttered. “Why do you think I jumped in the pool? And don’t call me Junior.”

  Caroline looked over toward the lounge chair on the patio. There were enough empty bottles for a frat house to drown in and there were a few shards of glass, but no sign of company or remnants of a party. He’d been drinking alone? That was never a good sign. “I’ll stop calling you Junior the second you put on your big boy pants and let me slap a Band-Aid on that injury and get some coffee in you. Spring Break is over. Your sister and your reality show are calling.”

  Jefferson swore and moved away from her, powering through the water and walking up the steps toward his towel. Caroline bit her lip hard so she didn’t groan aloud when his perfectly sculpted ass cheeks came into view. Who said women couldn’t be visually stimulated? Idiots, that’s who. She was definitely stimulated.

  She followed him out of the pool, grimacing when her wet jeans clung heavily to her body. He handed her the towel instead of usi
ng it to cover himself and she buried her face in the soft fabric so she wouldn’t be tempted to look at him. Everything was on display. Skin the color of dark, raw honey, eyes like chips of emerald ice and thick waves of black silky hair that curled along the nape of his neck. And his lean, hard six-foot-two body… The man was too good looking. Too tempting.

  Too inebriated to be that impressively aroused.

  Evil woman that she was, she wanted to touch him.

  “You’re soaked, Caroline. And not that I’m complaining, but why are you here and why the hell did you jump in the pool with your clothes on?”

  She raised her head and fell into his eyes. “I felt like a swim. And I’m here because the producers of your show called your sister looking for you.”

  His full lips tightened. “They shouldn’t have bothered her. What they really need to do is kiss my ass.” Jefferson kicked a rolling bottle out of the way and moved toward the sliding glass doors that would lead him inside. “I agreed to crash a car, ride a bull and jump off a building or two, I didn’t sign over my soul.”

  She hesitated a moment before following him in, her damp socks leaving prints on the wood floor. Thank goodness she’d taken off her boots. She loved those boots. “Sick of dating supermodels? Or are they forcing you to attend another party with free food and all the adoration you could desire? You should have read the fine print, Junior. This is Hollywood, and the rent on a pleasure palace like this doesn’t come cheap. You aren’t in La Grange anymore. Nothing here comes without a price.”

  Jefferson turned so fast to grip her shoulders she gasped. “I pay for this place, Caroline. They offered to cover all my expenses in the beginning but I turned them down. I had a lawyer look over my contract before I agreed to anything. I’m not some con artist trying to sucker them out of their money. I’m not a child, and I’m not the star-struck hillbilly everyone here seems to think I am.”

  They actually called him a hayseed, but he didn’t look like he’d be receptive to that information. “No one thinks you’re a con artist.”

  “Just a blind idiot.” He lowered his long, dark lashes and studied her mouth. “Where are my manners? You’re shivering. Why don’t you go upstairs and undress so we can put your clothes in the dryer. We’ll get you warmed up, and then I’ll let you play doctor like I know you want to.”

  Caroline was having a hard time catching her breath. This was for Trudy, she reminded herself again, almost desperately. No undressing. No kissing. No warming up her body on his hot, delicious flesh. “Doctor first. Broken glass and blood trumps soggy jeans.”

  He nodded but gripped her elbow with his uninjured hand to guide her toward the stairs. “We can do both. First aid kit is in the master bathroom.” He snorted. “My pants should be up there too in case I’m offending your feminine sensibilities. But this is nothing you haven’t seen before. In fact, this kind of reminds me of the first day we met.”

  “You, injured and naked, surrounded by broken glass? That does ring a bell.”

  His fingers tightened on her arm, but he didn’t respond.

  “Trudy sent me,” she offered lamely, her usual confidence abandoning her at the feel of his callused fingers on her skin. A young, naked demigod was taking her to his bedroom. If only it were under different circumstances and she hadn’t sworn to snub any advances he made. “She was going to come if I didn’t, so you’re welcome. If she saw you like this she might drag you home by your ears. But she said you haven’t been answering your phone and she’s worried—”

  “Talking about my sister when you’re wet and I’m naked isn’t what I’d call a good bedside manner. One thing at a time. I’m sure the lectures and guilt will still be waiting when we’re done.” Her throat closed and her body instinctively responded to the sound of command in his voice. She barely restrained her “Yes, sir.”

  The large bed was the first thing she saw when she walked into the master bedroom. It was a tall mass of twisted toffee-colored comforter, crumpled white sheets and pillows that had apparently been beaten into submission. Whiskey bottles lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, along with a broken cell phone—its casing crushed and glass cracked.

  “That explains why no one could get a hold of you,” she murmured as he let go of her and walked into the bathroom.

  Something was definitely wrong. She knew from Trudy that addiction ran in the family, but Jefferson had never struck her as having any vice apart from arrogance. He was still sexy and irresistible, but she had noticed the shadows under his eyes, the dark line of stubble on his jaw. Had he eaten? Had he slept? What was going on?

  Caroline’s curiosity and concern disappeared the moment she turned to ask him what had happened.

  He bent over, rifling through a cabinet below the sink and giving her another view of his bitable ass, the back of his muscular thighs and the tempting shadow hanging between his legs. He had no shame at all.

  It was one of his best qualities, and possibly the only other thing they had in common.

  She couldn’t stop her groan of arousal this time, but she tried to disguise it as one of irritation while she covered her eyes. “You said something about finding pants?”

  His laugh was wicked. Knowing. “Did I? I was sure that I said something about taking yours off. After I stop bleeding all over the bathroom, that is.”

  His hand. Caroline silently cursed herself for being a pervert. “Fine. I can’t very well let my best friend’s brother die from blood loss on my watch, can I? The wedding ceremony would be ruined.”

  “Compassion must be your middle name.”

  She stalked to the bathroom and reached for his arm, avoiding everything but the hand she cupped in hers. She cleaned it carefully, patted it dry and applied antibacterial ointment. She was reaching for the bandage when she spoke again. “Are you going to tell me why you’re on a hardcore bender or just leave it to my imagination? I warn you, it’s vivid.”

  When he didn’t respond she decided to keep talking, babbling really so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes or anywhere else. “The show? No, you can’t be upset about that, not really. You’re the star. Even if you don’t win the grand prize and it goes to that Navy guy, you’re still Mr. Big Stuff. Navy guy didn’t even get a nickname. Unless, you know, you count Navy guy. Anyway your commitment will be over in a few weeks after the finale, so it shouldn’t be that difficult to endure.”

  She took a breath. “I’m certain it’s not your best man duties. John made it clear he didn’t want a bachelor party, which is romantic and irritating at the same time but takes away your only job apart from buying a tuxedo. Just between you and me, I’ve planned something of a coed party that everyone can enjoy together. I may be run out of town when it’s over, but it will be worth it if it means giving Trudy a memorable wedding.”

  Another breath and she forced her hands to remain steady as she wrapped his wounds. “There was a woman, I bet. There’s always a woman. Probably one of those aspiring actresses you’ve been seen with. She broke your heart when you found out she wasn’t who you thought she was, and she only wanted you for your reality stardom.”

  His hand jerked away from hers the moment she’d taped the bandage and he brushed by her, his body heat scalding her chilled skin.

  “This is not a conversation worth having. You need dry clothes.”

  So it was a woman?

  Of course it was. Caroline tried to hide her disappointment as she followed him into the bedroom. He was young, sexy and virile and this was Los Angeles. Of course he’d had his heart broken by another woman. Slept with another woman. Probably more than one.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror over his dresser and saw a rueful expression cross her face. She couldn’t exactly work up a good rage about that. It wasn’t like she’d been saving herself for him all these months. She’d gone to the club religiously to try and drive him out of her mind, participating in scenes that made even the most cynical lifestyler blush. And then there was last night an
d Robb, though despite the blow it would cause to the Scot’s ego, she wasn’t sure that counted.

  Jefferson grabbed a pair of boxer shorts out of a drawer and slid them on swiftly before reaching for another pair and a thin white t-shirt for her. “Your turn, Caroline. Strip and put these on so you can stop leaving puddles all over the floor.”

  Danger. All her red flags were flying and alarm bells were ringing in her ears. This was not a good idea. She was already one heartbeat away from offering to pick up where they left off in La Grange and that would be a huge mistake. Wouldn’t it? He’d been drinking for at least a day, he wasn’t himself and she was beyond sexually frustrated and rattled by last night’s disappointment.

  Yes, she assured herself. Huge mistake. If she got into his boxer shorts she’d stay and share a cup of coffee. Coffee would lead to lingering stares, possibly flirting and definitely touching. Touching would lead to her spending the rest of the day and night taking advantage of Jefferson while they were both vulnerable and riding him like her favorite rollercoaster at Disneyland.

  She knew herself too well. She had to get out of here. “I’ve been wet before, Junior. I’ll survive. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll take a shower, shave and make yourself some coffee. I’ll go home and change, call Trudy and tell her about your phone. You should get a new one as soon as possible, though, before she flies in to rescue you. I have plans tonight, but I’ll stop by and bring you dinner on my way, since I have a feeling you haven’t been shopping in a while.”

  She realized she’d made a mistake in her delivery the instant she looked into his eyes. A moment later she was gasping again as she landed on the bed, his hands hard on her hips and his body leaning over her.

  “Is that what’s going to happen?” he rasped. “Not that it doesn’t get me hot to hear you bossing me around—because it does—but you don’t appear to have all the facts. Jefferson. That’s my name, Caroline. That’s what you cried out in my bedroom that night. Not Junior. Jefferson. I heard you whisper it again in this room when my face was buried between your thighs and a hundred people were celebrating on the other side of the door. Jefferson.”