Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe)

by Strong, Mimi

  After fumbling with the silly key-card lock, I pushed open the door to the room. The curtains were mostly closed, and the room was dim. The air conditioner wasn’t running, and the air was warm, but not hot. The window that I’d opened was open just a crack now.

  The lump on the bed made a groggy, growling sound.

  I whispered, “Do you want to get up now for a bit, or sleep right through to morning?”

  As I asked him the question, I felt rather… wifely. Is that a word? I approached the bed and placed my hand on Dalton’s forehead to check his temperature. He was warmer than I expected, but not feverish.*

  *I have no medical training, yet I believe that if someone had a fever, I could probably tell just from my hand on their forehead. This might be a woman thing. Men have men things, too. For example, they think they can strap furniture to the roof of a car, and if they also reach out the window to hold on with their hand, that’ll keep everything nice and secure.

  Dalton stirred, pulling my hand so my arm disappeared under his covers. I thought for sure he was going to put my hand somewhere sexual, but he stopped with my palm over his heart.

  He licked his lips, the smacking sound audible in the quiet room. “Am I alive?” he asked.

  I closed my eyes and felt his heart beating under my hand, strong and steady.

  “For now you are, but if you make me share another meal alone with your father, you might not be alive for long.”

  He wiggled his body back on the bed and lifted the blanket in invitation for me to join him. I kicked off my shoes and slid in, my back facing him in spooning position. He gripped me tightly, like a favorite teddy bear.

  “How is dear old Dad?”

  “Oh, he makes quite the first impression. I can’t believe I was worried about my mother being the embarrassing one.”

  “You know, they weren’t that bad at parenting. They were absent mostly, and left me to fend for myself, but all that made me who I am.”

  I wrapped my arm over Dalton’s, warming quickly in his embrace. It was hot under the covers with no air conditioning on.

  “Did your father always drink a lot?”

  Dalton chuckled. “Yes, but he was always a fun drunk, you know?” He laughed some more. “You never hear about that in the celebrity biopics. ‘His father was a fun drunk, and never even beat young Dalton, even when he probably deserved it.’ Nope, that wouldn’t make the cut. Not sensational enough.”

  “What was your mother like?”

  Dalton paused for so long, I thought I’d sent him into another panic attack with the worst question.

  “She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” he said. “She was my mother, and she was perfect.”

  I bit my lower lip. My heart broke for Dalton, because I knew his money had destroyed his mother—or at least that’s how he viewed it.

  “I’m sorry I won’t get to meet her,” I said.

  “We have some nice family photos. Picnics and stuff. I’ll show you all the albums some time.”

  “I’d like that.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles tenderly.

  “I guess it’s pretty obvious why I want to hold onto you,” he said.

  “What? Do you mean like this?” I squirmed up against him, still being held in the front-spoon position.

  “My mother’s gone. And before that, the only other woman I loved, Kiki. She died. So, it doesn’t take a three-hundred-dollar-an-hour shrink to connect those dots, does it?”

  “I don’t understand. Are you worried I’m going to die?”

  His voice tiny, he said, “Maybe.”

  I shifted away and rolled over to face him, our noses touching at the tips.

  “The doctor said I’m in great shape. She said I could probably cut back on the Pop Tarts, but I’m not going to die. Well, not for a long time.”

  “Me neither.”

  I reached up and stroked his cheek, which was stubbled with dark hair.

  He closed his eyes and smiled, so I kept touching his face, exploring every plane and texture. His eyelashes felt thicker than mine—no surprise there, because his dark, thick eyelashes were stunning. His eyebrows were softer than they looked, as was his hair at his temples. It grew in thick, but the individual hairs were fine and soft like satin. His skin was perfect and smooth, neither oily nor dry, and his jaw seemed to have more stubble than the last time I’d seen him, just a few hours earlier.

  “Dalton, does your beard grow extra-fast when you’re asleep?”

  “This is my panic beard. It grows when I have a panic attack.”

  I gasped.

  His eyelids flicked open, and his face went into full-smirk mode.

  “You fibber,” I squealed. “I actually believed you for a few minutes.”

  “Never trust an actor.”

  I laughed, but uneasily. Dalton Deangelo was so cute, and charming, and I wanted to open my heart to him completely, but how can you trust a guy who tells you not to?

  He stretched his arms overhead briefly, then rolled away and jumped out of the bed. He already had boxer shorts on, and grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans and got dressed in record time.

  “Everyone’s probably still in the dining room if you want to go down and join them,” I said.

  He disappeared into the bathroom. “Is that what you want to do right now?” He popped his head out of the door, toothbrush in his mouth.

  I propped my head up on my hand, my elbow on the soft, warm bed. I’d gotten a few ideas while cuddling, but didn’t want to let on my bad-girl horniness and act desperate.

  “We could go for a walk to catch the sunset,” I offered.

  “You’re the boss,” he said, then disappeared to finish getting ready. “Want me to shave?” he called out.

  “Your panic beard is sexy. Leave it on.”

  “I might give you whisker burn!”

  “I’m willing to take that risk.”

  I sent my mother a short text message letting her know I was going for a walk with Dalton, and would see them for breakfast as planned.

  Mom: Come to the lounge for a drink! I want to see my future son-in-law!

  Me: Don’t get too attached, Mom. You know Hollywood marriages.

  Mom: Don’t toy with my heart.

  Me: Is Jake still hitting on those two chicks? Do you want to make a bet he brings them both to breakfast?

  Mom: Ha ha I’m laughing out loud.

  (My mother hadn’t caught on to texting abbreviations.)

  Mom: He gave us a hint about the surprise. Dalton is meeting his cousin tomorrow. Don’t tell him.

  Me: Sounds like an ambush. I should probably warn him.

  Mom: Up to you. Your father is telling me to put away my phone. Hugs and kisses. Love, Mom.

  I smiled down at my phone. It never failed to amuse me when she formally signed off her text messages.

  CHAPTER 28

  Holding hands, Dalton and I walked away from the resort and down toward the lake.

  “Are you nervous about the wedding?” he asked.

  “Where is the wedding, by the way?” I laughed at the absurdity of the bride-to-be inquiring about the wedding’s location, a week before the date.

  “I can’t tell you, because if people know, we’ll be swarmed with paparazzi.”

  He wouldn’t tell me?

  I kicked at some loose stones on the dirt path. I’d changed from my dressy sandals into a pair of blue running shoes. The combination of sneakers with my purple skirt and green top had seemed cute in the room, but I probably looked like an overgrown toddler. I felt like one, too. I wanted to kick Dalton in the shin and shove him down the hill.

  Why did he have to say all the right things, and then ruin my mood with just a few words? Keith Raven would never do that to me. He always put himself in my shoes, and thought about how I would feel. I glanced around at the vineyard countryside, imagining myself in Italy. I could have gone there with him, accepted his invitation. If I’d chosen Keith, I wo
uld have avoided all of this mess with Dalton, and all these feelings.

  “The cabin,” Dalton said.

  “What?” I’d been so consumed with thoughts of pushing him down a hill, I’d forgotten what I was upset about.

  “Vern is working out all the arrangements. We’ll have tents, of course. The cabin and the Airstream will be used for washroom facilities, and by the caterers.”

  “The wedding is in Beaverdale?” I kicked at some more pebbles. “But what about the publicity? I thought the whole point of our fake wedding was to have people see us get married?”

  “Do you remember the photographer from our Vanity Fair shoot? She’s got the exclusive. The pictures are already sold to People. Seven pages, I believe.”

  I stopped walking and hunched over. My mouth filled with watery saliva. I moaned, “This is happening.”

  He rubbed my back. “Just breathe.”

  “I’m getting married in seven days.”

  “Aren’t you excited about your pretty dress? We’ll have to schedule a fitting for Shayla for her bridesmaid dress. You did ask her, I assume?”

  With my hands on my knees, I continued to stare at my blue sneakers in the dirt. “I don’t think I asked her. I’m a terrible person. I was only thinking about me.”

  He kept rubbing my back, his hand a soothing presence.

  “I knew you didn’t have a handle on all this,” he said, chuckling. “That’s why I’ve got someone coming into Beaverdale next week to help you.”

  “You hired me an assistant?”

  “Something like that.”

  I cleared my throat and straightened up. The nausea had passed, and now I felt eerily calm. The sky around us glowed pink and orange, the sun nearing the horizon, and a beautiful blue lake lay ahead of us on the path.

  I looked right into Dalton’s mischievous green eyes, and he stared back at me as if I was the most fascinating person he’d ever met.

  How did he do that?

  How did he turn any moment—even one with me threatening to vomit—into something beautiful and romantic? It wasn’t just his beautiful eyes and perfect face, scruffy with dark stubble. It was something else.

  An acting term popped into my head: commitment. With everything Dalton did, he committed, utterly and completely. Why couldn’t I do that? Why was I always running away?

  He swept some loose hair from my face and behind my ear, bringing me into his stillness, his calm. “Aren’t you curious about your assistant?”

  I saw something in his eyes—the way they looked bemused.

  “Mitchell,” I said.

  His eyebrows rose with surprise, and he was speechless for a few seconds.

  “So much for me keeping secrets from you,” he said, grinning.

  “Lucky guess.” I smiled back, and then my smile travelled all through my body, getting more powerful, until I was jumping up and down giddily. “Mitchell is coming! I get to see Mitchell!”

  “He’s booked at the Nut Hill Motel. I figured he can still bunk on the couch at your house if you want, but this way you still have some space, and Shayla won’t feel like she’s getting pushed out.”

  I squealed. “Mitchell and Shayla are going to meet!”

  Dalton frowned. “You didn’t get this excited to see me today.”

  “I was trying to figure out why and how you fucked a dozen red roses.”

  He chuckled. “What? That wasn’t romantic? With the petals on the floor?”

  “Was it supposed to be romantic?”

  He took my hand and tugged for me to keep walking down the trail toward the lake.

  He said, “The roses were very romantic. I know a thing or two about romance. And now we’re going to the lake, for a paddle around in the canoe.”

  “Oh, fuck, no. Canoe? Have you not noticed how top heavy I am? Not to mention how bottom heavy?”

  “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

  I laughed. “C’mon, It’ll be fun? That’s exactly what someone says right before absolute disaster.”

  He stopped walking and kissed me, his chin prickly against my chin. I melted in his arms. Man, he was a good kisser. It was a shame he was so amazing at sex, because we didn’t spend enough time on kissing, just like this.

  He pulled away, and I actually swooned, wavering back and forth like I might fall down and tumble the rest of the way to the lake. The sky around us was electric pink.

  “Something happens every time I kiss you,” he said.

  “Absolute disaster?”

  “I fall deeper.”

  I blinked, holding my breath. Deeper? Deeper in love? C’mon, say it.

  He kissed my lips, the tip of my nose, and then my forehead, lingering. “Let’s find that canoe before the sun disappears completely.”

  “We can’t go boating in the dark. We’ll get lost.”

  He pulled me down the hill. “At least we’ll be lost together.”

  I trotted to catch my feet up to my body.

  This canoe expedition seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, even before it began. But Dalton wanted to go, and I didn’t want to say no. As you may have noticed by now, I had a difficult time saying no to the man.

  We located the canoe in a wooden shed, not far from the dock. The resort had posted a number of rules for guests using the boats, including a rule about signing in at the front desk and getting the key to unlock the padlock chaining the canoe to the wooden shelf.

  Dalton didn’t like the idea of asking permission—no, sir, not one bit. He grabbed a hammer from the nearby tool wall and whacked the padlock three times.

  “You’re such a fucking delinquent,” I said.

  The padlock hadn’t released yet. He shot me a devious grin, looking like his vampire alter ego in the dim shed. “You get so wet for me when I’m bad.”

  “No,” I lied.

  “I’d stick my fingers in your panties right now, but I don’t have time to prove a point. Grab your end of that canoe and let’s get out on the lake.”

  Grumbling, I grabbed the end of the canoe, which was shockingly light. How was this puny boat supposed to hold two people?

  “As for your wet little panties,” he said, “I’ll check those once we’re out on the water.”

  “No way.” We started walking the canoe down to the water, and I had to laugh at Dalton, because he’d obviously never canoed before. I explained to him the portage technique, with the canoe held upside down over our heads.

  We clumsily got the canoe and the oars down to the water’s edge, and he was still obsessing over my panties.

  He said, “You’re already in a skirt. Take your panties off and bunch them up in my pocket to make things easier.”

  “Maybe I should go back to the resort and let you go for a canoe paddle by yourself. You can paddle your canoe all by your lonesome. Paddle away, my friend.”

  He laughed.

  I continued, “In this metaphor, the canoe is your penis.”

  He waved me ahead of him. “Ride my penis. I mean my canoe.”

  “It is rather phallic,” I said, climbing in carelessly—so carelessly, in fact, that one might guess I was trying to capsize the canoe immediately, on the shore, so we didn’t have to go out onto the lake. If a person guessed that, they would be correct.

  To my disappointment, the canoe was more stable than it looked, and did not tip me out.

  Dalton kicked off his shoes and socks, rolled his jeans up, and waded out to join me in the canoe. He hopped in easily and used one paddle to push us away from the shore.

  My stomach lurched as we began to move out into the water. The motion was smooth enough, like a car ride, but unsettling—like how an elevator ride can sometimes make you feel discombobulated.

  “You’ve really outdone yourself now,” I said once we were away from the shore.

  He continued to paddle, the muscles of his forearms flexing and drawing my eyes to his body and its beauty. The sky was still pink, and the sun seemed to be holding still for us, stopping
time as we moved out onto the placid lake.

  “Outdone myself?”

  I explained, “First the Airstream trailer, which was small. Then the float plane, smaller yet. Now a canoe. Dalton Deangelo, the next place I expect you to take me is the inside of a coffin. Maybe that one Drake Cheshire sleeps in on your show.”

  “Cozy,” he growled.

  “You’ll make me your vampire bride.”

  He stopped paddling and pulled the oars into the boat.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked.

  I laughed. “Yes, make me your vampire bride.”

  “You know how that starts.”

  I wrapped my hands around the wooden bench I was seated on, leaned back, and let my knees fall apart.

  He moved quickly—not as quickly as an actual TV vampire, but fast enough to make me regret not donning the lifejacket currently lying on the canoe’s bottom, behind me.

  The canoe rocked, but it was made for some movement. I eyed the water line along the edges.

  Dalton knelt before me, reaching his hands up under my skirt to pull off my panties. He held the silky bundle to his nose and breathed in deeply.

  “My vampire bride-to-be,” he growled.

  There was no one around to hear us, out in the middle of a lake at sunset, but still I whispered, “The first bite is on the thigh.”

  He grabbed my knees and roughly spread my legs.

  “The inner thigh,” he said, his voice almost terrifying, combined with the lusty expression on his face.

  As he lowered his face between my legs, I considered the countless times I’d watched him do this on my TV screen, and how much I’d wished those inner thighs could be mine. Now the gorgeous man of my dreams was with me, on a canoe, and licking my inner leg.

  I gasped as something sharp pinched my soft flesh. He was nibbling me, pressing into my skin with his sharp eye teeth—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough pressure to get my pulse racing and my palms sweating.

  My skirt stretched loosely over his head, and I didn’t dare pull the fabric up to look, for fear of causing him to stop. He applied suction to my inner thigh, and it was absolutely the greatest thing that had ever happened to my inner thigh. I thought I couldn’t get more excited, and then he moved to the other side, breathing his steamy breath on my pussy along the way. As he sunk his teeth into the other thigh, then sucked at my flesh, my whole body started to hum, my skin electric.