by Angel Payne
“You’re welcome.” She smirked. As Kell snorted and shook his head, she continued, “I’m not so sure Runway’s concurring with your take, but he’s being a good sport about things.”
“A ‘good sport’?” Tait let his eyebrows dance in amusement. “Please tell me this involves the guy having to put on some makeup. Some of that pancake stage shit?”
Luna’s smirk became a little laugh. “Actually, worse.”
That got even Kellan’s interest. “Worse?”
“The network is the key sponsor of a small but pricey fundraiser event at the Loews Santa Monica tonight. Wounded vets organizations are sharing the proceeds. Ethan and Rhett are going as special guests at Enzo Lemare’s table.”
“What about Rebel?” Tait queried.
“He begged off with a sore throat.”
Tait openly scoffed. “Sore throat, my ass. Rebel Stafford is half pirate. Even the devil won’t touch him. Every virus and bacteria on earth swore him off ten years ago.”
Luna shrugged and fingered her pearls, a pure feminine move that still didn’t help the damn tempest in his pants. “Well, he’s also a good actor, because it stuck. He’s confined to checking script accuracy for the afternoon. Runway and Double-O are on their way to have manicures, scalp treatments, shaves, and hair styling while their dress uniforms are prepped.”
He and Kell waited for a second of respectful silence. Then let their laughs explode.
“Scalp treatments?” He emitted a lingering snicker. “And manicures? And somebody’s going to take pictures of the pretty little ponies when they’re all done, right?”
Luna’s gaze met his, sparkling with merriment despite the contacts. Damn, it felt good to give her some happiness. “With the entire Hollywood press corps invited and half the limos in town booked? Uhhh, yeah. You could say that.”
Tait turned and bumped fists with his friend. “Epic.”
Chapter Fifteen
An early season hurricane had hit Mexico last week. The debris from it, nasty balls of tangled seaweed and mud, had started to wash up on California beaches a couple of days ago.
Except for the wad that had made its way to Ava’s throat.
She did her best to smile through the agony while she kept to the shadows near the Loews hotel’s pool deck. While a small ensemble filled the air with a grandpa’s jazz take on Blurred Lines, flashbulbs popped to record the gripping, grinning, air-kissing and flirting of upper-tier Hollywood. Nearly all the one-namers were present, including Brad, Angelina, Kerry, Channing, Jenna, Leo, and George. Diamonds sparkled. Evening gowns swished. Champagne flowed.
And Bella draped herself all over Ethan every chance she got.
The woman wasn’t shy about making sure there were a lot of chances. Ava knew this for a fact, because her whole body felt electrocuted with each occurrence. Every time the woman stroked his chest with demure possessiveness equaled a sixty-watt heartache hit. The knob got cranked to a hundred twenty if Bella rested her head against his shoulder, cheesy girlfriend style. That got doubled any time the woman trailed her fingers along the firm line of his jaw. Thank God someone at the salon had convinced him to throw some product in his hair and slick it into a sophisticated neuvo-Euro look so Bella’s grip couldn’t get anywhere near the thick waves.
Thank God he looked like he didn’t know whether to grin or puke from all of it. Welcome to the club, Sergeant Archer.
“Avvvvaaaa!”
Bella’s interruption to her brood was a shock. She’d only diverted her eyes for a second, captivated by the last rays of the sunset over the waves, apparently one second longer than allowed.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Shit.” The repeat happened when it was clear that Ethan was right on the woman’s heels. And that was surprising…why? The two had been the giggling, flirting golden couple on the set for four days. As thoroughly as Ava had fought to ignore the development, the rest of the world hadn’t. The web leaks had likely made it to neighboring galaxies by now. Tonight’s event was clearly doubling as their coming-out soiree.
Bella herself sealed the deal on that speculation, as well as Ava’s heartache, by insisting Ava dig out a cocktail dress and shadow her with the styling bag for the night. Unless Ava came down with the plague, absence wasn’t an option. It wasn’t like she didn’t know the drill, having been tagged as the woman’s glamour secret service before. She was to be out of sight and out of mind unless there was a hair, makeup, or dress disaster that needed life-saving intervention. Apparently, one of those emergencies had struck.
As Bella paced closer, she performed a fast visual to try and spot the calamity. Her assessment yielded nothing out of place, but that didn’t mean anything. Bella didn’t give her any clue, gliding closer without a waver of her smile or champagne flute. That also didn’t warrant surprise. The woman had once given a flawless interview to Entertainment Tonight on the red carpet as Ava crouched at her feet resewing two inches of hem that’d been ripped during the limo exit.
She forced her face into composure, ready for anything. Not an easy feat, considering Ethan looked even better up close. His dress jacket, which brought out the layers of cobalt in his eyes, was pressed and perfectly fitted on his wide shoulders. He’d also been treated to a manicure and professional shave, then dunked in something that smelled wonderful on him. Damn. No wonder half the women out here risked Bella’s backlash by giving him lingering gawks. No wonder every cell in her body burst open in new awareness—followed by livid castigation.
Maybe this all happened for the best, Ethan.
She still believed that. She had to believe that. Her throat convulsed on the painful swallow she forced as affirmation. Not that simply looking at them couldn’t accomplish the same thing. They were the most perfect couple on a patio filled with perfection. The noble soldier and the breathtaking starlet. She had no doubt that half the producers in the room were already scheming ways to develop their story for the screen.
Mierda. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?
Thank God Bella didn’t share the challenge. “Oh, Ava, Ava, Ava,” the woman chirped. “Ethan needs you.”
Seemed that shock therapy came in handy as a good warm-up. The thousand volts that hit her now were a little easier to handle, especially as she looked to Ethan for confirmation. His gorgeous face was etched in a mix of bewilderment and embarrassment that made her heart pinch until her brain retaliated. She couldn’t forget he’d asked for this bed as much as she—for the last four days, to be exact. If he was uncomfortable, maybe he should’ve researched the linens a little better.
“What’s the problem?” she asked as diplomatically as she could.
Bella giggled. It was the laugh she got after refusing to eat all day, resulting in half a glass of champagne flying straight to her head. “Me,” she said, snickering again. “I’m the problem!” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “Oopsie!”
Ava deliberately swung her gaze out to the beach again. There were times when reacting to Bella’s “humor” in any fashion wasn’t a good idea. She wasn’t sure if the woman was feigning the frivolity or if the bubbly was hitting her that hard.
A huff came from Ethan’s direction. When she looked up, his irritated glare was tough to miss, even past the tumble of his hair. “Bella,” he muttered, dragging the stuff backward with one hand, “honestly, this isn’t—”
“No!” Ava’s reflexes weren’t clouded so she was able to get the protest out faster than Bella. She was also able to step to the man, grab his wrist and wrench it down before he could wreak any more damage to the ’do. As he glowered, she charged, “Stop. Now. Fingers don’t go near the head again tonight. That is an order, Sergeant.”
“Amen, sister!”
She couldn’t help chuckling at Bella’s tipsy vote of support. Her mirth seemed to calm Ethan, too. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “This isn’t a fight I’m going to win. Torture me, Mistress Ava, but don’t expect me to give up state secrets.”
Ava rolled her eyes while searching for a discreet alcove. The idea of having her hands in his hair both thrilled and gutted her, meaning she wasn’t totally opposed to the sudden appearance of Enzo Lemare.
“Sister?” the man questioned in his rich Italian accent. He strolled up in a luxurious double-breasted tux, probably Armani or D&G, that was impeccably tailored for his elegant build. “Davvero?” He directed his attention, full of smoldering green eyes and smooth hands, right at her. “Why did I not see the resemblance before? It is clear to me now. What a clever move, Bella, to hire your stunning sister as your stylist. Who better to know the family secrets and keep them that way, yes?”
Ava threw back an indulgent smile. “Thank you for the lovely compliment, Mr. Lemare, but I’m not—”
“Stunning?” Bella looked as puzzled by the statement as she did her empty champagne glass. “Sister? Oh, Enzo, you and that language barrier. Darling, I meant—”
“To have me take you inside.” Ethan saved her from the embarrassing blurt by smoothly grabbing her waist, making sure the booze didn’t deliver Bella face first into the concrete. “It’s getting chilly out here. Your wrap is already at the table.”
“Awww.” Bella crooned it with adoring eyes while stroking his jaw with a finger. “You take such good care of me.”
Ava could’ve sworn Ethan’s whole body tensed at that but wrote the perception off to her own reaction, unplugging the electroshock in favor of old-fashioned nausea. But the moment she thought they’d finally leave, giving her five minutes to grab some water with a Pepto-Bismol chaser, their offside soiree turned into a full attention-getter. Bella’s caress on Ethan’s cheek was captured by a blinding photographer’s flash. When Bella herself winced at the intrusion, Enzo stepped forward again.
“Mie scuse, cara.” The spread his hands. “I was so busy basking in your sister’s beauty, I neglected to tell you I brought a friend.”
Protesting the man’s error seemed fruitless right now, especially when someone laughed at Lemare from the darkness beyond the flash. “Friend? That’s debatable at the moment. Put your wizzler back in your pants, Enzo, before you get me killed. You told me Miss Lanza would be on the arm of an Army man, not a bloody demigod.”
Ava forgot about wanting to puke. For a long moment, she wasn’t even cognizant of her stomach. A fast peek at Bella corroborated her awe. That cosmopolitan mix of accents, delivered in that unmistakable mix of snark, swagger, and sex, only belonged to one man on earth. She gasped his name at Bella now. “Grant Fulsom?”
“Mio Dio, Ava,” she replied. “I think so.”
Sure enough, the iconic photographer himself strolled up in a wrinkled polo shirt and khakis, his angular face weathered from years of capturing superstars everywhere from Athens to Montserrat to Zimbabwe. In the world of celebrity, being immortalized by Fulsom was one of the rites of passage into superstardom. It was one of the things on the “big list” to cross off. Memoir. Fragrance. Shoe line. White House visit. Grant Fulsom photo shoot.
“Mr. Fulsom.” Bella’s voice actually shook. Ava watched Ethan’s arm tighten around her waist in silent reinforcement. “It’s—what an honor to—”
Fulsom chopped her short by swooping her hand to his lips. He followed with a vigorous laugh. “By God, Enzo, you’re right. She’s an enchanting dish.” The man wheeled an equally suggestive appraisal toward Ethan. “And so is he.”
Ethan barely moved, though his growl sounded like a living beast on the air. “Kiss my hand and your wizzler is dust, assface.”
“Ooohhh.” Fulsom’s dark green eyes went wide. “Yes, sir!”
Mr. Lemare chuckled and backhanded Fulsom’s shoulder. “Down, amico. You’ll need plenty of energy in the days to come.”
“Oh?” Bella flashed her most charismatic smile. “Are you in town to shoot someone big?”
Ethan glowered at her then the men. “What the hell?”
Lemare let out his own booming laugh at that. “She means a photography shoot, Ethan. How do they say it in your unit? It is all right to…stand down?”
“Not for too long,” Fulsom asserted, still giving Ethan a workup with his gaze. “He’s bloody fine in the standing position, too.”
While Ethan fumed and Bella threw Lemare a probing gaze, Ava kept an eye on Fulsom. She was pretty certain what he was thinking. She looked at Bella in the same way all the time, projecting elements like skin tone, hairstyle, eye brightness, and facial features into the future, to determine how certain lighting was going to affect the look of each. By the time a full minute had passed, she could nearly predict what Lemare was about to say to his show’s leading lady.
“He is in town as a favor to me, Bella.” Enzo grinned like a dad about to tell his kids they were skipping school to go to the fair all day. “I think our live broadcast would be well-served with some of Grant’s photos to accompany it.” When Bella gave that just a tiny smile of hope, he went on, “Photos of you, cara—with one of our fine soldier advisors as your strapping alpha hero.” He nodded at Ethan in conclusion to that.
Bella squealed.
Ethan paled.
“Okay, whoa,” he mumbled. “Bella—oof!” He stumbled back a step as she threw herself into his arms. “Wait. Wait.” He glared back through her hair. “Look, Mr. Lemare—”
“Enzo.” The man held out placating arms. “I already told you, Sergeant, you must start calling me Enzo.”
“Great. Enzo. Look, I’m not a model.”
“Now you are.” Bella kissed his cheek long enough to leave an imprint that was only going to come out via remover wipe. “This is going to be wildly fun, Ethan! You’ll see.”
He set her back, his eyes getting darker. “The only thing I’m supposed to be ‘seeing’ are the scripts, the set, and the route back to my hotel. Bella, we had to jump through a bunch of hoops just for Rhett and I to come to this thing. A damn photo shoot—”
“Has already been approved by your captain and his chain of command,” Lemare filled in.
Ethan’s lips twisted. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll bet.”
“And there will be plenty of us there from the show’s production staff, myself included, to make sure you two behave…most of the time.”
That drew another delighted giggle out of Bella. Ava studied her for a long moment. When the woman was truly happy, not just putting it on for paparazzi or acting it for the camera, the emotion transformed her from beautiful to breathtaking. She’d tried to make Bella see that but the starlet was one of those stunning women who’d been told, somewhere in those important years of their girlhood, that they were ugly and always would be. Ava had met many such girls during the weekly beauty class she volunteered with through the inner-city church cooperative. Maybe, with the love of a good man or thousands of dollars in therapy, the star would comprehend her true worth one day—but right now, Ava was certain that Ethan’s psyche was going to be her bigger concern.
The conclusion plummeted her gaze to the ground in self-beratement. Mierda. She’d tell herself not to take one more step down that path…if she wasn’t already on it. If she didn’t know, from the core of her spirit, that she was really concerned about how this bizarre turn of events would affect Ethan. During those two days in Seattle for Garrett and Sage’s wedding, she’d seen why he wasn’t the guy with the shrimp tails on his fingers. He’d grown up in a world where appearances were everything yet had given him nothing, leading him to take a leap of faith and dedicate himself to a job where nothing mattered but his mind and his mettle. Now he was being ordered to go let one of the world’s biggest image makers capitalize on the one thing for which he never wanted to be seen.
So yeah, despite everything they’d been through this week and what they’d never have again, her heart lurched for him. No matter what, he was a friend. If he needed a commiserating ear, then—
As soon as her gaze found his face, she blinked in perplexity.
Maybe it was just an anomaly, that his expression seemed tight bu
t determined…and nearly as peaceful as the waves lapping at the sand a few feet way.
Huh?
Shouldn’t he be seething and tense? Shouldn’t he be looking for an escape to go call Franzen with a string of what the fucks? Why did he just keep standing there, arm still dutifully around Bella, seeming damn near resigned about all this?
The party was awash in custom lighting but she suddenly felt trapped in the dark. It wasn’t a sensation that sat well with her, not since those days she and Zoe had spent wondering what had happened to Mom and not being told anything until it was too late.
On unwavering steps, she moved to the side of Ethan not occupied by Bella’s clinging form. In a discreet murmur, she offered, “Should I get that hair fixed now?”
As she’d hoped, Bella gushed in gratitude. After shoving Ethan at her, the starlet moved away, phone in hand, determined to make the news of their sessions with Fulsom into a viral buzz inside of ten minutes. Ethan said nothing, becoming a silent shadow as Ava rushed inside, leading him down a deserted hallway.
She stopped when she was reasonably certain they wouldn’t be seen or heard, though Ethan got the first word in.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She already had some fresh hair serum in her palm, and rubbed her hands together with briskness that defied her tone. “I’m fine, Sergeant. How about you? What’s new?”
“I, uh—ow!” He exclaimed it as she worked the new product in with the old, making her fingers stick for a second. Damn it, even with all the goop in his hair, it filled her grip with a heady combination of strength and softness. “I think you know the answer to that one, Miss Chestain.” He emphasized his formality with a sarcastic snarl.
“Really?” she shot back. “Do I, now?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She was about to give him a finishing sweep with a wide-toothed comb. Instead, she parked that hand against her hip and eyed him for a long moment. When she spoke again, it was with quiet conviction.