by Tatum West
“He shot James,” he cries. “Oh, God, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“James is okay. He’s fine. He’ll need stitches and might have one hell of a scar, but the bullet grazed him on the shoulder.” I tell him, feeling his heaving breaths warm against my neck. “He’s talking to the police. He’s okay.”
I pull Nikki in close, until his breathing slows and the trembling stops. Something tightens in my chest, something… new. For that moment, I know that I’m exactly where I want to be, where I need to be.
“Everybody’s fine,” I assure him, smoothing his hair. “They shouldn’t have left you by yourself, but I’m here now. You’re okay. Everybody’s okay, and you’re not alone.”
I don’t even know how it happens, but it happens, and there’s no dialing it back. Our lips meet somewhere between “alone” and Nikki’s response, “I don’t want to be alone.”
He tastes like cinnamon sticks, salted pretzels, and raw sex, in a way I’ve scarcely allowed myself to imagine. Before I even know what’s what, we’re on the carpeted floor of his walk-in closet, surrounded by costumes, crazy wigs, and sexy shoes, and I’m on top of him, my mouth on his, my tongue lashing his tongue, bringing his air into my lungs, my weight against him. I want to know him fully, consume him, drown in him, never come up for air.
I can’t remember a kiss like this, something that took me away from myself so fully and so quickly. His lips are soft and warm, inviting and full. His long fingers thread through my hair to my scalp. A thrill runs down my spine and lights a long-forgotten spark in my core.
I’ve been with plenty of men in this town; I’ve had first dates and one-night-stands, revelry and parties and even groups of men who were all beautiful, perfectly sculpted Hollywood specimens. But I’ve never had a kiss quite like this.
Nikki relaxes, his breath seeking cadence with mine. His mouth and my mouth become one thing, heated, our fingers exploring the turn of muscle and languid, graceful bone.
I’m hard against his sensuous form, conscious of nothing more than the idea that we feel good together. Aware only – in these brief moments – that this feels better than anything I’ve ever experienced. Every other person I’ve ever known intimately pales in comparison to the potential of this thing unfolding before me.
All of this boggles my brain, turning around and lifting me up. That is, until I hear feet on the stairs; people coming in our direction!
We separate – or maybe I do it because it was all so strange and so fast – just before Tyler and Spencer burst in, telling us the perpetrator got away despite everyone’s best efforts. They assure Nikki and me that the property has been deemed safe. It’s okay to come out now.
“We’ll be down in a minute,” I say, waving Tyler off. “Just give us a second.”
Once they’re gone, I level Nikki’s gaze, fixing it in my own. “You ready to go downstairs?” I ask.
He doesn’t look away; in this moment, he is unshakeable. Instead he says, “No. I’d rather stay here and figure you out.”
There’s a flipping feeling deep inside of me, like the bottom is dropping out, like I’ve reached the top of a roller coaster and I’m about to go down on a long and unstoppable ride.
I smile, taking his hand, circling his fingers inside mine. “You’ve got all the time in the world to try to figure me out,” I assure him. “We should probably go down and find out what’s happened.”
Nikki stares at me, wide-eyed, a slight curl turning his lip. “Fine,” he finally replies, lifting a long elegant, perfectly manicured finger and pointing it at me. “But we’re not done yet.”
No. We’re not done. We’re just getting started.
CHAPTER TEN
NIKKI
Being suddenly surprised at my house by a stalker, seeing my bestie/bodyguard James shot, then being locked alone in a dark closet, turns out not to be the end of the world. Fox kissed me. And it wasn’t some half-hearted drunk kiss, or one of those trembling-with-trepidation fanboy fumblings. That kiss was not playing around. That kiss had me pinned to the floor; held in check by powerful limbs; with hands busy groping for parts of my body that haven’t been properly manhandled in way too long.
Forget pastrami sandwiches. Heaven is Fox Lee lathered up in a white-hot blaze, all his weight shoving me down into the carpet, his bulging cock grinding against my hips while my collection of strappy pink ‘Fuck Me’ pumps looks on enviously.
Downstairs, surrounded by police officers in uniforms and suits and all five members of my detail, Fox does an outstanding job of behaving as if we didn’t just have a moment together in the closet.
Me, not so much. Thankfully, no one notices because I’m high-strung by nature and everyone expects me to be thoroughly freaked out.
A young, female police officer hands me a glass of water while patting me gently on the back. I thank her. She’s got big amber-colored eyes, a sweet smile, and the most artfully painted nails I’ve seen in a long time. She doesn’t seem like a cop at all, more like someone I’d like to browse the shops on Rodeo Drive with.
“You’re doing great. And I love that single you dropped last month.” She grins at me.
“Yeah, that one was a lot of fun. I mean, not top-the-charts type of fun, but the next one will be.” I wink at her.
“How does that happen? How can this guy just disappear?” Fox demands, after the officers brief my team on the still-missing suspect.
“He took off running to the west, dodging between two houses,” the cop says. “A couple teenagers hanging out by their pool saw him. He jumped the retaining wall at the foot of the property and dropped into the canyon. They claim they heard a motorbike fire up down there a few minutes later. He could have gone in any direction after that. He could be halfway to the border by now.”
The guy never came onto my property; he wasn’t visible on any of the security footage nor seen by my team. He was waiting for us on the public road, like he knew we’d be coming.
“He knew Mr. Rippon was out shopping,” the cop says. “He knew they’d have to come home sooner or later. He decided to make his move where they weren’t expecting anything to happen.”
At this point I just can’t help myself; I have a question. I raise my hand, which no one sees, so I speak up.“Excuse me,” I say in my most genial tone. “May I please ask a question?”
The officer gives me a dull look.
“Go for it, Nikki,” Fox says. “What is it?”
“You said he knew we were out shopping,” I say, addressing the cop. “How did they know that?”
He lifts his phone, showing me the screen. “TMZ,” he replies flatly. “Somebody tagged your picture in Beverly Hills this afternoon. TMZ picked it up. It’s been shared a few million times.”
Those Croc-wearing tourists.
“You might want to consider moving,” the cop says to me. “Most celebrities live in places with high walls and like-minded neighbors.”
Did he just blame me for being a target? Because I don’t choose to live inside a self-imposed prison? It feels like that’s what he did. I’m about to point out this fact when James comes in, dropping to a crouch beside me.
“You okay?” he asks, the sincerity in his expression almost making me cry all over again.
I nod, blinking back those threatening tears. “Are you?”
“I’m fine,” he says, offering a wan smile. “The guy is either a lousy shot or he never intended to hit me. Might have a nice scar from this.” James points at the bandage on his arm.
“You should be at the hospital.”
“It’s just a scratch. I’m fine. No worries, Nikki.” James puts a hand on my shoulder casually, like today is any other day.
“Goddammit, James. You could have died.”
“But I didn’t. Not today.” He grins at me.
I sigh heavily. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
A few minutes later, the police begin to clear out. James and Troy sign out, saying their goodbyes. Tyle
r and Spencer are on duty for the night shift, with the detail’s back-up person, Nathan, on duty outside ‘just in case.’ Fox leaves for a few moments to retrieve his car and bring it up to my drive.
I’m left in the quiet of my living room after Spencer and Tyler check the house top to bottom, making sure every window and door is locked. As soon as they’re done, they disappear into the basement media room where they monitor the security camera footage. Typically, I barely notice that the detail is here unless I go looking for them. Or unless James is here, cracking jokes and getting me to show him pictures from my concerts. Tyler and Spencer are a little more aloof than the day crew. They prefer to be left alone if they’re not needed.
Tonight, that’s fine with me.
I go to meet Fox on the front porch when I hear his car pull in. I spy Nathan lurking in the shadows at the far end of the porch as soon as I step out. He nods, says “Sir,” and disappears around the corner.
Fox steps out of his shiny black Tesla and comes around, gazing up at me with a slightly awkward smile.
“I thought you might think twice and go home,” I say, only half-teasing.
He shakes his head, bounding up the stairs toward me. “Not a chance,” he says.
My heart skips, and for the first time since I was a teenager, butterflies tumble in my stomach. It strikes me that this might be more than a crush. More than infatuation. When I was paralyzed with fear, flailing for help, it was Fox who I called, and he came to me without a moment of hesitation.
“For what it’s worth, I wanted to come inside after that night at 1-Oak, but I thought it was being opportunistic. You were a hot mess that night.” Fox says, drawing close, stepping just inside my personal space.
I sigh, reaching out for his hand. “I’m a hot mess all the time,” I admit, faux-shaking back my not-long hair like a diva. “It’s part of my brand, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He takes a step closer, circling my fingers inside his own, pulling me close to him. Close enough to catch his scent. I hadn’t noticed it before. His aftershave is spicy with a hint of green cedar. There’s more though, his smell: a salty cleanness with a notion of citrus underneath, adding complexity to his fragrance. It is intoxicating. I can feel myself flushing red.
“I don’t think you’re a hot mess,” Fox half-whispers, his breath searing against my ear and my neck. He slides his free hand around the small of my back, pulling me closer still, until our hips meet. “You’re hot, and beautiful, and…”
He doesn’t finish that thought because our lips get in the way.
Fox Lee’s lips taste sweet and tart and they own mine from the minute they first touch. He lingers, going slow, carefully sampling me in bites and nips, in little licks. His gentle fingers tilt my jaw up; he goes deeper, opening me wider to him, breathing my air into his lungs in hauling, hungry breaths.
I’ve been kissed by a lot of men who wanted to fuck me. I’ve even been kissed by women who wanted to fuck me. I’ve never been kissed like this. This is consuming, and reverential. There’s nothing assumed in Fox’s kisses. He’s aggressive without being presumptive. He’s careful, waiting for my body to give him permission to go on.
I press my hand into his broad, muscled chest, pushing gently. This small act causes Fox to back off, reluctantly breaking the union between us. His forehead touches mine. He breathes hard, biting his lip; his heart beats a staccato against my palm. I damn near melt taking in this image of this sexy man, forcing himself to slow down and stop.
“We should take this inside,” I whisper, letting my fingers slide, dancing across his chest, feeling for the rise of muscle beneath his expensive dress shirt. “We’ll have Nathan telling tales.”
Fox takes a breath, smiling shyly. “Discretion is ASP Security’s byword. But I won’t argue. We should take this inside and upstairs, so you can start figuring me out.”
Fox pauses in the kitchen, grabbing two big bottles of water from the fridge.
“Do you want anything else to drink?” he asks, nodding toward the bar in the corner.
I shake my head. “I don’t usually drink,” I say. It’s never come up. “Help yourself. That’s why it’s there.”
Fox blinks, biting his lip again. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I tell him, giving him an amused smile and a wink. “I just don’t like how it makes me feel. And I prefer not to wake up with a raging headache. Not good for the complexion.”
We walk upstairs, hand-in-hand, like a couple who’s been together for years and made this trip hundreds of times. Fox sips a Scotch, neat, with water bottles tucked under his arm. He already knows where my bedroom is, because he had to come through it to find me earlier tonight. Despite that, he pauses, gazing around, getting his bearings.
My bedroom isn’t what anyone who’s ever ventured into it expects. It’s not the bedroom of a pop star. It’s my safe place, my sanctuary. The rest of my house is a staging area for the concentric circles of people who enter and exit my life I’ve done interviews at my house, met with producers. Very few people have made it into this room.
Fox peers at my books, scanning titles.
“You’re a reader,” he observes, “I’m not surprised.”
He smiles at a few of the titles, making no remark before moving on to a wall of photographs.
“Oh, look at little Nikki,” he says, grinning at a photograph of me, Gilman Steele, his best friend Dillon, and a couple other close friends from Jackson Academy. We were juniors when that photo was taken; fresh faced and fearless. It’s a favorite of mine.
“You’re adorable,” he says, scanning the rest, pausing at a different photo of Gil and Dillon that Gil sent me when they were in Afghanistan. “This is the same guy?” Fox asks.
I nod. “One of my closest friends in high school, Gil. He joined the Marines. He’s out now. He’s a cop in San Francisco.”
“Oh yeah, the very famous Gil. And this is Zane?” He points out the raven-haired beauty at one of his first art exhibits in New York. I got to be there for the momentous occasion, and I joke with Zane that my name might have gotten him off to a good start.
Fox turns away from my photos and books, taking in the few pieces of art on my walls. He sips his drink, then settles his eyes on me.
“You’re a complicated creature, Nikki Rippon. I think you’re going to take a while to untangle.”
He sets his drink on the nightstand, fixing his eyes on mine.“I guess I should get started,” he says.
My core seizes with anticipation. “I guess you should,” I reply, lifting my arms high, draping them over his wide, strong shoulders.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FOX
N ikki takes my breath away. His poise, his beauty, and now this added complication: he humbles me. He’s much brighter than he lets on, and the people who matter to him the most are childhood friends and his family; very ordinary people, not celebrities or sycophantic hangers-on. That realization makes him even more intriguing, that much more attractive. He’s obviously got a vivid interior life he may not even be fully cognizant of, as he’s lived this dual life for so long.
I let myself breathe him in, soaking his scent into my lungs, letting his essence seep into my pores. His scent is feral and complex, seasoned with something exotic from the fragrance counter. I think it’s Chanel, but I’m no expert. Whatever it is, it’s sexy as hell.
My hands circle his hips, bringing him against me, our cocks pressed together in exquisite torture. I kiss his neck, his chin, his cheeks, and nibble on his lips.
Nikki’s hands search for my belt, tugging at the buckle, fingers awkwardly trying to go low.
I reach down, taking his hand in mine.
“We’re not in a hurry,” I remind him, teasing his ear with my breath. I release his hand and finger the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head, revealing pale soft skin and his lithe, runway-ready form. His nipples, small and pale, are drawn tight, already erect, waiting for my lips and
teeth to tease them.
“You don’t want me to...” Nikki’s voice trails off. “Go down on you?”
I draw back to look him in the eyes. He’s stymied. This isn’t what he expected.
“Yeah,” I say, taking his jaw in my hand, caressing it gently, lovingly. “I want you to go down on me. Eventually. But not just yet. All things in time.”
I take both his hands in mine, gripping them tight, and I push him backwards, slowly dropping him to the bed. He’s surprised, his eyes wide, not sure what to expect. I drop to my knees, untying his violet Converse tennis shoes while he watches me with curiosity, sitting up on his elbows to do so.
Next, I stand over him, unbuttoning my shirt. I untuck and cast it off. Nikki’s jaw clenches tight as his eyes drink in my shoulders and chest. He reaches toward me, graceful fingers dancing across the ripple of well-defined abs at my belly. I work hard in the gym to maintain this body. Mostly I do it for myself, but it’s nice to see my efforts appreciated.
“You’re beautiful,” Nikki whispers, rolling his palm over the round muscle at my shoulder. “You’re perfect.”
I straddle his legs, dropping my knees on the edge of the bed. I place one hand on his tight stomach, caressing the thin, pale trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. With the other hand, I pop the button and open them, revealing an adorable pair of hot pink Calvin Klein branded boxer briefs. I can help but smile. He’s so consistent.
“Jesus, I’m gonna cum just from the way you’re looking at me,” Nikki almost cries, again going for my crotch, wrapping fingers around my sturdy length pressed erect against my woolen slacks. I push his hand away.
“Not yet,” I caution him, wagging a finger in his face.
It’s becoming clear to me nobody’s ever done Nikki Rippon the way he deserves. I remember how it was in my twenties--it was always awkward and fast. That’s not what we’re doing tonight.
I peel his jeans off, tossing them aside. All that stands between me and making Nikki Rippon moan my name is a thin layer of pink stretchy fabric and my patience. I have a lot of patience. I leave his boxers on, despite the fact that his cock is stiff, large, and begging for freedom from the constriction of those tight shorts.