Wild at Heart (Walk on the Wild Side #1)

by Lara Archer

  He’d become a part of her. Her best friend.

  And now, thanks to a sudden, crazy-stupid impulse to make things physical, she might just have lost him forever.

  Chapter Two

  Nick managed to hide in his cabin for the night and most of the morning. He felt sick to his stomach—except when riding these weird waves of elation that kept sweeping through him. Fleeting images of Amber flashed across his brain—Amber naked in the sunlight. Amber reaching up to kiss him. Amber stretched out beneath him.

  And every time, those thoughts of pleasure were followed by a cold wash of fear.

  How on earth was he even going to look her in the face after this?

  So far today he’d taken a shower, and he’d managed to get his jeans on, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move much beyond that. Even a shirt would mean he was that much closer to actually walking back out the door.

  But he had to come out of his cabin sooner or later. Ruby Torres and Jake Hultensaalt were due to arrive any moment, and the shooting schedule was painfully tight as it was, since Jake was contracted to shoot some Hollywood blockbuster the minute they were done here, and Ruby had to be in Vegas for her big August concert series.

  Nick was going to have to pull himself together—the film couldn’t be made without its main cameraman, and he couldn’t do anything from in here.

  And then a knock rapped at the cabin door.

  His stomach turned to ice. Amber. She was going to be the grown-up, then. Making the first move. They were going to sit down and talk like civilized people...and he had no idea what he was going to say to her. It was a mistake, Amber. We’re friends. We can’t ruin that. I’m just a fucked-up guy, kiddo. It’s not you, it’s me. Something original of that sort.

  He had to wrestle with the old-fashioned latch of the cabin door to get it open, so he was looking down not up as the door squeaked open.

  And it wasn’t Amber after all.

  It was Ruby Torres.

  Their leading lady had arrived. In full diva attire, as the world had come to expect from a woman who was singer slash actress slash fashion and perfume entrepreneur, and who was mobbed by paparazzi anytime she stepped out to a Starbucks or a yoga class. Today, she wore huge white-rimmed sunglasses and a white fur jacket. Tight white jeans and white spike heels. Like she was strolling Rodeo Drive rather than about to hike the dirt trails of Wild Mountain National Park.

  She was gorgeous, there was no denying that. Waist-length straight black hair, gleaming chocolate-brown eyes, skin with a hint of toffee in its color. Those famous curves. With some exotic jasmine perfume wafting off of her—probably her own brand, the one that was making millions for her at Wal-Mart’s and Targets across the country.

  And she was standing very close to him.

  “Hello, there, Mr. Turner,” she said, using that fake, formal, almost-British accent she seemed to have picked up lately, after that spy movie she did with Tom Hiddleston. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “Uh, you, too,” he said. Good Lord—her skin was literally perfect. No blemishes, no bumps, hardly any pores, like she’d already been photoshopped. Like she’d stepped straight off a magazine cover.

  It was a little unnerving, really, the perfection. Like she wasn’t quite human.

  Ruby slipped right in past him without waiting for him to say anything, letting the door swing shut behind her.

  Nick was just wondering if she’d come to discuss how he was going to light her for the film—which, given the fine grain of her complexion, was going to be ridiculously easy—when she let the fur jacket slide from her shoulders straight to the floor.

  She gave her hair a toss, then took hold of the hem of her white tank top with both fists and peeled the shirt straight up and over her head.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath the tank, just that perfect toffee-colored skin. Her dark nipples stood at attention.

  Jesus—was every woman he talked to from now on going to just strip off her clothes?

  A couple quick kicks and her stilettos were off, and with a yank at her waistband, the jeans followed suit. She shook out her hair again like she was doing a shampoo ad and hopped onto his bed wearing nothing but her panties.

  Skimpy but surprisingly girlish white cotton panties, like a slightly slutty Catholic schoolgirl might wear, which normally would have been a major turn-on.

  But all he could think was Wow, the tabloids were wrong—her tits are definitely 100% genuine. They made a very impressive bounce along with the rest of her.

  He waited for his cock to jump to attention, but oddly enough it didn’t. A quick pulse of interest was all—impersonal, fleeting, easy to subdue.

  Now, that was really not like him.

  Ruby regarded him with smoky eyes, and lay back against the mound of pillows as casually as if she were stretching out for a suntan on the beach. “So glad we’re finally alone,” she purred, beckoning him towards her with one finger. “I’ve been looking forward to this since we had that lunch back in L.A.”

  That lunch?

  Damn. He supposed he had flirted with her quite a bit that day.

  Well, of course he had. Flirtation was his default mode, and she was an absolutely gorgeous woman.

  They’d all had several mojitos at that lunch celebrating the movie contract, and, yeah, things had gotten physical in that shady palm grove just outside the coat room while they waited for Jake and Amber to get the car. A few hot kisses, with hands groping not-quite-safe-for-public places, and maybe, just possibly, he’d said some things that sounded like a promise of more.

  Hell, she’d just come off that awful breakup with Vince LaRussa, her co-star in those silly but wildly-popular drag-racing films. She and Vince had been a Hollywood Golden Couple, the kind with a nickname: Torrusa, of all things. Once things went south—and pictures got splashed across the Hollywood Hot-Sheet of Vince getting head from a stacked blonde waitress in the front seat of his Humvee—the scandal sheets hounded them for every scandalous detail, and all the headlines about Ruby screamed things like Devastated and Humiliated and Will Never Trust Men Again.

  When they’d had that lunch, Ruby was only looking for a little ego boost, maybe a quick good time, nothing more. He assumed she forgot their little restaurant interlude the minute she sobered up.

  But here she was, clearly with her memory intact. And most of her clothes off.

  Normally he’d be more than happy to make good on whatever unspoken promises he might have made. But…the thought that she was gorgeous was just that at the moment: a thought. Not a feeling. He was appreciating her, like he might appreciate a really well-crafted guitar, or a Porsche, or the framing of a shot in a Scorsese movie. For the first time since he’d hit his teens, he was looking at a naked woman and not calculating the swiftest route to get between her thighs.

  Something was seriously wrong with him.

  Seriously wrong.

  When he didn’t move, she pouted a little.

  She parted her perfect toffee legs, exposing the crotch of those cock-teasing little panties. “C’mon, guapo,” she said, and suddenly the faux-Brit accent dropped away, and she sounded more like the Latino girl from Oakland that she really was. “Don’t you wanna play? You all talk and no action?” She spread her legs further, and with one expensively manicured hand started stroking along the center of her panties, teasing herself with her long hot-pink nails.

  That should have been all he needed to be as rock-hard and randy as a goat. Normally the tits alone would have had him popping the buttons of his jeans. Hell, it was a fantasy millions of men around the world had probably had since Ruby Torres made her spectacular movie debut ten years ago, playing a teenage stripper, writhing around a pole under pink and purple strobe lights in a tasseled leather thong.

  But somehow this felt…awkward. Hot pink nails and dark eyes just didn’t look right to him today. His mind was still full of long blonde hair and a very different pair of lovely breasts. He was still thinking
about Amber.

  And he was not supposed to be thinking of Amber.

  He wanted to knock himself in the head with a hammer. What kind of idiot was he, anyway? Amber was off-limits. And here Ruby Torres was stretched on his bed, practically begging him to fuck her brains out. One of the most desirable women in the world. This should be simple.

  Go screw her, you moron. What could be better? Keep an affair going for the length of the shoot. Keep Ruby in his bed every night and close by his side all day. Ruby didn’t seem like she’d be the type to mourn when the affair was over. And banging the leading lady would put things with Amber back the way they should be. It would take all that crazy temptation away.

  Ruby was certainly doing all she could to convince him. She wriggled her hips and made a good show out of pulling off the white cotton panties nice and slow, like a really naughty schoolgirl, and then spread her legs wide.

  Jesus, her legs were long. Her pussy with its glossy black curls and dark golden lips gleamed at him, and she slid one hand up to squeeze her left breast. Her head was thrown back, but her eyes were still on him, issuing a burning invitation—the perfect Hustler centerfold. Man, if she caught this little act on video, she’d sell a hundred million copies in a day.

  Hell, if she’d done this just yesterday, he’d have ripped off his own clothes by now and would be on that bed with her, banging away.

  But right now…it just felt wrong.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m really sorry. You’re incredibly beautiful—really, just amazing—and I’m very seriously flatted by the offer—”

  “Mierda,” she said, and snapped her thighs together like a spring-loaded clamp. “You’re about to say ‘but,’ aren’t you?” She sat up, pulling her legs to her chest to hide her breasts, and the air in the room seemed to cool immediately. “What? You have a girlfriend now or something? Everybody says you don’t have girlfriends.”

  “No—no girlfriend.” He ran a hand hard through his hair, practically shredding it. “It’s just—look, I don’t want to mess up our work relationship, and….”

  To his surprise, Ruby laughed, and relaxed again, sinking back onto the pillows, letting her long legs fall open again, showing him her nipples and that truly delicious-looking pussy. “Oh, that’s the hang-up. You’re a professional. Well, no worries, amorcito. I’m not looking for romance here. Just a little fun. Seriously—I’m gonna get bored here in the back woods. We’ll still be as professional as you want when we’re out of bed.”

  Nick took a deep breath, trying to will himself to want her, but the feeling just wasn’t there. The very thought sent cold wind blowing through him, a chill that hollowed him out inside. The edge of a vague thought passed through his brain: I don’t want this life anymore. I don’t want to be this kind of man.

  Ruby heaved a little sigh, making those famous breasts rise and fall alluringly. “Man, everybody calls you bolado—you know, they say you fuck around? You just a big tease, then?

  “No. I mean—maybe.” Nick felt suddenly very self-conscious about standing there without a shirt. “It’s just…complicated right now.”

  Ruby glanced down at the crotch of his jeans, which was uncharacteristically non-bulging. “Oh? You having troubles? I’m pretty sure I could fix that.”

  “No!” Nick said. “Not that kind of complicated.”

  Ruby shrugged. “Ah, well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.” The British-y accent was back. “Better luck next time, eh?” She let one foot fall gracefully to the floor, the other still sprawled out halfway across the bed so he had a full view of the riches that were on offer. She gave one last stroke along her glossy thigh with one of her nails. “You one-hundred-percent sure?”

  He had to be nuts. He really had to be nuts. But his answer was clear as daylight to him. “Yeah. I’m sure. Sorry.”

  Honestly, he felt nothing but relief that Ruby was leaving.

  Before she could get up from the bed, though, he heard a footfall he knew only too well crossing the porch of his cabin, and then the latch to his door clicked. Shit—Amber was here for real!

  Dread hit his belly like a lump of cold metal. There was no time to react, no time to shield the woman on the bed. It all happened in the horrible slow motion of a dream, of a car accident.

  His head whipped around just quick enough for him to watch Amber walk straight into the cabin. Damn it—Ruby had taken him so completely by surprise, he hadn’t even re-locked it. And Amber was used to walking in without knocking when they worked. There’d been no reason not to.

  Her head was buried in her notebook as it so often was, puzzling over some detail of the coming shoot. She hadn’t seen the odalisque on his bed yet. “Hey, cowboy, “ she said, sounding a little stiffer than usual after their tryst in the meadow, but clearly making the effort to proceed as normal, “I just checked the weather report, and I think we’d better—”

  Ruby made a loud squeak and grabbed the nearest throw pillow to cover herself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere near big enough to cover all her naked deliciousness.

  And Amber looked up and saw her.

  If Nick thought he’d felt dread before, it was nothing to the awful icy flood that went through him now. Amber actually turned colors: bloodless white for a moment, and then blazing cherry red. She dropped the notebook, bent to pick it up, hit her head on the corner of the dresser, dropped it again.

  “Oh, jeez,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize….” She was rubbing her scalp, glancing up at his hair, noticing how mussed it was. And Ruby was naked, and he had his shirt off, and….Oh, crap….

  Nick wasn’t sure what to say. “Hey, Amber, seriously,” he began, “this isn’t what it looks like—” But then he cut himself off. Maybe it was better if Amber thought it was exactly what it looked like.

  If she thought he was screwing Ruby—and screwing Ruby less than 24 hours after he’d had sex with Amber in the sunlit meadow—she’d forget any stupid ideas she might be having about trying to have a relationship with him. She’d see what a lost cause he really was, and find herself another man who could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

  Amber looked like she was fighting down the need to vomit. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said tensely, and she turned back for the door.

  Which was exactly the direction he needed her to go, but somehow the sight of her leaving like that was like an axe through his chest. “Don’t go, kiddo,” he said. “Please. You can stay.”

  Amber’s face twisted into even more of a grimace. She glanced quickly between him and Ruby. “No thanks, Nick…I’m not interested in...that kind of thing.”

  “What?” Nick felt his face heat as he realized she thought he’d meant she should join him and Ruby in bed. Good Lord, he was actually blushing. He hadn’t blushed since he was maybe fifteen years old. He wouldn’t have thought he was still physiologically capable. “No—no, I didn’t mean….” But what else could she possibly have thought he meant, with the Sexiest Woman Alive stark naked on the mattress?

  Amber slipped out the door. She didn’t even slam it—like she didn’t have any business being angry, like nobody could expect better than this of Nick Turner, Infamous Man-Whore.

  It felt like hell.

  His body felt like it was deflating.

  But it was probably for the best that Amber thought the worst of this side of him. He just had to ride this awful feeling out, let her go back to thinking of him as an unscrupulous, unredeemable player, and then maybe, maybe she could put that morning in the meadow behind her, and everything between them would go back to something like the way it used to be.

  Or maybe Amber would hate him forever, no matter what.

  He tried to swallow, but his throat was a knot. Because if Amber cut him out of her life, the only worthwhile part of his own would be lost.

  Ruby sprang up off the bed now and wriggled back into her panties and jeans and shirt, with a speed only possible from somebody used to doing l
ightning-fast costume changes between songs at her concerts. “Sorry,” she said, scooping up her fur jacket from the floor. “Really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble for you.” She waved her hand between him and the general direction of Amber. “I didn’t realize you guys were.…”

  “What? No—we’re not. It’s not—”

  “It’s okay, I get it.” Ruby leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Complicated, right?” That jasmine scent of hers hit his nose like a slap. The scent seemed wrong. The only scent he wanted was one he’d smelled on the floor of that meadow yesterday.

  The wildflower coconut musky scent of Amber’s skin.

  Oh, shit, he was in deep trouble.

  And he probably wasn’t ever going to get close enough to Amber to smell that scent again.

  Chapter Three

  Amber’s head was pounding. The humiliation actually hurt.

  So this was what other women were always complaining about, while she listened in smug bafflement, never having done the “dating thing” because she’d had just the one serious boyfriend all her adult life.

  Men were scum.

  They were actually scum.

  Like green, slimy, stinky, primordial, one-celled, brainless scum.

  Even Nick, who was otherwise such a wonderful, smart, funny, sensitive guy.

  No. Especially Nick.

  She curled up into the tightest ball she could on her bed and pulled the army blanket up to her chin. She was supposed to be outside, meeting with the new key grip and gaffers she’d hired, and handling all the last minute details before main production started tomorrow. She was supposed to be spending time with Ruby Torres, getting to know her, building the bond of trust they were going to need for such an emotional shoot.

  Though, obviously, Nick was handling the “getting to know her” angle pretty damn thoroughly on his own.