Fuck, he was close. Too close.
He knocked her hands clear and wrapped his arms around her, sitting up and rolling forward, bending his legs under them and putting her down on the bed. He wasn’t sure he could do that move again without plotting it out first, but it worked, and she hit her peak as she landed on the bed and he drove his cock deep.
“God! God! God!” She called out that one-word prayer every time he thrust into her, and then he went, too, burying his head in the crook of her neck, his body straining toward the end of the release.
When it was over, he muttered, “Fuck!” and relaxed on her a little, careful to keep most of his weight on his arms.
She looped her arms over his shoulders and combed her fingers through his hair. “Yep. You are really, really good at that.” Her sigh was positively feline.
His head still tucked against her neck, he smiled. Then, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder, he lifted off her and slid out, pulling off the condom and tying it off before he tossed it toward the wastebasket. He missed. He needed to move that thing closer to his bed.
Riley sat up and looked around, her arms over her chest, and Bart could tell that she’d gone shy again.
“I guess you should take me back to the hotel now.”
When he was done with the club girls, he wanted them out, and they knew they weren’t invited to stay. He didn’t mean anything personal by it, it was just that they weren’t people he was trying to get close to.
This was different. He was a little hurt that Riley wanted to go. If, in fact, she did want to go. Reaching out and wrapping his hand around her wrist, where it lay against her shoulder, he pulled her arm free of her chest. “I’ll take you back if you want to go. Is that what you want?”
“What do you want?”
Oh, yeah. Games. Nobody ever taking a risk or saying what they mean, everybody always feeling each other out, reading between lines, analyzing everything. What a pain in the ass. Another reason he’d stuck with the club girls. “No games, Riley. I’d like you to stay.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you. I’d like to sleep a little and then do that again.”
“I’m leaving in a week—two, max. This can’t be anything.”
He shrugged. He’d never thought it could be. But she was pretty, she was nice, she was an excellent fuck, and she had a little spitfire in there somewhere. “So it can be a week or two of fun. Sounds like a good time to me.”
She didn’t say anything, but he felt her relax, and she didn’t object when he pulled her close, bringing her back up to the head of the bed and tucking her against his chest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Riley was smiling as she woke, at peace and fulfilled, the body wrapped around hers making her warm and safe. Devon. She sighed and snuggled in, feeling no rush to open her eyes. Then his coarse hand moved over her hip and he hummed a sigh, the sound a low rumble in his chiseled chest, against her ear.
Coarse hand? Low rumble? Chiseled chest? Not Devon. She woke fully, a flash of fresh grief making her momentarily disoriented as her brain caught up with time. Sitting up with a gasp, she looked around, forcing her mind to put everything back in order. She grabbed the cover and tucked it around her chest.
“Riley? Y’okay?” Bart had one arm under his head. He looked like he’d been awake a while.
Wrestling with a sadness she hadn’t felt so acutely in weeks, maybe months, she pulled herself together and smiled. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He lifted his hand—the one that had been resting on her hip when she woke—and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. A cool, damp streak marked the path. A tear.
“You sure?”
“I’m okay. Just…dreaming.”
She couldn’t decide how she felt about anything; this renewed Devon pain demanded too much attention. But Bart’s brow was creased with concern.
“Can I get you something? Coffee?”
He was sweet. And gorgeous. She was in bed with a sweet, gorgeous man who had been wonderful to her so far. She needed to get up over herself and stop boohooing over the fucking junkie who hadn’t loved her enough to even try to stay clean. Or alive.
The harshness of that thought stunned her, and she put her hand to her mouth. She’d never thought anything so mean about Dev before. He’d been sick; she knew that. It wasn’t about whether he loved her or whether he wanted to be healthy. He hadn’t had a choice.
Or maybe that was what the counselors called enabling, and it was her fault he hadn’t been stronger. She’d made too much room for his addictions.
God. God! Why was she fighting all these feelings right now, nine months since Devon’s death, sitting naked in another man’s bed?
Apparently taking her silence as a sign that she was uncomfortable or regretful or something—which was as true as it was false—Bart tossed the cover back and turned to get out of bed. Riley’s first clear thought about the moment she was actually in was that she didn’t want him to get up. She leaned over and grabbed his arm.
“Wait. Don’t go.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s okay. I can get you coffee, or take you back to the B&B, or both—whatever you want.”
“I want to stay here awhile longer. With you.”
He didn’t look convinced, so she turned and settled herself on the pillows, letting the cover drop to her waist. He considered her for a couple of seconds, not moving; then he smiled and came back to her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her under him.
“Good. Because I want another taste.”
It wasn’t long before she wasn’t thinking about Devon at all.
~oOo~
Later, when the sun was bright in the room, Riley was cushioned again on Bart’s chest, feeling pleasantly weary and a little sore. He was running his fingers through her hair, and she was running her fingers over his chest, exploring the lines and ridges of muscle. He had a roundish, ragged scar high on his chest, near his right shoulder, and she traced its edge with her index finger.
“What happened here?”
His hand stopped moving through her hair. “Shot.”
Surprised, she raised up on her elbow and looked down at him. “Like, gun shot?”
He nodded. “Yeah. That day. The shootout, or whatever people call it. Why you’re here.”
“I didn’t know you’d been shot.”
“It’s in the script.”
She blushed. She got a lot of scripts, and she didn’t have a lot of time. “I haven’t really read the whole thing yet. I read the Lilli parts, and kinda skimmed the rest. Lilli’s not in the shootout. ”
He sat up and pushed her away a little, looking somber. “No. That’s when Ellis had her.”
“Right. That…that must have been terrible. I’m worried about playing that scene.” That was true. But she held back the rest of the truth, which was that she was excited to play it. It was a really meaty scene. Lilli had been taken and tortured, and she’d kicked the hell out of the men who had her. It would be the best action scene Riley had ever played. She loved playing action.
The odd look on Bart’s face gave her pause, though. Like he knew something she didn’t, or like he was waiting for her to piss him off.
“You have no idea. It was so much worse than you even know.”
It was quite apparent that talking about that day or the script was troublesome, and Riley didn’t want to tramp around in more troublesome territory with him this morning. She wanted to keep things light, have a little restorative fling with him, take this week or two and feel good. Have fun when she could. Here, nobody cared who she was. For the first time in years she could stop thinking all the time about how people perceived her, and she could just relax and be.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to end up talking about hard stuff.”
He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s okay. It’s getting late, though. We should get you back before Lilli gets there.”
Oh, shit. Lilli was su
pposed to pick her up. They hadn’t really set a time, just ‘morning.’ Riley looked for a way to tell the time and found a digital clock on the dresser next to Bart’s bed. Nearly nine.
“Is Lilli a morning person?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Early riser. We should hit the gas.”
~oOo~
Lilli wasn’t there when Bart got Riley back to the B&B. Shannon wasn’t there, either. There was another woman, plump, with short brown hair, behind the desk. When Riley came in, the woman smiled broadly.
“Miss Chase! I’m Vicki, the assistant manager. If there’s anything you need, let me know.” Vicki was the first person in Signal Bend to possibly be acting a little starstruck.
“Well, I’m starving. Is there still any breakfast?”
A look of real distress passed over Vicki’s round face. “Well, we stop serving at nine, but I know you have a special diet. I’m sure I can ask Beth—”
“—No, no. I don’t want her to go to trouble. Is there maybe a muffin or something left over?” Trevor could shove that special diet straight up his perky gay ass. Riley had made some decisions. This was a working vacation. She was going to fling—sex, food, all of it. So what if she had to work out for four hours a day instead of two for a few weeks? Fine and dandy.
Vicki’s broad smile was back, with a new sprinkling of relief. “Oh, yes. There’s a plate in the kitchen. I can bring it out—and a coffee, too?”
“Yes, please. Two sugars. Thank you!”
“Absolutely a delight, Miss Chase. Truly.”
“It’s Riley, Vicki. And you’ve made my morning.” Vicki went through a swinging door near the front desk, and Riley took a seat on one of the sofas in the front room. She was going to have to inhale that muffin, so she could get upstairs and shower. Her clothes, in addition to being more than twenty-four hours stale, reeked of pot and cigarettes and whatever else that clubhouse smelled like. There was a little bit of Bart mixed in there, too—that smell she liked.
He’d ridden her over on his big, black bike. She’d asked him what it was—a Harley Night Rod. Very sexy. Sleeker than a lot of the other bikes on the Horde lot. It didn’t have much of a seat for her, though, so she’d had to hold him tight—not that she’d minded. She’d been on a bike before, so she knew what to do. It was fun. After a few minutes, he’d sped up and started to take turns a little harder, as if he’d become satisfied that she knew how to keep her seat.
When they got to the hotel, he hadn’t gotten off with her, just pulled up and waited for her to swing off and hand him his helmet, which he’d then strapped onto his own head. Disappointed, she’d started to turn toward the hotel without saying anything, but he’d caught her hand before she could.
“See you again?” He’d asked. Her first impulse was to be flip and say it was a tiny town, of course he’d see her, but then she decided to answer the question he was really asking.
“Tonight? Take me to dinner?”
“You bet.” Then she’d stepped back, and he’d left.
Vicki came out with a small plate of baked goods and a cup on a saucer. Riley stood and met her at the front desk. Feeling like a rebel, she took the coffee and selected what looked to be a blueberry muffin.
“Can I take this up to my room?”
“Of course! Oh, and you have several messages.” She handed her a small stack of pink paper. Riley saw her mother’s name and then folded them up. “Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”
“No, thanks. Well—Lilli is supposed to be picking me up. Just call me when she gets here?”
“Oh, yes. She was here a couple of hours ago. She said she’d check back in around ten.”
That gave Riley about twenty minutes to get showered and dressed. If she could manage that, it would be a personal best.
“Okay, thanks!” She took her muffin and coffee and hoofed it up the stairs.
Pru barged through the door of their shared bathroom about ten seconds after Riley had gotten into her room and closed the door.
“Riley! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling! Eleanor has been calling for ages. I think you broke her.”
Riley had never turned her phone on after they’d landed. She hadn’t quite forgotten, she just found something else to think about every time her phone tried to worm its way into her thoughts. Setting the coffee and muffin down, she said, “I guess I forgot to turn my phone on. I’ll call her later. I’m in a hurry now.”
“We have to talk, Ri. There’s something happening. I think you should sit down.”
Riley had a protest queued up—she didn’t want to keep Lilli waiting—but Pru’s serious expression as much as her words shut her up and sat her down.
“What happened? Is somebody hurt?”
Pru took a breath, held it for a second, as if she were having second thoughts, and then let it out. “Let me get my laptop. It’ll go faster if you see it.” She went through the bathroom into her room and came back in a few seconds with her Mac, already open. “Before I show you this, I want you to be calm, okay? There’s nothing you can do now to fix anything, but you could make things a lot worse.
“God, Pru, you’re freaking me out. What? Show me!”
Pru sat her Mac on Riley’s lap. On the screen was the image of the cover of one of the biggest, nastiest gossip rags. They’d been disgusting after Devon’s overdose, hounding her for months, waiting for her to do something they could turn into a scandal. She’d done nothing. She’d been alone since. Not even a dinner date. Until last night.
Dominating the cover was a photo of a ghostly thin young woman with heavy eyeliner and straight, deep black hair, sitting in a hospital bed, holding a little bundle of baby. Inset with that cover was a paparazzi shot of Devon, after a gig, looking badly strung out. Immediately under that inset was another paparazzi shot of Riley and Devon on a red carpet—from the dress she was wearing, Riley knew it was the last Emmy awards before he died, when Hades High had won a writing award.
The headline read: LAUGHING WARRIOR LOVE CHILD—Former Addict Chrysta Ewing Says LW Frontman Devon Gaines Fathered Her Child Before His Tragic Death! In small font at the bottom of the photo of her and Devon: Riley Chase Devastated, In Seclusion!
Riley’s head went suddenly, utterly, entirely silent, as if it were packed with cotton. She let go of the Mac, and Pru dove to catch it as it slid off her lap.
“Ri? Riley! You have to keep it together. It’s probably some nobody whore looking for a payday. Devon wouldn’t—”
Riley cleared her head angrily and cut Pru off. “—He totally would, and you know it. I don’t even have to read the tripe on the inside to know the truth. Not that there’d be truth in there. She was at rehab with him. Probably in group or something. He probably thought he’d found some kindred spirit or something. Hell, maybe he had. It’s true. You know it’s true. Or true enough. God, I’m such a fool.”
“Riley, no…”
But Riley had moved on from that. Thinking about Devon screwing some pathetic little addict was too big and horrifying to deal with, so she set it aside and let a more immediate horror take hold. “They’re going to come here, aren’t they? They’re all going to come here and hound me and wait for me to be broken. Oh, God!”
Pru sat next to her on the edge of the bed. “No. No. I talked to Stan, and I talked to Denise, and I talked to your mom. They are all on it. Nobody knows you’re here, and nobody’s telling.” Stan was the producer of this film. Denise was Riley’s agent. Her mom was her manager. With Pru and Trevor, they made up the team currently running the RILEY CHASE Machine.
“Every airline agent and flight attendant we came into contact with yesterday knows where we were headed.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Ri. That’s my job. And Denise’s. We are on it.”
“God. God. I can’t—God. How can he keep hurting me? He’s dead.”
“He loved you, Ri. He loved you so much.”
Riley thought about the nearly two years she’d
spent with Dev. They’d met at a party for a mutual friend’s birthday. She knew who he was; she was a fan. He knew who she was; he was not. Toward the end of the evening, when Riley had escaped to a balcony on the second floor, she’d found him sitting in the corner, on the floor, smoking a joint. He’d said not a word, just lifted the joint in her direction. Always aware of her public persona, she didn’t smoke, and she certainly didn’t take something that was just handed to her. So she’d shaken her head and turned to go back into the party. He’d said, “Don’t go, lovely Desdemona. I’ll put out the light and then put out the light.” Then he’d stubbed out the joint.
He’d called her by her character’s name, and he’d earlier made clear that he didn’t have a lot of respect for the show. But she’d been charmed by the Shakespeare. She’d stayed and sat next to him. He’d been serious and sweet and beautifully awkward. They’d talked until the sky was grey with dawn, then had gone out to a Denny’s way out in the Valley for breakfast. They’d slept together a couple of nights later, and from that point they were serious.
They’d been together a bit longer than six months before she’d truly understood the depths of his drug use. Right around when he went into rehab for the first time.
She wondered if he’d found a fuck buddy then, too. And the second time. His last time in rehab, when he’d apparently met the inestimable Chrysta Ewing, had been his third time in just more than a year.
“He didn’t. Not like I loved him. He loved his high better. He was sad and weak. And I was a fool.”
“Ri…”
The room phone rang next to her bed. Pru walked over, pausing at Riley’s side to squeeze her shoulder, and answered it. “Hello?…okay, thanks.” She hung up. “Lilli is here. I’ll go down and tell her today isn’t a good day. You should stay in, get some sleep.”
Alone on Earth Page 8