by E V Darcy
He glanced around for Bert, his dog, but it was clear Juno hadn’t brought him back yet. She’d probably keep him for the night. He sighed.
‘It was the least I could do.’ He opened his drinks cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Bourbon as Marc continued to chat to him via the phone.
‘No, no, tell BB and Sophie I’m good.’
He needed some time to just be, especially after saying goodbye to Tanya. He hadn’t realised how big a part of his life she’d been until she was… Well, no longer part of it. He often turned around, expecting her to just be there, rolling her eyes, frowning at him, and telling him he was a dickhead—her personal endearment for him.
He wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled open the heavy glass doors that led to his large patio area. ‘No, I can’t do next week, they’ve got me filming in the week and there’s the audition on Saturday… Yeah, the Glynn West role… Don’t know why I’m bothering, you know they won’t cast me… Ha! Tell Ellie I’ll buy her an Aston if I do.’ He chuckled as he heard Ellie yell Deal! in the background. He liked her. She was good for his friend.
‘How about the week after? …Sounds good. You book the table… Okay, see you then.’
He hung up and threw the phone on the stone tabletop before sitting down heavily on a sun lounger. The sun had already set and the sky was turning purple, a low hazy line of light blue still tracing the edge of the world far off across the ocean. The salty smell of the water was carried on the light wind that ruffled his hair as he sat back and took in the view.
He swallowed a deep gulp of his preferred tipple and thought of nothing as he watched the waves crashing over one another, creating a white froth that washed up on the shoreline. He emptied his mind of everything, holding on to nothing from that afternoon, from the last seven weeks, from his week with—
He blinked.
He’d forbidden himself from thinking her name, remembering her voice, or reliving her touch. He’d not mentioned her once since he’d confessed to Marc what had happened between them, what Daniel had told him… and how she’d betrayed him and used him. He’d opened himself up to someone again and she’d lied to him.
But all that pain didn’t stop him dreaming of her, or waking up in the morning longing and aching to see her Irish eyes, or to bury his face in her untamed hair. Or hold her close to him—
Playboy flashed up on his phone as it vibrated across the table towards him, interrupting his unwanted thoughts.
Screw it.
He took one last pull on the bottle before picking up his phone and answered it. He hadn’t had any fun since the hotel, it was about time he started to live again.
Damn, she needed to pee so badly.
Frump-frump-frump.
The almost too-fast beat of a heart echoed in Paige’s ears as she stared at the black-and-white screen. It had taken the doctor several attempts of pointing it out, but Paige had finally found where the little blueberry was hiding among all the static stuff on the display. It didn’t look anything like what the website had shown her.
‘—She’s worried about its health after the conditions of conception,’ Deanna told the doctor, just as he moved the wand inside Paige and pressed up further on her bladder. Damn, if the man didn’t stop she was going to wet herself. He might be into that—the sadist—but she wasn’t. He pressed a couple of buttons here and there as he looked at the screen carefully.
‘The heart rate’s good, nice and strong. Development looks in line with the time you’ve suggested. Baby is positioned inside the womb.’ He paused as he pressed more buttons before a printer began whirling away. ‘I think Baby Hamilton is fine.’
He gently pulled the wand out from between her legs and the cold air rushed over her. The nurse pulled the blanket down to give her the illusion of modesty after such an ordeal, but still, Paige let out a sigh of relief.
Nope, shouldn’t have done that.
‘I gotta pee,’ she told them. ‘Like now.’
The nurse helped her to the bathroom off to one side of the examination room. Paige closed her eyes and practically purred in satisfaction as she sat on the toilet and emptied her bladder into the bowl. Oh, that felt good. But the moment was short lived. As soon as she no longer felt she was going to burst, she buried her head in her hands.
She was pregnant. Officially. Confirmed. Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars. What the fuck was she going to do? Casey didn’t want kids, had said so in plain and simple English. He’d fought other women vehemently to prove he wasn’t the father of their children—or was that just the story and he’d secretly paid them off so as not to spoil his carefree lifestyle?
And it was clear he had no interest in her beyond what they’d had, either. By the time she’d recovered from Daniel’s little bombshell that day, got Deanna on the phone and started up the divorce proceedings again—bastard had finally signed the damned the week earlier, still taking the apartment—Casey had already discharged himself from the hospital and headed back to LA with Marc and the other star’s entourage.
Paige had overheard one gorgeous-looking nurse bragging to the others on her shift that she’d got to the star before he left, and given him a physical he’d never forget.
She sighed. She didn’t hold it against him—even if she’d wanted to scratch the bitch’s eyes out. She had known before going into the Meet and Greet room that morning, all those weeks ago, exactly what Casey McManaman was like in that regard; she knew how he moved from one woman to another. Hell, he’d boasted about it to her. It had been one of the reasons why she hadn’t liked him.
She rested her elbows on her knee and cupped her chin in her hands. Of course, that was before she realised how funny he was, how much depth there was to him, and that the guy was amazing in the sack. And unlike other women who may be tempted to cry and wail, and call him all sorts, she understood they weren’t in a relationship. She didn’t really have any rights to be angry at the man; he’d made no promises for after their ordeal.
She just wished she’d managed to have him for a bit longer, been in his arms just once more, and kissed his lips goodbye. She wished she’d looked into those pale blue eyes and been able to thank him for caring for her, for looking after her while they’d been buried. Without him, she’d have gone mad, she was sure.
She shifted on the toilet seat as she stared at the door of the bathroom.
Regardless of her thoughts about the man, she was still the one who was pregnant, the one literally left holding the baby. She was the one whose body would change, would have her whole life altered around this new being she was bringing into the world. Could she do this all alone, especially with the big move in three days…?
She was about to head out to LA and start her dream job as The After Show host, a new chat show that would be appearing after each hit show on the Network—Titans, Greenville High, and their soon-to-be newest hit, Legacy. Now Destiny was off the air—permanently from what she’d read—the Network was really pushing their other shows to keep the audiences tuned in. She had already finished at Geek Chic—much to her bitch of an editor’s chagrin—and signed the contract with the Network… would this pregnancy change everything?
She was supposed to be flying out to LA in three days for an interview—on The Emma Janney Show!—about what she’d been through at the convention and her new role on The After Show. The Network was supplementing her two months in a hotel while she looked for somewhere to live and got her bearings before filming began at the end of the month.
‘Paige?’ Deanna’s voice called through the door as she tapped on it. ‘Are you okay?’
‘No,’ she muttered to herself, before calling out the opposite to her friend. ‘I’ll be right out.’
She was going to have to call the Network and explain to them the situation. Perhaps they wouldn’t want her now? A lump formed in her throat at the thought. It was her dream job, she didn’t want to have to give it up—willingly or not.
She trundled out of the restroom and gathered her things behind the curtain that had been pulled around for her privacy. As she dressed again, her phone fell out of her pocket.
Damn, she’d break the thing before she learnt how to use it properly. It was completely different to her last and she wished she knew where the damned thing had ended up. Except she did know. It was under the rubble they were still carefully picking through. They were still finding bodies, all these weeks later… It was a stupid thing to begrudge losing the phone, but she’d wanted the photo’s they’d taken that day.
Paige sighed as she leaned down to grab the new, smaller device, but froze as she picked it up. Her thumb had accidentally swiped the screen and unlocked it, revealing her entertainment news app, and a picture of Casey. The top story of the day was that Casey McManaman was back to his old antics…
There was a picture of him with a gorgeous, tall woman in his arms. She was blonde, busty and dressed in a tiny, gold bikini. He’d been at the Playboy Mansion for a party and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the press. In all the photos, he was smiling and laughing, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Well he didn’t, did he? He wasn’t the one with a blueberry-alien growing inside him… Paige narrowed her eyes at the screen, feeling a surge of determination run through her. She was going to LA and was going to be a-fucking-mazing at her new job and being a mother.
All on her own.
12
Casey stood in the shower, his hand furiously working his uninterested cock. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, thinking of Paige, of her hands sliding over his chest, down his stomach as she dropped to her knees in front of him, ready to worship him the way only she could. Her red hair plastered to her head as she took his length into her mouth.
He groaned as his cock grew hard in his hand, filling out to finally show that he could still get an erection, regardless of what the last few nights had resulted in.
He imagined his hands sliding into her wet locks, holding her head and guiding her to the speed he wanted, feeling her tongue sliding over the head as she pulled back, before slipping down his cock as she took him again. Fuck, she’d been amazing at this, always ensuring she took every last drop he had to offer when he couldn’t hold back any more.
He thrust faster into his hand at the thought of her demanding he come, to give her what she wanted. The idea of his come filling her warm mouth, of it seeping out of the edges as she tried to swallow it all as quickly as she could, pushed him over the edge. He groaned loudly as he spurted his load over his fingers, as his other hand reached out to grab the wall as his knees shook with his orgasm—the first in almost two months.
He dropped his head back at that thought. He’d just been out three nights in a row this week, at various parties where gorgeous women had literally thrown themselves into his arms, begging him to take them to a bed, a toilet, behind a pillar—to have him fuck them until they were a screaming mess.
And for three nights in a row, he’d come home unsatisfied, mortified, and pissed off. He hadn’t been able to get it up; the one time he had—with a lovely little redhead—the moment she’d turned her big brown eyes up on him, his erection had disappeared faster than an ice cream sundae in front of a recently-dumped woman.
And it was all her fault, the little vixen who’d made him come so hard, during those days locked away, that his toes had curled and he’d almost cried on one occasion. He’d never had sex like he’d experienced with Paige, and it seemed his body only wanted to know her again, only wanted what she could offer, not some poor imitation of it.
But Paige hadn’t wanted him. She’d gone back to her prick of a husband—if she had ever really left him—and disappeared without so much as a goodbye. She hadn’t tried to get in touch, hadn’t reached out on social media—he’d tracked her down—or via his management company. He’d asked them too. He hung his head under the hot spray of the shower, realising he was well and truly fucked.
And not in the fun way.
Casey groaned as he pressed the button to switch his television from the show he wasn’t really watching to the camera at the front gate. His agent’s face scowled up at him, and Casey swore the man could see him through the TV set.
‘Open up, McManaman,’ Mack, his agent, growled into the intercom’s microphone. ‘I know you’re home. Your ass won’t move until the little fame hunters call you to their parties later.’
Casey dropped his head to his chest with a defeated sigh, before reaching over Bert who had cuddled in close next to him. He pressed the button to open the electronic gates guarding what was supposed to be his sanctuary.
‘And you’d better be ready!’ his agent called into the intercom before disappearing from view as he drove up the driveway.
Casey frowned. What the hell did that mean?
He put his bookmark in his place and rested the book he was reading. Bert whined as Casey stood up and hitched his sweatpants up higher. He leaned down and petted his beloved companion on the head before he headed towards the front door to great his guest.
‘Mack,’ Casey greeted the older man with a smile as he rolled out of his car door. The guy was an old-fashioned agent; he smoked fat cigars, drove a huge-ass car that was single-handedly destroying the planet, and argued and bartered like he was the devil trying to get your soul. The last part was why Casey loved him so much. The man had managed to get him some killer pay cheques for even the tiniest roles.
‘To what do I—’ The words caught in Casey’s mouth as he watched another man climb out of the passenger side of Mack’s car. The stranger was easily six foot five and built like an American football player ready to take to the field but without the need for the padding. Casey frowned as Arnold Schwarzenegger mark two stepped around the front of the car that Mack had parked haphazardly right in the middle of his drive.
‘Casey, Julian,’ Mack offered as a means of introduction as he waddled his way up the steps of the house. Casey stepped back to allow his agent entrance to his home, unable to take his eyes off the stacked man—he’d seen bigger men, but they weren’t all muscles, most were just fat. How the hell did someone get muscles like that? It was as if his muscles had muscles! Even Frank—rest his soul—hadn’t been as large as this guy!
When the giant strode up the steps, Casey automatically shrank back, not wanting to give Julian any reason to even look at him longer than a second. However, the beast had other ideas; he merely stood on the top step and peered down at him.
‘Umm, nice to meet you,’ Casey offered. ‘You’re a friend of Mack?’
The man remained silent and blinked at Casey, his arms in front of him, one hand clasped over the other wrist. Casey gave him another, closer glance and thought he saw an outline of a holster beneath his perfectly-fitted jacket. What the hell was Mack playing at with this clown?
‘You want to come inside?’ he asked carefully. Julian merely held out his hand in an after you gesture. Casey sighed and stepped into his own house, towards where he knew Mack would head—the patio—glancing back over his shoulder to watch Julian step inside and close the door. The man stayed there until Casey had to disappear from his view.
‘Casey get your damned dog off me!’ Mack demanded as Bert jumped at his legs. The British Bulldog was approaching nine years old now, ancient for the breed, and he was far from energetic, but every time Mack came here Bert acted like a puppy again, stubby tail wagging, tongue out, little snorts of excitement from his snuffly nose. Casey had no idea why his pooch loved the grouchy man so much; he’d never shown the pup a sliver of anything other than disdain.
‘Bert!’ Casey said as he took a seat on one of the loungers, putting him almost eye-level with his small, rotund agent. He leaned down and picked the fifty-pound dog from the floor to prop him up next to him, away from his agent. Bert whimpered in disappointment, but lay his head down on his master’s lap as Casey stroked it. ‘Mack, who the hell is the Jolly Green Giant back there?’
�
�How long have I rep’ed you, Casey?’ the man asked, pulling out his cigar—at least he respected Casey’s no smoking in the house rule—and lighting it. ‘Twenty years, Case, twenty freakin’ years, and I still don’t get half the things you say—you’d think you’d know that by now. But,’—he took a long draw on the thick brown stogie—‘if you’re talking about Julian, he’s your new protection guy. You’ve been a fool going out to all these places lately without someone in tow. Do you know how much you’re worth right now?’
‘Mack, Tanya was—’
‘A gem, one of the best, I know; we were all devastated to hear that she took one for the team, but that’s what they’re paid for. Julian’s fantastic, you’ll love him.’ Casey shook his head and glanced back towards the house where Julian was hiding. The twitch of the cotton curtains in his bedroom had him standing up immediately. Bert growled.
‘Is he in my—’
‘He’s doing a sweep,’ Mack told him, flicking his ash over the side of the patio. ‘He needs to get to know the place.’
‘Why? Tanya never—’
‘You were never as lucrative as you are now,’ Mack said with a pointed look. ‘I managed to negotiate with the Network an extra twenty-five percent on top of what they offered for the transfer of your contract to Legacy. You’—he pointed his cigar at his new favourite star—‘are playing with the big boys now. That hotel falling on you was your ticket to the big leagues!’
‘Twenty-five percent?’ he asked, gobsmacked. He’d thought their original offer was generous, but Mack had outdone himself on this one.
‘Yep, kid, you’re going places after this. Finally!’
Casey sat back down, absently petting his dog as he calculated his new wage. He’d bet his arse he was running with the likes of Marc and Luc going into this one. Being a tied lead for this show had already taken him up a pay grade, but now he was in the super leagues.