by Shayla Black
Cutter paused, grip on the doorknob. His self-control was shaky, and if he turned to her now, chances were high that he’d fuck up and kiss her. Once he did, he would do or say anything to strip her clothes off and tear down the walls she’d built since this morning simply for the chance to touch her again—fuck the consequences. It would feel great now. Sublime. There was nothing in this world he wanted more than Shealyn West. But tomorrow, he’d only have to face the inescapable reality that he’d fallen hard for one woman when he was supposed to marry another.
That would be bad news because he knew himself too well. When he formed bonds, they lasted. He never stopped caring about the people who were important to him. So Cutter didn’t doubt that if he let himself get tangled up in Shealyn any more, he’d love her for the rest of his life.
He also hated the thought of causing her a moment’s regret.
Sure, he could tell her that he was getting married to a friend and ask if they could enjoy their remaining time together. What would that change? Absolutely nothing. It would make him feel better, but at what cost? He didn’t want to deceive Shealyn, but how the hell could he assure her that he didn’t love Brea, whom he’d known for decades, while convincing her that, despite meeting days ago, she held his heart? Fat chance. She might mistake him for a liar and a player, and the trust he needed her to have in him so he could keep her safe would be gone.
Besides, he was probably a passing fad for her. In time, she’d find someone else to share her glamorous public life with. He’d become a vague memory. Why burden her with his personal shit when none of it would matter to her in the long run?
“Don’t give my feelings a second thought. And don’t apologize.” He forced himself to step back. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
* * *
—
The afternoon dragged on. Tower used every scene as an opportunity to put his hands on Shealyn—gazes intensifying, kisses lingering, hands wandering. She wished like hell he would stop. She couldn’t make him forget Norah. If sex with Nicole couldn’t distract him, Shealyn doubted celibacy with her would help, either. She didn’t want his ardor, especially when the only reason he convinced himself he felt it was desperation. He was supposed to be her friend, so why was he using her? And why didn’t he see it?
Through it all, Cutter stood on set watchfully, bulging arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw clenched, his eyes a dark blaze as he stared Tower down and silently asked Shealyn if she needed him.
If she wasn’t careful, that man would steal her heart.
Already, she was wondering what she’d do once he’d returned to Louisiana. He might be gone forever in three short days. This morning, she’d feared his absence would make her life feel so empty. But with every hour that passed and they didn’t share even a smile, their self-imposed separation gouged her chest with a sharp pang. The agony felt far more like a curse. Emptiness now would be a blessing.
Damn it all, this day had to end. She needed to go home and drown her troubles in merlot. But no. Life had other plans, and the time to pay for her stupid vulnerability during that one ill-fated encounter with Foster Holt had come.
Once Cutter had left her alone in her trailer a few hours ago, she’d called Sienna and told her PR rep to ready a statement. It would hit tabloids at exactly five P.M.—too late for the printed rags to chew on until the following edition. TMZ and Perez Hilton would skewer her all weekend long. She’d have to avoid Twitter and Facebook for a spell.
The show’s fans would be most upset, and she hated disappointing them. But the thing she dreaded most was breaking the news to Tower . . . His recent behavior aside, she hated letting a friend down.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes until four.
The clapboard snapped, startling her from her thoughts. Thankfully, she had someone’s problems other than her own to focus on. Annabelle’s life was in shambles.
“You can’t walk out on me, darlin’.” Tower seethed his line, chest rising and falling with furious breaths.
“I can. And I will. I’d rather have a broken heart than broken dreams. Don’t you come near me again, Dylan.”
The season finale would end with the romantic fate of everyone’s favorite couple in jeopardy, and Shealyn was so relieved this was the last scene they had to film before the break.
Gearing up for his next line, he grabbed her arm and hovered over her lips like he intended to kiss her, fitting her too close against his body. Yep, there was his erection once more. “If you let me, I’ll make you whole.” When Shealyn opened her mouth to speak her answering line, Tower went off script. “If you let me, I’ll love you always.”
“Cut!” Tom shouted.
A collective sigh filled the sound stage. Everyone was grouchy and tired and ready for a break. No one had patience for Tower trying to insert his own dialogue.
Shealyn simply blinked. Tower had used Dylan to say the words, but the actor—not the character—had conveyed them. What was she going to do? Say? Worse, even though the scene was over, he hadn’t released her.
She wriggled from his embrace with a hiss. “Let go.”
Grumbling, he did, then turned to Tom, who had just jumped out of his chair. “What’s the problem? I thought the line was a good addition.”
“I didn’t ask you to improv.” The director crossed the room in ground-eating steps. “What is going on with you? Both of you? Tower, you’ve been overzealous all day. Dial it back, buddy. You’re veering into obsessive and creepy. And Shealyn, you haven’t been mentally here at all. Care to explain?”
She was going to have to tell Tom about her statement, too. This news would affect him and the show, after all. He was good at damage control, and if she gave him some time to prepare, he could issue a statement quickly, then go radio silent for the rest of the weekend to enjoy Emma’s birthday.
“Can I have a word with both you and Tower?” Shealyn glanced around the set at the peripheral staff. “Alone?”
Tom and Tower frowned at each other. Then the director shooed everyone off the set and closed the doors to all—except Cutter. He insisted on staying, and even if he wasn’t going to be with her forever, she took strength from his nearness.
“What’s on your mind?” Tom barked.
“In about an hour, I’ll be issuing an official statement that I was unfaithful to Tower. I’ll be deeply apologizing for my behavior to my boyfriend and our fans, while asking for privacy so we can work on our relationship.”
“What?” Tower snapped. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Tom held up a hand to shut him up. “This rocks the foundation of the whole show. You’d better have a good explanation.”
Shealyn bit her lip. She owed her boss an answer, yes. But she owed Tower much more. They’d built a brand together, and whatever their personal struggles now, she had let him down.
“There’s a video of—”
Someone pounded on the door before she finished her sentence. With a curse, Tom wrenched it open and glared at his new assistant, Leticia, who ran in sending Shealyn a wide-eyed, gaping stare.
Hell’s bells. The video was out.
Shealyn closed her eyes. How had that son of a gun beat her to making a public statement by an hour?
“What, Leticia? Spit it out,” Tom demanded of the young woman.
“Oh, my god. This is all over the Internet.” Leticia clutched her phone, hand shaking. “This video was released to the press a few minutes ago. TMZ broke the story. The others weren’t far behind. It’s already going viral and—”
“Let me see,” Tower demanded, grabbing the mobile from her grasp.
Stomach sinking with dread, Shealyn leaned over to find out how much of her encounter with Foster was, even now, burning up social media everywhere. Nothing about that encounter in the dressing room made her proud, and she could only hope for Magg
ie’s and her grandparents’ sakes that the most salacious bits had been sliced out before making it to the public eye.
The headline above the video read SHEALYN WEST—GOOD GIRL IN PUBLIC, CHEATING SLUT IN PRIVATE. WHO’S THE LUCKY DICK?
But when she glanced at the small screen, it wasn’t her quickie with Foster that filled her gaze. It was a snippet of her desperate escape from the baseball diamond with Cutter two short days ago. They were at the bottom of the hill, cars parked in tandem. His big hand cupped her face as she stared up at him. The lighting in the shot was shadowy but a nearby streetlamp had illuminated her face well enough to reveal the earnest desire in her eyes. There was no sound in the clip, thank goodness, and her lips were blocked by the back of Cutter’s shoulder, so no one could make out her words. But no one would misunderstand what was happening when he backed her against her Audi and covered her lips with his. She curled her arms around his neck and melted against him in breathless passion.
The press wouldn’t be able to identify him simply from this shot, but how long before they dug and intruded their way into her personal life, asked the right person whom she might be kissing, and blasted his name to the world?
Foreboding slashed a clammy chill through her. Shealyn turned to him, an apology on the tip of her tongue. She’d never, ever meant to drag him into more than the protection angle of this mess. She’d certainly never intended to make him the subject of public speculation. He was a quiet man who valued his privacy and his anonymous life in Louisiana. If she didn’t work hard and fast, that would be over.
Swaying on her feet as the enormity of the problem threatened her equilibrium, she reached for something to steady herself. Cutter was suddenly right in front of her, holding on with both hands to keep her upright.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I’m really so sorry . . .” She clutched his fingers tight.
“Well, I guess that solves the mystery of who the man in the video is,” Tom drawled, then he turned to his assistant. “Leticia, get out.”
“But that’s my phone you’re—”
“We’ll return it in a minute. And you’re still bound by a non-disclosure. If you breathe a word of this, you’re fired. And not to be cliché, but you’ll never work in this town again.”
Bobbing her head in blind agreement, the five-foot-nothing assistant slunk out on her slender heels and shut the door behind her.
Tower let out a grumbling sigh. “Fuck. Of all the shit I didn’t need this week . . .”
After Norah and her pregnancy news on Monday? Of course. He really hadn’t.
Shealyn winced. “I can only say how sorry I am.”
“Why did you do it?” Tom asked, bewildered. “Your offscreen relationship with Tower was great for the show. You’re still under contract through next year, so even if you two become exes, you can’t refuse to work with each other. But you guys had a good thing—”
“The relationship was a lie.” Tower sounded bitter about that, as if the longer he stared at her clandestine kiss with Cutter on the little device, the more he realized that she wasn’t going to give him a romantic try. “It always was.”
“Seriously?” Tom mused. “I just thought you two didn’t do PDA at work or wanted to keep your private lives separate. Wow, you were damn convincing. Bravo.”
“We’re actors,” Tower pointed out, then glanced at Leticia’s phone again.
She and Cutter were still kissing in the video. Shealyn cringed at the obvious sparks between them—sparks she and her co-star had never quite managed on TV.
Cutter was watching, too. “Shut that damn thing off.”
“Not looking at the video isn’t going to make it go away.” Still, Tower killed the device and raked a beefy hand through his hair, turning to Shealyn. “So your statement forty-five minutes from now will apologize for almost fucking him in some park, huh?”
She’d had Sienna write the brief apology in reference to the Foster indiscretion. Thankfully, she hadn’t used names or details or said anything that would tip off the press that she’d been trying to atone for a totally different sin.
“Her statement will publicly express regret for her actions that night.” Cutter dragged her closer, as if protecting her from Tower’s anger.
Cutter’s embrace felt like a haven. She laid her head against his chest and let the beat of his heart under her ear soothe her. Foster had been a mistake, one she deeply regretted. But she wasn’t sorry for any passion she’d shared with Cutter. What terrible crime had she really committed, except falling for someone her heart had never seen coming?
“No, my forthcoming statement was meant to cover a quickie I had months ago that was caught on video with someone who’s no longer in my life.” She regarded Tower and Tom, who both looked equally stunned. And it was such a relief to get that off her chest. “Until now, I didn’t realize that any of my private moments with Cutter had been captured. My press release should cover this, too. But make no mistake, I’m not apologizing for him.”
Tom looked annoyed. “What about the show? The fan base lives and dies by the Shealyn/Tower–Annabelle/Dylan romance.”
Tower looked downright worried. “He’s right. And what about my career?”
They both had valid points she’d considered again and again. But she didn’t have an answer. And she couldn’t change her heart.
“Well, I think it’s obvious what needs to happen,” Tom maintained. “You need to continue faking your relationship, at least until the season finale airs. Then if you want to say you separated over the summer, that will mirror the cliffhanger of the show. Then you can spend August and early September flirting with an on-again, off-again thing. We can powwow before the fall premiere so we’re on the same page to pretend you two are getting back together in a big way. Maybe you should even fake an engagement. That would really up the stakes.”
A bob of Tower’s head told Shealyn that Tower was considering the idea. Personally, she hated it. But she also understood its wisdom if she wanted to save the show and their careers. Why couldn’t life in L.A. be anywhere near as simple as it had been in Comfort? She despised feeling so trapped.
Cutter, on the other hand, looked ready to throttle Tom for the suggestion. “Shealyn has had enough for today. She’s distraught, and no good decisions are going to come from forcing one on her right now.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Tom demanded. “No one asked your opinion, bodyguard. She made this mess—obviously with your help—so she can clean it up.” Then the director turned to her. “Go out with Tower this weekend and look cozy, like you’ve kissed and made up. That will go a long way to repairing the situation.”
“No.” Cutter wasn’t having it.
“Yes,” Tom insisted. “My show. My star. Don’t be stupid here. You should want her to give you a little shade. If the press figures out who you are, they’ll dissect your life in public. So—”
“I don’t care,” Cutter insisted. “The only thing they’ll find out is that my daddy was a drunk who ran out on us when I was a kid and I have an exemplary service record, a classified number of kills, and an honorable discharge. So they can go fuck themselves. Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Shealyn loved that he wanted to protect her . . . but she couldn’t let him do it at his own expense. “He’s right, Cutter. Tower and I should be seen together this weekend. The last show before the fall hiatus airs next week. We can’t afford to break our image too much now. If the viewership thinks Tower has forgiven me, they probably will, too. So he and I will have dinner tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll drop hints that you were a plant to make my boyfriend jealous. On Sunday, I’ll Tweet that we’re happier than ever. If I seemingly cut you loose, they’ll leave you alone.”
“Don’t do that on my account. I really don’t care what the press says about me.”
She looked at him in surprise. He had
no idea what the public could do to his private life. It only served to underscore their differences even more.
Why did this man have to be so wrong for her when he felt so perfectly right?
“You should,” she said softly. “And if you’d ever had the paparazzi shred you, like I have, you would. They’re beyond vicious. If you don’t care about yourself, think about your mom, your brother, and anyone else in your life. This will reach them. Their secrets could be exposed, too.”
Suddenly, Cutter stiffened. He released her, clenching his fists, looking furious and stricken and horribly resigned.
Clearly he had someone to protect, and Shealyn felt terrible and torn, as if she’d ruined his life. If she could go back in time, she’d address her mistake with Foster head on, rather than hire Cutter simply to help her pay off a blackmailer. She would fess up to Tower. She wouldn’t hide in the shadows. She wouldn’t let fear, shame, and public opinion rule her decisions.
But if she’d done that, she would never have met Cutter at all.
She turned to Tower. “I’m incredibly sorry that I jeopardized both of us without thought. You depended on me to be a good partner and—”
“I haven’t been a saint, either. We’ll weather this together. We have to.” His curt, clipped tone only made her feel twenty times worse.
“Please understand,” she pleaded. “You know better than anyone that a person can’t always help how they feel.”
Tower hesitated, scanning her face. He didn’t say a word for a long moment. Then he heaved a huge sigh. “You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Cutter stepped in and took her hand. “Stay away from her until then.”
CHAPTER 13
Cutter gripped the wheel as they drove away from Barney at the security gate. With the throng of press in the rearview mirror, he lifted the spare blanket off of Shealyn’s huddled figure. Thank god the leeches hadn’t paid him much mind.