Cherry Bomb: Forbidden Bad Boys

by Clara Leigh

  “Jace isn’t going to be happy,” Flicka says.

  Yeah, understatement of the century.

  -30-

  Dare Wilde

  Jace has words with us one after the other, starting with Tyler – who ran straight to him and poured out his side of things – and ending with me. The showdown takes place inside his mobile office. It’s every secretary’s worst nightmare on wheels. Haphazard filing, push pins upended over the tasteless carpet, and costume files and storyboards scattered across every available surface. I still have a cold compress pressed to my nose, which at least gives me something to concentrate on while he eyeballs me without saying a goddamned thing. We must sit for a good five minutes before he oozes a groan and plants his palms against the desk. He rises and comes over to look at the damage to my face. The bridge of my nose is swollen and the corners of both eyes are turning black. He tuts and turns away again.

  “What?”

  I seriously can’t deal with the silent treatment, shoot me down in flames or give it to me straight, but don’t leave me guessing what the goddamned outcome is supposed to be.

  “What?”

  Off come the glasses, so he can level me with the full beady stare. “Out of a hundred million sperm, it’s sometimes hard to believe you were the fastest.”

  “Tyler was being a dick. He needs to keep his nose out of stuff that isn’t his business.”

  “And you were entirely blameless, I suppose. This is a film set, not the fucking school playground, Dare. I get it, you’re in each other’s pockets all day, and you’re pissing one another off, but fisticuffs, really? Smashing up equipment! And let’s not mention the fact this is because you were getting way too hands on with your female co-star. Who, need I remind you, you’re not supposed to anywhere near if I’m not pointing a camera at you.”

  “Trevor—”

  “I know what happened, Dare. I’ve had three different versions of events before I got to you. It’s not what happened that’s the issue here. The equipment’s fine. There’s no damage. It’s only time being wasted. The problem is what I do about it. What exactly do I do with you?”

  “I see, so I’m the one being saddled with the big shit label.”

  “I’m no less impressed with the other two, but what this all boils down to is the fact you were asked to stay away from Flicka, and you’ve gone out of your way to flout that rule since day one.”

  “I don’t appreciate being told who I can hang out with. I’m not a kid. In any case, you hired her because of the kiss. Did you seriously think there was going to be nothing more between us?”

  “I hoped you’d have the sense to keep it clandestine, at least until the shoot was done.”

  “Yeah, well if Beauford wasn’t so intent on—”

  Jace cuts me off with a slash of his hand. “Forget Beauford. It’s obvious there’s been something going on between you for weeks. And not just to me. Do you think I haven’t been fielding questions? Do you think Steve Dandy doesn’t realise?”

  I’ve no idea who Steve Dandy is, but I can make an educated guess.

  “Oh for fucks sake, Dare! Take the love goggles off. I get it; she makes your dick hard, but that’s not an excuse to be thinking with it. Carry on as you are, and you’re going to screw both of your careers up. It’s no use pretending everything is rosy and stumbling about in candy floss land when reality is pigeon-shit grey. You need to put an end to this nonsense now. Right now, before someone with more beef against you than Tyler Beauford decides to take an interest.”

  Jace returns to his desk where he plants his elbows among the detritus and rests his head in his hands. “Here’s a suggestion. Piss off for a few days and get your head on straight.”

  “I’ve only been back on set since the start of the week.”

  “And there’s plenty of shooting we can do without you. You’re not exactly photogenic at the minute. And trust me on this one; it’s in everyone’s best interests if you and Miss Caine and Mr. Beauford are in different locations for a while.”

  “So you’re booting me?”

  We exchange a look of the long hard, no nonsense variety. After nearly a decade of friendship and eleven movies together, we’ve had our moments, but it’s never come close to me being thrown off set.

  “Just until you clear your head. You know you were my top choice for this project, but until you accept that Flicka Caine is a no-go zone, I can’t have you here. I don’t like explosives on my set unless they’re in the hands of my SFX team. You and her banging under Chinchilla’s noses is like storing a warehouse full of dynamite next door to a match factory. A couple of lights I can fix, but I’d rather you didn’t level the whole set.”

  I’m not the one who is going to go boom, but apparently Jace can’t see that.

  “Don’t you have something coming up anyway? I recall Monty insisted I block out a chunk of time for you mid-month.”

  “Yes.” I sigh and thread my hands through my hair. “The Borrower’s birthday, but that’s not for another ten days.”

  He shrugs, then starts shuffling papers around on his desk. “Come back once you’ve overdosed on cake.”

  “Jace, come on!” I bounce up onto my feet and pace over to his desk, inadvertently putting a few tacks into the soles of my shoes en route. “A few days isn’t going to change shit, and you know it.”

  “It had fucking better, because I need your ass to finish this film.” He stands so that we’re eye to eye with the desk between us. “Look, it’s cute that’s she’s giving you a fuzzy glow, but you don’t get your happy ever after at the expense of my multi-million-dollar movie. I don’t care if you have to clap your cock in irons until we wrap. She’s an official no fly zone for as long as Chinchilla are setting her terms.”

  “So I’ll stay off radar.”

  He scowls as he shakes his head.

  “You already blew it, Dare. The whole set’s talking about you. I can shut them up, but only if you’re out of the picture. So go, pack your things, and make sure you don’t accidently meet Miss Caine on the way out.”

  ***

  I’m already on the phone to my agent before I’ve exited Jace’s trailer. I don’t really expect Monty to work a miracle – unsurprisingly, he sees Jace’s side – but I do appreciate having someone listen to me rant, and then redirect my focus on the bigger picture. An upset on this film – a couple of days off he sees as no more than a hiccough – will strike a severe blow to my winning the Jack Bold role. Maybe that even still matters; I let Monty talk to me like it does.

  His parting advice, “Go to town and shack up with the music industry’s latest tattooed rock diva.” I want to punch him just for suggesting it. Still, at least he didn’t come out with any gobshite about this being the way of the world, ‘cause fuck that. I swear the more obstacles that get erected, the more determined I become to tear them down. Fuck Chinchilla and their steamroller strategies. Fuck Jace for holding my screen test for Jack Bold to ransom. In fact, fuck everything to do with any of them. Flicka is mine. It’s real between us and I’m not letting go just because a few industry bigwigs are more interested in the dollar value of their success than the happiness of two individuals.

  Next, I try calling Lorne. He doesn’t pick up, so there’s no securing any sensible advice, and I can’t talk to Flicka because there’s a goddamned security guard posted outside her door. I send her a text instead.

  D: Been ordered to take a vacay. Would love to say adieu in person but there’s too much muscle in the way. But you and me are forever.

  I pack a few things. I don’t bother calling a cab. Let Jace worry about how I’m leaving the premises. I’ve some notion of making some last ditch plea to him to change his mind before I go anyway. Seems Flicka had similar thoughts, as she emerges from Jace’s office right as I’m about to stomp inside.

  She sees me, gives a squee, then having checked there’s no one around jumps into my arms. Of course I catch her.

  “I can’t believe h
e’s sending you away. It’s crazy. Tyler and I were as much to blame that things got damage.”

  “You know it’s not really about that.” I drag her into the alleyway between the office and Jace’s campervan. “It’s about keeping us apart.”

  “Screw that,” she says with enough venom that I think Jace might find he still needs to worry about matches and dynamite. “Time out’s not going to change anything.”

  I love that she says it with such conviction. “Damn, right,” I agree. I’m obsessed with this woman, having my hands slapped and ordered not to touch isn’t going to counteract my craving. There’s only one way of satisfying that – through being with her, and being inside her and Christ, I want this woman. I want her in my arms and in my bed and in my life.

  “Will you miss me?” she asks impishly. Her nose wrinkles a little as she smiles.

  That’ll be a whopping great yeah, but I adhere to the old adage that actions speak louder than words, so I kiss her hard like the world’s going to end and these are our last moments.

  “We should stick two fingers up at them,” she says. Them meaning Jace and Chinchilla, and all the other morons who presume to tell us what’s best for us and our careers. What’s best is having her lithe little body pressed against mine and the scent of her skin in my nostrils. I bury my hands in her hair and inhale more kisses from her lips.

  “We should say goodbye properly.” Her gaze drifts sideways to the gloom at the far end of the alleyway. She nips my earlobe with her teeth. “Unless you’re afraid of being caught?”

  Apparently sweet promises and the prospect of being called a chicken are all it takes to get me revved up and ready for action. We duck deeper into the shadows.

  ***

  It’s like we’re wading through Stygian molasses down the back of the Jace’s trailer. It’s far from the most romantic location, but I’m pissed and horny, and I want to stick two fingers up at Jace and all the other morons who are making our lives hell at the moment, so I’m going to bang her right below his window and delight in the fact that he’s unaware of it and there’s fuck all he can do about it even if he was.

  Flicka’s hands are on my belt the moment her back collides with the trailer wall. She has the buckle and my fly undone in seconds, but then she pushes me back against the corrugated iron of the old workshop so she can take a good long look at me while her hand works my shaft before she lets me get acquainted with her tits. I nose dive right into her cleavage.

  Turns out, all those nights I spent wanking outside her window were definitely worth it. She took it all in, so she knows exactly what I like. Make a little swoosh up to the top with her palm, then get the thumb involved on the descent. Perfect!

  “Are you mine?” she asks, mimicking my earlier demands.

  My brain is putty. I’m not just hers. She can do whatever she wants with me, demand pretty much anything of me and is guaranteed compliance.

  “If I raise my skirt, will you come on me?”

  “Come in you, was that?” I cock an eyebrow and she sniggers.

  “It’s all about this finding its way somewhere wet and warm, isn’t it?” She gives my shaft an encouraging squeeze. Too right it is. Can I help it if millions of years of evolution decided male pleasure should be heavily centred on a couple of square inches?

  “Do you have somewhere wet and warm I can slip it?”

  She does a funny little shimmer and her knickers end up snagged around her ankles. She’s wearing heels, unlike earlier, that make her feet arch and draw attention to the slenderness of her ankles. “Why don’t you find out?”

  Waiting for a second invitation is a fool’s game. If a lady’s telling you she wants it, the only proper response is to knuckle down to the task. I drop to my knees. Flicka hands the issue of her skirt. It ends up over my head as I knead her soft, wet flesh and drag my tongue over her clit. Only an idiot thinks a bit of clit petting is the be all and end all of a woman’s sexuality, but I’d be an even bigger moron if I ignored it. In seconds she’s panting, her eyes are sparkling and there’s a manic grin stretching her mouth wide.

  “Dare!”

  “What’s that? Fingers too.”

  “Um,” she gasps and follows it with a bone deep groan as I cheekily slip her a couple of digits. She’s literally dripping all over my hand, she’s so turned on. I take her right to the edge, leave her hanging there, dazed and dirty while I sheath myself in latex and use the wetness coating my fingers as additional lube.

  “Up,” I order, lifting her high so her back is against the office wall, her head just beneath the slightly open window. She wraps her thighs around my hips. The heels of her shoes dig into my arse as I plough her furrow.

  I allow myself a moment to bask in the glory of being deep inside her, then it’s an all-out sprint to the finish. Flicka’s almost there already, and I want to go with her. It’s not normally important to me to come at the same time, but this time I want us to be wholly in tune with one another. It’s the same reason I’m rattling on, saying stuff I probably shouldn’t, but all of those sweet whispers are true, every bleedin’ one of them. She is amazing, and I am crazy about her. Maybe the L word even slips out. I don’t think she notices. On the other hand, if Jace is still inside, there’s no way he’s not hearing this. Good, I want him to hear it. It’s important he gets what it is he’s meddling with. This is real, between Flicka and me. It’s not just a plot twist in one of his movies. We’re going to have a future together, and be a grand old superstar couple exactly like my folks.

  She starts coming, muscles tightening around my dick, squeezing me in a rhythmic way that pushes me right to the edge and fills me full of tingles, but it’s the words she’s sobbing against my throat that finally ignites the fireworks for me. “I love you.”

  Fuck, that’s amazing!

  Maybe she heard me say it first. Maybe she didn’t. Either way, I come so flippin’ hard that the condom doesn’t quite stay as snug as it ought to. At least it doesn’t split and fuck up our goodbye. That would have sunk a truly shit day to new depths of awfulness.

  All right, so there have been a couple of high points. I hold them close as I load my bag into the taxi. They’re what is going to sustain me during my period of banishment: them and an endless supply of cherry lips.

  -31-

  Dare Wilde

  Ten days later…

  The Woodrow family place is nestled at the centre of a tiny hamlet. Ten houses in total, no public amenities unless you count the call box that hasn’t been used in thirty years, and no shops. I arrive and there are already balloons and bunting signposting the entrance. The whole family has gathered, along with a collection of children’s entertainers and twenty kids in princess outfits. I don’t know if they’re girls, boys, or aliens. One of them I’m pretty certain is Wolfie, our English Setter dog. It doesn’t matter, they’re the Borrower’s friends, and I’m glad she has some who aren’t fazed by the fact that her “parents” are movie legends and as old as most grandparents. At least they’re good parents. That’s what matters, and I certainly can’t pretend I’d have managed to give her anything approaching this level of contentment and security.

  “Is that the glitter of sentimentality wetting your cheeks, kiddo?” My path converges with that of my brother’s by the water barrel that’s doubling as a beer cooler. “Getting gooey ‘cause the wee one’s growing up?”

  “Piss off, Chase.” I take a brotherly swipe at his head, but he ducks. Bastard always manages to duck out of everything, just as I abjectly fail at delivering child appropriate language. Actually, I’m surprised Chase is here. “I thought you were Stateside.”

  “Got back yesterday.” That’d explain why he’s hiding behind dark glasses and looks a bit pinched around the chops despite his all over suntan. “A little bird tells me Jace booted you off the set.”

  It’s amazing how quickly rumours spread. This is all anyone has asked me about for the last week.

  “You must have really p
issed him off, eh?”

  “He seemed to think I needed some chill time.”

  “That’s what I heard. So have you put your dick on ice?”

  I want to hurt him. He might be my brother, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to wring his neck for bringing the subject up. I’ve heard nothing from Flicka since I left. I know she’s being watched, but I thought maybe we could exchange a couple of 4AM calls. Instead, I spend half of every night staring at the ceiling and plotting a rescue mission.

  “Beer.” Chase thrusts a chilled beverage at me. As appeasements go, it’s a decent one. “So, I’ve heard Jace’s version. Do you want to tell me yours?”

  “Nope.” I’m here to party, not to wallow. The latter is a strictly night-time only affair. I despise this state of perpetual unknowing that I’ve landed in.

  Are we a thing? Are we not a thing? Were the L word mutterings that happened while we were saying farewell meaningless drivel or heartfelt outpourings? Either way, rambling on about it to my brother, who honestly probably couldn’t give a shit, is a pointless waste of breath.

  “Isn’t she a bit young?”

  “Not really. I’m not as ancient as you, remember.”

  He raises two fingers at me.

  Yeah, whatever. At least the beer is cold and nicely hits the spot.

  “You know it’s not going to last. I mean it can’t. She’s prima donna Barbie and you’re the least Ken-like man in the universe.”

  “Twenty-seven and you’re still clueless. Everyone knows Barbie does it with Action Man.”

  “Yeah, but unless you’ve snagged the Jack Bold role and haven’t told anyone, I don’t think you can claim adventure hero status.”