“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just that you defended me. He never defends me. He doesn’t care about me.” She hiccupped, pulling up the collar of her baggy shirt to wipe her eyes. “He always liked Maddy better. She was the star, the personality. It hurts when your own father doesn’t love you.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sure he loves you. He just doesn’t want you to grow up, due to some fucked up issues.” Mason rubbed her back in large, soothing circles. “He worries about you after what happened to your sister. I shouldn’t have been so nasty to him.”
There was so much more to it than that, but Miri couldn’t spill the rest of it on Mason, how fucked up her family dynamic really was. Her father’s drinking, her grandma’s dementia, their financial woes, her dad’s moods and depression that made her home a really sucky place to be sometimes. She couldn’t burden him with all that when Mason had his own problems. They were supposed to be helping each other work out their career issues. She pulled away, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess, and now you’re stuck with me here all day.”
“Stuck with you?” He laughed. “My hellish life.”
He cradled her head in his hands, running his thumbs across her cheeks. She wanted to go off somewhere and cry in private, but he lowered his face until she had to meet his eyes. “Do you know how beautiful you look when you cry?” He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound right. I don’t mean that I want you to be sad. But I swear to God, you look so beautiful when you cry.”
She stared back at him, spellbound. His gaze was so sweet, his fingers so gentle. She was falling completely, helplessly in love, which was the last fucking thing she needed. He’d said she would do this, fall in love with him. You’ll get emotionally attached. You’ll end up feeling used. She was already too far gone, but she couldn’t seem to halt her tumble into infatuation. It wasn’t just his looks, his fame and fortune. She wasn’t crushing on the movie star who she’d hoped would help her career. She was falling in love with him, the Mason standing in front of her. She was falling for his natural protectiveness, his warm hugs. His easy sensuality that hinted at something darker underneath. She was getting way too caught up in his magic. It had taken all of what, a week?
She had to pull herself together and stop acting like a messed-up, clinging female who fell in love with the first guy who was nice to her.
The first guy who gave you an orgasm. The first guy who touched you and made you fall apart.
Yes, that was it. It was the sex that was making her feel so crazy for him. Of course! Post-sex hormones. When they subsided, she’d feel much more in control. She wiped away the last of her tears. “I’m sure you have things to do today,” she said. “I’ll stay out of your way until the photographers retreat and I can get out of here.”
His lips twitched a little. “So eager to get away?”
Oh, man, he was doing his super sexy mojo on her again. She backed away, sat on the couch, pulling his tee shirt down over her knees. She wished she could get dressed, but what could she put on? The itchy gown? He stood in front of her, completely at ease in his state of undress, even though his patterned boxers barely contained him. “I... Maybe...” She cast around for ideas. “Do you have any good books I could read? Or magazines? Because I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”
“I’m not busy today.” He sat next to her. Leaned closer. “And my books and magazines are probably all too dirty for an innocent like you.”
“I’m not that innocent.” Her throat was dry, her voice raspy.
Mason chuckled, pulling her close to him. “You keep saying you’re not innocent, but you are.”
“I’ve read dirty magazines before.”
“Not like the ones I read. I’m sure of it.”
She stared over at him, leery of another seduction, but wanting it too. “Will you show me?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet. It would scare you away.”
“I don’t scare that easily.”
He cupped her face in one hand. He was so, so close to her now, so close she could feel the brush of his breath, the heat of his lips. “Little liar. You’re scared right now, and I’m only going to kiss you.” He pushed her back, slid over her and pushed one of her knees aside so he was against her...there. He was hard, rock hard. “I’m going to fuck you, yes? One day soon.” She nodded shakily. Oh, God, he was going to fuck her. The idea of it blew her mind, even as his cock pulsed against her belly. “So, Miri, I don’t want to scare you away. Not yet.”
He had no clue, no idea how much she loved this scariness. Or perhaps, judging by the intent, rough way he kissed her, he did.
Chapter Seven: Close Dancing
Mason had lines to go over, people he ought to be calling. He ought to be going to bed, for fuck’s sake, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Miri. His sidekick in this caper, and now his student of sexuality.
He wanted more, and that alarmed him.
He’d finally gotten her home the day before, hiding her under a blanket in the backseat of his car. Sad and disgusting that she had to put up with crap like that because of his fame. It wouldn’t end there though. There would be more mobs, more photogs harassing her, more dirty gossip. More fake dates to go on in hopes their trumped-up relationship could start to solve some of their problems. His phone buzzed. Appropriately, it was his publicist, Shane Greenberg.
“What now?” Mason asked before Shane could say anything.
“A hello might be nice.”
Mason growled. “A new publicist might be nice.”
“What’s got you in such a mood?” Shane asked.
A beautiful, innocent girl who’s massively fucking me up. “Nothing. What is it?”
“So...there are some whispers.”
“There are always whispers.”
“The whispers are saying, ever more loudly, that you and Miri’s relationship is a sham. Which it is. But I don’t know which way this one will blow, my friend. If it blows to the sham side, your problems will get much worse, because you’re not just a pervert then. You’re a lying pervert.”
“Jessamine’s already spread that story around.” Mason scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m getting so tired of this shit. I’m not a bad guy.”
“I know you’re not. We’ll fix this. I’m just telling you, you’re going to have to be seen out with her again. Soon. And obviously, it has to look really convincing this time. I was thinking you could take her to another place like that poetry thing. Lots of grainy pictures. Make it seem like you’re hiding out because your relationship is too precious to flaunt for the paps, like you’re keeping it a secret. People go nuts for that shit. Maybe take her to a museum, or some hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. Somewhere paps don’t usually show up, and we’ll have someone there to snap pictures.”
Mason tuned out as Shane droned on, plotting and planning. At some point he impatiently cut in. “How about I just have her over to the house some night this week and walk out with her in the morning?”
“No!” Shane cried. “No, no, no. She’s supposed to be mellowing your image of a sex maniac. How’s that going to look when you’ve got sweet little Mireille Durand doing the Walk of Shame? God, this is why you need me.”
“All right. Settle down.”
“Can’t you eke out a few more photogenic dates? Look, this is just for now. You only need her for now. Before, when everyone thought you two were legit, people loved it.”
You only need her for now. It infuriated him, Shane discussing her like this, like some prop in an ad campaign. Which he supposed she was, but still. Fame sucked sometimes. The business, the schmoozing, the need to play up to the public. His career depended on goddamn ticket sales. With box office, he remained a hot property. If he lost the ability to sell movie tickets, he was through, at least until he engineered a comeback. That PR campaign would be even more excruciating than this one.
“I’ll call her,” he practically snarled. “I’ll let you know where we decide to go.�
�
He hung up with Shane and looked at the clock. It was too late to politely phone someone, but he suddenly, desperately needed to hear her voice. It rang once, twice, three times. He almost hung up but then she was on the line. Her bright, sweet hello sounded like music. Immediately, just hearing her, his mood started to lift.
“Miri.” He took a soft breath. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Better now.” He put a spin of flirtation on it, but the words were coming from his heart. You make me feel better. I don’t know what it is about you. “Will you go out with me again?”
She paused a moment. “Yeah, I saw some of the gossip on the blog sites. They’re doubting us, aren’t they?”
He closed his eyes. “I just hung up with my publicist. He thinks we should go somewhere private and romantic and prove them wrong.”
“Doesn’t everyone go to a Lakers game? Let’s do that. They’ll put us on that big screen. I’ll probably be eating a hot dog or something and dripping mustard all over my shirt.”
“That’s not private or romantic.”
“But everyone does it,” Miri persisted. “All the glam celebrity couples.”
“Do you like basketball?”
“No.”
She was so silly sometimes, when she wasn’t throwing him off with her pensive, thoughtful side. She was a conundrum. That was why he was so into her, even without the kink, without the sexual experience. She was a mystery, a mystery as sweet as a maraschino cherry.
“What should we do?” she said, thinking out loud. “Hmm...” It charmed him, the way she threw herself into their little game. “Let’s go dancing. That’s super romantic. Do you like to dance?”
“I love to dance, baby. I’d love to go dancing with you. Know any good places?”
She sighed softly over the line. “It has to be a place where we can dance slow, and close. A place with a pianist and low lighting. Candles.” He smiled at her self-deprecating laughter. “I’ve had a very limited social life but a great imagination.”
“No one’s ever taken you dancing?”
“No, not like in this dream. I’ve been to clubs, parties of course. But this would be romantic dancing. The guy—you—would have his arm around my waist, and the other hand clasping mine really warm and tight. Probably I’d rest my head on your chest. And we’d just...dance. Do you know any place we can do that?”
When was the last time Mason had danced like that? At his first wedding. In a hotel ballroom with chintzy decorations, all his groomsmen in horrible tuxedos. That was before fame, before riches. That was when making Kathy happy had been the worst of his worries. Kathy was happy now, married to someone else.
“We should go to a wedding,” Mason said. “We can dance like that at a wedding. What’s more serious than that? You don’t take someone to a wedding unless you’re serious about them.”
“That’s perfect.” He thought he heard her clapping her hands. “I love weddings. But...do you know anyone getting married?”
“No. You?”
“No.” She sounded crestfallen. “It would have been so perfect.”
“Actually, I think I know a place you’d like. A little piano bar off the beaten path. Tomorrow. No, wait.” He rubbed his forehead. “It will have to be next week. Can you come dancing with me next Saturday?”
“Yeah, sure. And I already have something I can wear. You can call off your stylist.”
“Oh, okay. You know, I was only sending him to you because—”
“It’s fine, Mason. I definitely needed help before. But I’d like to dress myself this time.”
He paused, feeling inexplicably hurt. All he really had to offer Miri were the perks of fame and stardom. If she didn’t want those anymore... “I’ll call you then,” he said. “I’ll let you know the details soon. Just keep your Saturday night open.”
They hung up a moment later after exchanging goodbyes. He barely knew her, but he was falling for her. He was going to sleep with her, it was already decided, yet they were preserving some strange formality between them as if... As if to do otherwise might endanger them both.
They were working together to fool people, but Mason had the uneasy feeling they were going to end up fools themselves.
*** *** ***
Mason picked her up the following Saturday in the studio car, ushered her into the back seat looking suave in a dark blue suit and tie. Miri had on some designer number, one of the many garments that had accumulated at her house. As always, she felt fluttery and breathless just being near him.
In contrast, Mason seemed withdrawn. Somber. He gazed at her across the darkness of the sedan’s back seat. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight. For playing along with this.”
She looked down at her hands. “Two actors. You’d think we’d do better at convincing people.”
“You’re doing fine,” he said a little sharply. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to try harder, or do better. I just want you to be yourself. I want to take you dancing tonight, Miri. Not for PR. Well, for PR, but...”
“I understand.”
He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “I’m glad you do, because I don’t.”
She moved toward him, right against his side. “You know what? I’m excited about going dancing.”
He looked up and drew her close, pressing his lips to her temple for a lingering kiss. “I promise I’ll put an arm around your waist, and hold your other hand warm and tight, and hold you right against me. But we have to fix something first.”
Miri touched her hair, her face. “What? Is my makeup bad? I should have used your stylist.”
“Shh.” He reached under her skirt, slid a palm up her thigh and hooked a finger into the waistband of her panties. “It’s just that I don’t want you wearing these.”
“But—”
“They’re coming off,” he insisted. He slid them down, nudging her hands away when she tried to stop him, and slipped the small ball of silk into his inside breast pocket. He patted it a couple times. “I’ll keep them safe for you. Forever. Honestly, I doubt I’ll give them back.”
The dress’s fabric felt strange against her bare ass, and the way he watched her made her feel ashamed and excited at the same time. “Those are one of my favorite pairs,” she protested.
“My favorite pair now,” he answered with a smile.
The dance club turned out to be a private bar in West Hollywood, housed in the basement of one of those uber-pricey, uber-hip hotels that were as expensive as they were quirky. Miri loved The Riff-Raff Room from the moment the doormen let them into the small, dim space.
There was actually no riff-raff. No crowds, no sleazy players. The couples and groups in the bar were obviously carefully screened guests, all of them elegant and stylish. They were couth enough to leave her and Mason alone, although a few exchanged low-key smiles and greetings. Looking around the room, Miri guessed many of the bar’s guests were even wealthier than Mason. Definitely wealthier than her.
There was a space in the middle where couples danced to slow, jazzy music, but everyone else lingered in alcoves built into the walls, drinking cocktails and chatting. Miri didn’t see anyone smoking but a haze still lingered in the air. The furnishings were huge and solid, and every surface that could be velvet-upholstered was velvet-upholstered. Heavy matching curtains flanked the tables and booths, in colors like ruby, deep purple, and black. A three-piece band in the corner played old love songs and standards. A thin, pretty vocalist sang a good bit of them in breathy French.
Mason sat close to her in their secluded booth. He looked so sexy and relaxed, martini in hand, mouth crooked up in a sultry pout. He watched her look around and smiled whenever she smiled. She was very aware she wasn’t wearing panties under her dress. Whenever she shifted, rearranging her skirts, he got a predatory glint in his eye.
Miri realized that for the last hour or so, she’d forgotten
all about the reason they were here. To be seen together, to look intimate and loved up in front of the people who were most likely to talk about it and be believed. Somehow, he managed to make her forget about their pact and the act they were supposed to be putting on...because for her it wasn’t an act anymore. It never had been, if she was honest with herself.
Oh God, and she was going to sleep with this man. She wanted to do it now, this moment, wanted to do it every moment they spent together. The intimate ways he played with her only made the craving harder to ignore.
She jumped, jolted from her thoughts as he ran a finger up her inner thigh beneath the skirt of her dress. He chuckled at her reaction as he stroked her bare skin. She reached for her champagne, took a gulp and nearly choked on it. Tingling alcohol shot up into her nose and she sneezed twice into a cocktail napkin. If anyone was taking pictures, this was probably the moment they’d capture, the one that would be in all the papers. She looked up at Mason who was, appropriately, laughing at her.
“I don’t know. This may be too slick a place for me,” Miri said when she was finally composed again.
“You’re adorable.” His voice was warm, like melted chocolate.
She looked down at his hand, still stroking her thigh under her dress. “Teddy bears are adorable. Toddlers are adorable.”
“Then you’re sexy,” he countered, his voice taking on a rougher edge. “You’re the sexiest woman here.”
“That is definitely not true.”
Her breath stuttered as one of his long, deft fingers brushed across her mons and dipped just inside her pussy lips. “Open your legs for me, sexy girl,” he said.
Miri tensed. “Someone will see.”
“I don’t care. Open your legs for me.”
She inched her legs apart, trembling. She loved this and hated it at the same time. He had no shame, but she did. “What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.
Comfort 4: Command Performance Page 9