The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

by Renee Harless

  “But what about your happiness?”

  “You know that getting back to the top is all I’m after.”

  Sadly, Tessa turns her gaze away from me and plays with the hem of her shirt. She has something on her mind.

  “How is your dad doing with my parents?” I grimace at the mention of the people that birthed me, the pain still heavy in my chest.

  “He has a handle on the situation, but don’t be surprised if they show up at one of the sets. This film is big news, especially with you in the lead role. If their goal is to make contact with you, I’m certain that they’ll find a way.”

  “So the security detail is a good idea?”

  “I think so. Want me to make contact with a team?”

  “Yeah. Now, I’m off to go drive a really nice car really, really fast.” My smile widens at the thought of living every little boy's dream, and most adults’.

  “Alright, we’ll meet up for dinner to go over your schedule tomorrow. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tessa moves to leave the room but turns just as she crosses the threshold, she turns to look back to me. “Hey, Devyn. For what it’s worth, I really hope that you and Larsen can figure things out. I kind of like that little town.”

  Tessa’s confession is answered in silence. I’m not sure I have the words to describe how much I wanted it to work too. It’s my fault that I’m left feeling this way, left feeling like an ocean with no life forms beneath the surface. A body of water rolling and changing without the moon to guide it.

  Just as I head out of the room, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. A message from my agent reads that Elena and I have our first appearance at breakfast tomorrow. She’s nothing if not efficient.

  No need for a response, she’ll make sure that I’m there on time, guiding me through the new maze of Hollywood.

  Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I flag down the hotel’s valet and make my way to the racetrack.

  I may be a pawn in this new game, but I can at least enjoy the adrenaline rush awaiting me this afternoon.

  ~

  Right jab.

  Left hook.

  Right uppercut.

  Left high-kick to the nose.

  I practice the move off to the side of the set while the director reviews the previous film and sets up another angle of the camera. I repeat the movement in my head over and over until I make the move flow seamlessly.

  The crowd standing behind the barrier for the set has grown since we started filming three weeks ago. Women clamor as close as they possibly can until the security guards are forced to hold them back.

  Tessa strolls over with a bottle of water. Michael, Elena’s assistant, trails behind his employer as they follow Tessa toward me. Something about their approach doesn’t seem right, Michael’s eyes dart around as he tucks something black and white into his pants pocket while Elena seems to look around for the crowd of photographers.

  “Here. You’re doing great.”

  “Thanks. I think I finally got it down,” I tell her before I take a heavy swig of the water, drinking half the bottle in one gulp. “Hey, Elena. What brings you around? Today is your day off from filming.”

  She and Michael both squint in my direction before Elena steps closer and trails her fingernail down my arm.

  “I just wanted to stop by and see you,” she pouts.

  “That’s kind of you, but I just saw you this morning.”

  Breakfast had been staged in a spectacular fashion. Photographers had been alerted of the outing and were waiting the minute the towncar dropped us in front of the five-star restaurant. Tessa hadn’t trailed along, but Michael had and sat at a table close by neck deep in sifting through Elena’s fan mail and responding to some as well.

  “Yes, well, I was told there were photographers close by, so I thought it would be helpful.”

  I fake a smile in her direction and bend down so that she can kiss my cheek. Luckily, I’m saved as the director calls another shot in five minutes and I explain that I need to get my head back into the fight. She and her minion stroll off to the side behind the director.

  “Well, I’m glad they’re gone. I actually wanted to make sure that you still planned on going to the baseball game this afternoon.”

  “That’s the plan. I can text you when I’m done here.”

  Distracted, Tessa looks over at a commotion happening within the crowd. Fans stand with their phones in the air above their heads, pointing toward whatever ongoings are happening.

  “Hey, Tommy, can you go check that out, please?” she asks our new security guard who eagerly nods and heads in the direction of the upheaval. The crowd parts willingly by the behemoth of a man. Biceps and thighs armed with muscles more massive than most of the onlookers’ waists and a rugged tattoo wrapping around his bald head.

  While he goes to handle the racket, I head onto the set and prepare myself against the opposite actor. We’ve practiced the scene enough times that it flows fluidly, each of our punches and kicks seeming so natural that even I’m almost convinced that it hasn’t been choreographed.

  We go through two more takes before a bright light from the corner of my eye seizes my attention. It can’t be. There is no way that she is here. Like an unexpected vision, she draws my awareness and I take a kick in the stomach, but I feel no pain. All I see is her.

  Larsen’s body is wrapped in a yellow dress, the color standing out amongst the crowd of grays and blues. It’s a shade darker than her pale yellow hair waving around her head like a veil. Every male in her vicinity takes notice and tongues drop from their mouths like an animated cartoon character. I’m confident that I have bright red hearts in my eyes and swirling around my head.

  I float toward her, leaving the set without a backward glance. I’m drawn to this woman in the worst kind of way. A dependency that floats through my veins.

  The crowd pushes and surges forward around her, and that’s when I notice the stiffness in her body. Her anxiousness. Her fear. She reaches up to gather her hair and drape it over her right shoulder to cover her facial scar, releasing her hold of her suitcase, which Tommy promptly takes in his grip as he takes hold of her other arm.

  Finally, the puzzle pieces set into place. They’re forced, not making the intricate pattern as designed, but squished and molded to fit as desired. Larsen is the cause of the commotion as she tried to push through the crowd. Tommy is doing his job and holding her back from me and the set, obviously worried that she’s a crazed fan with something equally as crazy in her suitcase.

  I’m unaware of my steps, but as I get closer to her, I feel as if I’m weighed down by concrete. I can’t get to her quick enough. I’m moving at a slug’s pace and as if I hold the powers of an empath, her fear becomes palpable, surrounding me like an infectious disease.

  I arrive at where she stands, Tommy tightening his grip around her arm. Afraid that she’s a mirage, I tentatively reach out to touch her cheek and when I feel the warmth beneath my palm I nearly collapse in contentment. Larsen follows my lead and places her hand on top of mine, keeping my touch against her soft skin, the wetness building against her lower lashes shimmering in the sun.

  “Are you really here?” I’m frightened that she’s going to disappear as quickly as she arrived.

  “Yeah.” Her voice quivers at her response. She tries to take a step closer, but Tommy’s hold doesn’t waiver, and she looks down at his hand settled around her wrist. A sensation explodes through me – possession.

  Dominance surges through me as I glance down at my guard’s hand still wrapped around her thin arm. “Tommy, I suggest you let go of her right now.” The man smartly unravels himself from her and takes a step back, giving us a semicircle of space.

  I don’t notice the cell phones raised above the crowd taking in our reunion or the evil glare and confusion coming from across the set.

  “Are we done?” I shout to the director, and just like Tommy, he quickly answers that it’s a wrap.


  Gazing back down at Larsen, still not one-hundred percent sold that she’s not an angel sent from heaven, I run my thumb across the corner of her mouth. “Come with me.” It’s not a question, but a command and she knowingly nods her head. “Tommy, can you take her bag?” I leave the remainder of the order hanging in the air. He knows to deliver it to my room.

  Sliding my palm down the column of her neck, down her arm, and landing on her hand, I intertwine our fingers and give her a gentle tug. “Follow me.”

  I walk briskly from the set heading directly for the hotel a block down the road, we were lucky to be able to block off this portion of the Chicago downtown for filming, and I’m incredibly thankful at its proximity to where we’re sleeping.

  The photographers are busy clicking away. I can hear the snaps of their greedy little fingers on the buttons of their digital cameras. But I don’t let them deter me. Once we escape the crowd, I make sure to pull Larsen close to me and tuck her against my body. I don’t want her exposed to the public without her consent. She didn’t ask for this. I only tolerate it because it’s part of my job. She remains silent during our trek, as do I. Neither of us wanting to spoil this moment with unnecessary words. The time for that will come.

  The entrance to the hotel comes into view and my pace quickens, my arm nearly lifting Larsen’s feet off the ground in my haste to get us away from the prying eyes.

  Glass doors whisk us inside. The bellman guarding the door nods in our direction as we pass, but I can barely muster a smile, my mind focused on the woman pressed against me.

  The chandelier in the oversized lobby looms above us, glittering its crystallized light onto our bodies and the floor, sheltering us in its warming glow.

  “Ah, so I see we took the bait,” a voice sounds from behind us and I immediately turn on the brakes to our motion. Turning my gaze toward the noise, I find Quinn standing a few feet away, a tender smile gracing her classic face that the world loves.

  “Hi, I’m Quinn,” she says as she extends a hand toward Larsen whose eyes are wide in surprise, her mouth hanging open in awe. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Larsen mumbles as she seizes Quinn’s hand, hers shaking in shock.

  It only takes me a moment of watching Quinn’s knowing grin taking in Larsen face-to-face to realize that she’s the reason that this woman is here today.

  Holding back my gasp, I ask, “You did this?”

  “I may have sent a plane ticket anonymously when I noticed the look on my friend’s face in those pictures floating around the internet. Sorry I couldn’t arrange to pick you up myself at the airport, but we had a problem on set. I hope that the valet was sufficient.”

  “Quinn,” I groan, and she replies by echoing my tone with my own name.

  “Thank you,” Larsen whispers beside me, her gratitude weaving around us like fresh air. “With nursing classes starting soon, I wouldn’t have had a chance to get away.”

  “Well now. . .nursing school? My goodness, Devyn, you sure do know how to pick the golden ones, don’t you?”

  “Quinn,” I moan at her implication of my past sexploits.

  “Devyn,” she repeats again. Right now, she reminds me more of a begrudgingly loved older sister than a friend. “Well, Larsen, I hope that you’ll join us for the game this afternoon.”

  In question, Larsen peers up at me beneath her long dark lashes. “Game?”

  “Ah, the um. . .Cubs are playing and we have tickets. Tessa was-” I start, but then my cousin pops in and interrupts. “Tessa was going to offer you her ticket. It’s good to see you, Larsen.”

  Peeking around my shoulder, she smiles kindly at my cousin. “Same.”

  Chiming in again, Quinn says, “Okay, since it’s settled, we’ll see you two at the game. We’ll give you some time to settle in,” she adds with a knowing smirk and wink.

  We watch as she strolls through the glass doors toward her husband waiting beside a red Ferrari.

  “Are you up for a baseball game this afternoon? I was just going to go with Tessa.” I wait anxiously for Larsen’s response.

  “Of course. I don’t want to interrupt your plans.”

  Bending down, I press my lips to her forehead. “Sweetheart, I’d break all my plans for you.” And I realize that those words hold more truth and meaning than she’ll ever comprehend. I would go to the ends of the Earth for her, and I’m afraid that may be our demise. I know from experience that once you reach the top, there is only one other direction to go – down.

  Together we enter the elevator, and even when a crowd files in behind us, I can’t help but keep my attention solely focused on Larsen. Afraid if I turn away she’ll simply disappear into thin air.

  I thank my lucky stars that my room isn’t on the upper floors because we’re one of the first to exit. My arms are itching to wrap around her lithe body.

  “Devyn,” she murmurs, her voice trembling as we approach my door. “Are you really okay that I’m here?”

  I fumble with the key insert, my body straining within the confines of my clothes, my grip on reality fading fast.

  “I can’t right now,” I growl, my frustration with this damn lock growing with each passing second.

  Finally, the tiny light turns green and I spin us inside the room, our feet tripping over the suitcase Tommy slipped inside just before we arrived. I slam our bodies against the hotel wall, my hips pressing against hers before I capture her mouth in a desperate kiss.

  “God, I missed you,” I tell her, our lips brushing past each other at my words before I suck her plump bottom lip into my mouth. Slithering my hands from her waist downward to the cusp of her round globes, I grip her cheeks in my palms. “Wrap your legs around me,” I demand. Her compliance is immediate as her dress parts and her hot center lands in alignment with my cock. I rock my hips against hers, loving the way her body arches toward me with each pass.

  Breaking our kiss, I carry her toward the bed before depositing her on top of the white duvet. I kneel between her legs, taking her in. She’s more beautiful than I remember.

  “Damn, you’re gorgeous.” I can’t hold back the compliment, and as the rosiness in her cheeks deepens, I know that she wasn’t expecting the flattering remark. Of their own accord, my palms reach out toward the tie of her dress, my eyes silently begging her to let me unravel the bow.

  She bites that damn lip I was just sucking on and for a moment, I want to ignore the dress to pay attention to that piece of her mouth again. But my itching hands have another idea as they tug at the bow resting along her waist.

  The material drapes loosely over her frame and I stare at it in confusion when it doesn’t part as I expected.

  “Here, let me help,” she says as she slips a small brown purse from across her chest. I’m not sure how I missed that. Then she tugs a separate belt-like fold of the material free from the other side.

  Ah, it wraps around. “It’s like fucking Christmas,” I tell her as I pull apart one side of the dress and then the other, exposing the white lace beneath.

  Taking in her beauty, I let my hands settle on her ankles, my thumbs skimming around the delicate bones that protrude beneath the skin. She squirms from the soft touch and my admiring gaze.

  At a leisurely pace, my fingers forge a path up the insides of her legs until they reconvene at the apex of her thighs. The backs of my fingers stroke the patch of lace, the supple material feeling like I’m touching a scorching hot furnace.

  “We don’t have to do anything,” I rush out, though it pains me to do so.

  Reaching out, she gently rests her hand on my forearm. “I know.”

  My eyes stay fixated on the juncture of her legs, hypnotized as my own fingers slip past the barrier of fragile material to explore the softness underneath. I feel as if I’m looking in from the outside, a ghost in an out of body experience. “I just don’t want you to think that this is all I want from you.”

  “Devyn,” she says. Her voice is strong and res
olute despite the circling of her hips against my hand. “I got your letter. I know that this is more to you too.”

  Fully inserting two fingers into her tight sheath, I watch her in fascination as her brown eyes roll back into her head behind the lids. I know this isn’t the time to question why she didn’t reply to my letter, but fuck my body needs answers. My body. My head. My heart.

  “Why didn’t you write me back?” I groan, my own erection agonizing as it juts against the zipper of these pants that the costume designer is not going to want back.

  Her clutch tightens around my arm, and I know that she’s close even if the rocking of her hips and tightening of her channel don’t give it away. “I did, Devyn. Oh, God,” she cries out in one quick breath before she detonates at my hand.

  Larsen’s breasts press against the confines of her bra as she catches her breath. I slide my hand free from her panties and hover my body above hers, my arms caging her in.

  “What did you say?”

  It takes her a moment to come back into herself and then she’s peering up at me in confusion. “I. ..I wrote you a letter, not long after I received yours. I just. . .”

  “You just what? Explain,” I ask, dropping from my full arms to rest on my elbows, bringing our noses and mouths within inches of each other.

  “I went hiking with Cole and his friends. He kissed me and I felt like I had betrayed you, which is silly because we aren’t anything, but my heart ached. I wrote to you right after. I needed to tell you. I thought he was what I wanted, but then I met you and all that changed. I never heard anything back, so I just assumed you were over me. Then I got the plane tickets.” She shrugs as if that should clarify everything, and to her, it probably does, but it leaves me with more questions.

  “I never got a letter.”

  “Oh. Well, that explains why I never got a reply or a call,” she tries to joke.

  “Tessa found the picture of you and Cole that he posted. I won’t lie. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate you. But I couldn’t.” Internal anguish swarms through me at the thought of that man putting his hands, his mouth on what’s mine. The agony is overwhelming, and I bend my head down, resting my forehead against hers. Then Larsen’s hand settles on my cheek, calming me instantly. My talisman.