But deal with me.
Like I was the problem.
The party crasher, when I was just trying to keep him and my brother from killing each other.
Tears welled in my eyes.
And they weren’t a result of any sort of physical pain — but embarrassment, and a hell of a lot of shame, that I was his problem.
And that he wouldn’t ever view me as anything more than a situation he had to fix in order to make himself look better.
I imagined that in Will’s book, I was like a sickness he was trying to get over and cover up, the sooner he was healed the sooner he was free.
“It’s fine.” I stood on wobbly legs and swayed against the couch, Zane grabbed my arm. I shrugged free. “You guys keep having fun, I’ll go take care of it myself.”
I left out the part that that’s what I’d been doing my whole life, why change things up now?
I didn’t realize that there were tears on my cheeks until I glanced at my reflection in the bathroom.
Dark straight hair with honey highlights were emphasized only by my light eyes and stark cheekbones.
I used to love my cat’s eyes.
Now I just felt angry when I looked in the mirror, like the face I had didn’t match what was inside — and never did.
I jerked on the faucet and grabbed a washcloth to get the rest of the blood off of my chin and lips.
A knock sounded on the door and then it was shoved open nearly knocking me on my ass.
Before I could protest, Will had inched himself into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “I sent everyone home.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I saluted him with my middle finger. “You know you could have prevented all of this by not hitting my brother, right?”
“He hit me first.” Will crossed his arms and leaned back against the door.
I froze in mid-air, the washcloth dripping water on the basin. “Are you serious right now? You’re blaming him?”
“He was acting irrational.” Will didn’t even crack a smile, show any sort of emotion other than disappointment that my brother would be so immature as to hit him in the face over my lack of a door.
“Wow.” I dabbed at the blood wincing as the tender flesh continued to grow before my eyes. Fantastic. “You really have changed.”
He frowned, uncrossed his arms. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I tossed the cloth into the sink making a splashing sound as I turned to face him, the man who used to hold all of my kisses, who used to hold my heart and swear his allegiance to every part of my body as he kissed every square inch of space and claimed it. “You’re like this—” I threw my hands up in confusion. “Adult!”
His eyebrows shot up, “Easy there with your comebacks, Ang.” He leaned forward, “Is that the best you can do? Because I sure as hell have heard a lot worse.”
I gulped, he was too close again, so close I could smell his aftershave, he’d changed it, just like he’d somehow changed his brain and turned into this crazy responsible man I didn’t even recognize anymore. This guy, this was the guy that used to order every item on the dessert menu for room service and ask for a tub of cherries so he could take a bubble bath with them.
He pranked his tour bus driver on a daily basis.
And when I asked him what he was going to do after singing, his only serious response was that he wanted to go on an African Safari or become a lion tamer.
Always kidding.
Never serious.
Did he not do in between? Was it always black and white?
“You know what?” I backed up. “It’s been a long night. And I don’t want to waste what precious hours I have left to sleep, trying to come up with a better insult when all you have to do is look in a mirror to realize who you’ve turned into.”
His eyes darkened. “Oh yeah, and who’s that?”
I sidestepped him, then stood up on my tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “Your father.”
It was his weakness.
It was his greatest fear.
It was his reality.
He sucked in a breath. “Bullshit, I’m nothing like him.”
“Hey, Will, maybe you should get some penny loafers tomorrow, might be more comfortable if your hip’s giving you trouble.”
I closed the door behind me amidst his cursing and ran to my room.
He didn’t follow.
Not right away.
I exhaled in relief and quickly changed into my pajamas then turned off my light and crawled into bed.
It took seconds for my eyelids to get heavy.
And when my body finally followed suit, the bed dipped under the weight of whoever was brave enough to interrupt my sleep.
“Are you saying that to piss me off or is it true?” Will’s gruff voice was so not what I needed right before my brain dreamed.
“Will!” I groaned and punched my pillow with my right hand, “You know I don’t do well with no sleep, and I’m already sucking bad enough as it is.”
“You don’t suck. You’ve never sucked a day in your life.”
I grinned up at him.
His stone-cold face sobered and then he cracked a smile. “I see someone still has a dirty mind.”
“I was talking about sucking oyster shooters.”
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
“Do dads still cuss? Shouldn’t you be saying something like, dag nabit or—”
He covered my mouth with his hand. “I’m not my father. My father’s…” He flinched, “He’s… in his seventies, he golfs on the weekends and eats the early bird special because it’s cheap even though he has enough money to do whatever the hell he wants. He goes to church every Sunday, never has a hair out of place, and told me I was going to hell for stripping on stage.”
It was my turn to flinch. “That was a good night.”
“Someone dared me.”
“You didn’t have to do it.”
“Yeah well, the crowd loved it, and I knew it would piss him off.” His hand fell at his side. “I’m not him.”
“Whatever you say, William.”
He groaned and leaned over me. “Keep insulting me and I’ll do a body cavity search…”
“You promise?” It was out before I could rein it back in.
His eyes flashed.
I gulped.
And then he was pulling away again, the intensity in his eyes faded right along with the sexually charged moment that had me itching beneath the suddenly too hot sheets. “Get some sleep, Ang.”
I yawned, “Good talk, Dad.”
He tossed a pillow at my face. Then, in a moment of what I’m assuming was either drunkenness or pure insanity, he leaned over my body and kissed my forehead. “Well, if the shoe fits.”
I held my breath, stunned, unsure of what it meant. Was he teasing me? Baiting me? Or just torturing me with his touch?
One thing was for damn sure.
When Will closed his bedroom door, sleep was the last thing on my mind.
Him stripping on stage took up all my thoughts, but the cherry on top was the feel of his soft lips against my forehead and the look in his eyes that matched it, the look that was more man than monster. More free than controlled.
More Will Sutherland than William.
More the guy I used to know.
Then the one currently possessing his boring yet hot as hell body.
SLEEP HAD ALWAYS been difficult for me. I wasn’t one of those guys who could just crash after a concert or a signing, I had to decompress, my mind was so aware of the constant conversations the chatter, the music, the noise — I had to just let my brain soak it all in, and sort it into the right places.
Some nights it took hours.
Other nights it took minutes.
Lucky me, that after one brief conversation with Ang — and I was leaning toward hour two. One conversation that no matter how many times I twisted it around, tried to make it fit, it just didn’t.
I was in a weir
d place.
A place where I wanted to hate her.
And a place where I was suddenly just exhausted from all the hate.
Keeping every single part of myself indifferent wasn’t something I was practiced in when it came to women.
I’d never been good at it.
Until she’d forced me to be.
Until I saw the way he looked at her and knew — the more I attached myself the more he would wonder what was so great about her — the more he would want to take.
I miscalculated.
The math never lined up in the first place.
And maybe that was the problem — I was always waiting for her to cheat, waiting for her to leave, waiting for to mess up — judging her from my stupid pedestal.
So when she fell. I turned around and walked away.
I told myself I was right.
I told myself I was better off.
I told myself a lot of lies in order to get through, and now I felt like a zombie as I walked through the dark beach house.
I had everything.
But her.
Money. Fame. An actual career I liked half the time that no longer had my face splashed all over every tabloid in the country.
And I was just as empty as the spare bedrooms in the house I was renting.
I just didn’t know how to get back to that place, the easygoing person I used to be, the guy who blindly trusted and didn’t give a shit, because when you’re that person you leave yourself open to pain.
But when you’re empty. Controlled. Boring.
Old.
I rolled my eyes.
At least it meant safe.
Safe from her.
Safe from hurt.
I paced the house for another twenty minutes and suddenly found myself at her door, leaning against the frame, watching her deep breathing as she tossed and turned in bed.
She finally shot up, scaring the ever loving shit out of me, and threw the covers over the mattress, and walked toward me, her sleep filled eyes heavy, her face irritated.
She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Neither of us is sleeping. And I only know one way to shut your brain down.”
My body went on high alert.
“Down boy.” Her groggy voice had my body burning, my hands aching to touch, my cock twitching. Great. That’s just what I needed as I laid down next to her. “I meant a duet.”
My heart dropped. “What?”
How the hell did she remember that?
“What’s wrong?” She threw an arm over my chest and sighed, “You’re shaking.”
I licked my dry lips and closed my eyes. “Sorry, Ang, just go to sleep.”
“I can’t, your knee keeps bumping me and you keep sighing and I could have sworn you were tapping your fingers against my shoulder a few seconds ago.”
I sighed, “Sorry I didn’t realize, sometimes I do that when—”
“When what?” Angelica was officially up, she moved to a sitting position and put her long hair in a ponytail. “When you what?”
“I get stressed.” I shrugged, unable to really explain the nervous energy that always swirled around me. “Don’t you ever just have problems shutting down?”
She looked away. Guilt marred her face. I should have seen through it, but I didn’t. “Yeah, I mean this is the life, all of us do, we have weird hours, even crazier fans, and our schedules don’t really allow for down time.”
I groaned, “Don’t remind me about schedules we both have to be up in two hours.”
“Sorry.” She yawned again.
And I knew, she was probably thinking about the last time we’d laid like this, the last time we’d sang. Before it all went to hell.
“Okay, so what do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”
I felt my body flush. “Nothing.”
She moved to her knees, leaned in and whispered, “Liar.”
I smirked and shook my head at her. “Fine. I sing, all right?”
“What do you sing?”
I looked away and wiped at my face, “Ah, you know… songs.”
“What kind of songs?”
“We really doing this right now? At three a.m.?”
She nodded.
“Hell.” I wiped my face again with my hands, “Fine, I sing… shit.”
“You sing shit.”
“No, I said shit because I panicked.”
“Come on, Will Sutherland, with your sexy smile and even sexier six-pack.” She ran her fingers down my stomach. “Just tell me.”
“Disney.”
“Disney what?”
“I sing Disney.”
“Like the Disney theme song or…” her face went from tired to amused, “…like, Under the Sea… Disney?”
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” I yelled while she fell over onto the mattress laughing.
“No, no, no, it’s adorable.”
“Great, just what a guy wants to hear from one of the sexiest actresses on the planet, gee you’re cute.”
“You are cute.” She wrapped her arms around my neck then brushed her mouth across my lips. “Should we go on a magic carpet ride?”
Before I could protest, she ran out of the room, only to run back in with a huge fluffy towel, she spread it across the bed, hopped on and started belting, “I could show you the world! Shining, shimmering—”
It became a tradition before we fell asleep.
Sometimes the songs changed.
Sometimes we sang them over the phone.
And when my mom died, and she was the only one singing — it was the only thing that helped keep me sane.
I shoved the memory back where it belonged.
“Come on, I’ll sing the girl part.” Ang’s voice transported me back to the present as she pulled me into bed and tucked the blankets over both of our bodies. She faced me. I scooted my arm underneath the pillow and sighed as she closed her. With a yawn, she started quietly singing. “I can show you the world…”
I didn’t say anything.
She opened one eye then two. “Will, it’s not my verse.”
“I should go.”
“All right,” She pulled back the covers.
I should walk the hell out of that room and not look back.
But I was suddenly cold.
And apparently paralyzed.
“Shining,” I sang in what fans dubbed a voice made for sex. “Shimmering… splendid.”
She sighed.
I closed my eyes.
And held my breath as she sang the next part.
And then it was my turn again.
And before I knew it.
I was asleep.
HOT ARMS WRAPPED around me, lips pressed against my neck, I jerked awake with Angelica’s legs somehow pretzeled between mine, her mouth on my neck, her breathing heavy.
I was so hot it was hard to breathe.
And then I had another problem.
I felt her.
Everywhere.
And though time had changed everything about us, our relationship, the way we both chose to deal with the pressure of fame — one thing remained the same.
Angelica Greene’s body was made for mine.
How could I forget? The way she fit around me like the missing piece I never knew how to mourn once it was jerked away from me.
Just as I was about to gently wake her up, her head moved, and then she blinked up at me, a dreamy smile flashed across her lips followed by sheer panic.
I barely managed to cover my balls before her knee came flying up at breakneck speed, sending her backward off the bed. “Ouch!”
“Do you always wake up so aggressively? Is this a new habit?” I rasped.
“I um…” She jumped to her feet, grabbed her cell phone, made a noise, and ran into the bathroom slamming the door behind her.
Two minutes later, she was back in the room throwing a ball cap on her head. She dippe
d down and peered under the bed, muttering something about flip-flops. Frowning, she stood and performed a slow spin, her gaze scanning the room.
“Need help?” I yawned.
“Now you offer to help?” She kicked one of her duffel bags open. “Ah hah!”
“What? Find drugs?”
Shit. Did I really have no filter anymore?
“Close.” Her voice had an edge to it. “I found my favorite pair of underwear.”
They went flying toward my face.
I caught the lacy thong with one hand and nearly punched myself with the other even though it itched to reach for her, or my own aching body whatever I could reach the quickest.
“Gotta run.” She snatched up a pair of sneakers from next to the dresser bolted out the door carrying them.
“Ang, wait—”
She paused, bottle of ready mixed protein in hand.
“I can drive you.”
“I’ll walk.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Should work off the drugs, right?”
The door slammed behind her.
And I felt hungover.
Even though, I hadn’t had any alcohol the night before.
What I’d had was harder stuff.
I’d had her body.
Better than any drug.
Not that I would know.
A few minutes went by, ones where I refused to think about the hurtful way I’d snapped at her and the reasons behind it, and just basked in her scent like a lunatic.
It was the first time since taking her on as a client that she gave me a brief glimpse into her old self — the pieces I’d fallen for.
If all it took was a glimpse, I was completely screwed if she did anything more, because already I was finding it hard to leave her bed, her room.
And all she’d done was force me to do a duet so we could both sleep.
I grinned the entire way to set, and made a mental note to apologize.
I PANICKED
Anyone would panic after that scene.
In bed together.
Comfortable.
Sexy.
Hot.
Sweating.
I gripped the front of my baseball cap and tugged it harder onto my head as the Uber pulled up to set.
Had someone said “Hey Ang you look a bit hot, need something?” I would probably ask for a cold slap to the face. This wasn’t… real. He was helping me because he had no choice.
Steal (Seaside Pictures) Page 7