by Laura Burton
“Never.”
Chapter 21
Leila
I wake up absolutely refreshed. I feel like I just had the best sleep of my life, and it takes me a few seconds to register that I’m not alone in bed, and why.
I blink several times and wriggle, prompting a moan from behind me.
I turn my head slowly and peek over my shoulder at the huge muscular arm draped over me like a security blanket. Giant puffs of air hit my back and all I can see is Blaze’s dark wavy hair.
I turn back and hold in a squeal.
Blaze is in my bed. This is not a drill. Blaze Hopkins is in my bed.
The best (or worst) part of it is, he’s shirtless and I have no memory of what (if anything) happened last night. Was I drunk? No, surely not. I only had an espresso and one small glass of white wine. Then I was sipping water for the rest of the flight.
Did someone spike my drink? Was it Harper? She seemed like she was up to no good on the plane and she’s been weird around me ever since I called her bluff.
In any case, the real question is, what happened last night with Blaze? Did we…?
I clamp my teeth and peek under the sheets to see if I’m dressed. I’m in my pajamas. Oh, sweet relief.
Okay, so I’ve established that I’m 99.99% sure nothing happened last night. Good. Because the last thing I want is for my first time with Blaze to be forgotten in the morning.
What I would like is to wake up the next morning, blissful and content, a goddess in white satin sheets wrapped around my bare skin, and doves flying in the air as I open the windows to bask in the morning sunlight.
I’d have a shiny gold wedding band on my left hand, of course, and Blaze will walk up and hug me from behind, pressing his lips to my cheek and whispering, “Good morning, Mrs. Hopkins,” in my ear.
The thought makes me wriggle with excitement. I love the thrill of having totally inappropriate thoughts without Blaze’s knowledge.
If he finds out I’ve already pictured what it’ll be like to be married to him, I might never see him again.
But the truth is, if I didn’t see myself married to the guy, I’d never agree to being in a relationship with him. Which explains why I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. Until now, the face of my husband has been a mystery––a blotted out face on a handsome body.
But right now, all I can see is Blaze holding my hand as I deliver our first baby.
Driving us in a classic car across Death Valley.
Carrying our son on his shoulders while we walk around Disney World.
Rubbing my back and soothing me after a traumatizing call with my toxic mother.
It’s him. Blaze has inserted himself into all of my fake future memories.
I cannot imagine living a life without him in it.
Yes. I, Leila Scott, have fallen for Blaze Hopkins.
And, oh boy, have I fallen hard.
I want to cozy up to this man and pretend we’re already a happily married couple.
The obnoxious sound of a phone alarm cuts off my daydream. Blaze stirs and groans into the pillow, but when I try to sidle away, his arm tightens and his hand grasps my stomach.
I’m stuck.
After a few heavy breaths, Blaze relaxes and promptly falls asleep again. I’m still cocooned; his arm is like a seatbelt.
I freeze. I’ve just realized that each time I wriggle, his hips move with a light groan.
Nope. That’s not good at all. I have to get away from this situation.
But then Blaze nuzzles me and starts giving me light kisses on the back of my neck. Suddenly, I can’t remember why I needed to get out of bed.
I never knew Blaze could be so cuddly. His muscles give him such a hard image, but here he is––soft and warm like a human-sized teddy bear.
I could get used to this.
I imagine Sunday mornings, the two of us just lying in bed and holding each other, not having anywhere to go. There’ll be hours of contented sighs, sweet kisses, and more cuddles than you can find at a Care Bear convention.
Of course, as soon as Blaze wakes up, other senses will awaken too––ones that will be hard to resist and impossible to ignore.
I’m not ready for those right now.
As fun as it is to fantasize about the future with Blaze, there are a few things I haven’t resolved.
The fact that Blaze has a reputation for changing his relationship status more often than Kim Kardashian changes her clothes is still deeply unsettling to me.
The fact that he’s an actor, a famous actor, with a mob of fans following him everywhere he goes.
I guess a part of me is concerned that the second I cave and give him what he wants, he’ll take off to find a new conquest… maybe a blonde.
From what I can see, holding back keeps him motivated. And the coolest part of that is it’s forced us to get to know each other.
I’ve learned that Blaze doesn’t bother reading subtitles, and he doesn’t watch foreign films.
He loves being around people; he’s a total extrovert, and usually, the loudest voice in the room. But all that aside, he’s an amazing listener. He has the most intent look on his face when he’s listening to someone speak. And he has this way of making me feel unbelievably special with his eyes, even when we’re in the middle of a huge crowd.
There’s some parts of our past that Blaze and I have in common––we both have issues with our parents, and we were both abandoned, in a sense.
But in so many ways, Blaze had it worse.
He has a big shot career now, and I’m unemployed with a long list of failed jobs on my resume. But I have one thing he doesn’t have… Two, actually.
I have my sisters.
Lucy and Chessy have been with me through it all. And even though it’s been extra pressure on me to get my life together and be the responsible big sister that they deserve, they give me so much love, that makes it all worth it.
Unlike Blaze, I have a family. My sisters have seen me go from job to job, always the bridesmaid and never the bride. I’m on the brink of turning thirty, and I still don’t have any solid plans for a career.
To the world, I’m a hot mess.
But to my sisters, I’m just Leila.
I turn to look at Blaze’s sleeping frown and smooth a tuft of hair away from his forehead.
Will Blaze stay around long enough to meet my sisters?
If he does, I know they’ll get on like a house on fire. He’d be such a fun brother-in-law. And he’ll prove useful for the times when Chessy gets with the wrong guy. Or when Lucy has one of her breakdowns.
I roll my lips inward and bite down, hardly daring to breathe in Blaze’s scent.
This is too perfect.
A small part of me wants to stay in this bed and keep the make-believe going. But if Blaze opens his chocolate colored eyes, I’ll come undone, and there’ll be no stopping what will happen next. I might just play my last card and never see Blaze again.
Except for every single time I put on a movie.
That sounds like a nightmare to me.
Decided, I squirm out of his clutches and crawl under the covers to get away. But the bedsheets are tucked in the sides so expertly, I lose my sense of direction and get stuck by Blaze’s feet.
“What are you doing?”
I freeze at the amused rumbling from the top of the bed and wince. My butt is in the air and my head is wedged in between the sheets at the bottom of the bed. I jerk to the left and crawl back up to the top, trying to steer clear of Blaze’s moving limbs. “I lost my earring…” I say. It’s a bold faced lie, but I’m honestly impressed with my quick thinking.
“You lost an earring at the bottom of the bed?” Blaze asks, sounding completely unconvinced.
Shoot. I didn’t think this lie through.
“Well, I…” My head pops out from the covers and I swipe my hair away from my face. “It must have fallen out while I was sleeping ‘cause I move around a lot in my sleep… or so Lucy says.
” I laugh nervously, trying not to look at how the sunlight is glittering off Blaze’s delightfully sculpted pectorals. “She actually always says she feels sorry for anyone who has to share my bed, because I thrash around so much.”
“Thrash?” Blaze repeats, his face breaking into a grin. He lifts a hand and shakes his messy hair, showing me more of his bare torso. My cheeks are like two halogen lamps, burning. I edge to the end of the bed.
Blaze rubs his chin with a chuckle. “You did seem to be moving and talking in your sleep last night,” he says.
I swallow. “I… I did?”
Oh no. What did I do? What did I say? Please let it not be something humiliating.
“You had my leg in a death grip,” Blaze says, his brows lifting.
I can’t breathe as horror floods through every crevice of my body. “I touched your leg?” I whisper. My mouth is totally dry now.
Blaze chuckles again, his eyes twinkling. He’s having far too much fun with this. Teasing me seems to be on his list of favorite activities.
“And you said something to me… Do you not remember?” he says, his eyes growing wide. I open and close my mouth soundlessly, wracking my brain for a memory. Any memory. But nothing comes to mind.
This is bad. He’s eyeing me up like a cat that got the cream. His tongue runs across his bottom lip and my stomach wobbles in response.
I scratch my head. What happened last night?
I went to the room, and everything was starting to sway. I couldn’t remember when I last slept or what time zone I was in. So I changed into my pajamas, staggered to the couch and passed out. Then I woke up in bed with Blaze.
I need him to fill in the blanks. But I’m worried about what I’ll find out.
He seems to read my mind. “I carried you to the bed because you looked so uncomfortable on that tiny couch,” he explains.
He carried me!
I wish there was CCTV footage of that moment.
“After tucking you in, I made to leave but you grabbed my thigh and told me to stay with you. So I got in bed with you and… I’m still here.” Blaze points to himself with a frank smile.
“You stayed because I asked you to?” I whisper.
Blaze nods, then his sunny disposition turns into an intense hunger and his eyes darken, looking at me like I’m a tasty morning snack he’d like to devour.
I gulp when he reaches out and starts edging toward me. I back away until there’s no more bed, then I fall on the floor with a thump.
“Are you okay?” Blaze’s head pops out from the side of the bed and I jump up and skip backward several steps. “I’m fine,” I say in a voice way too high to sound natural. I grab my bag and head for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Blaze grins and moves to follow but I raise my palm. “Alone.”
Then Blaze’s smile drops.
“And then I think I’m going to go see Olly.” I say, fiddling with the handle of my bag. Blaze frowns. “Olly?”
“Yep. He needs my help,” I lie. Blaze doesn’t press me on it.
“Okay, well, I’ll call you when I’m done with all the press tour stuff…” Blaze picks up his phone and his face turns sour when he looks at the screen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shakes his head and smiles at me. “Nothing. You go take your shower; I’m going to hit the gym. I’ll see you later.”
Confused, but relieved that Blaze is no longer giving me his ‘I’m going to ravish you now’ look, I wave and walk into the bathroom.
Great. Now I need to find Olly and the other stylists, who all hate me since I basically blanked them in Paris.
I’ve got my work cut out for me.
Chapter 22
Blaze
“Tell us, Blaze, are you enjoying your stay in Tokyo?”
I straighten my back and let my face settle into my most charming smile. “Absolutely. I love coming to Japan, the people are so friendly and welcoming. The food is excellent too, I can’t wait to finish this interview and chow down three bowls of Butajiru.”
A polite laugh follows from the crowd of Japanese reporters all standing with their cameras directed at me and the interviewer.
Japan is by far the least stressful place to do a press tour.
We’re shown to a private room in one of the high-rise buildings, far away from the public eye. The chairs are a little too narrow for me, but the high walls are painted bright red and the tile floors are so clean, they reflect light from the floor to ceiling windows. Tall plants stand in all corners of the room, and to the side, I notice a huge stand supporting four umbrellas.
Leila’s curiosity has awakened my own and I can’t stop looking around, constantly losing my focus during the interview. I force my attention back to the young man sitting poker straight in a dark suit. He adjusts his oversized glasses and appears to repeat a question. “There is a lot of chemistry between you and Harper on the screen. Our viewers are just wondering if you two are romantically involved in the real world?”
It takes effort to keep my expression blank and not twist my face into a grimace. The thought of being romantic with Harper makes my stomach churn. And not in a good way.
Reasons why I don’t like Harper:
She looks at me like I’m a piece of gum at the bottom of her shoe.
She treats the stylists like slaves, barking at them if she doesn’t like a lipstick shade or when her hair isn’t smooth enough.
She’s an actress.
But I can’t give any of those reasons to the man interviewing me. It would hurt her career, and I’m not that mean.
“No. We’re just friends,” I say, trying to sound sincere.
To my surprise, the interviewer holds up his tablet and shows a grainy picture of Harper and I looking at each other in the street. My hands are grasping her shoulders. “We have this photograph of you together, taken last night. It looks quite intense. Can you explain what is happening here?”
I clamp my jaw. If I tell the truth––that Harper was drunk and about to turn into a human pancake if I didn’t stop her walking into the road––that would inevitably spiral into a bigger story.
Fellow actors and I have an unspoken rule: Don’t rat each other out.
We all know how things get blown out of proportion. So, play everything down. Always.
But how do I navigate this one?
Before I can answer, the man picks up his tablet again and plays the CCTV footage of Leila and I kissing on the Eiffel Tower. My heart squeezes and I break into a sweat under the pressure.
“Is this you and Harper?” the man asks.
No. It’s not, but if I engage any further in this conversation, I’m going to trip up and say something damaging. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about,” I say. I keep my smile charming, but I give the man a look to tell him I’m serious.
“But the fans are dying to know––does Blaze Hopkins have real feelings for his co-star, Harper Jewel?”
The cameras pan to my direction and there’s a shuffle of feet from behind. “Let’s not hide it anymore, honey.”
I turn around to see a flash of blonde hair. Next thing I know; Harper is kissing me forcefully on the mouth. Cameras flash faster than lightning in a Florida storm and gasps fly around the room. I leap out of the chair like I’ve been kissed by an electric eel and stare at Harper in shock.
What is she playing at?
The interviewer starts speaking at top speed, throwing more questions at me like darts, but if I stay here any longer, I’ll be forced to tear Harper’s reputation to shreds.
I’m starting to think that might just be what she deserves.
I leave the room and rejoin the stylists and management team in the other room. Then I lock eyes with Leila and my heart sinks.
She doesn’t need to say it. She saw what happened.
My chest grows tight as I get mental images of Leila dramatically turning and running away, never to be seen or heard of again. But
Leila is different.
She furrows her brows and marches toward me, surprisingly calm.
“Are all of your interviews that eventful?” she asks, rubbing the corner of my mouth with her thumb. “Lipstick,” she mutters, grabbing a tissue and wiping the red smudges off her finger.
“Leila, I have no idea why Harper did that,” I begin, but Leila snorts and flicks her hair back. I squint, trying to read her expression. She’s so cool and collected. “Aren’t you angry?” I ask.
Even though I appreciate how mature she’s behaving, a part of me is disappointed. If seeing me kiss another woman doesn’t bring any strong emotions out of her, then maybe she doesn’t have such strong feelings for me after all.
Leila rearranges a set of makeup brushes and puts them away in a bag, then hands it to Olly, who smiles at her. The smile is almost genuine too. “I’m not angry at you, you didn’t want that to happen. I’m not an idiot.” Leila starts to arrange the tissue boxes now. Her hands are trembling.
“Blaze, we need to get on the road to the studio. We’re on in fifty minutes,” Martin says, tapping my shoulder. But my stomach is knotting and I can’t just leave without getting some sort of signal that Leila is okay.
I put my hand over hers, prompting her to meet my inquiring stare. “Are you okay?”
She opens her mouth, but then her eyes move to the side and narrow. “Excuse me.”
She walks off and the room grows deathly silent as Harper walks in. Leila makes a beeline for her.
“Oh, dear. This isn’t going to be good,” Martin murmurs.
I get the sense he’s not wrong as we watch the two women meet and stand head to head, eyes blazing.
Chapter 23
Leila
I’m shaking inside, but the tremors haven’t reached my hands just yet.
Which is good, because I need to convince Harper of the total lie that she doesn’t have any effect on me.
The truth is there’s nothing I want more than to smack her across the face with my right hook and wipe that smug grin off her face.