“I’m going to ask, and you’re going to answer. Are you some sort of crazed fan?”
Yes. For years, yes.
My spine steels. I refuse to give this man any encouragement. He has enough arrogance to fill auditoriums. “Would a crazed fan even admit that? That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Ah-ha! You do know who I am.”
My lips twitch. This is why I became a copy editor instead of an actress. I could never pull off what it takes to act, unlike the six-foot-two-inch god standing before me, who mastered the skill at age ten.
“I would have to live under a rock not to know you’re River Danes.”
Hardness settles in his eyes. “Are you a reporter?”
I cringe because he’s not far off course. But it’s the distrust in his voice, as if he’s been deceived, that holds me back from telling him my job title. It’s irrelevant at this point, considering I happen to be jobless at the moment. “No. I needed a place to get away for a few weeks. My friend Amanda said I could stay here. Her family owns this house.”
“Ah, then we have ourselves a problem.”
My eyes narrow, not understanding.
“I needed a place to lay low for a while. My makeup artist on set offered this cabin. It’s his family’s place.” The makeup artist being Jeremy, Amanda’s older brother. Lucky bastard never told me he worked on the set with River Danes. He probably didn’t want Amanda or I to know since the scandal broke. He knows we’d hound him for information.
I scoff. “Yeah, I heard all about the trouble you got into.”
“I assure you that you didn’t get the entire truth.”
“So, you didn’t sleep with your current director’s wife?” The rumors flying around town are the current film he’s working on shut down temporarily—or permanently—due to Mr. Hollywood seducing the director’s wife. The story goes, River ran out during a shoot after being confronted by the director, and he’s refusing to work on set until they hire a new director. If my ex-boss-slash-boyfriend knew River stood in front of me right now, he’d bust a nut. The same nuts rammed against his receptionist. Ugh.
“Don’t believe everything you read, sweetheart. Things weren’t that simple. So, now that we cleared that up, you can be on your way.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. I was here first.”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“It’s not a question about being fair. I can’t go back. I can’t go anywhere. I have to lay low.”
“You can lay low at the Moscato Resort and Spa. I’m sure someone of your status will find the place suitable.” Lord knows I can’t afford to stay in any hotel, let alone there. What little savings I have will need to go toward my car payment. I can’t even think about paying for stuff right now. Begging for another advancement on my trust fund is the last thing I want to do. I continue my rant, “Seriously? With your money and fame, you can find a place to lay low.”
I stand with my hands on my hips, not caring how gorgeous this guy is. I won’t be intimidated. Good looks and charisma don’t affect me anymore. But the sweat pooling in less than desirable places threatens to expose that lie.
“Don’t you have any family around here?”
What little swag I had swept away in a huge rush. “Yes, but I can’t go home right now.” Not yet. I need time to think—alone time. My phone buzzes again, but I don’t look at it.
“Don’t you need to answer your phone?”
“No. I’m pretty sure it’s the reason why I need to be alone.”
His lips flatten, but softness edges his stare and curbs his cockiness. He runs a hand through his slicked-back, wet hair. “Look, it’s getting late, and I wouldn’t want you on the roads when it gets dark. Why don’t you stay here until we figure something out?”
Stay here. Alone. With River Danes.
“I-I don’t know.” Trepidation lies heavily in my tone. His coal-black hair and mesmerizing blue eyes trip my thoughts. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to think clearly when my childhood crush is walking around in his underwear.
“It’s either that or you go to a hotel.” He stalks to the kitchen. As he breezes by me, he adds, “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
The morning sunlight greets me as I step through the french doors and onto the balcony that adjourns the kitchen. The warmth from the sun and steam from the coffee cup feel good against my face as I walk to the balcony’s edge. Leaning my elbows on the railing, I peer into the valley. Crisp morning air fills my lungs while I relish in the serenity. I can’t remember the last time I even enjoyed the morning. L.A.’s fast-paced lifestyle makes one forget days like this exist.
“The scenery’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The deep baritone voice startles me, and I pivot to find River tucked in the far corner. Coffee splashes out of my cup and lands on my bare legs. I ignore it. “Oh, I didn’t notice you sitting out here.”
Those electric eyes peruse over my body at a slow, appreciative pace. I should spin back around or call him out for his open ogling, but I do neither. Instead, I stand immobile, wearing nothing but a cashmere sweater covering my sleeper shorts and tank top. But face it, the cardigan’s V-neck doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It dips low enough to reveal my generous cleavage that currently responds to him like a dog in heat. If he comments on the condition of my nipples, I’m blaming the cool air.
“I certainly notice you.”
I’m generally not a shy girl. I’m not. Just because I don’t have too many one-night stands doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own against L.A.’s nightlife. So, this warmth creeping up my face surprises me, and what’s worse is I can’t make it stop. How can this man turn me into mush? I severed my childhood crush on him years ago.
“That’s because I’m as awesome as the view.” My matter-of-fact tone causes him to chuckle, and the sound glides across my skin in a hazy tease. I turn back and face the scenery, regrouping. The sexual prowess is strong with this one. I must garner my inner resilience against him.
“Mmm, I agree.”
I won’t lie. His ploy to get into my pants may be laden with bullshit, but I rather enjoy his attempt. I find it stupidly charming. But I won’t let him know that.
“Do those throw-away compliments usually work?”
“It doesn’t matter what I say to get them in my bed.”
“So cocky.”
“Just stating a simple truth.” A hint of sadness laces his tone, and I blame that small bit of vulnerability for why I turn back around. Leaning my backside against the railing, I study him. This guy can have any girl he wants. Hell, he could have almost any guy if that’s his thing, but there’s a distance to his stare. It’s as if he doesn’t want that type of lifestyle. But that can’t be right. His playboy antics landed him here at my friend’s house. Still, I can’t help but wonder.
“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” he asks.
“I’m wondering if people throwing themselves at you ever gets old.”
His laugh is dry. “I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told the truth.”
I push off the railing and let my feet lead me to the chair next to him. Sinking into the fluffy cushion, I bring my cup of coffee to my mouth and murmur, “Try me,” before taking a sip.
River holds my gaze for a moment before returning to stare at the forestry before us. “In the business I’m in, it’s hard to tell who’s genuine and who’s not. I don’t even try anymore.”
A pang of sadness hits my chest. “The drawbacks of being a trifecta?”
Those crystal blue orbs dart back to mine and flicker with amusement. “A trifecta?”
“Yeah, you know—rich, famous, and utterly gorgeous.”
“Oh, so you do find me gorgeous. For a moment, I thought you were blind or something.”
“Nah, just keeping your ego in check.”
His chuckle sounds more genuine this time around, and I’m glad to put him back at ease.
“So, I take it you’re from
around here?” he asks.
I nod while taking a sip. “I grew up in Merlot. It’s a small wine town not too far from here.”
“Did you like growing up there?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“But you don’t want to visit your family?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Overbearing parents?”
“No, not exactly. My parents died when I was younger. They, uh, got killed in an automobile accident.” On a specific curve not too far from here. A shudder works its way through me. I miss my parents terribly, but I’ve adjusted—as much as one can, anyway. “My aunt and uncle raised me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stir unwelcome memories.” He looks off into the distance. His jaw hardens. “I lost my father when I was in my late teens.”
I remember reading when his father passed away. The entire female population at Merlot High wanted to drive to Hollywood and console him. I place my hand on his thigh, and warmth shoots through my arm, cocooning me with an unexpected concoction of anxiousness, peacefulness, and yearning. He stares at my hand, and I wonder if he feels the strange connection as well.
“I’m sorry, too.” I slowly withdraw my hand, attributing the feelings to some weird vibe between two grieving souls mixed with remnants of a childhood crush. That’s all.
“Thanks, but I wasn’t close to him.” He leans back in his seat and crosses one leg over his knee. I want to ask so many more questions, but I get the impression he wants to change the subject. So, I let him. Lord knows I don’t like talking about my parents’ death.
“What did you do in Merlot?”
I laugh. “Not a whole lot. That’s why I left and headed to Los Angeles.”
“The big city lights grab your attention?”
“Something like that.” I smile. “I don’t know. I always thought a bigger city would suit me better. Plus, I wanted to escape everything.” Nosey people. Sad memories. They piled on top of each other until I felt as crushed as the grapes during harvest.
“L.A. can be rather glamorous.”
“I attended college in Los Angeles and never returned home.”
“Do you miss this place?”
“Sure. I miss my aunt and uncle. They’re good people. My uncle stepped up and took over running the winery. My dad was in charge of daily operations, where my uncle was more into marketing.”
“Your family owns a winery?” His eyes widen with childlike curiosity that chases away the sad undertone the conversation had turned.
“Greer Wines at your service.”
A genuine smile, not his usual cocky one, coats his face. It’s the first time he looks completely relaxed. I didn’t think it possible, but he appears more handsome than usual.
“I love wineries. Was it cool growing up on one?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s all I know. Our house has been in our family for years. It’s the worst part about moving away but also the reason for needing to get away. Now, every time I head home, it gets harder to leave. Those scars of the heart fade and aren’t as jarring as they were in the beginning.” I shake my head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so deep.”
“No, I appreciate an actual conversation. It’s rare in my line of business.”
“So, you like wineries?”
“Yes, ma’am. Ever since I played in a movie when I was in my teens that took place at one. It’s kind of jacked up if you think about it. I wasn’t even old enough to drink, and they starred me in a movie where alcohol was abundant.”
“I remember that movie. The Harvest.”
He gives me a side-eyed glance. “I’m impressed. Should I start worrying about your stalker tendencies now?”
“Maybe. During that time, there may or may not have been swooning involved.”
“Oh, yeah? Do tell.”
“Keep in mind I was fourteen.”
His face grows serious as he nods. I almost laugh from the exaggerated expression.
“God, I can’t believe I’m admitting this.” I shake my head but continue, “So, after the movie played, I used to dream of dust rolling behind as you swept into town riding a black horse. You’d burst into the wine tasting room and sweep me off my feet. Then, we’d ride off into the sunset.”
“Hmm, so what did we do after that?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, a little startled by the question. “I never got that far in my fantasy.”
“I kind of like being some girl’s fantasy.”
“I’m pretty sure you were every girl’s fantasy.”
He narrows his eyes as he continues to study me. “There’s only one girl I’m interested in at the moment.”
I hold his gaze, trying not to be swept into his bullshit lines. But damn, he looks so serious. It’s hard to keep my wits. When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Just so we’re clear; you can ride me anytime you’d like.”
I belt out a laugh as I smack his leg. “I bet. But don’t worry. I grew up and got over my crush.”
“Ouch.” He clutches his chest as if he’s in pain. “You wound me.”
“Well, River Danes, it turns out you’re not as bad as I first thought.”
“Westlyn. Call me by my first name, Westlyn. River is my middle and stage name.”
“Okay, Westlyn.” I have to suppress another grin. It’s only a name. Him telling me to address him by it shouldn’t make me this giddy. But as he continues to hold my gaze, I realize the need to watch myself with this one. I just got out of a relationship. I’m not ready for a new one. Not that a relationship is what Westlyn is after, but rebound sex isn’t on my agenda either. I force myself to look away, the overwhelming need to regroup flaming my insides.
“You know what’s strange?” he asks.
“What?”
“I know your last name but not your first. How’s that possible?”
“You never asked.”
“Huh.” He seems to contemplate that. “Damn, I am arrogant.”
“I tried to tell you.”
“Hey.”
I laugh at his attempt to feign hurt but remain quiet.
“Are you going to tell me?” Westlyn nudges my leg with his foot.
“It’s Loni. Loni Greer.” I stick my hand out, not bothering to hide my smirk. “Nice to formally meet you.”
“Well, Loni. You’re lucky.”
“Why am I so lucky?” I humor him as he shakes my hand.
“About four or five years ago, there was a fucked-up article in one of those trash magazines. The author had your last name, but her first name was Yolonda.”
My blood goes cold. Holy crap. He remembers the article I wrote. I force a smile. “Lucky for you, I go by Loni.”
“Lucky indeed.” His stare lingers for a moment, intensifying my need to escape. I force myself to look away and ignore the ugly truth wedged between us like an open wound refusing to heal. I have to. If I tell him my given name—confess I did indeed write that article—it would make our situation too awkward. He won’t be here much longer. I don’t see how upsetting him will benefit either one of us. I push to my feet.
“I better go get my shower.”
And put some much-needed distance between us.
Tate: Enough’s enough. Get home, or you won’t have a home to get back to.
I let out a frustrated sigh. Tate’s texts keep getting more threatening, but I refuse to reply. What more can be said? I already told him we’re through. Maybe he should listen. Honestly, he’s probably not missing me but what I did for him. I treated him like a king the entire time we were together. Every morning, at precisely seven thirty-five—the exact moment he exited the shower—I made his breakfast smoothie. Any time before that, the liquid was too runny. If made after, it was too solid. Before getting out of bed, I would tell him something great about himself. He said it boosted his confidence for the workday, but my reasons were purely selfish. The more compliments I gave, the easier it was to live with him since he thrived on constant praise. I
tolerated his narcissism because I thought what we shared was love. He must’ve taken my kindness as a sign of being weak. Newsflash, buddy, I have a spine. No matter how badly I hate confrontation, I won’t tolerate a cheater.
Erasing the message, I toss the phone down and get back to my job search. I spent the entire day yesterday, holed up in the bedroom, polishing my resume and searching for a job. Today’s task consists of applying to various magazines and apartment hunting.
“Did you know all work and no play—”
“Stop! The last thing I need is some creepy movie playing through my head.” I laugh and make the mistake of glancing over my shoulder. Westlyn stands in the doorway, looking every bit the part of the all-American bad boy. His white, ribbed sleeveless T-shirt accentuates every hard muscle his upper body possesses. And those ripped jeans. Oh, how they fit him well. Each slit showcase more of his olive skin, and I’m suddenly jealous of clothes that get to snug against his body. Lucky bastards. I want to be the one wrapped around him.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to those energetic eyes shining the brightest blue. Warmth coats my cheeks as a smirk dances across his face. But give a girl a break. He’s as delicious looking as homemade apple pie.
“I was going out for a small hike. Thought maybe you’d want a break. You’ve been at it for two days.”
As if his words remind me of the soreness settling into my shoulders, I close my eyes and stretch my neck into full circle rotation. When I reopen them, I swing my chair to face him and meet his gaze.
Celebrity Playboy: All American Boy Series Page 2