“I can think of a few other therapeutic ways to relax your muscles.”
“Oh my God. You’re rich, super talented, and good looking. Must you use cheesy lines to get women in bed?” My tone is joking, and his laughter prompts me to move. I click out of my email and close the laptop.
“We’ve discussed this. And it’s not cheesy. I was just merely making a suggestion.”
“Uh-huh. Cheesy,” I reiterate as I stand. His gaze drops to my feet.
“Do you have appropriate shoes? I don’t think the Louboutins you wore the other day will make it far.”
“I have the proper gear.” I really don’t, despite packing every article of clothing I own. There’s a new pair of Vans tucked away. Those will have to do. “Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be right out.”
“I can’t watch?”
“No, perv.” I motion him to leave.
“Fine, I’ll grab us some water.”
It only takes a few minutes for me to change. The choice of what to wear comes easy when all of my casual clothes are back at the family’s winery. There wasn’t any need for casual clothes beside my workout gear in L.A. Hiking hasn’t been on my agenda for years. I shimmy into a pair of dark indigo skinny jeans and slip on my favorite chunky cashmere fisherman’s sweater. The Baltic blue matches perfectly with my honey-blonde hair I have pulled into a sleek, high ponytail. Not bad if I do say so myself.
“I’m ready,” I say to Westlyn as I meet him in the living room. He gives me a once over. I can’t ignore the appreciation settling in his expression. But whatever high I felt quickly falls when he shakes his head in disapproval.
“I suppose we could stay on the open path. I wouldn’t want your thousand-dollar sweater getting snagged.”
My cheeks heat. Money had never been an issue. I had a job that paid for my designer taste in clothes. But now that I’m out on my ass, maybe I should have been saving more. My trust fund isn’t available to me until I turn thirty-five. “I can do casual. Just not in Los Angeles.” Not with my ex-boyfriend insisting I look and play the part of a modern-day debutante.
“Fair enough.” He opens the front door and motions me through. “What have you been working on? You buried your nose in the computer for days.”
“It’s only been two days, but I, uh, spent most of yesterday and today updating my resume and filling out applications.”
“You’re between jobs?”
I bark out a dry laugh. “You can say that. That’s why I’m here. To figure out what to do since I was recently…let go.” I hate to divulge too much information. He doesn’t need to know about my shitty circumstances. He certainly doesn’t need to find out my actual job. He’s a freaking movie star. My job was to help work on the stories about people like him.
“What happened? Or am I being too nosey?”
My sigh comes out low and long as I give him a side-eye glance. “It’s totally embarrassing.”
“It can’t be more embarrassing than mine. At least your situation isn’t plastered all over those trashy magazines everyone insists on reading.”
Yeah, he doesn’t need to know my former employer was Hot Gossip, considering it’s one of the top-selling trashy magazines. “That’s true, but the scandal isn’t too different.”
“You slept with your boss’s wife?”
My laugh is more genuine this time. “No, but I was sleeping with the boss’s son. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one he stuck his dick in.”
At least Westlyn has the decency to grimace. Bonus points to him. “Is that why you came here? To get away?”
We continue to walk down the path, and he grabs a low-lying branch from a sticker bush. He swings it out of the way and motions for me to go ahead—double bonus points.
“That’s partially the reason. I also needed a place to stay until I figured out my new living arrangement, considering we lived together.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, so not only am I single. I’m also jobless and homeless.”
“I’m sorry. Men can be assholes.”
That admission brings a soft smile to my lips. “Why is that exactly?”
His eyes grow wide, and he places his hand on his chest. “Don’t place me in that category. I’ve never cheated.”
“Sleeping with someone’s wife isn’t considered the same?”
“To my defense, I never knew who she was.”
That draws my attention. I know about his reputation. I also know how magazines skew representation to sell more magazines. But Westlyn “River” Danes has always been known as Hollywood’s bad boy. Bad press or not, he is and always will be a player. “What do you mean?”
“I was at the bar when she approached me. After some heavy flirting on her end, I caved.” He snaps a twig from a sapling and breaks small sections off. Shrugging, he says, “I had no clue who she was.”
The look I toss his way screams, “Yeah, right.”
He throws his hands up in protest. “I’m serious. Had I known the woman was my director’s wife, I wouldn’t have slept with her. I do have standards.”
Why do I believe him? I have a knack for wanting to believe the good in people. That’s how I always end up with narcissistic assholes. I need to safeguard my heart around him before falling for another round of bullcrap.
“Fine, I admit that was pretty shitty on her end.”
“It was pretty shitty on my end too. I should’ve asked for her name. I don’t know if she would’ve told me the truth, but then I could’ve said she lied, and I wouldn’t feel like shit right now.”
“Oh my God. The famous River Danes just confessed something soul bearing to me.” What an exclusive this would make. But as soon as the thought flits through my mind, I shut it down. He may not be a shitty person, but neither am I.
“Ha. Don’t get used to it. I don’t open up to too many people.” He pauses and adds under his breath, “At least, I never used to.”
“You just did to me.” My gaze meets his and holds.
“I guess I did, didn’t I?”
“Hopefully, things work out with the director. When do you plan to go back?”
“I’m not sure. I’m waiting for my agent to call. There’s too much money invested to pull the plug, and we’ve shot too much film to recast. Hopefully, John’s wife can smooth over what she started. But I don’t know.”
Interesting. “So, you didn’t walk off and leave the producers high and dry?”
“No. John kicked me off the set after his wife confessed to sleeping with me.”
“Wait. The woman told her husband?”
“Fucked up, right? According to my agent, she used me to get back at John. Evidently, he had cheated on her.”
“Wow.” That was not the story that ran today.
“Like I said. Everyone has an angle.”
His words are haunting and bother me more than they should. “You want to know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you deserve a no strings attached, home-cooked meal.”
“Yeah? What do you plan on making because all I saw in the fridge was chick food?”
“Chick food?” I ask as the cabin comes into view, taking me by surprise. I’ve been so absorbed in our conversation that I hadn’t realized we circled the property already. Talking to him comes so easy.
“Yeah, you know the kind. All veggies. No meat.”
“Okay big shot. I’ll make you General Tso’s tofu, vegetable lo mien, and fried rice for dinner tonight.”
“Tofu?”
I chuckle as we step onto the front porch. “Out of everything I listed, you focused on the tofu?”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”
“Just wait. You’ll love it.” I go to pat him on the chest but think better of it, keeping my hands securely by my side.
“So, it’s a date?” A lock of dark curls fall forward, hiding his cocked eyebrow. I press my hands tighter against me to keep from tucking the loose strands bac
k. God, he’s so incredibly handsome. All I want to do is touch him, which is the opposite of my “stay away from male appendages” pact I made with myself.
“Always the charmer,” I murmur.
“Not a very good one since you’re trying to kill me with your chick food.” His lips twitch, forcing me to look away.
I let out a slow, steady breath. “Oh, I think you’re better than you think.”
And with those words, I stalk toward my bedroom, where I plan to hide until later.
“Hey, look what I found in the wine cellar?” Westlyn comes into the kitchen, holding a bottle of my family’s best merlot.
“Raiding the Longleys’ wine cellar, I see.”
“Jeremy said to make myself at home. I took that to include helping myself to their wine collection.” He places the bottle in front of us. “How can I resist a bottle of Greer wine?”
“It would be utterly disgraceful.”
He hip checks me as if cooking together is our norm. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
He scourges through a few drawers until he finds the bottle opener. After he pops the cork, he pours us each a glass, eyeing the cubed, marinated tofu skeptically. “We’re really going to eat that?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.” He hands me the glass, and I join him in taking a sip.
“Mmm, this is good.” He eyes the bottle again.
“It was our best year for the merlots.” I hand him the knife. “Now, get to work. Don’t think you can butter me up to get out of chopping the vegetables.”
“I’d never do such a thing. But I’m still not sure about that.” He takes the knife and points the tip to the tofu. Trepidation coats his features, but he has nothing to worry about. As with most skeptics, they just need to try it first.
“Trust me. The next time you eat Chinese food, you’ll think about me and this delicious meal.”
“That confident, huh?”
“Of course. This General Tso’s tofu is just as good as the one made with chicken, and how can you go wrong with a vegetable stir fry?” My phone pings with a text, but I ignore it. I’m right in the middle of coating the tofu with cornstarch. Besides, I’m sure it’s another threatening text from Tate. His latest said I’ll be ruined in this business if I don’t at least respond. His ego must’ve taken a harder hit than I thought.
“I’m down with the stir fry. It’s this strange-looking stuff I’m hesitant about.”
“Ye of little faith. Once it’s covered in the sauce and fried, you’ll never tell the difference. I’ll make you an honorary vegetarian yet.”
He barks out a laugh. “I don’t know about that. I like my meat too much.”
“Ha! You have hot dogs, for crying out loud. Everyone knows they’re made out of lips and assholes.”
He dangles the knife in his hand, pointing it at me. “Ha-ha, somebody has watched The Great Outdoors too many times and thinks they’re funny.”
“Someone has to keep John Candy’s legacy alive.”
“True, but the whole lips and assholes thing isn’t real.”
“Isn’t it? Can you tell me what exactly they put in those things?”
His lips twitch. The glow from the lights illuminates his blue eyes, making them more striking. His coal-black hair hangs down in a shaggy mess. He’s so delicious looking when he wears this carefree expression.
“Fine, I have no clue.”
“Ha! See.” I hold up a piece of cubed tofu. “There are no mystery meats here.”
“But what exactly is in it?”
“Um.” I glance at the cornstarch covered blob. “I don’t know. But it’s better for you.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“Trust me. It’ll be good.” I head over to the stove and toss the tofu into the frying pan. “When you get done with the veggies, you can chop the cauliflower. But use the food processor. They need to be small.”
“What are you doing with the cauliflower?”
“We’re going to make cauliflower rice.”
“I thought we were making fried rice?”
“We are, but we’re substituting the rice with cauliflower.”
“What do you have against rice?”
“Nothing, but when I can cut back on carbs, I do. That way, I can have chocolate whenever I want.” I pick up the glass of wine and tip it to him. “And drink a good glass of merlot.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. His eyes darken as they lock onto mine, his expression growing serious. “I think I like you, Loni Greer.”
“I like you, too.” As if trapped by his spell, I don’t move until the ringtone blares from my phone. It’s the third interruption in less than a half-hour.
“You may want to check. It could be important.” He points to my cell.
“Yeah, they’re persistent, whoever it is.” I move the pan off of the stove and snatch the phone from the ledge. Frowning, I swipe the answer button. It’s not Tate but my aunt. “Hello?”
“Oh, good, you answered.” The panicked desperation lacing my aunt’s voice tightens my chest.
I turn my back to Westlyn. “What’s going on?”
“We need to have a family discussion. Do you think you can come home within the week?”
“Of course, I can be there tomorrow.”
“Oh, that would be great. I hate springing this on you, but it’s important.”
“Is someone sick?” Thoughts of my aunt or uncle’s health dance in my mind. They’re not old by any means, but things do happen.
“No, nothing like that. It has to do with the winery. I don’t want to get into it over the phone. That’s why we need you to come home.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in the morning.”
“The morning?”
“Yeah, I, uh, had planned on visiting soon anyway. I’m not too far away.” I hold the phone to my head and pound my forehead. I’ll need to explain why I’m so close, but I don’t want to get into that discussion now. I suppose we’re alike in thinking discussing things in person is better than over the phone.
“Okay, sweetie. We’ll see you tomorrow. Love you and be careful.”
“I will, and I love you, too.”
“Everything okay?” Westlyn asks as soon as I disconnect.
“I don’t know. Something’s going on. My aunt wants me to come home and discuss the winery.” Unease creeps up my spine. They’ve never summoned me home before, so the driving force behind this can’t be good.
“I hope everything’s okay.” Worry lines mar his forehead, and his genuine concern tugs at my heart. This man surprises me. He’s nothing like the man I portrayed in my article five years ago.
“Me too.”
“I guess this is our last night together then.”
“Looks to be the case.” Neither one of us seem thrilled by this declaration, but leaving shouldn’t make me feel sad. Sure, I’m not ready to go, and I’m worried about what they have to say, but the last few days haven’t been bad hanging around him. He’s actually down to earth once you get past his good looks and charm.
His eyes dip to my lips, and he swallows hard. “We better make the best of it, huh?”
“You could go with me. Our property is big enough. I can hide you.”
Something shifts in his eyes, and for a slight moment, I think he’s going to agree. But then, he hesitates. “I better not.”
“If things change, the winery isn’t hard to find.” I swing back to the stove, trying not to let his denial affect me.
Our conversation stays light until we finish cooking.
“Okay, I’m going to show you what a meatless meal can bring,” I declare, placing the food on the counter.
Westlyn hands me two plates, wearing his signature smirk. “You’ll have your work cut out, you know.”
“Something tells me hot dogs aren’t too hard to beat.”
He laughs as I fill his plate. “You may be right, but I needed something easy to fix since I was cooking for myself.�
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“Understandable.” I take a fork and stab a chunk of the prepared tofu. Bringing it to his mouth, I say, “Here you go. Be prepared to be wowed.”
“There is no doubt you could wow me, Loni Greer.”
My name dances on his tongue like a tantalizing tease as heat slams into me. I watch, entranced, as he wraps his lips around the food and slides it off the fork. His seductive act is hot on its own, but when his eyes close and he moans the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, my breath hitches. It’d be so easy to cave to this man and spend one night together. But who would I be sleeping with, River Danes or Westlyn? I don’t want to sleep with the movie star. Not anymore. One-night stands were never my thing, and I can’t be sucked into rebound sex. But if the man, Westlyn Danes, ever presented himself, I don’t think I could be so quick to say no.
Even though that is precisely what I need to do.
The deep breath does little to calm the turmoil swimming in my veins. I grab two of my suitcases and wheel them behind me as I step through the oversized wooden door. The familiar sense of being home washes through me, but it doesn’t quite snuff the melancholy hanging overhead. I could blame my mood on the upending news my aunt has to tell me, but I know the source. It’s directly related to the hot, famous guy I left staring after me.
Leaving him shouldn’t have been hard. We hardly know each other. But I feel off. Down even.
“Hello, I’m home. Aunt Lynette. Uncle Denny.” I yell their names, but silence greets me. I abandon my suitcases by the front door and walk toward the dining room. It’s mid-morning. A hundred dollars says they’re having brunch on the back patio. It’s a tradition dating back to when they took over the winery. Uncle Denny spends the morning tending to the daily operations, while Aunt Lynette works the retail side of things. They meet at eleven o’clock for brunch and mimosas. As my aunt says, “It’s never too early for a glass of wine at a vineyard.” And by wine, she means champagne made from our chardonnay grapes.
When I reach the french doors, I smile as the familiar scene brings back fond memories. They sit at the patio table, enjoying a slice of banana bread. A casserole dish filled with baked blueberry oatmeal is off to the side, missing two servings.
Celebrity Playboy: All American Boy Series Page 3