by Ada Stone
I could understand that; I was doing the same.
Though Zoe had her own place and it would be easier for us to go stay there, she had insisted on spending most of our time here at Jordan’s. I sensed that she was still upset about everything that had happened—and who could blame her—and wasn’t entirely comfortable with her house yet. From what I understood, Sal spent more than a little time there.
I was just relieved that he hadn’t done what he’d done to her there. I wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to recover from that.
I was playing with Zoe’s hair when the door opened and voices filtered in. Zoe stiffed, immediately taken out of her book, though she continued to stare at the page, pretending otherwise.
“…redecorate! What’s wrong with the old color?” This was Jordan and he sounded like he was whining, though not truly upset.
“Because I’m not two anymore! I don’t want baby pink on the walls!”
I smiled when I heard the voice of the little girl answering him.
I was pleased to see that he’d won out in the end and that she’d come home.
As soon as Zoe recognized the voices like I had, she sat up, lowering her book at the same time. She peered over the back of the couch to see Jordan and Angel. Jordan was surprised to see her there and looked between the two of us.
He’d missed quite a bit I realized.
“Hey. So…how are things with you guys?”
Zoe laughed at that, a rich, sweet sound. “We’re good, Jordan. We’re good.” Then she looked back at me, smiling softly. She stretched so that she could plant a sweet kiss on my lips. When she pulled away, she added in a soft whisper just for me, “In fact, I think we’re going to live happily ever after.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
THE END
Sneak Preview: Spear
SHE CAN'T STAY AWAY FROM THE TIP OF MY SPEAR.
Raina Taylor – world-famous actress, star of a million men's fantasies…
And my newest assignment.
When I see a man assaulting a lone woman late one night, I do what any decent human being would do – I beat his face into a bloody pulp. Okay, fine, maybe I went a little too far, but that's just the way I do things. You don't get to where I am in life by doing what most others would do. My job as the right-hand man for President Ryker, leader of the Cruel Angels MC, is not for the faint of heart.
It's for the bold.
The cruel.
The violent.
In other words, me.
Long story short, it turns out that the girl I've rescued is superstar celebrity Raina Taylor. She starts to thank me, but one look at my tattoos, my muscles, and the infamous Cruel Angels patch on my leather jacket, and she thinks maybe she's not so fortunate after all.
Not that I care what this bratty princess thinks. I've got other things on my mind, and I leave her without a second thought. But I get one hell of a nasty shock when I get back to the Cruel Angels HQ and Ryker tells me I've got a new job – protecting his niece from a crazy stalker.
And lo and behold, who is my boss's niece?
You guessed it – the prissy little movie star herself.
Now, I'm stuck tailing her around and trying to keep her out of harm's way.
But the more she sasses back at me…
The more she tries to tease me, tempt me, screw with me…
The more I want to do one thing and one thing only:
Take her to bed and show her who's boss.
Chapter One
Raina
I hated this part, but smiled anyway amidst the wild applause and the smattering of flashbulbs that told me dozens upon dozens of pictures were being taken. Tomorrow, I’d be awash in them, picking them apart as I scanned the headlines and the media bloggers in search of the ones where I looked terrible. The ones where people would point out panty lines in my twelve-thousand-dollar dress and nitpick at my choice of flat black four-thousand-dollar heels. I’d cringe as they told me that I was too racy to be a real lady, or too modest to be progressive. And then I’d just throw up my hands as some cameraman managed to capture the only picture in which I was not smiling and proceed to post it on the front page of some tabloid with the headline: Raina Taylor, What a Bitch.
But that was all for tomorrow. Tonight, I had to be a superstar.
Smiling broadly to show my pearly white teeth, I did my best to look both confident and yet pleasantly surprised at being given such a prestigious award for my groundbreaking performance in A Woman’s Last Touch.
The clapping and applause continued as I made my way up the polished marble stairs amidst the shimmering overhead lights that washed out my face and made me look even shinier amidst the silver sequins of my dress. It was floor length, though the split up the leg nearly went to my panties, so I gathered it up in my delicate hands, mindful of my four-hundred-dollar manicure. I hurried up the steps, trying to be both eager and demure.
Not an easy task, but I worked hard at it.
As a twenty-something actress, I was quickly becoming vintage. Soon, I’d be too old really to play the heroine roles that someone like me craved. They’d be reserved for eighteen- and nineteen- and twenty-year-olds while I slowly grew into the less than coveted roles of “mother.” Maybe I’d be lucky and get to stay as a MILF, but short of that, I was well aware that I only had a few precious years as a lovely, widely desired starlet, and I intended to milk it for all that it was worth.
When I reached the stage, my heels clicking as I approached Tom Harrison, who was at the podium holding my abstract crystal award, I tried to keep my breathing and heartbeat even. Despite having performed thousands of times for the camera—and a few times for a couple of small theaters in Europe—I still got stage fright when I had to come up on stage like this and address a crowd. Silly, maybe, but no less terrifying.
I reached for my award as Tom gave it to me and then shook his proffered hand. He leaned forward and did those funky little air kisses that I hated so much, but I reciprocated anyway, even as I felt as though my smile might crack at any moment.
Keep it together, I reminded myself, thanking Tom profusely for the award he had absolutely nothing to do with.
He ushered me to the podium next and I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before putting my lips near the mic to give my speech. I’d of course prewritten one even though I couldn’t be sure that I would win anything. There were a lot of decent nominees for this one and despite the yes men in my life, I wasn’t dumb enough to think there was no competition. Still, it was important to be prepared. But it was also important to not look as though you were prepared because that would mean you were somehow overconfident. As a woman, that was dangerous because it made you appear like a bitch to the public.
And in this world, public opinion was everything.
“I’d like to thank my uncle Ryker for being the only man who ever managed to stand with me through it all…”
…
Almost two hours later, I was finally leaving the awards ceremony. You would think that after actually receiving the award and then giving my little acceptance speech things would progress rather quickly. But in show business, it was all about smiling for the camera. The more people took your picture, the more publicity you got. And the more publicity, the more work, the more money. It was a never ending cycle, and if I thought about it too much, it not only made my head hurt, but it left me with an awful sort of feeling. Like what was the point?
So I made a point of not thinking about it.
I waved one last time and let the paparazzi get a few last pictures in before sliding into the car, which was some fancy sleek black Audi that I didn’t know the first thing about except that it was expensive, but still very reliable and safe. I was all about reliable and safe, even if it was the new fad to live a little dangerously.
I’ve got enough danger in my life already, don’t I? I thought miserably, finally letting my smile fall as the car door slammed shut. I wasn’t in a
limo or anything, not tonight, but I still had a driver.
“We’re going to the after party on Rouge,” I informed the driver, whose name I couldn’t recall. He was new and I didn’t know if he’d last yet. I wasn’t about to waste precious memory on someone who wasn’t going to last.
“Yes, ma’am.”
We drove off and I stared out the window. It had been a long night already and I wasn’t actually looking forward to the after party. It was being hosted by a fellow starlet—Carina Debouse, a bitch if ever there was one—and the only reason I was going was to keep her from saying all sorts of crap about me.
I could only imagine what the papers would read tomorrow if I didn’t go.
We drove only ten or so minutes, I thought, and I spent most of it primping. I needed to make sure hair and makeup was in order before I showed up, otherwise Carina would have a field day. My blonde hair hung loosely about my shoulders in perfectly sculpted curls, not too flamboyant, not too thin, and my makeup was a light smoke that shimmered just enough to offset my silvery sequined dress.
I looked fabulous, as my agent liked to say, but sometimes—
My thought broke off before it could finish, thankfully, as the car came to a stop. I gave it just a beat, letting my chauffer come around to get my door for me. A moment later he offered his hand and I accepted it, like some sort of princess instead of merely a twenty-three-year-old actress. It was strange to be treated like royalty after all it had taken to get here, but I’d learned to roll with it a long time ago.
I flashed a bright smile at my driver, then walked towards the large mansion that was designed with the flashy ostentatiousness that came with the classist term “new money.” I wasn’t too concerned with all of that, though I felt like I was walking up to a party at Jay Gatsby’s house. My uncle lived not far from here, just up the road as a matter of fact, but you wouldn’t have expected it from a man like him. Hard as nails and not one to take crap from anyone.
He hadn’t always lived here. When I was just a kid and my parents had died the way of all good and decent folks, in a car accident that was in no way their fault, he took me in. At the time, he lived in a little shithole down south that was next to an alley that always smelled of piss and unwashed bodies. I shuddered at the memory of it and was grateful for the reminder of why I was doing all of this.
I would never go back to a place like that, and neither would my uncle.
As soon as I got to the door, I winked at the doorman and gave him my name. “Raina Taylor. I’m on the list.”
He glanced at it quickly, though it was just a formality. Then he waved me through.
As soon as I entered the house my senses were assaulted. The music blared through hidden speakers that must have been huge and lights flashed from every which direction. They were multicolored and caught the sequins of my dress until I felt like I was a lit up Christmas tree.
I hadn’t taken two steps in before someone shoved a drink in my hand. It was some guy—I didn’t know him, though he looked familiar enough that I could have come across him before. He babbled about movies and my latest, telling me I was wonderful and that I deserved to be in good stuff not this Hollywood crap. I did my best not to roll my eyes at him. That Hollywood crap paid my bills.
Biting my tongue, I forced a smile and let him prattle. I was really just here for appearances anyway.
It seemed like the guy was going to go on forever. “…think you’d really enjoy my latest pitch. All it needs is a sexy leading lady…” But then I was saved by none other than the host herself.
“Raina, darling!” cried Carina as though we hadn’t just seen each other about twenty minutes ago. She gave me a huge hug and did the air kiss thing again. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but refrained. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world! You always throw the best after parties, everyone knows that.”
She beamed, pleased with the compliment. “Well, you know, I try. I just want everyone to have a good time.”
We both knew she was lying through her teeth, but didn’t comment. These parties were about showing off. “I’m sure everyone is,” I told her, making my voice purr with false sincerity.
“Congratulations, by the way,” Carina said to me. Her tone matched mine, but her eyes narrowed cattily. “That was a big award to get your hands on. And so young, too.”
My age in the eyes of the movie making business was long since passed the young classification. I hadn’t yet moved into the demure matriarch role, but it would be coming soon if I wasn’t careful. All I could hope for was to age gracefully and pray that I wouldn’t need a lot of Botox, but more to the point, I was going to have to milk this for all it was worth.
Stretching my face into a smile, I said, “Thanks. I know you worked so hard for it this year and I just want you to know that I still think you’re amazing. And you’ve got plenty of time still.”
Her expression froze, letting me know that she had caught the hidden barbs between the lines. Carina was an actress, too, but she had very little talent. Her money came from her parents, not her acting, and it meant that while she had oodles and oodles of it, she had yet to earn any of it. It also meant that she hadn’t earned any awards either. It irked her, not because she was all about the achievement thing or anything, but rather that she didn’t like the idea that other people had things that she did not.
Brat, I thought spitefully.
“Yes, well, you know how finicky the audience can be these days,” she said smoothly, her tone cool. “All that women’s crap they’re talking about is just a fad. A new bandwagon to jump on. It’ll pass and people will start watching real movies again.”
I nearly choked on a snort. Her definition of real movies consisted of half-baked plots that had to do with pretty girls dying or running around half naked. Sure, maybe I didn’t always star in the classiest of movies—god knew that I’d done my share of bad ones in the beginning—but now that I had some money and some weight to throw around, I could be choosier. And I could do things I actually wanted to do. Those shitty movies Carina always starred in? She liked those movies. She was trash in the truest sense of the word.
“I’m sure they will,” I answered simply, then I forced my drink into her hand and apologized profusely as I told her I had to go. That I had at least one other after party that I just had to attend. She scowled as I walked away, tossing her fake red hair over her shoulder and snapping at the first person she saw.
I did my best to avoid people as I made my way through the room. I smiled for a few cameras and made some small talk, because it was unavoidable, but I kept it short and sweet. I didn’t want anyone saying I was rude; that could be a career killer. Still, I had a suddenly desperate urge to get the hell out of there and go home.
I burst through the backdoor and made my way through the garden, heading for the walkway that I knew wound around the entire estate. It was a long walk and my shoes pinched uncomfortably, but I didn’t care. I was more interested in getting away than dealing with this dumb party. Besides, the long walk would give the impression that I’d stayed longer than I actually had.
As I made my way through the garden, which was of course beautiful because only the best gardeners and designers in the area had been allowed to work for the Debouses, I began to pat down my dress in search of my cell phone. These days, I always had it. A girl could never be too careful, and I had special reason to feel that way.
I paled as I couldn’t find it. I realized too late that I didn’t have it. Probably, it was sitting in the back seat of my car where I’d thrown it after deciding against bringing my purse inside with me. The purse was a tiny clutch and I hated just holding things, so I’d opted to leave it behind. Unfortunately, that was where I’d been keeping my purse. This dress, for all its twelve-thousand-dollar cost and multitude of flashy, curve-hugging sequins, did not have any space to speak of. There were no pockets; that was unfashionable. And there was
no way to hide the phone in my panties or something, because it was tight enough at the hips and thighs that I could barely wiggle much less wedge a cell phone in there. My cleavage was the only other option, and my large breasts were already on the verge of breaking loose as it was, so I’d chosen not to risk the inevitable incident.
All of this boiled down to one thing: I had no phone.
No phone to call if things went bad. No phone to give off a GPS location. Not even a phone to provide a flashlight in the improbably event that the power went out.
“Shit!” I said loudly to myself.
I quickened my pace as I realized that I’d put myself in a precarious position. I had no chance to call my driver to let him know that I was coming and everyone assumed that I was still inside at the party. Sucking my lower lip into my mouth, I worried at it, biting at the plump lipstick covered skin.