Hollywood Ever After Page 4

  “Sure,” I said.

  She hugged me as she spoke. “Your room here at the hotel is already booked and paid for. I’ll come get you tomorrow, say around six?”

  “Shannon, I’m heading back tomorrow. If it’s all right with you, Claire, it might be easier if I take you to Shannon’s. It’s not out of my way or anything.”

  I stared at him, pleasantly surprised, as he waited for my answer. If I agreed, it would have nothing to do with the whole practical side of his suggestion.

  Shannon answered for me. “That’d be great, Josh, thanks.” She turned back to me, pressing a room key card into my hand. “Your stuff is already in your room.” She looked at Josh, then me. “Have fun!”

  I spoke quickly. “Want me to walk you back?” Wasn’t it weird for me to stay here with him?

  “Stay, Claire. Have some fun for a change.” She squeezed my shoulders.

  I shot her a look, trying to speak firmly and quietly. “Okay, I won’t walk back with you. But stop saying everything you’re thinking. I’m fine. I’m good.”

  “Uh-huh.” Shannon smiled. “You’re on a beach in California, with a night sky full of stars, with a hunky movie star, with you looking like…that, and you’d rather walk me to my car than hang out with him? I wouldn’t classify that as fine or good.”

  Josh laughed; there was no way he could avoid hearing every word of our conversation.

  “Shannon,” I mumbled.

  “You’ve been dealt more than one person should have. You’re single and free. Put yourself first now, okay?” I was acutely aware of Josh as she spoke. “I’ll shut up now. Love you, and I’m glad you’re here.”

  She kissed my cheek and half sprinted across the beach back to the party.

  Silence hung between us. There was no denying the attraction. That didn’t mean I wanted my best friend to drop cryptic hints about my skeleton-riddled past, or that I had any intention of baring my soul to him. I had little doubt that’s what he wanted, either. I took a deep breath and walked around him, putting him in the moonlight and me in the cover of its shadow.

  I took another deep breath and shrugged, smiling. “You were saying something about music?”

  His face was intent as he took a step toward me, his hand cupping my cheek gently. “Claire.” His eyes fell to my mouth, his thumb searing against my lips.

  I laid my hands over his, stepping closer to him. I was going to kiss him. I wanted to, very much. I didn’t think as I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his. It was a shock, a complete and total surprise. But then his mouth responded—soft, lingering, moving over my lower lip and clinging as I gasped against him. His arms were around me, holding me against him as he deepened the kiss and left me trembling.

  I pulled back, reeling from my instinctual response to him. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his cheeks were taut.

  I flushed warmly as he asked softly, huskily, “Will you stay with me? Come with me and enjoy the night…the music?”

  The word escaped before I could stop it. “Why?”

  “There’s something between us.”

  I stared up at him.

  “In addition to being beautiful and mysterious,” he whispered, “you’re the first person in a very long time who doesn’t want something from Hollywood’s Josh Wiley. But you might have some interest in me.” He smiled down at me, one finger stroking down the side of my face, hesitant. “I hope?”

  I frowned at his words, my butterflies arguing that I did want something from him. Loneliness was an emotion I understood. It wasn’t limited to who you were or what you did. Beyond the celebrity status, I could imagine how he must feel: new country, cutthroat business, a sense of disconnect from reality and, for the most part, alone. An unspoken connection had formed between us. I was attracted to this man, more than I should be. Ironically, I could also relate to him…and like him, too.

  My eyes locked with his and I nodded, somewhat surprised by my mental musings.

  He took my hand in his. “Good.” We set off again, walking leisurely along the shoreline.

  “I’d never thought about that. Wondering about people’s motivation for befriending you, I mean. That kind of…sucks.” I squeezed his hand, surprised by his laughter.

  When he finally spoke, he was thoughtful. “It does, yes.”

  “But you also have screaming girls of all ages chanting your name. Seriously devoted female fans, from the looks of things. Most men would find that part pretty cool.”

  He shrugged. “Possibly. But it has nothing to do with real acting…or me.” He ran a hand through his impossibly riotous hair. “Did you see that film? I mean really watch it?” He was serious. He stopped and turned to me, waiting for my answer.

  “Yes.” I knew exactly what he meant, but I didn’t think it was polite to immediately agree with him, so I stalled. “You rescued me from a red carpet disaster, remember?”

  “The highlight of my evening, up until two minutes ago.” His hand squeezed mine as his eyes wandered over me again in a leisurely way. I felt my heart accelerating under his inspection.

  My words came out in a rush. “The movie was what it was hyped to be: action, special effects, and a young hottie to line up the moviegoers.”

  He looked at me for a minute then smiled ruefully. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Modest, too, aren’t you?” I smiled a little.

  “That’s not at all what I meant.” His face flushed and he rolled his eyes as he laughed. Then he shook his head, frustration returning. “That was me, up there on the big screen, but it wasn’t me at all.”

  I tried to help. “Isn’t a film like this—which I can guarantee will do well at the box office—key for future offers? You have to prove your, what do they call it, bankability first, right?”

  He shrugged, looking disgruntled as his eyebrow raised. He seemed less than enthusiastic about the idea.

  “Josh, give yourself permission to enjoy this. Life changes so quickly. Don’t get hung up on what you thought something was going to be and miss what it is.” I needed to stop talking.

  He watched me carefully, thoughtfully.

  I wrinkled my nose in frustration, mentally chastising myself for talking so much.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  His cool hand moved to the base of my neck, his fingers sliding under my hair.

  “I’m not good at this,” I said.

  “Talking?” His hand pulled me closer to him.

  “More like rambling…”

  “You’re talking to me. Without ulterior motives or because you’re paid to—that I’m aware of, anyway. I suppose I should ask…are you an aspiring actress? Or attempting to have a script published, or something along those lines? I’d prefer to know now if I’m being used as a pawn in pursuit of fame. I’m not saying I’m against it, but I feel I have the right to know.” He raised an eyebrow, teasing, and waited.

  I grinned and shook my head in answer.

  “Good.” He spoke with sincerity as he pulled me into a loose embrace.

  “That’s kind of sad, that you’d even think of those possibilities. I mean, isn’t your hotness enough?” He laughed at my teasing. My head lay against his chest, his heartbeat rapid and strong against my ear. His scent filled my nose, heightening my awareness of him. He smelled really good.

  “It’s business.” His chin rested on my head and his hand ran up and down my back in slow strokes. I closed my eyes. The feel of his touch, his skin on mine, made me quiver. I pulled back a little, staring at his chest, aware that my hands had tightened their hold on the front of his shirt. I let go, smoothing the fabric and stepping back. I looked up at him. He seemed content to look at me, his face intent before he took my hand back in his and started to pull me along. “Let’s go.”

  We walked on in silence. I was keenly aware that his eyes came to rest on me now and again, and that his hand was strong and warm around mine. I wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, but I wasn’t going to do anyth
ing to risk breaking the magical spell.

  We came around a low rise of hills and were greeted by a huge bonfire and a group of rather boisterous people. I pulled my hand away quickly. He quirked a questioning eyebrow.

  “What is it?

  “You’re going to know people here, aren’t you? I mean…” I fell silent, suddenly uncertain. Didn’t walking in there together, holding hands, imply something? I chewed on my lip and looked at him. Was that a bad thing?

  His hazel eyes searched my face carefully. His hands cupped my face, tilting my chin slightly as he bent to kiss me. I leaned into him, my response immediate. His hand took mine, placing it around his waist. His lips were soft on mine, encouraging, as my lips clung to his. I swayed against him on unsteady legs, my arms tightening as he deepened his kiss.

  I felt his tremor and stared into his eyes, completely shaken by his response. He traced my cheek with his thumb, his voice husky when he said, “I want you.”

  Chapter Three

  My eyes traveled over his face. His skin was flushed, his eyes hungry. From the angular planes of his face to his sparkling eyes, ruddy complexion, and unruly hair, he was gorgeous. He wanted me? And I wanted him, very much. His thumb brushed across my lower lip, lightly, before he took my hand in his.

  Hand in hand, Josh led me to the group. Victor was there, leaning back on the sand, his head pillowed on his arm and his eyes shut. I didn’t recognize anyone else, so Josh led me to Victor’s side.

  “Be right back.” Josh kissed my hand as I sat, and then went to join the other musicians setting up.

  Victor spoke without opening his eyes. “I thought so.”

  I jumped a little. I thought he was asleep. “Excuse me?”

  “I could tell on the carpet he had his eye on you. He’s been hanging on your every word.” He peeked up at me with a smile. “He’s kind of paparazzi target number one, so be prepared for tomorrow.”

  I looked around a little self-consciously. “Why? Preventing someone from tripping isn’t newsworthy.”

  “The way he looked when he caught you was.” Victor sat up, resting on his elbows. “He has a very expressive face.”

  “I noticed,” I mumbled, more than a little curious to know what Josh had revealed.

  “Besides, he’s the new it boy. The press love trying to find out what’s going on with him. Any news with him is big news.” He watched as Josh picked up his guitar and sat cross-legged on the sand, a pick in his mouth. He was joined by two other guitarists and they began talking amongst themselves.

  I chewed on my lower lip.

  Paparazzi? Josh was a celebrity. It was to be expected. But in my life? That was something else entirely. They could be here now, somewhere, lurking in the shadows. Would this—whatever was happening between me and Josh—be tomorrow’s headline? It sounded too ridiculous to worry about.

  And at that moment I didn’t really care. Right now the only thing I could think about was him. I didn’t wonder what was going to happen later, not anymore. I knew. He’d made it perfectly clear. My heart was pounding as his words echoed: I want you.

  As unsettling as that knowledge was, it was also amazingly exciting. I met his gaze, his eyes warm and searching. As the music started, his husky voice flowing out into the night air, I pulled my legs up, wrapping his jacket around me. I tucked my chin down, catching his scent in the fabric of his jacket, and listened.

  ***

  Later, we made our leisurely way back to the hotel.

  “Have you always played guitar?” My sandals swung from my fingers as we climbed the last set of steps up the terraced decks leading to the hotel.

  “My mum was musical. I’ve been playing piano and guitar since I was small. She always preferred piano.”

  “You have an amazing voice,” I added. He had a soulful voice, which fit him.

  “Thank you. Music is my back-up plan if my acting career fails.” He laughed. “Now I sound like every other Hollywood hopeful.”

  “I’m not really a Hollywood gal.” I glanced up at him. “So to me you don’t sound like anyone but you.”

  He opened the door for me, his eyes warm. “That’s one of the reasons I find myself drawn to you.”

  His honesty rattled me.

  He smoothed the hair from my shoulder, his hand lingering briefly.

  I had my key card in one hand but my other hand held his. We strolled to the elevator, the lobby mostly deserted now. We stepped into the elevator and the doors shut behind us. We didn’t say anything, just stared at each other. The air was alive with friction. He was thoughtful, his stance a bit rigid. He watched my face with an expression I couldn’t read. I smiled tentatively at him, and the corner of his mouth turned up in response. The elevator doors opened and he stared at me, uncertain.

  I walked into the hall, boldly holding my hand out to him in offering. I’m not sure whether the slight trembling of my hand was noticeable to him or not.

  “Come with me?” The words were out. My lungs were tight, my heartbeat erratic, but I’d said them. He could say no, I knew that, but I hoped…

  He took my hand and walked with me to my door. My room was at the end of the hall and I stopped in front of it, looking at him. I almost lost my edge, almost let my nerves overwhelm my desire, but then he looked at me and there was no going back.

  “May I?” He waited.

  He was asking permission to open the door—and so much more. I nodded, handing him the card. This time he saw my hand shaking and smiled.

  He unlocked the door and held it open. I entered, feeling the warmth of his chest as I brushed past him into the room. I shivered a bit at the contact.

  My eyes swept the room as I dropped my sandals. The doors to the balcony were open wide. White gauze curtains blew across the stone floor, carried on the ocean breeze. Brilliant moonlight spilled inside, casting an inviting glow. The intimacy of the room heightened the awareness coursing through me. I heard the door close and knew he was behind me, waiting. Suddenly it was very hard to breathe.

  “Claire.” His voice was low and tight.

  I turned to answer him, but the look on his face silenced me. He hesitated and I found myself moving to him. His arms slid around my waist, his eyes on my face. His breath hitched as he pulled me against him.

  My hands traced his face then slid down his neck to grasp his shirtfront. I gasped as one of his warm hands slid inside the back of my dress.

  I felt impatient, suddenly overcome with need. I let go of his shirt and buried my hands in his hair, pulling until his lips were on mine. I was rewarded with the full weight of his mouth, soft and hungry on mine. He groaned as my lips parted, allowing his tongue to trace the inner softness of my mouth. My hands fisted in his hair.

  His lips left mine, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and his hands clenched and unclenched in my hair. “I don’t do…this,” he whispered, his voice ragged.

  That was comforting. My boldness restored, I answered, “I’ve never done this.” But I wanted to, more than I wanted anything.

  He smiled. His lips closed on mine, stealing what little breath I had. His hand slid up and down my bare back in long, mesmerizing strokes. I leaned into him, into his touch, shivering in his arms.

  My hands opened the buttons of his shirt and I reveled in the feel of his warm skin beneath my hands. My lips lightly traced his collarbone, pressing against the racing pulse in his neck. His hands trembled against my back, inflaming my desire. I shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall.

  His hands rested on the straps of my dress, hesitating. I helped, pushing the straps so the dress slid silently to the floor. His eyes traveled down the length of me before my body was crushed against him. His chest was hard against mine, his back warm and solid under my fingers. I tilted my face to his, wanting his lips on mine. His mouth pulled and parted, stoking the fire of my desire.

  He had big hands with long, strong fingers. Very nice for playing the piano, I thought as we stumbled together to fall on the bed.
Those hands were everywhere, removing the scanty bit of lace serving as my panties before traveling up the back of my knee, my hip, my back. His lips followed. There was more to me than I’d previously realized and he was rapidly exploring every inch. I was going to explode.

  He was not hurried, just driven. He was shaking with need, I could feel it, and I wanted all of him. His hands were on the waist of his pants, unbuttoning them and yanking them off with impatient, jerky movements before tossing them across the room. The instant our skin touched, I gasped at the sensation of him against me. There was no control as I let my hands roam over him, loving the feel of him.

  His hand stroked upward from my hip to my side, tracing my breast. My eyes closed, my nerves inflamed by his touch. His lips fell to my nipple, his tongue and mouth making me arch into him. My hands tangled in his hair and I stifled a moan.

  He pulled me under him then, his fingers traveling lightly across my stomach to grasp my knee and part my legs. In one agonizingly slow movement, he was part of me. His breath came out in a guttural moan. I wasn’t sure I could breathe at all. The feeling of him deep inside me made me ache for more.

  He stilled over me, his jaw tight as he fought for control. Something about his fragile restraint empowered me. My hand brushed over his cheek and I wrapped a leg around his hip, the movement making his jaw rigid and his face redden as he blew out a deep breath. I arched beneath him, feeling my body respond and my chest tighten.

  “Bloody hell,” his voice rasped as he began to move with me. His movements were sporadic. I could feel his restraint as he tried to breathe through the urge to let himself go.

  I whispered against his neck, “Don’t hold back.” Please don’t stop, I thought as I lifted my hips.

  He looked at me once then let go with a groan. His hips thrust powerfully again and again, his body hard and fast against me. He pushed, his breath breaking as a low groan escaped him, and his hands tightened on my hips. He stiffened, his groan strangled and his fingers holding my hips as he climaxed. I had never experienced anything so intense in all my life. I was aching with need.