Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Adam came home the following Tuesday to find the house eerily silent. Even when Elena was absorbed in her laptop, he wasn’t used to it being quite this quiet. Her car was in the driveway, so she must be here, but as he searched from room to room, he found nothing but empty space. He was beginning to think she’d gone wandering down the PCH when it occurred to him to check the tiny, rarely-used balcony off the master suite.

She sat on the weathered wooden slats with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring out at the water through the posts supporting the railing.

“Hey.” He dropped down beside her, chest tight. “You okay? Did something happen?”

She turned toward him, looking more puzzled than upset—thank God. “I think I finished my book.”

“Okay.” Not what he’d been expecting. “That’s awesome, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” But she didn’t sound sure. “I know I should be excited or triumphant or feel like I’ve accomplished something, but I just feel sort of…
lost
.”

“Understandable. Writing that book has been driving you all summer.”

“Exactly. What do I do now?”

“Now you celebrate. This is big. C’mon. Let’s go out. Dinner, dancing, whatever you want. We can call Sidney and Miranda, make it a party.”

“Can we go someplace quiet? Just you and me?”

“Absolutely.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know just the place.”

#

Mezzo of Malibu was a modern Mediterranean fusion restaurant which bragged of an exclusive private dining room on the second floor that catered to high profile guests. Unfortunately, the downside of dining someplace known to attract celebrity clientele was the small cluster of paparazzi lying in wait across the street.

Adam handed his keys to the valet and rounded the hood to meet Elena on the curb. He took her arm automatically to help her with her sky-high heels, and she pulled away so quickly she nearly fell into the bushes lining the walk.

“What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath. “We’re
friends
.”

Irritation kindled. “I wasn’t aware
friends
meant I couldn’t touch your arm in public.”

“Not just public.” She cut a speaking glance toward the paparazzi. “I know you saw them too.”

She turned to lead the way into the restaurant. He didn’t try to touch her again until the door closed behind them. Bending his head close to her ear as the hostess looked up with a smile, he murmured, “So what if they get a picture? Friends go to dinner too.”

“And I’m sure that’s exactly how the gossip columns would frame it. ‘Just friends’ out for a romantic dinner at a high end Malibu bistro.” Her glance asked him what kind of an idiot he was—and maybe he was being intentionally obtuse, but he was sick of this bullshit sneaking around.

“Mr. Dylan, Ms. Suarez, if you’ll follow me.” The hostess led the way upstairs and Adam put his hand on the small of Elena’s back as he trailed her up the stairs, intentionally goading her with the possessive touch.

“Stop it,” she hissed at the top of the stairs.

He pulled his hands back, holding them up innocently—until it came time to hold her chair. The hostess stood back, smiling benignly as Elena shot him a tight-lipped smile and sank into her seat.

When the hostess had handed them both their menus and retreated, Elena gave him a death glare. “She’s probably off to sell the story of our romantic dinner to TMZ.”

“If the hostess here told tales, no celebrity in their right mind would eat here. I think our secret is safe. Though I don’t know why it has to be such a secret. Why is it such a catastrophe for people to suspect we’re together?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Elena. I’m a big boy. I think I can handle whatever you’re afraid people are going to think of us. And if people think less of me for being with you, why should I give a shit what small-minded assholes like that think?”

“It isn’t that.”

“Then what is it? Why can’t I tell anyone you’re mine? Because you’re starting to make me wonder if you don’t really want to be.”

For a moment—a flash so brief he wasn’t sure he saw it—she looked stricken. Then her composure returned—along with the first appearance of their waiter. They listened silently to the specials and placed their drink order, and as their waiter was walking away before Adam could take up the argument again Elena leaned forward and whispered, “Can we just have a nice dinner? I want to celebrate.”

She had never looked less celebratory. But this was supposed to be her night. Her triumph. And he was being a dick.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. She looked around nervously—though the tables had been strategically positioned to allow maximum privacy and they couldn’t see any of the other diners.

At least she didn’t pull away. Tonight he would take his victories where he could.

#

Dinner was probably delicious. Elena would have loved to be able to actually taste it. Instead, stress seemed to have deadened her taste buds. She sat across from Adam, in an insanely romantic setting, celebrating the one thing she’d actually managed to accomplish in the last year, and all she felt was the slow burn of panic raising bile at the back of her throat.

He was annoyed. Manfully trying to hide it, but obviously annoyed. With her. Because she’d brushed him aside outside. Because she wouldn’t tell the world they were together. Because the idea of everyone knowing how much she cared about him made her want to run screaming in the other direction.

When Daniel dumped her, it had sucked. No two ways about that. She’d been sure he loved her. Sure that was all that mattered. And she’d been wrong on both counts. But this time she was the one in love. She was the one vulnerable. And losing him would destroy her.

How much worse would it be if everyone knew? Just like everyone had known with Daniel. There had been no sympathy then. Why should there be any now?

She wasn’t good enough for him. Everyone knew that. Even the people who didn’t see how much he did for her. And what did she ever do for him?

Besides the sex.

She knew he was happy with the sex.

But how long would that last? When would he get tired of her? How crazy would she make herself waiting for the day when he would decide he was done with her?

No. Better to end things herself. Better to take that control.

But just the idea of ending things, of being the one to walk away, made panic swirl like a tornado through her mind, blitzing all of her thoughts and leaving her emotions a shattered mess.

She was officially freaking out.

She tried to tell herself it was just the book. Just finishing. Just the knowledge that she would have to
do
something with it now. Other people would have to see it. People who would see inside her deepest thoughts and judge her for them.

What had she been thinking? Why had she thought she could do this? Any of it. All of it.

“Elena?”

She looked up, startled to realize the waiter was hovering over them, bearing a pair of dessert menus and an inquisitive expression that matched Adam’s.

“No. No dessert. Thank you. Couldn’t eat another bite. Delicious.” She made herself shut up.

Adam didn’t comment on her nervous chatter. He paid the bill, making idle conversation praising the meal she’d barely tasted. She hummed agreeably, trying not to show how she was counting the seconds until she could get away. Would he think it was strange if she wanted to go back to sleep at her own apartment? She needed distance. Space.

She stood before he could hold her chair again, moving ahead of him toward the stairs. She gripped the railing to keep from falling headfirst on top of the host stand as she hurried down the stairs as quickly as her heels would allow. When she reached the bottom, she made a beeline for the door.

“Elena—” Adam began behind her, but she pulled open the door before he could hold it for her.

The warm night air hit her skin as soon as she stepped outside, chasing away the chill left by the restaurant air-conditioning. She looked toward the curb—and the flaw in her headlong rush to the door made itself plain. Adam had given their valet ticket to the waiter when he paid the bill, but she’d taken off in such a hurry they hadn’t had time to bring the car around yet.

Which meant they were standing in full view of the paparazzi across the street.

At her side, Adam thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and stared straight at the cameras across the way. “Would you be more comfortable waiting inside?”

“I’m fine.” She turned her back on the street, for once not trying to make sure the cameras only got her best side.

“Elena?” The voice behind her was rife with surprised pleasure—the voice of a chummy old friend, but she didn’t recognize it.

Adam frowned without recognition and removed his hands from his pockets, falling into what she recognized as his “ready” stance in case he needed to kick some ass in her defense.

Elena turned.

And placed the voice.

Dermott Kellerman. One time lover. Sex Tape Machiavelli.

Shit
.

“I thought that was you,” he said with an easy smile as he approached. “You look fantastic. But then you always do.”

Elena froze.

She wanted him to be repulsive. She wanted his smile to be repellent, but he was still an attractive man with a charming, easy-going way about him. The same charismatic aura that had convinced her he would be a harmless one-night stand.

He wasn’t as tall as Adam, but he still had a good five inches on Elena, even when she was in heels. His hair was black and styled with a lot of care and product to look like he hadn’t bothered to style it. His cheekbones were sharp and his skin-tone almost as dark as hers. He had a lean build, but she remembered him being pleasantly muscled. He was, in appearance, the Anti-Daniel. He had been her antidote—until he became a bigger problem than Daniel had ever been.

This couldn’t be a coincidence.

He lived in Vegas. It had been part of the reason he’d seemed so ideal as a one-night stand. Less chance of running into him at an industry party. Less chance that sleeping with him could impact her career in some way.

Little did she know.

What was he doing here?

Even if he’d come to LA for lawsuit crap, why was he
here
, at this restaurant?

He angled his body and she realized he was framing the shot for the cameras across the street.

The bastard. He must have heard she was here. He’d come here looking for her. Looking for the press being seen with her would garner him. He was trying to hang his bid for celebrity on her star. Or drive up the price of the sex tape with more publicity.

“I heard you turned down the deal. I wish you’d reconsider. This could be—”

She cut him off. “We’re only supposed to communicate through our lawyers, Dermott.”

“Dermott?” Adam went dangerously still at her side.

The Jeep pulled up at the curve.

Elena sidestepped around Dermott. “Goodbye, Dermott.”

“Come on, Elena.” He caught her by her upper arm.

Adam bristled. “You have two seconds to get your hands off her.”

His fingers were pressing into the flesh of her upper arm. She knew this hold. She and Adam had practiced it.
Element of surprise. Pivot quickly. Thrust heel of her palm directly up into her assailant’s nose. Be ready to jerk away when his hold loosens. Follow up by driving her heel into his instep if necessary.

“Let me go.” Her words were calm with the knowledge that she wasn’t helpless anymore—not that the techniques Adam taught her would work. She’d only managed them successfully twice, but having
options
was an incredible feeling.

“I know I shouldn’t have tried to cut you out of the deal, but this lawsuit crap is ridicu—
fuck!
”

As gratifying as beating him up herself might have been, there was something almost better about watching Adam’s fist snap out, lightning fast, and smash into Dermott’s nose with a satisfying crunch.

“You broke my nose!”

The crunch certainly supported that claim. Not to mention the copious amounts of blood gushing between his fingers as he cupped the injured area. Adam didn’t seem to care any more than Elena did. “I warned you.”

The valet’s snickering laugh reminded her where they were—in full view of the paparazzi no less. She grabbed Adam’s arm, the muscle flexing under her hands, and tugged him toward his Jeep. “Come on, Rocky. Let’s get out of here before we’re the lead story on
Inside Edition
.”

She hustled him to the car, letting him help her into her seat. He tipped the valet, rounded the hood and hopped in, shooting one more glare to where Dermott was bleeding on the sidewalk before driving away.