Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (9 page)

The song segued seamlessly into another and Elena’s hypnotic communion with the music became less complete. She looked at him and made her eyes wide as a little smile curved her lips. She shouted something.

Adam shook his head. “I can’t hear you!”

She danced closer, until she was in his space, her body a fraction of an inch from his, tipping her face until he could feel her breath against the side of his neck. “You’re a good dancer!”

He yelled, “You too!” His awareness of her a kick in his gut, he bopped backward in time with the music until the same three foot gap fit between them. His hands might itch with the desire to touch her, to grip her hips, pull her close, feel that weaving movement beneath his palms—but he wasn’t an animal. He could restrain the urge.

A hand brushed his arm and his attention snapped down to see a petite girl with a round sweet face beaming up at him. “Hero cop! Would you… selfie?”

Half of her question was lost in the thrum of the music, but he got the gist when she lifted her cell phone and gestured at him and herself. Adam looked to Elena for an excuse to say no, but she was already giving her permission with a wave and turning away, dancing off in her own little world.

He didn’t like taking his eyes off her even for a second, not when this club was part of her usual routine and the memory of that note loomed large in his thoughts, but he bent down and smiled for the camera. He started to straighten away, but the girl yelled something, grabbing his arm and tugging him back for a second shot.

It had only taken a few seconds, but by the time he turned back to Elena it felt like a lifetime. Especially when he didn’t see her immediately. She’d danced farther away, the crowd filling in the space between them. He could see over almost everyone, but Elena was small enough—even in those insane heels—that she disappeared easily.

He caught sight of her several feet away, no longer communing with the music, but standing still as the crowd danced around her. Adam began to push toward her—getting a better angle and realizing she was frowning and shaking her head as a tall man with greased up hair bent close to her ear to talk to her. She started to move away and the man put his hand on her arm.

He saw red.

Chapter Thirteen

Elena was busy worshipping at the altar of Rihanna’s genius so it wasn’t until the douchebag planted himself in front of her and shoved his face into her personal space to yell into her ear that she realized he was trying to talk to her.

“Huh?” she shouted, giving up any attempt to dance until she had shaken him off.

“I said my friends and I would love for you to join us for some Cristal!” He waved to a table where four other trust fund twenty-somethings were crowded around a trio of bottles that must have cost as much as her car.

She made it a policy not to alienate strangers in clubs—you never knew who was influential in this town—but part of the appeal of Seven was the knowledge that if these guys had really been important, they would have been upstairs. These boys were garden-variety rich dicks, paying ten times what a bottle of vodka was worth so they could impress women with how much money they threw around and lure them to their table with their baller ways.

“Sorry. Just dancing tonight.”

She tried to step away, but he caught her arm, his grip hard. “You can dance for us.”

She snorted. “Sorry. I’m not that kind of dancer.”

Something hard and mocking flashed on his face. “What? You only take your clothes off for champagne when there are cameras around? Because I can take my cell phone out and we can make that shit happen.”

“What did you just say to her?” Adam loomed out of nowhere—and Elena had an inappropriate thought that she was impressed he could hear the Bottle-Service Dickhead over the music. Then Dickhead released her arm and puffed himself up to face the new threat to his masculinity.

“None of your business, asshole.”

“Apologize.”

The growled command was really very sweet. Delusional. But sweet. There was no way the Bottle-Service Dickhead was going to apologize to her and insisting on it was only going to escalate the situation. Adam was good enough at his job he had to know that, but he didn’t appear to be able to connect with the rational part of his brain at the moment. He was too busy being the Big Bad Alpha.

“Adam, it’s fine,” Elena said, moving around Dickhead to take her hero’s arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“He’s just a bottle service douchebag who thinks he can buy women with a bottle of Cristal.” And the truly depressing part was that he probably could. He just couldn’t buy her. “He isn’t worth it.”

Adam looked at her and she could see the testosterone rage seeping out of his eyes. Then Dickhead, who had evidently only heard a few stray words of what she’d said to Adam, had to pipe up.

“Yeah. Listen to your bitch. She isn’t worth it.”

Adam turned suddenly, as if bumped from behind though she couldn’t see anyone there, his elbow lifted—at exactly the right angle to slam into Dickhead’s nose.

Adam jerked back, his eyes huge—the man was a terrible actor. “Oh, man! I’m so sorry. Someone shoved me. You know how it is.”

Dickhead snarled something she couldn’t hear over the music as blood seeped through the hands cupping his nose. Over his shoulder, Elena could see his friends standing up from their table.

She wrapped both hands around Adam’s arm and tugged. It was like trying to move the National Monument—a strength that would have been hot as hell if it wasn’t remarkably inconvenient. “Let’s go.”

Adam looked down at her blankly.

“Dickhead has buddies and while I’m confident you are badass enough to take them all down, I doubt you can make beating
all
of them up look accidental and who’s going to drive me home if you’re arrested for pummeling them all to a bloody pulp?”

He followed her gaze to where Dickhead’s pals were now pushing their way onto the edge of the dance floor. He nodded once, kicking into badass bodyguard mode. His arm looped around her waist and he hustled her toward the nearest exit, scanning the crowd for threats and never pausing until they were inside the elevator and headed down the stairs.

The elevator operator called ahead and the valet was pulling up front with his Jeep. Adam moved her quickly to the vehicle, glaring down a paparazzo who tried to jump in her path for a better shot. He opened the door and tucked her inside with a precise efficiency of motion before shutting the door and rounding the hood to climb into the driver’s seat.

The entire extraction had taken under four minutes—and she’d never felt so protected.

It had been months since she’d felt one hundred percent safe, but she did with him. It was a feeling she couldn’t afford to get used to.

“You’re pretty badass, you know that?” she commented, trying to get them back to a comfortable emotional place. A place where she didn’t feel the waves of intensity from him in the driver’s seat or her own answering awareness. An awareness that made her feel vulnerable and feminine in a way she liked far more than she wanted to admit.

Adam spun the wheel, taking them into the empty parking lot in front of a closed pastry shop. Elena concentrated on the elaborate delicacies in the window display so she wouldn’t have to look at the man beside her as he turned off the engine and twisted toward her, unbuckling his seat belt when it hindered the motion.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m great. Clubs like that have security, you know. It’s not like he could have sold me into human trafficking or anything.”

Her hero’s granite jaw worked. “I just didn’t like…”

He trailed off, looking at her, the weight of his eyes making her shift in her seat. What hadn’t he liked? Seeing her bothered? Seeing her with another man?

Then his eyes dropped to her lips and she stopped caring. Her breath stopped.

Shit.

She’d wanted this. She’d wanted it like crazy and every naughty impulse she possessed—which was a lot of them—still wanted it. But she was trouble and he deserved better than to get sucked into her drama.

She stared at him, hypnotized by his intense focus. “Don’t get involved with me, Stud Muffin,” she warned. “I’m bad news. You’re too righteous and wonderful. You’d want to fight all my battles for me and you’d spend all your time fighting.”

She wet her lips and his gaze tracked the movement.

“Some things are worth fighting for.”

His voice was gravelly low and hit her right where she was already wet for him. He closed the distance between them, cupping her jaw with one hand, zeroing in on her lips—and the first touch of his mouth hit her
everywhere
. It shuddered through her on a roaring wave of need as goosebumps raced down her arms and her entire body clenched with want.

This
. This was what she felt like she’d been reaching toward, what that frantic restless need had been driving her toward all her life. This feeling. God, it was perfect.
He
was perfect.

His mouth moved over hers, coaxing, luring. Men always kissed her like they owned her, but his mouth—Christ, it
worshipped
her. Every resistance she’d ever considered having liquefied into a puddle of
yes, please
and
more
.

His free hand went to her waist, sliding up beneath the curve of her breast. He cupped her, his thumb sliding over her nipple, and Elena moaned into his mouth, silently cursing the fact that she’d worn such a tight dress and she couldn’t just yank down the top to give him access.

His mouth moved from hers, finding the sweet spot on the line of her neck. She gripped his shoulders, marveling at the solid feel of him. Her seatbelt cut into her chest, but she ignored it—ignoring everything that wasn’t him. She wanted to crawl into his lap and wrap herself around him. She wanted his weight pinning her down with hard, hot pressure everywhere she needed it most. She wanted—

Headlights panned over them as another car pulled into the parking lot.

“Shit.” Adam jerked, throwing himself back into his own seat.

Elena panted, watching the car—paparazzi? How had they been found? Had someone followed them from the club? How much had they seen?—but it just executed a tight turn and pulled back onto the street, heading in the opposite direction. Just some random lost person turning around.

Adam gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” Elena whispered, though she didn’t know whether she was agreeing or protesting.

“We’re… Anyone could have seen us.”

She nodded numbly. And if they’d been seen someone would undoubtedly have taken a picture and they’d be in the tabloids tomorrow, Adam’s good name forever tarred by her reputation.

“I apologize,” he said, rigidly formal.

He reclicked his seatbelt and shifted uncomfortably. Her gaze fell automatically to his lap until the harsh grate of his voice commanded, “Don’t.”

She snapped her chin around, staring out the passenger side window, uncomfortable and tense and still wanting him so badly it felt like her clothes were two sizes too tight.

“I’m sorry,” he reiterated. “It won’t happen again.”

What if I want it to?

The words hovered on the tip of her tongue—but he was her friend. Maybe the only one she had. And he didn’t deserve to get sucked into the bullshit drama of her life. She’d already caused him too much trouble. The last thing he needed was more. So she bit her lip and looked outside, nodding once.
Never again
.

Adam put the car into drive. “Let’s go get your car.”

Chapter Fourteen

Elena had learned to read paparazzi swarms like tea leaves. She could tell at a glance how big the star—or the scandal—they were stalking was. The crowd outside her apartment was too big. Like movie-star-screwing-his-nanny-and-being-chased-down-the-street-with-a-golf-club-by-his-supermodel-wife big. She had never merited that big a horde, not even when the infamous Jacuzzi episode first aired and she claimed the title of the Slutty Suitorette.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Drive on by.” She doubled over so it looked like Adam was just driving along by himself. If they saw her, she’d never shake them. This crowd wasn’t just looking for a good shot to sell, they were looking for a story. She would be peppered with shouted questions as soon as they saw her and they wouldn’t be polite about stepping out of the way as long as she gave them a pose before getting into her car. Normally she could pay her toll with a smile, but the mob staking out her apartment had caught the scent of something big.

What had she done lately that could be considered big? Nothing. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a story out there about her.

People lied. The Dickhead at the club tonight, Purple Tie, Daniel—any of them could have thrown her under the bus for free publicity. It was a lot harder to avoid the minefields in her life when she could get into as much trouble for fiction as for fact.

She’d turned off her cell phone and she didn’t want to turn it back on and see what this new crisis was. She’d reached her saturation point on frustration tonight. All she wanted was to go home and curl up in bed—preferably not her own, but that option was apparently no longer on the table.

“We’re clear,” Adam said, thankfully not offering any additional commentary on her sudden rise in celebrity.

Elena straightened, smoothing out her dress where it had been wrinkled by her contortions—and by his hands.

The more she thought about that crowd of paparazzi as he drove the more she dreaded tomorrow, but if she could just hang onto something good tonight, before the storm broke, maybe it would be okay. He wouldn’t have to get sucked into her drama any more than he already was. Inside the privacy of his house, no one had to know that they were together. They could pick up where they left off and it didn’t have to damage his reputation.

By the time they arrived at his house, she had talked herself into a one night affair with Adam so thoroughly she was squirming in her seat with anticipation.

He came around to open her door for her and help her inside, always the gentleman, and she took his arm, throwing in a little stumble so her breast brushed him. She heard his breath catch.

He wanted her. She’d seen the proof of that. Now all she had to do was convince a good guy that sometimes being bad was worth it.

“No one would have to know,” she said, keeping her voice low and inviting. “It’s none of their business anyway.”

Adam looked down at her, frowning. “I’m not ashamed of you, Elena.”

“Then what’s the problem? You’re attracted to me. You aren’t seeing anyone.” She paused. “Are you?”

“No.” He unlocked the front door, holding it open for her, but now irritation was starting to pulse and the courtesy irritated her. He was always so freaking courteous but he wouldn’t do her the courtesy of banging her brains out.

“If we can make sure you aren’t tainted by my reputation, what’s the problem?”

He closed the door, facing it for a moment as if steeling himself before turning. “I’m not in a position to be what you need right now.”

She let her gaze drop to his pants. “Wanna bet?”

“It wouldn’t just be sex between us.”

That brought her eyes up to meet his and cynicism laced her echo. “Wanna bet?”

Irritation flashed briefly behind his eyes, but he reined it in. Always so freaking contained. “Good night, Elena.”

His footsteps retreated upstairs and she heard the thud of his bedroom door shutting.

“Shit.” She leaned against the foyer wall, reaching down to unbuckle the slinky ankle straps on her stilettos one at a time. Her feet almost sighed with relief when she released them from the torture devices masquerading as footwear. She wiggled her freed toes, dangling the heels from her fingertips and thunked her head back against the wall.

He wasn’t in a position.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Was he actually trying to pass off his rejection as some kind of
I’m-not-good-enough-for-you
bullshit? He was so freaking noble it made her want to throw things at his head—like her clothes—and scream at him to just take what he freaking wanted for a change. And he wanted her. She knew he did. But he thought sex with her would be more than carnal satisfaction. He didn’t want to be tied to her as a couple—and she couldn’t blame him for that—but he was too damn good to use her as a fling.

Didn’t it figure that the one guy she wanted was the one too nice to use her like she wanted to use him?

She climbed the stairs barefoot and paused outside her door, staring at his. She could take off her clothes and walk in there—but that was what Old Elena would do and she was being New. Being good. And Adam had already turned her down. She should respect that, or she was just like all the assholes who didn’t respect her
no
s.

She opened her door, peeled off her clothes and climbed into bed.

Alone.

* * * * *

Morning came too quickly. She’d thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she’d been out as soon as her head hit the pillow and the night had gone by too fast.

Now the morning was here and she had to face another day. Elena pulled on yoga pants and a t-shirt, not bothering with a bra. She snagged her hair into a messy ponytail and wandered into the en suite bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she cringed in horror.

She’d forgotten to take her make-up off the night before and what had once been a smoky eye was now raccoon circles. Her lipstick had smeared off, leaving her lips bloodless. She could walk onto the set of a zombie movie right now. No additional make-up required.

Maybe the undead are a turn-on for Adam
.

Not that she needed to be worrying about what turned him on. He’d made his position clear the night before.

She washed off the make-up, leaving her face a blank canvas, and padded barefoot to the top of the stairs. Adam’s voice floated up from below. She couldn’t make out the words, but something in his tone made her shoulders tense.

Bad news.

She hesitated on the top step. She could turn her phone back on. Then she’d know. Whatever it was, she’d know. But she didn’t want to get the news from a voicemail. She wanted to get it from him—like seeing his face would soften the blow.

His voice stopped, staying silent long enough that she decided he must have hung up the phone. Now or never.

She descended the stairs, trying to keep her steps silent, but he must have heard her because he was turned toward her as she entered the kitchen, his phone in one hand, the partially prepared beginnings of breakfast forgotten on the counter behind him.

Elena found herself fixating on the partially scrambled eggs. It was easier than facing him.

His face was like chalk and drawn in hard lines. Jaw clenched. Tension lines bracketing his mouth and eyes.

“What is it?” she forced herself to say. “Did someone get a picture of us in your car last night?”

He shook his head, a single tight shake.

“The fight at Seven? Did someone leak your name?”

“No.” His voice was gravelly low. “It isn’t me.”

She’d known that, but hope sprang eternal. If it was just some gossip about a fight, that was manageable. That was small.

“I know what the paparazzi were doing at your house last night.” He struggled for words. “It’s bad.”

Sympathy shone in his eyes and her brain immediately jumped to the worst possible news.

Please don’t let this be how I find out something happened to my family
.

“It’s a sex tape.”

“What?”

She was so braced for grief the words didn’t even make sense.

And then they did.