Hollywood Hot Mess (13 page)

“That’s just it. I’m not supposed to want you. Love is a liability in our world.” His worried brow draws a line down his forehead. “It makes people desperate. My career can’t afford reckless decisions.” He drops the pearl into his hand and clasps his palm around it. Reckless my ass. I grit my teeth, ready to fight. If he’s using the
l
-word he’s already desperate.

“This is different, Devon.” I lean forward on the couch, encouraged by his admission. “I know it is. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same thing I do.” There’s no way he’s numb to the electricity that flies between us. I know he’s not. I’ve felt it in his kiss, the way he pulled me to him like he’d never get enough. That wasn’t fake. It was real.

But when his lips purse into a thin line and his eyes narrow, I know I’ve lost him. He shakes his head and stands, glowering down at me with an admonishing glare. Damn this man’s willpower.

“No, it’s not. Quit making me a martyr, Carly. I’m not your white knight.” His voice is subzero and any emotion that was on his face is gone. He bends briefly to kiss me on the forehead, his lips lingering when I fall into him. But his restraint is rigid as steel and he shrugs away from my need. He rights my shoulders, sets me back on the couch, and disappears into the darkness.

I’m not sure how long I sit alone before my mind is capable of thinking again. Did he just profess his impossible love for me or did he just tell me to fuck off in the most brilliant way possible? It doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and the reality of my situation shoots bile up my throat. I run out the door and puke on his moonlit porch.

Familiar, comfortable numbness creeps over my bones, blocking rejection’s lethal sting. I wipe my mouth on the back of the blood-soaked bandage.

Of course he left. Everyone always leaves. I’m too hard to love. I’m not worth the effort. Everything good in my life, I push away with both hands. Always have. Devon’s no exception. He’s just the first one in a long time that I had hoped might be. And it’s not my fault. I sure as hell didn’t come to this island looking to hook up with him. It was the last thing on my mind.

His horny ass started this mess.

Who does he think he is
?
He can’t do this to me. He can’t lead me on and then toss me to the side like garbage when he wants. I’m Carly Klein! And his dumb ass just left me holding an ace.

I don’t give a damn about playing by the rules. Obviously. He’s insane if he thinks I’ll keep his secrets after he just stomped all over me. And trying to blame it on me, saying he doesn’t want to hurt me...bullshit. How spineless can he be? I’m not stupid. I’m hard to handle. Too much drama. He ran just like any man would. Not that I blame him. But not that I care to guard his secret anymore either.

I follow the porch to my room, not wanting the temptation of passing his door. By the time I get there I’m so pissed I can hardly see straight.

But when I walk through the billowy curtains of Heather’s perfect room I don’t go straight to bed. Quietly, I pad to the door and put my ear against it. Waiting, straining to hear the tiniest bit of sound coming from the other side to let me know he’s still there.

Nothing.

Chapter Thirteen

I
kicked him in his balls when he came at me this time and rolled under a table and some chairs in the darkness.
That’ll show him!
Daddy will be back soon.
He told me he wouldn’t be gone long.
Then he’ll tell this bad man to stop hurting me.
I’m huddled in the darkness
,
hands over my ears
,
rocking back and forth so I can’t hear his breathy swears as he writhes on the floor.
But he finds me and drags me back to the leather couch by a blond pigtail.
And it doesn’t matter how loudly I scream or how hard I bite down on the hand he clasps over my mouth.
He doesn’t let me go until the leather couch is slick with my tears and his sweat on my back.

* * *

Fear races through every darkened corner of my existence. I scream and kick and flail, desperately trying to get him off me, trying to make him stop. And when he finally does I realize it’s not the monster from my dreams I’m fighting anymore.

Devon’s arms are clamped around me, held so tightly my fighting is useless. Whispering and cooing as he rocks me back and forth on the hardwood floor, his lips so close to my ear his breathy pleadings hum into my brain. I’m in his arms, and he’s chasing the bad things away. Quickly, the noxious fog of my dream is replaced with billowy white curtains.

Heather’s room is destroyed, and I fear I did it, though I don’t remember. The curtains that framed her bed are ripped down, the covers are scattered and downy feathers float in the sea breeze. I curl against his chest, fitting myself into his warm nook, breathing in his soothing scent until my lungs are about to explode.

The saltiness of my hot, snotty tears tastes strangely metallic. When I see why, I wish I were still in my nightmare.

Devon’s nose is bleeding. Streams of blood spill down his chin and onto his chest where I’m curled and crying. But he hasn’t let go of me to wipe them away. He was right. I’m fucked up, and I hate to think that I’ve broken such a beautiful man.

Tears I can’t hold back fall from my eyes and he releases one hand to wipe my cheek.

“Shh. It’s okay, Carly. He’s not going to hurt you.” Devon looks pained and shocked and I wonder what I’ve said in my terror-stricken sleep. How long has he had to fight my nightmares to wake me up and calm me down?

“Devon...” I whimper into his chest, pulling him close to me, burying my head in the soft shadows of his neck. There’re a million things I want to tell him, but nothing comes out.

“I’m right here, Carly. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

It’s nighttime when I slide into the backseat of Devon’s black town car. We’re back in the frozen north, after a quiet flight and more soul-searching on my part than I cared for. He hasn’t said a word to me about it, but his puffy, red nose sits between us like an elephant neither of us wants to acknowledge.

Because what would we say anyway? Devon doesn’t like messy things and I sure as hell don’t want to go reliving my fucked-up past with anyone.

I have no clue what he witnessed when my nightmare woke him, but he obviously knows somewhere along the way some man hurt me badly enough to give me night terrors violent enough to destroy things
and
people. Mercifully, he’s been oddly stoic about the whole thing. Only leaving a note for the caretaker to clean it up and replace what can’t be fixed.

Devon looks out the window, elbow resting on the door and fingers caressing his lips like they always do when he’s thinking. I’m worried he still wants out of this and my stomach twists in fear. My hand is spread across the black leather seat between us and for once, the feel of leather doesn’t make me go all hot and squirmy.

My pinkie rests so close to the folds of Devon’s jeans. With a few tiny wiggles, I manage to reach the fabric, running my fingertips ever so slightly along the wrinkles, feeling a warm release in my chest just to touch him.

His hand comes down to rest over mine—not intertwining our fingers, just draping over it. Even if we haven’t talked about it, his body language has slowly warmed to me. Enough to make me hope maybe it isn’t over after all.

His phone rings.

“Yes?” Thankfully he’s used his other hand to answer the phone and still holds mine. He bites his lips as he listens to the person on the other end.

“So it’s been delivered to set and will be ready for shooting tomorrow? With everything I asked for?” He nods his head, listening. “Good work,” he says, and hangs up, sliding the phone back into his chest pocket, still not looking at me. But it’s enough. I don’t need all of him. I just want a tiny little piece. And we ride along silently in the darkness until we get to the edge of town.

“Stop here.” Devon leans up, tapping Tiny on the shoulder, and the car pulls to the side of the road.

“Carly, is it okay if I drop you here? We can’t be seen together.” He looks like he’s waiting for me to fly off the handle like Carly Klein normally would.

“No problem. I need some smokes anyway,” I offer with a smile, and he eyes me with a suspicious squint.

“You know, I really wish you’d stop.” He runs his thumb over the back of my hand.

“One addiction at a time, Devon.”

“Right.” He laughs. “See you on set?” He brings my hand up to his lips and places the gentlest of kisses on my knuckles. It sends a sweet, needy heat flowing through me and at this moment I would do just about anything he asked of me.

“Sure.”

I step from the car and fire up my last cigarette as the red taillights disappear in the darkness. The thrill of him spikes hot and sweet down my body.
Oh
,
Devon!
I don’t know what changed in the few hours I was asleep. Maybe he realized he was wrong. Maybe I
am
worth the effort. Whatever happened, I do know one thing—losing him again isn’t an option. I’m going to make him want me so badly he’ll never be able to leave.

My mind reels at how spectacularly different life is since I last walked these deserted streets searching for an open store. I find one down by the harbor and pop in. Scouring the shelves for gum and then the cooler cases for bottled water, I laugh to myself when there isn’t any Smartwater. Instead, I grab some brand I’ve never heard of.

At the counter the clerk does a double take.

“Carly Klein?” My name sounds funny in his thick accent and I flash him a smile.

“My daughter is a huge fan! She loves you! Will you take picture?” he asks, grabbing his phone from behind the counter and nudging another man who’s asleep on the job.

“Sure, I’d love to.” And I really mean it. At that moment my life can’t get any better. The rage that used to fill me has completely drained from my body.

The man gives two thumbs up to the camera and I throw my arm over his shoulders good-naturedly.

“Cheese,” the half-asleep man says, and snaps the photo. It feels so good to be wanted again—even if it is by a strange foreign man in a frozen gutter of a country.

“No!” He waves me away when I pull my wallet from the scuffed duffel. “My treat!”

“Thank you. Tell your daughter thank you!” I give him a smile and autograph a gum wrapper before I leave.

Oh yes!
Carly Klein is back.

* * *

The hotel phone screams to life, blasting the calm. I’m quietly studying lines. Call time isn’t for three hours.

“Hello?” My voice is still raspy from that damned oyster.

“Carly?”

“Jerrie? Calling to wish me a happy belated Thanksgiving?” I smile as I fall into my comfiest chair.

“What the hell, Carly?” Her voice is low and vicious and I’m stunned by her tone.

“What do you mean, Jerrie?” I pull the phone away from my ear to soften her yelling.

“Have you seen TMI?” Her voice is stone sober and I know it’s not good news.

The blood turns to ice in my veins and I go from zero to full-blown panic attack in half a second.

How could they know? We were so careful. I leap from the chair, flying around the room, knocking over cups and sending papers flying in search of my laptop. It’s located under a pile of dirty clothes. I light a cigarette by the window while waiting for the Stone Age internet to pull up the webpage. Jerrie is sighing impatiently on the other end of the line. The website springs to life and I see it.

Carly Klein—Death Becomes Her?

The bold caption spreads its hateful lies under the picture I took with the store clerk last night. My arm is draped over his shoulders, pulling my jacket sleeve up and revealing a peek of the bloody bandage covering my wrist, which is circled in red and blown up to a grainy up-close image in the foreground.

“Jerrie, it’s not what it looks like.” I hang my head down in my hands, but I’m relieved they don’t know my real secret. “I accidentally cut myself, honest. I don’t want to do that anymore.” I send a trail of cigarette smoke out of the window into the frozen morning air, wishing I was back on Devon’s island.

“Where were you all weekend? I couldn’t get you on your cell.” The phone is muffled by something and then Jerrie’s own lighter scratches to life.

“I was here. You know cell reception sucks.” Quickly, I cover my tracks. I’m an old pro at that. “Listen, Jerrie, you’ve got to turn this around. I’ve got something really good going with this movie. I can’t afford...” I’m desperate again, clinging to the phone with both hands, the tip of my cigarette dangerously close to my blond pigtails.

“Okay, Carly. I believe you. Just, keep your nose clean over there. I’ll see if I can get this to go away.” Jerrie hangs up without a goodbye and I turn back to my computer.

Stupid TMI. I crush my cigarette out on the screen and slam the laptop closed.

Chapter Fourteen

I’m a disaster walking onto set, and not just because location has changed, which always gives it that unsettled first-day-of-school feeling all over again. We’re still thousands of miles away from Hollywood, and no one in Eastern Siberia gives a shit if Carly Klein tried to kill herself again. Unfortunately, set isn’t populated with Siberians. It’s filled with the kind of people who read TMI with their morning coffee like most normal people read the
Wall Street Journal
or the
New York Times
. I can feel their eyes on me, cruel and judging, assuming the worst because that’s usually the truth. They can burn in hell as far as I’m concerned.

I put on a strong front, pretend I’m oblivious to their stares, but after wandering the lot for ten minutes I can’t seem to find my rusty bucket of a trailer.

“Can I help you, Miss Klein?” A security guard approaches me. He seems harmless enough.

“Where’s my trailer?” My voice trembles when the realization that maybe I’ve been let go hits me. Maybe my horrible behavior the past few weeks has pushed the studio over the edge and they’ve walked out on me and found another teenage whore. We’re a dime a dozen in Hollywood.

“Oh, right!” The guard’s eyes spark with understanding. “Your trailer had some issues during the move. It had to be replaced.” He wipes his cherry-red nose on the finger of his glove and turns. “Your new trailer is the last one on the end.” He points behind me and I turn to follow the direction of his gloved finger.

Holy shit!
A brand new, Mac Daddy Star Waggon sits gleaming in the midmorning sun.

I take off in a near sprint, but stop midstep and turn back to him.

“Thank you...” I grimace slightly as I draw out my last word, waiting for him to tell me his name, which I should already know because I see him every day.

“Robert, Miss Klein,” he says with a humble nod.

“Yes, Robert! Thank you, Robert.” I give him a smile and decide running to my new trailer would be a total rookie move.

When I open the door and see the dark wood grain and ivory décor it looks strangely familiar. Issues during the move? Yeah, right. My prehistoric, deathtrap of a trailer probably survived Chernobyl. It had the rusty stains to prove it.

When I notice there isn’t a single leather-covered surface, despite the obvious opulence of the trailer, I know exactly what’s going on. I squeal and dance around in the granite-laden kitchenette, land with a flying leap on the bed in my private bedroom, slide my fingers down the glass door of my full-sized shower and then plop down on the gray fabric sofa in front of a new 50” plasma TV.

“I’m back, bitches,” I whisper to myself with a radiant grin.

On the kitchen counter sits a fruit bowl overflowing with limes, which is odd since limes aren’t actually a fruit one would eat. My brow wrinkles in confusion. No way. He didn’t, did he? I open the wood-paneled refrigerator, where I’m greeted by Smartwater bottles as far as the eye can see. My grin bursts into a smile that rivals the Cheshire Cat’s. Big bottles, small bottles, sports bottles, lined top to bottom, front to back, side to side, crammed in every free space I can see. A handwritten note is taped at eye level. I pull it away and open it to find a single sentence.

I
hope this meets with your approval.
D

His handwriting is just what I imagined it would be. Bold letters, popping off the page in all uppercase block letters. An intelligent and organized handwriting that automatically gains respect. My insides have all bunched up around my heart, making my chest fill unbelievably full. Is this his way of apologizing? His way of telling me everything’s okay? Why would he go to such trouble if he didn’t care? I tuck the note into my coat pocket, knowing I will reread it at least a hundred times when I get back to the solace of my hotel room.

I actually have a smile on my face, humming a tune, sitting before the blinding lights of my new makeup table. The hairstylist fusses over my curls and the wardrobe assistant lays out my gown for today’s shoot. They exchange wary looks over my head like they fully expect pigs to be flying when they walk outside.

I’m on set early for the first time ever. We’re shooting outside today. The scene requires me to ride a horse sidesaddle through the woods for a clandestine meeting with my lover. I should be terrified—horses scare the shit out of me. And I should be worried about what everyone is whispering behind my back. After all, I did just try to kill myself as far as they know.

Only I’m neither of these. I’m floating on a pink cotton candy cloud and struggling to keep myself from running into Devon’s arms when he finally appears, royally attired in tight deerskin riding breeches, over-the-knee boots and a giant ermine-lined velvet jacket. I barely notice the gray hair curling around his crown anymore.

“Hey,” I offer in a weak voice, looking down at my hands, certain it is obvious to everyone he’s the reason for my sudden 180-degree attitude adjustment.

“I saw TMI. Are you okay?” He pretends to lavish affection on the horse beside me, as acutely aware of the prying eyes as I am.

“I’ve been better.” I run a gentle hand over my right wrist. The set nurse worked some kind of medical miracle on the wound with butterfly bandages to hide the proof of my “accident.” Everyone has a theory, but no one knows the truth. No one but Devon and me. This newfound intimacy we share makes me relish my wound.

“My agent is working on it.” His voice trails over his shoulder barely loud enough for me to hear and I lean back against the horse’s warm shoulder wishing it were Devon’s.

“Thanks,” I whisper. We catch each other’s eye. My body ignites. Having a secret from the world—sharing something no one else shares with this man—and seeing him for the first time in hours does strange things to my body. I somehow feel both invincible and weakened at the same time.

“Alright, actors up!” Gavin barks from his perch on an old stone wall.

I turn to my horse and look for a way up on the beast’s back. But it’s really tall and I’m in a skirt.

“Allow me.” Devon’s voice sends chills racing up my neck and into my hair.

“Thank you.” His hands wrap around my waist and he lifts me with ease off the ground and into the saddle, holding me steady while I find my stirrup and grab the reins. With his hands on my body we’re no longer able to hide our puppy-love smiles. He tries to, biting his lips together from the inside. But not me.

I throw my head back and howl so loudly with laughter every eye on set turns to me. Hoping to throw them off the scent, Devon quickly mounts his own steed like my cackle has nothing to do with him. Everyone stares and shakes their heads, no doubt dismissing my erratic behavior as just another sign that Carly Klein is about to swan dive off the deep end...again. And maybe I am, but I’ve dived into far more dangerous pools than Devon Hayes. Really, what’s the worst that can happen?

* * *

Check out TMI

I get a text from Jerrie early that evening as I’m sprawled over my unmade bed reading through lines for tomorrow. She’s finally discovered texting is the best way to reach me in this forsaken wasteland of a country.

I locate my laptop beside the window where I left it this morning. Lighting up a cigarette, I swirl my finger over the keypad to bring it back to life. TMI’s article is still on my screen, frozen in time since I slammed it shut hours ago. I press the refresh button and wipe the black circle of cigarette ash from the screen.

When the refreshed page pulls up, my fingers go numb along with the rest of me. Shocked to dumb staring, I drop my lit cigarette on the stained carpet.

A breathtaking blonde smiles in the full-screen photo. It takes me a moment to realize it’s me, sitting astride a horse in a flowing scarlet gown. Blond curls trail down to my waist and I have that beloved, mischievous smile on my face that America hasn’t seen in years. Devon’s hand is barely in the shot, having just released my waist when the photo was snapped. No one could suspect it’s really him I’m smiling at—yet another secret we’ll keep in our world.

TMI has learned the injury to Carly Klein’s wrist we reported earlier was sustained while filming the greatly anticipated Devon Hayes film
The Mighty Fall
.
Carly
,
in what promises to be her comeback role
,
insists on doing her own stunts.
She sustained a nasty cut to her wrist when she fell from a horse during filming.
Carly was treated for minor injuries and was back on location the next day.
All reports from set indicate America’s sweetheart may indeed be back.

* * *

I’m still in a deliriously happy state of shock when I walk back into the sterile hotel lobby, fingers held to my nose to warm them and enjoy the satisfying stink of the cigarette I just crushed out in a snowdrift. As soon as the sky turned black I threw on my parka and raced outside to share my victory with the stars. Being a media darling again has swollen my head entirely too large to fit comfortably in a cramped hotel room.

The desk clerk says something to me, but I’m in my own world, and way too important to acknowledge him as I breeze past, rubbing my hands together to encourage circulation. I’m pretty sure I could sprout wings and start flying around the lobby if I wanted to. That’s how amazing life is at this particular moment. I haven’t been this high in almost a year, and I simply refuse to let reality ruin my buzz. The elevator doors are almost closed when a hand appears and forces them back open.

I instinctively roll my eyes, and let out a breathy, impatient grunt. Until I see whose rock-hard body the hand is attached to.

A gray head full of wet curls pops into my elevator. Below those curls, sweat-soaked gym shorts and an armless T-shirt cling to impossible muscles. I couldn’t keep my tongue in my mouth if I wanted to. Damn, his old-man ass looks delicious slicked in sweat. Lickable. Devon wipes some sweat with a towel slung around his neck. When he finds me hiding in the elevator corner his face lights up.

Only, the door is still wide open, putting us on full display for everyone in the lobby. I shrink further into the corner. Devon hesitates, then leans toward me to punch a number on the illuminated keypad. He immediately hits the door closed button, and my hands tremble—waiting, hoping, praying no one joins us.

Seconds feel like hours. The doors slowly roll shut and it is all I can do to keep from leaning up on to my tiptoes and licking the sweat from his neck.

Instead of tasting him, I shove my hands into my pockets and force my eyes to the linoleum, scolding myself for being so needy. Devon doesn’t want a lovesick little girl, which is exactly what I am

“Hey,” I manage to get out, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Hey yourself.” He licks a smile away. His eyes are all hungry and sexy, like we’re tangled in crumpled sheets instead of freezing in an elevator shaft. “How does it feel to be TMI’s darling this evening?” He reaches out and pulls my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. I swear I actually swoon, falling into him like some stupid 1950s pinup girl.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” My voice is so innocently hopeful I cringe.

TMI quit believing Jerrie’s lies years ago. They won’t even take her calls anymore. And they never print retractions, which, technically, this wasn’t. But it’s as close as it gets and more than I could have ever hoped for. He shrugs, releasing my chin and resting his hand on the elevator wall over my shoulder. How can he smell this good after a workout?

“No sweat. It was great publicity for
Mighty
, too.” He absently slides his fingers down a length of hair beside my face. I hang on the precision of his surgeon-like fingers. Oh, there are so many other parts of me that could use attention from those fingers!

I want to rip the bell out of the wall and crush it to a million tiny pieces when it dings my floor number and the upward motion slows. Any second the door will roll open and I’ll have to say goodbye. I hate this stupid elevator more than anything else in the world.

Our moment is invaded by the high-pitched whine of a vacuum cleaner roaring down the hallway when the inevitable happens. Devon steps away, always conscious of being caught, and I curse elevators and vacuums as I peel myself off the back wall. I linger over the little gap of black between the linoleum elevator floor and the carpeted hallway. Holding the door open with a trembling hand, I rack my brain for something—anything—to say other than goodbye. I look to Devon and he runs his hands over his lips when he sees the dilemma so obviously furrowing my brow.

The doors try to shut and I push them back. He rakes a naughty gaze up and down my already humming body, boiling my blood and freezing me in place.

In a flash, he grabs my hand, pulling me back into the tiny space as he searches for the security camera. It’s in the corner above the button panel. Covering it with one hand he pushes me into that corner and rips the towel from his neck to hide us.

“Close the door.” His words are breathy, hips pinning me to the wall just as they did in his island kitchen. I fumble with the buttons, my hands shaking as badly as the rest of my body.

The door isn’t fully closed when he rips the toggles of my parka open, pushing the heavy coat from my shoulders. It hits the floor at my ankles the same moment his hand snakes under my shirt and finds I’m not wearing a bra. He towers over me, and when his eyes meet mine, I’m nothing but a wet noodle waiting for him to take me up against the wall. Sapphire eyes burn deeply above me, and right now, there’s nothing but him. His body is rigid against mine. I reach for the damp, rolling muscles of his arms. We both catch our breath, sending an echo of soft wanting bouncing off the walls. My senses are completely arrested by this godlike man. The way he smells, the way he feels, the sounds that come from somewhere deep inside.

The elevator starts to move again, and I jump against him. His hand flies up to my chin to hold my head steady. An instant later his kisses are on my lips. Soft as a sigh at first, nibbling along my lower lip, his tongue tentatively leading the way as if he expects me to stop him.
As if.
This is the waking dream that has occupied my thoughts for way too long, and in no time, my lips are begging him not to stop. It’s all the encouragement he needs. Instantly, the intensity of his kiss changes.