How I Became Lotus Raine...the Porn Star (8 page)

Shepard’s scrolling through his phone as I make my way back in. He looks up with a big smile and speaks. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us some lunch. Turkey, Swiss and avocado, right?” he asks and I smile brightly and nod. “It’s one of the many things I’ve been responsible for around here.” Shepard shrugs like it’s no big deal that he’s basically been sandwich boy for the last few years and that in doing so, he’s also managed to memorize the kind I always ordered. It’s flattering. Nothing he should feel off about. But I don’t tell him that. He doesn’t seem like the type that likes to be reassured.

“DID YOU CALL your dad back?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts and confusing me all at once.

“My dad?” I sit back, sinking into my non-comfy, slightly scratchy chair.

“Yes, that’s where you left off. That you had,” he glances down at his notes, “three missed calls from Reggie and one from your dad.”

“Oh, duh. Yeah, I did call him. But I made sure to make it quick. My dad has never been judgmental towards me. In fact, he’s always had my back. He would’ve had my back if I had wanted to drop out of college and be a stripper.” Shepard’s brow shoots up and I giggle. Little does he know that’s how my parents met in the first place. I’m sure he’s thinking,
“How does my dad feel about his daughter being a porn star?”

“Now don’t get me wrong. Just because he’d be supportive no matter what, doesn’t mean he’d like it. So, with that being said, I didn’t feel the need to tell him I was going to be shacked up with a former porn star that week. I only told him the basics. Such as, I had finally received my first interview and that was it. He asked for details, but I kept the description extremely vague. I was still at odds with my situation, how could I begin to explain it to anyone else, especially my dad? It just wasn’t going to happen. Now Reggie on the other hand,” I toss my head back with laughter, “that hooker ate it up. When I told her who I was interviewing—the man who gave me my first ever one night fingering stand, she freaked. I was sure wherever Brent was, he could hear her screams through my phone. She was way more excited about it all than I was. Oddly enough, she couldn’t understand my reservations about it. Who would have thought?”

“REGGIE, I MESSED around with a porn star,” I whispered into the phone.

“Correction. You were blissfully finger-fucked by a porn star. And it was the best finger action you’ve ever had. I don’t see the problem.”

“When it comes to anything sex related, you never see the problem.”

“And?”

I huffed. She wasn’t going to get it. To her, I already basically had sex with him and now that I’m stuck with him for the next week, I needed to pick up where we left off. Slamming our bodies against every wall throughout this apartment as we did. The thought was nice and one I had pictured myself, but I was there to work. I couldn’t let it become some sex-escapade for me. I had a job to do…and plus, I didn’t do sexcapades. Or so I had thought.

After getting off the phone with Reggie, I pulled my bags onto the bed and started putting my stuff up. I needed to do something productive while I hid in my room. I kicked my heels off, and peeled down my slacks going for a more comfortable, unprofessional look as I pulled up a pair of jeans and slid on my slip-ons. I typically didn’t dress up for work, but the fact that I was being handed over my first interview that morning, I wanted to make an impression. If I had known who it revolved around, I would have shown up in sweats. Or maybe a one piece, full body set of pajamas. Something that screamed,
“I’m so not sexy.”

I took a deep breath as my hand twisted the doorknob. I didn’t know what to expect. I mean, I wasn’t worried about this turning into a complete disaster. If that would have been a probability, it would have happened within the first five minutes. That’s what I told myself at least.

The TV was on and I could see the back of his head as I stopped against the bar in the kitchen. The inside of the apartment was much dimmer, proven that I’d hid out in my room longer than I’d intended. Then my stomach growled.

“Are you hungry?” My eyes shot to the back of his head. He was still sitting on the couch, keeping his distance. I hated and loved that all at once.

“Umm,” I stuttered.

“It’s a simple question which only requires a yes or no answer.” He clicked the TV off and made his way toward me, strutting. Why did strutting have to be so hot? I didn’t answer him right away. I was far too busy watching him strut…and him smirking at the fact that I was staring. “I know you like to overthink things,” he said stopping in front of me.

I swallowed hard as he lightly touched my face. “No, I don’t,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Yes, you do. Or have you already forgotten about the first time you let me touch you?” He bit his lip, making me want to bite it myself. The way he said that had my insides tumbling at his silent promise of more to come.

“Yes,” I breathed out causing him to cock a brow at me. “Yes, I’m hungry,” I clarified.

His smile grew as he realized that:

A. I hadn’t forgotten about two nights ago.

B. He was able to shut my second guessing mind up.

I kept my smile hidden at the fact that it was only going to:

C. Cause me to lose myself, even more so this time, with a porn star.

But then I remembered. He wasn’t back at it just yet. So, if it were to happen, during that week would be the best time. Because it definitely wouldn’t once the time we were there together ended.

He stepped back, offering his hand out to me. I took it and damn near melted. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” he smirked again. That smirk was going to be the death of me or life of me. I wasn’t quite sure. “Brent Nichols.”

I shook his hand, letting his name play around in my head momentarily. I could hear it all too clearly. Thoughts of me moaning it as he touched me, tasted me, and filled me overwhelmed my mind. I quickly shook his hand, needing to break the closeness and get the hell out of that apartment ASAP.

“Lucy Rogers.” I tried to drop his hand, to break the contact, but before I could, he was raising my hand up to his mouth. His perfect mouth. And staring at me with his gaze locking hazel eyes. He held my stare as he placed a kiss on my hand, never looking away.

Damn him. He was a porn star and a Casanova.

“
After you
.”
He held his arm out for me to lead the way. I felt the heat as his hand lingered at the mid of my back, but never fully pressing against my cotton shirt.

Nerves hit me as we stood waiting for the elevator. I’d read way too many books to be riding an elevator with a hot man. Especially one that my body seemed to still be craving. I wasn’t sure if I should pray for an empty elevator, knowing that could play out two ways:

1. Me being able to stand on the complete opposite wall away from him or

2. Him taking advantage of me in the close proximity

I knew if I was close enough for him to put the moves on me, or hell even his words on me that my self-strength I’d claimed victory over the past years would crumble in defeat.

The door dinged and slowly opened to a crowded elevator.

“I’ll just take the next one.” I began to look around, “Or the stairs.”

“Come on, scaredy-cat. I don’t bite.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him into the elevator.

My back was to his chest as I stood in front of him. I could feel his presence behind me even though we weren’t touching. I swore I could hear our hearts beating through the buzzing chatter that filled the tiny moving box. The door opened yet again, and more people squeezed in. I didn’t know whether to groan in protest or moan in agreement with my body now being pressed against Brent’s.

His breath hitched as I pressed into him. I had the urge to drop my back against his chest, but made better of that desire since there were people around and all. I felt hot and cold. I felt a bead of sweat rolling down the back of my neck. I knew the confined space wasn’t responsible. Brent’s hand brushed past mine, and I jumped a bit at the contact. I heard him snicker behind me, and I smiled. Then I felt his finger, trailing up my bare neck claiming victory over the droplet of sweat his presence was responsible for.

We finally reached the lobby and as soon as the door opened, I pushed my way through like I had just been trapped in an erotic gas chamber and was desperate for air. I needed to cool down, and I needed distance from Brent. His presence was torturous enough, but his closeness was deadly.

“This way,” he chuckled, shaking his head. I followed him as we made our way out the front doors of the apartment building. I stopped in my tracks once I saw where we were headed.

“What the hell is that?” I crossed my arms in protest. No way was I about to get on the back of a motorcycle for the first time ever with someone I basically just met, no less. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him with my well-being. I also knew I was teetering on the looming thought of if I could actually trust myself around him. I didn’t do too well the first time and I wasn’t needing to cling tightly to him once again—on the back of a bike.

“It’s my ride,” he laughed, grabbing his helmet.

“Then it looks like I’ll be driving.” I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him.

“Please,” he pleaded softly. His eyes were even softer. How could I say no to that?

I looked back and forth between him and his bike. Hesitation and worry were eating away at me. I’d always wanted to ride a bike, that wasn’t the problem. Brent was the problem. I was on an assignment. He was my assignment. And I was about to jump on the back of my assignment’s motorcycle and hold on tightly as his bike vibrated beneath us.

“It’s just,” I stuttered. “I’ve never been on one before.” I felt embarrassed for some reason. More than anything I felt like he was going to start thinking I was some stupid girl instead of a mature woman because of all the superfluous analyzing I do. I wasn’t one of those chicks who were willing to do anything in hopes of impressing some guy. That part I could care less about. I wasn’t trying to gain the attention of the man. I already had it. That’s what I was needing to avoid—when I was on the clock I reasoned. Which technically I was on the clock 24/7 while I was there.

“I promise to be extra careful.” He smiled as he lifted the helmet and placed it over my head. “I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy the ride.” He winked as he clicked the latch together. I had a sense that he meant that in more ways than one.

He threw his leg over the beast of a machine, looking like he just rode out of a magazine. I didn’t get it. I needed distance between us. I wanted distance between us. But everything was working against me, throwing us together instead. I placed my hand on his shoulder as I threw my leg over, sliding in behind him. I propped my feet up like he had told me to, and leisurely wrapped my arms around his front. The motorcycle thrummed to life beneath us, and Brent kicked the kickstand back.

“You ready?” he yelled back over the noise. I nodded against his back.
“Then hold on tight.”
I firmed my grip around him as we took off. Brent was right. I did enjoy it. And I enjoyed it in more ways than one. Not only did I enjoy wrapping my arms around him, feeling his firm chest beneath, or the sensation the vibrations of the motor channeled through me, I enjoyed the freedom of it. Feeling the wind whipping around us as we veered from lane to lane in and out of traffic was freeing. It was more exhilarating than scary, and I was glad that I had gotten on.

He pulled into a parking lot, and my lip involuntarily shot out in protest. The smirk on his face as he helped get the helmet off told me he saw it and knew I enjoyed the ride just like he said I would. Passer-byer’s watched as the two of us walked toward the restaurant he chose. No one gawked so I hoped it was just one of those friendly looks people sometimes gave couples and not one of those ‘Oh my gosh! It’s Brent Nichols, the porn star’ type glances. I had rather it’d been the first even though we weren’t a couple.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually gone to dinner with a guy. I knew that we weren’t on a date, but in a way, it felt that way. It wasn’t like our prior interactions have been strictly professional. I figured Mitchell Publishing probably gave Brent some kind of spending allowance or credit card to use during the duration of the interview. And he was more than taking advantage of it by taking us to such a pricey restaurant.