Blindsided (4 page)

Something flits across her face. Then she sighs. “Are you always this pushy?”

“Are you always this prickly?”

“I’m not prickly. I’m simply a private person.”

“How does that work? With your mom who she is?”

“Simple. I don’t go looking for the cameras, and I don’t give them any fun stories to run about me.” She tucks some hair behind her ear. “Which means I definitely will not be seen anywhere near you in public.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt.”

“Oh, don’t be. It’s nothing against you. Actually, on second thought,” she adds when I pass her a glass of wine, “it’s everything against you.”

“Fuck, Leah. Break it to me gently.” I lean against the bar next to her. “I’m not that bad. Half of those girls never made it past a ride home.”

“I’d imagine a ride is exactly what they got,” she retorts smartly. “And last I knew, sex in a car is possible.”

I laugh quietly. “I see the real reason you avoid the media. You’d tear them to pieces, and you obviously don’t want to hurt their feelings.”

“Oh, please. They don’t have feelings. And after some of the bullshit they’ve run about my mom, I’d love to tear into them.” She sips her drink, and her eyes find mine. “I just don’t care to live my life in the spotlight. And if I do, it won’t be because my mom is who she is. The media thinks the name on my birth certificate is simply ‘Grace Veronica’s daughter.’”

Leah saunters over to a free table, and my eyes drop to her ass. Damn. That dress really does hug it fucking incredibly. She coughs, drawing my eyes to her face, and half frowns, half smirks at me. I walk over to her, set my beer on the table, and hold my hands up.

“Babe, you wear a dress like that and you’re gonna get looked at. Don’t be blamin’ me for it.”

Her smirk swiftly changes to a full smile. “You’re the most honest asshole I’ve ever met in my life.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

“Of which there are few.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, Leah Veronica. For all you know, I have a thousand amazing things about me.”

She leans forward and rests her chin on her hand, her grin still in place. “Yet, equally, you could have even more bad things. Judging by what I know of you so far, letting me find out isn’t a risk you should take.”

“I love takin’ risks,” I murmur, tracing the shape of her lips with my eyes. “Especially when that risk is feisty and strong-willed.”

“Are you calling me a risk, Corey Jackson?”

“What if I am?”

“Then you should be aware that you’re never gonna get to take me—in any sense of the word.”

“We’ll see.”

She sits up straight and her eyes flit away from me. A smile spreads across her face. “Cole!” She stands and embraces a guy with dark-blond hair. “You killed it! I bet your agent is drowning in calls already!”

Ah. Cole Dalton. Hollywood’s new boy toy.

He smirks. “There might have been a couple.”

Leah laughs. “Right. Tell me that in twenty-four hours.”

“I promise I will, but you’ll have to give me your number.”

What the fuck?
“I don’t think we’ve met.” I stand up and offer him my hand. “Corey Jackson.”

Leah shoots me a hard look, but I ignore it and Cole doesn’t even notice it.

“No way!” He puts his hand in mine. “Cole Dalton. Shit, I’m a huge fan. Leah, why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“I would have if you didn’t change your number ten times a month.” She smiles sweetly and sits down. “Do you want to join us?”

Now, she directs her smile toward me. My jaw ticks.

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid to sit down. Your mom is flaunting me like I’m her new boy toy.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Cole laughs. “I’ll e-mail you, all right? We’ll do coffee or something.”

“You still have my e-mail, right? You didn’t lose that, too?”

He gives her the finger, much to her amusement, and disappears back into the crowd.

“You’re friends with him?” I ask as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“Jealous?” She shoots me a sassy grin and grabs a fresh glass of wine from a passing waiter. Then she turns, heading toward the door to the outdoor terrace.

I leave my drink where it is and go after her, the blue of her dress like a beckoning flag. She turns the corner at the top, and I follow her outside.

Leah sets her glass on one of the tables and walks over to the railings. You can see almost all of Los Angeles and the Hollywood Hills from this point, but all I can see is the girl leaning against the railings, looking like a fucking angel surrounded by bright lights.

I stop behind her and grip the railings on either side of her body. “Now why would I be jealous,” I breathe, my mouth close to her neck, “when I’m the one up here with you and he’s down there?”

“He’s seen me almost naked.” She turns her face into mine. “That seems like reason enough.”

“Not exactly”—
Fucking lucky bastard—
“because I’ll be seeing you completely naked soon enough.”

“You are so certain it’s comical.”

She stops laughing the second my lips touch her neck. She smells like cotton candy and summer, and I brush my lips up her skin to her ear.

“Not so funny now, is it?” I whisper.

“If you have any sense, you’ll let me go.”

“Oh, I will. But not before I’ve done this.” I pry her hands from the railing and flip her in my arms. The second her breasts brush my chest, I lower my mouth onto hers.

She tenses against me. I slip my hand up her back and cup the back of her head, my other hand holding steady at the base of her back. She has no choice but to give in and let me continue.

And she does.

Grabbing the lapels of my jacket, she tilts her face up to me. I flick my tongue against her bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of the wine she’s been drinking. She leans into me, and I kiss her harder, the softness of her lips consuming me completely.

“What are you—”

I silence her by kissing her again, this time more desperately, and she whimpers, opening her mouth. I slide my tongue against hers, teasing it, taunting it, until an all-out battle wages between us. Her hands twine in my hair and I kiss her until I can’t fucking breathe anymore.

“Leah—I. Oh. Um.”

She shoves me off her at the sound of Cole’s voice. “Hi.” She turns to me. “I’m leaving. And you”—she takes a deep breath—“are never going to do that again.”

She lifts the bottom of her dress and runs across the terrace, leaving her wine left untouched on the table. Cole’s eyes burn into me, a protective gleam there that tells me to fuck off.

Then he, too, turns and follows her downstairs.

I stare at the empty doorway, adrenaline pumping through my body, my dick as hard as a fucking rock. Her last words ring through my ears.

Yeah, right.

There isn’t a fucking chance I’m leaving Leah Veronica alone.

I want her.

I want her a whole fucking lot.

And I get what I want.

Always.

O
ne should make a note to remember that wine and or champagne will lower your inhibitions much quicker and much more drastically than tequila ever will. Surprisingly.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Why the hell did I let him kiss me last night? Why in the fucking hell didn’t I demand to sit somewhere else and avoid him at all costs?

I should have known better. I
do
know better.

I’ve spent six years perfecting avoidance of anything that could destroy my career. I’ve stepped back from the media, except for my mom, and ignored the spotlight. I’ve turned down hundreds of acting jobs and opportunities so I could work on my dream—my own fashion label.

I’ve given up the easy road to success by keeping private and keeping Lea V. the world’s most obvious secret.

I gave everything up when I was sixteen, threw everything into this dream. I watched every Fashion Week, never missing a show, studying every trend, predicting the next. Nailing it every time.

After four years of designing under the name Lea V., I finally got my break. My designs were finally noticed, and I was offered the contract of my dreams. My label. My line. To debut at NYFW. Everything I’ve ever wanted.

Now the only people who know who Lea V. really is are my boss Quinn, my mom, my aunt, and me.

Throwing myself into the spotlight will add millions of people to that list and give an acceptance I don’t deserve. And Corey Jackson is most definitely the way to destroy every moment of hard work I’ve put into Lea V.

“I’ve never felt so awkward in my whole life.”

I groan and bury my head in my hands. “I don’t even know what I was doing. Cole, what was I doing?”

“I believe you were playing a round of very fucking enthusiastic tonsil tennis.”

I groan again. “Thank you for stopping me. I mean… What the fuck is wrong with me? Corey Jackson?”

Cole smirks. “It could be worse. I’m sure hundreds of girls would love to kiss the quarterback.”

“Ugh! This isn’t high school. This is…wrong.”

“Did it feel wrong at the time?”

I open my mouth then close it again. No. It didn’t. How the hell could it have felt wrong when I could feel every inch of muscle beneath his suit? How the fucking hell could it have felt wrong when the sweep of his lips over mine, the probing of his tongue, and the sparks from his fingers against my skin hummed through my veins?

How could it have felt wrong when, for those few minutes his lips were touching mine, I felt so alive?

“I don’t have to answer that.”

Cole laughs. “There’s my answer. Is that the first time you met?”

“No! What do you take me for?” I frown, pausing. “It was the second.”

He buries his face in his hands, still laughing, and when he glances at me, I laugh, too.

“Oh God,” I moan, covering my mouth with my hand. “He isn’t going to leave me alone, is he?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “He definitely didn’t like it when I came over to see you.”

“And you didn’t help! Mr. ‘I’m A Huge Fan! Leah, why didn’t you tell me?’” I mock, kicking him across the sofa.

“Hey!” He grabs my foot and knocks it away. “I am, all right?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s coming for dinner tomorrow. Did you know that? Ada has the biggest, grossest, old lady cougar-crush on him, and Mom promised she’d invite him for dinner.”

Cole stares at me. “No shit. A cougar-crush?”

“That’s what you just took from all that? How about he’s coming for dinner? To my house? With me?”

“Are you sixteen? Snap the fuck out of it!” He slaps my leg. “You are Leah Fucking Veronica, a take-no-shit, total badass. If you’re gonna flail over a guy, it’s gonna be me, movie star Cole Fucking Dalton, not some football-playing prick. You got that, sweetheart?”

I drop my head back and laugh. Hard. When all else fails, e-mail Cole Fucking Dalton for coffee and a good giggle.

“You’re the best,” I manage through my giggles. “Leah Fucking Veronica, indeed.”

“You better fuckin’ remember it!” He slaps my leg again.