Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (12 page)

She couldn’t
do
anything but watch her life implode. Trapped in this house for the third straight day, going crazy and thinking every day,
This. This has to be rock bottom.
Even as she had a sinking feeling she hadn’t hit it yet. And all she could do was brace for impact and wait.

Chapter Eighteen

“How is she?”

Adam suppressed his impatience to get back to Elena, answering Max as he stowed his equipment from the day. “Better than I’d be.”

His job today had been for one of his regulars, escorting her around town as she ran the usual rounds for a pre-release press junket for the movie about to release. He was just glad this particular actress was a new mother with a baby at home who didn’t want to hit the club circuit and be seen until two in the morning. His wasn’t the kind of job where he could just clock out at five and head home. If the celebrity was still out, he was still out—which often led to late nights with after parties and after-the-after parties.

But this week, Max appeared to have reworked his schedule so he didn’t have as many late night red carpets. So maybe he owed Max a little more information.

“She’s hating every second of it, but she’s tough. She was trying to crack jokes last night—” When he’d had her in his arms on the deck and she’d felt so incredibly right there. “I hate this. I hate that there’s nothing I can do.”

“Comes with the territory.”

Adam’s hackles rose. “It shouldn’t.”

“No,” Max agreed. “It shouldn’t.” His boss shifted and Adam could feel the change of topic before Max said, “I talked to Sandy Newton. Gave her the too-close-to-be-effective excuse.”

“And?”

“She seemed satisfied. I assigned Tank to that premiere her daughter wanted you for. Just wanted to let you know we’re good on that front.”

“Good.”

“I’ll let you get back to Elena.” Max started to leave and Adam turned, calling after him.

“Max? Thanks.”

His boss nodded. “You’re one of us now, Dylan. Some day you’ll accept that.”

Then he was gone—and Adam had other things on his mind besides figuring out what that last cryptic remark was supposed to mean. Things like getting home to Elena.

He wasn’t sure what he expected—maybe more of the dazed denial or cynical depression he’d witnessed yesterday and this morning before he left—but when he walked in the door, he was once again confronted by Elena with a manic gleam in her eye. She must have heard the car pull up because she was leaning against the wall in the front hall waiting when he opened the door.

“Honey! You’re home!”

She’d changed out of the yoga pants and t-shirt she’d worn all day yesterday and slept in last night. She was back in her tight jeans and a bright aqua off-the-shoulder shirt that draped loosely over her curves. Her hair was clean and swept back from her face in a tidy ponytail, her face free of make-up. She was At-Home Elena, but At-Home Elena with a ferocious intensity on her face.

“How are you doing?” he asked as he set down his keys and relocked the door behind him.

“Oh, you know. My former agent is representing the asshole trying to sell my body on eBay, Daniel is winking at the press every time they ask him how much they should pay to watch me have sex, and I have no idea how I’m going to begin to pay all the legal bills that I’m sure are already stacking up, but enough about me. Let’s talk about you. How was
your
day?”

Indignant rage surfaced. “Your agent is representing that asshole?”

“Yep. When it rains, it… you know, I’m not sure there’s even a word for this kind of torrential shitstorm.”

He gave in to the need to touch her, stepping forward and cupping the side of her neck, his thumb along her jaw. “Are you okay?”

“I’m
pissed
.” She pushed away from the wall—and from him in the process—stalking back into the main part of the house. He trailed behind her, pausing at the edge of the living room as she began to pace in front of the windows.

“I’ve been on my best behavior lately. New Elena. And look where that got me? No one even noticed. I can be a saint for the rest of my life and all anyone will see when they look at me is the Slutty Suitorette. Well, fuck them. Yes, I took off my top with Daniel in the Jacuzzi! Yes, I slept with him on the two-day dates! Yes, I have had sex with other men! And now the entire world gets an all access pass to my sex life.” She flung out her arms, nearly taking out one of the sculptures Sandy’s decorator had placed around the room.

“I just want to scream because no guy ever gets targeted like this. They take pictures of their dicks and text them to dozens of women,
begging
people to look at their junk, but I can’t even get naked in my own bedroom without worrying about whether some asshole hacker has accessed the webcam on my laptop.”

Adam’s chest constricted.

“What the fuck did I ever do that was so wrong?” she demanded. “I didn’t use anyone for sex on national television. Yes, I was a smart ass and said some un-PC shit for the cameras so I could get more air time. I played up the villainess role when it became obvious that was how they were going to portray me. I bragged about my connection with Daniel, but I was never intentionally cruel to any of the girls. A bunch of them called and texted and tweeted me today—they
like
me, if you can believe it. And they
detest
Daniel, but Daniel is a guy so he’s the stud and I’m the slut as far as society is concerned. He did every single thing that I did, but I’m being punished because I
let
him. Because I
tempted
him. Because I was Eve with the goddamn apple, but I am sick of that shit. Who made that okay?”

“It isn’t.”

“I’ve been watching TV off and on all day. You know the stages of grief? I’m discovering the stages of sex tapes. So far I’ve covered Denial and Depression and this afternoon I achieved Anger. I like Anger the best so far, but it’s probably a good thing I don’t know where you keep your guns.”

“Maybe no more TV?”

“No one is outraged for me. They’re gleeful. Because they disapprove of me, they feel like they’re allowed to pile on. Hell, it’s
encouraged
. Like I deserve the shame. My punishment for being a slut.” She spun toward him, thrusting a finger in his direction. “It would be different if the girl being attacked was pure. Of course if it’s a sex tape then she must have had sex and any female who has consensual sex is voluntarily giving up their purity and therefore fair game. She was
asking for it
.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s how they think!”

“Who?”

“Everyone! Like it’s my own fault this is happening to me because I wasn’t perfect. If you’d saved me from a burning building, it wouldn’t make news, but little miss perfect Cassie
deserved
to be saved.” She stopped pacing, throwing back her head. “
God,
I hate that word. They talk a lot about who deserves love on the show. And only the nice girls who are sweet and demure and never put a foot wrong or their tongue down anyone’s throat
deserve
love. Like there’s a scale. Single moms and widows are at the top. They
deserve
love the most. My season it was Sam with her broken heart and Caitlyn with her difficult childhood who
deserved
love—even if they deserved better than a self-absorbed dipshit like Daniel. They
deserved
happiness. And I was the slut. Always the slut.”

“Stop it. That isn’t who you are.”

“But I can’t get away from it! I’m marked. I might as well wear a freaking scarlet A on all my clothes.”

“I can think of worse fashion statements.”

Elena waved away his comment. “It’s been done. That cute Emma Stone movie. But see—she can be sexy and cute at the same time. What am I doing wrong?” She flopped onto the couch and he decided the first manic rush had passed enough for him to approach without getting elbowed by one of her flailing arms.

“You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re human.” He sat down beside her, not quite close enough for their legs to touch. “And so are those jerks indulging in a schadenfreude orgy at your expense.”

She breathed out a soft, scoffing huff and he took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“No one’s perfect,” he said. “Certainly not Cassie Newton.”

“If her only flaw is having a huge crush on the man who saved her life, I think America will empathize,” she said dryly, but she didn’t take her hand away.

He shouldn’t tell her. He’d promised Sandy Newton that he would keep his mouth shut, but this was Elena and he wanted her to know the truth. “I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t tell another soul.”

She turned toward him, dark eyes curious in spite of herself. “You trusting me with your secrets now?”

He’d trusted her down to his core since the day they met. As if something in him had recognized something in her, a vein of integrity that ran deep. But she’d only make a joke if he told her that.

“Cassie Newton isn’t perfect.”

Elena arched a brow questioningly, waiting for him to go on.

He hesitated, feeling like he was betraying Cassie’s trust, but that was ridiculous. This was Elena. “Everyone believes that Cassie was passed out behind the couch because of smoke inhalation.”

Elena nodded.

“Well. She was. But it was a different kind of smoke.”

“You’re kidding. With her goodie-goodie image?”

“I thought you didn’t know who she was.”

“I’ve been trapped in your house for three days with nothing to do. Did you think I wasn’t going to read every scrap of news I could find online about your heroic deed and the precious little princess you saved?”

“Well, don’t believe everything you read.”

“She really was high?”

“And drunk. And underage at a party she shouldn’t have gone to in the first place.”

“Damn,” Elena marveled.

“She’s reformed now—”

“And everyone loves a reformed sinner.”

“But her parents kept the truth out of the press. They made the story about my heroics, rather than the fact that Cassie had misbehaved.”

“I need a better PR team.” Elena’s eyes grew distant. “Though I guess I don’t have one anymore since I fired Dale and he took care of all that.” She frowned. “I wonder who’s running my Twitter now.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“That Cassie Newton is a bad girl and America still loves her because her PR people are amazing?”

“Everyone deserves to be saved.”

Chapter Nineteen

Elena stared into the hazel eyes so close to hers, noting all the tiny differentiations of color there. Gold. Brown. Yellow. Green. He genuinely believed everyone deserved to be saved.

“That’s why you’re the hero,” she said. “Because you really believe that.”

“You believe it too.”

“Do I?”

A stern frown pulled down his brow. “You deserve to be saved, Elena,” he insisted.

Did she? Did she deserve to be fished out of the quagmire of her own life? Today it felt like he was the only person in the world who believed that. Well, maybe not the only one. Sam. And Sidney. And Josh. And Miranda. She had support. She had people who cared.

But he was the one sitting next to her on this couch, still holding her hand though it had started to feel awkward several minutes ago, her awareness of him so acute it made even small things like his fingertips threaded alongside hers feel bigger than they were.

What was he doing here with her?

“You’re too good for me.” The words were soft. A simple statement of fact.

“Stop it.” Harsh. Frustrated. “You’re good.” He shook his head, his gaze boring into hers. “You’re better than good. You’re
you
. Everyone wants to be as strong as you are. As secure in who they are as you are. As confident as you can be when you aren’t listening to their crap. Don’t lose that because they’re trying to beat it out of you. Be Elena. You’re better than all that bullshit.”

She’d forgotten how to breathe. Eyes wide, she whispered, “Do you really think that?”

“Yes.”

Yes. Just that. So simple.

So fucking hot
.

“Damn,” she whispered. There went her self-control. “That might be the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He wasn’t far. She had her lips on his before he could say another word.

His shock lasted only a second before he was kissing her back, cupping the back of her neck.
Please don’t let him decide this is a bad idea.
She couldn’t handle it if he pushed her away tonight. He lifted his head from hers—
No, please don’t pull back
—his hazel eyes stunned and black with want. “Please,” she whispered, hoarse.

He groaned, “
Elena
,” hauling her back to him. Then she was in his lap and he was making a sound that definitely didn’t sound like
stop
and his hands were sliding over her. Hips, thighs, indent of her waist, small of her back. He hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet and already she was putty.

When he broke the kiss to pull her top off over her head, she had a momentary flicker of thought that this wasn’t what New Elena would do, but that thought was quickly overruled by
Fuck New Elena
and the feel of his mouth on the side of her neck.

Yes
.

All her anger, all her frustration, all her impotent, directionless emotion now coalesced into a single driving thought—
Adam.
He was her center, her rock, and she clung to him, trying to get closer, wanting to crawl inside him until the rest of the world disappeared.

More. She needed more.

His shirt came undone beneath her hands and when she spread her hands over his chest her mind went a little fuzzy. He was beautiful, all sleek muscle and just enough hair to remind her that he was a man—not a boy or a grizzly bear. Her bra came loose and he stripped it away, swearing worshipfully under his breath. He put his hands and mouth on her and her thoughts misted again.

Okay
. This was good. This was better than good. This was better than she’d had in a year and he hadn’t even gotten her jeans off yet. She tried to work up the concentration to reciprocate, to make him feel as good as he was making her feel, but then he got her zipper down and his
hands
—

She’d reciprocate later. When she wasn’t rocking into his touch and trying to hang onto the good and—
Holy Hell, where had he learned to do that?
She was jolted back to reality briefly by the thought of other women he’d touched, but then he twisted them around so her back was on the couch and he was pressing down into her and she was back in that mindless place where nothing existed but the way he was touching her and if he stopped she was going to
kill him
, which made sense since she was chanting, “
Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop
,” and then she was screaming, shudders ripping hard through her and yanking her roughly from one peak into the next.

“Holy crap.” Her body was boneless. If she tried, she might be able to summon the concentration to move her little finger, but it wasn’t a good bet.

“Was that English?” Adam asked, kissing his way across her stomach. Her jeans had vanished somehow, along with her underwear, and her hair had come loose. She was completely naked and must look debauched, spread out on his couch, but he still had his pants on. They would have to fix that. Just as soon as she could move again.

She thought back and vaguely recalled shouting something toward the end there. “Spanish. My father will be so proud that I’m using the language of my ancestors. It always annoyed him that I didn’t speak it more often.”

Adam chuckled against her skin. “Maybe we won’t tell him about the circumstances around your newfound fondness for your ancestral tongue.”

“Probably wise.” She reached for him, energy returning to her limbs. “Speaking of tongues…” She kissed him, long and deep, and his response was tinged by the impatience of a man who was ready for the main event. She pulled back, smiling her most tantalizing smile. “You’ve been such a good boy,” she purred, “letting me go first. I think you’ve earned a reward.”

Her hands were on the fastenings of his slacks, then they were on him and his eyes were blank with want above her as he panted softly in time to her touch. “Condom?”

“Upstairs.”

“Very poor planning, Mr. Dylan.”

He groaned as she twisted her wrist to apply pressure just so. Then he grabbed her hands, pulling them away from him and pinning them to the couch on either side of her head. She pushed against his hold, arching a little beneath him just to feel the pressure of his strength.
This could be interesting
. But the condoms were upstairs. And the frustration in his eyes said he knew it.

“Come here.” He hooked one arm behind her back and the other under her knee, holding her to him as he stood in a single, fluid motion. She wound her arms and legs around him and he swore under his breath, trying to kick off the slacks that had fallen to tangle around his ankles. She pressed her face against the curve of his shoulder to hide her smile, irrationally delighted by his impatience.

Then his shoulder was right there, so she bit it gently, testing the muscle with her teeth.

“Hey.” He smacked her ass, the sound more surprising than the contact—and startlingly erotic. She’d never been into that sort of thing before, but she wanted to play with him. To explore. To test the boundaries of what made them feel good. Because right now everything about Adam made her feel good.

Freed of his pants, he carried her toward the stairs—and he wasn’t even winded when they got to the top. You had to appreciate a man with conditioning.

He opened the door to the master bedroom and she twisted around, trying to get a glimpse of his lair—the one room of the house she hadn’t explored—but he didn’t turn on the light and she didn’t have time to think more than
It’s bigger than I thought it would be
before he was dropping her on the bed, reaching for a condom and suddenly she was thinking the same thought again for entirely different reasons.

She grinned at the thought—feeling so incredibly
happy
it was strange to also be so turned on—and then he was back, hands and mouth and just
Adam
, driving her out of her mind with everything he did. Undoing her with the way his hands shook when he touched her, the taut way his body coiled above her, trying to hold back, to give her time to get back up to speed, but she was already there, racing up, heart pounding and then he was inside her and she was digging her heels into his ass, everything in her focused on that spot, that feeling, the look in his eyes, right above hers,
Adam
, so freaking close and so damn hot she split into pieces again with a jerk, tightening down on him so he lost his rhythm and lost his mind in her, groaning her name, collapsing hard over her, the weight of him heaven, imprinting him on her until the memory of his skin would be stamped on hers forever.

“Christ,” he groaned. “We’ve gotta do that again.”

She laughed, pressing her face against the sweaty shoulder in front of her as her hands roamed his back. “You think?”

“Yeah.” He disengaged, rolling onto his back. “Just give me two or three years to remember how to walk and then I’m all yours.”

She felt the dippy smile on her face, knew she looked besotted and was grateful for the darkness that meant he couldn’t see it. “I have faith in you. You’ll be on your feet again in a week. Two tops.”

He rolled to his side, reaching for a tissue on the bedside table to dispose of the condom. Then he was back, pulling her against him, tucking her into the curve of his body. One hand stroked the curve of her waist as his other arm served as her pillow. “I do have strong motivation to recover,” he whispered against the back of her neck, his breath making her entire body shiver with want—as if she hadn’t just had two wringing orgasms in the last half hour.

He kissed down the side of her neck and Elena sighed, closing her eyes. Trying to hang onto this feeling. Trying not to spoil it. But experience was a bitch. And she loomed up, casting a shadow over Elena’s happy place.

She’d been here before. In bed with a man she was crazy about. Admittedly, none of them had made her feel
this
, but she’d been here. And it had always gone bad. She’d always been wrong. And she’d always gotten hurt. So even as she squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to enjoy his hands and his mouth and the press of him “recovering” against her backside, fear slithered in, whispering through the back of her mind, reminding her that this didn’t last. That once they had her, once the chase was over, they stopped wanting her. Maybe not right away, but soon. And then all this lovely peace and warmth and security that she felt was pulled out from under her.

Best not to get used to it.

Enjoy it. But don’t bask in it. Because no one stayed with the Slutty Suitorette. Not even a hero with a savior complex who had found a mission in her.

Fairy tales were for the sweet Cinderellas. Sexy women were the villainesses, victims and femme fatales. And none of them ever got the guy for long. But she could enjoy him while she had him.

Elena turned toward him, into his touch, taking his mouth with her own, taking this moment and as many more as she could get before it all went away.