Farmer Wants a Wife: Love and Friendship, Book 3 (29 page)

“I’ve never cheated on you.” Her fault this was playing out publicly, his determined expression told her. He’d wanted to do this in private. The stubborn man didn’t move an inch, didn’t shift his intent gaze from her. “I haven’t slept with a woman since our last time together.”

“That’s a lie.” She’d seen the pictures of him with other women, heard the gossip. Hell, the husband-stealing slut had even spoken to her on the phone. Ryan’s cell phone. Anger and betrayal pumped through her again, the wound as fresh as the day he’d broken her heart.

“Caleb, tell her,” Ryan said, without moving his gaze off her.

Caleb stepped forward, tall and dark and so much like Ryan they were often mistaken as brothers instead of friends. Heat suffused her cheeks, memories of the three of them cavorting in bed blindsiding her.

Damn.

Julia closed her eyes, hoping the two men were a fanciful mirage.

Unfortunately, her life lacked magic. When she opened her eyes, Ryan and Caleb still stood right in front of her, silent, stubborn sentinels.

“Why would I believe him?” she demanded. “He’s your best friend. He’d lie if you asked him.”

“You haven’t met Neil and Jeff.” Ryan pulled out his phone and pushed speed dial. “Ask them your questions.”

“It’s true,” Caleb said. “Ryan acted like a monk for our entire tour. Now I know why,” he added. “We had no idea you were married.”

“Hey, Neil. It’s Ryan. I’m going to put Julia on the line. Can you answer her questions?” He paused. “You don’t need to know who she is.” Another pause. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s not multi-choice. Just answer whatever she asks you. Tell the truth.”

Julia accepted the phone from Ryan, humoring him. “Hello.”

“Go on. Ask them anything,” Ryan repeated.

She glared at Ryan as she spoke. “Is Ryan a man-slut?”

“Jesus, Julia,” Ryan snapped.

“Where’s the popcorn?” Maggie asked the room at large. “This is better than a movie.”

“Shush,” Connor whispered to his wife. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

Julia glowered at both of her friends and received unrepentant grins in return. “Well? Are you going to answer my question?”

“The truth?” a low, gravelly voice asked.

“Of course.” She wanted to know the truth, didn’t she? The pit of her stomach seemed to fall away in the few moments she waited for Neil to speak again.

“Before this tour, Ryan used to have a lot of women. Women are always throwing themselves at him. This tour was different. He still went to the parties, but he didn’t leave with anyone. He didn’t let any of the women drape themselves over him unless it was a publicity shot. Nothing too personal during the parties either, even before the mugging.”

“What mugging?” Julia asked.

Ryan reached for his cell phone. “Satisfied?” He studied her, silently enforcing his will. “Thanks, man. Yeah, I’ll explain when you get back to Auckland.” He ended the call.

Julia stared at him for an instant longer. “Who was mugged?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Christina said, nosy interest in her tone.

“I have never cheated on you. Do you believe me?” Ryan’s face was devoid of his normal humor, his eyes darker and more intense. She studied him doubtfully, taking in the details she hadn’t noted due to her initial shock on seeing him. He’d lost weight, his skin bearing a pallor that was in stark contrast to Caleb’s healthy tan. When she studied him more closely she noticed his jeans hung on him and the corners of his eyes bore lines she was sure hadn’t been present during their last meeting.

“What about the woman who answered your phone?”

“Ryan was mugged and someone stole his phone and wallet,” Caleb said. “Maybe the thief answered your call.”

The excuse seemed too easy, too pat, yet a streak of worry jumped into her mind. He’d been hurt? “When? What happened?”

Ryan grimaced. “It happened about a month after we got to Europe.”

A burst of emotion choked her throat. Around about the same time she’d lost the baby. She’d cursed him because he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him.

Could he be telling the truth?

Onto every diva’s backside, a little wood must fall.

Star Struck

© 2014 Laurelin Paige

Lights, Camera, Book 2

Hollywood actress Heather Wainwright was looking forward to a long, relaxing break before starting her next shoot. Except her assistant volunteered her for L.A.’s annual 24 Hour Plays.

Nervous about doing a good job for such a worthy charity, Heather falls back on “diva” mode, a defense mechanism that always carries her through. Until she encounters something that really gets on her nerves—a lowly carpenter whose Norse god eyes pierce right through her.

Highly sought-after production designer Seth Rafferty has little patience for A-listers with superior attitudes, which is why his attraction to Heather is absurd. Yet, sensing vulnerability beneath her screen-queen act, he lets her assumptions play out.

After the wrap party, Heather awakens with little memory of the night before—except that Seth gave her the best orgasm of her life, then disappeared. When he shows up on the set of her next movie, she winds up to give him a piece of her mind…and Seth shows her just how stinging hot “chemistry” can get.

Warning: Contains an outwardly snobby actress with a good heart, a delicious carpenter with a power drill, some much-deserved spanking, and an appropriately consensual—if tipsy—orgasm, as well as sex at an inappropriate time of the month.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Star Struck:

“It’s her!” someone called as soon as the door shut behind her, followed by a scream of recognition. Another scream followed by shouts of her name.

Then so many voices were screaming and shouting, she couldn’t distinguish what any of them said. The crowd pressed around her, pens and napkins and body parts thrust in her direction. She pushed her shoulder through the bodies, but was stuck.

Shit. She should have brought a bodyguard.

She turned back to tell Lexie to stay, but Lexie had already pulled through the valet station, too far to see Heather’s distress.

Panic rushed through her.

The doors of the bar swung open and a hand reached through the crowd toward her. She grabbed for it before looking up to see the owner, letting the strong arm pull her safely inside.

“I’m so sorry, Heather,” said Patrick Atlas, the executive from Montblanc and the source of her rescue. “Someone tipped off the press.”

She swallowed the anxiety that had nearly overtaken her and pasted on a smile. “No worries. I’m used to it.”

Patrick kissed her cheek then led her farther into the bar toward the private room, holding her hand the whole time. She hated how comforting his hand felt around hers. She shouldn’t have let the crowd get to her like that.

Heather watched the back of Patrick’s head as they walked. She’d known him for as long as she’d been involved with the 24-Hour Plays. He’d come on to her often, even though she always turned him down. Right now she was grateful for the familiar face—or familiar brown head, rather—though she normally would be more reserved around him, not wanting to lead him on. He was attractive and wealthy and powerful, but his charm was too smooth. Sweet nothings and soft caresses did nothing to fire up her libido. Truthfully, she couldn’t say what it was that fired her up, but she knew it wasn’t Patrick.

Patrick opened the doors of the private dining room and gestured to the large rectangular table in the center of the room. “I’ve saved you a seat at the end by me,” he said. “I’m just going to let the hostess know that our party is complete and I’ll be right in. Oh, the waitress has already been by—can I put in a drink order for you?”

What she wanted was a mug of beer, but her next movie featured her in a bikini so extra calories were out of the question. “A glass of White Zin, please.”

“Got it.”

She heard him shut the doors behind her as she surveyed the room that bustled with chatter and the clinking sounds of glasses and bottles. There were nearly thirty people there, many that she recognized. She spotted a few members of the Urban Arts Board of Directors at one long end of the table.

For a long moment, she stood watching the group, unseen by anyone. Usually she was the center of attention. It was both odd and surreal to be in a room unnoticed. And also awfully nice. Like a slice of heaven.

But in her experience, heaven never lasted long. Neil Phillips, the coordinator of the plays, saw her and waved her over, prompting a few of the people sitting next to him to look up. “Heather!” he exclaimed, standing to give her a hug as she approached. “I hear you’re taking Rosie’s place last minute.”

“Like anyone could take Rosie’s place,” she said.

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

Heather gave him her first genuine smile of the evening. Of the many people who had worked with her on stage and film, Neil was one of the few who saw past her “difficult” status. He’d never done anything but bolster and uplift her and she had nothing but respect and admiration for him.

After Neil sat back down, she greeted his assistants and a few of the other people she recognized as stage crew. Then the Urban Arts crowd had to say hello. Finally, after greeting nearly everyone, she moved to the empty chair.

“Here, let me.” The man sitting next to her spot stood to pull out her chair for her.

“Thank you.” She sat down then shifted to face the man as he retook his own seat. Her breath caught.

God, he was gorgeous.

Not pretty-boy-leading-actor gorgeous like the men she worked with, but rough-rugged-muscular-man gorgeous. His dark blond hair fell high on his forehead, giving a perfect view into his light blue eyes that twinkled in the low light of the room. She guessed he was her age—her real age of thirty-three, not the twenty-nine all her online bios stated. But then he smiled and the creases at the edges of his eyes suggested he might be older, or that he had spent a lot of time smiling. Either way, the laugh lines made him all the more handsome.

As if her eyes had a mind of their own, they travelled lower, past the well-groomed scruff that covered his face to the T-shirt that hugged his bulky chest and thick biceps. Even through his clothes, she could see how muscular he was. This guy was strong. The kind of guy who could pick her up and swing her over his shoulder with one easy movement. The kind of guy who either worked out religiously or had a job that kept him in the best of shape.

The kind of guy who’d probably be a little rough in the bedroom. Not too rough. Just rough enough.

Her core clenched at the thought.

A blush crawled up her face. Why was she thinking like that? Sure, she hadn’t had any in…she quickly did the math. Though she’d tried to hook up with Micah Preston, a costar in her last film, he’d turned her down, leaving her sexless on that six-week shoot. Before that, Collin had been on location in Italy. And before that, she’d been in Australia filming…

Damn. It had been over eight months. No wonder she felt horny.

“You’re trying to figure out what role I have in all this.” The man’s deep voice poured over her like a glass of Merlot, warming her head to toe.

“What? Oh, sorry. Yeah.” She fell into his statement, using it as an excuse for her staring. “Hmm…” She pretended to try to figure it out, still too stunned by his beauty to actually put together real thoughts.

“I’m not going to tell until you guess. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“No. Though it’s not fair that you know who I am and I have no idea who you are.”

Jesus, she was flirting. With a stranger.

Not a problem. She flirted with everyone. He didn’t know she actually felt what she promised in her seductive tone.

“Who says I know who you are?”

Her mouth opened but no words came out. She’d assumed he’d known who she was because, well, everyone knew who she was. And now she’d made an ass of herself.

He laughed. “I’m kidding. Even if I didn’t know who Heather Wainwright was, I’d guess you were the actress spokeswoman. You ooze celebrity.”

Was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell. Except the way his mouth twisted up in a small smile suggested he was playing with her. No one ever played with her. They kowtowed and charmed and kissed her ass. His obvious indifference to the Hollywood rules made her tummy flutter. Were those butterflies in her stomach? How long had it been since she’d had butterflies for a guy?

Trying to ignore her squirmy insides, she played back. “And you ooze…” She scanned him again. What he oozed was sex. Pure, hard, all-male sex. But she was trying to guess his role in the 24-Hour Plays, not define what he did to her physically. Besides, she was sure he already knew.

“I ooze….what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“No. Good things.” Definitely good things. And she’d just said that out loud.

Though they’d maintained eye contact for most of the conversation, he caught her eye now with such intensity she had to look down, her face warm. “Let’s see…” She skimmed the faces around them, attempting recovery. “You’re sitting with Neil. So I might assume crew.”