For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (3 page)

“What if they hate it?” I’d whispered in his ear, terrified at the prospect of seeing my face on screen, hearing my voice—god I hate my voice—and . . . the worst . . . our sex scene. How painful would that be to watch? Seeing his hand on my body, hearing my gasp amplified through these giant speakers . . . I’d seen the scene before, this wouldn’t be the first, but that almost made it worse. Because I knew it was hot. Super hot. Way too hot for Mama to ever see. Way too hot for all of these strangers, dressed in their Sunday best, to sit through.

“They won’t hate it.” Cole had responded.

And he’d been right. They had been hooked with the very first scene. Had laughed with Royce, rooted for Ida . . . and shifted uncomfortably in their seat right alongside me during the smoking hot sex. And let me just stop for one red-hot minute and tell you that I looked
good
on that screen. I don’t know how they did it, the editing budget must have been ridiculous, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was ready to turn lesbian for myself while watching that scene. And if they used any of that Florida State hoochie’s body parts, I couldn’t tell it.

After Japan, Australia had been easier, London a piece of cake. By the time we made it back to America, I wasn’t the same Summer Jenkins who had left. I was confident. Sparkly. A proper movie star.

Now, I crouch
in bare feet on the plush white carpet of our closet, reaching down for the box from the stylist, the leather and gold stilettos sent over with the dress. I work them onto my feet and glance in the giant mirror. Run a few fingers through my hair. Step closer and examine my makeup. Smudged in places from my romp with Cole, my lipstick gone entirely. I lay a hand on the mirror’s surface.

“Look at me, Summer,” Cole’s words broke from his throat, his fingers digging into my hips as he held me to him. I lifted my head, looked into the mirror, our eyes catching. I looked crazy, my eyes wild, hair everywhere, my jeans around my ankles, shirt half off. “Tell me you love me.”

I pressed my fingers into the mirror’s glass, pushing back against him, the hard length of him bumping against me, right there but not where I needed it. “I love you,” I gasped. “Please.”

“You are my wife.” He ground his hips against me and I whimpered, my need so strong, the look in his eyes so feral, so desperate that I almost begged. “You are my everything. Do you know that, Summer?” I watched him in the mirror as he reached down, adjusting himself, the head of him finally at the entrance where I wanted it.
“Tell me you know that.”

“I know that,” I whispered, staring at him. “I’m yours forever.”

When he pushed inside, one hard slow push that broke apart my thought process and scattered all reason and sanity to the winds, everything in my vision went black.

I push off of the mirror, taking a step back and looking at my reflection. What was it that Cole had said? That the dress made me look like a snobby trophy wife? He was right. This woman, staring back at me, she doesn’t look like me. There is a reason that ninety percent of this closet is casual. I will never be
this
, the prim and proper, perfectly put together movie star’s wife. I don’t
want
to be it.

“What are you thinking?” Cole’s voice makes my head lift and I turn to him, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around his waist.

“I’m thinking that I hate myself for agreeing to this.”

“No, you don’t.”
He looks down at me, shaking his head.

“I don’t?” I raise an eyebrow.

He steps away, my arms suddenly empty and pulls aside the curtain, nodding to the backyard. “Look.”

I step next to him, leaning back against his chest, and look out the window, at our backyard.

The pool, our beautiful turquoise bucket of temptation, is being guarded by Justin, who seems to be in very tense negotiations with a stern toddler with swimmies on. There is a streak of sparkly pink, and I follow it, Grace tearing across the lawn and nosediving onto the Slip’N Slide. Someone, probably Ben, has put all three head to toe, creating one long downhill experience, and I laugh as she spins on the wide plastic, her grin visible even from where I stand. Quincy has been found, his furry body chasing a hoard of boys, water balloons in hand, the entire painting is showcased by hundreds of bubbles. I laugh, covering my mouth. “Oh my God, Ben found the bubble machine.”

“We need you out there,” Cole says. “You. Not . . . this.”

“Meaning . . .?” I turn to him, holding the dress to my chest before it falls off.

“Throw on a bathing suit and come save me from a hoard of children who don’t understand why they can’t get in the pool.” He leaves me by the window and walks to the closet, pulling open a drawer. “Please,” he adds, lifting out a faded-red one-piece bathing suit.

I laugh. “You want me to wear
that
? Jasmine will have a heart attack.”

He shrugs. “I have very fond memories of this suit. Jasmine can get over it.”

“Hmm . . .” I say, letting the dress fall to the floor and lifting a foot, pulling off one heel, then the other. “I think I
remember
that bathing suit. I don’t think I liked you very much while wearing it.”

“Really?” Cole scowls, the frown curling into a cocky smile. “Because if I recall, I liked
you
very much in it.”

“Yeah?” I smile up at him and take the suit.

“Yeah,” he says softly, cupping my head in his hands and pulling me to his mouth.

And there, in our bedroom, a world of disastrous fun right outside the window, we share a true Hollywood kiss.

*     *     *

This short story was an extended Happy-Ever-After for Summer and Cole, two characters from the full-length New York Times Bestseller Hollywood Dirt. If you’d like to read the full story that prefaced this, please go to
www.MeetColeMasten.com
to find out more about their story.

To read other titles by Alessandra Torre, please visit her
website
. A New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, Alessandra Torre has written eleven novels, five of which have become #1 Erotic Bestsellers. Her erotic suspense,
The Girl in 6E
, is in production to become a full-length feature film. Alessandra also has a free erotic serial on
Cosmopolitan.com
.

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NEWSLETTER

Kim Karr

Not Alone for Long

James Ashton

I
was alone.
I knew I wouldn’t be for long. I never was when I came here.

Awash in purple and black, with sexy low lighting, huge-ass chandeliers, and an enormous pair of ridiculous angel wings overlooking the ever-present glitterati, I was in the kind of place where finding company was, let’s just say—easy.

Provocateur, the exclusive and super-swanky Gansevoort Hotel nightclub, was always filled with gorgeous party girls—models, socialites, scene-setters, and European jet-setters.

Not to sound arrogant, but I had my pick.

Leaning against the bar, I sipped my scotch and scanned the crowd, zeroing in on the house dancers gyrating on the poles amid pulsing blasts of artificial smoke. The DJ was really amping them up tonight.

My gaze landed on the front door, where a vision in black had just entered with about ten other men and women—one guy, a little too close.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her hair the color of flaming fire. Wild. Messy. Untamed. Her feline eyes. Fierce. Wicked. They were eyes that could burn a hole in a man’s heart. And that body. She had a body that looked hard and soft, long and sexy, hot as hell. Oh fuck, that mouth. Lush lips. Full. Succulent. She was a mix of delicate, perfect, and oh so delicious. The devil and an angel all in one.

“Hey, there you are,” Theo Lake said, placing his hand on my shoulder and wedging in beside me.

Without looking at him, I pointed to the door. “Do you know who that is?” Theo knew everyone.

“Oh, that’s Lindsay Mills and Jared Wentworth,” he said with a smile in his voice.

The smile had to be for Jared. I glanced at him for a fraction of a second. “Introduce me to the girl.”

Theo made a face. “Later. Avery’s booth is ready.”

“Great, man, we can make a pit stop along the way.”

“I think we’d better do that later. Avery ordered champagne and is waiting for everyone to arrive before she makes some kind of big announcement.”

My gaze went back to the door, but
my Lindsay
was gone. I didn’t care. I now had a reason to stay. A mission. But first things first—I had to take care of business. Please the masses. I slid my eyes back to Theo. “I’ll follow you. We wouldn’t want to keep Avery waiting.”

Theo gave me a knowing glance. Sister or not, he knew she could be a bitch.

I slapped him on the back. “But later, you and me, and that introduction you promised. How do you know her anyway?”

He smiled. “I don’t really. I’ve seen her around a few times. All I know is that she’s a Victoria’s Secret model and so are the group of women she’s with.”

“Who’s the dude? Boyfriend?”

“No,” he laughed. “But he is a model. I guess that’s how they know each other.”

I bit my lip.

Fuck me.

I had to have her.

“Come on,” Theo insisted.

Theo and Avery Lake were deeply connected in Manhattan’s social circles. I hung out with them on occasion because…well, because they knew how to have fun. Avery wasn’t a woman I cared to be around that much but when I was looking to have a good time, she always knew where to find one. And after the night I’d had, I was looking to have a really good time, if you know what I mean.

Earlier, I’d spent the evening with my mother at the annual Rockefeller Foundation Benefit. Normally, promoting humanity throughout the world wouldn’t have felt like such a burden. However, since my father had taken off on another one of his sabbaticals, code for he disappeared again with a woman half his age, I had to listen to my mother bitch and moan to me in private and then carry on in public about how proud she was that her husband had gone on a pilgrimage to find inspiration for his painting.

That wasn’t even half true.

His painting began only after his binges of infidelity as apologies to my mother. You see, Charles Ashton was addicted to young models and often disappeared with them. In the past he’d always returned within weeks. Having gotten his fix, he knew when to drop them, but this latest excursion was going on three months. And needless to say, my mother was not happy.

Julia Ashton was a Vandermore and her social status meant everything to her. She allowed my father his indiscretions only as long as he kept them discreet. Divorce, in her eyes, would be so much more tragic than having an adulterer for a husband. I found the entire charade ridiculous, but it worked for them. My father needed my mother’s money and she wanted that perfect family image. He knew the score and when he was around, he played the dutiful husband brilliantly.

Fucked up, if you asked me.

But for them it was a match made in heaven—or maybe it was hell.

Flashing lasers, the thumping bass, and the way the scotch burned going down my throat had me moving briskly through the crowd and glad the night was still young.

Avery had, as expected, managed to secure one of the best booths in the house. Private yet not entirely secluded, and close to the dance floor. But then again, the purple leather high-backed bench seats, the platform behind them with enough room for private dancers when requested, and the black lace walls were what made this place harder to get into than Fort Knox.

The table was filled with uncorked bottles of Piper-Heidsieck, champagne flutes, and Avery’s crew—mainly socialites on the hunt for a husband. No worries; they knew better than to glance my way. They knew all too well bachelorhood was what I believed in. Marriage wasn’t even on my radar and never would be. After growing up with a front-and-center seat to the biggest fuck-up of a marriage on this planet, I couldn’t even imagine why anyone would think of tying himself to one person for the rest of his life.

The very thought was mind-blowing.

Taking a deep breath and hoping she had something really fun in mind, I approached the table, smiled, greeted, and hugged and kissed the queen and all five Eloises. Two of them had landed dates and I shook hands with the sorry sons of bitches, silently giving them my condolences.

The booth was crowded, so I stood, but Avery wouldn’t have it. “Make room for James,” she insisted. As soon as my ass was on the seat, she clapped her hands together and practically squealed, “I have some truly fabulous news for tonight.”

Looking for the vision in black, my eyes were scanning the room. Words escaped Avery’s mouth and they registered in pieces. “The jet is fueled and ready. Takes off at eleven.”

I was only half listening to what she had planned for the night.

“James, you in?” she asked.

Just as my head started to swing back toward her, suddenly I couldn’t move, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. Avery was still talking, but I couldn’t comprehend a word she was saying. My gaze had landed on that vision I’d been looking for and she was looking right back at me. This time I wasn’t letting her leave my sight. She was in the booth across from me, sitting right on the end. We weren’t even ten feet from each other, yet it felt way too far away.

My cheeks grew wide all on their own volition.
Fuck,
I was smiling like a smitten schoolboy.
Calm the fuck down,
I told myself.

But then she smiled back at me with an upward tilt of her lips that not only told me she’d noticed me, but that she liked what she saw, too, and all bets were off.

My body acted on its own. My dick, too.