Hard & Fast (Rules to Break #1) (3 page)

I sit on my bed, towelling off my wet hair after a shower and thinking to myself that I’ll start again tomorrow. I’ll go out and get those bagels Val told me about. I’ll be professional and polite and totally business-like and it will be like today and yesterday never happened.

But when I climb into bed in a silky slip, I can’t get Cole out of my head. My skin is hot and no matter what else I try to think about, there’s heat between my legs that won’t go away. The way he looked at me in his bedroom was like he wanted to devour something. Every time he’s looked at me since, it’s been like it’s stripped the clothes right off me. And I know it’s not real, just an unwelcome fantasy, but I slide my hand down my body and underneath the lace edge of my panties and already my breathing is unsteady.

The second my finger runs lightly over my clit a starburst of longing explodes over my body. My muscles tense and tense more as I think about Cole’s fingers in that girl, about his tongue running up between her spread legs. I can’t stop myself gasping as my own fingers move in circles, wet with how much I wish I could see those green eyes looking up at me right now, how much I wish his hot tongue was between my legs
right now
.

I clench the bed sheets in my fist and flip over onto my stomach. My nipples graze the sheets, sending lines of fire down to where I slip two fingers inside myself. Heat builds in great pulses and as it becomes almost unbearable, I push my face into the pillow and moan as my body arches and tenses tighter and tighter until it implodes in wave after wave of hot pleasure.           

Chapter Three

I wake up tense and hot, not quite sure if I even fell asleep at all. Cole’s wolfish grin and sweat-slicked body pop into my head and the familiar ache in my groin is back. Dread washes over me. Not again . . .

 I almost reach my hand down for sweet relief before I whip the covers off instead.

This madness has to end. I said it myself: he’s my employer.

After a cold shower, I drive down to the market Val talked about and pick up the bagels Cole likes. When I get back and deposit the shopping bags on the kitchen counter, I hear a shower turn on upstairs.  

Cole’s up.

And naked.

“I’m going to hit the shower now if you’d care to join me, Rose. I’m sure I can find something for you to assist me with in there.”

A hot line rushes through me, and my breathing quickens. Maybe I should . . . I shake my head hard to get rid of the filthy thought. I need to keep busy before my hormones march me upstairs of their own volition.

Breakfast. Cooking always relieves my stress.

Ten minutes later, I’ve got three frying pans on the go and a totally Cole-free mind. I can do this, I think. I can stay away from my boss.

“What’s all this?”

I jump at the sound of Cole’s voice. He stands in the doorway, dressed in a white T-shirt that clings to the V-shape of his body, from his broad chest and shoulders down to his trim hips. His wet hair curls around his ears, slick and shiny in the morning light. As if noticing my stare, he casually runs a hand through his hair, the muscles in his thick arms shifting and—Oh God.

I look away quickly, focusing on the sizzling frying pans.

“I’m making breakfast,” I say, and damnit, my voice cracks. What is happening to me?

“I see that.” His footsteps pad quietly behind me until his shadow looms across the skillet. My breath quickens, and I know that if I were to turn around now, we’d be face to face. Cole reaches over me and grabs a strawberry from the dish of fresh fruit I cut up. His arm brushes mine and a zing of energy goes through me. He pops the strawberry into his mouth, his tongue rolling sensually over the fruit, and purrs “mmm”. Desire, low and dizzying, warms my stomach. I’ve seen that tongue in action and I know exactly what else he can do with it.

A sweat breaks out on my forehead. Cole seems to notice and chuckles darkly before walking away. I exhale a long held breath.

“I didn’t know you were a cook,” he says, and in the periphery, I see him leaning against the counter. I don’t trust myself to look at him head on anymore.

“I’m not.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“I mean, I don’t cook like this normally. Most days I have yogurt for breakfast.”

“So what’s the occasion?” he asks.

To keep myself from touching myself to thoughts of you naked.

I clear my throat and grab a plate from the cupboard to stack the crepes. “Just . . . felt like it. Your bagels are there on the counter but there’s plenty of this if you want some.”

“Oh I definitely want some,” he says gruffly.

The plate skitters out of my hand and smashes on the floor. I meet Cole’s eyes and expect anger, but he chuckles as he bends to pick up the shattered china.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, falling to my knees to help him. “I can pay for that.”

“No you can’t. Trust me.”

My cheeks blaze with heat. “I can clean this up. It’s my fault.”

I reach for a shard of china but he grabs my wrist to stop me. I take in a sharp breath, my body igniting into flames at his touch.

“You seem tense this morning,” Cole says. “Is something wrong?”

There’s a teasing quality to his voice, and something else. A challenge. I can’t meet his eyes. I don’t trust myself. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

I nod vehemently. He’s still holding my wrist. I finally risk a glance up. His eyes are an arresting shade of bright green specked with gold, rimmed with thick, dark lashes, and blazing into mine in a way that could only be called carnal. Warmth pools between my legs.

“It’s going to burn,” I say.

He smiles and releases me. I clamber to my feet and grab a new plate from the cupboard, piling the crepes into neat stacks. When Cole’s done cleaning the glass, he fixes himself a plate and takes a seat at the island. While he eats, I collect all the dirty dishes into a pile.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asks.

I shake my head as I start stacking the dishwasher. There’s no way I’ll be able to choke down food the way my stomach is churning.

“I’ll have something later. I need to get going. Unless you need me for something.”

I look over my shoulder. He smirks, and I curse myself for the poor choice of words.

“No, you’re free this morning,” he says.

“Great!” I say brightly.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

It takes me a minute to realize what he’s asking, and then I don’t know what to say. The truth is, I hadn’t really thought about it—I just knew I needed to get away from here, be out of this damn house with its never-ending sexual tension—but now that I think about it, I’ll probably try to make the 11:30 acting class down at the V. I can’t bring myself to tell him this though. He’d think I was just another wannabe trying to get close to the acting world whatever way I can.

I pause long enough that he chuckles. “What? It’s a secret?”

“I just think . . . I think it’s a good idea to keep my personal life and my work life separate.”

“Fair enough,” he says after a pause.

I carefully add the last dish to the dishwasher and wipe my wet hands on my pants, careful to avoid his eyes. The eyes with the power to undo a girl’s best intentions.

“I’ll see you later then. Enjoy your breakfast.”

He waves goodbye with his toast.

~

I’ve barely set foot inside the theatre when my phone buzzes. Cole’s name flashes across the screen. A jolt goes through me and I excuse myself from the class and scurry into the quiet hallway.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Why are you out of breath?” Cole asks by way of hello.

  “I ran to get to the phone. You need me?”

  He pauses. “Yes. I need you to get my dry cleaning and bring it to set.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that a problem?” he asks.

  Yes.

  “No,” I say. “When do you need it?”

  “Right now.”

  “Oh,” I say again. “Okay.”

  I send a longing glance at the theatre before I slip back outside to the parking lot.

  The Laundromat Cole uses is easy to find, but getting to the set is another story. Cole failed to mention to the set security that he has a new personal assistant, and I can’t get within twenty feet of the barricade around the Hollywood/Vine subway station where they’re shooting today. It takes twenty minutes of frantic phone calls before they finally let me inside.

  I’m escorted past crew trailers erected outside down into the bowels of the underground. Dozens of film crew with huge cameras and lighting equipment circle around a section of the subway station. A buzz goes through me. Despite living in L.A. for almost two years and trying out for every role I even remotely qualify for—and some that I don’t—I’ve only ever been on one film set. My breathing quickens. I long to be behind that camera. To be a part.

  And then I see him. Cole’s wearing a white tank top under a brown leather jacket and a pair of fitted dark jeans. His hair sticks up in all different directions and there’s dirt smeared on his stubbly cheeks. Each time I think he couldn’t get any sexier, he proves me wrong.

He’s standing next to a woman with bright blond hair that falls down her back in loose waves, her perfect body fitted into a ripped tank top and cut off jean shorts that could double as underwear in a pinch. Then she turns and I recognize her: Kenzie Cruise, former model turned action star, and Cole Dean’s ex-girlfriend.

“Quiet on the set,” someone yells. The chatter instantly dies down.

“And action!” the director says, snapping the clapboard.

Cole and Kenzie run onto the set, heaving for breath. The doors of the subway hiss open and Cole pulls her up short.

“You need to get on,” Cole says.

Kenzie shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “I want to stay with you.”

Cole takes her face in his hands and she looks up at him in desperate longing.

“I’ll find you. I promise,” Cole says. Then he presses his lips to hers. A flash of jealousy rushes through me, and I look away.

The director calls “Cut” and Cole and Kenzie break apart. He notices me and gives the universal hand signal for “one minute”. I nod and shift the dry cleaning to my other hand.

One minute turns into ten. I find a seat and lay the dry cleaning carefully over my lap, then dig in my bag for the notebook I always carry with me. I’ve been writing the same screenplay for well over a year and I’m still not even halfway done. It would help if I could stop editing what I’ve already written and write new words.

The director yells “Action!” again and the set quiets down as they film another take. My pen hovers on the page, but my attention is dragged up to Cole.  

Despite knowing him for ten plus years as Action Star Cole and for all of two days as Real Life Cole, it’s still weird seeing him work. He owns the camera, fills up every space with his big presence. It’s no wonder he’s a star. He has a quality about him that makes you unable to look away.

Cole glances over at me. It’s so unexpected that I flush. The director yells, “Cut”, then marches onto the set. Terse words are exchanged, and I catch the phrase, “unfocused” before Cole’s storms off.

The dry-cleaning lies limply in my lap.

I don’t know what to do. I know I’m probably looking too far into it, but I get the uncomfortable feeling that I was the reason Cole was distracted.  The least I can do is apologize.

I trail upstairs after him into the sunlight and just catch him slip into one of the crew trailers. I hesitantly pad toward the trailer and listen outside the door. Finally, I rap on the door quietly. My heartbeat rushes in my ears. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I should have left him alone.

The door swings open and Cole is there.

“I’m sorry,” I start to apologize, but he grabs my hand and yanks me inside, slamming the door behind us. He pushes me up against the wall, caging me in with his muscled arms. A thrill shoots through me, and my lips part in shock. Cole’s eyes flick down to my mouth, and for just one second, he hesitates. I should say no. Push him away. It would be the responsible thing to do. But who the fuck am I kidding.

Do it
, I plead with my eyes.

Then Cole’s lips find mine. Everything inside me—all of my denial, all of the pent up tension—explodes at his touch. I shiver violently, and Cole makes a sound at the back of his throat, pressing into me so hard that it’s impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. I run my hands over his thick arms and brawny back, curl my fingers into his hair—I want to feel every inch of this man, do every single thing to him that I fantasized about last night.

Cole’s hands are everywhere, big and hot and masculine. Sliding over my breasts, down my ribs, cupping my ass and driving my hips into his hard cock, which is strained against his jeans. To my horror, I let out a groan. He grins against my lips and breaks away, his mouth moving to my throat. I tip my head back to give him better access, my pulse hammering in my neck.

His mouth moves down to my collarbone and starbursts of pleasure ripple through me, my body spiralling out of control. He caresses my breasts through the thin material of my blouse, then, without warning, he rips it open. I gasp as the material breaks wide, exposing my chest, heaving in a black and pink lace bra. He studies me. That same dark hunger I saw in his face the first day in his room is back as he traces the lace delicately. Then he snags the material down with one finger, revealing my breast. I should feel shy. But I don’t. I want Cole to see all of me.

I’m breathing fast as he takes my hard nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, his stubble grating my breast so that hot liquid pleasure shoots into my belly. His fingers tease the edge of my skirt. I want him to touch me so badly that I guide his hand down to slide over my panties.

“You’re so wet,” he growls. His low, throaty voice makes my body tremble. He pulls the damp material aside and circles his fingertips slowly over my clit until I’m on fire with need, my body a violin string stretched tight and ready to sing. The whole time, he watches my face for my reaction, his breaths coming harder and faster and a dark grin turning up his lips. God, his lips are sexy. Sensual. Without thinking it through, I lean forward and take his bottom lip between my teeth, sucking it into my mouth. His eyes flutter closed in pure bliss.

“Fuck me,” I whisper harshly, knowing exactly what the words will do to him.

He growls, and I reach between us and unzip his pants, pulling them down around his hips until he’s hard and pulsing in my grip. A thrill goes through me. I’m doing this, I think. I’m making this man feel this way. I rub his erection against my wetness and he groans painfully.