Hollywood Hot Mess (14 page)

He’s no longer asking; he’s no longer hesitating; he’s no longer waiting for me to tell him it’s okay. He’s taking what he wants.

His tongue forces my lips apart and our mouths meld together. The force of his need presses my head to the hard faux wood wall just as forcefully as his hips hold mine. The length of him swells against my thigh. Spontaneous combustion suddenly seems totally within the realm of possibility. It is nothing I knew to want and everything I need. He fills me so completely my insides are reaching up for more, wanting more, hanging on him like his sweaty clothes.

The elevator slows and he pulls away, wiping his mouth, his breath heavy and eyes dark with the anger of being interrupted. His look alone is enough to ignite my insides like wildfire.

He takes my hand as he peers out of the doorway, down each side of the hall to be sure we won’t be seen. My heart is banging against my rib cage like a bass drum. Holy shit! This is about to happen! I blindly grab for my coat. We start to walk out and then he stops, shaking his head and taking a deep breath before he pushes me back into the elevator.

“It’s too risky. We can’t be seen together like this.” He releases my hand and I slump against the wall, licking the taste of him from my lips. I’m too numb to process what he’s saying at first. He rubs his hands over his head in obvious frustration. “Some of the crew are heading to the hotel bar for a drink. Meet me.”

My heart falls.

“Devon, I’m sober.” For the first time since rehab, I hate those words.

“I know. I’m not asking you to drink. Can you not be around it?”

No.
But the look on his face that replaces the heavy lust from a second ago is so indifferent—like he could take me or leave me—that I don’t dare tell him.

“Bars aren’t as fun for me as they used to be.” I shrug at him and bite at my lip—which is still throbbing with the force of his kiss—hoping I look cool and unaffected.

“I want to see you.” And that’s all he has to say.

“What the hell?” I smooth my hair and the door rolls shut.

* * *

An hour later, after five outfit changes and countless attempts to make myself look as amazing as I did in the TMI photo, I walk through the door of a bar for the first time in a year. Devon sits at the bar with several of the crew, an empty seat beside him. He turns when I approach, like he has some sixth sense when it comes to me, and the desire he’s failing to hide has me all but panting in desperation by the time I reach his side. I want to grab the first bottle my fist finds and chug it down to make this needy feeling go away.

No
,
Carly!
336.
Love yourself enough.

“Hey, you.” He holds a drink and leans back on his elbows, which spread over the bar, taking up a lot of space. He once-overs me and lets a secretive smile creep from his lips to his eyes. Immediately, the bottles are forgotten.

“Hey, you.” I’m so blown away by this man actually wanting me I manage nothing more than repetitive parrot babble.

“I got you a drink.” He leans up to grab it and I start shaking my head, wishing I hadn’t stopped taking that damned Neurontin. This man could very well be the devil, and I’m not so sure I wouldn’t run willingly into the fires of hell if he asked. When I open my eyes a tumbler full of ice with a slice of lime and a huge bottle of Smartwater sits in front of the empty seat beside him.

“Thanks.” Relieved, I tuck my hair behind my ear and climb up on the barstool beside him, spreading out my pack of cigarettes, lighter and cell phone on the sticky, varnished bar. The lights are dim and the carpet reeks of stale beer and vomit scrubbed by some citrusy cleaner. It’s a total dive bar and I’m sure it’s never looked as good as it does tonight with Devon sitting front and center.

He winks at me and then turns back to the group of guys on his other side. His back is to me and he doesn’t bother to introduce me, probably because I should know these guys after working with them every day for a month. But I don’t. I’ve been too wrapped up in the Carly Klein—pity party that was my life to notice anyone else. A few of them offer tentative nods or tip their beer in my direction. I greet each one with a small, toothless smile, but it’s pretty obvious everyone’s already made up their minds about me. Like I care what
they
think.

I light a cigarette and puff a few impressive smoke rings into the air while I pour my Smartwater over the lime and ice. Looking up to the rows of temptation lining the mirrored wall before me, I nearly salivate for just one taste of vodka’s delicious burn, one whiff of bourbon’s sweet chemical stench, one caressing sting of hard liquor assaulting my senses.
Damn
. It’s too much. I turn, facing the barroom instead of the bottles of bliss at my back.

That’s when I see them.

Every female eye in the room hangs lustily on the Greek god to my right. They’re pulling off extra layers of clothes, pushing their boobs up and smoothing hairdos into place. A few looks flicker in my direction, obviously wondering if I’m with him or if maybe they have a chance. Devon doesn’t see them, too busy regaling the crewmembers with an animated story from his last action movie.

The first piranha sizes up her competition and approaches. A smug grin—obviously promising more to come—hugs her features as tightly as the black skirt working overtime to cover her ass. I roll my eyes and watch her hover at Devon’s side until he finishes his story and acknowledges her. She puts a hand on his shoulder and he expertly maneuvers to set his drink down. It’s a subtle move that sends her hand sliding off him. I high-five myself inside. Briefly he talks with her, poses for a picture and then sends her away with a polite but dutiful wave.

And so it goes with every girl in the bar. Each one waiting her turn to come forward like a well-groomed dog show bitch. Each one obviously hoping she may offer him something the last one didn’t. He signs autographs and takes long gulps of scotch between admirers, wincing whenever another one approaches.

Regardless of how little he is enjoying this spectacle, I’m growing increasingly irritated by the whole thing. It’s like I’m not even there, chain-smoking and sucking down Smartwater like a camel. Actually, I’m pissed. Why would he invite me here to ignore me? He could have done that with me studying lines in my room like I should be doing. Instead, I’m sitting here watching every female on the North Pole try to get on Devon’s pole and it’s making me nauseous. Mainly because I want that job and these bitches are getting in my damned way!

Even I do a double take at the next girl who walks up to Devon, all blond hair bouncing and tits in his face the moment she walks in. I hate her. Her dress is two sizes too small and her spiked heels look like something out of a ninja warrior movie. What’s worse? Devon doesn’t hold her at arm’s length like he has all the other girls, snaking an arm around her tiny waist when he leans in for a picture. She tosses her head back laughing. I’ve never felt more invisible.

I don’t know if it’s because Devon actually seems to be enjoying this new girl’s attention or if it’s because she reminds me how far out of my league I am, chasing after a man like Devon Hayes. Either way, something inside me snaps and if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to explode.

I grab my effects off the bar and run for the door, gasping the cold, clean air the moment I burst free from my own personal hell. My breath’s white and foggy in the floodlights of the frozen courtyard and I slink into the shadows at the far end, refusing to acknowledge any of the traitor tears stinging the back of my eyeballs. I’m the world’s biggest idiot!

Of course Devon would want a woman like her, not a girl like me.
Stupid
,
stupid
,
Carly!
I dig a cigarette out of my crushed soft foil pack, cursing a country that doesn’t sell American cigarettes in a box, and flick my lighter to indulge the only addiction I can have these days.

“What was that all about?” I freeze mid drag when his silky voice purrs into my ear, and turn to find him so close I can smell the scotch on his breath. He is bathed in a fantastical glow from the nearby floodlights, while I remain covered in the darkness of shadow. I laugh at the irony.

“I can’t be around all that.” Of course I’m talking about half-naked women flaunting their goods at the man I want, but he pretends to be humble enough to assume I’m talking about booze.

“It’s that hard for you?” He puts his hands in his pockets, his cloud of breath settling over my cheeks.

“It’s like putting a T-bone in front of a ravenous dog and telling it to sit.” I lick my lips and once-over him, hoping he picks up my double entendre, which would make this easier on both of us.

“That bad?” He cocks his head to the side, but his face is in shadow now and I can’t see his expression.

“That bad,” I echo numbly, feeling the frayed ends of me pulling toward him like they always do. He inhales sharply, and something about the sound makes the air go live around us, charged by his want and my need. I take another drag to keep my hands from following those frayed pieces.

“And what about these?” He steps to me, running his hand down my arm, twisting his fingers through mine as he reaches for the cigarette without taking his eyes off me. He takes it in his hand and holds it up, turning it in the light. “Do these turn you into a ravenous dog, too?” He slowly looks at the burning tip and back to me.

“No. More like rabid.” I pant, eyes squarely on him. Oh, for the love of God throw me up against this brick wall and get it over with.

“Rabid?” He laughs, slow and sexy, and bites at his lip in the near dark. “I’d like to see rabid,” he says, but he doesn’t make another move toward me and I’m suddenly pissed he’s toying with me. I narrow my eyes and reach for the cigarette, but he raises it, holding it just out of my reach as he closes the remaining distance between us.

With this simple move he has managed to get me on my tiptoes, the entire length of my body now stretched taut against his in the darkness like skin on a drumhead. Our lips are inches apart, but the electricity flowing between us is so perfectly painful neither of us moves.

It’s not a conscious decision on my part. The blame clearly lies with that damned unraveled part of me that is so voraciously needy where this man is concerned. But in its defense, I don’t do a damned thing to stop it. And so my fingertips—completely out of my control—trace along the line of his outstretched arm, over his rounded biceps, his bulging shoulder, tracing down an overly taut chest and stomach, reaching for something that is rising up to meet me.

Devon grunts from that unmistakably male place deep in his chest and tosses my cigarette away.

“What are you doing, Carly?” His voice is breathy and desperate as he tangles his arms around my back and I quickly swallow a victorious smile.

“I’m showing you rabid,” I whisper, and lean up on my toes, teasing my lips up a row of neck muscles while my hand continues tracing down to his zipper.

“Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish,” he warns, pushing me back against the brick wall.

“You’re the one always saying no.” I sink my teeth into the soft flesh of his neck and it sends a spasm of motion skittering down the length of him.

It’s so dark we have nothing but the sense of touch, taste and sound to guide us, but that’s all I need. I trace my kisses up the rough stubble on Devon’s chin until I find pillow-soft lips slicked with the earthy smell of scotch waiting for me. If I wasn’t already junkie-shaking-with-DTs-desperate for this man, I damn sure am now. He stiffly resists my advances, and I know him well enough to know he’s calculating the risk involved in this. Hoping to tip that risk in my favor, I sink my teeth into his lips, and delight in the deliciousness of scotch-flavored Devon. Immediately, I’m rewarded with his hands tearing at the toggles of my coat and ripping through the flimsy buttons of my shirt.

The little plastic disks fly through the air like snowflakes and once again Devon’s reminded that I really don’t like wearing bras. I’m chilled, but then his hands are warming my breasts with gentle caresses and his lips are on mine. He completely covers me from the chilly night air, pushing me against the wall, practically raising me off my feet with his desire.

In one effortless motion, without even taking his lips from mine, Devon lifts me and carries me over to a table hiding in the shadows with us. The instant my ass hits the table I’m reaching for his belt buckle, tugging at it, trying to get it free, hoping the dark hides how desperate and needy I am. The buckle catches and Devon’s hands join mine, fumbling in the darkness with a need so urgent you would think his life depended on it. My heart beats with an erratic rhythm in my chest, about to explode, and I’m certain my life
does
in fact depend on this moment.

“Are you sure, Carly?” His lips stay against my mouth.

“Yes!”

At that moment, my fumbling is rewarded and the silken shaft of his impressively erect penis pops free from behind his zipper and into my hand.

Just to feel him like this. Just to know he’s so hard because he wants
me
has my lady parts in nuclear meltdown mode. And what’s worse, I’m so out of breath from his kisses, every other part of me is feeling as shaky and live-wired as my vagina.

Sensing what I need, Devon runs a strong hand over my belly and straight down between my legs. One hand still holds my head. His kisses go even deeper while the other cups the hottest part of me with such skill I nearly come in his hand.

“Kick off your boots.” His voice is muffled against my lips, but I obediently do as I’m told, wildly kicking the fur boots from my feet.

When the boots are gone, he slowly lowers me over the metal table, spreading my parka wide to block the chill. He makes such quick work of undoing my belt I don’t even notice. I’m freezing, but shaking on the inside more than the outside. He traces his hands down my body and pulls my jeans and panties over my legs.

It’s one of the most surreal moments of my life. Lying in utter darkness on a metal table in northern Siberia about to have sex with the Sexiest Man Alive. The floodlight a few feet to our right buzzes in the incessant way they do. Stray snowflakes fall through its light, moving almost as quickly as the million thoughts racing through my head. Other than that, all I can hear is Devon, his breath quickened by what we’re about to do as he tugs at my pants impatiently.