HOT SET: Playing with Fidelity (A romantic suspense novel) (5 page)

“
Well, what do you want me to say then?”

“
Are you going to leave me standing at the door like some discarded mistress?”

Rhys
blinked at her and realising his manners and state of undress, let her into the room and wandered unhurried into to the bedroom to extract a white t-shirt from the wardrobe. He flung it over his head while walking back into the room, his face emerging from the neck hole just as Amelia was slamming back bourbon from the decanter provided by the hotel.

“
Appropriate,” Amelia said when she saw Rhys’s t-shirt.

He looked down at the black and white motif of the comical grim reaper
riding his sickle, an ecstatic expression on his face and the words, ‘I’m coming for you’ listed below.

“
A present from Dean.”

Amelia didn’t react.

Right – fix this mess, he must. “Look, Amelia, I really am sorry, I was reading a great script and lost track of the time.” He stopped, instinctively knowing she didn’t really care.

Amelia took a breath after the whisky
had burnt its way down her throat, still not quite ready to talk to him.

She looked incredible,
Rhys thought. The dark blue halter neck dress contrasted with her soft shoulders, her tight hairstyle accentuating the sharp cheek bones, clear complexion and the still snapping eyes. Amelia poured herself another drink and took a sip more demurely this time.

“
Are you hungry?”

Rhys
, prepared for another verbal bashing, could only say, “yeah.” He was famished actually – the apple had long gone, its brown core still sitting beside the computer.

“
Can you call room service please? I’ll have a Greek salad.”

“
Ahh, sure.” Rhys turned his back on her and walked to the other side of the bar to the phone attached to the wall. He ordered the salad along with a baked dinner for himself and a bottle of flavoured mineral water.

Just as he was hanging up, he looked over his shoulder and dropped the phone
. He juggled it from hand to hand, only just stopping it from crashing against the front of the fridge and quickly put it back into the cradle before he could do more damage.

Amelia’s dress was in a shimmery dark-blue pool
encircling her feet. She was wearing a lacy, dark-blue strapless bra and matching French knickers. His perusal down her willowy body ended at high, open-toed stilettos. Upon his gaze returning to her face, he saw a smug look of satisfaction.

“
So I take it you don’t want the salad after all?”

“
I figured I’d need sustenance after sex with you.”

“
Presumptuous, aren’t you?”

She sauntered over to him and looked up, her cat-like eyes gleaming
greedily. “I’ll take my chances.”

She reached out and with one hand, dragged her manicured nails down his chest; he shivered in
response. “So, what are we going to do now?” she purred up at him.

Rhys
dropped his head and landed on her mouth with force, pushing her sharply back. She lost her balance and grabbed his t-shirt to stay upright. His kiss was an unrefined, angry assault on her delicate lips and she gave a small, strangled cry, arousal crashing through her body; she kissed him back. Rhys put his hands under the bottom and effortlessly lifted her willowy body up against him so their faces were on the same level. Amelia put her elbows on his shoulders and continued to kiss him hard, exerting her control. She almost laughed triumphantly when she felt his arousal against her thigh and she lifted her slim leg to rub it against his groin.

Without breaking the kiss,
Rhys carried her to the bedroom and once there, threw her down on the bed and ripped off his shirt and dropped his jeans before clambering on top of her. She felt a moment of fear as his large body rose above her and she involuntarily retreated, tensing her muscles. Rhys looked down into her face; her hair was now mussed and not as tight, her eyes losing the predatory slant and she looked up at him with a tinge of wariness on her features. He realised he’d gone too far and in a silent apology, he put his hand under her head and lifted her face towards him where he kissed her with such exquisite sweetness, her head whirled in confusion and she exploded with warmth.

Rhys
moved his lips against her mouth with slow, steady strokes, almost breaking contact but then gently widening the kiss again. Amelia had never been kissed with such delicacy and mastery and it eliminated any amount of control she hoped to retain. Rhys finally broke the kiss and pressed his lips in staccato rhythm along her jaw, down the sensitive hallow beside her throat and along her collarbone, his stubble tickling where his lips aroused. His elbows were beside her arms, his left leg across hers, trapping her to the bed, his mouth the only instrument he used and he utilised it with consummate skill.

Then, i
n one smooth movement, Amelia was kneeling in front of Rhys, her weak knees barely supporting her weight and she felt his hands reach behind her and unclip her bra, tossing it to the side. He then swung her legs around and gently slipped down her knickers before laying her back on the bed, standing up and removing his own underwear. He turned from her, rummaged in a side draw and she heard the crackle of a packet; he’d never had sex without one. When Rhys lay on top of her, the skin-on-skin contact so hot to Amelia, she nearly melted into a puddle on the sheets. He again kissed her and this time his hands sculpted her body like it was pliable clay. He caressed her with long, slow strokes, his fingers alternating between barely touching her skin then firmly massaging her thigh, stomach and breast and down again.

Rhys
effortlessly rolled them around the bed until she was on top, straddling his hips, the hair on his legs tickling her bottom, his hands holding her sides firmly. His erection was hot under her, the pressure of his arousal was between her legs and she moved twice against him when she felt the first shakes of an orgasm. Before it hit completely, he slid up into her over-sensitised centre and she yelled, sliding back and burying him so deep within her, she could only just accommodate his length. The movement halted her orgasm for a moment and holding her hips, Rhys slowly guided her and she rocked back and forwards on him, her tight muscles holding him firmly. She leant forward onto her elbows, burying her face into his neck, her long, blond hair now out of the bun and trailing over her, him and the pillow, her body slicked with sweat. He drove himself into her from below again and again, thrusting so fast it generated its own heat. His fingers moved down to their joined bodies and she moaned, the area so alive it hurt. She tried to wiggle away but he did not stop and within two deep breaths she came, calling out her release into the pillow.

Before she’d even finished shaking, he rolled her onto her back and slowed down his rhythm until there were long pauses between his thrusts.
Rhys held her eyes as he moved, his loose hair framing his face, an action totally alien to Amelia and she found herself spellbound in that dark-green jungle. He sped up again, lowering his head onto the pillow next to her and she closed her eyes and wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting her hips to meet him, accepting his heaviness. Rhys plunged another three or four times before he groaned, his face against the hollow of her shoulder, his body shuddering while his hips were pressed up against her tightly.

Amelia lay underneath
Rhys’s inert form. She was like a martini; shaken and stirred. Rhys’s breathing was slowing above her and she shifted her head to look into his sweaty face. He leant down and kissed her before smoothly pulling away and went into the bathroom, leaving her lying like a stunned mullet on top of the covers, too amazed to even pull the sheet over her.

Since when did sex like that ever happen? Her insides flicked and tingled from the orgasm and her skin radiated heat
. He was back a minute later, just enough time for her to roll her resisting body under the covers and he climbed in beside her, positioned her so her head lay on his shoulder and within another minute, she was asleep.

Rhys
lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the even breathing of Amelia beside him. The doorbell buzzed and he gently pulled his arm from beneath Amelia, not waking her. After throwing on some clothes, he accepted the food and paying a generous tip, ate the baked dinner before his computer then climbed back into bed.

D
espite his good looks and stardom, Rhys hadn’t bedded as many women as his reputation alluded; Amelia made nine.

Staring at the patterns in the cornice,
he thought of home again.

He was the youngest child of three with two older sisters
. His mother, Bryn, was a strong and endearing Welsh woman and his father, David, was Australian. They’d met when David travelled the world in his early 20s and getting as far as Wales, had met the gorgeous, green-eyed Bryn waitressing at a café and swore to not leave Wales unless she was with him. After several months, she finally relented to the handsome Aussie and 12-months later they moved to Brisbane and married just after the birth of their first child, Gwendolyn. Soon after, Bryn gave birth to Erin. Erin was five when Bryn unexpectedly fell pregnant with Rhys and both parents were delighted when a boy arrived.

The siblings all looked alike
; light brown hair, high cheekbones and strong jaw lines. But, the features that were attractive in the girls were devastating in the boy. Rhys was blessed with extraordinary good looks. He had expressive, dark green eyes and charm from his fiery mother and height, breadth and athleticism from his father.

As the only boy and a handsome one at that,
Rhys had the potential to be very spoilt, but Bryn, seeing the goodness in her tall son, raised him firmly, instilling him with manners and respect and watched with pleasure as he grew into a decent young man. At high school, he invariably caused problems with the female population but was just as popular among the boys for his sporting ability. He adored sports and doing anything fast. Then, after reluctantly taking a compulsory combined English and Drama class, he discovered a fascination with acting.

Even though he got ribbed by his sports peers,
Rhys joined the drama club and quickly found his niche, picking up sport on the weekends instead. He got the second-lead in the annual school play and the following year, the lead. The audience was spellbound with how he moved on stage, how he become the character, how his striking face (now showing the first signs of stubble) flicked and moved as his newly-arrived deep voice rose and fell perfectly in character. There was no doubt from those who watched him what his career would be and sure enough, straight after achieving his Higher School Certificate, Rhys was accepted into the Brisbane Actor’s Conservatory.

He graduated
three-years later near the top of his class. Then, much to his mother’s dismay and like so many hopefuls before him, he saved up money from his job loading boxes at a factory and sought his fortune across the Pacific Ocean in Los Angeles.

P
redictably, the first 12-months were incredibly hard. At first, his looks were a curse as there were so many other clones around him that he couldn’t get himself noticed. Rhys, now broke and disheartened, decided to move on from the fearsome and destroying world he wanted so badly and head east. He had the time of his life hitch-hiking across America, sleeping wherever, taking odd jobs to get him to the next spot and eleven months later, he ended up in New York. After four-weeks of searching and auditioning, his break finally came when he landed a small non-speaking part on a Broadway production.

I
t was here he met Michael Calpolo.

Michael was from Christchurch, New Zealand,
and as they were from a similar part of the ocean, it gave them an immediate rapport. Michael was born to Italian parents and was darkly handsome and brooding with an Italian’s passion. He had sleepy chocolate brown eyes shadowed by heavy, dark brows and an effortless smile that could have a woman in his bed in 20-minutes (or so he’d boast). Michael was a complex man who’d completed a Bachelor of Medicine in New Zealand, as per his parent’s wishes, but before he started his internship, took a year off to pursue his dream of the stage and hadn’t peeped a toe into a hospital since. Six-years on, his father still hadn’t forgiven him.

Michael
could switch from wisdom to juvenility in a second and was a complete enigma to women because he was so hard to read. He had an adoration for old books, Italian art, women and Ferrari’s (owning one was a yard stick of success, he said) but his first love was the theatre and this was his 12
th
Broadway play.

Rhys got
along so well with Michael, he moved into a shared flat with him a few weeks later. Michael already had a flatmate, Dean Stokes, an effervescent Aussie from Sydney who played a lovable doctor on a hit medical drama. Dean was the shortest of the three at 6’-flat and of heavier build than Rhys with a #2 shaven crop of dark brown hair, tanned skin and hazel eyes with long lashes that were his trademark.

‘
Stokesy’ to his mates, Dean was 28 and incorrigible with the opposite sex, keeping a steady supply in his bed, jumping jubilantly from one relationship to the other, just happy to be adored. He was a brilliant actor and employed his considerable charm on everything with a heartbeat (including the mangy alley cat, Gorgon, he’d manage to tame and who now terrorised the apartment’s rolled sock collection). Few could resist Dean’s boyish enthusiasm, high-volume level, humour and good nature. Michael would often anchor Dean’s enthusiasm, who’d retaliate with a big grin and a slap on the back. Rhys was somewhere in between.

The three of them hung out constantly
. They were ridiculously handsome, tall and charming as hell. Notorious for seducing the same women, so many found themselves entranced and attracted by the impossible beauty of the three and often didn’t care which one took her home – as long as it was one of them. As the months went by, they were photographed at most parties until one enterprising journo labelled them ‘The Triplets’ and it stuck.

Rhys continued
with theatre for 18-months and was accepted into two more productions in a row, each requiring a few more lines than the last. The long-awaited screen break came when he landed a supporting role in a budget TV series and after spending six months playing a cop, got a speaking part in a John Grisham movie and then it was easy.

After
four-years struggling in the United States, his rise to superstardom occurred within a year. He moved to L.A. with Dean (who’d quit the medical drama for more excitement) and they shared a flat initially and finally with Michael who followed three-months later with an irascible Gorgon. Now Rhys’s looks were an asset and he played everything from an action hero to mad scientist and an alien warlord. Rhys had been signed up by Sal when he first got to New York and now Sal couldn’t keep up with the scripts that clogged the inbox. At Sal’s insistence, Rhys hired Mira and Mira, being the same age as his mother, kindly reported on his whereabouts to her new good friend, Bryn Bradford.

Soon, Lucy joined the team; a sassy stylist much needed for
Rhys’s lazy dress sense. Lucy was a single mother of two young children who’d recently left her philandering husband. For most of Rhys’s fittings, Daisy and Rosy came along and were quickly ‘adopted’ by Rhys, Mira and a seemingly-brusque Sal who’d hand over little gifts with a wink.

These people were
Rhys’s Hollywood family and he treated and paid them well. In return, they protected and loved him, making sure his life moved smoothly with little disagreement.

Rhys
purchased a property in L.A., a big house in the hills where all the other stars kept their pads and was swept into the bright world of Hollywood with his two best mates as company. ‘The Triplets’ were a hit in L.A. and in Rhys’s wake, both Michael and Dean were soon also in the movie industry making a killing. Soon, Michael and Dean moved out and for the first time in years they lived separately; while still keeping up their usual antics of women and parties.

It was at this time that Michael, at the threat of his mother’s eternal exasperation, went to Italy and there reacquainted himself with his now grown-up childhood sweetheart,
Nicki, whom he’d had several summer flings with on his regular trips back to the homeland. Much to the heartbreak of thousands of adoring fans, they married 18-months later in a semi-secret wedding with Rhys and Dean as his only attendants. Nicki was a tiny, fiery lady who had her tall husband wrapped around her little fingers.

Rhys
, now truly successful, had managed to keep his head through most of his stratospheric rise to fame but the attention was starting to encourage his ego. He started to play the star both on and off set and in order to fit in to the L.A. hierarchy, talked rough, walked rougher and never turned up to an event without a different gorgeous and hopeful woman on his arm. Then, much to that woman’s disgust, she got little more than a kiss that turned her skin inside out and Rhys disappeared into the sunset, only to turn up the next night with yet another optimist.

Rhys
’s reputation as a womaniser and a party man started to precede his reputation as a great actor but despite the largeness of the party, despite his headache the next day, Rhys would always turn up on time, sometimes red-eyed and grey-skinned, but there.

And here he was, five years at the top and now he had an opportunity to go home
. It had been two years since he was last there and even that was a quick passing through. He liked what he’d read of the Media Pictures Australia script and made a mental note to call Sal first thing in the morning to accept the role. He smiled a genuine smile into the darkness.

Amelia rolled away, her stirring breaking his reverie
.

W
hat he was going to do with her now?