Rapturous (10 page)

I keep today focused on the basics, setting her up with email, business cards, a company iPhone and a file containing passwords she’ll need to work on Marlowe’s behalf. I help her activate her new American Express black card and take her through the Quantum employee manual.

Emmett Burke, our chief counsel, arrives with the confidentiality
agreement that Leah is required to sign as a condition of her employment. Emmett goes over each element of the agreement, emphasizing the requirement for complete discretion at all times.

“I need you to understand what that means,” Emmett says. “Your friends are going to be fascinated by your new job. They’re going to ask you about Marlowe and Flynn and Hayden and the others. They’ll want you
to tell them things no one knows about the stars you now work for. By signing this agreement, you indicate that you understand the implications of talking about the Quantum principals, their family members or their personal business to anyone. Ever. If you do—”

“I won’t.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m required to inform you of the consequences of violating the agreement.” He outlines the legal steps the
principals would take in the event of a breach of the confidentiality agreement.

I know them by heart. I’ve never forgotten my orientation or the fear of God that Emmett put into me with threats of legal action that would effectively ruin my life. I’ve never breathed a word of Flynn’s business or the business of any of the Quantum partners to anyone, and I never will.
 

With the fear of God instilled
in her, Leah signs the agreement, her hand trembling ever so slightly as she does.
 

“I’m sorry to start your first day with such dire warnings.” Emmett tucks the documents into a leather portfolio. “But I hope you understand that it’s not something we can postpone.”

“I do, and I assure you, you’ll never have a reason to enforce that agreement.”

“I’m sure I won’t.” He shakes Leah’s hand. “Welcome
to Quantum. Look forward to working with you.”

“Yes, me, too. Thank you.”

As Emmett leaves the conference room, Leah watches him go. “Is being insanely hot a prerequisite to working here?”

I laugh, because I can see why it would seem that way to an outsider.

“What’s his story?” she asks.

“Emmett? He’s been friends with Flynn and Hayden forever, since high school, and he’s worked for them
since shortly after he graduated from law school. One thing I can tell you is he knows this business inside and out. He’s my go-to person for information I can’t get anywhere else.”

“Good to know,” she says with a coy smile that makes me laugh. “I have a feeling I’m going to have a
lot
of questions for him.”

Chapter 6

I spend the rest of the day orienting Leah to the routine of assisting one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, sharing tricks and tips I’ve learned during five years of working for Flynn. Everyone is different, and what works for Flynn might not do for Marlowe. I emphasize that it’ll take some time to master Marlowe’s
preferences, and Leah’s job will get easier once she has a handle on the little things that mean so much in the chaotic life of a movie star.
 

“Here’s a list of everything I know about her.” My “list” is twelve single-spaced pages. Marlowe has been one of the most important people in my life since my mother died while Marlowe was filming a movie with my dad behind the camera. At that time, she
was “no one” by Hollywood standards, but she quickly became everything to a motherless twelve-year-old girl. If it wasn’t for Marlowe’s unwavering friendship, I have no idea what would’ve become of me. She’s the one who suggested Flynn hire me after I graduated from UCLA.

Leah scans the first page of my report on Marlowe and then glances at me. “I think I love you.”

I smile at her and hope I’ve
made another new friend. My dad always says you can never have too many friends.

By the time I leave the office, it’s nearly eight o’clock and dark, too late to run on the beach or Rollerblade on the boardwalk. That leaves me with yoga videos in my living room. Finding my Zen will be a challenge tonight, but I’ll give it a whirl.
 

The one good thing about working late is I’ve missed the worst
of rush-hour traffic, and I’m home in twenty minutes. I unbuckle the roses that I’ve belted into the passenger seat and carry them to the elevator, emerging on the fifth floor to find Hayden sitting outside my door.

 
I’m so surprised to see him that I nearly drop the heavy vase.
 

“I guess the fact that you brought them home means you like them,” he says as he stands.

“They’re nice.” I focus
on not dropping them as I juggle my purse and keys and open the door. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“I was hoping for that yesterday.”

He gestures to the flowers. “I said I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you because we had sex.”

“But you do hate me.”

“I hate the way you treated me afterward, as if I don’t matter at all,
as if I’m just another of your random bimbos.”

“You’re neither of those things.”

“And yet your silence told me I was both. You see my dilemma?”

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

The roses have begun to get heavy, so I take them inside and put them on the kitchen counter. I slide open the door to my deck, which overlooks the Pacific, letting in the
fresh air and buying myself another minute to prepare to deal with him.

I turn to find him standing directly behind me. His hands land on my shoulders, and I want to shake him off, to tell him he doesn’t have the right to touch me like that, but I’m frozen. When I see the stark, naked desire in his heated gaze, I can’t seem to breathe, let alone speak.

“I’m an asshole, Addie. You knew that before.”

Shaking my head, I say, “No,” in the softest possible whisper.

“Yes, you did. You know me.”

“Not like this. I didn’t know you this way before.”

His hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I never meant to hurt you. I promised Flynn I wouldn’t, and then I did. Because I’m a selfish asshole who has no idea how to do something like this.”

“Something like this?”

“Something real.
Something that matters.”

I can’t hear this if he doesn’t mean it or if he means to end it. As tears flood my eyes, I start to shake my head, but he tightens his hold on my face, keeping me from moving and anchoring me for a soft, sweet, devastating kiss. I want to tell him to stop, that he can’t do this to me, but then my arms are around his neck and my mouth is open to his tongue, and I’m lost
in him all over again, as if the last two torturous days never happened.

He kisses me as if I’m the most precious thing in his world, and for that moment, I allow myself to believe that maybe I am. That’s the only way I can silence the frantic protests coming from my better judgment. I can either lose myself in the fantasy or go crazy wondering what it all means.

His hands fall from my face
to grip my ass as he lifts me without breaking the kiss. Then we’re moving through my dark condo, the same way we did the other morning, only everything is different now.
He
is different. We come down on the bed, still kissing deeply, but it’s not like before. This time he’s softer, sweeter, gentler. There’s none of the frantic urgency that had us ripping clothes off each other’s bodies the first
time.
 

All he’s done is kiss me, and I already know that if he disappears again after this, it’ll ruin me. Still, I don’t put a stop to it. Not then and not when he begins to undress me while continuing to kiss me with deep thrusts of his tongue. My breasts are freed from my bra, and his hands cover them, singeing my skin with his heat. I want to beg him to hurry, to kiss and suck and bite my
nipples the way he did the last time, but he’s not in that mood tonight.

He breaks the kiss and moves down, dragging the tip of his tongue over my throat and chest to the valley between breasts.

I arch and stretch, trying to get him to notice the way my nipples have tightened for him. He notices, but he doesn’t immediately give me the relief I need so desperately.
 

“Addie,” he whispers, “you’re
soft and sweet and beautiful. You need someone better than me.”

“No.” I’m left stunned by the shock of pain that ricochets through me at the thought of anyone but him touching me this way ever again. “I need
you
. I’ve always needed you.”

Bending his head over my belly, he leaves a trail of fire on the way to the waistband of my skirt. “Not good enough for you.”

The despair I hear in his voice
has me blinking back new tears. I want to soothe and calm him. I want to fix whatever he thinks is so wrong with him. Seeing his vulnerability—hearing it in his words—I fall more deeply into the kind of love that lasts far longer than one lifetime.
 

He turns me over to unbutton and unzip the pencil skirt I wore to work, easing it down over my hips, leaving me wearing only a red thong. His hands
cup and shape my ass, his tongue sliding over my back, straight down the center of me, leaving no part of me untouched. Again, I’m shocked by the erotic thrill of his tongue in a place no one but him has touched. And he doesn’t just touch me, he worships me, until I’m crying and screaming and begging for sweet relief from the sharp, aching need.
 

He holds me wide open for his fingers and tongue,
and when he sucks hard on my clit, he sends me into orbit. I come so hard that I lose all sense of place and time. I forget how much I hated him earlier. The love is all I feel, all I know, all I want.
He
is all I want.
 

I’m marginally aware of him moving behind me, the rustle of clothing, the pillow he shoves under me, the knees that push my legs wider apart, the hands that grasp my hips and
the searing pain when he pushes his cock into me. I cry out, and he stops.

“Ah, fuck, you’re hurting, aren’t you?”

“Please, don’t stop.
Please
.”

“We’ll go slow.”

I’m so wet that I take the first part easily, but then the battle begins anew, a push-pull of want and need and ache and astonishing pleasure that only comes after the struggle to take him.
 

For a long time after he finally enters
me fully, he stays still, pulsing and throbbing and expanding within me. His big body covers me, his hands grasping mine tightly as he waits for me to catch up. I’m so surrounded by him, so overwhelmed by his distinctive scent, the feel of his chest hair against my back, the tight grip of his hands on mine, and a wild, desperate need for more. I can’t move or speak to tell him what I want or need,
but he knows.
 

He flexes his hips, surging deeper into me, touching a spot that only he has ever found. I’ve barely moved, and I detonate, coming in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible before he showed me what I’m capable of. I don’t have the time or capacity to process that discovery, because he starts to move, riding the waves of my orgasm, keeping with the slow and tender theme that’s ruined
me from the first second he touched me tonight.