Chapter Thirty-Four

Thirty minutes later, I’m polishing off my third mojito. I’ve never drunk so fast in my life, but it’s not having the desired effect. Not even close. The toxic unease that’s been poisoning the pit of my stomach ever since Rachel received that text is growing and growing.

What story does Cassie want to feed to the press?

Has she found out about Jake and me?

I’m standing at the bar next to Max, who is oblivious of my panic and is busy admiring Lucy’s dress from every conceivable angle.

“Are you sure you’re into monogamy, Charlie? Because that dress is seriously complicating matters for me.”

I clench my fingers around my fourth mojito and take a swig. “Jake thinks I should keep making movies.”

“Is that a euphemism? Have I not given my brother enough credit for his sexual ingenuity?”

“Shush. I’m being serious. Where is he, anyway?”

Has Cassie arrived back at the hotel already?

“Held up on a conference call with the board. The Global Studios prison bars are beckoning.”

“Does he hate it that much?”

Max shrugs. “It’s not just a case of walking away from the place. It’s more about who’ll inherit it if he does.” He finishes his drink and checks his phone. “Gotta go. No point laboring under false pretenses. You’re never going to put out for me, so I’m off to find someone who will.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding!” He laughs and holds up his cell. “Jake just messaged. He’s on his way down, so I’m making myself scarce before he goes all Sly Stallone on my ass again.”

I’m desperate to find out if he’s spoken to Cassie yet, so I exit the bar with every intention of intercepting him. As I do, I find myself stepping into a battlefield of heat and perspiration. The hotel courtyard has been swallowed up by a fresh wave of arrivals, and every square inch is crammed with heels and handbags. Doubling back, I find myself threaded into a conversation with a couple of floor runners, but it’s not long before my skin starts tingling in that oh so familiar way.

Jake.

Looking around, I feel my head slipping underwater. He’s wearing those Levi’s, the ones I love so much, and the same black shirt from our night in Marrakech. I know he’s chosen it deliberately. It’s his way of keeping a part of me close to him in such a public arena.

I watch him scan the crowds with a slight frown on his face. I know he’s looking for me. When we lock eyes, I watch his gaze rake downward. He likes what he sees. It’s there in the way he makes a beeline straight for me, never deviating, no matter how many offers of free beers are thrust his way by the circling waiters. And then he’s here, drinking in me instead. “That dress is obscene,” he murmurs by way of a greeting.

Is his voice thick with disapproval or desire? Both have the ability to soak my panties. “I thought you liked me naked, or nearabouts?” I say innocently.

He opens his mouth to deliver his verdict when there’s a shout of recognition, and a blur of faces start elbowing me out of the way. Everybody wants to buy him a drink and say good-bye. Everybody except me. All I want from Jake Dalton are multiple orgasms and his assurance that his ex isn’t about to break my world in two.

Right before he disappears into the bar, he leans over and whispers into my ear, “I love your dress, Books. It deserves its own twenty-eight-line soliloquy. But I’ll like it even better when I flip it up, bend you over, and fuck your ass into tomorrow.”

Holy. Shit.

My equilibrium goes nuts, and sends me staggering backward into a surprised but delighted Max. He catches me with a grin. “Am I sweeping you off your feet again, Charlie?”

“You Daltons should be illegal,” I gasp, swatting him away.

“I think I am in four countries already.”

“Charlie, there you are!” Rachel comes rushing up to me looking gorgeous with her blue eyes sparkling and her immaculate blond bob framing her face like liquid gold. She stops abruptly when she sees Max. “Oh. Hi.”

“Gotta go,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “Phone call. Can’t wait.”

She shakes her head as he sidles away. “Phantom phone call, more like. He can’t even be bothered to talk to me anymore. God, those cameramen should be banned from wrap parties. I’m fed up with having my ass pinched. Surely, this level of sexual harassment qualifies for a superhero rescue?”

“Absolutely,” I say, laughing at the look of outrage on her face. “Jake can make a movie about it.”

That’s when it hits me. I’m going to miss Rachel. I’m going to miss everyone here, even the lechy camera department.

“You’re staring very intently at your cocktail,” she says, elbowing me gently. It’s as if she can sense my sudden melancholy “What’s it telling you? Are lemon pips a good omen or a bad?”

“Oh, definitely good,” I say, forcing a smile back to my lips.

“Except when they get stuck in your teeth. What else has mystic mojito got to say for herself, then?”

“Something about a tall, dark, and handsome producer, I can imagine,” drawls a voice, and Jake reappears next to me clutching two beers. “Do you mind if I borrow Charlie for a moment?”

“Not at all,” says Rachel, grinning at me. “I need a refill, anyway.”

“Here, have mine,” he says, handing her the beers.

Ensnaring me with the ghost of a wink, he takes my arm and leads me away to the other side of the courtyard.

“You’re very arrogant,” I say pointedly.

“And you’re exquisite,” he murmurs.

Oh, my. That tension is ricocheting between us again.

“Cassie’s on the warpath,” I tell him. “She’s looking for you, apparently.”

“She can look all she wants, but she’ll never find me.”

Have I? “Rachel says she has a story that she wants to leak to the press.”

“How thoughtful of her.” He doesn’t look quite so genial anymore. “Doing her bit for the movie’s PR, is she?”

“Could it be about us?”

He shakes his head. “I doubt it. Cassie has bigger fish to fry, or rather pan griddle with a slice of lemon. She doesn’t do empty calories, remember?”

I start grinning, despite myself. Jake doesn’t seem bothered by Cassie’s revelations. Perhaps I should do the same.

“I like it when you smile,” he muses suddenly. “It’s like you’ve run out of smart words to hide behind, and all that’s left is you.”

The ground falls away beneath my feet.

“And that dress is far too sexy for this wrap party,” he adds, trailing his gaze downward again. “The things I could do to you in it.”

“So you keep saying,” I mutter, yanking myself together. “By all means, go ahead. But I’m keeping my heels on.”

His eyes narrow to dark, enticing slits. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Okay, let’s liven this party up, shall we? Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you tonight. Tell me exactly what you’d like.”

“Now?” I’m shocked. It’s tricky enough to inhale clean air in this courtyard, let alone exhale my filthiest fantasies.

“Yes, now,” he says, savoring my discomfort like it’s a 2009 Chateau Latour.

“Fine. I’ll play your sordid little game.” I knock back the rest of my drink in one hit and glance about. Our closest neighbors are a couple of set designers necking like it’s going out of style.

“Well?” He’s tugging at my inhibitions like they’re my lingerie.

“I’m imagining us both naked,” I blurt out.

Jake tuts and shakes his head in disappointment. It’s a tepid attempt at talking dirty and we both know it. “Come on, you can do better than that. What would really make you wet?” He’s almost feral in his lust for me now.

You do. Repeatedly.

“Bend me over your bed like you promised.”

“Hmm tempting.”

“Fuck me anywhere you choose, any which way.”

“Yes,” he breathes, inching closer.

Holy shit. Holy hell. I think I’m going to combust.

“Heels on or off?” I croak.

“On. Always on. Just like you stipulated. I bet you didn’t get that idea from one of your books.”

“I’m starting to think there might be life after literature, after all.”

“Do you, now?” That wicked gleam is mesmerizing, reflecting like hazard signs off the glow of Max’s fairy lights.

“Go back to the part where you say how hard you’re going to fuck me.”

“I’ll only be satisfied when you lose control, Charlie, screaming my name and fisting the sheets as you come.”

It’s my turn to take an involuntarily step closer.

“Careful.” The tone of his voice is a warning. “There’s a reporter standing ten meters away. If we continue like this, I’m going to take you right here, right now. To hell with public decency.”

For a split second, I contemplate smashing my caveat. It would be worth it to feel his hands on my body, satisfying my craving, putting all of my deepest, darkest fantasies into practice. Then the icy fingertips of my past send a ripple of fear up and down my spine. I can never let that happen.

He must never know.