KOTA JAMMED THE shifter into third, taking the winding road faster than he should.
Shoving his hand down his pants, he unstuck his cock from his thigh. For Christ’s sake, he should’ve at least taken a minute to clean up.
But no, he ran like a rabbit instead. And from what? They had sex. Just sex.
He shouldn’t have kissed her. That was his mistake. A kiss was too intimate, too not-just-sex.
But once he had kissed her, he should have been cool about it. Now she’d know she got to him. Just like she planned to when she slipped into that teddy. Hell. Nobody wore a teddy under a sundress—nobody wore one, period—unless they were expecting some action.
Well, in her defense, she was expecting action. He’d promised to come back at lunchtime. He shouldn’t complain that she was ready and waiting for him.
She’d even tried to make lunch. He snorted. She’d botched it, of course. The woman probably couldn’t boil water without burning it. But she tried. And then he’d gone and left without even cleaning up the mess. Ma would read him the riot act if she knew about that.
He touched the brakes. He should go back and help. Flour was a bitch to get up off the floor—
His phone rang. Em. For Christ’s sake.
“What?” he blasted at her.
“Where are you?”
“Don’t pretend you can’t track my phone.” Like he didn’t know she’d put him on her friends-and-family plan specifically to keep tabs on him.
“Okay, then. You’re driving too fast.”
He sped up. “Why’re you pestering me?”
“Peter called. Levi’s is firm on three years.”
“Tell him to say thanks, but no thanks.”
Silence.
He shot through a yellow light, whipped into In-N-Out, and squealed up to the drive-thru.
“Bring me a grilled cheese,” Em said.
He backed up and squealed out. “I’m getting a new phone. Without the spyware.”
“Like you have a clue how to get your own phone.”
“I’ll have my new assistant take care of it.”
“Great. When does she start? Because I cut short my last vacation to save you from the woman you’re currently banging—”
He hung up.
Five minutes later, he braked at his gate and waved to the camera. Somewhere in the house Tony pushed a button to let him in.
Em met him in the driveway. He gave her a “What now?” look. Then he did a double take.
For the first time he could remember, she had circles under her eyes. Like she was sick, or hadn’t slept. Or was worried about someone she cared for who might be going off the deep end.
“Get in,” he said.
She shook her head. “No time for joyriding. You’ve got shit to do.”
“Who’s the boss?”
Huffing a sigh, she got in. He pulled forward into the garage and shut off the car.
Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the door handle. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“What now?” She snapped his own words back at him.
“I want to be a vet,” he said.
“You’re too old to enlist.”
“Quit telling me I’m old. And I’m not talking about a veteran. I’m talking about a veterinarian.”
She looked stumped.
“That was the original plan,” he said. “Get Tana settled, then go back to school.”
Sharp eyes assessed him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because I gave up on it. Or forgot about it.”
“Or repressed it so you could stay in Hollywood and babysit Tana.”
“Or that.”
“So why now? What changed?”
“Tana’s married. He doesn’t need me anymore.”
“What about everyone else who counts on you? Peter, and Tony, and me?”
He cocked his head. “I never figured you’d lay a guilt trip on me.”
“I don’t have to. You already feel guilty. I’m asking how you’re going to live with it.”
Damn her, she knew him better than he knew himself.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to roll off the guilt. “Brad told me he’s thinking about switching agents. I’ll give him a shove toward Peter. And Tony, hell, he can get any gig he wants. I’ve been overpaying him for years just to hang on to him.”
She watched him steadily, waiting.
“What?” he said.
“Veterinarians don’t have PAs.”
“Movie-star vets do. Or they will, when I’m one. It coulda been you, if you weren’t such a pain in the ass.”
As if he could manage his life without her.
“Meanwhile, about the Levi’s deal,” she said. “You’re just blowing it off?”
“They’ll take a year when they see I’m serious.”
“What about the Abrams project? You signed the papers.”
“I know.” A zillion-dollar superhero extravaganza set to start shooting a month after his current film wrapped. “The thing is, if it scores, they’re counting on a franchise. When I tell ’em it’s my last film, they’ll opt out and find somebody else.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
“Two weeks.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re shitting me. It’s Christy, isn’t it? She wants you to quit acting and go to vet school.”
“She doesn’t want me to do anything. And believe me, if I was looking for a life coach, it wouldn’t be her. She’s a goddamn mess.” He shrugged. “She made me think about it is all.”
Em held her tongue, but he could see the wheels turning.
Finally, she shrugged. “Maybe she’s not as bad for you as I thought.”
CHRIS WAS ON her hands and knees with a sponge when Zach strolled in.
“Hey, honey pie. That’s quite a mess you got there.”
She blew her hair off her forehead. “Flour’s a bitch to get off the floor.”
“How’d it get there in the first place?”
“We were making pasta.”
“You and Ray?” Zach guffawed. “The blind leading the blind.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She trickled sarcasm over it. “But actually it was me and Kota. He’s a wizard in the kitchen.”
“In the bedroom too, so I hear.” He winked at her.
She stood up and threw the sponge in the sink. “Sometimes I think we share too much information.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m kinda surprised you two are hanging out again.” He wandered into the living room and ran an eye over the jumble of books on the floor. “Looks like you’re having fun, though.”
“We were, until we kissed. Then he ran out like his hair was on fire.”
Zach let out a laugh. “Boy’s got it bad. I saw it hit him the minute he laid eyes on you. He went ass over teakettle.”
“Yeah, he’s a mess.” She poured two club sodas. “I’ll clean the flour up later. Let’s sit outside.”
They settled at the tiny café table in her micro-backyard. Zach stretched his legs out and made a show of relaxing. He was used to life on the road. On the rare occasions he was home, he got antsy, so he tended to drop in and stay awhile.
He smirked at the ribbon of dirt lining the low fence. “Still working on that garden, I see.”
She stuck her tongue out. He laughed. “Honey pie, you need to face the fact that you’re just not domestically inclined. Why don’t you sell this place and move in with me? I’m hardly ever home. And you won’t have to rub elbows with Death-Ray.”
“She’s not that bad.”
“She’s a stone bitch.” Zach called ’em like he saw ’em.
“I’m not the nicest person either.”
“You made a mistake. That’s different. Ray’s miserable by nature.”
Chris sipped her drink. She couldn’t deny that Ray got bitchier each day. She resented Hollywood’s failure to fall on its knees and declare her a star. And pouring liquor on bitterness only sank its roots deeper.
But no matter how bitchy she got, Ray sure as hell wouldn’t run Chris out of her own house. This was the first place she’d ever called home.
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll kick her out if it comes to that. Meanwhile, it’s nice to have another warm body around. I’m home a lot, now that I’m unemployed.”
He steepled his fingers. “I was thinking about that. Now that your schedule’s opened up, I’ve got a gig in Dubai next week you might want to get in on.”
She’d seen it coming from a mile away. “Thanks, Dad, but I’m gonna focus on Mom’s bio. If something local comes up, I’m in. But no travel.”
“Oh well.” He gave her that famous Zach Gray grin. “Worth a try.”
With that out of the way, they ordered a pizza and spent a few hours playing rummy like they used to on the tour bus. Then he strolled out the way he’d come in.
When he was gone, Chris got antsy herself. She brought her laptop out to the table.
Then she went inside and made a cup of tea.
She brought the tea outside and turned on the laptop.
Then she went inside for a cookie.
Tri dutifully hop-skipped along behind her. In and out of the slider. Up and down in the chair.
But when she popped up again to find her phone, he waited outside.
She got the hint. “I know, I know. I’ll get serious now.” She scooped him up on her lap. Opened the file. Scrolled through her notes.
Ho Chi Minh City, blah blah. Baghdad, blah blah.
The words ran together on the page.
Giving up on dry facts, she went back to the pictures, sorting and organizing. Europe, Asia, Africa.
A minaret caught her eye, framed against a blazing sunset. Morocco, April 2001. She remembered a boy, dark and exotic, and even less experienced than she was . . .
She pushed the memory aside. This was Emma’s story, not hers. She kept scrolling. Turkey, Romania, Sierra Leone.
All her life she’d resented being dragged around the world like a suitcase. Yet she couldn’t deny that these places had formed her. The noisy streets, the desperate people. They were real. They were part of her.
So were the summers, traveling with Zach, seeing the world from backstage. Growing up with the other band kids, playing hide-and-seek as youngsters, making out once puberty hit.
Sure, she’d been lonely a lot. But she’d always felt loved. Her parents might’ve been globetrotters, with big careers and bigger egos, but they never left her behind or shunted her off to boarding school.
They’d always wanted her. And not every kid could say the same.
The slider opened and Ray stuck her head out. “Whatcha doing?”
“Daydreaming,” Chris said. Which was all she ever seemed to do when she opened her laptop. She closed it. “How was the audition?”
Ray came out and plopped in the other chair with a pout on her puss. “A waste of time. They picked a redhead, if you can believe it.”
“She can dye her hair.”
“She can’t dye her pasty skin.” Ray flicked at a fly. “Whatever. She was obviously blowing the producer.”
Or maybe she was more talented. But that was Ray, always making excuses. Blaming someone else when she didn’t make the cut.
She aimed a sour look at Tri. “I can’t believe that jerk dumped a lame dog on you.” She held out her hands. “Gimme. I’ll take him to the pound.”
“No, you won’t.” Chris tucked Tri under her arm. “This is his home, Ray. Deal with it.”
“Or what? You’ll kick me out?” Ray snorted a laugh.
Chris eyed her levelly.
“You’re kidding.” Ray shot to her feet. “This is what I get for listening to your sob story? You pick his crippled mutt over me?”
“I’m not picking Tri over you.” Yet. “I’m just saying we all need to get along.”
“Then keep the little shit out of my way.” Ray curled her lip in a nasty sneer. “If I trip over him, I’m suing that dickhead Dakota Rain for everything he’s got.”
KOTA RACKED THE barbell, but he didn’t sit up. Instead, he lay on the bench, lathered in sweat, staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere in the vast house, a grandfather clock chimed nine times. Which meant he had another twelve hours before he was due on the set.
Twelve hours of not going to see Christy. Twelve hours of not touching her. Or fucking her. Or sleeping beside her.
Tony poked his head through the door. “You expecting anyone tonight?”
“Nope,” Kota said. He could have lined up Sissy or Danni or some other warm body, but he didn’t have the heart for it. “Go to bed, man. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Now he was really alone. Sure, Tony was only over in the other wing. If Kota asked him to, he’d stay up all night, playing pool, watching movies. But why make both of them miserable?
Instead, Kota pumped out another set. Ran four miles on the treadmill. Did a hundred chin-ups, then a hundred more.
And the clock chimed ten.
Cy pestered him to go out, so they rambled the yard. Cy sniffed every blade of grass. Kota peed on a palm tree. Cy peed on top of it. And they wandered their way back to the house.
Inside, they roamed from room to room, ending up in the kitchen. Kota peered in the fridge. Closed it. Rolled his shoulders. Checked his watch.
Ten hours and forty-five minutes to kill.
Cy gave him a “What next?” look. The poor dog was at loose ends too.
Kota scratched his ears. “You miss Tri, don’t you? I bet he misses us too.”
In fact, Tri was probably pining for them right that minute. He probably wouldn’t be able to sleep without seeing them, without getting his goodnight kiss.
Kota grabbed the keys. “Come on, man. Time to exercise our visitation.”
“YOU’RE KIDDING ME.” Christy blocked the door. “It’s ten-thirty at night. We’re on our way to bed.”
That was obvious. Her hair was stacked in a messy bun, and her see-through nightgown hit her at midthigh and left nothing to the imagination.
Tearing his eyes from her nipples, Kota glanced over her shoulder. Tri was on the couch, wiggling around with all three legs in the air, like Kota had interrupted something good.
So much for pining.
He switched tactics. “Too bad,” he said. “Cy’s been pacing all night. He can’t settle down till he sees his brother.”
“Baloney.”
“Truth. He’s out in the car.” He gestured. “You want to break his heart, go ahead.”
“Oh, for the love of . . .” She shooed her hands at him. “Go get him. I want to see him, anyway.”
A minute later, Cy bounded through the door, grinning his ghastly grin, dancing at Christy’s feet, sticking his nose up her nightgown.
When she sat on the couch, he crawled into her lap, paws on her shoulders, kissing her like his long-lost love. Tri wriggled between them, the pair of them pushing Christy’s nightgown all the way to New Jersey.
“Okay, enough,” Kota said when he couldn’t take it anymore. “Down, guys.”
He’d been propping up the wall so he wouldn’t crawl into her lap too. Now she smiled over at him, and before he knew it he was sitting on the coffee table, his knee an inch from her bare one.
Her caramel eyes locked onto his. “Kota.” Her voice, her smoky, sultry, sexy voice, shivered through him. “What’re you doing here?”
“I told you.” He worked to keep his own voice steady. “Cy missed his brother. And you too, I guess.” Obviously, the dog was no judge of character.
“This is the third time you showed up here today.”
He tried to look away. Couldn’t. “Don’t read anything into it. You got nothing I want. Except sex. Just sex.”
She brushed his knee with her fingertips. “Do you want to have sex now?”
He swallowed. “Well, since I’m here.”
“Okay.” She stood up. “Ray’s home, so we should do it in my room.”
He followed her up the steps like a robot, lust wrestling with conscience. His body’s message was clear and simple. Sex. Now.
But his mind asked, Why? Why is she letting me use her this way?
It made no sense. She wasn’t slampiece material. She wasn’t a starfucker.
Yet at the top of the stairs, she lifted her nightgown over her head, leaving only a white thong pointing like a road sign to heaven. She shook down her hair so it tumbled over bare shoulders.
And she came to him, a slow, sinuous walk that gave him time to drink in every bombshell curve. Stopping inches away, she laid her hands on his chest.
His own hands hung helplessly at his sides.
“Kota.”
God, he loved the way she said his name.
She smiled, and his knees turned to water.
He stepped back so her hands fell away. “Christ, woman. Don’t you even want to talk first?”
Her brow creased. “I thought you just wanted sex.”
“No. I mean, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. What was wrong with him? She was offering it on a platter. Her bed was six feet away. He should toss her down face-first and do her like that. Then he wouldn’t make the mistake of kissing her again. Or looking into her eyes.
“Goddamn it,” he squeezed through his teeth. “Why’re you making this so hard?”
“I’m trying to make it easy,” she said, stepping out of her panties.
“Christ.” He could do this. He was hard as a spike. All he had to do was drop his pants—
A bloodcurdling scream split the air. He leaped out of his shoes.
Something crashed below, and he shot down the stairs, adrenaline-powered, testosterone-fueled, ready to take on the bad guys bare-handed.
Streaking through the living room, he slammed on the brakes in the kitchen. A blonde was standing on the counter. “A hellhound! A hellhound!” she screeched at the top of her lungs.
He followed her pointing finger. Poor Cy cowered in the corner, tail tucked, ears down, embarrassed as hell.
“Shut up!” Kota shouted over the woman’s wails. “He’s a dog, for fuck’s sake!” Adrenaline stripped away anything like patience or empathy. What kind of movies did this whacko watch, anyway?
He grabbed her by the waist and tried to set her feet on the floor, but she wasn’t having it. She climbed him like a tree, shrieking in his ear.
“Ray!” Christy’s voice cut through the din like a knife. “Calm down. He’s not a hellhound. He’s a pit bull.”
Ray subsided to whimpers, but she didn’t loosen her death grip.
Kota propped her butt on the counter. Christy helped him pry loose the limbs locked around him.
“Wh-what’s he doing here?” Ray managed through chattering teeth.
“He’s visiting,” Christy said firmly. “So chill out, because he’s here for the night.”
Ray finally focused on Kota. “Don’t you have any normal dogs? Are they all freaks?”
Christy stepped between them before he could blast her. “They’re not freaks, Ray.” Her voice had gone from firm to frigid. “They’re perfectly wonderful, and the fact that they’ve had a tough time only makes them more special.”
Yeah. Go Christy.
“Listen, Ray. I get that Cy startled you. But now that you know he’s not a hellhound, you can relax. He’s very gentle.”
“Right.” Sarcastic. “He’s obviously never been in a fight.”
“Those scars are from abuse, not from fighting.” Christy walked to Cy, who was still plastered to the wall. She crouched down and hugged him, and Cy leaned into her, resting his head on her shoulder.
And that was all Kota could stand. He’d reached his limit.
“Come on,” he said, “we’re going home.”
Christy gazed up at him with stricken eyes.
“All of us,” he said. “All four of us are going home.”