A Hollywood Deal(34)

Ryder keeps his hand at the nape of my neck and stares at me like he wants to devour me. And my more animal and simpler self wants to go back to what we’ve been doing.

But I’ve seen that same expression countless times on the big screen. Seen it directed at women celebrated worldwide for their beauty, whom he promptly forgot as soon as the filming was over.

“We should get going.” I mean to say it firmly, but instead it comes out as a shaky whisper.

“Paige…”

I manage a smile. “I think we gave everyone a good show.” I cast my gaze briefly toward the location where I spotted the paparazzi. “Mission accomplished.”

Ryder pulls back, his expression unreadable. “All right.” He gets up and holds out a hand. “Let’s go.”

* * *


Ryder

I forcibly relax my grip on the steering wheel. Desire still thickens my blood, and my dick is throbbing. Jesus. I even forgot about the paparazzi stalking us, and I’ve never done that before.

I didn’t mean to kiss her like that.

It was supposed to be the perfect ending to the evening. Every script I’ve ever seen had a kiss after a successful proposal.

The issue was that the woman playing the role is Paige, and she didn’t kiss me back like this was make-believe.

And my body reacted. Hell, I reacted.

Paige sits next to me like she hasn’t a worry in the world. The ring sparkles on her finger, marking her as mine…except she isn’t.

Still… Mission accomplished.

I shouldn’t be upset. This is a marriage in name only. It’s only right that we broke off before things went too far. I want to give the world a good show, not a sex tape. She’s made it clear this is a professional arrangement, and I haven’t really objected. She’s never panted over my body, and I like it that we can talk to each other like normal people. The number of women who treat me like a person…well, it wouldn’t even take the fingers on one hand to list them up.

The drive back home is silent. I don’t want to talk, and Paige apparently doesn’t either. Her phone pings, and then she’s busy texting. Which of her friends gets the news first?

I look at the road. Why do I care?

I tell myself at least a hundred times we did the right thing to end the kiss. It’s too bad it hasn’t penetrated yet. It isn’t every day I kiss a woman who makes me forget about everything except her.

Even right now, need hums through my body. The interior is full of her presence…her body heat, her scent…I want to pull over and kiss her silly and let things progress to their natural conclusion.

Except she doesn’t look at all receptive to that idea. Her face is tilted away, her gaze focused on something just beyond the other cars on the highway.

Honestly speaking, the situation is starting to bug the crap out of me. Women don’t ignore me after I kiss them. They cling to me like an extra-sticky piece of duct tape.

Figure it out later, man. I have a more pressing concern—namely, getting inside my home without reporters inundating the car. I have a plan, but they get smarter and sneakier all the time.

The main gates are off limits, unless I want to be mobbed. By now, the so-called news hounds are swarming around them like ants over a drop of honey. They know we’re out. They’ll have seen the photos. They’re counting on cornering the Ferrari.

I don’t think so.

I drive to the service gates in the back.

“Why are we going this way?” Paige asks.

“Reporters.”

“Already?”

I frown. Didn’t she get at least a couple congratulatory texts from her friends? “I’m sure they’ve heard by now. Check the news.”

She pulls out her phone. A soft gasp follows a few moments later. She lets me see the screen; sure enough, there’s a close-up of us canoodling on the terrace.

“Okay,” I say. “Have security call the police and push the reporters back for trespassing.”

“I don’t think any of them are brave and nimble enough to climb over the barbed wired walls.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. But in any case, my property stretches for a one-mile radius outside the wall. And I’m sure they’re all standing right by the main gates. The cops know what to do. They’re well aware of the property line at my house.”

She nods and calls the head of security, while I make sure I don’t draw any attention to my Ferrari. Maybe I should’ve taken the Maserati. It’s new, and the vultures won’t be expecting it.

Thankfully, reporters aren’t camped out at the back entrance. Idiots. I drive through the open gates. They lock immediately afterward.

The garage door opens, the inside lighting up. I pull the Ferrari into the huge space. High-end sports cars I’ve been collecting over the years sparkle with a fresh coat of wax under the fluorescent light. I park my Ferrari in its spot. Just as I’m about to get out, Paige’s phone starts ringing.