More Than Anything Page 4

  She gave me a sweet pout. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “That’s okay.” I chuckled. “I’m a big boy.”

  “No, it’s not okay.” Her face lit up, and she rose to her feet, running upstairs only to come back a few minutes later holding her purse. She pulled out a polished green stone and handed it to me. “That’s my good luck charm. I picked it up at a thrift store when I was in high school, but it’s worth a lot to me. I take it everywhere, and now, I’m giving it to you.”

  I stared at the beautiful polished stone then looked at her. “I can’t take this from you,” I murmured, though I wanted to. I wanted to have a part of her that meant something to her, and it meant a lot to me that she was choosing to give it to me.

  “You’re not taking it from me. I’m giving it to you.” She handed me the stone then picked up her bear and hugged it to her side, kissing the soft nose then laughing. “I like this guy already—in fact, I might even like him more than I like you.”

  “As long as you like me too.”

  “I do.” Her eyes stayed on mine. “A lot.”

  I’d told myself I would wait, told myself I wouldn’t make her feel that this—us—was a requirement for the time we were spending together, but as her lips parted, I couldn’t really think anymore.

  “Come here,” I said, my eyes fixed on the full pink plumpness I desperately wanted to taste.

  She didn’t hesitate. She came to me, her whole body melting into my arms as she touched her lips to mine.

  I shuddered at the contact, my body unprepared for the force of desire that rocked through me. I tasted her lips, her mouth, and my hands tightened around her as I drowned in the sweetness that was her.

  She moaned, and arousal surged, almost unbearable. I wanted her in ways I’d never thought possible. I delved into her mouth, lost, addicted, hungry…I wanted more, and I was desperate to have it. I rolled on top of her and covered her body with mine, the feeling of her warm softness beneath me making me feel like a king.

  Eight

  Allie

  I’d known, from the moment I saw him, that it would feel like this—like sweetness and heaven. My chest felt light, my stomach felt like I was floating, and his lips…goodness! He knew how to kiss, and I wanted to kiss him until the stars fell from the sky.

  I moaned again, unable to contain my pleasure. His hips rubbed against mine, and I felt his arousal pressing into me, sending a sweet tingle between my legs.

  I dug my fingers into his hair, loving the feel of the silky strands. My hands drifted to his shoulders, his arms, his back. He was all muscle, hard, beautiful, the epitome of temptation.

  One of his palms was at my waist, and it rose slowly, tracing a path up my ribs through the material of the sweater. He stopped just shy of my breast and released my lips. His eyes stayed on mine, the question in the blue depths piercing through the naked desire.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” I whispered, answering his silent question. Not now, not ever.

  He lowered his head and kissed me again then rose, lifting me up to my unsteady feet. He carried me up the stairs to his bedroom, dropping me gently onto the bed. He stood over me and pulled off his sweater, exposing rock-hard muscles. His jeans followed, and then his briefs. I swallowed at the sight of him, naked and glorious. I pulled at my sweater, impatiently taking it off to expose my body.

  His eyes burned a path over me. He slid on top of me, his expression so full of wonder I started to feel like maybe I really was some sort of goddess. He buried his face in my neck, breathing deeply before trailing his lips to the curve of my breast.

  “You’re perfect,” he murmured.

  “So are you.”

  He palmed my breast and tweaked a hard, pink nipple with his thumb. “How did I end up here, with you?”

  I chuckled and rose to my knees, pushing him back so we were both on our knees facing each other. I slid my hand over his hard chest. “Kiss me, Braden.”

  He obliged. One hand cupped my breast then slid down between my legs to feel the wetness there. He kissed me deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his fingers as he stroked me till I started to shudder.

  Then he pulled me toward him, sitting back on his haunches as he lifted me onto his lap to straddle him. His hand curved over my butt, and he urged me down slowly onto the hard length of his cock.

  My head fell back, and I gasped at the intensity of the sensations as he entered me. He filled me completely, stretching me and stroking every sensitive spot inside me. I rocked my hips, unable to keep myself from moving, from wanting to feel more of the sweet friction of him inside me.

  He was looking up into my face, his jaw tight, his eyes hot and heavy with desire.

  “Beautiful.” His voice was rough and husky. He kissed my chin then covered my breast with his mouth. I sighed and moved my hips more deliberately, riding him and feeling my pleasure climb.

  He felt so good, too good. In no time, my hips were bucking, my body shaking as pleasure ripped through me. Only then did he lower me onto the bed, covering my body with his as he thrust deep into me, over and over, until I was screaming his name, begging for release, mindless and breathless with the pleasure. He surged into me, and I exploded, my heart stopping as everything gave way to a thunderous climax.

  Later, I lay in his arms, a silly smile on my face as I traced circles on his chest. “I don’t want to go back to the real world,” I said, thinking of all the calls I still hadn’t bothered to answer.

  “This is the real world,” he replied.

  “I have to be back in the city by New Year’s…the premiere…” I trailed off and looked at him, suddenly afraid—afraid of losing him, of losing the magic I’d felt in the one day I’d spent with him. “Do you think we could make this work?”

  “I want to try,” he replied.

  “Me too.” I sighed. “We have very different lives…”

  He lifted my face to his. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I want to be with you. from the moment I saw you on those stairs, it has felt like…”

  “Magic.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know how we’ll make it work, but what I do know is I’m not letting you go, not if I can help it.”

  I sighed and laid my head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  A few days later at the premiere, he was right by my side. It was the first time I’d been seen in public since Christmas Eve, and the press went mad. I held on to to Braden’s hand as we climbed out of the limo and stepped onto the red carpet, and from across the velvet rope, cameras flashed as the paps threw question after question at me.

  “Where have you been, Allie?”

  “Are you dating Braden Rhodes?”

  “Where did you two meet?”

  I smiled for them, feeling the comfort of Braden’s hand around mine. He waited while I took pictures with my co-stars, as comfortable on the red carpet as he was everywhere else. At the wide entrance of the event, the official network host covering the event approached me for a quick interview. When they finished asking the routine questions about the movie and my relationships with my co-stars, they got around to the one question I was sure they couldn’t wait to ask.

  “You’re here with investment billionaire Braden Rhodes, and everyone has been speculating. Are you two together together, and is it serious?”

  I smiled and met Braden’s eyes just a few feet away. He gave me a slow smile, and I felt my cheeks heat. Once again, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.

  “Yes, it is,” I said to the interviewer. “He’s my husband.”

  Book Two

  Present

  Nine

  Allie

  I had never been so tired in my life. I looked from camera to camera, a fixed smile on my face. Luckily this was the last of the premieres for the latest movie in the box-office-smashing franchise I’d been a part of since the start of my career. After the rounds of premieres, I planned to take a break for the first time in year
s.

  Other people would call me lucky—so many parts in so few years—but I didn’t feel lucky. I felt drained, weak, empty. I wanted to collapse on a bed and sleep forever.

  “Gimme a smile, Allie.”

  “Come on, Allie, let’s see the dress.”

  “No date tonight, Allie?”

  I smiled and waved toward the crowd with an expression of recognition at a random face. Who had taught me to do that? I couldn’t remember, in the long line of people who felt like I was their protégée. Older actresses, agent, directors, manager—it could have been anyone.

  One more pose. I was counting the seconds in my head. I’d been standing and smiling for a count of two hundred and seventy-five already. I was exhausted and tempted to walk away, to just keep walking until I found a place to lay my head and sleep.

  “You’re glowing, Allie. What’s your secret?”

  How could I be glowing when I felt like a wreck? What did they see, these people? Inside, I still felt like the overweight girl who had worn braces all through high school. That feeling had never completely gone away, except for one short period in my life when I’d felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

  I tore my thoughts from that direction, forbidding my mind from venturing toward that place of hurt. I turned my gaze to a spot in the crowd where a couple of heavy girls were waving frantically at me, and I smiled in their direction. Another fan base—the swans, as I called them privately. They took encouragement from my journey that they would one day lose weight and blossom into beautiful women. I wanted to tell them all that they were already beautiful.

  It was time to pose with my co-stars, a few more pictures. There was a tall, dark-haired man in the crowd. My gaze zipped to him, my heart stopping for one moment with wild, uncontrollable hope.

  Braden.

  His name slipped into my mind, through all my armor, and with it came painful memories and crippling hurt.

  It wasn’t Braden in the crowd, of course. The man actually looked nothing like him. I turned my gaze away, fixing the momentary lapse in my smile

  Someone put an arm around my waist.

  “Have I told you how good you look tonight?” said Guy Fletcher, my co-star and rumored lover. He loved women, and with his classic good looks and sexy British accent, they flocked to him like bees to pollen. He unapologetically fueled the rumors that we were dating.

  To him, it was all about his star credentials, and it made him look like more of a big deal when the whole world thought he was sleeping with me. The fans loved it too, so he and his management team made hints and encouraged the Guylie shippers. It pissed me off to no end.

  “You have.” My voice was tight.

  “Well, let me say it again,” he said smoothly, his words clipped and precise in the way that made the fans swoon. He let his hand linger on my shoulder. “You look perfect.”

  “Thanks, Guy. You look good too, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  He laughed. “I do.”

  There was a tiny white Band-Aid on his forehead where he’d gotten injured during our last week on set, a fight scene filmed while hanging off the roof of a skyscraper in Abu Dhabi. I lifted a finger to touch it.

  “How’s your head?” I asked, concerned.

  He caught my hand and kissed it. “I love that you care.”

  Ugh, I thought, hearing the audible swoon from the crowd. I stepped away from Guy’s arm as he placed another kiss on my cheek, took a few steps, and smiled again at another camera, then another. Then I closed my eyes as everything began to spin. Someone shouted a warning, and when I opened my eyes again, the carpet was coming straight for my face.

  What a Merry Christmas, I thought wryly, just before the impact, and then everything went blissfully black.

  I woke up in a dimly lit hospital room, my head pounding and my throat dry. There were flowers on a table near the bed, and their scent hung heavy in the air.

  A clear tube was attached to my arm, and I groaned, remembering the moment I’d collapsed on the red carpet. The tabloids would have a field day, the entertainment news would run the video on a loop, and there were probably memes already spreading around on social media.

  A nurse came into the room.

  “You’re awake,” she said pleasantly. “You were out for a whole night and day.” She poured a glass of water from a jug and handed it to me.

  I took it gratefully, drowning my thirst with the cold liquid.

  She checked my vitals. “You’re okay,” she said reassuringly. “You were just exhausted. What you need is to take it easy and rest.”

  “I know that,” I groaned.

  She gave me a concerned glance. “Well, I’ll get the doctor.”

  She repeated much of what the nurse had said, words like chronic exhaustion, stress, dehydration, rest, and so on until I was feeling drowsy again.

  “Thankfully, you didn’t break your nose when you fell,” she finished. “A couple of people were worried you’d ruin your face.”

  I thought about that later—my face, the most critical part of the product that was Allie Gilbert. Sometimes, I hated it, and it made me feel guilty because I knew how lucky I was compared to others.

  I slept again, and when I woke, they transferred some of my calls. My parents had phoned from Haiti, where they’d taken a break from their busy, lifesaving work to check on me. They’d been reassured that I was fine, and now they lectured me about getting enough rest.

  A short while later, I got another call from Celine Rhodes, Braden’s mother.

  “I’ve been so worried about you, dear.”

  “I’m fine. I was just exhausted.”

  “Well, you should take some time to rest…somewhere nice and quiet without all the fans screaming at you all day and asking for pictures.”

  I chuckled. “I will do that.”

  “I know just the place,” she said, and I listened to her chatter about some resort she’d heard about with natural hot baths and vitamin infusions.

  “Have you spoken to Braden?” she asked suddenly, surprising me. We never spoke about him.

  I swallowed the surge of pain and blinked rapidly as tears ached behind my lids. “I’m not expecting to.”

  Celine was silent for a moment. “I’m sure he’ll call.”

  Why should he? There was no reason at all. It had been almost two years since our separation after barely one year of marriage. I’d locked out the agony of that failure with hard, constant work, but it never fully went away. Whenever I thought about him, I felt like my heart was being dragged over jagged glass.

  Not long after the call, I woke up from another snooze to find my assistant sitting by the window, scrolling through her phone.

  “Meredith.”

  “Hey, you’re awake.” She rose swiftly and came over to give me an impulsive hug. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said softly before switching back to work mode. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Matthew has arranged a limo to take you home whenever you’re ready.”

  She’d brought me a change of clothes and makeup. I dressed, doing my best to mask the remnants of fatigue. I brushed my hair over one shoulder and added extra color to my cheeks.

  Meredith looked me over. “You look good.”

  “I hope so.” I chuckled. “I’m sure they expect me to come out looking like death.”

  “Nah. They love you. They’re just glad you’re okay.”

  “And that my nose is intact.”

  Meredith laughed. “That too.”

  She took care of all the paperwork, and as we walked to the elevator, the nurses in the nurses’ station clapped and waved. I waved back, feeling a little tender inside.

  “See,” Meredith said matter-of-factly. “Everyone’s happy.”

  At the front entrance, a black limo was waiting, and my manager, Matthew Whitney, made a great show of helping me into the car while cameras flashed from the photographers stationed outside.

  “Are you anorexic, Allie?�
��

  “Was it cocaine?”

  “Are you an addict?”

  “Allie, will you go to rehab?”

  “How did they know I was leaving the hospital?” I groaned once I was safely inside the car.

  “There have been a few camped out here since you were brought in,” Matthew said in a soothing, patient voice, making me feel like a drama queen for complaining. He was always impeccably groomed, and he was currently wearing a striped three-piece with a bright pink pocket square. “You’re big news, Allie.”

  I sighed. “Whose idea was the black limo? It looks like a hearse. I’m not dead yet.”

  “And won’t be for a long time.” He put his phone down on his lap and smiled at me. “We’re thinking a spa resort, somewhere in Europe, with limited press appearances so they don’t forget about you. Maybe a date with a European movie star to fuel rumors of a breakup with Guy… Of course, you would have to interrupt the break for the New Year’s Eve Gala in New York. You’re already committed, and they’re raising money for something or the other…”

  “Mental illness,” I interjected.

  “Also, Sabrina Tate wants to interview you before the party. They’re building a whole set for it. It’s fucking unmissable…”

  He kept talking and as he planned my next few weeks, including what I was and was not allowed to say or do, I zoned out. I was tired of being little more than a product, a valuable property managed by the studios and other experts. I was exhausted. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like a real human being…

  Well, I could, but those memories came with their own special kind of unbearable hurt.

  I closed my eyes. That one Christmas at Gracie House…that one period of heaven before Braden and I had to face the real world and the consequences of our whirlwind romance. I would have given anything to go back to that time.