Over-Exposed (Perspectives Book 2) Page 3

  “‘Cause he’s my lawyer.”

  “Perfect. I’m Lisa’s lawyer. Shh, it’s ringing. And stay there -- it’s a video call.” Natalie felt a surge of giddy excitement, something she hadn’t felt in... hell, since college, probably. She knew her friend would be appropriately excited about all this and that she’d take the secret to her grave if Natalie asked her to.

  Lisa looked surprised to hear from her. “Hey! I thought you were too busy to-- What’s that look? Do you have news?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Finally!” Lisa yelled so loud, Sam raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not the partnership. There’s no word on that, yet. Are you alone?”

  “For a few more minutes...” Lisa bit her lip, but couldn’t stop her grin.

  “Lucky bitch,” Natalie chuckled, although she was truly happy her best friend had found someone. Not just “someone,” but someone gorgeous and funny who treated her like a goddess.

  “What’s your news? Tell me quick before--”

  Lisa stopped talking because Natalie had turned, putting the sofa behind her with Sam in full view of the camera.

  “Hi, I’m Sam,” he said with a wave.

  “Um, yeah. No shit. I’m very... How did this... Confused.”

  Natalie turned again so Sam was out of frame. “I know, right?”

  “Oh my god, Nat! He’s beautiful and he’s not wearing a shirt. How did he end up in your condo?”

  Sam snickered.

  “Long story. He carjacked me.” She shrugged. “Guess it’s not such a long story. His lawyer said he has to stay here, and we can’t tell anybody or the media will be up my ass.”

  “Jesus. You know I’m a bank vault, but he’s all over the news. What are you gonna do with him?” A deep voice in the background called Lisa’s name.

  “Sounds like you’re about to get very busy,” Natalie grinned. “I’ll tell you more later. Give him one for me. And take pictures.”

  “You wish.”

  “You’re right,” she laughed and disconnected.

  Her obscenely-dressed couch-ornament was smirking at her. “Feel better now?”

  She flipped him a bird and left the room.

  Hours later her mood wasn’t improved, even after she had scrounged up an old t-shirt that committed the necessary sin of covering Sam’s beautiful body. She’d also given him a pair of plaid boxers which had once belonged to an ex-boyfriend, but now lived among her pajamas. Unfortunately, seeing less of his skin was little comfort since the very energy around the man was carnal.

  She wished she could put a bag over his head, too. It would do her good to hide his dark, bedroom eyes and those incredible cheekbones. And that mouth. Michelangelo couldn’t have sculpted anything more beautiful than Sam Danmore’s lips. Back when they lived in the dorm, Gabby had dubbed them “vagina-eating lips,” but that was before Natalie ripped down the posters.

  Here she was, fifteen years later and she still couldn’t look at his face without her own heating with both lust and hatred. All this time, whenever his sexy mug grinned at her from magazines in the grocery aisle, she wanted to punch something. Every time he appeared on television, be it an interview or an action scene or god forbid a love scene, she felt she could spit venom. Now he was in her home -- on her sofa and on her television, where the ladies of The View were arguing about what circumstances might have led Sam Danmore to have sex with a teenage girl.

  Natalie sat at her kitchen table and pretended to work on her laptop... anything to avoid eating him alive with her eyes.

  How in the actual fuck did this happen?

  Chapter Four

  THE REST OF NATALIE’S day passed in a surrealistic blur. She sent Kari a note to please reschedule the video conference so she could do it from home tomorrow, rather than fight her way through the media circus.

  Then she went through her calendar and emailed apologies and requests to reschedule all her appointments for the next couple days. This fiasco damn well better be over by then. She was way behind on her billable hours for the day and didn’t expect things to improve until her uninvited guest was gone.

  Technically, he wasn’t bothering her. He had borrowed a book from her shelf -- she didn’t know which one, but it kept him quiet for hours. He didn’t look at her, he didn’t talk to her. Still, she was hyper-aware of him and couldn’t focus on the pleadings she needed to draft.

  Sam Danmore didn’t have to do very much to be a distraction.

  Around midday, Sam made himself a sandwich and offered to make one for Natalie, too. Annoyed at his arrogance, she refused and said she wasn’t hungry. Her hatred of him didn’t fill her belly, though.

  He winked as he took a seat across from her. “If you don’t want a sandwich, I’m sure I can find you something else to eat.”

  Natalie wanted to smack the sexy smirk off his face. “No, thank you.” Her voice was clipped. “I’ll make my own.” As she stood in the kitchen making her sandwich, she couldn’t help but notice the way the T-shirt she lent him molded to his chest. Those pecs must be insured by Lloyd’s of London. Hell, every inch of him probably was.

  After a wasted afternoon of damp panties, an anxious stomach, and no billable work product, she was shocked when the poster boy for washboard abs suggested they order pizza.

  “You can eat like that? I thought you had to stay ripped while you’re shooting a movie.”

  “Lucky for me, I’m not shooting a movie,” he grinned. “Put it on my tab.”

  She spent the next forty minutes annoyed at herself for imagining the things he could do to pay her back for his growing tab. When the delivery guy buzzed to come up, Natalie told Sam, “If you stand against the wall in the kitchen, he won’t be able to see you.”

  As soon as she opened the door, though, Sam slipped into her bedroom, instead. She didn’t like him being in there, but the pizza guy was in a chatty mood. Feigning a hacking cough, she overtipped him and sent him away, then went after Sam. She found the bastard in her walk-in closet, of all places.

  “Is there something I can help you find?” she asked in her ice queen voice.

  He examined a little blue cocktail dress. “No thanks, I’m just browsing.”

  “Get out!”

  “I’m exploring. I see the ugly suit is business as usual. That’s a shame.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Yeah, since you asked. You’ve actually got some women’s clothing in here. Do you ever wear it?”

  “Screw you.”

  At the raised eyebrow and twinkle in his eye, she scowled and walked out.

  The man loved pizza. Like, seriously loved it. It was almost a turn-on to hear the soft groans of pleasure rumbling in his chest, to see the way those sinful lips looked all slick with grease. And the boyish happiness that transformed his face with each bite.

  Fucking hell.

  She cleared her throat. “I guess you like the pizza.”

  His dark eyes focused on her, lids heavy with food-lust even as he gave what appeared to be an embarrassed grin. “Yeah, I haven’t had any in... it’s gotta be close to six months.” Then his lashes lowered, and the pizza-loving boy was gone and the man-whore was back. “I know just how to thank you, too,” he said dragging his hot gaze down to her chest and back, instantly filling her with hot need and hotter hatred.

  When it was finally late enough to feign exhaustion, Natalie handed him a stack of folded bedding and a pillow. “Do you think your people will get you out of here tomorrow?”

  He dropped the linens on the couch and cupped her chin in his warm hand, stroking a thumb over her lower lip. With a disingenuous grin, he said, “I happen to know there’s a queen-size bed in the other room.”

  Natalie ignored the dampening of her panties and looked down her nose at him, despite his superior height. “Your forced invitation doesn’t extend to my bedroom.”

  He chuckled. “Does the sofa open up?”

  “Nope. I don’t have many overnigh
t guests.” As soon as the words were out, she cringed, expecting the slow, devilish grin he hit her with.

  “That’s a shame,” he murmured, eyes wandering freely over her tank top and sleep shorts like he had x-ray vision or something. “You’re too hot to sleep alone.”

  Natalie snorted as the butterflies in her belly died and were eaten by stomach acid. “Sleeping alone is peaceful, you should try it. Oh that’s right -- you are.” She trumped his phony, oversexed grin with a smirk of her own and shut herself in her room.

  She was not even fucking close to tired. Her head was in chaos. Best she could hope for was to fall into a media coma, so she flipped through the stations on her bedroom TV, on which the choices were:

  A serious news report about Sam;

  Larry King interviewing a pretty, young production assistant who claimed Sam shook her hand inappropriately when they were introduced on a film set last year;

  Clips from Sam’s early action movies;

  An entertainment news reporter whose eyes gleamed each time he said “man-whore;”

  Clips from Sam’s later action movies;

  “Law & Order;”

  Clips from Sam’s recurring character on one of those critical-darling pay-channel shows with lots of nudity.

  Natalie clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the bed.

  Ah, fuck. It was gonna be a long night.

  * * *

  Something was digging into her ribs. The remote. She set it on the nightstand and checked the time on her phone. It was a little after three A.M.

  Oh joy. It had been at least fifteen minutes since she’d dozed off. That had to be good for a fraction of a REM cycle. She yanked the blanket and rolled over violently, if rolling over in bed could ever be described as “violent.”

  How was she going to get any sleep with Sam Fucking Danmore in her living room?

  She didn’t wonder for a moment whether she’d dreamt him. Over the years she’d had plenty of dreams starring Sam Danmore, but his energy and his scent didn’t linger when she woke up.

  Also, in the dreams they had sex, not arguments.

  Telling herself a shot of Jack Daniels would help her sleep, she quietly opened her door and tiptoed through the dark to the kitchen. Feeling around with the lights off, she found the bottle on the counter and started to search for a shot glass in the cabinet. Rather than try to pour in the dark, she’d bring the nightcap back to her room.

  That was her intent, anyway.

  Instead, the sudden light from the refrigerator fried her retinas, and she squeezed her eyes shut while images of a naked Sam Danmore floated behind her eyelids.

  “Shit! You scared the fuck out of me! I thought you were asleep!” She covered her eyes with one hand and hugged the bottle closer with the other.

  “Yeah, back atcha,” he grunted. “I closed the fridge. You can open your eyes.”

  “Thanks anyway.” She shook her head, scowling under her hand. “Who sleeps nude on a stranger’s couch?”

  She heard him smirk. “Is this a trick question?”

  “G’night. Jack and I are going back to bed, now.”

  His sexy voice, deep and raspy with sleep called after her, “Why don’t we make it a threesome?”

  To her amazement and pride, her voice didn’t shake when she retorted, “Why don’t we not?” As soon as her door was shut behind her, she drank straight from the bottle and collapsed on the bed.

  Good lord, the bastard is too gorgeous.

  And naked. Way too naked.

  And she was stuck with him until... shit, it could be a day, it could be a week or more.

  Eventually, she fell asleep with Jack and woke up with a headache.

  Shutting off the alarm, she grabbed her head and made her way to the bathroom (thank god there was one en-suite and a separate one for guests and man-whores). Evan was going to take gleeful joy in kicking her ass this morning.

  The shower steamed the alcohol from her system, though the tropical scent of her favorite lotion turned her stomach when she rubbed it into her freshly-scrubbed skin. She got dressed and padded quietly to the kitchen.

  Given that it was five-thirty in the morning, she was right to assume her unwanted guest was still asleep. In the early dawn light, she could barely make out the strong lines of his face and hints of his lean-muscled body. Thankfully, his lower half was covered with the sheet. If his people couldn’t retrieve him today she would have to go out and get him some clothes, because sitting around staring at Sam Danmore’s gorgeous face and perfect body was a colossal waste of time -- a fact she unfortunately knew too well.

  Moving silently around the kitchen, she found a protein bar and her water bottle. She pulled a pad from her briefcase and jotted a quick note: At the gym. Back in an hour. She toyed with adding “feel free to be gone when I return” or “try not to fuck any teenagers while I’m gone,” but opted to keep those thoughts to herself.

  The annoyingly-endearing sound of his light snores stayed with her all the way to the gym.

  Chapter Five

  WORST. WORKOUT. EVER. Natalie had anger and energy to spare, punching and kicking the bag faster and harder than ever. But Evan would not stop speculating about what really happened with Sam Danmore and the girl in his trailer, and how he believed Sam was innocent, but then why did he disappear and where did he go? Knowing how much Natalie hated Sam. Gabby tried to get Evan off the subject, but he was a dog with a bone.

  For a lawyer, Natalie was a shitty liar. It was killing her that she couldn’t tell Evan and Gabby that the mysterious movie star on the lam was probably still sound asleep on her sofa. After an hour listening to the hunky trainer’s conspiracy theories in defense of his celebrity crush, she was ready to give him a roundhouse kick to the skull to shut him up. Her head was enough of a scrambled mess over the cocky bastard when she was in his presence; she could do without additional commentary on how soulful and sexy his eyes were, or how fabulously he had filled out his jeans in his last movie.

  When she got home she stood with keys in hand and prayed to every deity she’d ever heard of that Sam Danmore was no longer in her condo. She walked in to find neatly-folded linens on the couch and the smell of coffee, but no sign of--

  “Hi honey. How was Jazzercise?”

  Shee-it.

  The asshole who had starred in more of her fantasies than she could count walked out of her bathroom in a cloud of herbal steam, gorgeous body glistening above the towel which hung precariously low from his narrow hips. His wet hair looked as dark as his eyes and stuck up in all directions as if it had just been thoroughly rubbed with a towel. Probably the same towel which was presently failing in its valiant effort to hide America’s favorite bad boy’s partial erection.

  Natalie scowled when he slid one large, tan hand over the offensive protrusion. How was it possible for her mouth to water and go dry simultaneously? Jesus, she hated him! She leveled a withering look at him with a flat, “Really?”

  His husky chuckle was the same one she’d heard hundreds of times when that dark gaze was fixed on sexy starlets, rather than curveless attorneys. A dimple creased one dark-stubbled cheek. “Keep staring at it and I’ll have room for an audience to see the show under this tent.”

  She made a disgusted sound and turned back to the kitchen. He followed her and it was his turn to stare as she cracked open a bottle of water. “What?” she demanded?

  He nodded toward her arm and sounded surprised when he said, “You’ve got some nice little guns on you.” His grin was one she had never seen before. It looked almost genuine.

  “From kickboxing. Not Jazzercise, you presumptive ass.”

  “I’m presumptive?” Perfect movie-star teeth flashed with his belly-laugh. “You ever look in the mirror, counselor?”

  “I’m not the caveman who assumed that because I’m a woman, my workout must be a group dance class.”

  His mouth stopped laughing, but his eyes didn’t. “Honest mistake. I hadn’t seen your arms
when I said it, and you’re graceful and built like a dancer.”

  Fuck him. What, is he trying to be charming, now? She lifted a defensive chin. “Fighters are graceful. Float like a butterfly--”

  “Sting like a bee, yeah, I got it. There are a couple things I don’t get, though, like why you hate me so damn much -- not that I blame you, it’s just not the response I usually get.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, letting him know not to expect enlightenment. “That’s only one thing.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up a little, and his dark eyes made a quick, yet thorough sweep from her messy ponytail and flushed face to her sports bra, over her toned stomach, past her little spandex shorts, down her legs to her sneakers. “I also don’t get why anyone would wanna hide a tight body like yours under an ugly-ass suit.”

  Natalie watched as he turned and walked back to the bathroom. She hardly registered the movement of his gorgeous ass beneath the towel, because for a moment she could’ve sworn he looked at her with real human male interest rather than the drive of a sex machine.

  She closed herself in her room and took a shower... after five minutes of internal debate over whether to lock the damn door. There was no way Sam Danmore had any regard for her. He was a man-whore stuck in a tiny condo with no other female company. Before last night, who knew how long it had been since he slept alone? Even if he did walk in on her, the glass shower door was textured. All he’d see would be a skinny blob. And then she’d tell him to fuck off and get the hell out of her home. Except, then she’d be hounded by paparazzi and that would definitely not help her bid for partnership.

  She finally locked the door and couldn’t help but imagine her uninvited guest breaking in, anyway. After all, locked doors never kept him out in the movies. As she soaped her skin, she tried not to think about opening her eyes and finding him there, watching her with those hot, dark eyes. The imagined scenario didn’t make her nearly as angry as it should have, and she felt her pussy respond with enthusiasm.

  Turning the water full-cold, she mentally berated herself for behaving like a goddamn teenager.