Breaking Hollywood (17 page)

‘That was the purpose of my visit.’ The arch of her back curved into her perfect ass as she walked to the window.

Zander didn’t move. Safer over by the wall. He’d yet to manage more than a few minutes alone in a room with her without nudity being involved, so he felt it prudent to remain at a
distance for now.

‘But it seems that you’ve earned a reprieve. Our marketing team have reported that since you were apparently defending a woman from attack, your approval rating has climbed several
points.’

‘I thought it was only presidents who had approval ratings.’

‘Presidents and you,’ she spat sharply.

He wasn’t sure he was getting this. She’d come here to fire him, decided not to and yet she was still giving off very distinct vibes of fury. In Zander’s life, he’d had
no long-term relationships. Every romance lasted a couple of months, sometimes three at the outside, all ended by him. Through choice, he’d never lived with anyone, always preferring freedom
to claustrophobia. Sometimes, like now, he knew he wasn’t getting the message she was delivering. When that kind of miscommunication happened, he’d invariably decide it was too much
work and call it a day. Yet somehow this time the furious pout of her lips and the flash of irritation in her eyes made it impossible to leave, but impossible to stand there any longer.

Walking towards her, she folded her arms, a barrier between them, compelling him to establish the facts.

‘Look, you’re going to have to help me out here. So our working relationship is to continue. And our non-working relationship?’

‘What is Mirren McLean to you?’

To his surprise, there was real anger in her voice.

‘She’s a friend,’ he answered honestly.

‘A friend?’ Scepticism now. ‘A friend that you will fight with another man for?’

Zander laughed, finally getting it – a reaction that riled her even more. ‘Hey, baby, are you jealous?’ he teased, reaching out to touch her face. She slapped his hand away and
he was just about to back off and give her time to cool down when she was on him, her mouth hard on his, her hands in his hair, locking his face to hers.

His blood immediately thundered to every extremity as she fiercely broke off from the kiss and sank to her knees, deftly opening his jeans and tearing down the zipper as she went. By the time
her face was level with his cock, he was hard, ready for her, but she didn’t do the expected. Instead, she slipped her tongue along the length of his shaft and then back down again, this time
going lower, taking one of his balls in her mouth and sucking, while her hand came up to massage his dick. The pain was exquisite, extraordinary, sending tremors shooting around his body. The other
ball now, sucking, teasing, gentle, hard, rough, soft, constantly changing pressure and tempo.

His toned butt clenched as he felt the stirrings of an orgasm. No, not yet. Pulling back, he leaned down, slipped his hands under her shoulders and raised her up, not stopping when she was on
her feet. Instead, he reached underneath her and lifted her,
Officer and a Gentleman
-style, over to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led out onto the balcony.

With the doors still locked, the lights of the iconic Ferris wheel on the end of the pier were visible in the distance. Zander reached over and flicked one of the switches that controlled the
lights in the room to off. They could now see out over one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world, but those on the outside couldn’t see in.

A more poetic man would consider it a metaphor for his life.

He dipped his head and kissed her hard on her perfect pillow lips, then gently placed her down so that she stood in front of him.

She reached for him, but he blocked her hands.

‘My turn,’ he whispered, before taking a step back. Their sex was always hard, passionate, frantic, forceful . . . but not this time.

Eyes flaring with fury, she opened her mouth to speak, but he placed his fingers to her lips, shushing her.

First, he pulled off his T-shirt, revealing shoulders that looked like they had been carved from stone, each inflection and curve expertly crafted. His pecs crowned a torso that rose in a
perfect V, each abdominal muscle clearly defined. In the Land of the Perfect Body, Zander Leith was king, and although she’d seen him, touched him, tasted every inch of him, Adrianna still
emitted an involuntary gasp. He bent, pushed his jeans down further, then stepped out of them, making clear he’d been in the commando squad today. Another gasp from his lady. He could see
this was excruciating for her. No movement, no sound, just the electrifying torture of anticipation.

Gently, Zander turned her round so that she was facing out of the window directly in front of her. He lifted her hair, making her shiver as he traced a line across the back of her neck with his
tongue, moving to her ear, his hot breath making her tremble again. He placed her jet mane over her shoulder to the front, then, still standing behind her, slipped the jacket from her shoulders,
let it fall, revealing the black lace cami top. Silently, using only his two index fingers in slow, synchronized movements, he ran lines down each side of her neck and along the tops of her
shoulders, down her back until they reached the bottom of her delicate top. He raised it up, her arms lifting so he could pull it over her head. Using feather-light strokes, he ran his fingertips
down her spine, then slowly walked round her, stopping when they were face to face, only inches apart, repeating the exploration of her stomach and breasts using only the tips of his fingers. His
gaze was locked on hers for every second, their breathing hard, the electricity between them crackling with desire.

Only when he was sure that there wasn’t a pore of her naked skin that he hadn’t caressed did he open her trousers, letting them drop to join her other discarded clothes on the floor.
She took one step forward, leaving them behind; her only adornments now were a black lace thong and the black leather Louboutin ankle boots. The thong broke with one sharp tug. Just the boots left.
They could stay.

Her eyes were blazing now, with passion, excitement, fury . . . a combination of all. Still he held her gaze, controlling her, refusing to let go, unwilling to let her take the lead.

He used his foot to nudge her legs open, wider, a bit more, then reached below and slipped his fingers inside her.

‘Zander,’ she groaned desperately.

Once again, he shushed her, moving his face closer to hers so that their lips were almost touching. But not quite. He felt her wet, pulsing pussy clench round his fingers. He slowly teased them
out, found her clit, began to massage. A tremor worked its way from her toes to her shoulders.

‘I want you,’ she whispered, her breath coming in short bursts now.

‘Not yet.’

Pulling away from her, he moved around behind her again, this time lifting her hands and placing them on the window, so she was bent forward. Still behind her, he placed his hands over hers, his
chest on her back, his hips on her ass, his feet between her wide-open legs, letting his cock find her, enter her, ride her until they were both drenched in sweat, legs weak, his final, ferocious,
explosive thrusts making her shout his name as she came . . . and came . . . and came . . . and collapsed on the floor.

The lights of the Ferris wheel on the end of Santa Monica Pier were basking the room in a kaleidoscope of colour when he woke and realized he must have dozed for a few minutes. Adrianna was
already up and dressing, her breasts barely contained by the lace cami, her taut buttocks clearly visible in the curves of her trousers.

He pushed himself up on one arm. ‘Hey. Somewhere to be?’

Leaning over, she traced one blood-red nail down the side of his perfect face. ‘I’m on the late flight to London. I’ve got a meeting there tomorrow.’

It wasn’t long enough. He’d come here tonight expecting, almost hoping, that she would break off whatever thing this was that they had, but instead, he just wanted her more,
couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go. Resisting physical cravings had never been his strong point. Like a true addict, his mind was already forming a plan to get more.

‘I have a better idea.’

He pushed himself up, his body groaning, his muscles aching with pleasure and pain as he reached for his phone.

He called a number he’d used a few times before, a personal concierge service that could get him anything he wanted, anytime, anywhere.

The first request was for a limo to take them to another LA destination. The car would be on the way before he disconnected the call.

The second request was for a different mode of transport altogether.

Two hours later, he sat next to Adrianna in the chariot he’d arranged for her. They were just about to depart when he realized his actions required one final communication. The press of
one button connected him to Hollie.

She bypassed ‘Hello’ and went straight to ‘If you’re heartbroken and unemployed, I have three episodes of
Scandal
and a box of cronuts and I’m happy to
share while giving you a lecture on the perils of dating a married woman.’

‘Erm, thanks, Holls, but it turns out I’m neither of those two options.’

‘Oh God. You are to self-discipline what I am to the Atkins,’ she told him, and from the muffled sound he took it that there would soon be one cronut less in the box.

‘Look, I need to go in a minute, but can you cancel the training for tomorrow and block out my schedule for a couple of days?’

‘Damn, not again. Zander, where are—’

‘Mr Leith, Ms Guilloti, if I could just ask you to fasten your seatbelts, as we’re about to take off.’ The flaxen-haired stewardess sashayed off down the aisle and through the
privacy curtain at the front of the Gulfstream G200.

‘Zander, what was . . . ? Zander, are you on a plane? Oh, for the love of God, you’re a nightmare. Where are you going?’

‘I’ll be back in a couple of days, Holls. Seems I’ve got some stuff to take care of in London.’

‘Fix You’ – Coldplay

Sarah

Spike Hollywood, a luscious den of music and debauchery, was the most popular club in LA right now and the hang-out where anyone who was someone wanted to be. And Sarah. From
her vantage point on the staircase between the upper and lower floors, she had eyes on every corner of the club and a full view of the ground-floor bar.

She’d been coming here a couple of nights a week for the last month, and she’d learned some interesting stuff. She knew that every one of the bar staff was skimming the till, the
biggest culprit being the male-model-good-looking head barman, who only rang up every second drink, then balanced out any potential stock deficit by overcharging by 50 per cent in the last two
hours of the night, figuring that the clubbers would be too wasted to notice. Most of the time he was right, and when he wasn’t, he just claimed genuine error and corrected it. The guy could
win an Emmy for his performance of the innocent mistake.

Sarah also knew that the pretty blonde waitress was shagging both the bearded dude behind the bar and his goth girlfriend, neither of whom was in on the other’s secret.

She knew that two of the door staff were dealing coke and amphetamines for a 300 per cent mark-up, which increased by 20 per cent every hour. It was a natty sales strategy that encouraged the
buyers to come early.

She knew that two of the bus girls, whose job it was to keep the tables clean and return empty glasses to the bar, offered the additional service of blow jobs in the store cupboard for thirty
dollars per ejaculation.

And she also knew that she had to get entry to the VVIP room, because that’s where the real action took place. Of course, she could just come back with Davie and the doors to the exclusive
lounge would open to welcome him, but that wasn’t the way to play this. She wasn’t going to use him to further her career and then drag him into the ensuing and inevitable fallout. She
had to do this on her own. She just hadn’t quite figured out how yet.

Her mobile phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Davie.

‘Come home. Require house call. Refusal not an option.’

‘I’m working. Later?’

‘Nope, now. Don’t make me come down there . . .’ He added two laughing-face emojis to let her know he was kidding. Maybe. Over the last couple of months he’d shown up
here on three occasions, totally buggering up her surveillance, given that the moment Davie Johnston appeared, it was all about him.

There was a temptation to refuse, but the truth was, she wanted to see him. It felt like lately they’d had no time for each other, because they’d slipped into completely conflicting
schedules.

She was out most nights and then rose late, before jumping straight into writing or researching something or someone she’d encountered the night before.

Davie, on the other extremely busy hand, was juggling the demands of two shows, so he worked until midnight, then headed straight into the office the following morning, meaning that if she
wanted to see him, she had to go hang out at the studio and hope that he could spare her a few minutes. Not her idea of quality time with her boyfriend. He regularly reminded her that it was only
for a few more months; then this season of
American Stars
would be over and his workload would dramatically decrease. The timescale suited her fine. By that time, she hoped to have the
first draft of her book written, and then they could both take their feet off the gas a little and chill out. Not that she wanted them to live in each other’s pockets. Absolutely not. Her
independence was important to her, and she wasn’t going to lose that or surrender it to a guy. Love and devotion were definite pluses, but codependency absolutely wasn’t.

On the pretence of sending a text, she held her mobile phone up in front of her and slowly scanned the room, videoing the action. It was a method she’d used many times over the years on
dozens of investigations and stories. Later, she’d fast-forward the footage and sometimes it caught something she’d missed. A famous face using a disguise in a corner. A drug deal she
hadn’t spotted first time around. Illicit activity between a couple who’d arrived with other people.