Total Trainwreck (9 page)

“I am,” he says, staring resolutely forward. “She’s got a price. She always does. It won’t be pretty. It’ll hurt like hell to hand over the hundred million she’s going to ask for. But I’m willing to do it.”

“Devon, what does she have on you?” I ask, unable to believe there’s any secret in the world worth handing over cash like that.

“Don’t,” he says, turning away from me, pain seizing his entire body. “Please don’t ask me that. Everybody’s got parts of their past they need to forget.” I pale at his answer, knowing how right he is. There are big parts of mine that need forgetting, too. I can’t demand to know his if I’m not willing to share mine. “I want to walk away from all this, if...”

“If what?” I ask, leaning into him, forgetting my original question all too easily. He turns back. His face twists. He looks up, his eyes locking with mine.

“You’ve got to give up something, too.” He’s now stone-faced serious.

“What?”

“I need you sober. No more late-night binges with Spencer Hugo. No more party up the nose with Maria Rhodes. It all ends. I refuse to lose someone else to addiction. You’ve gotta promise me it’s over.”

I suck in a deep breath and sit back, pulling my hands away. “Spence, Maria. They’re all I’ve got, Devon.”

“And I’m not saying you can’t be friends with them. I know what they mean to you. But if we’re going to do this, you’ve got to be sober.” He takes my hands again. “Can you do that?”

“I’m already doing that,” I argue.

“No you aren’t.” He looks at the glass of wine on the counter.

“Wine is not my problem. I’m a happy drunk. It’s the drugs that get me. But honestly, Devon, I’ve had the opportunity to use plenty of times and I haven’t wanted to. I’m fine. I promise.”

He shakes his head and licks his lips, readying to argue. I stop him before he can.

“Just one glass a night to relax after set. You can pour it. That’s all I’m asking. Hell, I’ll take a pee test for you every day. I don’t want the drugs anymore. I only want you.” This last admission slips out. His eyes close and he sucks in a breath like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear me say this. Once again, I’m leveled by how much this man loves me.

“Okay.” He gives in. “But I’m pouring it, and that’s all it is. One glass.”

“One glass.” I nod my acceptance of the terms. “So what happens now?”

“I’ll call my attorneys in the morning. Heather will be served with papers. Then our overpriced attorneys will get busy hammering out a settlement.”

“So, that’s your plan? You’re going to buy her off and hope she walks away without outing you?”

“If I put a check for two hundred million in her hand, she’d damned sure better.”

“Two hundred million?” The thought of eight zeros is staggering.

“That’s my initial offer along with joint custody of Angel.” He looks away like the thought makes him physically ill.

“Devon, that’s too much.”

He shakes his head and turns back, taking my hands. “Happiness doesn’t have a price. I’m sick and tired of hiding with you. I’ll work out a settlement. We’ll forget it and finally focus on us. Together. For the whole world to see.” My stomach does a backward somersault off the high dive at the idea of going public with him. But after all we’ve been through, this answer sounds too simple.

“Writing a check seems way too easy.”

“Writing a two-hundred-million-dollar check is far from easy. But there is one more small detail.”

“What?” I answer, dreading his next move.

“So, you’re okay with all this? If I call my attorneys and get this ball rolling, you’ll stay here with me and things are good between us?” he asks, making sure before he continues.

“You’re giving me everything I’ve asked for.” I rest my hand on his. “Of course, I’m fine with it.”

His gaze turns wickedly dark. He nods once. His temples flex. An unresolved anger bubbles up from his depths. In a quick motion, he stands and walks to the door, making sure it’s locked.

“You left me high and dry on the boat.” He reaches a hand down his back and grabs the wool sweater between his shoulder blades, pulling it effortlessly up and over his head. A sliver of taut, tan muscle peeks from the gap between his jeans and the hem of a white undershirt. I lick my lips, wishing my tongue were on his flesh instead. “Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe it.” I swallow a giggle and study the floor.
That night. Oh, that night!

“Devon...” I start to explain, but he grabs my shoulders and pulls me off the couch. His waiting arms catch me, holding me so close the heat of his abdomen radiates through the thin T-shirt.

“I’m about to fuck you so good you’ll never leave me again.”

His words are a lightning streak straight to my crotch. He doesn’t hesitate for one single second on his promise. His fingers hold my chin. Our lips find a rhythm they know too well. Only, it’s not soft and delicate like first kisses should be. Whatever I started in him on the boat has been pent up way too long. Growing into an unnatural need only I can satisfy. Now that I’m in his arms and willing, he’s about to take exactly what he wants. This unrestrained passion wakes a primal response in me. An ugly mix of need and want roar to life, and I must have more, so much more than his kisses.

I spring into the embrace, wrapping my legs around his waist. His arms slide down my back and sides and come to rest under my ass, boosting me up higher on his waist so he can walk. Our kisses go deeper, so deep his teeth tear at the delicate flesh around my mouth. I don’t give a fuck. Tear it wide open, bust my lip. Do whatever he has to do.

“Couch or floor?” he asks between kisses.

“Both,” I answer breathlessly, pulling at his T-shirt. Our lips part only long enough to rip it over his head before we crash into one another again.

He opts for a plush rug in front of the fireplace. I wiggle free from my jacket and we begin shedding clothes as fast as we can.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers into my ear. “Don’t ever leave me again.” I pull away to skin my pants. I throw them to the side and reach for my panties. “Uh-uh,” he says slowly, and stops my hands.

Oh god. I lie back and try to calm the dangerous nerves flying through my body. From my head to my toes I am shaking violently. Like an addict needing a fix, my body quakes under him, unable to hold still. With quivering arms I reach out and desperately grip his back. Mercifully, he decides not to tease me. Instead of taking them off slow and easy as I fear he will, he gives one hard yank and my panties rip at the seam. It’s like fucking magic. He tosses them over his shoulder and slides a few fingers into me. My bare feet brace against the carpet and I buck off the floor. I don’t need to see the appreciative smile on his face to know how wet I am. His fingers disappear again and pop back out. Now he’s playing with me.

“No, please don’t,” I pant under him. So desperate. “I need you, Devon. It hurts,” I whimper. Because it does. It physically hurts to be so close to him, so severely needing him and not having him inside me. And how the hell he’s waiting is beyond me. I saw the look in his eyes. I know how badly he needs this too. My stomach churns. There’s only one thing that will make this sick feeling go away.

I push my thighs wide, look into his eyes and tearfully plead, “Please, I need to feel you.” Devon’s look is hungry, shocked and every bit as desperate as mine.

He plunges into me and we both groan under the sheer release of feeling each other again.

“Is this what you need, Sunshine?” he pants, eyes closed against my cheek.

“Yes,” I moan into his shoulder. Our lips find each other again. Devon sucks hard on my bottom lip while he drives into me again and again. It’s rough, but it’s everything I need. With each thrust he pushes the needy feeling from me. He’s mine. Once again he is mine and I am his. Again and again he uses me, filling me up to bursting and then pulling away, making me want more. Why does sex have to involve pulling away? Why can’t it just be filling and filling over again? I hate the feeling of him leaving, but god do I love the feeling of him coming.

It takes no time at all to find what we’re looking for in each other. He builds to the bursting point, his extra girth putting pressure on my already sputtering G-spot. With a final thrust we both explode, then quiver and shake together for what seems like a blissful eternity. This orgasm is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. All the need, all the want, all the love I have for this man curl in the pit of my stomach. They ball together and then fly out of me like a fucking mushroom cloud of love, destroying me. I’m left raw and weak, still shaking beneath him, but now for a very different reason. A very, very different reason. A reason that is sweeter and more perfect than a reason could hope to be ever again.

For silent seconds we lie together, soaked in the sweat of love and need. Labored breath rocks our bodies as one, clasped so tightly, neither wanting to be the first to let go. So we don’t. We stay like that, him inside me, slowly growing flaccid, but not pulling out.

“I love you, Carly Klein,” Devon whispers in my ear. And just like that, I know I’ll never leave him again.

“I love you more,” I answer.

“Now about the couch,” he says breathlessly, urging his hips into our favorite rhythm again.

Chapter Twelve

Devon is in his zone. Earphones on. Annotated script in his lap. It’s a polite way of saying
don’t talk to me
. Sure, I got a chaste morning kiss and a cup of coffee, but I’m still pissed. After the night we shared, a girl shouldn’t have to climb out of bed for a week if she doesn’t want to.

Instead, I’m sitting on a barstool, waiting on a ride to set, remembering all the ways he used me. Hell, we maybe got an hour of sleep before the alarms went off. Jane is perky, fresh and perfect. She’s about to get punched in the teeth if she doesn’t bring it down a notch. Ernest is the only one who seems to get my mood. He’s cutting a wide path.

“Breakfast?’ Jane asks, checking her enthusiasm after a stern look from Ernest.

“Um...no,” I say, distracted by Devon’s inattention. She follows my gaze and watches him for a few seconds.

“Would you like to go over your lines?” Jane refills my cup with fresh coffee.

“No.” For the first time ever my lines are memorized down to the punctuation. Thanks to fifteen hours of air travel and a raging need to avoid thinking about a certain someone. A certain someone who is now ignoring me. I don’t know why this rattles me so. We’re both here to work. I shake it away, grab my coat and head for the porch, knowing a cigarette will break me out of my morning funk.

“Jerrie forwarded some documents for you to sign.” Jane follows me to the outdoor sitting area and puts a pen in my hand. The logo of my new money manager shines in gold leaf atop the letterhead. Three stark red sticker arrows indicate where my signature is required.

“I bet Jerrie loves having you around. It would’ve taken me months to get these back to her,” I say while signing.

“Jerrie was very excited to hear I was on board.” Jane flips through the pages for me to sign. “Speaking of...” She pulls another stack of pages from her bag. “I’ve signed my NDA agreement and had it notarized. It requires your signature, as well.”

“NDA?” I question.

“I insist on it,” Devon says in my ear. I startle at his touch, surprised he has joined us outside. “Keeps our secrets.” He leans in and places a firm kiss in the hollow between my ear and collarbone. It’s my spot. He knows what this does to me. My annoyance vanishes before he pulls away.

An SUV slides to a stop in front of us. Devon holds the door and ushers me through the breaking dawn into the car’s warmth.

Filming the first
Mighty
—a time that feels about a million miles away now—driving to set was a freaking zigzag of emotion. Most days the miles couldn’t pass quickly enough. Other days a snail’s pace was too fast. Our relationship was a roller coaster of emotion and I never knew what the day might bring. Not anymore. We’re on a path. And at the end of that path lies everything I’ve ever wanted. I snuggle into his side. He takes my hand in his and kisses the top of my head. A soft sigh pushes out of me.

Devon’s phone pings. He pulls it from his pocket, reads the message and holds it out for me to see.

Heather’s attorney confirmed receipt of papers. I’ll circle back when I hear more.

My heart stutters in my chest. Holy shit. This is big. Really fucking big. He’s pulled the trigger. The bullet is flying. And there’s no stopping it now. Part of me is thrilled to read this. Part of me is terrified.

“Devon, how do we do this?” I ask, squeezing his hand, because honestly, this is way beyond the scope of life for me.

“Well, it’s quite fascinating. You just wrap your fingers around the palm of my hand and I do the same to you. And see—” he lifts our hands to show me “—we’re holding hands!”

“No, you smart-ass!” I dig my elbow into his ribs. “I mean this.” I wave a finger between us. “What is this supposed to look like? Especially when the story of your separation breaks?”

“The story breaks when we’re ready for it to break. Heather’s greed guarantees her silence. She can’t breathe a word about anything if she wants her money. And India’s working on the rest.” He tucks his phone away and pulls me closer, sensing my rising anxiety. “The crew aren’t stupid. They know something’s going on. That’s why we’ve put extra security measures in place. But don’t worry about anything. It’s all being taken care of.” He rubs his fingers gently over the backside of my hand.

“Okay.” I trust him because I have to. “But where’s our line? We can’t act like this problem’s already solved,” I say.

“You draw it. Where would you like the line to be?”

I stifle a disbelieving laugh by biting my inner cheek. He’s really leaving this up to me? A decision that could most definitely ruin our careers, he’s leaving to me. He’s either out of his mind...or crazy in love. I smile even wider at the thought and feel the overwhelming pressure to make a wise decision. A decision that will show him I’m ready for this. A choice that will let him know how seriously I am taking our relationship and our privacy. No one’s trusted me with something so big before.

“Roof and walls,” I answer.

He gives me a quizzical sideways glance. “Hmm?”

“If we are covered by a roof and surrounded by a wall, then we can do this. If we are out on public display, then no.” I nod at the end, deciding I am, in fact, a genius of paramount proportions.

“Okay...” Devon says the word slowly, thoughtfully. “Do cars count?”

“Roof.” I point upward. “Wall.” I pat the tinted window beside his shoulder.

“Good!” He practically tackles me, coffee breath and all, and pushes me backward onto the seat.

“Devon!” I scream in fake protest, pushing against his shoulders. Like I would ever want to push this man off me. His lips find that same spot from earlier. The spot that sends chills to all the right parts of me. I relax against the leather seat, letting him cover me up with lips and kisses and whatever else he wants to put on me. If this is what I can expect every morning of my life with Devon—being kissed to death in the back of cars on the way to work—I can certainly put up with a few moments of concentrated script practice.

I am thoroughly kissed, properly hot, beyond bothered and shamelessly begging for a quickie by the time we arrive on set. Where I’m disheveled and desperately trying to restore some semblance of professionalism to my appearance, Devon is hot as fucking fire. Something about bed head and kiss-flushed lips makes him the epitome of manly ruggedness.

He climbs from the back of the SUV and offers me a hand. I reach for it, but immediately recoil when I see every eyeball in a five-mile radius focus on us.

“Roof and walls,” I say to him.

“Roof and walls, Miss Klein.” His nod is all business, and he turns to leave. An involuntary frown creeps over my features. I always hate his leaving. Even though I’ll see him on set in an hour, it feels like he’s taking half of my heart in his pocket.

“Carly?” Jane snaps me back to attention because I’m staring after Devon like the biggest fangirl ever. “Are you okay?”

“First-day jitters.” I blow it off.

“Sure.” She consults a slip of yellow paper and looks around the lot. Set is humming like Grand Central Station. First days are crazy. There’re always a million last-minute things to get in place, coupled with the added distraction of the “talent” arriving. That would be me and Devon. Nothing has changed in the months we’ve been off set, but I still get ogled by every person we pass like I’m some kind of diamond-encrusted unicorn. I pull on my shades and a ball cap. No one understands how damn invasive a simple glance can feel. When you get the same simple glance from a million people, it’s like you forgot to put your pants on or something. It will forever creep me out.

“I believe your trailer is this way.” Jane places a hand in the small of my back to usher me through the crush of busybodies. God, it’s nice to have someone work out all the minor details.

“You’ve been an assistant before?” I ask, keeping my head down.

“Yep. I helped my dad for years,” Jane answers, holding out her free arm to push someone aside.

“Your dad was an actor?” The word
dad
pricks my ear in a hot, hollow way.

“No, he was a sports guy. I learned the business quick.”

“Where’s he now?” I ask absently, refusing to acknowledge any rising emotion. We arrive at the steps of my beautiful red-and-white trailer.

“He’s retired,” she answers, but I don’t really hear. I’m bounding up the steps to my home away from home. I rip open the door and devour the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla candles. It’s just like I left it, which does wonders for the nerves tumbling around my insides. I remind myself who I am...Carly fucking Klein. And who I’m fucking. I’m pretty much untouchable. Even if I screw up every line I deliver. I can’t get fired. It’s like winning back-to-back lotteries.

Sitting on the kitchenette counter is the largest bouquet of peonies, orchids, lilies and roses I have ever seen. Flowers like that don’t grow in subarctic climates. Jane plucks the card from among the blooms and reads it.

“Break a leg, love. DH,” she says, smiling at me like a best girlfriend should.

I squeal because that’s what a girl does when her lover sends her flowers, and bury my nose in the bouquet. “Let me see.” I hold out my hand for the card, frowning when I realize it isn’t his handwriting. Oh well. The flowers are from an L.A. florist, which means he had to bring these on his G650. Which means he was thinking REALLY far ahead. Which means he must REALLY love me.

“You are so lucky!” Jane leans in to smell the flowers, too. There’s a knock on the door and she leaves to answer it. It’s hair and makeup. My day has officially started.