Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance) (4 page)

"Half the proceeds will be yours when I sell the house," Nancy said ninety minutes later as she followed the airport signs to the JetFly terminal. "For now at least, the rest when...well..."

Melanie shook her head. She didn't want the money, didn't want the house sold, didn't want her mom moving to England and certainly didn't want to think about the day her mother was permanently gone from the earth.

"Pull over here," she directed at the first curbside opening she saw.

Her mother signaled then slowly squeezed the car into the gap. "It's not too late to go back and talk this over."

"If I don't show up on Monday," Melanie answered, "it will be a long time before I get another job on any production."

Turning in the front passenger seat, she wrapped a hand around her mother's arm and met the older woman's gaze. "I love you, but I don't want to pick up and move after all the time I've spent trying to get established."

Nancy's bottom lip began to quiver. Melanie's stomach tightened. She really did love her mom, but her father had spoiled the woman, letting her live in her books and library. Up until Melanie had entered high school, George Archer had cooked the family dinner more nights than not and was the one to do the shopping. Cooking duty shifted to Melanie her freshman year and then, when she got her driver's license, she did the shopping, as well.

She wasn't her father. She wasn't going to yield her life away and move to England.

"You've survived with me being in L.A.," she reminded her mother. "And you're going to be in such a literature rich environment, it'll be months before you come up for air."

Her mother smiled at that. "You can always change your mind, honey. Just tell me you'll think on it after the surprise wears off."

"Of course," Melanie answered, knowing the surprise was never going to wear off. Leaning across the center console, she kissed her mother's cheek as the horn in the vehicle behind them began to sound.

"I have to go before TSA drags us both off."

That earned her a rare eye roll from her mother.

"Go then...and keep your phone charged in case I need to pick you back up."

Melanie's chest tightened at the possibility that the storm would move in sooner than expected.

"I will," she said and gave her mother another kiss before sliding out of the car and fighting her way inside.

Reaching the JetFly self-service kiosks, she swiped her credit card and punched through the options until a red screen came up directing her to see one of the counter representatives. Stomach knotting, she shouldered past the other kiosk users and took up a place in line for the counter.

Fifteen minutes later, she was bouncing with one eye on the clock as the representative waved her forward. She explained the red screen and the man looked up her name.

"I reserved the seat online this morning."

"That was an overbooking, I'm sorry to say."

She stared at him a few long seconds waiting for him to offer a solution. When he didn't, she stood on tiptoe so she could lean closer over the counter. "How is JetFly getting me home before Monday?"

"I can put you on a later--"

She shook her head, her voice rising and catching the attention of everyone around her. She had seen the sky on the drive in and had lived in the area from birth until she had left for college.

"You and I both know the later flights are going to be grounded."

"It's overbooked," he repeated with an indifferent shrug. "Last in, first out."

"Is anything available in first--"

This time he cut her off with a shake of his head. "Overbooked is overbooked, Miss. Do you want a refund or the later flight?"

"Refund," she answered flatly and watched as he pressed a few keys then waited for the printer.

She hadn't been hysterical or exaggerating when she told her mother that missing the assignment would screw her chances of getting future gigs -- at least ones that paid anything. Hollywood was an unforgiving city, especially when you were as far down on the totem pole as an overstuffed wardrobe girl.

"Here, this is your reference code. Call this," he paused and pointed at a toll free number. "They'll make sure you get a refund."

"Fabulous," she groaned.

Now, not only did she not have a spot on the only flight likely to leave Denver for L.A. before Monday, but there was still a hold on her card for the amount of the ticket.

Walking aimlessly through the terminal, she pulled out her phone and checked to find that she didn't have a signal. She headed toward the exit, stopping when she heard a rising tide of excited female voices.

Looking behind her, she saw part of the murmuring crowd and followed the direction of their gaze to land on the one person she didn't want to see any time soon, if ever again.

A crowd of fans surrounded Declan Bain. He had a smile plastered on his face, the expression almost secretive. She'd seen him smile like that a dozen times around the studio's lot and seen the smile drop like a lead weight when the person moved on.

She turned back toward the exit and made it a few feet before realizing he was her only chance to get home on time.

Her throat bobbed roughly as she swallowed her pride and marched resolutely up to the crowd of women as Declan gave his last signature warning and told them he had to catch his flight. Melanie waited for him to notice her. She knew he had when his million-dollar smile faltered at one corner and then his lips puckered for an instant before his charm was fully restored.

"You have a charter?" she asked as he started to walk away without acknowledging her.

Declan didn't slow at her question. She chased after him.

She couldn't be sure that he had hired a plane just for him. One of the things she'd heard the actors and actresses brag about was how they were able to skip security on domestic flights when they had hired a private plane. Big or small, those planes usually left on runways away from the main airport.

"Look," she growled as her rolling suitcase caught the heel of her shoe and she had to limp along with the piece of footwear half off. "I really need to get back to Los Angeles before Monday. If you--"

The shoe came all the way off.

"Would you please just stop!"

Teetering on one foot, she fixed the shoe on the other one and looked up to see that he had not only halted but turned around to glare at her.

"You do realize we're in an airport," he ground out, his lips barely moving. "And that if we're stuck in some security office for another two hours because of drama you cause, neither of us is getting back to L.A. before Monday?"

"Yes," she sniped. "But the entire Hollywood world will wait for you to return late. Me -- I can't even get a bus to slow down on Wilshire Boulevard."

Melanie closed her eyes, trying to calm her temper so she could ask him as politely as possible to give her a lift back to California. She kept them closed as she started to speak even though she knew she should look straight into that dark gray gaze instead of hiding from it.

"I'll tuck myself in a corner, I promise, and reimburse you the cost of..."

She faltered, knowing she couldn't reimburse him the price of an equal share. Even a first class ticket would put her in a position where she would be late with rent. Of course, she was going to be late with rent if she didn't show up on the soap's set bright and early Monday morning.

Finally forcing herself to open her eyes and look at him, she couldn't get any more words out, at least not at first. Anger tightened his jaw, thinned his lips and narrowed his gaze.

She blinked, her nose beginning to sting.

"I get it," she whispered. "You hate me. You don't want to have anything to do with anyone associated with your dad, even if I didn't know he existed or that my mom married him until last night."

Her shoulders bobbed in a broken laugh. "You probably think I'm going to race home and update your Wikipedia entry or sell the story to TMZ."

His face twisted at the suggestion, the anger already visibly etched on his features deepening.

The response was like a hard slap in the face.

"Crap, you really think I'm that kind of bitch?"

Blinking hard, she didn't wait for him to answer or turn away. She spun, swinging her roll along behind her and heading away from Declan, not caring what direction she walked. A hundred feet on, she looked over her shoulder to see him going through the VIP line at security as casually as if the entire conversation had never happened.

"Asshole," she whispered.

Shoving her hand in the pocket of her hoodie, she wrapped her fingers around her phone. She needed to call her mom, but she had to wait until she could talk to the woman without bursting into tears. She sucked at lying and wouldn't be able to pass it off as mere frustration on missing the flight or worrying about the job she was going to lose.

Pulling her hand out of her pocket, she buried her face against it and took a few deep breaths. She could understand Declan being upset about his estranged father sandbagging him with a new family. She had also overreacted a little that morning, especially suggesting he might be the kind of person who would try to take advantage of a passed out girl -- whether or not the female was fluffy.

But how was she supposed to react? She had felt humiliated to wake up next to him in clothes she hadn't passed out in and not knowing what the hell had happened. It was only after breakfast as Melanie packed up that her mother had explained Declan carrying her to bed and leaving the room while her mom put her into pajamas.

So, yeah, maybe she should have started with an apology instead of a demand. Or maybe he would have been a jerk no matter how profusely and sincerely she had apologized. It's not like he was a nice guy on set. He kept himself cloistered, couldn't bother learning most people's names even after months of working with them, and carried himself around like the world and everything in it was made for him even if he never voiced such an opinion.

You're not pissed at him, Melanie Lee, you're pissed at yourself for having a crush on a douche canoe.

She laughed, but knew the realization running through her head was right.

Through the two months on set of occasionally interacting with Declan, fueled by hours spent watching his old movies when she was home alone and the lights were off, she had been looking for that moment when he would finally recognize her for someone more than the wardrobe girl. But the "cute meet" scenario and its brethren like the clumsy collision existed only on film and in print.

She was stuck living in the real world, one in which his finally recognizing her for someone more than the wardrobe girl meant he now saw her as an extension of a man he clearly resented.

"Excuse me, miss, I need to see your identification."

Hearing the command, Melanie looked up to see who was talking and to whom. The first body her gaze landed on was a TSA officer who was staring directly at her.

"Me?" she croaked, her throat tight from all the thoughts running through her head and her looming long-term unemployment.

"Yes." He cast a hurried glance at his watch. "Now, miss."

She wanted to argue that she wasn't flying, that she had been bumped off her flight, that there was zero reason for him to look at her ID, but then she remembered she was in an airport and the TSA officer didn't need a reason. Plus she had yelled at someone, creating a bit of a scene.

"It's in my wallet," she said, standing up and reaching slowly toward her back pocket despite the man's gaze urging her to move faster.

Once she had the wallet out and her hands in plain sight, she quickly removed her driver's license and handed it to him.

"Very good," he said, retaining her license. "Come with me."

"Why?" Her mouth clamped shut as soon as the question issued, but she couldn't get her feet to move. Dread that she was about to spend a few hours in a TSA holding cell began to finger its way through her stomach.

With a snort, the man reached forward, grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and began walking, tossing an explanation over his shoulder as he picked up speed.

"Because I've got fifteen minutes to get you cleared and to your gate."

The man took her through the VIP security area. She felt the gaze of passengers in the other security lines on her as she stood, arms and legs outspread while the body scanner buzzed and beeped. Not even on her best day did she look like a VIP. Plus, the last person to go through the special line was probably Declan.

The other passengers had probably stared at him, too, but with entirely different thoughts running through their heads.

"Let's keep moving," the TSA officer urged and grabbed both her backpack and rolling carryon from the x-ray machine.

Instead of walking deeper into the terminal, he cut a quick left, slid a security card through a reader alongside a door and pushed it open, his head jerking in a silent order for her to hurry up and follow him.

She hadn't mustered up the temerity to ask him if JetFly had changed its mind. It seemed unlikely as she had the vague sense boarding for that flight wouldn't have begun for another twenty minutes, giving her at least half an hour to reach its gate.

That left Declan as the one who was coming to her rescue, the very man she had just been swearing at inside her head between moments of self-loathing.

She quickened her steps, catching up with the TSA officer. He led her across a long hall, down one flight of stairs, across another hall and to a door that led outside the airport. An attendant was there waiting to take her bags, the woman's age approaching that of Melanie's mother.

"We'll stow these in the cabin," the stewardess said as she headed for a wheeled staircase attached to the side of a small jet.

Melanie followed her up the steps, heart hammering in her chest from the rush to reach the gate and, more so, because she was about to spend the next two and a half hours locked inside a plane with Declan Bain.

Stepping into the main passenger area of the aircraft, she quickly took in the lay of the land while simultaneously looking for Declan. There was a group of heavily padded bench seats facing one another with a worktable between them. A long couch stretched along the same wall with cushions deep enough that a person could comfortably sleep on it. On the opposite side of the plane were an entertainment center and a loveseat that faced the couch.

Declan wasn't anywhere, but an expensive leather laptop bag was resting on one of the benches at the worktable.

"If you'll pick a spot--"

"She promised to stay invisible and silent," Declan interrupted as he entered the cabin behind them.

Melanie turned to look at him and saw the cockpit door open when it had been closed before.

"That's where you'll stay," he said, pointing down the plane to the loveseat.

She nodded, uncertain she could speak directly to him without sounding too meek or too bitchy, her emotions zigzagging through her after hearing his tone and curt instructions.

Looking at the stewardess, Melanie gestured at her rolling case. "You said you could store this?"

"Of...course," the woman answered with a side glance at Declan.

Seeing his stern face, she headed toward the front of the plane while Melanie headed toward the tail, her backpack clutched against her chest.

Clearly the man hadn't taken pity on her. He just wanted to lord his superiority over her.

Biting lightly at her tongue, she sat down at the end of the loveseat furthest from Declan, opened her bag and pulled out her tablet and placed it beside her. Her hand dipped into the pocket on her hoodie. Her fingers brushed against the phone, hesitating to pull it out, especially while she sensed Declan was staring at her.

She should let her mom know she would be traveling on a different flight. Only her mom would want to know the airline and number. Telling Nancy the truth would open up a fresh can of worms that was best kept tightly lidded.

Leaving the phone in her pocket, she picked up her iPad and turned the Wi-Fi off. She would put the phone in airplane mode once one of the plane's crew issued the order to do so.

At the edge of Melanie's awareness, the stewardess returned to the cabin and asked Declan if there were any refreshments she could get him. He asked her what scotch was on board and, satisfied with her answer, told her to bring him one.

"Very good, sir," the woman acknowledged before turning in Melanie's direction.

"No alcohol for her," Declan chided. "She can't handle it."

Melanie jerked her head to stare at him, her entire face feeling like it was about to burst into flames. Yes, she had gotten drunk the only time he'd seen her have any alcohol, but that was because she never really drank the stuff. She would never, ever be drinking anything that sweet again, either. It had been all too easy to treat it like a flavored coffee or some kind of soft drink, taking a sip each time a nervous twinge echoed through her as the awkward night progressed with her new stepfather and his famous, estranged son.

"Coffee," she managed to ask as the stewardess was struck silent. "As black and strong as you've got it."

Peeling her eyes away from him, she kept them glued to her iPad until the attendant returned with Declan's scotch and the coffee.

"Thank you," she said, her voice as low as it could go without actually becoming a whisper.

"My pleasure, miss," the woman said, her eyes kind. "If you have any cellular devices, it's time to put them in airplane mode. The captain will let you know when it's okay to turn them back on."

Melanie nodded and snaked her free hand into her pocket to fish out the phone as she took her first sip of coffee. With no cream or sugar, the dark roast's bitter flavor ravaged her tongue. Her jaw tightened and then her chest.

The request had been a bad choice, except she wanted to make sure she stayed awake the entire flight. No way could she risk another dream like the one she'd had on the plane ride into Denver.

Taking another drink, she managed to keep a straight face, but could have sworn she felt hair growing on her chest and testicles sprouting between her legs.

The co-pilot came over the intercom and announced they would begin taxiing shortly. Then he gave them their current estimated arrival time for Los Angeles -- but not at LAX!

Crap, she hadn't thought of that. She would have to tell Cammie to pick her up at the private airfield -- if Cammie would even be allowed onto the airfield in her decades old Honda.

Melanie shot a glance toward the front of the cabin to find Declan studying her. He did nothing to hide his attention, either. She looked away, losing her nerve to ask him about Cammie being able to pick her up.

The plane started moving, pulling away from its gate and giving her something new to focus on. She'd never been in a plane this size, just the big jets that held hundreds of passengers. She didn't know if it experienced turbulence differently or landed harder or softer than the giant planes.

Sticking her coffee in the cup holder built into the loveseat's armrest, she gripped the front edge of her cushion and tried not to look worried.

Why the hell was he staring at her anyway?

The plane picked up speed and then she felt that first bit of lift as the wheels separated from the ground. She felt the drag at her center of gravity and the tickle it produced low in her belly. An enjoyable tickle, but unwelcome with Declan nearby.

She risked a side glance and damn her if he wasn't still watching!

Jerking her head in his direction, she glared at him. It wasn't as if he was going to make the pilot circle the airport, land again and kick her off. Now that they were airborne, she could call him on his rudeness.

Although maybe she should apologize first for her behavior that morning.

Nope, she thought, shaking her head at the idea while still looking at him. He no longer deserved an apology. He'd been rude so many times over, embarrassing her in front of the stewardess about the alcohol, directing her like she was some disobedient dog that had peed on his thousand dollar rug, and letting her hang in the airport while he made up his mind to have someone fetch her at the last minute.

Before her stomach could finish unknotting, the captain announced they were at their cruising altitude and could use their devices, including texting on their phones. He also told them they were free to move around the cabin.

Melanie got up before she could lose her nerve and walked over to Declan. A smirk lit up his face and grew bigger with every step she took.

If he thought she was coming over to thank him or grovel, he was misreading her face. Right at that moment, she wanted to kick him in the balls. But first she needed to know if Cammie could pick her up at the airfield.

"My roommate was supposed to pick me up at LAX--"

Declan cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you trying to mooch a ride home from me now?"

Her hands landed on her hips and she answered with a snort. "No. I need to know if the place will allow mere mortals to park their decrepit, non-luxury cars there so she can pick me up."

The gray eyes got all flinty again and his mouth danced a thin line. "How are you going to explain landing at a private airfield?"

"Right," she said, realizing she was facing the same dilemma as when she had wanted to let her mom know she would be on a different plane. She couldn't do so without lying or mentioning Declan.

She shrugged. "I suck at lying. What do you think I'm going to tell her?"

He shifted in his seat, his head tilted as he eyed Melanie's body from top to bottom and back up again. It felt weird having his eyes crawl over like that, especially since there hadn't been an ounce of interest flickering in them, just cold calculations -- like he was measuring her for a casket.

"What time is your scheduled flight supposed to land?"

"It lands at three-thirty," she answered. "I got bumped, so I assume it's still landing about then."

"That should give me plenty of time to drop you at whichever baggage claim area at LAX."

Finished talking, he pointed his chin at the loveseat, dismissing her all over again.

She didn't obey like a good little girl. She kept her feet planted and her hands on her hips, her stance anything but conciliatory as she started to apologize despite all the arguments running through her head against doing so.

"I'm sorry about what I said this morning--"

"You said a lot of things this morning," he reminded her, his words stiff and his gaze boring into the back of her skull.

"I'm sorry I freaked out when I woke up and saw you in bed--"

"So, that's not a regular occurrence after you drink -- waking up next to a man?"

Damn him! He was trying to get her riled up and it was working. She mashed her lips together.

"I'm sorry I asked whether it was you or Bujo who peed on the couch..."

She thought she detected a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his sensuous lips, like he was laughing on the inside.

Which meant he was laughing at her, not with her.

Melanie pulled a long breath in before she launched into the last of her apology.

"And I am particularly sorry I implied that you are the kind of person who would take advantage of someone after they've had too much alcohol."

Declan pushed into the back of his chair, his broad shoulders denting the soft leather as he stared at her. Once again, his gaze made a trip from head to toe to head, this time without the clinical coldness.

"I have a very hard rule, Melanie Lee," he teased as he sunk the first hook into her. "No matter how much a drunken female is trying to seduce me, no matter where her hands or lips try to roam on my body or the dirty promises she whispers in my ear, I always say 'no.'"

Melanie stared at him, mortification spreading through her chest and out her limbs.

Was he telling her she had done just that? Tried to seduce him? Put her mouth on him?

"Wh-what are you saying?"

He smiled a canary eating grin then jabbed a finger at the tail end of the plane. "You don't want to know what I'm saying. Now go sit down."