Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance) (9 page)

Returning to the main house, Melanie slipped in through the back patio, slunk up the side stairwell, then tiptoed down the long second floor hall to reach the princess suite with its own bath that Declan had put her in.

Opening the door, she found the room not quite as she had left it.

Her empty backpack was still atop the dresser, her phone, laptop and tablet next to it. Similarly, the wheeled carry-on and its larger rolling companion remained were she had placed them against the wall by the closet door after putting away her clothes.

But the bed, which had been pristine and unoccupied when she left with Cammie for the guesthouse, now had Declan's long frame stretched out on it, the quilt beneath him. He had also changed into running pants and a short sleeve compression shirt that gripped every line and curve of his many muscles. White athletic socks covered his feet, the running shoes he must have worn into the room neatly resting on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Realizing by the relaxed jaw and closed eyes that he had fallen asleep, she stood just inside the room and stared at him. The pure, masculine beauty that included a day's scruff along his chin and cheeks was almost painful to look at.

She moved closer, inch by quiet inch. Seeing him in a bed, one that was supposed to be hers for the night, made her flash back to her room in Colorado, waking up next to him, and, most deliciously, the hard cock that had been pressing against his silk boxers.

Timidly, certain he would pick that moment to wake up, she lowered her gaze to the waistband on his running pants.

Yep, there it was, the thick outline that, even after the terrifying encounter with Strake, made her wet looking at it.

Tiptoeing again, she turned and headed for the bedroom door, Declan's voice drowsy as he woke and called her back.

"Hey, don't run away on me."

She stopped, but didn't look at him, just stared down the hall at her intended escape route.

"You said we would talk after Cammie was settled in."

She didn't need the reminder. She'd only agreed to it so he would stop following her around. Shoulders sagging, she turned to find that he had propped himself up against the headboard and was wiping tiredly at his eyes.

Catching her looking at him, he laughed, the sound as rough as the stubble on his cheek. "I hope you've had as hard a time sleeping since Saturday as I have. If I'm going to be honest, you've been keeping me up for the last two months."

Her spine straightened, all the defeat in her shoulders gone at his outrageous claim. Reality slammed into her like a pile of lead bricks. This was going to be her life in Los Angeles if she tried to stay and work in film. Declan would keep playing games with her -- even after what had happened with Strake!

There was no way she could have been keeping him up for the last two months because Roger hadn't met, let alone married, her mother until five weeks ago. So his statement was a big fat lie unless Declan had been having nightmares about getting stuck under her on set and being smothered to death.

Enough was enough. It was time to put herself far out of his reach by putting herself someplace he would refuse to go.

"I'm calling the production company's office in the morning and quitting," she said, folding her arms across her chest and bracing for whatever argument he was going to throw at her.

"I understand," he said, swinging his feet off the bed.

Melanie took a step back and glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was still open.

Declan held up his hands and remained sitting. "I just think you should consider that Strake is off the film. He agreed to leave and I agreed not to break every bone in his body."

A small thrill shot through her, but she forced it down. This man, she reminded herself, was not her knight in shining armor. He had, arguably, acted on instinct to protect her from Strake, but he had been acting on a different instinct when he had decided to start pushing her around like a pawn in a chess game with his estranged father.

Well, the pawn was packing up and going to London -- assuming she could get her new stepfather to agree to cover up front her half of the rent on the Normandie Avenue apartment for another three months while Cammie found someone new.

"I'm quitting regardless." She sprinkled a layer of ice over her words, even though it made her sad to tell him what she was going to do. She didn't want to start over, didn't want to move away from her best friend or the city that had brought them together.

She swallowed roughly, the knot lodged in her throat refusing to budge.

"I'm good with that," he said, her intent still not clear to him. "You can take time off or I'll find you another gig. Either way, you won't need to worry about expenses."

"I won't," she agreed. "Because I already have a job waiting for me -- in London."

Confusion clouded his face for a minute and then she felt like she was staring at the alien warrior in the film they had just wrapped up as he rose to his full height and stalked toward her. She backed up aimlessly, her thoughts too scattered by the determined glint in his gray eyes for her to follow her planned escape route.

Feeling a solid wall blocking her on both sides, she realized she had retreated into a corner.

"Why are you running away from me?" he growled.

"If you mean right this second," she squeaked, "take a look in the mirror!"

He didn't look, but he rubbed at his face with both hands, huffing and puffing like the scruffy, big, bad wolf he resembled at that moment. When his hands came away, he only looked half as terrifying as before -- which was still pretty damn terrifying.

"I agree I overstepped certain...boundaries...with the jobs thing. I shouldn't have had you pushed off the soap opera. I should have told you I could get you on this damn
Shades
knock-off and even kept the spot open so you could honor your obligation at the soap if that's what you wanted."

The mechanical delivery of his
mea culpa
diluted his apology, but she was surprised that he seemed to be apologizing at all.

Declan also surprised her by backing away from the corner where he had her trapped and sweeping his arm toward the bedroom door.

"Let's find someplace you'll feel safe while we talk this out."

She doubted he could find a prison at any hour that would allow them into a visitation room where they sit on opposite sides of the glass. But getting him out of her bedroom for the night would be a good start to ending their weird relationship.

"Fine." Stopping a few feet from him, she made the same sweeping gesture. "Lead the way."

A smile that tickled her stomach surfaced on Declan's face, but he quickly swiped it away with his hand.

He walked, she followed. Down the long hall and the stairs, bypassing the first floor and descending into the basement.

It was clear the basement was made for fun, mostly the kind engaged in by men gathered together. There was a pool table, air hockey, Foosball, a cluster of arcade machines that included a motorcycle simulator, enough comfortable seating for over a dozen people between the club chairs and couches, and a huge flat screen television with multiple gaming consoles on the surrounding shelves.

If his intent truly was to help her relax, she was pretty sure he was having the opposite effect. She harbored the concern that she could scream her head off down there and no one, not even someone standing on the first floor, would hear her pleas for help.

And there was still one last door to go at the opposite end, the door he was clearly steering her toward. She slowed her pace until she was at least six feet behind him when he came to a stop.

"Still suspicious, I see."

He twisted the knob and pulled the door toward him to reveal a narrow strip of floor and then a platform with three levels of seating. Edging a little closer, she saw a movie screen occupying the entire left wall of the room.

"I would brag that it's totally soundproof," he joked, "but you already want to run back to your bedroom and bar the door."

He was mostly right, only she wanted to run straight out of the house. Not that she thought he would hurt her physically. There were brief flashes when she thought he didn't want to hurt her at all, that his relationship with Roger had nothing to do with whatever was going on between her and Declan.

Of course, as a little girl, she had fervently believed that a horse with wings was a real thing for an embarrassingly long time.

"Pick a seat," he said, holding the door open and gesturing for her to enter.

She stepped past him and looked at her options. The best location was easy to spot. It was in the middle of the second level, and instead of the big recliners surrounding it, there was a couch with deep cushions and an ottoman that ran its full length, the set up complete with pillows and several fur throws.

"I promise to stay on my side, if you promise to stay on yours," he challenged, his breath falling warm against her skin.

"I don't even know why I'm here."

Or why her legs refused to do the sensible thing and carry her out of the room and away from someone who posed such a danger to her heart.

"Because, deep down, you know I'm not the bad guy you want me to be."

She shook her head. Feeling the first sting of tears in her nose, she refused to let her emotions run away from her. She turned to him, instead. Looking up, she met his stormy gray gaze.

"You've got it all wrong. I want you to be a good guy." She swallowed, knew she had at least a little crow to eat. "Thank you for saving me from Strake. I haven't told you how grateful I truly am."

He smiled but she could tell he was fighting some other expression.

"Hey, you had him knocked on his ass before I clotheslined him," he said at last.

She laughed. "Only because he was suddenly scrambling to get as far away from me as possible."

He shrugged and then his face went all serious again. "Thinking about it makes me want to pull you close and make sure you have someone to keep you safe when I can't have you right next to me."

The sting came back to her nose, its cruel pinch twice as forceful. "It's impossible to take you seriously when you say stuff like that."

Nodding, he rolled his lips and pointed at the seats. "That's why we need to talk some more, don't you think?"

Talking with Declan was dangerous, arguing with him slightly safer. Only it was closing in on ten p.m. and the day had thoroughly depleted her energy reserves. Without looking at him, she went to the loveseat, but sat down on the side closest to the door so she wouldn't have to crawl over him when she decided to leave.

The basement, particularly the screening room, was several degrees cooler than the main floor. Pulling one of the throws onto her torso and legs, she glanced over to find that Bain had disappeared.

"Declan?" she called and squinted at the doorway to see if he had gone back into the gaming area.

"Under here," his voice echoed from beneath the seating platform. "Just changing discs. You want something to drink?"

"Just a water, please."

Her face scrunched at the idea they were talking to one another like normal people. It might be a first for them -- aside from the brief, often barking, exchanges on the last movie. But mostly he had been quiet around her on set, absorbed in himself -- or so she had thought.

Looking back in time, she tried to piece together enough details that would support his claim that he'd been interested in her all along. Assuming he didn't growl or imperiously ignore women he wanted to bed, all she had was the fact that her name was one of the few he had bothered learning on set and those moments in his trailer or the wardrobe room when he'd been looking at the mirror with an expression of dreamy satisfaction.

She started to shake her head, the motion interrupted by a cavernous yawn. Covering her gaping mouth as her eyes pulled tightly shut, Melanie considered asking if Declan had a cappuccino machine hiding under the platform, but knew she'd pay for it later when she was trying not to replay the day over and over and instead engage in that novelty the rest of the world knew as sleep.

Declan reappeared a few seconds later with two water bottles in hand. He tossed one at the far end of the couch then broke the seal on the other and handed it to her. She watched him climb across the ottoman and settle into his space opposite hers on the couch.

His hand dipped between the cushions in a universal fashion. When he came up empty, she repeated the motion on her side and laughed when her fingers curled around the familiar device.

It didn't matter how rich or cute they were, men had to have their remotes, but it usually took a woman to find it for them.

She handed the device to him, smiling until he beamed one of his own at her. Then she busied herself with unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and taking a few studied sips as he brought the lights down and started something playing.

The screen stayed black for a few seconds and then she heard a water drop. A ripple ran across the screen. Another drop followed and another ripple, the drip of the water and a faint, almost eternal, static the only sound coming over the expensive sound system.

After what had to be at least a hundred drops, the camera slowly pulled back, pivoting its focus so that the viewer was looking down at where all the droplets had hit.

"Oooh..." she cooed.

It hadn't been water hitting the surface, it had been newly born galaxies, or maybe universes. The black screen was now a pinpoint of lights at varying distances. It zoomed in on one, the silvery white giving way to cotton candy colors that deepened until she was looking at nebulae and new stars being born.

"Where did you get this?" she whispered, not wanting to break the magic unfolding in front of her. "It's beautiful."

"Pet project I'm developing," he answered mysteriously and pressed another button on the remote. "I find it very relaxing."

The lights in front of her were suddenly joined by more lights above, the display on the ceiling a perfectly timed mirror to the first.