The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (11 page)

“I’m not sure I could handle that. Constantly being watched, everything about my life laid out for all to see.” He flinches and I realize perhaps I’ve said too much, “I’m sorry, I’m adding salt to the wound.”

“It’s ok, Aby. Trust me, I understand exactly what you mean.” Smiling, his eyes soften, searching mine momentarily before he wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “All done?” he nods towards the empty plate before me.

“Yes.” I’m suddenly breathless . . . nervous . . . excited.

He stands to walk towards me, mesmerizing me in anticipation. Taking my hand, he pulls me up tight against him, brushing his lips across mine, “I’d like to stay the night.”

Without thought, I reply, “Yes.”

PULLED FROM MY exquisite slumber, the sun streaming through the expanse of windows, I blink my eyes a few times before opening them fully to the most magnificent display of the male form. The glorious side profile of a shirtless Alex, standing staring mildly out the window as he prepares to fasten the button of his loosely fitted jeans.

My body feels wonderfully sore, my muscles straining in protest from yesterday’s exertions with the gorgeous specimen of a man standing before me, completely oblivious to my awakened perusal. His beauty still leaves me breathless. I tremble, feeling the blood coursing through my veins at his stunning form.

Our day and night together was reminiscent of a dream. This man is so much more than the heartthrob actor he’s publicly known to be. He’s humble. Charming. Sweet, even. Hearing him talk about his family, his childhood and his aspirations, I no longer see him as the unattainable Hollywood actor that he is, but a real man.

I stare at him in wonder, not quite ready to announce my wakefulness, trying to memorize the wide shape of his back, muscular arms, and lean hips—all of the glorious muscles flexing with his mild efforts.

I can’t believe I’ve made love to this man. And countless, earth-shattering times throughout the night. Well, I don’t think I can really call what we did ‘making love,’ given it was surely the one and only time I’ll ever be with him, but it certainly felt more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced before. It felt special. A night I will remember fondly for the rest of my life.

As if sensing my penetrating stare, Alex turns, his gaze meeting mine as he forms a sexy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I offer an uneasy grin, “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” Pulling myself to a sitting position, I cover my breasts with the sheet, displaying the best performance of disorientation I can muster.

He halts the fastening of his jeans mid-stride, a flash of nervousness crossing his face before breaking into a smile. With a quick amused glare, he bends to pick up a discarded throw pillow, tossing it at me.

I catch it before impact, laughing at his playfulness, the sheet covering my breasts falling from my grasp.

“Ha, ha, funny girl. I’d hate to think I just spent the night with a bat-shit crazy, albeit very beautiful, woman,” he jokes on a charming laugh.

Smiling coyly at him, I shrug, quite proud of myself that I was able to fool him for a second.

You’re good at fooling people,
you did it for twelve years
—my inner actress holds her Oscar proudly.

I tense at the reminder, quickly shaking it off as he walks towards me, leaning down to plant a swift kiss on my lips, “Good morning.”

My heart skips a beat and I’m instantly nervous. Despite our numerous sexual escapades throughout the evening, this man still has the ability to make me anxious, turning me into a complete tongue-tied moron. I knew I would fall for him. Hard. It was a forgone conclusion.

I bite down on my bottom lip, suddenly feeling shy, returning the sheet to cover my indecency. How am I supposed to recover when he walks out that door and I never see him again?

“That was quite the performance, beautiful,” he cups my face, his thumb pulling my lip from its bite. “Perhaps
you
should be an actress,” he teases, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing a stray piece of my hair behind my ear.

My inner actress smirks, polishing her golden statue—I ignore the notion, melting at the feel of his touch.

“I have to go,” he adds suddenly.

This is it,
I think to myself. Although I’m not quite ready for our time together to be over, I contend myself with knowing that it’s an absolute certainty, and something completely out of my control. “Sure,” I state, feigning indifference, shrugging my shoulders.

“No, I mean I
have
to go, not want to go,” he reassures me with a knowing smile that suggests he can see right through my act. “I have an interview with a local news station in an hour. Some silly follow up to
Glamour UK
naming me ‘Sexiest Man.’ I still have no idea how that happened,” he mutters, somewhat shyly.

I’m surprised to see the label embarrasses him. It’s mind boggling to think that this Adonis of a man can’t understand the full extent of his appeal to women. His humbleness is an endearing quality. One that I realize I love about him.

Oh, God . . . I
do not
love him.

Not wanting to announce that I’m not only aware that he’s been given such a prestigious title, but that I’ve ogled his pictures in said issue of the magazine, I fake surprise, “Oh, I had no idea they’d selected you. I’m somewhat shocked,” I mutter jokingly.

Smirking devilishly, he stands, his attention suddenly shifted towards the floor. Bending down momentarily, he straightens bearing my worn-looking
Glamour
magazine highlighting his gorgeous face on the cover. “No idea, hmmm?” he taunts, smiling ear-to-ear.

My bottom lip loses gravity; my inner actress rolling her eyes, tossing her damn statue over her shoulder. Bloody hell. How many more embarrassing things can I let this man witness? “Give me that,” I demand, grabbing it as he laughs boisterously.

“You, my dear, are cute as a button,” he leans down, gliding his fingers along my jaw.

Smiling shyly, I’m rendered speechless at his ability to erase any residual embarrassment I may have felt at his finding the well-viewed magazine. Why does he have to be so amazing?
Broken heart, here I come . . .

Retrieving his t-shirt from the floor, he gives it a quick shake before sliding it over his arms, pulling it in place.

“Sorry you lost your ball cap,” I offer, trying to visualize exactly when and where it was dislodged in our frenzied attack.

“Never mind,” he smiles. “It was worth it.” His lips transform into a sinful smirk that clenches my vagina repeatedly.

Seeing that he’s ready to leave, an overwhelming sadness consumes me. Trying my hardest to hide it, I lean back against the headboard smiling. There’s no point asking if I’ll ever see him again, even though I’m dying a little inside at my need to. I refuse to beg, however, knowing it’s futile.

“Can I see you later?” he asks.

There’s no question he can see the instant shock outlined on my face. Though I’ve spent years mastering control, successfully hiding my true feelings from showing, I struggle in the presence of this man. It’s an unnerving weakness.

“Unless you don’t want to see me again,” he continues at my silence.

“Of course, I want to see you again,” I blurt, a little too quickly.

“Great,” a huge smile crosses his face. Leaning down for one final kiss, his fingers cup my cheek in a loving gesture, “I’ll call you later?”

“Ok,” I manage, my brain struggling to catch up as I watch him walk away.

Opening the door, he flashes me one more heart-stopping smile. “Good-bye, Aby,” he whispers, closing it softly behind him.

“Good-bye, Alex,” I reply breathlessly, pushing myself down into the bed, curling my hands in the sheets.

AN HOUR LATER, I’m still lying in bed, my face turned into the pillow Alex used, smelling his scent on the linen. I miss him. Which I knew I would.

When he was preparing to leave, however, I was convinced I’d never see him again. Talk about surprise when he said he’d call me later. Maybe he was just saying that, though. Maybe it was his way of leaving without a scene, not wanting me to flip out that I’d been thoroughly used.

It just doesn’t make sense that he truly wants to see me again. Perhaps I should contend myself with the fact that he’s not going to call. Get the heartbreak over with.

Shifting, I spy my cell phone flashing from the nightstand. I reach for it, the many missed calls and texts setting off a silent alarm . . .
Uh oh, Stacey.

Subject: Where are you?

Landed safe and sound. Tried calling, no answer. You okay?

Subject: I’m getting worried

Why aren’t you answering my calls?

Subject: Losing my shit here

Ok, I’m about to hop back on a plane if you don’t answer the damn phone.

Subject: Seriously . . . Really, really worried.

I’m on my second cheeseburger! Screw you, Aby. You know I’m an emotional eater!

Subject: Now I’m just pissed!

On a scale of 1 to I WANT TO PUNCH YOU BY ACCIDENT ON PURPOSE, how angry do you think I am right now?

Subject: WTF Aby! CALL ME!!

I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU’RE NOT DEAD ALREADY!

I instantly dial her number, unmindful of the time difference.

She answers, her sleep-ridden, groggy voice laced with alarm, “Aby? Are you okay?”

“Hi . . . yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry I missed your calls,” I apologize, hoping to diffuse the angry outburst I know is coming.

“Jesus H Christ, Aby! I’m so pissed off right now. I don’t even want to be around myself! Do you know what worrying does to your face? I thought you were dead! What the fuck?” she screams, now fully awake.

“I know . . . I’m sorry. Time got away from me. My cell was on silent . . . ”

“It’s fine, Abs. I’ll just get up and eat another cheeseburger because Fuck You! I’m just shocked you didn’t call me. What the hell kept you so distracted that you didn’t think to check your phone?”

“Ummm . . . ” I reply, unsure how to explain. And unsure I want to just yet.

“‘Um’ what? What were you doing all night? There are only two good excuses for your absence . . . you were either murdered or fucked. And clearly you’re not dead.”

“Ummm . . . ”

“Holy shit . . . did you pick up?” she’s suddenly excited. “OH MY GOD! You picked up, you dirty whore!” she exclaims at my lack of reply. “You finally got laid! Yay! So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Erg . . . Alex showed up at the hotel.”

“WHAT?
Alex Tate?
You
fucked
Alex Tate? Jesus, that trumps my night with Ronald McDonald. How did this happen? I’m so fucking jealous of you right now it’s ridiculous! I can’t
believe
you fucking had sex with fucking Alexander Tate! Was he good? Does he have a big dick? Oh God, don’t tell me it’s tiny . . . I’d hate to think that it was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. It would ruin it for me. Lie if you have to!”

Laughing at her incessant questions, and crude mention of Alex’s
equipment
—and what glorious equipment it is—I finally have the opportunity to speak. I explain what transpired, from my morning alone, to Alex showing up at the hotel . . . our encounter in the elevator, to the amazing sex that followed, ending with our domesticated cuddling throughout the night.

“Ahhh, cuddling . . . It’s all fun and games until someone gets an erection. God, Aby. This is just too much! I’m kinda hot over here. So, are you going to see him and his big dick again? You lucky bitch.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply, not wanting to mention that he
may,
or
may not
call me later; pushing the reminder of his amazing
package
away to stop the pulsing in my core.

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t you see him again? You can’t tell me that after all his efforts he just wanted one night. Aby, the man is seriously into you. Bitch,” she quips.

On a laugh, I share his parting comments and my acceptance to see him later. “But I don’t want to expect too much. What if he doesn’t call? It would kill me, Stace. It’s better if I pretend I’ll never hear from him again, instead of waiting around pining. For my sanity at least,” I confess. “I can’t expect anything more than one night with him . . . the best sexual encounter of my existence.”