The TROUBLE with BILLIONAIRES: Book 3 (8 page)

Logan took the bowls from my hands and set them on the counter, never really turning away from me. I didn’t move as he studied my face, his hand moving up to my face, brushing a piece of hair away from my eyes. There was a storm moving through his eyes that I didn’t understand. I wanted to wash it away, to let him know that this was okay, that I wasn’t asking for more than he was willing to give. But there was something keeping him from stepping over that fine line that still stood between us.

So I stepped over it for him.

I had to rise up on my tip toes, but a hand cupping the angle of his jaw drew him down to me and our lips touched…and it was magic. My heart didn’t know what to do with it. It skipped a few beats and then it raced, belying the calm that overtook the rest of my body. It was so new, yet so familiar, like I had just come home for the first time…ever.

He buried his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer to him, as his other hand slipped around my waist, his hand sliding over the small of my back before dipping down over the curve of my hip. I stepped into him, my foot sliding between his so that my thigh brushed his. I pressed a hand to his chest, excited by the feel of his pounding heart under the thin material of his shirt. He was so warm, so alive. His breath so sweet, the taste of our shared meal still lingering on his tongue.

I’d shared a lot of kisses since I was old enough to know what was supposed to happen between a boy and a girl. But all of those were nothing compared to this. Maybe it was because of all the fantasies I’d indulged from the moment I first saw Logan. Or maybe it had something to do with his status as a movie star. Or maybe it was simply the fact that we shared so many of the same likes and dislikes…I didn’t know what it was. But Logan was different.

He leaned into me, pressing our bodies so close together that there was no room for misunderstanding. He wanted me; he wanted this. I could feel it in his touch, in the arousal of his body. And I wanted it…boy, did I want it.

But just as quickly and spontaneously as it had started, it ended.

“I’m sorry,” he grunted, as he untangled himself from my touch and moved around me. “I, uh, I have an early call in the morning. You can have the spare room at the top of the stairs, the first door on the left.”

And then he was gone.

End scene.

***

Madison

I lay spread eagle on the bed, a pair of soft cuffs locked around my ankles and wrists. I was wearing a black lace corset and nothing else. Rawn was moving around the room, searching for something in one of our wardrobes of toys, a feather maybe, or one of those delicious vibrators he liked to use on me. I wanted to be excited…and I was, to a certain point. But the feel of the cuffs on my wrists were too much like the feel of the ties my kidnappers had used to render me helpless during my day long ordeal.

I closed my eyes and tried not to let the panic build in my chest. Rawn needed this. He needed the release he got from playing these games. And I so wanted to give it to him. I wanted to lie here under the stars—stars that shined brightly through the windows he’d had installed in the ceiling—and pretend that everything was perfect in my world. To pretend I didn’t have nightmares about my ordeal. That I wasn’t scared to death that Rawn would leave me if he knew what was going on in my head right now.

He came to the bed, his weight changing my position as he leaned over me and whispered, “I’m going to make you scream,” in my ear.

Again, panic rose in my chest, but I swallowed it down.

He ran his hand along the length of my body, skimming his fingers over my outer thigh, along my hip and up over my ribs. I sighed as his fingers moved to my nipple, tickling it with the softest of touches. I began to ache deep inside despite my discomfort, an ache that only grew when I heard the telltale sounds of a vibrator coming on.

But before he touched me, I felt a soft cloth slip over my head. I opened my eyes and all was darkness. He’d placed a blindfold over my eyes.

Okay, it’s going to be okay. It’s only Rawn.

But it wasn’t okay. I was suddenly back in that van, my body slamming around as it sped around corners, blind to everything, even the knowledge of whether I would ever see the stars again. I didn’t know what they were going to do to me; I didn’t know what they wanted. I still didn’t. And that unknown…it was probably the worst thing about the whole scenario.

Rawn had told me before we first began this play that I was in control. That I could stop or start the action at any time I wanted to. I didn’t feel like I had any control. I felt like I was tied up and blindfolded, just like I had been when I was kidnapped.

He was touching me with the vibrator, running it over my nipples and along the curve of my belly, but the sensation barely registered. I pulled at the cuffs, testing their hold. They were stronger than they might appear. I tugged harder, suddenly unable to control myself. I grunted as I pulled at them, pulling so hard that I could feel the soft cuffs cutting into my wrists.

“Madison?”

I didn’t even hear him. I tossed my head from side to side, hoping to dislodge the blindfold. I had to get free. I had to get away from here, away from this darkness. I needed to be free. I tugged and pulled, jerking my body in a dozen different directions all at once. The panic was complete. I couldn’t swallow it down now.

And then Rawn’s hands were on my face, and he was pulling the blindfold free, then the cuffs. I sat up and threw my arms around him, tears running down my cheeks and splashing against his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, running his hands soothingly down my back. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

I buried my face against his neck, struggling to get control of myself. And as I did, as reality came back to me a little bit at a time, I was horrified by my behavior.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“It’s not you.” I pulled back and touched his face gently. “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re not ready, and I pushed you.”

“I want to be ready.”

“I know.” He kissed my face, wiping away my tears with his lips, his fingers. “But I pushed you, and I shouldn’t have. I just…I want you to trust me again.”

“I do.”

He kissed my neck, his breathing heavy. I felt sick to my stomach, knowing that I had disappointed him. I wanted to go back, to keep my panic under control. Maybe if I’d told him not to blindfold me, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I could have endured long enough to make it through. I did it once before. Why couldn’t I do it now?

I didn’t understand my own body, my own feelings. But I did know that I wanted to be with Rawn, and I didn’t want this to be a deal breaker.

“I trust you,” I said. “It’s just…the blindfold brings back memories.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have.” He ran his hand down my back again. “There’s nothing I want more than to make you happy. To have this become an issue…”

“It doesn’t have to be. I just need time.”

He pushed my head back so that he could see my face. “Take all the time you need, Madison. I’ll be here when you are ready.”

I nodded. But I couldn’t ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that wondered what would happen if I was never ready.

Annie

I didn’t sleep very well. I finally gave up a little before dawn and showered, deciding to go for a little walk in the extensive gardens at the back of the house. But when I walked into the solarium, Logan was there.

“Morning,” I said, trying to push more pleasantness and less confusion into my tone when what I really wanted to do was demand an explanation for what happened last night.

He looked up from his smartphone, his face once again a mask of disinterest.

“Did you sleep well?”

I shrugged. “It’s a lovely room.”

Logan’s gaze lingered a moment. Then, his eyes dropped back to his phone. “I have to be on set in an hour. I’m scheduled to film until five, so I’ll probably be back around seven.”

“Okay.”

I crossed to one of the doors, still intent on getting a little fresh air, especially now that it felt like the air had just been sucked out of the room. I pushed the door open and was about to step through when Logan called to me.

“Do you want to go? There won’t be much to do, but you could watch us film.”

Suddenly the air was back and my heart was soaring.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

***

The studio sent a car, a dark Mercedes that had seats covered in leather that looked and felt like creamy butter. Logan spent most of the drive on the phone, but he put it away as we approached the studio. “This is where they filmed part of
The Birds
,” he said, gesturing toward one of the large, warehouse-like buildings on the studio lot. “This one and the one over there.” He gestured again.

“Really?”

“Mostly just the interior scenes. The other scenes were filmed—”

“In Bodega Bay.”

He glanced at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yes.”

“I know a few things about the movie.” I turned and stared out the window as we passed the buildings, trying to imagine what it was like when Alfred Hitchcock roamed this lot. I could almost see him, walking along with half a dozen assistants, cameramen, and actors trailing after him. “It must have been an exciting time.”

“Everything is exciting in retrospect.”

I glanced at him. “Are you saying your career is not exciting?”

“I’m saying I hope there’s some young woman like you fifty years from now getting excited over the idea that I once worked here.”

“I’m sure there are dozens of young women who are already excited by the idea of you working here.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “That’s just a product of PR hype. What I’m talking about is a lasting legacy, like what Hitchcock and Price and some of the other guys from the old days have.”

“You’re a little young to worry about your legacy, aren’t you?”

Logan shrugged. “I don’t think anyone’s too young to worry about a legacy.”

The car pulled to a stop alongside a trailer that was parked in the lot outside another building with half a dozen others. As we climbed out of the car, I could clearly see Logan’s name written on a thin strip of tap on the trailer door.

Inside, the space was a little cramped, but comfortable. There was a small table, a low couch, and a fully functioning kitchen. On the table was a bowl of fruit and an ice chest filled with water bottles.

“Looks like my grandmother’s travel trailer.”

Logan laughed. “I don’t think this thing would hold up well to traveling cross country. But it might be nice to try.”

He picked up a sheaf of papers that were sitting on the counter, glancing through them as he made his way to a closed door at the back of the trailer. Inside was what I imagine used to be a bedroom, but it was now devoid of bed, but sported a table and chair with several mirrors, one on the table and several full length mirrors secured to the wall. There was also a rack that held multiple sets of what looked like basically the same outfit: jeans, a dark t-shirt, and a leather jacket.

“What’s the movie about, anyway?”

“It’s a crime thriller. My character is an undercover cop who gets pulled into a conspiracy to kill the Prime Minister of England.”

“No kidding.”

He shrugged. “My agent assures me it’s the kind of movie audiences are asking for. And it’s got a couple of big names in it.”

“Like who?”

“Rachel Sherman.”

My eyes widened slightly. Rachel Sherman was the new, hot girl; that actress was on the cover of every magazine from Vogue to Time to People. Every time I stepped into a grocery store, her face was there staring at me. She’s pretty…green eyes and bottle blond hair, but not really my style. I had yet to see any of her movies, though I’d heard that her last one,
Point Man
, was pretty good.

“Have you met her yet?”

“Last month. We were at a charity event together.”

“I guess she plays your love interest.”

“Wouldn’t be a thriller without a love interest.” He dropped the papers he’d been holding on the table and turned toward the rack of clothes. “I just hope she can pull her weight.”

“It must be weird, pretending to love someone you’ve just met.”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “It’s interesting.”

I remembered watching his space movie, the scenes where his character told his wife he might not make it back to her. It had been heart wrenching, the emotion in his voice when he spoke. It made me believe he was a man who’d been heartbroken before, that there must have been something from his life that he drew on to make that scene so believable. But maybe he was just that great of an actor.

Someone opened the door and called out.

“Hey, Logan, ready for makeup?”

I turned sideways and smiled at the petite Asian woman who came bursting through the trailer, a tall man about my age following behind with a huge case I assumed was filled with all the makeup needed to prepare Logan for his first scenes. As it turned out, all they did was cover his face in a little base and powder away any sign of sweat. He looked basically the same when they were done, just smoother. Before they left, the hairdresser arrived, another petite woman, this one black and full of sass. She threatened to give Logan a bad perm if he didn’t sit still while she brushed and spiked his short blond hair.

It was like a surreal parade, watching all the preparation that went into getting Logan ready for his day. A woman came in to discuss the wardrobe with Logan, making him dress and undress several times until they got a look with what seemed like the same exact garments to me, but turned out to be several different shades of the same color. Once dressed, with makeup and hair complete, Logan had a meeting with the director to discuss the emotions his character should display in the initial scenes and how he might go about revealing those emotions. Then, there was a photographer who came to discuss a photoshoot they hoped to do at some point between scenes for the promotional material that would come out before the film. Then, there was an assistant who came and went all morning, bringing Logan more papers—changes to the script, I finally realized—and updating him on when he was expected on set.

We were there for what seemed like hours, doing a lot of hurry up and waiting. Between intrusions, Logan sat cross-legged on the couch and read through his lines, reading them to me each time there was a significant change. It was exhausting, but exciting, too.

When they finally called him out to the set, he grabbed my hand and pulled me along. We didn’t really talk, not before or after, but he clung to my hand like he needed my strength to get through what came next. One of the assistant directors brought a chair over for me to sit just off to the director’s right, out of the way but close enough to see all the action.

The first scene was set in a dingy police station, like the kind you might find in a medium-sized town. Logan sat at a desk, and a couple of extra were busy doing one thing or another around him. As the scene began, Logan had a quick, but apparently important, meeting with the actor who played his lieutenant. The actor was someone I recognized, but couldn’t quite place. Logan delivered his lines perfectly the first time, but they ran through the scene five times before the director was completely satisfied.

Logan came to where I was sitting as the director and crew set up the next scene, settling in a chair that had just suddenly appeared. He touched my hand lightly.

“Bored to death yet?”

“No. This is fascinating.”

He smiled that dazzling smile that made my stomach tighten. “I’m glad you’re not bored. But if you get bored, the driver should be somewhere just past the trailers. You could have him drive you back to the house.”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

Logan started to say something else, but the director called him back to the set.

I sat back and watched, very aware of the curious stares I was getting from the various assistants, crew members, and caterers who filled the room. I wanted to be incredibly immature and stick my tongue out at them in an I’m-with-him-and-you-can’t-do-anything-about-it style. Instead, I texted Madison:

You won’t believe where I am!

***

Mellissa

It was a really bad idea to decide to cook a big meal when nausea had a relentless grip on my stomach. I walked through the aisles of the grocery store trying to avoid the areas that caused the worst sensation of imminent puke, but that was proving harder and harder to do. It seemed like everything set it off, from the sight of raw meat to the smell of fresh coffee to the rotisserie chickens in the deli.

I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to buy. Conrad was a Texas boy. Any kind of steak would suit him fine, as would almost any kind of potato dish. But the idea of smelling a steak frying on the grill sent my poor stomach packing its bags. I thought about pasta. It seemed fairly benign until I considered the creamy Alfredo sauces that I knew would come back up quite quickly and the tomato concoctions that would leave me reeling with heartburn.

What did you make for a man when you had to tell him that a relationship that was still in its infancy was about to become something bigger and more intense than either of you had planned?

I walked through the produce section and picked out a few fresh fruits, deciding whatever I made would have to include a fruit salad, the only thing that seemed to sit well with me these days. And a stew, maybe. I could handle a hearty, beefy broth if I didn’t think too hard about the beefy part. Maybe some potatoes, a few carrots, some onions and celery. I could do that.

As I walked along the aisle, I heard a baby cry. I turned around just in time to see the panicked look on a man’s face. Must have been the first time he was alone with the infant. He looked to be only a few weeks old. I wanted to help, but I realized I had no idea what to do. What do you do when a baby cries? I watched his panic grow, as he carefully picked the baby up and rested him high on his shoulder. Almost instantly the child relaxed, the cries turning into soft, hiccupping sounds. The man smiled and nodded in my direction before pushing his cart out of the way with his free hand.

If it was always that easy…

I turned back to my shopping, wondering if Conrad liked fresh garlic, or the stronger powered kind.

***

Annie

Lunch was a line of tables set out under canopies, each one laden with things I never would have imagined in such an outdoor venue. There were lobsters and steak, pasta and pizza, three different kinds of chicken, and every fresh and cooked vegetable a person could want. It was like a buffet, but high scale.

Logan filled his plate with steak and pasta, encouraging me to take what I wanted. I felt a little selfish, honing in on what was meant for those working on the film, but the fried chicken smelled too good to pass up. I took the several pieces offered by the caterer’s waiter, blushing when he gave me a smile that meant more than you’re welcome. Then, I dumped a couple of slices of tomato and a little of Ranch dressing on my plate and followed Logan to the trailer.

“Is it always like this?”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Everyone’s so nice. I always kind of imagined it would be more like a prize fight or something.”

“Everyone’s nice to your face. But I’m sure tongues are wagging when we’re not around.”

“About what?”

“About everything.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Where do you think all that crap they print in the tabloids come from? Someone sees something or does something and rumors get started.”

“What do you think they’re saying about you?”

“They’re probably wondering who the hell you are and why I brought you to set.” And then he smiled. “At least they aren’t talking about drug rehab or what happened Friday at the photoshoot.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Is that why you brought me? To distract the gossipers?”

Logan’s eyes dropped to his plate. “No.”

“Not that I mind. I’m willing to help out any way I can.”

His eyes came back up to mine and for a second I thought I saw something there, regret maybe. Then he shook his head. “I brought you because you’re supposed to be here to watch out for anything unusual going on around me. You can’t do that if we’re not together, right?”