“And if not?”
Elle did her best to ease Whitney’s stress. “And if not, he’ll still be gone by the end of the season.”
The two ladies allowed themselves to erupt into devious laughter.
“You’re so bad,” Whitney said between bites of bright red candy.
Elle nodded. “And that’s why you love me.”
“Speaking of bad . . .” Whitney’s words trailed off as she wiggled her wicked eyebrows at Elle. “How’s Mr. Gorgeous? Sleep with him yet?”
“Not yet. But I’m seeing him tonight.”
Whitney popped one last piece of candy in her mouth before handing the almost-empty box back to Elle. Elle peered into the box before giving Whitney a look of surprise. How on earth did she remain so skinny with that appetite? She was like a tornado of hunger.
“So . . . is tonight the night?”
“Maybe.” Now it was Elle’s turn to clutch the box of candy like a fiend. She bit the head off one of the innocent candies, savoring the mixture of cherry and strawberry sweetness in her mouth.
“You know you want to. Let your hair down, Elle. I know you can do it.”
Elle dropped the box of candy back into her emergency drawer, grabbing a wet wipe for her hands. She smirked at her best friend. “Whatever, home wrecker.”
Luke arrived promptly that evening, buzzing at the iron gate at the base of her driveway. Originally, she’d owned a condo when she moved to Santa Monica, but when the show rose in popularity, she was horrified to find photographers peeping into her windows. She knew they stalked the actors, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around why they’d have any interest in her personal life. Regardless of her lack of understanding, however, their persistence forced her hand. She purchased a four-bedroom Spanish-style home in a gated community, her hands trembling as she signed the ridiculously expensive mortgage agreement. But after settling in, and receiving several bonuses for the success of the show, she never looked back. She’d come to cherish and appreciate her privacy and couldn’t imagine retreating back to living somewhere where her private life could be preyed upon. And with the new star of her show pursuing her in a romantic way, she knew her privacy would be necessary more than ever before.
He pulled into her brick driveway, aviator sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Elle watched from the window as he exited his SUV, flowers in hand, and strolled to the door with confidence. Quickly, she moved behind the curtain, so as not to reveal she was watching him. She glanced quickly into the mirror in the butler pantry next to the dining room before answering the doorbell.
“Hey there,” he said, his woodsy scent pervading her senses. The sound of his voice, his smell, his confidence—everything about Luke Kingston turned her on. He placed the bouquet of gladiola in her arms and she wanted to burst, to break apart into a thousand tiny pieces. Memories of their encounter in the parking lot swarmed her brain and made her skin throb, aching for his touch.
Whitney was right. Elle wanted this, and she needed to own it.
“Come in,” she said, letting her apprehension slide from her shoulders.
Linus yapped at Luke’s feet, hopping on his hind legs and sniffing Luke’s pants.
“Who’s this little guy?”
“That’s Linus. Sorry, he’s a little jumpy.”
Luke smiled, crouching down to pet the exuberant terrier. “It’s no problem. I love dogs.”
For just a moment, Elle watched as Luke showered her companion with affection. A sweet ache developed in her gut as Luke scratched behind Linus’ ears and Linus soaked it up.
“He’s so cute,” Luke said, rising to his feet.
Elle snapped her fingers. “C’mon, Linus. Let’s get you a treat.”
Reluctantly, Linus followed Elle into the kitchen, torn between his new best friend and a snack. She retrieved a handful of treats and placed them on the floor. As Linus gobbled his goodies, she returned to Luke, who was taking in his surroundings.
“Wow, this place . . .” His voice trailed off as he walked around the circular, two-story foyer. A large glass table sat in the middle of the room. Elle placed the bouquet on the table and then watched as Luke studied her home.
“It’s pretty new. I’m still getting settled in,” she lied. She’d been there for over a year, but for some reason she didn’t want him to know just how wealthy she was. But who was she kidding? He knew.
“It’s really charming . . . which is fitting.” He removed his sunglasses, placing them in the pocket of his jacket.
“Would you like a drink?” Elle offered, not quite ready to have Luke leave her home. She was craving the privacy only a residence could provide.
“Sure, what do you have?”
Elle gestured for him to follow her back to the butler’s pantry where he could view her selection of spirits. Luke inspected the bottles, before lifting her untouched bottle of Johnnie Walker Platinum. Her heart sank for just a moment in the realization the bottle would finally be opened.
“Scotch would be great.” He cleared his throat. “On the rocks, please.”
Elle took a deep breath and gave him the most confident smile she could produce. She couldn’t let him see her silly reaction to opening a simple bottle of scotch. “You got it.”
She poured a glass for herself, making it a double and adding a twist of lemon.
“No ice?” Luke asked, perking up an eyebrow.
“Nope,” she said.
“I’m impressed. My kinda woman.” He raised his glass to hers, and clinked. They each took a sip, although secretly Elle wanted to down the entire glass. It wouldn’t be her first time doing that, but she didn’t want to give the wrong impression. The last thing she needed was Luke assuming she had some sort of drinking problem.
“Should we sit?” she asked, leading him to the firm gray couch in the formal living room. Luke followed behind her, and when they reached the couch, he waited for her to sit, then eased himself next to her, his arm perched atop the back of the couch.
“I’m glad you were willing to see me tonight.”
“Willing?” She challenged him, raising her eyebrows and hooking her bottom teeth under her lip. “That’s an interesting word choice.”
“Leave it to the writer to analyze my vocabulary.”
Elle blushed slightly, but waited for him to explain what he meant by “willing.” When she was quiet moments later, Luke shrugged. “Well, you know, after our first date, I wasn’t sure.”
Elle decided to challenge him, remembering the feel of his lips on her skin. “You seemed pretty confident in the parking lot.”
“Ah.” He gave her a cocky smirk before taking a sip. “I guess you’re right.”
Elle finished her scotch, and, feeling her apprehension slide away, she placed the empty glass on the coffee table, embracing the desire coursing through her veins.
“So acting . . . was it always a dream of yours or were you just seduced by the charms of your environment?” Without hesitation, she placed her hand on Luke’s thigh, her fingers delighted at the thick fibers beneath his pants. His quads were tight and firm.
“I guess you could say that. I think, when I was like five or six, I wanted to be a vet. Our dog died and I wanted to fix him.”
Elle’s fingers stroked the fabric of his pants and Luke took a deep breath. “Well, that’s sweet.” She embraced the feeling of control infusing her senses. He wanted her; of this she was certain. And she wanted him. God, she wanted him. It’s not that she didn’t want to take a walk down memory lane with Luke, to learn about his childhood and the name of the family dog. But at that moment, it was no longer high on her list of priorities. She wanted him above her, drinking her in with his touch. She wanted his hands everywhere, touching each and every inch of her body. She wanted him inside her, driving her to the incredible release she knew he could provide.