Taking Her There Read online

  “It’s a little late for modesty. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked.”

  “Hope you have a good memory.” She kept her voice lofty.

  “Whatever.”

  She found her favorite pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. She winced at the new tenderness between her thighs for only a second before it turned into a smile. Twelve hours in that man’s arms, and not one moment did she think about getting drunk or stoned. So that crazy therapist was right. Find something healthy to keep you busy, she’d said.

  And Andre looked plenty healthy. She sighed and stomped back into her bedroom, where Luke stood exactly how she’d left him. “What are you doing here?”

  One shoulder went up, but he never lost that cocky grin. “Appearances.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s all? A photo op?”

  “Well, I’m trying this new thing. It’s called Making Luke Edwards Look Good. You wouldn’t believe the sympathy I got when you were sent to detox. I had starlets throwing themselves at me—I even hosted Saturday Night Live.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. But everyone reminded me on a daily basis that we were an amazing couple. You brought out my wild side; I tamed yours. Everyone expects to see us together at the Music Awards next month.”

  “You ignored me for six months. Now you expect me to hang on your arm in public?”

  “For appearances.”

  “If you’re so worried about appearances, why the hell did you send Andre out to the wolves?”

  “I’m only worried about my appearance. His humiliation is just collateral. No offense, but I don’t give a shit what the press thinks of—wait. Andre?”

  Angeline crossed her arms to mimic him and raised one eyebrow. “Yes. Andre. I believe you’ve met before.”

  “Your driver? Oh Jesus, Angeline.” Luke rubbed his face. “You’re fucking your driver? You’re lucky I came when I did. You have any idea what those vultures will do with that information?”

  She refused to react. Luke had the power to blow this way out of proportion and make her into the bad girl. And with her reputation, she knew the media would believe him. “You know nothing about him. He’s smart and funny, and an amazingly talented artist.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he is.” Luke strolled across the room to peek out the window. “But none of that matters. I’ll still be the victim. You’ll still be Hurricane Angeline.”

  She scowled at the nickname. He knew she hated it.

  He ignored her scowl and checked the other set of windows. “And your driver Andre will just be the ‘other man’.”

  “What do you care?”

  “I’m a businessman. And my reputation is my business. Just like you and yours.”

  “So now you’re worried about mine?”

  “Ours. We both do better as a team, babe. You had your fling with your driver; I had a few flings while you were in detox. Now it’s time to get our shit together.”

  Angeline’s head swam, but she refused to show it and instead faced the mirror. She ruffled her hair, combed through it with her fingers, then brushed off the remnants of mascara on her cheeks. “You’re delusional. You expect me to jump back into your arms and play the part of your leading lady?”

  “You’ve always liked the dramatic roles.”

  “And you’re such a comedian. I suppose that would be easier than if you went out there and told the truth. That you dropped me like a diseased rat.”

  Luke’s gaze raked over her bed, the sheets rumpled. “Looks like you got over me pretty easily.”

  “I got over you months ago. So you’ve done what you came for. You can leave now.”

  “Not quite yet. We haven’t even talked about the future of our relationship.”

  “Future? We have no—”

  “We’re good for each other. Always have been. Professionally at least. Your fire to my ice.”

  “It’s all about appearances to you.”

  “Exactly.”

  She picked up her phone. “I wonder what the public will think when the police come to drag you out of my house.”

  “Now, now… You’re always flying off the handle. I thought you were going to work on that. Remember? Think before you act? Like, maybe think about the shit storm you’d start if the cops really did show up.”

  She pursed her lips and stopped dialing. God damn it, he was right. If she really wanted to head off unflattering articles, a swarm of police hauling Luke from her house wouldn’t be the way.

  Sinking onto the vanity stool like a deflated balloon, she let her phone drop to the floor. She was like a little kid. Always getting into trouble and hoping someone else would bail her out. At Redland, at least she’d had a crew of nurses and psychologists directing her life. Making her decisions. Now, out on her own in the wild, she was already making the wrong choices.

  Luke squatted before her and took her hand between his. “Angeline.”

  She looked into his eyes, blinking tears away from her own.

  “Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay now… I’m back. I’ll give you some stability. I’ll take care of you. Don’t cry.” He pulled her into a hug, and, despite her anger and confusion, she slipped her arms around his back and held on.

  Andre wrapped the towel around his waist and leaned over the sink. Great way to start off the new job. Sleeping with your boss. He stared at his reflection and even rolled his eyes. If he somehow got to keep his job after Angel went back to her rich and famous boyfriend, it was going to be damn awkward driving the pair of them around. As tempted as he was to pack his bags, he hadn’t tucked tail and run since third grade. He’d be damned if he gave Luke Edwards the satisfaction. If the guy couldn’t handle Andre’s presence, it was his own damn fault.

  What he really needed to do was get his mind off the woman. Luckily he had a huge painting in progress. Focusing on brushes and a palette full of paint would be just the thing.

  He stepped into a pair of sweats, then pulled a comb through his hair but left it loose to dry. With one more scowl at his image, he made his way to his living area, which he’d more or less converted to his studio. The canvas took up most of one wall. If it wasn’t due in two weeks, he’d scrap the whole project and start over. But he needed this commission.

  Shape, movement and texture.

  Angeline.

  No! Focus. He didn’t need any more gesso, but it was the first tube he could reach. After squirting a generous amount onto the palette, he picked up his brush, just to make himself feel like he was actually working, but the sun setting through the picture window to his left cast a shadow across his canvas. He turned on his work lights and went to close the curtains but instead stared through his window at the immaculately landscaped back deck of Angeline’s house. From his vantage, he wasn’t even able to see the crowd of paparazzi at her gate, let alone give them a sensational story. Thank God for small favors.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t see if Luke’s Ferrari still sat in the front driveway either, so he had no idea what Angel was up to.

  He snapped the drapes closed, then picked up his remote and turned on some music. Twenty minutes later, he caught himself with a brush full of fuck-me red, without a single stroke on the canvas.

  Fuck. Stop it! He swiped his broad brush across half the canvas, then froze in place as he realized what he’d done.

  Ruined. His stomach dropped, and his blood ran cold. He shook his head, hoping to deny the fact that he’d just ruined the artwork for the governor’s mansion.

  He took a step back to take in all the damage. Yes, something had to fill that negative space, but a bold red line certainly wasn’t what he needed. This was nothing like his vision. But then again…

  Angel…

  Andre filled his brush again and stepped back toward his almost-disaster. This time when her image filled his brain, he didn’t push it away.

  Distortion…saturation…bring the focal point to…here…

  Vibrant.


  Bold.

  Angeline.

  Andre answered the knock on the door and squinted against the early morning sun. Though he couldn’t imagine who else it could be, he was still surprised to see Angeline on his doorstep. “Angel?”

  She tilted her head and raised one eyebrow, giving him the once-over as he stood barefoot and shirtless. The blast of fresh air reminded him he hadn’t slept at all and had spent the last ten hours breathing paint fumes. He probably looked like hell, but all she did was smile. The beautiful smile that had gotten her that lipstick commercial last year. The sun’s rays highlighted the gold in her hair and gave her skin a warm glow.

  “Andre. I see I didn’t wake you.”

  He blinked, lifting one paint-smeared hand to drag through his hair. “What time is it?”

  She shrugged. “The sun came up about an hour ago. Or have you been up all night?”

  He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Once finished, he’d turned his project around to face the wall so it wasn’t visible from the doorway. He relaxed marginally. “Yeah, I guess I have without realizing it. I kind of get in a groove sometimes and just block out everything else. Did you need a ride somewhere? I can get the car.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Nope. I don’t need the car. I want to talk. Are you going to invite me in?”

  His mouth went dry. “Of course. Sorry. Please.” He probably should apologize for the state of his apartment. Paint-stained tarps covered most of the hardwood floor. Two of the three chairs were propping up his canvas. He didn’t own a couch.

  “So that’s the masterpiece, huh?” She took a step toward it.

  He stopped her with a hand around her elbow. “I just finished it.”

  “So?”

  “So…the paint’s still wet.” He glanced toward the canvas.

  “I won’t touch it. She shifted to take another step, and he tightened his hold.

  “It’s not…ready.”

  “You said you just finished.”

  He looked everywhere but at her. “It’s…finished, just not…ready.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  He sighed. “It sounds crazy, but after I finish a piece, I need to let it sit. It’s a time when I have to”—he shrugged—“sever ties.” The hand on her arm gentled to a caress. “I invest a lot emotionally. It takes a while for me to come to terms that it’s no longer an extension of me and now its own entity.” He groaned. “Sounds a little psycho, huh?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Not at all. There are times after playing a particularly difficult role where I’ll need some time alone just to purge that character and get back to myself.”

  He released the breath he’d held. “Did you ever think you’d have so much in common with your chauffer?”

  She spun away and out of his hold. She flopped into the recliner, the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been sacrificed to the art project. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Here it comes. He clenched his fists, wishing he at least had a shirt on. Being fired half naked and sprinkled with paint would be pretty humiliating. After a deep breath, he said, “Go ahead.”

  “Well, you know, I had a nice long chat with Luke.” She didn’t elaborate. The little spitfire was playing with him.

  “And?”

  “And he seems to think I’d be committing career suicide if I start sleeping with my chauffer.” She met his gaze. “I think he might have a point.”

  Andre lifted his chin. Even though he’d expected her actions, and he’d tried preparing himself, it still hit him in the gut. What in the hell made him think she’d dump Luke Edwards for a struggling artist who paid the bills by driving people around? “I see.”

  “So I’ll call the agency later on today and have them send over your replacement as soon as possible.”

  He nodded. Slowly. Without releasing her from his intense stare.

  She crossed her legs and wagged her foot, completely comfortable. “No questions?”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Why? Feel like getting behind the wheel one last time?”

  He clenched his teeth. “I just want to know how much time I have to find a new place to live.”

  “I never said you had to move out.”

  What? He replayed the sentence again in his mind, but it still made no sense.

  “It’s simple,” she continued. “I need to get my image back under control so I can stop being the butt of every late-night talk show, and so I can eventually star in some family films when I start getting old and matronly looking. I can’t sleep with my driver, so…you’re not my driver.”

  He crossed his arms. “So you’re firing me so you can sleep with me?”

  She shrugged. As if these conversations happened all the time. “I want to continue sleeping with you. Is that a problem?”

  “Well, yeah, I have a little problem. I need a job.”

  “What do you call that?” She gestured toward his studio.

  “That? That’s my dream.”

  “Huh. But if you do it well, do people pay you for it?”

  “Well…yes. But—”

  “Sounds a lot like my dream.” She went back to focusing on her bare foot, and he went back to trying to make sense of her visit. “But when I get paid for something I do—even though it’s not a tangible product—that’s what we call a job.”

  Andre turned away from her. “I must be sleep deprived. I can’t make sense out of whatever you’re trying to say.” Twenty minutes ago, he’d been elated to finally finish his piece. And it had turned out better than he’d originally planned. Now he’d lost his job…or had he? He dragged both hands down his face.

  His thoughts were interrupted when she slid her cool hands up his chest just as she plastered herself against his back. “We can talk later. First, let’s give that whole sleeping-together thing a try.”

  “What? Now?” He must be dead on his feet, because he didn’t even resist when she took his hand and tugged him down the hallway and into the bedroom.

  “Sleep. In the literal sense. You look like you haven’t closed your eyes since our nap yesterday.”

  She left him standing in the middle of the room and pulled the comforter aside before reaching beneath her T-shirt to release her bra.

  Andre watched, half entranced by her unaffected show and still very confused. “What about Luke?”

  “Not invited. This is a private party.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry about Luke. He’s the last person I want to think about right now.” She stepped out of her cutoff shorts but left her boyleg underwear. “Just know that he’s gone and he won’t be back. We can discuss all the details after a few hours’ sleep.”

  He went willingly as she slipped between the sheets and pulled him in beside her, sweatpants and all. He adjusted his body around hers, his brain trying like hell to make sense of what was going on, but Angeline was here. In his bed. Not much else seemed to matter. He squeezed her.

  “What are you doing here?” He spoke into her hair. “Did you just fire me?”

  Snuggling up against him, she planted a kiss right above his nipple. “Your job description just changed, that’s all.”

  “Hm. Gigolo?”

  “You wish. No, I fully expect you to earn your room and board, just not as my driver.” She traced a circle around his nipple. “As a full-time artist, I expect you’ll find several projects and clients, as well as an original for my game room.”

  “Hm.” It started to sink in, but he was exhausted and not thinking clearly. It hit him harder now that he’d lain down. “Maybe you’ll make more sense when I wake up.”

  “Listen, when I first moved to LA, I had to work my ass off with two lousy jobs just to live in a shitty studio apartment I shared with another girl. There are hundreds—thousands of actors out there just trying to get noticed, to land that one part that will make the difference between a credited role and another week eating ramen
noodles. I didn’t have help. And while that should have turned me into a more compassionate person, all it really did was made me a spoiled little bitch who thought that by struggling my way to the top, I deserved nothing less.

  “I want to give back. Even if it’s just reduced rent in this one-bedroom apartment while you make it big. I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m emasculating you or trying to buy a bed partner. Just think of our arrangement as a live-in artist. All the badass medieval royalty had those, right? Then you can thank me when you get your…whatever award artists get.”

  He chuckled. “You’re outrageous.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “I thought you were reforming.”

  “I thought you liked outrageous.”

  Chapter Five

  “Take us home, Paul.”

  “Right away.”

  Angeline kicked off her heels and curled up against Andre’s side. “I told you they’d love it.”

  He draped his arm over her shoulders and squeezed her tight. “I still can’t believe my artwork is hanging at the governor’s mansion.” The limousine rolled through the gates behind a Bentley and another limo carrying other invited guests.

  Angeline smiled. After a few questions from the press and dozens of pictures on their way into the unveiling, the media had thankfully left her and Andre alone throughout the ceremony, only snapping pictures whenever she gazed up into his eyes. She probably came across as some love-struck idiot, but for once, she didn’t care. She only hoped her presence didn’t detract from Andre’s big day.

  She slipped her hand beneath his tux jacket and tugged him even closer. She’d kept a respectable distance throughout the lunch and ceremony, even as the new governor led one gushing fan after another to meet him. His smile shone brilliantly, his masterpiece the perfect background for every news station’s cover shot. Angeline knew nothing about art, but Andre’s painting had truly taken her breath away. And she wasn’t the only one who loved it. Moments after the unveiling, four austere-looking dudes in Armani suits stood with their heads together, gesturing wildly at the California mountain peak painted in unnaturally vibrant colors, and nodded with excitement. A gray-haired woman who reeked of old money insisted on an appointment next Tuesday. One woman in a skintight dress and Italian shoes asked for his card.