Love Under the Hot Lights E-Book

• Herausgeber: MK Meredith
• Serie: Scripted for Love
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 444

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

What do you do when you're not ready for love, but love is ready for you?

Hollywood screenwriter Samantha Dekker spent the last year picking up the pieces after her husband's suicide. Along with grief, guilt, and tabloid hell, she's had to watch helplessly as the film industry slammed its doors in her face. Now Sam has the rarest of Hollywood opportunities—a second chance…working with the one man she swore never to see again.

Sexy A-lister Gage Cutler knows that Sam blamed him for his part in her husband's death. Still, Sam is the one woman he can never forget. All he wants is a second chance of his own—to prove he's not the player she remembers. And Malibu is the perfect backdrop to make a girl swoon.

Except they're not alone. Someone is watching Sam and Gage's steamy off-screen romance with the most dangerous of intentions…

Love Under the Hot Lights, a Scripted for Love novel by USA Today bestselling author MK Meredith is a deep and emotional romance with a touch of suspense that will sweep you off your feet. Read as a series or standalone.

Grab this hard fought for happy ever after today!

Leseprobe

Love Under the Hot Lights

A Scripted for Love Novel

MK Meredith

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by MK Meredith. All rights reserved,

including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

MK Meredith

P.O. Box 1724

Ashburn, VA 20146

Visit my website at www.mkmeredith.com.

Edited by Kate Brauning

Cover design by Kari March Designs

ISBN: 978-0-9990854–9-3

Manufactured in the United States of America

Second Edition Oct 2018

Praise for Love Under the Hot Lights

“You’ll disappear into the pages. Love Under the Hot Lights is bringing the heat…”

~ NYT bestselling author Cherry Adair

“Meredith does a great job keeping the sex steamy and portraying the down-and down right scary-sides of fame. A very promising first novel.”

~The Library Journal

“5 Stars! This book hooked me from the beginning. Just when you think you know what’s going to happen. Plot twist! Great Book.”

~ SGC

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by MK Meredith

Introduction

Hello!

I am so thrilled to share my happy ever afters with you, and I hope you love this book! If you haven’t yet, enjoy your introduction to the wonderful town of Cape Van Buren with One Jingle or TwoFREE on all retailers. Once you fall in love with Alora and Nate (they’re irresistible, LOL!), you won’t want to leave.

Which makes me so excited to also offer you the opportunity to meet Blayne and Jamie! Just sign up to my mailing list at the end of this book, and I’ll send Honor on the Cape to your email for download to your favorite reading device!

BTW . . . all of my series are inter-connected.

Hugs, loves, & peanut butter!

MK

To my husband Brian, who when I announced, “I want to write romance novels,” replied, “Great, you’ve done everything else you’ve set your mind to.”

His unwavering faith in me, his love, and his own relentless work ethic inspire every story I write.

He tells me, “I could never love you anymore than I do today, until tomorrow…when I do.”

And the butterflies never stop fluttering.

Chapter 1

It was hard as hell to walk in heels with her toes crossed, but Samantha Dekker wasn’t taking any chances. She’d keep them that way too, just like her fingers, until she sealed the deal. When Martin Gallagher called, she’d agreed to a meeting right away. Thank God for nepotism. Good luck hadn’t been known to stick around her for very long, and she hoped that was about to change. After more than a year out of the industry, not to mention the circus act the tabloids had created with her face as the headliner, no one else would touch her with a ten-foot pole.

Sam pushed open the door of the Chocolate Box Café, the cool air breaking the California heat. She adored this place for their decadent chocolate creations and to-die-for espressos. She narrowed her eyes at Martin’s warm grin. What was he up to?

“Sam, it’s good to see you.” He hugged her tight, and for a brief second, she sighed into the comfort of his fatherly embrace. He released her to pull a bar stool out from the small bistro table, but she reached it before he did.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

“You just can’t let anyone help you, can you?” He moved a third stool around and took a seat.

He was right; she was the worst when it came to asking for help and impossible when it came to accepting it, but this time she needed it.

She shrugged, glancing at the empty stool across the table, then back to Martin with a raised brow. He cleared his throat and ran a finger under the collar of his Ralph Lauren dress shirt.

“Martin?” Curiosity edged her words.

“We’ll get to that.” He grinned in that wickedly sexy way of his that neither age nor marriage could diminish as he stood from the table to get their drinks. Seconds later, he returned with her usual espresso and some frothy concoction of his own. “You look good, kid, but still a mite too thin.”

Sam forced a smile. Wasn’t that ironic? It took losing her husband to achieve the thinness he’d demanded when he was alive, his voice still a mocking echo in her head. Seconds, Sam? I thought you had more self-control than that. “My appetite hasn’t been the best, but I’m fine.”

He nodded. “Good, good. Now, here’s the script.” He pulled out bound pages with a red cover. “Dive in and read this over. You’ll see what’s missing on your first pass. Don’t second-guess yourself: just let your magic flow.”

She took the manuscript from his hand and flipped through the pages, trying not to let him see her shake. How many times had her husband told her there were way more talented screenwriters out there than her? The old heavy weight of uncertainty returned to her gut, but she braced against it. She was running out of options. Her parents had floated her financially since his death, but more important than needing the money, she needed her career. She needed to find her way back—to herself. If she didn’t, and soon, there’d be nothing of her left.

Pushing hair from her eyes, she glanced at Martin. The financial risk alone for a producer-director was daunting, but the risk to an artist’s reputation—and their ego—was even greater. She’d fallen so far out of Hollywood that no one was willing to sign her name to a guest list, much less a contract, no one but him. He was as much a father figure as mentor to her, and she owed him. She wouldn’t have made it through the year and a half since Ethan’s death if not for the support of him and his wife.

“I don’t want to color your perception, so I’m not going to share what I think this script is lacking. We’ll begin shooting in a week, so you have some time.” Martin pointed at the script. “One more thing.” He took the script, set it aside, then took her hand between his. Squaring his shoulders, his glacier blue gaze pinned hers. He had the look of a Nordic Sean Connery— the kind of man women at any age still swooned over. Right now, those striking good looks were shadowed by guilt. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

Apprehension tightened her stomach, and she steadied herself for the news. As long as she got her foot in somewhere, she’d be okay. “Are you naming someone else as the writer?”

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Why the hell would I call you here and dangle the script in front of your nose just to tease you with it?”

She swallowed, her heartbeat easing in her chest. “Then what did you do?”

Martin huffed. “Why do women always accuse men of wrongdoing right off the bat?”

“Experience?”

“Got me there.” He hesitated, then sighed. “Gage Cutler is playing the starring role, and he’s the assistant director.”

Embarrassment washed over her, stealing her breath.

“Gage?” Needing to bolt, she slapped her feet to the ground and shoved back from the table with such force her barstool crashed to the ground.

“She seems to be taking the news well.”

Blood rushed to her head as the vibration of the deep baritone slid down her spine in a wave of awareness. She knew that voice, even if she shouldn’t. Spinning around, she found the face that haunted her dreams.

Gage Cutler’s broad shoulders flexed as he set the stool upright, his movements slow and careful, as if to prevent himself from spooking a wild animal. He watched her with guarded eyes— eyes that ever since the first night they’d met, she never could quite decide if they were blue or green.

Ignoring the tumble of her stomach, she focused on the increasing ache between her brows. Him, of all people? Why was he here? She wanted to run, but the best she could do was wrench her gaze back to Martin’s and pretend her guilt wasn’t drowning her.

“Sam, the past is behind us.” Martin said as she pulled him to her side.

Pressing her lips together, she tried to swallow. In a whisper, she said, “I blamed him, Martin. The things I said…oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?”

Remembering that night always made her throat close up as her brain tried to reconcile with how badly her husband had been injured in the accident and how she thought it had been Gage’s fault. That night, she’d been robbed of her chance to leave. She’d finally come to her senses, finally found her strength. But how could she leave an injured man even if she hadn’t made him happy in years? She was many things, but cruel was not one of them. In her anger, she’d blamed Gage. The things she’d said flooded her, burning her cheeks. She’d wanted to apologize no less than a million times, but in the end, he was a celebrity. One for whom she didn’t trust her feelings. If she’d learned anything, it was to stay as far away from them as possible.

“Sam,” Martin began.

She thrust out a shaking hand to stop him, not once meeting Gage’s eyes. “He’s been dead for a year, and the paparazzi have just now finally left me alone.”

Sam forced herself to take a deep breath. She should stay, apologize, and make amends, but her thoughts twisted in her head until she couldn’t make sense of any of them. She grabbed her purse and backed toward the door, finally looking at both men.

Stumbling, she grabbed the door handle. Gage stood inches taller than Martin’s six feet, with shoulders that appeared twice as broad. He took a step toward her, his brows furrowed, his blue-green eyes intense. She knew that face, that look, and she wanted nothing more than to step up and study it. But she couldn’t. Not now and not ever.

For the second time in their history, she turned and walked away.

Sam yanked on the large cardboard box, but it didn’t budge. Losing her footing, she fell back against the end table and smacked her elbow against the edge. Pain shot down her arm, and she held it, sucking air through her clenched teeth. The vase on top wobbled and then crashed to the floor, a resounding echo of her day.

She closed her eyes against the mess, and pushed up away from the end table. So far, the day had been nothing but a horrible series of catastrophes. Her meeting with Martin had only been the beginning. Why hadn’t he warned her? Playing out the events in her mind made her cheeks burn, so she shoved them away with ruthless determination.

She needed to feel productive, do something positive. It was time she took back the condo. She’d have moved out last year if it had been up to her, but after Ethan’s death, the condo had been paid in full by his life insurance. Selling in the current housing economy was impossible—at least for right now. She’d already lost so much, and she refused to lose more. Getting Ethan’s belongings out of her home once and for all would do the trick.

It might have taken her a year—courage was a fickle mistress—but she’d finally thrown away Ethan’s favorite painting. She hadn’t sold it. She hadn’t given it away. She’d thrown it in the trash— and damn, it had felt good.

A photographer… no, the photographer to the stars, Ethan had specialized in headshots for portfolios, PR, and any other media marketing where celebrities wanted to look their most beautiful. He’d considered himself a walking billboard for what he could promise. Blessed with the symmetry and coloring of a golden Greek god, he was his own brand, his own celebrity. And he’d made sure she knew it.

But after the car crash, the symmetry—the promise—disappeared, and he couldn’t handle it. So he took his frustration out on her even more than before.

Acceptance was now her burden. Acceptance that she hadn’t left when she should have. Acceptance that she was easy to leave. On a deep breath, Sam shook her head and grabbed a broom to clean up the broken vase. She needed to move ahead. One step at a time.

She grabbed another box and dove back in. Today, on what would have been their fourth anniversary, she was determined to finish this chapter and close the book.

Losing herself in separating film, equipment, and developed projects, she opened the third box. With a sigh, she pulled out a shallow box and turned it over to look at the front. “The Teacher and The Student” was scrawled across the space in Ethan’s bold handwriting. She stood, box in hand, and walked over to the kitchen island.

Opening the top, she set it on the counter, revealing the glossy eight by ten photos beneath. Her head tilted to the side as she flipped through the stack. Black and white photos of women ticked by like an old movie clip. Naked women. Naked women draped all over her husband.

Shock and disgust filled her mouth, bitter and sour. Tears stung her eyes, but pain—no, anger—blotted them out. She dropped the stack back into the box and sent it flying across the counter. It slid over the edge and slapped the floor, photos scattering everywhere. To think she’d been embarrassed that morning; this was complete humiliation.

“Son of a bitch!”

So much for packing his things being something positive.

Numb and dry-eyed, she rounded the counter and dropped to her knees. She grabbed the photos and shoved them back into the box. She should just trash all of it immediately.

But she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to forget. She didn’t want to forget the pain caused by counting on someone else for her happiness or believing it was possible to find happy ever after in Hollywood. She’d known way back then not to date a celebrity or anyone involved with the film industry, but she’d broken her rule for Ethan, and look where that had gotten her.

Another reason to stay away from Gage Cutler.

An image of his face slid into her mind. Such a simple thing. A chance meeting, followed by a few hours of conversation. She should have never thought of him again, but that was the trick with simple— it seldom was. How often had she thought of him after the first night they’d met a couple years ago, especially during those lonely stretches of time when Ethan only showed up for breakfast and a change of clothes? Work, you know, but now she knew better. Disgusted, she slammed the lid onto the box and then slid it to the back of the cupboard over the refrigerator.

Resting her forehead against the cool stainless steel of the fridge, she wanted to laugh at how earnestly she’d maintained her distance from Gage. He had listened to her, and what’s more, when he’d looked at her, he had really seen her in a way her husband never had. He’d made her feel as if she mattered, and it had stirred something in her she’d never thought she’d feel again. Something she’d wanted so much it had scared her.

But she’d been a married woman, and that had meant everything to her. Even if she hadn’t been married, she’d known better than to believe Gage had seen her as anything more than an evening of entertaining conversation. So she’d walked away from Gage to preserve her integrity and had planned to walk away from Ethan to preserve herself.

A heavy weight settled in her chest, and she closed her eyes.

She’d blamed Gage for the wreck and made sure he and everyone else knew it. The paparazzi had been chasing him, and Ethan’s car had been crushed in the middle, leaving his face severely burned, disfigured. Grabbing onto the actor’s bad boy ways, she used the tabloids as judge and jury. Not one of her most shining moments.

She grimaced. It hadn’t been his fault, but she’d been too blinded by her own pain to see that then. Facing him again was mortifying. How the hell could Martin expect her to work with Gage after what she’d done?

In the end there was no question. She was the one who needed help gaining access back into the industry, and Martin opened the door.

She either stepped through it or waved good-bye to screenwriting forever.

Gage sped down the highway, trying to clear his head. What the hell had he been thinking, agreeing to Martin’s announcement that Sam would be working the script? She’d told him clearly the night they’d met she couldn’t have anything to do with him, and apparently the only thing that had changed was how strongly she meant it.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. He couldn’t blame her; she’d been through hell, but so had he. The industry still loved him; his fans adored him, but he wanted the respect of his colleagues, and that was a different monster all together.

Glancing down at the speedometer, he cursed and eased his foot off the gas. Now would be a good time to start earning it. He pulled through security and into his garage, then made his way inside. The drive hadn’t cleared his head as he’d hoped, and tension held on tight between his shoulder blades. Throwing his bag on the couch, he kicked off his shoes and made his way into his bedroom.

A locked-tight gated community and tight-ass security for his private beach blessed him with a view he could actually enjoy. The ocean was one of the few things that calmed him. He turned to open the sliding glass doors and slammed his toe on an end table. “Fuck! Shit!”

He dropped into the chair and checked his toe to find a torn nail and a welling of dark blood. Disgusted, he lowered his foot to the floor. Great end to a fucked-up day.

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore reached him, and he pulled in a breath. There was nothing better. Except maybe surfing. He was never more free than when tethered to a board.

He was like the waves he loved to watch and ride. His life would build momentum, crest, and then crash and scatter until it no longer resembled anything he recognized. Certainly nothing he intended, anyway. Sometimes the result would be terrifying, and nothing in the world would make him go back in, but then he’d remember what all his surfer buddies would say: “Eddie would go.” That’s all it took, that one phrase.

Seeing Sam had brought all his memories crashing back. She still wore her dark hair long, and her large brown eyes appealed to him as they always had, making him want to trust her—against his better judgment. After she’d left the cafe, he and Martin had stood watching her. The silence had stretched until another patron walked through the doors and broke the uncomfortable spell. Martin had grabbed Gage’s shoulder in an encouraging grip. “She’ll come around.”

Gage wasn’t too sure. He was a reminder of everything she wanted to forget.

No matter what might have passed between them once upon a time, things were different now, and she’d walked away from him. Again.

He remembered her determined good-bye the night they’d met.

He remembered the overwhelming pressure in his chest as she’d turned on her heel and walked away, long brown waves flowing down her back.

No looking back.

Admiration and respect would have been the logical response to her fidelity. She’d had integrity, kept her promises, her vows, but he’d been unable to muster even the slightest hint of logic. Pain had taken over as he’d watched her leave.

Fuck me.

He’d tried reaching out to her after the accident, shocked when he’d found out the other car was Ethan’s, but she’d refused him then, too. Blamed him.

Gage shook his head, and the same pressure squeezed his chest. The knowledge he’d be seeing her again, and soon, kicked his heart up to a steady beat. Anticipation? Fear—dread.

He walked out to the balcony, giving the table a wide birth. Leaning his forearms against the cool metal, he gripped his hands together.

He and Sam had shared a few stolen hours where nothing had existed but the two of them, connecting unlike anything he’d known. But that was two years ago.

He slammed his hand on the railing. The whole situation was total bullshit. There was nothing between them now, but a part of him wanted nothing as much as he wanted her to admit that something had passed between them then. Hell, he wanted them to find it again. He couldn’t say he wanted her back because he’d never really had her. But he’d never felt with any other woman what Sam had made him feel.

His eyes rested on his surfboard storage box. A few minutes out in the waves beckoned him, and he ducked back inside for his wetsuit. His shoulders relaxed, and a rush of adrenaline filled him.

Many things had changed in the past couple of years, and he was one of them. He wouldn’t take off on a drinking binge or speed in his car until he outpaced his problems. That was behind him—mostly.

He’d be a professional and give Martin his best film yet. It seemed like he could shit in a bucket, and they’d still give him an Oscar, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. It was time to show Hollywood what he was really made of, and as far as Sam went, he’d win her over and show her what they could be made of.

People talked about second chances, and this was his.

Chapter 2

The following week, fueled with guilt and mortification, Sam walked onto the film set with hot coffee in hand. After everything Martin had already done for her, he was giving her a second chance to save her career. A calm washed over her, kind of like coming home. The area buzzed with controlled chaos, but as the production got underway, that control would be a longed-for memory. She smiled.

“No coffee for me?”

Sam stopped in her tracks. That warm baritone voice slid down her spine again in a wave of goose bumps and knotted her stomach. Goose bumps were not what she needed right now; a huge black hole to jump into would do much better.

You’re a professional, Sam. Yeah, a professional who spent an extra hour on her makeup and changed her clothes three times before finally leaving the house that morning. Of course, her nerves were due to her first day back on the job, not seeing Gage.

Pulling her bag higher on her shoulder, she switched her coffee from her right hand to her left. Where was the brave woman she used to be? Finding that woman was one of her new to-do’s. Sam braced herself, then turned with her hand extended. She could pretend all day he didn’t make her nervous as hell. “Good morning, Mr. Cutler.”

Eyes lit with humor, Gage grasped her hand. She watched her fingers disappear within the warm heat of his strong grip. The sight of his muscular shoulders startled her, and she was at once aware of his warmth. Sam withdrew her hand, forcing herself to move slowly though she felt the urge to snatch her hand back as a bolt raced through her limbs.

He raised his left brow, and she met his gaze head on, shoulders pulled back, and stretched to her full five feet, eight inches.

His lips quirked up on one side, a crooked smirk she was well acquainted with. “I’m surprised to see you.”

She opened her mouth to throw back a quick retort, but her need to apologize filled her instead. “Look, I…”

Those blue-green eyes shimmered with something she couldn’t name. Sam averted her gaze as if there was something of interest over his shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other. Looking at him directly was disconcerting, and his steady gaze knocked her off-kilter.

He was irresponsible and arrogant. A playboy with a toy box of Hollywood starlets. She’d known it way back then, and she knew it now. Nothing had changed.

Except everything had changed.

She glanced back at the larger-than-life actor for a brief moment. Formal, professional, that was how she’d handle this situation. “Well, good luck with the film. I need to go speak with Mr. Gallagher.”

Gage pressed his wide mouth into a thin line and dipped his chin. “I’m glad you’re here, Sam.”

She tried not to think about why hearing her name from his lips raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but she couldn’t ignore the sensation. “I need this chance. I’m here for me.”

Sam paused. It wasn’t like her to be so direct. At one time maybe, but she’d lost that woman somewhere along the way.

A warmth rushed through her chest. She was there for her, and Martin was helping her make that happen. Her life had been out of her control long enough. She couldn’t say how terrified she was of messing up and not being taken seriously. That would be the quickest way to undermine her chances, but she felt the fear to the very end of each limb.

His features tightened with focus, and the muscles of his jaw twitched.

She wanted to smooth his brow but squeezed her cup with both hands instead, popping the top off. “Oh!” Grabbing the plastic lid before it hit the ground, she stepped around him and made her way toward Martin. She couldn’t escape fast enough.

“Damn, damn, damn.” She wound her way around lighting, cords, boxes, and racks. You are ridiculous, Samantha Anne Dekker. Her throat thickened.

She shook her head and mumbled, “Doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

Startled, Sam slapped her hand to her chest. She stepped back, stumbling into one of the crew members, sending him reeling.

Martin grabbed her by the upper arm. “Whoa, slow down. You okay?”

Sam glanced about, mortified. Gage stood where she’d left him, watching, his hands hanging limp at his sides, an unrecognizable expression on his face. Of course he caught her stumble. She shook her head, embarrassment warming her cheeks. God, just kill me now.

The camera guy made a much more graceful recovery and disappeared with a wave. She closed her eyes a moment and then turned back toward Martin. “You scared me.”

His black brows lifted. “You scared me.” He stacked a few boxes and then, relieving her of her bag and coffee, set them on top. He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat. Now, what doesn’t matter? Because if it has something to do with my script, every word matters.”

Sam waved his words away. “No, no. Nothing with the script. Just talking to myself.” She glanced around at the hustle and bustle of the film set. “You guys have made good progress.”

Martin smoothed his hand over his bald head, then around to his chin, scratching through the white, groomed whiskers. He took in all the commotion.

She trapped him with a look. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

“You took time off. Time you needed. A year and a half now, isn’t it? Time to get back to work. Both Raquel and I understood how torn up you were.”

Sam’s gut twisted. “Martin, I’m just getting back on my feet, figuring out what to do next. I’m like a first draft of a manuscript. I need a little time to work out the edits. Are you sure you want to take this risk?”

“‘In Hollywood, writers are considered only the first drafts of human beings.’ Do you remember who said that?”

Sam dipped her head. “Frank Deford. You taught me everything I know.”

“That’s right, which is why I want you and no one else. Besides, I don’t think all the edits in the world are going to help you, kiddo. Life’s a rough draft. You just gotta live it. Starting now.”

He settled his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “You’re a writer, Sam. It’s in your blood. You’re too intelligent to waste such a gift.” He tapped the script she’d pulled from her bag and set on her knees. “So, what do you think?”

Sam let the activities on set act as white noise as she flipped open the pages of the screenplay. She’d been studying it all week. Something impeded the sincerity of the scene. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was close. She needed to get out and take a swim; that always opened her up, set her mind free. She’d found a great place on Pepperdine’s campus where she loved to go. She really needed to get back into a routine. How long had it been?

“What do you think?”

Fidgeting with her pen, she tapped a section of the screenplay. “It’s right here.” She rolled her head from side to side. “I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll find it.”

Martin leaned close to take a look. With a sigh, he reached into his front pocket and slipped on his reading glasses.

Sam glanced at him and smiled. “Aw, don’t you look scholarly.” She stood, moving closer to the set, and Martin followed.

“Don’t be a pain in my ass.” He shook his head. “I agree there’s something wrong, but this scene? The dialogue’s tight. The pacing perfect.”

“Yes, but there’s something—”

“Quiet on the set.”

Sam edged in to get a better view.

Gage’s character faced his mother for the first time about his diagnosis. The actor who played his mother expressed her emotions in a way that left Sam raw and unsettled.

Gage spoke. Sam leaned closer.

Her heart squeezed; the obvious regret he suffered ate at him more than the cancer ever could.

Sam’s stomach tightened, and she blew out a breath on a slow, steady count.

This is not real.

She snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”

“Cut!” The producer sent a searing glance toward Sam. She waved with a small shrug. “Sorry.”

Scooting closer to Martin, she gestured toward Gage. “His feelings come across real and raw, which is perfect. But he’s delivering them too soon.”

Gage glanced over. “Too soon?” There was no mistaking the offense in his voice.

Sam smiled to herself. Actors. Spoiled little crybabies.

He strode toward them, and she immediately regretted saying a word.

She stood. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong with your performance. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how talented you are. But—”

He raised a brow, and if her palms weren’t slick with sweat and her heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute, she’d have wanted to chuckle.

“Your character left his mom for the big city, the fast pace and opportunity. You’ve portrayed him as a fast talker, slick and experienced, but with his mom, he’s patient, calm. I simply think it’s too soon.” She took a breath. Big mistake. His cologne clouded her senses, and she swore the heat of his body radiated right through her. “What was I saying?”

Martin raised his brows.

Oh my God, pull it together. “Oh, right. When people go home, they tend to revert to their former selves, but he hasn’t been home long enough. I think you need to fight settling in too soon.” She glanced from Martin to Gage to the producer. “Does that make sense?”

Gage nodded his head slowly. “Brilliant catch.” He turned and walked back to his place on the set. “Let’s run through this again.”

The command for silence was delivered, Martin whispered in Sam’s ear. “I agree. Brilliant.”

Relief washed over her, and she repeated her new mantra over and over again in her head. I can do this, I can do this.

Her phone vibrated, and she slipped outside to answer it, needing to shade her eyes with her hand. “Hello?”

“Oh, good. You’re alive.”

“Mom?” She lowered the phone from her ear and confirmed the in-coming number. Shit. She should have checked first.

“Hey, Mom. I’m at work.”

“Finally.”

Sam smiled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Are you coming to dinner Sunday? You’ve missed the last dozen, I swear.”

Sam rubbed the sudden tension between her brows. “Mom, it’s just not a good time. I’ll try soon.”

“Sam.”

She hated disappointing them. “I gotta go. Break’s over. I love you. Dad, too.”

“Sam—”

Sam disconnected the line, then dropped her phone into her pocket. They were always good to her. Supportive. Even when Ethan hadn’t come to dinner with her for the umpteenth time because of work, they’d just nodded and smiled.

She walked to the edge of a rocky slope and looked out over the valley, a spotting of trees and cactus, large rocks, and a colorful burst of wildflowers. A burst, the only way she could describe the effect.

She was on a mission to take back her life, and she’d do it, too. But she was scared. She might not be good enough for a job like this. Ethan might have been right all along. For a second, she’d thought Gage might reject her idea and Martin might agree with him. It could have all been over just like that. “I’m an idiot.”

“Now I know you’re talking to me.”

Sam whirled around. Off balance, she flailed her arms to keep from teetering down the slope.

Gage grabbed for her, pulling her onto even ground.

Unable to catch her footing, she landed against the hard planes of his well-built chest, and the impact emptied the air from her lungs. Her hands grabbed onto his unyielding biceps, the result of a personal trainer and dietician, no doubt. No wonder celebrities were so beautiful.

Pulling back, she put her hand out and pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Thank you. You scared me,” she stammered.

He tried to steady her, but she took another step back.

Gage studied her, and she wanted to fidget under his gaze. “I didn’t mean to, but I can’t say I’m displeased with the outcome.”

She stared at him.

“Your call was spot-on.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thanks, but the talent is yours.”

His strong, capable hands played across his chest and rubbed. Mesmerized, Sam couldn’t force her eyes back to his face. Her mouth suddenly dry, she tried to swallow. What is wrong with me? She moved to step around him.

He blocked her way. “Do you still hate me?”

Shocked, she stilled. “Hate you? I don’t—”

“You won’t even look at me.”

Guilt tightened along her shoulder blades, and she turned around. “I don’t hate you.” She gripped her hands together at her waist. “Everything fell apart, and Ethan took his own life.” But not until he made sure Sam suffered, too. She shoved the thoughts away. “I took it out on you, and then the paparazzi, the tabloids, they hounded me for almost a year.”

Gage held her with an intense gaze. “I wanted to help. I tried to call, but you shut me out.”

She wished it could have been that easy, but she’d been so angry, and whether he’d been to blame or not, he was reckless; if it wasn’t his driving, it was the women. Two women had actually come to blows in public, each thinking she was dating him exclusively. Everyone knew it. The news, the papers, never mind the tabloids, interviews from friends and family, every single one confirming his recklessness. His help would have only made things worse. As it was now, associating with him, even professionally, was going to make the paparazzi salivate.

“I couldn’t take your help, especially after blaming you. And I can’t risk any of that being stirred up again.” She took a step back and shook her head.

He cut his hand through the air. “You think you were the only one hurt in this? You don’t think I don’t know what the news said? The papers? All lies. I was sober that night, heading home from Pepperdine’s Smothers Theatre.” His voice dropped. “Ethan and I were in two left turning lanes; I was on the right. When the light turned green, we both took the turn but he’d accelerated faster. The paparazzi sped out to cut me off but must not have seen him. Their car hit his, broadside, and sandwiched him between them and a power line pole.”

“Please.” She pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I have to. I know it’s hard to hear, but imagine having it shoved in your face every day. The only place anyone heard the truth was the local news, but who listens to that anymore?” His hands fisted at his sides.

She stared. She’d been through so much, and it had been unbearable to have the man who’d brought her to her senses about her relationship be involved with the accident that kept her tied to it. She’d reacted so badly. “I’m so sorry for everything I’d said.”

He held her gaze.

Shame urged her to look away, but she pulled in a breath and reached out her hand. “I am so sorry. The things I’d said are unforgivable, but—”

“I forgave you the moment you said them.” He slid his large fingers up the length of hers, awakening every nerve fiber in her body, and gently gripped her palm.

She dropped her eyes to the ground.

He released her hand to slide his warm fingers under her chin with gentle pressure, lifting her gaze.

Swallowing hard, she studied him.

The years had been good to him in many ways. He’d filled out, thicker, broader, his face more chiseled, his eyes more piercing. Age agreed with him but also made his emotions that much more visible. His mouth, pressed into a thin line, only softened into a frown, the lines next to his eyes deepening as he narrowed his gaze. There was a reason Hollywood had kept him at the top, waiting for him to find his way back. He had an undeniable presence. One of the very reasons she’d made the decision she had back then.

He was probably the same bad boy Hollywood had always known, but she could admit when she’d been wrong. She’d hurt him the night they’d met by walking away. She’d hurt him after Ethan’s accident by blaming him and once again by avoiding him and his attempts to help her after Ethan committed suicide. Wow. She was on a roll.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered with intense sincerity.

He stared at her, and his shoulders slowly lowered. He pulled in a breath with a brief nod. “You already apologized.”

Relief that he really was accepting her apology was swift.

With a jerk of his chin, he asked, “What do you remember most about the night we met?”

“What do you mean?”

Cracking his neck, he pinned her with a direct look. “I’ve never forgotten you, forgotten that night. I shared things with you I’ve never told anyone else.”

He couldn’t be serious. The idea he’d ever pined for her was ridiculous.

Sam closed her eyes.

He’d thought of her, beyond the accident, even after she blamed him. She shouldn’t feel a rush of warmth spread through her, but there it was. Was he serious, or was this simply Gage Cutler, an actor with an agenda? Though, she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what that could be. She didn’t have anything he’d want.

She opened her eyes to find Gage studying her. “I remember, too.” She remembered, for the first time in a very long time, feeling relevant, listened to, noticed. She remembered realizing her marriage was over, that if anyone should be looking at her in such a way, it should be her husband, not a stranger she’d just met.

She remembered deciding it was time to face the reality and move ahead, but it was shortly after meeting Gage that the accident had happened, and then she couldn’t move at all.

At him, at Ethan, at herself. She’d imagined a life with a man who truly saw her, daydreams of being heard, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Not then and not now. “I don’t know what you want from me here.”

He shook his head. “I want you to admit we’d had something that night.”

She put her hands out. “But why? What will that change? Do you want us to start where we left off? As far as Hollywood is concerned, you were the cause. How would that look?”

“Who gives a shit what they think?”

“I do. They were relentless after the accident and even more so after his suicide.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “I can’t go through that again. Whether I’ve thought of you or not. Whether we had a connection or not.”

“But you admit we had a connection.”

Her shoulders dropped. Why did he need to hear this so badly? “Yes.”

“We could still have something.” His jaw ticked as he watched her.

Seconds felt like minutes, and she couldn’t help but fidget under his stare as her mind reeled to make sense of his words. Finally, he gave a nod, focusing on her with a smile, and then he stepped around her and went inside.

She was dumbfounded. How in the world was this sexy, powerful, A-list actor attracted to her? Her stomach tightened.

Well, they had something in common because she’d never quit thinking of him, either.

Maybe the answer was simply a matter of getting him out of her system. A little fling, casual sex, the no strings attached kind of thing. All this time and emotion, worrying and wondering, made him so much bigger than he really was; she was sure of it. Wasn’t she all about moving forward? Nothing serious, just enough to appease her long-brewing curiosity.

Short, sweet, and most of all, secret.

Maybe then she could get over her nerves and jumpiness around him once and for all. Nothing serious, the last thing she wanted were pseudo-reporters camping out at her doorstep again. In the end, nothing had really changed since he was still in the spotlight of Hollywood.

She just needed to figure out how to keep a secret like that under the hot lights of Malibu.

Chapter 3

Gage walked back to the house from his trailer the following afternoon, grumbling. If he had his choice, he’d kick back with a cold beer, but the cast and crew were having a lunch. One of those opportunities to get to know one another better. Which was something better accomplished during filming than any forced social hour, but the powers that be summoned him, and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be difficult.

Stepping through the door, he scanned the room and then slowed. Sam sat next to Martin in deep conversation, her hands gripped together in her lap.

Gage shoved his hands in his pockets.

Annoying as hell. Her silence when he’d mentioned they could still have something made sure he understood nothing could happen. Every fiber in his body tensed with the need to prove her wrong. They’d had something. Something he hadn’t been able to forget. Fuck.

Making his way to the other side of the room, he looked for the seat farthest from where she sat with Martin. The last thing he needed was a long afternoon of awkward niceties, which would be worse than her silence. He busied himself, chatting with a few of the crew and then looking through an old album collection used in the film. Some of Martin’s inspiration was evident in the collection.

“She doesn’t bite, you know.”

Gage swung around to find Martin walking up behind him. A quick glance back across the table showed Sam busy, scrolling through her phone. “Yeah, well, she hasn’t been mad at you for the last two years.”

“There’s no time like the present to start.”

Gage dipped his chin in a nod. “Sure. The start of what exactly?”

“Hell if I know, boy, but you’ll figure it out.”

Martin had a look in his eye Gage couldn’t place, but he let it go. His stomach rumbled, and the lunch couldn’t be over soon enough—his beer was calling him.

Martin left him to go chat up the rest of the crew, and Gage continued to watch Sam. It was something, anyway, her admitting to a connection. She could have denied it. Doing so would have shut him down completely. He narrowed his eyes. There might be something more still between them, something she didn’t want to or couldn’t completely let go of.

He made his way around the table.

Sliding into the chair at her left, he took a casual sip from the water glass, using all his control not to laugh as she snapped her head around, eyes wide at the sight of him.

“Good evening, Sam.”

“Hey.” Her voice was a bit breathless, and her eyes darted everywhere around the room but his face.

He leaned back in the chair and settled his hands in his lap, calm and relaxed. At least that’s what she’d see. She had no reason to know his heart pounded in his chest or that controlling his breathing took a lot of effort.

One of the biggest things he’d been learning was to quit looking back and find a way to move forward. There was no changing what had happened or hadn’t happened between them, but he was very interested in seeing what could.

The crew filled in the rest of the seats, and lunch turned into a low hum of conversation and clanking silverware. The crew got to know one another, the individual teams bolder with each other than they were with him or the leading lady. As a matter of fact, Gage’s eyes settled a time or two on Martin’s new assistant, Dani, finding her studying him so thoroughly she didn’t seem to notice that he’d caught her until he’d wave. She’d tensed in her seat and then returned the wave with a grimace, turning her attention back to her dinner. He understood how it was because he felt the same way when he’d first started out, finding himself star-struck more than once.

Settling in to having Sam next to him, he devoured the food on his plate, very aware that she merely moved the food around hers. Why’d he find that so interesting?

“You’ve been keeping busy.” Her soft voice raced shivers down his spine, and he gripped his napkin in his fist.

“How do you mean?”

“Your movies, what’s it been? Two a year?”

He eyed her, not answering right away. So, she’d been paying attention. He swallowed his smug smile with another bite of food and then washed it down with water. “Give or take.” Though, not every film was truly blockbuster status, they’d still made the list simply because he was in them. A few disappointments for him, but the best way to succeed was to fail, so he’d take the good with the bad and consider it all success. In this industry, his sordid past put butts in the seats, and that was all the studios cared about.

With a jerk of his chin, he nudged her. “So which ones have you seen?”

She grabbed her water glass and gulped back half of it. “All of them.”

Barely able to hear her mumble over the din of the crowd, he leaned forward. He’d heard her, but not only did he want to make sure, he wanted to hear it again. “What was that?”

Her face flushed red to her hairline, and his gut tightened in response. She was embarrassed. He chuckled, a self-satisfied sound that would annoy her for sure. “All of them?”

“I work in the industry. Of course I watched all of them,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Of course. The industry.”

She stared at him. He’d give a year’s salary to know what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. She had the darkest eyes. They unsettled him and made him want to trust her all at the same time. And that was nuts; he didn’t trust anyone, especially women.

He’d made that mistake too many times already.

She tilted her head to the side and bit her lip, the flush in her face deepening. “I especially enjoyed Dark Secrets.”

Now that movie had been a blockbuster, many would say due to the writing, and others would argue it was the gratuitous nudity. He certainly wasn’t shy, and he’d worked his ass off to be in the right kind of shape for that movie, but knowing Sam not only watched it but enjoyed it made him suddenly understand exhibitionism. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Is that right?”

She narrowed her eyes at him as if declaring a challenge. “I’m a healthy adult female; I’m not the only one who’s watched it more than once.”

His voice lowered and took on a gravelly tone. “You watched it more than once?”

She straightened in her seat and finished off her water with a grin. “More than twice.”

His body tightened everywhere. Was she flirting with him? “Well, then it seems you have me at a disadvantage.” He leaned closer, holding her gaze. “And that doesn’t seem quite fair.” Images of her naked flashed in his mind, sending his tension from uncomfortable to torturous. Damn woman.

Tapping her finger against her lip, she bit the tip of it, giving him a thoughtful stare. “I’m okay with that.”

He froze for a split second, then leaned back with a laugh. Well, if she wasn’t worried about playing fair, he wouldn’t, either.

And he was right. Maybe they did still have something.

Later that evening, Sam braved the downpour and ran past the set trailers with her bag over her head, a not-so-great shield from the rain. They’d finished lunch and then filmed another sequence, working well into the evening.

A giddy rush filled her chest. What the hell had she been thinking, flirting with Gage? She grinned, feeling alive for the first time in a long time. Playing with him, and knowing she of all people affected him, sent a shot of adrenaline straight to her ego. She’d wanted to pretend they hadn’t had a connection the first night they’d met, but they had, and it was still there. One she didn’t quite know what to do with, but she couldn’t deny the fact she wanted to find out. She held back a small squeal of nerves by biting her lip.

Rounding the last small building, her car in sight, she lowered her bag. Gage stepped away from the side, his wet hair slicked back, water dripping from his nose and chin. A black T-shirt was stretched across his wide chest and over his broad shoulders.

Her heart stopped.

“What’s your game, Sam?”

Sam stammered. “It’s raining.”

He dipped his chin once. Wrapping his thick fingers around her upper arm, he steered her in a U-turn and up the steps of his trailer.

Sam threw her hands out at the door like a damn cat avoiding a bath. “Wait a minute, what are you doing?”

“We need to talk.” Without pause, he crowded her through the door and closed it.

Turning around, he leaned back against the door—her only escape. He ran his fingers through his sopping hair and then down his face, clearing his throat.

She jumped at the sound. Hadn’t she just been flirting with him? Now she twittered about like some damn virginal sacrifice in a war lord’s harem. And there was nothing sacrificial about being alone with Gage, except maybe her ability to think.

He laughed, and when his humor faded, he still held her gaze.

The sound of his low, rumbling chuckle did weird things to her insides, topsy-turvy, inside-out kinds of things. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Sweet baby Jesus. She averted her eyes in a panic but eventually gave up and took in every inch of his taut, tanned skin. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t want you to get wet.” He stepped toward her, hesitated, and then closed the distance between them. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said in a husky promise.