Текст книги "Strictly Temporary Volume One"

Автор книги: Ella Fox

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I QUIETLY SURVEY THE crowd in the club with carefully concealed disdain. Places like this are nothing but glorified meat markets. Men look for the catch of the day while women lie to themselves and pretend that they’re going to find their dream man.

The whole thing is laughable, really. Mr. Right? Nothing but a fairytale that some poor fool created to give the masses false hope. Word of the mythical man spread and eventually it became Urban Legend. These days it’s presented as fact. He’s out there, somewhere, or, Someday soon my prince will come, women whisper hopefully.

Nonsense—nothing but gobbledygook. It’s no different than believing in the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus. Bottom line—it’s all made up, a fantasy that the entire female population has been force-fed since birth. So few people ever get anything that even vaguely resembles the fairytale, and I know for damn sure that I’m one of the people that will never have anything like that.

I used to devour romance novels like they were vitamins, but after that day with Ricky and his friends, I left all that behind me. I haven’t touched a romance novel since then. The only books I picked up between then and now were textbooks for school. In my mind, reading was something that gave me false hope, and that made me ripe to be destroyed by Ricky and his friends. I’m a realist now, through and through.

After leaving Small Towne and landing in California, I enrolled in school. I was totally lost because I had no clue what I wanted to do, so I ended up getting a Business Degree. When I was at Bronson University I’d been enrolled as an English major. Back then I’d believed that some day I’d be writing books of my own—an idea which makes me laugh now. Right or wrong, I feel that all the reading I did warped my brain and made me a total idiot.

Meanwhile, my business degree hasn’t been what you would call a barnburner, and I have to admit that I’m sort of at loose ends in that department. The bottom line is that I’ve got it good and I know it. Three years ago I lucked into a great job as the chief scheduling secretary for one of the biggest building firms in the world, Hart International, but I’m not sure that’s what I want to do for the next forty years. The salary I make at Hart is almost double what I’d make anywhere else and I absolutely love the company, so leaving isn’t really on the agenda. The irony is that if I lived in Small Towne and made what I make at Hart, I’d be one of the most successful people there. Here in LA, I’m comfortable but not enough to buy my own house because real estate here is insane.

It doesn’t matter—I’d choose Los Angeles over Small Towne any day, especially working at Hart International.

Hart is a family business and I’ve gotten close with one of the owners. Not just close—she’s become my mentor, really. Sabrina’s husband is the President of the company—something you would assume means that they’re rich assholes that have no time for people like me who are fairly low on the company totem pole—but they couldn’t be nicer. It’s clear that Sabrina knew that I needed some guidance because she took me under her wing and she’s been gently trying to encourage me to go back to school. It’s a conundrum because Hart pays for employees to further their education, but I have no idea what I would go for.

It’s Sabrina that talked me into coming to this club. She and her ridiculously hot husband, Dante, reserved the VIP section for friends and family tonight in order to celebrate their brother Damien’s birthday. It seemed like a weird choice because every one of the family members is married, but Sabrina’s blush as she explained that all of the men love to dance with their women pretty much explained what was really going on.

I’m actually expending effort not to get all swoony over the fact that these people have all been married for quite a while—Sabrina and Dante are going on six years and everyone else in their family have been married for at least four—and yet here they are getting sexy with each other at a club. If they weren’t so nice, I’d be pissed about how damn lucky they are.

Even with the VIP area completely blocked off for this event, it’s still close quarters. The Harts aren’t what you would call a small family and their extended family is enormous. Add in friends and there’s a bit of a crowd for me to navigate carefully as I make my way to the bar. Clubbing might not be my thing but Sabrina insisted that I wear something sexy if for no other reason than to make myself feel good—which is why I’m making my way through the crowd in four inch spike Louboutins that she bought me for my birthday.

That crazy woman insists that a sexy pair of high heels can change your life. For me that change is likely going to result in me spending time with a chiropractor. Still, I can’t lie—when I saw the Louboutin logo on the box and then got a load of the red-bottomed heels, my heart skipped a few beats. I’ll never make enough money to love shoes as much as Sabrina Hart does, but I have to admit . . . these shoes kick serious ass.

The bartenders in the VIP section are incredibly attentive and within sixty seconds of placing my order I’ve got a chocolate martini in my hand courtesy of a girl who looks like she should be a runway model as opposed to a bartender. Color me skeptical that the drink is going to be even halfway decent. Taking a sip, I let out a low moan of pure pleasure as the perfect flavor spreads across my tongue and I mentally scold myself for judging a book by its cover. She isn’t just a bartender—she’s a mixologist.

I hear a groan at the same moment that I feel someone standing right at my back. It sends a shiver through me as I lower my drink.

“I’ve never wanted a chocolate drink before,” a deep and incredibly sexy voice growls against my ear, “but listening to that moan made me want ninety of them.”

I have no explanation for why my nipples immediately become so hard that they could chip diamonds, nor do I know why I’ve got goose bumps. I’m reasonably sure that the reason my panties are damp is because whoever he is, he smells like liquid sex. Straightening my back and mentally erecting my barriers, I turn to tell the man with the fuck me voice to take a hike.

As soon as I’m turned to him, I realize my error. He was too close to begin with and now, I’m right against him, looking at a pair of sexy as sin lips. Suddenly my own feel desert dry and I lick them as I continue staring at his mouth and jaw line. Sweet holy hell—this man’s DNA could be bottled and sold for millions. I’m not even seeing all of his face and already I know that’s he’s beautiful.

A jostling from behind pushes him forward forcing us up against each other—enough so that I can feel that he’s semi hard. My breath leaves me in a whoosh, as my panties get even wetter, and my inner voice is now screaming at me to run—far and fast. Taking a deep breath I raise my free hand and set it on his chest, pushing him back from me. “Don’t touch me,” I snap.

Lifting his hands to his side so that I can see them he says, “Don’t be angry, Beautiful. I didn’t mean to close in on you like that. I just wanted to meet you.”

I am liquid just from listening to the husky tone of his voice, and it both annoys and terrifies me. Lifting my eyes up to check out the rest of his features, I shiver as I get a good look at the man before me. He’s well over six feet tall with jet-black hair and cognac colored eyes that are sending a very sexual message. Licking my lips, I try to think of something to say, then stop dead when my brain finally engages and I realize that I’m staring at Exton freaking Alexander.

Yes, you read that correctly.

I am face to face with one of the biggest playboys in Hollywood, Exton Alexander. Last month the gossip that was literally everywhere claimed that he left a screening of the latest movie he wrote with ten—yes, ten—girls in tow.

Once a ridiculously adorable teen actor, Exton went from cute to sexy near overnight. After dropping out of the public eye for a few years to go to college, he came back as a screenwriter in his early twenties. He got a lot of buzz for his first movie, an Indie film that won awards at Sundance. About three months after that, the bottom dropped out when some girl he’d had sex with secretly recorded it and sold it to an Internet porn company.

Exton sued right away, but once it was out, that was that. The court case went on for a long time, but in the end he was boxed in and had to settle. Some industrious person in a promotional department capitalized on the fact that Exton’s full name is Exton Xavier Alexander and dubbed him Triple X. Within six months Taken by Triple X was the most downloaded file on the Internet—quadrupling what Kim Kardashian’s sex tape had done.

I haven’t seen it because porn isn’t really my thing, but whenever they run a story about him, TMZ always refers to him as the writer with the biggest package, so I know he’s got to be working with something impressive.

It took about a year for the sex tape hubbub to die down even a little bit, and Exton refuses to comment on it in the press to this day. Once the settlement was reached, he moved on and just kept on working. Now he’s known for having what they call the Midas touch with movie scripts and he hasn’t written a movie that’s pulled in less than one hundred million dollars in years.

You’d assume that getting caught with his pants down would’ve slowed his roll, but it didn’t. When he’s not writing blockbuster movies, Triple X is busy picking up women like he’s an industrial scoop.

I normally roll my eyes when I see the gossip about him, but right now, he’s pissing me off. This asshole obviously assumes that he can have anyone, anywhere, at any time.

He’s wrong. He might be able to have anyone else—but he can’t have me.

Without saying a word I shove him out of my way—not gently—and make my way over to where Sabrina is standing with Dante and a group of their family members. Her radar must be flawless because she looks up and spots me when I’m halfway to her. Leaning into Dante she whispers something into his ear before turning and walking to me. I ignore the small twinge of jealousy I feel when her husband runs his hand possessively down her back and palms her ass before she walks away.

The second she gets next to me, she pounces. “Arden, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to light someone or something on fire.”

With a flip of my hair, I shake it off. “Nothing,” I say with a too-bright smile. “Everything is fine.”

Eyebrow raised, she gives me a look that clearly states that she isn’t buying what I’m trying to sell. I’m tempted to tell her about Exton but it’s now dawning on me that he’s in this VIP area with us because he must know someone here. Since Dante and Sabrina are the ones that assembled this group, chances are good that he knows one of them and I don’t want to say anything that’s going to bite me in the ass.

“Really,” I say with a little laugh. “I guess I was just deep in thought.”

“Well, then there’s only one thing to do,” she says with a smile.

“What’s that?”

Grabbing my hand, she starts pulling me out of the VIP area with a laugh, giving me just enough time to set my chocolate martini down. Still laughing she says, “Dance!”

It takes less than two minutes for Dante to join us and within five minutes the entire Hart clan—including the extended family—is on the dance floor. They’re fun and safe so being with them helps me relax. Ten minutes later I’m dancing my ass off in an attempt to forget all about Exton Alexander.

The bass thumps and the lights flash as we all dance to the beat and pretty soon my smile is as big as it gets. This. This is where I was meant to be. Far away from Small Towne, living a normal life in a town where people don’t judge me. I might not know exactly what I want to do about going back to school, but I do know that moving to Los Angeles is the best decision I’ve ever made.

An adrenalin buzz has kicked in and my smile is wide as I dance. Suddenly, I feel heat at my back. Not normal warmth—this sizzles and sends a ripple of awareness up my spine. Without a doubt I know that if I turn around, Exton is going to be behind me. His sexual charge sends a jolt of desire, hot and heady, through my system, and I am struggling to shake it off.

It’s been five years since Ricky ruined the course of my life, and in that time I’ve had sex one more time—with a nice guy named Jonas that was in my economics class. I’d slept with him about six months after arriving in LA and that was just so that I could say that I’d had sex with someone other than Ricky. The experience was really no better than being with Ricky and I’d quickly written sex off. All that toe-curling, back arching screaming orgasm shit? Lies. All lies. For me it was more eye-rolling, uncomfortable and borderline gross.

I’m beyond relieved that I haven’t turned around and told Exton to fuck off when I see Sabrina smile and wave at him like he’s one of her favorite people, immediately followed by Dante acknowledging him with a big smile. Damn, I was right—he’s here at their invitation. I need to get rid of him, but I have to do it nicely.

Spinning around on my heel, I come face to face with him again, ready to meet the situation head on and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that I am not interested. The words forming in my head quickly disappear the second I see the predatory look in his eyes as he looks me over. I shouldn’t be having any kind of a reaction, I know this, but I can’t help myself.

It’s damned near impossible not to gasp when he grips my waist firmly—but not painfully—between his hands and maneuvers me forward before leaning in close. “Dance with me,” he says huskily.

When he raises his head, I see it—a look in his eyes that makes me think that he expects me to say yes. He’s obviously the type that’s sure of his effect on women and that makes me a little sick.

Shaking my head firmly, I smile tightly as I slowly mouth, “No thank you.”

Surprise quickly flits across his face, followed by what looks like frustration. Not angry, just not happy that I’m giving him the brush off. That makes me think that I am right to assume that he isn’t used to being turned down. Mentally patting myself on the back, I struggle to keep a shit-eating grin from spreading across my face. I can’t lie—I’m taking some pleasure about the fact that I’ve surprised him.

The nod of understanding he gives me is forced, but I have to give him credit for being a gentleman and walking away. For the rest of the night I feel his eyes on me at certain points, but luckily he never says anything else.

Only later when I’m at home in the darkness of my bedroom do I admit to myself that I really did want to dance with him. I wanted to—but I am proud of myself for fighting against that desire. A man like Exton Alexander is the very last thing I need.

“ALRIGHT, I WAITED YOU out but you’re being stubborn and keeping the deets to yourself. You’ve got to tell me. What happened between you and Exton on Friday night?”

So much for getting one over on her. I should’ve known that Sabrina didn’t take my response to the text she sent Saturday morning asking this very same question at face value.

“Not a thing,” I say with what I hope is an air of indifference. “He asked me to dance, I said no thank you. That was it.”

“I call bullshit,” she answers immediately.

We’re eating lunch alone together in Dante’s office, something we do each week. Sabrina works Monday through Thursday and Dante works Tuesday through Friday. Unless there’s a ridiculously crazy deadline or something is going on, they each work the four-day week to spend individual time with their kids. It’s sickeningly adorable, to be honest, and it’s only made worse by the fact that the rest of the family that works here at Hart does the same thing.

Since my own father bailed the second he heard the word pregnant, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that the Hart men take being fathers so seriously. In my heart of hearts, that’s what I always wanted—the fantasy man who loves his wife, makes her feel sexy, desired and loved, and also devotes himself to being a dad. Since all of the Harts are taken, I think it’s safe to say that’s a wrap on the good guys in Los Angeles. Honestly, I think I just have shit luck. Even if Mr. Incredible were around, he wouldn’t be interested in me.

“There’s no bullshit about it,” I say with a forced laugh. “I had no desire to be one of the many, many notches on Exton Alexander’s bedpost and I’m sure that’s what he was looking for. I said no thanks and that was that. I didn’t even see him again for the rest of the night.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she says as she rolls her eyes dramatically. “If you never saw him watching you for the rest of the entire night, you’d have been blind or dead drunk. You were neither and I know that you definitely knew he was watching—you just pretended not to. I’ve never seen you so affected by a man before. Normally you just brush any signs of interest off without so much as blinking an eye. Not this time.”

Waving a hand in the air dismissively, I shake it off. “It hardly matters, Rina. It’s not like we’ll be running into each other again.”

“Well . . . about that. He called Dante last night and asked for your phone number. And just so you know—his description of you was hot.”

My heart is pounding so hard right now that I am surprised that Rina isn’t saying anything about how loud it is. I’m dying to know what his description was, but right now I’m too freaked out that he called Dante and asked about me. What the hell am I going to do if Dante gave him my number? “Oh my God,” I croak out in a panic. “Please tell me that Dante didn’t give him my phone number!”

“Of course he didn’t sweetie,” she assures me calmly. “Dante would never do anything that would make you uncomfortable. You obviously didn’t realize this but Exton is one of Dante’s best friends—they went to college together.”

Don’t judge—my first reaction to the news that Dante didn’t give him my number isn’t one of relief. Instead, I feel . . . almost let down. At least I do until I think about the fact that they went to college together and immediately perk up as I wonder if maybe I’ll see Exton again anyway.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Oblivious to my inner dialogue, Sabrina goes on. “But,” she says sweetly, “He did tell him your first name and that you work here. So I’m fairly certain that he’s going to search you out.”

So, so many butterflies are in my stomach right now. How would Exton look for me? Will he call and ask to speak to all of the Ardens in the building until he finds me? It wouldn’t take long—there’s just me.

Actually, let me take a reality check on that. I bet he’d do something real douchey like have an assistant troll the building, and I bet they’d pick up other prospects along the way. Exton Alexander looks for no one himself, I’m certain of that. And that’s if he bothered to look at all. I’m surprised he asked Dante for my number. I’d say it’s a safe bet it was just because he isn’t used to being turned down.

“He might be a great friend for Dante, but overall he’s not good news,” I say firmly. “He’s a man slut to the extreme and I’m not going to fall all over myself to be treated like shit. You read TMZ, Rina! You know he’s got a different Victoria’s Secret model under his arm every few months. They don’t call him Triple X for nothing, you know . . . He’s a pig.”

For whatever reason, my assessment cracks her up. “Generally speaking, all men are pigs at some point. As for the Triple X thing, take that with a grain of salt. You know how LA is—there are more rumors than truths, not that I’m saying that he hasn’t had a bad track record up to this point. I hope you’re not judging him on that tape bullshit because no one deserves to have their privacy violated like that and I hate that people think they know what he’s about because of that. I think that Exton just hasn’t found his match yet, but when he does, he’ll be great. You should see him with my kids. He’s fabulous—he’s going to be a great dad some day. Our kids love their Uncle E and Vivi especially absolutely worships him.”

Holy hell—Exton Alexander is Uncle E? Sabrina’s kids talk about Uncle E a lot. Like, a whole lot. This whole time I’ve just assumed Uncle E was one of the bazillion and five extended family members they’ve got all over the place.

“Of course I’m not judging him because of the tape—trust me, I’d be the last one to judge having some asshole betray your trust—but it’s more than that with him. Being nice to children doesn’t make him date material. You’ve had it so easy with Dante that you believe in fairytales, but that’s not real life. This guy is a player, Rina. A player! Players. Don’t. Change.”

Letting out a snort of disbelief she says, “Um—how do you imagine that Dante and I got together?”

This is an easy one. “You came in for an interview. The second you sat down in the chair, he was in love. Five minutes later he was sending truckloads of flowers to your house and he probably wrote love letters by the dozen. Anyone who sees the two of you together knows that there was never any question. I say this with love, but you’re that annoyingly perfect couple that fell in love at first sight. Easiest love story ever.”

Now she’s straight out laughing like a crazy person. “Oh my God, Arden! You could not be more wrong! I hate to burst your bubble but Dante was an enormous man-whore when I met him. For the first few months that I worked here he went through women so fast that I hardly had time to remember their names. He had a three-week rule and he stuck to that like it was the eleventh commandment. It was so ridiculous that Damien and Spencer called his women the Dante-bots, not that they had any room to talk. A bigger bunch of love em’ and leave em’ offenders you’ve never seen. When Dante and I first got together, it was meant to be a temporary thing for him—the scratching of an itch. Eventually that blew up and it got so bad that I left because I didn’t think it was going to work out.”

I’m stunned. I can’t imagine Dante Hart with anyone but Sabrina, ever. “How is that even possible? And are you seriously telling me that Damien and Spencer were like that too?”

“Yeah, I actually think they were worse. They didn’t even do the three-week thing because that was too much of a commitment. Anyway, it’s possible because that’s life. People don’t realize that they need something deeper until they meet the one person that changes their perspective on everything.”

The Harts all make it look so easy though . . . I hardly know what to say. “You, Brooke and Delilah need to share your secret because the men you have today are the farthest thing from commitment-phobic that I’ve ever seen. I’d hate you all for being so damn lucky if I didn’t like you so much. You’ve each got a gorgeous man who worships at your feet. What kind of voodoo is that?”

After taking a sip of her soda, Sabrina lets out a soft sigh. “It’s love voodoo I guess. All of them just needed love—a partner to be there and support them through good times and bad. They were good men to begin with—but they didn’t know that. I believe that Exton is the same way. He has this ridiculous reputation that makes him seem one way, but when you see him with his walls down, he’s not like what’s reported. It doesn’t have to be him—I’m just saying that I think you need to get yourself out there. What’re you so afraid of?”

Now that question, I can answer easily. “Falling for more bullshit,” I say truthfully. “You know I don’t like to discuss my past—mostly because I wish it had never happened—but once upon a time I was a giant moron and I have regretted it every single day since then. I can’t ever go back to being that weak, stupid girl.”

Reaching out, Sabrina settles her hand on my shoulder. “You’re not weak and you’re not stupid. You can’t avoid living your life because of something that happened in the past, either. I’m not saying that Exton has to be the guy you take a chance on. I know the age difference could be an issue for you, so there’s that. But what I am saying is that you can’t lock yourself away forever. If it’s been more than three years since the last time date night wasn’t battery operated—and I know it has been because you never date—then it’s time to get back out there.”

This woman is a nut! Sticking my tongue out, I blow a raspberry at her. “You are so forward,” I giggle.

“Eh,” she says with a laugh, “There’s nothing wrong with battery operated lovin.’ Before Dante, I was in a committed relationship with B.O.B for a long time. Bob and his friends still like to make an appearance at the party, but it’s in addition to the—”

Covering my ears with my hands, I shake my head. “Ew! No, no, no! Too much information,” I sputter.

“You’ve seen my husband,” she says in a mock-whisper. “Can you blame me for being insatiable?”

“Um, no. But I can blame you for making me jealous of the fact that you’re married but still somehow having tons of fun in the bedroom. You know that you’re the exception and not the rule, right?”

Waving the celery stick that she’s holding she lets out a hmph. “That’s all baloney, you know. My parents were still passionately in love until the day they died. The only real difference in my sex life today being married to Dante as opposed to dating him is that I have to be quieter because we have kids. If anything, I’d say our sex life is actually better now than it was back then. Which is really saying something because—”

Putting my hands together in a time out motion, I shake my head. “Noooo—none of that! Seriously, I can’t take it. You’re killing me here.”

“Oh, you! I wasn’t going to tell you anything salacious. All I was trying to say is that knowing someone and having trust makes intimacy that much better.”

Yeah, sure it does—for people like Sabrina and Dante.

The second lunch was over I came back to my desk and did the dumbest thing ever.

That’s right—I went onto Google and typed in how old is Exton Alexander. Don’t judge! Sabrina mentioned the age difference and I had to find out exactly what it was, now didn’t I? You know you would’ve done the same.

The answer is ten years. I’m twenty-five, he’s thirty-five. That’s a big difference, I guess—but more than the difference is the thought that it’s also a little sad that he’s in his mid-thirties and is still banging multiple chicks each night.

Still—and I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else—there’s something about the little touches of gray that are beginning to show up in his hair that is a serious turn on. There is no boy in Exton Alexander—he’s all man from top to bottom and I like that far more than I should.