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  He pulled her to him firmly and she felt his erection pressed against her belly. “Is that really what you want me to be doing with my lips right now?”

  That was all he had to say and the time for talking was over. She lifted her mouth toward his and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. With lightning speed, he captured her tongue with his mouth, sucking at it fiercely as his teeth raked along the bottom. It was the moment of his unleashing—the moment she realized the extent of the self-control he’d demonstrated as he’d scrubbed her clean.

  While one hand held her at the nape, the other hand found her clit without detour. Splaying his fingers across her lower belly, he circled his thumb and stroked her into a frenzy. She was wet and more than ready when a few short minutes later, he urged her thighs apart with his knee and rammed his stiff cock inside her.

  Heather gasped at the initial shock of his entry. He was rough and didn’t wait for her to adjust to fit him before pulling out and ramming in again. It was brutal and delicious and unlike any sex she’d had before. It fulfilled so much of what she craved that she felt near orgasm before he’d plowed into her a third time.

  The hand that had held her neck moved to lift her thigh around him, his fingers digging into her skin.

  “Are you ever gentle when you fuck?” she asked as he plunged in again, deeper this time with the new angle.

  “No, I’m not.” He picked up his rhythm as if emphasizing his point. “Is that a problem?”

  “No. It’s not.” It wasn’t a lie. His savagery, the way he pulled at her hair, manhandled her body…it was a huge turn on mentally. And physically, he did the job in a way that no one ever had. Seth’s blunt jabs hit a spot at the very end of her—a spot that rippled with pure electricity every time his tip slammed against it.

  It was short moments before she was clamping down around him, her orgasm moving through her in a brutal burst. She fell limply against Seth’s chest. When he had completely rubbed out her climax, he pressed her tighter against the wall. “Grab the towel rack,” he commanded. His hands gripped her hips and angled her upward.

  Fuck. She was spent, completely spent. But in this position he reached even deeper, rubbing against the upper wall of her vagina in such a way that she knew another orgasm would soon follow. It did, building through her with an aching slowness, like an impending sneeze or a gathering storm. Then it released in a similar fashion—rolling over her with such intense longevity. Even her hands lost feeling, her hold on the rack slipping. If it weren’t for being trapped between Seth and the wall, she would have fallen to the shower floor in a heap.

  Just as her second climax began to cease, Seth’s rhythm picked up and three strokes later he joined her release, groaning as he did.

  It felt like decades passed before their breathing returned to a somewhat normal pace, before Heather had feeling in her lower limbs.

  “Seth?” she said when she could speak. Not because she had anything to say or ask. She just needed to say his name, needed to know he’d been as affected as she’d been.

  And somehow he understood. “I know,” he said. “Me too.”

  When she could stand by herself, he pulled away enough to reach for the body wash. She laughed as he soaped her inner thighs and private parts. “There. Now you’re clean.”

  Except now, she sort of felt dirty. But for once, it didn’t bother her. It was an amazing kind of dirty. Freeing and naughty and exactly okay.

  Seth turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall. He grabbed a towel from the linen shelf and held it open for her. “Your towel, my princess.”

  She swat at him. “Stop it.” Her protest was halfhearted. She liked his nickname for her. It made her feel special—singled out in his universe. Assuming she was the only one he called that, anyway.

  “Never.” He wrapped the white fluffy towel around her and pulled her in for another kiss. This one was slow and languid—their tongues dancing to an unheard adagio. In its warmth, any last fragment of doubt she had about Seth melted away. He wasn’t her past. What he could be, though, was her future.

  When the kiss ended, he spoke first. “About that date—”

  “Yes. I want to go out on a date with you.” A fresh wave of heat filled her cheeks. She’d cut him off—maybe he’d changed his mind. “That is if you’re still offering.”

  He laughed. “I just fucked you mindlessly. In your shower. In the middle of a working day. You think I’m not going to offer? Hell yeah, I want to take you out. Repeatedly, if you’ll let me. Even if only half of our dates end in sex.”

  It was a mystery how her skin could spot with goose bumps when she felt so warm. “Why would only half of our dates end in sex?”

  He laughed again as he secured a towel around his waist. Heather frowned to see his beautiful body covered up. “I’m not suggesting that only half would.”

  He picked up Heather’s discarded robe from the floor and held it open for her. She turned her back to him to slide her arms in.

  He leaned in, his breath caressing her neck. “I was only pointing out that I want to be with you, Heather. Even when your clothes are on and you’re lashing at me with words instead of with that sweet tongue of yours.”

  God, he had a hold on her. She didn’t even know him. And he didn’t know her. He might not want another date once he experienced what it meant to be part of her world. “Let’s start with one date,” she said, dropping her towel and tying her robe in its place. She turned to face him, rubbing her hands against the sinewy muscles along his shoulders. “But I must warn you, I’m not an easy person to date.”

  “I’ve already figured that out.” He reached for another towel and bunched it around her hair, squeezing the excess water into the material.

  “Not because of my personality, you ass. Because it’s hard to get privacy.” She took the towel from him and gathered it like a turban on her head.

  Seth grabbed the towel she’d discarded on the floor and used it to dry his hair before tossing it in the laundry basket. “And privacy is important to you.”

  “It is important to me.” Heather opened the bathroom door and stepped into the trailer’s bedroom. She smiled at Seth’s clothes piled on the bed then turned back to see him still standing in the bathroom, watching her with a furrowed brow. “Not because I’m embarrassed to be seen with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He followed her into the bedroom. “Thank you for clarifying. I get it. It’s the fans.”

  “Yes.” Stupid fans. She hated to be the type of person who complained about them. She recognized they were the ones who kept her in a job. But couldn’t they love and admire her without encroaching on her personal space? Sometimes she couldn’t even pee without being bothered.

  Seth picked up his jeans and dropped his towel. Heather’s heart picked up at the semi he still sported. What she wouldn’t give to spend the rest of the day naked with him in her trailer instead of filming.

  Pulling his jeans on sans underwear, Seth said, “Well, personally, I’d prefer my dates to be with you. Not your entourage. So trust me when I say I will plan accordingly.”

  “Seth?” A man into wild monkey sex and conscientious of her groupies? What more could she ask for? “You’re awesome.”

  “You can’t possibly mean that.” He paused while he put his T-shirt on. “I mean, I am awesome, but you don’t know that. Yet.”

  God, if he didn’t stop grinning at her like that, she’d never be on time for make-up. “I think I—” The sound of a door opening stopped her. She put her finger up to her mouth to gesture to Seth to be quiet. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” he whispered back. “You expecting anybody?”

  A chill ran through her. People didn’t just walk into the actors’ trailers. It was cause for termination and everyone on set knew it. Also, the lot was secured. No one that shouldn’t be there could have gotten access. She shrugged off her anxiety. “It’s probably my assistant. She’s the only pe
rson I know who would walk in without knocking.” But what if it wasn’t? It would be obvious to anyone that she and Seth had just showered together, both of their hair still wet. “Shit. I should have had you lock the door. I’ll, um, do you mind staying put while I check it out?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Seth sat on the bed to put on his socks. “Tell me when the coast is clear or give me some sort of sign.” He winked at her.

  “Thanks.”

  Heather took a deep breath and pulled back the partition enough to step through, then shut it behind her. She saw him immediately, sitting on her sofa, his feet propped up on the table while he played absentmindedly with his lighter.

  At the sight of her, one side of his mouth curled up in greeting. “Well, hello, baby doll.”

  Heather closed her eyes, hoping the sight in front of her was a figment of her imagination—some cruel waking nightmare. Why here? Why now?

  But when she opened her eyes, he was still there, lounging in her trailer as if he belonged.

  Her heart sank at the reality. “Hi, Daddy.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heather pulled her robe tighter, unable to lose the chill that had overcome her. It had been almost two years since she’d last seen her father. That time he’d shown up at a movie premiere and threatened to cause a scene if she didn’t talk to him. She’d given him money to go away, as she always did when she saw him. Why else did he ever show up?

  She braced against the counter for support, her legs suddenly feeling wobbly. “How did you get in here?” He would have had to pass a security guard to get on the lot. Dean Hutchins was a crafty man though. Security rarely deterred him.

  Dean pocketed the lighter he’d been playing with and held his hands out to his sides. “Now, is that any way to greet your old man?”

  She glanced up at the clock on the microwave. She was due in wardrobe at exactly that moment. She didn’t have time for this.

  And Seth!

  He was still in the room behind her, a flimsy partition the only barrier between this part of the trailer and that. He’d hear everything, no matter how she hushed her voice.

  She swallowed her sob of humiliation—she couldn’t worry about Seth now—and repeated her question. “How did you get in here, Daddy?”

  Dean took one booted foot off the table and put it on the floor. “I opened the door. Didn’t even have to pick the lock this time.”

  That had been nearly five years ago. When she’d done a six-week run in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Ahmanson Theatre. He’d picked the lock to her dressing room, was waiting after a show. “I told you if you ever did that again I’d have you arrested.”

  “But you didn’t mean it, baby doll.”

  “I did mean it.” Though she wasn’t sure about that. Pressing charges against Dean would bring him into the limelight. Everyone would know about him and, subsequently, everyone would know about her. What her stock was. That she was, at heart, nothing but trash.

  She always took precautions now. Lexie knew about her father, extra security was written into all her contracts. The lot was secured! “Who let you on the lot? You have to have clearance to get through security.”

  Dean waggled his brows. “Guess I had clearance.”

  “Tell me!”

  He sighed. “Turns out the security guard is a Heather Hutchins fan—oops, I mean Wainwright. Or at least a fan of her sixteen-year-old body in a skimpy bikini.”

  She knew that picture. There were few from her childhood; they hadn’t owned a camera and her mother was generally too drunk to care about preserving memories. Heather had bought a disposable camera to take candid pics with a friend. A handful happened to be taken in their swimsuits while they were tanning. If she hadn’t run far and fast from her home when her father had kicked her out, she’d have gathered all those personal items. Besides her name, she’d left a lot behind—things that Dean had sold off over the years. Wasn’t that what parents’ did when their children became famous?

  What was more surprising was the security guard. “He let you on the lot in exchange for a picture of me?” No wonder she had a general distrust of, well, everyone. “Hope it was worth it. He’s not going to have a job here after today.”

  “Now, Heather. You don’t need to be a bitch.” Dean plopped his other foot on the floor and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “You’ve always had it out for the working man.”

  Her father hadn’t been a working man since she’d first hit it big. He lived off the money she threw to him—money she gave him in hopes that he’d finally leave her alone and let her put her past behind her. “What do you want?”

  Dean stood and walked to her, spreading his arms open in an inviting hug. “Can’t I just come by to see my baby doll?”

  “Yeah, I’m not buying that.” She ducked out of his embrace. “Look, I’m at work here and I need to be in make-up. So let’s skip all the usual bullshit and cut to the chase. What do you want?”

  “Work?” Dean scanned the trailer. Heather knew what he saw—the forty-two inch flat screen TV, the granite countertops, the stainless steel appliances. He was probably adding up their worth. “Sure as shit doesn’t look like work to me. Deluxe trailer with all the fancy? Nah, this is what I call a vacation.”

  Her patience had reached its limit. “What. The fuck. Do you want?”

  “Okay, okay.” Dean lifted his hands in surrender. Then he put on his serious face, his voice growing somber. “It’s not for me. It’s your mother.” She’d definitely gotten her acting skills from her dad. “She needs to go to rehab.”

  “Again? That was your excuse last time.” Why did he even bother with reasons? She’d give him the money anyway in the end, whatever he said. “How much is it going to cost?”

  “Two hundred.”

  Her eyes popped. “Two hundred thousand?”

  “It’s a six-month program. She needs the intensity. Seems the thirty-day bullshit doesn’t work for her.”

  She doubted her mother had ever been to rehab for two days much less thirty. The money she gave to her father paid for booze and coke. She wouldn’t be surprised if Dean was coked up now.

  It made her sick to think about it. Made her pissed. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore. I told you that the last time you came begging for money. Frankly, you’re not authorized to be here. I could call security.” She picked up the cell phone she’d left on the counter earlier and held it up, threatening.

  “You could. But you won’t want to cause a scene.” His lips tugged up into a smile that bared his drug-yellowed teeth. “See, baby doll? I know you.”

  “You don’t know me at all.” And yet he did. He knew she was embarrassed by him, knew that she wanted to sweep him under a rug. Her threats were empty.

  “I do know you.” He patted her on the arm. “And I know you wouldn’t turn your back on your family.”

  Even though she’d shrugged away from his touch, it was just enough contact to stir her emotions. She folded her arms across her chest as a tear slipped down her cheek. “You mean, like you turned your back on me?”

  “Now, Heather. You’re the one who ran away.”

  “You kicked me out!”

  “We had a spat. That’s all.”

  He probably really saw it that way. Thought that her whole reason for taking off boiled down to one argument on one night of her young life. But it hadn’t. She’d wanted to leave for years—since she was old enough to think about running away. She hadn’t because she thought for some crazy reason that she might be needed. Loved, even.

  Except, every day of her teenage life proved differently. She was treated like she was a burden, told she was worth nothing, yelled at and screamed at and belittled. So when her father kicked her out, it was the permission she needed to leave. To let go.

  Yet, she hadn’t ever been able to do that last part. Well, she was doing it now. Once and for all. “Okay, I’m done. Please, leave.”

  “Not ’til I get what I came for.” He t
ook another step toward her. “What I deserve.”

  She couldn’t back farther, trapped between her father and the counter. She tried not to shrink away, to stand up to the man. “You don’t fucking deserve anything from me. Get out!”

  “Don’t you talk to me like I’m some stranger, Heather.” Dean grabbed her arm, pinching her skin between his fingers. “I’m your father. Your flesh and blood.”

  “Let me go.” She wasn’t afraid of him—he’d smacked her around before, but never really hurt her. It was her pride wounded now. She was pretty certain there’d be a bruise from his grip and she sure as hell didn’t want to explain that to makeup.

  “Not until you show me some respect.” His grip tightened.

  “Let me go!” She yanked her arm away, but it wasn’t her own action that released her from her father’s hold.

  It was Seth.

  “The lady said to let her go.” In a blur of movement, Seth had Dean’s face slammed against the refrigerator, his arm pinned behind his back.

  “Don’t you worry yourself about this,” Dean said, his high-pitched tone the only sign he was bothered by his predicament. “I’m her father. We’re fine.”

  Seth pulled Dean’s arm higher. “I don’t care if you’re the goddamn pope. She says to let her go, you let her go.”

  Heather’s stomach lurched with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Seth’s hero act was very touching. She’d dated guys that protected her from fans and overzealous paparazzi. But this…this felt different. Sweet, to say the least.

  On the other hand, Dean was her father. The father she hid from the world. If she wanted him to stay hidden, he’d have to go quietly. Seth’s approach promised a whole lot of noise.

  She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. “Seth, it’s fine.”

  “Heather…” His voice trailed off, his expression speaking volumes. You don’t have to go through this, it said. You don’t have to take this from him. Not anymore.