“I’d love to hear your stories.” He sipped from his water, then took her empty glass from her and set them both on a table nearby. “Want to go outside?”
Reagan frowned. “Outside?”
“Yeah. There’s a balcony right over there.” He waved his hand toward the double doors that stood on the opposite side of the room. “Great view of the city. Not many people sitting out there, I bet. Allows for more privacy?”
“Privacy?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat, berating herself for sounding like a mousy little twit. She needed to remember she was a sophisticated woman in a sexy dress talking with a famous actor.
Or at least, she needed to pretend she was all of those things. Maybe she needed more liquid courage. Or maybe not, considering he just implied he was a recovering addict.
“I’d like to pick your pretty little head for gruesome emergency room stories.” He smiled, the sight of it sending a spiral of heat throughout her body, settling between her legs. He made pick your pretty little head sound downright dirty. “Especially if you have good dirt on the doctors.”
She laughed. “I have a little bit.”
“Perfect.” His smile grew, showing off a dimple in his right cheek, and she melted a little bit. She had a serious thing for dimples. She had a serious thing for this man, period, though it was all based on his good looks and charisma on the screen, nothing more.
Maybe, just maybe, she could learn a little more about him. And end up with a story to tell for years to come.
Declan couldn’t stop staring at Reagan. That sexy red dress she wore accented every single one of her assets—and she had plenty of them. Smooth, bare shoulders, full, perfect breasts and curvy hips. Those long legs filled him with all sorts of images, like having them wrapped around his hips while he plunged deep inside her body…
Yeah. Just thinking like that made him break out in a cold sweat. He hadn’t had sex in a while. It was all a part of his recovery plan. He’d pretty much given up the booze and the drugs for good. Eventually, he gave up the women too, but definitely not for good. That was on a temporary basis only.
He had to allow an indulgence here and there. But the women he’d been with since he’d become sober just didn’t do it for him, not like they used to when he’d been in a drug- or alcohol-induced haze. It was obvious that the women he used to go for were fake. Plastic and completely over the top. He was so over that. He wanted someone real.
And Reagan was definitely, one hundred percent real.
Not that he knew her that well, but he could tell she wasn’t a phony. Her conversation, her reaction to him, was authentic. She blushed, she stuttered and she stared at him as if he was the best thing she’d ever seen in her life.
He liked it. He needed it. Not the adulation and the screaming fans, the media praising him and the studio execs kissing his ass.
More than anything, Declan needed calm. Quiet. Someone who would listen to him when he had something to say. A woman who wanted to take care of him and not expect anything in return. He wanted to be normal.
Yeah. Normal. He had no idea what that was like. He’d grown up with a single mom determined to make something of herself. And when that didn’t work, she focused on him and became determined to turn him into a superstar.
He modeled. He did commercials. And when he was in his teens, he made his first movie. A summer beachside romance with a bunch of terrible dialogue and lots of kissing scenes with his leading actress. He became an instant success, a teen heartthrob—holy hell, he hated that word. All the teenage fans wanted him to be their summertime boyfriend on the beach.
So he gave them what he wanted and spread himself way too thin way too fast.
He’d banged that poor actress he’d worked with more times than he could count and then dumped her the day the movie premiered. Once he’d had his first taste of true fame, he’d fucked through an endless streak of groupies, girls willing to do anything to have one chance with him. He drank and drugged himself into a stupor. He made lots of movies—some good, some awful—and spent the money as fast as he made it.
And then it ran out. Just like everything else.
This time around, he was doing things differently. The new, serious movie role with the acclaimed director and big-time producer called for his utter devoted attention. He rehearsed endlessly. Worked with an acting coach, something he’d never done before in his life but knew he needed. He shadowed ER doctors to get a real sense of what they dealt with day in and day out, and seeing that sort of shit in real life blew his ever-lovin’ mind.
The experience prepared him. Made him realize this role was not just another movie. It could change his entire career if he handled it right. His co-stars were stellar. The director believed in him. All he had to do was prove he could handle it.
He thought he was ready for the role of a lifetime, but nerves ate him. Turned him into a seething, on-the-edge mess. His friends convinced him to come to Vegas one last weekend before he started filming. The assholes. They were just trying to get him laid. They’d complained time and again the last few months that he was acting like a grumpy dick, especially lately.
Damn it, he
wasn’t grumpy. He was trying to be serious for once in his life. Throwing him into a party situation—no matter how completely different it was from his past parties—wasn’t the answer. But his friends meant well and he could appreciate them for that.
They were pretty much all he had. The only people he could truly trust. In this business, you trusted no one.
No one at all.
“Want another glass of wine before we go outside?” he asked Reagan as they passed by the bar.
She shook her head, her soft dark brown hair brushing against her shoulders with the movement. His gaze zeroed in on the spot where her pulse throbbed, right at the base of her neck, where it met her shoulder. He wanted to kiss her there. Lick her. Nibble on her skin until she was shivering and moaning and…