One Hot Secret (Love on Fire)

Including my own family.

“Here you go,” Maria says, handing me the two coffees in takeaway cups. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Outside, Carlos is polishing Grace’s car. It’s gleaming under the morning sunlight.

“New ride?” he asks me after we exchange greetings.

“No, it belongs to a friend. I’m returning it this morning.”

The keys are already in the ignition, and I start it and wave goodbye to Carlos. He doubles up as the gatekeeper, and he hurries to open it for me.

As I drive, I sing along to the pop song on the radio. I feel euphoric and happy for no particular reason. The day is filled with promise from the pale blue skies to the slight breeze keeping the atmosphere cool.

It takes me twenty minutes to get to Grace’s place. I see her form standing outside the building. Seeing her sends a near electric current sizzling through me. My lips pull in an involuntary smile. I’m in trouble, I tell myself as I guide the car into street parking.

She comes bounding in before I can get out and open the door for her. Her scent fills the car and stirs up my desire. I laugh aloud.

“What?” she says grinning.

“I’m laughing at myself. You entered the car, and the first thing that crossed my mind was how much I’d love to take you back upstairs.” I’d never admitted that to any other woman, but Grace has such an easy personality that I feel comfortable telling her anything.

She throws her head back and laughs. “Will it console you to know that I thought the same thing too when I saw you.”

My heart staggers in my chest at hearing the words. I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide a hand along her jaw. We meet halfway, our lips mashing together. Time stops.

Kissing Grace is like melting into another person. She tastes sweet and hot at the same time. I kiss her until our breaths grow erratic. Reluctantly, I end the kiss.

“That was not the best idea.” I gesture at the tent in front of my pants.

Grace reaches out and cups my dick over my pants, and I growl as she strokes it. She laughs softly.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask her.

“Very much so, but I’d rather be upstairs with you in my bed,” she says in a husky, sexy voice.

“You’re lucky we have to go to work.”

“You are just full of threats,” she says.

“Threats, huh?” I adopt a menacing voice. “We’ll see if you’ll be singing the same tune in the evening.”

“What are you planning on doing, kidnapping me?” Grace asks, her voice dripping with sexual innuendo.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” I tell her.

A few minutes later, we run into traffic. Grace whips out her phone and searches for the best route to avoid the traffic. I turn the car around and use a route that takes us through my home area.

“Do you know that Abel Steiner lives around here?” Grace says, staring out the window.

He’s one of the most gifted directors that I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. “So I hear.”

“Oh, and look, paparazzi outside those gates. Probably a celebrity’s home. Poor people,” Grace says.

“What do you mean, poor people? They have a good life. Lack of privacy is a small price to pay for the lifestyle they live.”

“It’s too high a price to pay. Can you imagine having everything you do plastered across the newspapers?” Grace says in a voice that is full of emotion.

“Well,” I say, trying to sound reasonable about it. “It is a life they chose, and they end up making more money than they’ll ever spend, and they get to travel all over the world.”

“Maybe but their families did not choose that life, so it’s not fair on them,” Grace says.

A lump forms in my throat. She sounds dead serious about all this. It’s not just idle conversation for her.

“Tell me this, would you date a celebrity?”

The robotic voice from her phone comes on to tell me which way to go. “You can turn it off,” I tell her. “I know the way from here.”

She turns it off.

“So would you?”

“Absolutely not! The one thing I value above anything else is my freedom and privacy. Can you imagine never ever being able to walk down the aisle of a store or lie on the beach without someone wanting to take a picture of you?”

Nausea rises up my throat. I should have known that this was too good to be true. I’ve ended liking a woman who would absolutely hate my life. One who would hate the attention. I’ve never dated a woman who complained about the perks of being a celebrity. Without exception, they all enjoyed the red carpet, the photoshoots, the money, the exotic destinations, and the recognition.

“A lot of people enjoy the attention that comes with dating a celebrity,” I point out as mildly as I can.