A Hollywood Bride (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 2) (4 page)

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

We go into his room. It’s larger and more opulent than any hotel suite, with a bedroom and a separate seating area, plus a walk-in closet that’s bigger than most studio apartments. I see a table and chairs that weren’t there before; housekeeping must’ve set them up.

Ryder pulls out a chair for me and I sit, murmuring my thanks. Our dinner is a simple affair with tossed garden salad, freshly baked rolls and my favorite chicken Parmesan. Taking a deep breath, I pick up my fork and brace myself for the next few hours.

* * *

Ryder

I sit on Paige’s right. We eat in silence. It’s partly because I’m hungry, but also because I want to act like the issues between us—the ones that made us raise our voices at each other—don’t exist. Easy to do if I keep my focus on how close she came to losing her baby. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of that blood on her skirt.

The food is fantastic, as usual. My chef spares no expense getting the best ingredients, and today’s no exception. I try to pretend that this is like any of the dinners Paige and I have had before. When we traveled for work, we generally ate together. I hate eating alone, and she kept me company.

A pang pierces me. The good old times are never coming back. Things are too different now.

“Is there anything we need to do to make sure…you know.” I gesture at her belly.

“No. I just need to take it easy. And make an appointment to see Dr. Silverman as soon as possible.”

The definitive tone of her voice says the topic’s over, even though the soft frown on her face says there is more to it than what she’s sharing. If she’s trying to make clear how much she wants to keep me out, she’s doing a damn good job.

The next few minutes pass in a silence that feels like a boulder pressing down on me. Paige’s shoulders are sloped down, her spine half-slumped into a C. She’s feeling it as much as me.

I make small talk about some scripts I’ve been reviewing. She nods at the right times, but there’s no spark in her eyes. After a while, I give up.

A small bit of annoyance knots inside my gut. We still haven’t talked about what’s important—the sex tape, her visit with Anthony, how we should handle everything. I don’t want to talk about any of that anyway until she’s feeling better. But it’s hard when she’s shutting me out, acting like she’s some kind of martyr.

It’s not my fault things are the way they are.

We finish our meals at the same time. She places her utensils back on the table precisely so, as if everything depends on their proper alignment.

“Thank you. It was very good,” she says, then starts to stand. She doesn’t even straighten to her full height before she cries out and almost crumples. I’m out of my seat and holding her in an instant. She’s flushed, and the knuckles of her hand are white on the back of her chair.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. It was nothing. Sorry.” She exhales a long breath and doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

Right
. I pick her up. Even as her arms tighten around my neck, she says, “Put me down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I give her a look. “As if.”

“But I’m…heavy.” The last word is spoken so softly, I almost miss it.

I don’t bother to answer. I’m not going to hurt myself carrying her to bed. Besides, it’s nice to hold a woman who doesn’t feel like she’s going to break in half if I breathe wrong. Anger fills me as I remember how Anthony pushed her in the middle of the fight. Even though she acts like it was nothing, I know the fall hurt her. She’s been walking like an old woman ever since.

Despite her asking me to stay away, I should’ve been with her. That way, she would’ve gotten the care that she needs for her injuries. She might be too focused on the baby to demand more for herself, but not me.

I place her gently in the middle of my bed. Biting her lower lip, she looks away as I peel her pants and underwear off. I don’t care if she’s uncomfortable, as long as she lets me check her out.

I suck in a breath. There’s a dark reddish blossom on her left hip that looks like a lurid flower. It’s the size of an ostrich egg and is going to deepen into black and purple tomorrow.

“Damn.”

“It’s really not that bad.” Her voice is light, but shaky.

“You should’ve said something to the doctor. They would’ve given you something.”

“Ryder, no. No painkillers. Nothing that’s going to risk the baby.”

I get that, I do. Still, I’ll be lying if I said I’m okay with this.

“Don’t move.” I point a finger at the center of her chest to make sure she understands I’m serious.

She pulls her lips in, but stays put. I open the top drawer of my dresser and rummage around.
There it is
. A glass jar the color of jade. I pull it out with a grim smile.

“What’s that?” Paige asks, her gaze curious but wary.

“Ointment. I got it in Hong Kong when I pulled a muscle.”

“Let me guess. A stunt that you insisted on doing yourself?”

“Yup. And then they wouldn’t let me do any of the other action sequences, so we had to have a stuntman come in. But this stuff is great. Got me back to normal in no time.”

I open the jar and take out a dollop of the ointment on two fingers.

Paige wraps a hand around my wrist. “Is that stuff safe for pregnant women?”

“Yes.”

She narrows her eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because it says so on the jar.” I show her the label.

She takes her time reading it, but finally relaxes. “Okay.”

The ointment is thick and gooey, but as I spread it over her flesh, it starts to thin. I massage it into her muscles. The key is making sure that it’s fully absorbed. “I don’t know what you think about me, Paige, but I’ll never do anything to hurt you or your baby.”
Even if you betray me
. I learned my lesson when I abandoned Lauren in Mexico. Even though I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen, she still ended up dead because of my decision.

Paige leans forward until her forehead rests against mine. “Ryder…”

Her sweet breath fans against my skin. It tickles, but I welcome the sensation. When we’re like this, it’s like all the shit in the last forty-eight hours never happened.

I push away all the bitter memories and focus on Paige. Her eyes are closed, and she keeps dragging her teeth across her lower lip until it’s red, wet and swollen.

My fingertips touch her lower belly. “You little rascal,” I whisper. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Her lashes are wet when she opens her eyes. When she breathes out my name again, it’s like there’s an invisible rope between us, and some unseen force is pulling me to her.

I dip my head and brush my mouth against hers. A small quiver flutters all along her skin.

I move my hand gently to her injured hip, giving it a little extra warmth, and deepen the kiss. Her lips part, and she brushes her tongue against mine tentatively. I sip at her sweet mouth, tracing her every curve, memorizing the shape and texture and fleshiness of her lips. A soft moan tears from her throat, and I press harder against her, making her swallow the sound.

Fire starts in my lions and spreads throughout my body. My blood sizzles as heat tightens my skin. I want her. And it’s something beyond physical relief that I crave. I want her pleasure. I want her on her back, her legs spread, and screaming my name as I bury my cock deep inside her and pound into her over and over and over again, until she can’t remember what it’s like to be without my dick inside—

Suddenly, she lets out a sharp cry, and my eyes snap open immediately.

“That hurts.”

My hand has tightened on her injured hip without my realizing. Cursing, I snatch it away. What the hell was I thinking? Sex is the last thing she needs right now.

I stand up and shove my fingers into my hair. Having intercourse—or any kind of sex really—is probably the stupidest idea I could have had, given what happened earlier. I don’t know anything about miscarriage risks, but I’m pretty sure inducing muscular contractions isn’t on the list of recommended activities.

“Sorry,” I say. “Bad idea.”

“It’s not your fault. We both got a little bit carried away.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay. One of us needs to keep our cool.”

She looks at me for a long time, then nods. “You’re right. We should’ve kept our cool.” She pulls her clothes up, wincing slightly as the hip bruise is covered again. She licks her lips, and her throat works. Her gaze darts from my face to her knee and back to my face.

The best thing to do would be to just take her to her room and end the evening now. But I know it’s too late.

And then they come, those four dreaded words:

“We need to talk.”

* * *

Paige

I can tell Ryder is looking for some graceful way to close the evening. But everything has just gotten to be too much. I can’t pretend like everything is fine, head back to my room, shower and go to bed.

“Honestly, we should have talked in the morning when you first approached me,” I add.

He merely looks at me, resting his hip against the dresser. Then he finally says, “Okay. Go ahead.”

I lick my lips and voice the words I thought about during my drive back to his Beverly Hills mansion. “We should…” My throat closes up, and I can’t say the next words. His taste still lingers on my lips, and I can still feel the imprint of his hand on my left hip. If I had a super power, I would go back in time and take Shaun’s threat more seriously. But it’s too late to wish for that now.

I drag in a deep breath and try again, because this is important. “We should quit now if you don’t trust me. Given your history with Lauren, I don’t think it would be good for you to be with a woman you suspect is using you for fame and fortune.” I stop, suddenly uncertain. It sounded so much better in my head.

He’s turned rigid. “It’s only for a year.”

The quiet, flat response tells me more than yelling and screaming would have. “Ryder. The biggest reason I was okay with this fake marriage was the fact that you trusted me. I thought I was doing it for my baby, but now I realize I wasn’t.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“I thought about why I said okay. I could’ve found someone else who wouldn’t have complicated my life the way you will.”

He sighs but doesn’t speak.

I forge on because this is important and he has to understand. “I can’t be with a man who doesn’t trust me. That’s my minimum requirement. I don’t expect love in an arrangement like this, but I deserve respect. And how can you have respect without trust?”

“You’re right. You can’t.” He taps the edge of the dresser with a finger. “But shouldn’t you earn that trust?”

“I think four years is plenty of time. And sometimes it’s about a choice. You can choose to trust someone or not.”

“A choice?” Ryder rolls the word, testing its shape and feel. “Kind of an odd thing to choose. Why should I make such a choice right now?”

“Because I’m not an actress. I can’t convince people that I’m happy to be your bride when I know every time you look at me you see somebody who’s using you. If we end it now, you still have time to find someone who can play the role to your liking.”

Ryder doesn’t answer me immediately. Instead the muscles in his jaw flex and twitch. Maybe he’s taking the time to process what I’m telling him. After all, we only have three weeks until the ceremony. Or maybe he’s angry that I want to end it. I’m pretty sure he’s never thought that a woman would turn down a chance to be his wife. Most women would hack their way through half the Amazon jungle to get his ring on their finger.

I sigh and drop my gaze for a moment. “Anyway, you don’t have to answer right now. I imagine you’ll need some time to think it through and talk to your lawyers about the prenup and other arrangements you’ve already made. So…three days? Will that be enough?” I search his face, but I can’t read him. He’s completely closed off. “Just…let me know.”

And with that, I get up and leave the room before I try to plead my case about the sex tape and how Shaun tried to use me. I’ve already said my piece on that subject. There’s nothing more for me to do until Ryder makes his decision.

Ryder

“Dude. What the hell are you doing here?” Elliot is staring at me like I’m insane. He told me he was at a strip club when I called to hang out.
A strip club
. But I decided to join him anyway, since there aren’t that many people I can be with when I’m in this kind of mood. Now my half-brother spreads his hands like the world suddenly isn’t making sense. “You’re engaged.”

I shrug. “Don’t worry. I took the back entrance. Nobody saw me come in.”

“That’s not the point. You should be with Paige.” Still, he moves over so I have enough space to park my ass on the couch next to him. He doesn’t look like me, even though he’s still handsome enough to turn heads from time to time. He got most of his looks from his mother. It’s probably better that our father’s genetics didn’t express themselves. Dad’s a top-tier asshole.

Elliot’s in a dress shirt and slacks. I’m in a fresh button-down shirt and soft black denim pants.

He peers at me. “What happened to your face?”

I grimace. My lip still hurts. “There was a little incident.”

“With what? A belligerent door?”

I snort. It’s probably never crossed his mind that I would get into a fistfight. Violence isn’t my thing. Way too much effort, for one. I can generally get what I want just by trading on looks and charm…and money and connections. Since I don’t want to get into my morning confrontation with Anthony, I let my gaze roam the private room.

It’s somewhere between swanky and gaudy. Three scantily dressed women move to the pounding beat on a hot pink stage, arching their backs and pelvises to accentuate their curves. Their small tops litter the shiny stage. Their feet, in clear platform hooker-heels, are spread apart, and their legs part lewdly, flashing thin strips of cloth nestling between their thighs. Since Elliot likes to splurge, we’re in a VIP room alone with them. They all have a few hundred-dollar bills sticking out of their thongs, and there are two bottles of very good scotch on the table.