A Hollywood Bride (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 2) (14 page)

The meal goes well. We don’t talk about what happened earlier in my office. Of course, it’d be hard to do that with Elizabeth there, but I’m grateful anyway. I really don’t want to tell him what Mira said.

Ryder drapes a hand over the back of my chair, and I feel the heat radiating from it on my neck. The tension from the day melts, and I relax into the conversation.

He’s in a fine mood. Elizabeth eggs him on to tell her inside stuff about the movies he’s made.

“You sure?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. “You’re going to be totally disillusioned.”

“Surprise me. I’ll take my chances.”

I chuckle. “While you’re at it, surprise me as well.”

Clearing his throat, he leans forward and assumes a conspiratorial air. “Okay. How about this: Most people think doing a romantic scene is pretty awesome, especially when the characters are gazing into each other’s eyes and all that.”

I blink at him. This is the last thing I expected him to talk about.

“They
are
really romantic,” Elizabeth says.

“Well, yeah…unless your costar keeps farting.”

I choke on my drink. Elizabeth snorts a laugh. “You’re lying!”

“I’m not kidding.” He raises a hand, palm out. “Scout’s honor.” The other one, the one that’s resting on the back of my chair, takes a section of my hair and wraps it around a finger.

My heart skitters a bit. “So what did you guys do?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the effect his hand has on me. “Edit out the farting noise?”
For god’s sake
,
it’s just hair
.

“We couldn’t because we couldn’t stop laughing. Besides, she was so embarrassed it wasn’t possible to continue.”

“What made her so…gassy?” Elizabeth asks.

“Bean burritos and yogurt off the local roach coach.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah. So not only did we get the sound effects, but that movie was done in smellovision. We had to postpone the scene for a week. That poor woman.”

We all burst out laughing. Elizabeth wipes her tears. “I have no idea if it’s true or not, but you better not tell anybody. People will start going through your filmography, trying to figure out who this woman is.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t told a soul. Besides, her agent made everyone sign an NDA afterward. He was horrified.”

“If you signed a nondisclosure agreement, why are you telling us the story?” I ask.

He looks at me. “Because I have faith that you won’t repeat it.”

And for some insane reason, my insides turn all gooey and soft. I can’t remember why I thought it was a good idea to make him tell me why he could trust me as his assistant but not as his fiancée. Maybe he already knows at some basic level, even though he can’t articulate it.

“I swear I won’t tell,” I whisper.

“Neither will I.” Elizabeth blinks away the rest of the wetness from her eyes. “My god, you’ll never give me a penny if I do.”

Ryder snorts, but even the joking mention of what Ryder could possibly hold over her makes my gut tighten, reminding me of Mira’s threat.

“We should watch a movie or something,” Elizabeth says, stretching. “I bet you have stuff that isn’t in the theaters yet.”

Ryder’s lips twitch. “I might possibly.”

“Oh come on. Isn’t your latest in post-production? Don’t you have a copy?”

“I do, actually.”

“So let’s watch that one.”

He hesitates. “It’s, ah, pretty violent.” His gaze falls to my belly. “Totally not appropriate for babies, even if they’re still in the oven.”

I laugh. “I think it’s fine. It’s probably too young to hear anything.”

Bright fire lights in his eyes as he regards me, and my breath catches. It’s as sexual as any look he gave me when we made love, but there’s a complexity to it as well. Like he’s longing for something so bad it physically pains him.

And I feel like I’m the cause of that pain, and I want to pull him into my arms and promise to give him everything he needs so he won’t feel like that again. Of course that’s crazy. It’s not just his emotions at stake, but mine too. What I thought would be a simple and convenient arrangement is twisting me around until I’m not sure
what
I’m feeling anymore. All I know is that I’m in way
way
over my head, and if I’m not careful there may be damage I won’t be able to undo.

Not willing to dwell on my fears anymore, I paste on a smile. “Come on. Let’s watch it.”

* * *

Ryder

As a rule, I hate watching my own movies. It’s awkward to see myself up there, doing things that most people would never do for entertainment.

The screening room is built for comfort and has a recently upgraded surround system. The furniture inside is oversized, like we’re in a land of giants. I got the inspiration after staying at the Ritz one time in Thailand. Everything in that place looks like it was designed for elephants.

Paige hesitates, but takes the center couch, the one where we shared a pizza and made love, whispering our fantasies to each other. My blood sizzles at the memory, but I do my best to hide my reaction. Paige is skittish. I don’t have to be particularly sensitive to know that. And I want her to relax and laugh like she did in the sunroom. Her laugh is the reason why I agreed to watch the movie in the first place.

I sit next to her on the same couch. It’s so big that six more people could fit in as well. But my sister takes another one to our right. She gives me a “you owe me” look, and I answer that with a “how big of a check do you want?” look.

The movie is all slick action, with some sizzle thrown in with a hot new actress from Portugal. It’ll never get me nominated for an Oscar, but it’s great for sheer escapist fun, and I liked making it.

As the movie goes on, Paige relaxes. She gasps and laughs and yells, “No way!” when the bad guy escapes about halfway into the story despite my most valiant on-screen efforts.

I roll her hair around my finger and breathe in her sweet scent. As much as I like Mira, I want to kill her for showing up when she did and ruining the moment in the office.

Paige leans closer, and soon enough she’s cuddling by my side, her legs folded under her in that double-jointed way women have. I put my arm around her back. Her soft curves fit me perfectly, and I start wanting more than a cuddle. I skim my hand over her bare arm. She shivers, but doesn’t move away. Desire simmers in my blood, and I want to hold her and make her come the way she did before in this room. I want her legs spread, her pussy glistening, and I want to hear her scream my name and rake her nails down my back as she falls apart over and over again. I want to remind her of the kind of sharp pleasure I can give her, how much she belongs with me so she won’t ever shut me out again.

Up on screen, I get shot. A crimson blossom appears on my shirt, and the visual reminds me of Paige’s bleeding.

A small jolt runs through me. We can’t do anything more than cuddle right now. We still don’t know what caused the bleeding, and the last thing I want is to jeopardize her pregnancy. She’s already suffered so much because of me. Those memes…I’ve seen my share of ugliness, but they still stunned me.

But the counter-attack has started. I already called the editor-in-chief at
Lifestyle
and told him in no uncertain terms that the attacks against Paige, even if left by the users of the site, will be taken personally and I will never allow their magazine near me or my family again. I don’t have enough influence to keep my family away from
Lifestyle
to be honest, but the threat was enough to make the guy jump. He swore to me that what they did was against the site’s terms of service and that all their accounts will be banned immediately and the hateful comments scrubbed.

I make a mental note to talk to my team about how best to deal with the problem. I’m not having her cry again because of the assholes of the world.

Paige

I get up late. I don’t know if it’s the emotional exhaustion from yesterday or staying up later than I would’ve liked, but I don’t hear the alarm go off.

When my eyes finally open, it’s already nine thirty. But for some reason the room’s still really dark. Frowning, I pull the curtain back and see flat, gray clouds and sheets of rain coming down hard.

I shower and put on a conservative navy blue top and a pink skirt. Since it’s going to be wet, I put on boots. I need to hurry if I’m to make my appointment with Dr. Silverman.

“Damn. Look at that,” Ryder mutters, shaking his head, watching the weather out the window. He lowers his hand into a small bowl of shelled walnuts. A t-shirt that says
I Heart My Life
wraps around his big, muscular torso, and he’s in dark jeans and boots.

“Just a little rain,” I say, grabbing a green smoothie from the chef, who offers it with a smile.

“A little my ass. It’s like Noah and a bunch of animals are going to be floating by any minute.” He actually looks worried. “Maybe we should reschedule,” he says. “Or ask Dr. Silverman to stop by.”

I take a sip of the smoothie. It’s amazingly good, with a hint of mint giving it a refreshing aftertaste. “Ryder, didn’t you ever learn to drive in the rain?”

He shakes his head. “I’m a man of many talents, but not that one.”

“I see. Well, then, I’ll do it. I’m not bothered by a little water.” I start drinking the smoothie faster.

He growls. “But do we trust the idiots on the road?”

“Don’t be mean,” I tease. “I got mad skills.”

He snorts, then chuckles. “Maybe you do.”

“Come on. We’re going to be late.” I put the empty cup on the counter and start toward the foyer.

The housekeeper has already set out umbrellas. I take a bright pink one, while Ryder chooses black.

We take the Mercedes. It’s the one Ryder insisted that I drive during my shopping spree with Josephine. The pricey car was there to ensure that people didn’t gossip about me. Back then I thought he was being overly image conscious, but now I appreciate it, especially with Bethany having to take my car. It’s also a very solid vehicle, more protection against wet-weather LA drivers.

And sure enough, the Los Angeleans are driving like the road is frozen solid. It’s just some wetness, but they can’t seem to relax. Cars inch forward, then brake, inch forward, then brake like three-legged turtles in a race.

“This is the only time I really miss Sweet Hope,” I say, resting a hand on the wheel.

“When it rains?”

“Well… I miss Mom and Simon, but not the town itself.” I hesitate, then add, “It has too many gossips, you know? Nothing better to do than get in other people’s business. And all those ‘friends’ who just can’t wait to be the first to tell you something bad.”

Ryder nods. A moment later he asks, “How come you always call your stepdad Simon?”

“Well, that’s his name. And he isn’t really my dad.”

“You miss your biological father?”

The question makes me pause. “Yeah. I do.”

“When did he pass away?” Ryder’s voice is sympathetic.

“Before I was born. We never even got to meet.” I let out a self-conscious laugh. “It’s so silly to miss a man who never even held me. But…he was my dad, you know? I feel like my childhood would’ve been different if he hadn’t died in a car wreck. Mom told me he was a good man, and wanted the best for me. Growing up without him was hard, but knowing that he was watching over me like a guardian angel helped.” I sniff, then scratch the tip of my nose. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“No.” Ryder reaches over and squeezes my hand.

I let him keep holding it. The connection feels fragile yet so precious.

If I just throw caution to the wind… Could this turn into something more?

I’d like to believe it. My lips still tingle when I think about the way he comforted me in my office yesterday. And I loved the way he held me in the theater room last night, his breath tickling my neck and his hand on my arm, skin to skin.

Elliot asked me why having Ryder’s trust mattered when we were only marrying for a year. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid. Afraid that if I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love with a man who doesn’t have that high a regard for me.

Ryder is the only man who affects me like this. And it started even before we began talking about the marriage. He can drive me crazy, irritate me until I want to kick him, but then he makes me laugh just as easily or turns my insides soft with his sweet gestures. And when he looks at me these days, it’s as though I’m the only woman for him, as if all the other women before me have crumbled like pillars of salt and blown away in the winds of his memory.

And his kisses heal the wounds left by the ugly comments better than anything.

I turn my hand so I can squeeze him back. He pulls it to his mouth and kisses the knuckles.

“What’s that about?” I ask.

The smile he gives me is so brilliant, my heart flutters. “Just because.”

* * *

Ryder

The first word that pops into my head when we step into Dr. Silverman’s office is “soothing.” The sage green and creamy yellow colors are remarkably calming. Instead of posters about dangers of this or that disease, the walls have prints of modern art.

I approve. If the doctor is as good as the office décor, the concierge fee I’m paying for the clinic will be money well spent.

The receptionist leads us into the private area where we can see the doctor right away. In her forties, Dr. Silverman is skinny. Her appearance isn’t remarkable, short with an average face and mouse-brown hair. Her outfit is also predictable—a white lab coat over a conservative coral tunic and black skirt.

Lines around her warm green eyes crinkle when she smiles. Paige relaxes, and right then and there, I decide I like the good doctor.

She gives us a friendly nod. “Paige. Mr. Reed.”

“Call me Ryder,” I say. Mr. Reed is what people call Dad.

“Of course.” She gives me a polite smile and turns to some charts.

I appreciate the professionalism. After the intros, she doesn’t spare a single extra glance my way. Her focus is entirely on Paige and the baby.

“If you don’t mind, let’s see what’s going on.”

There is some drawing of blood, a bunch of scans. The doctor checks Paige’s ankles and hands and feet, making notes.