Brit Flick Sweethearts: A Rom-Com With Spanking (2 page)

Curt started to
laugh until he realised she wasn’t joking.

“You’re serious
aren’t you? You are looking a bit pale.”

Doris was
suddenly very nervous indeed. So nervous in fact, she could feel
her lunch was threatening to stage a comeback.

“Oh God, stop
the car, I’m going to throw up,” she wailed.

Curt sprang to
his feet and banged on the patrician.

“Stop the car,”
he bellowed.

As soon as the
car came to a halt Doris threw open the door and heaved up her
guts. She could feel Curt’s hands on her hair, holding it back so
she didn’t puke up on it.

I can’t believe
I’m throwing up in a limo sat next to Curt Gunner on the way to my
own film premier…

“I’m sorry,”
she said, hanging her head outside the door and tears stinging her
eyes. “I’m just so nervous.”

Luckily, the
theatre wasn’t in sight. The paps would have a field day with shots
of Dahlia Dean throwing up on the pavement.

And equally
luckily, her door opened out onto the oncoming traffic so no one
passing could see her from the pavement.

Horns blared
and Curt leaned over and yanked her back inside the vehicle,
slamming the door shut behind her.

“Drive round
the block a few more times, will you,” he said, taking Jeremy’s
vacated seat opposite, sliding the glass patrician open to talk
through it. He turned his full attention to her. “Are you OK,
sweetheart?”

The kindness in
his voice threatened to undo her, she didn’t know why.

“I’m fine.
Let’s just get this over with.”

“You really are
nervous, huh? You’ve smeared your makeup and have vomit on your
cheek.”

Wonderful.
Just wonderful
.

It was all too
much and the she burst into tears.

“I’m such an
idiot. I’m a stupid, fat idiot. I don’t even have anything to wipe
my face on.”

“Yeah, you
do.”

Curt shrugged
off the immaculately cut jacket and unbuttoned his crisp white
blouse.

“What are you
doing?” she gasped.

“My Sir Walter
Raleigh bit.”

Now Curt was
shirtless in the back of the limo. He took his place next to her
and ever so gently mopped up her tears with the back part of his
shirt.

“Hold still.
Stop crying. It’s hard to mop up tears when they keep falling. Do
you want something to drink?” he asked.

“I’m not much
of a drinker,” she said between hitching sobs, temporarily
forgetting who she was supposed to be. “I’ll be wobbling down the
red carpet like a ninny.”

“You’re taking
the piss, right? Like a
ninny
?”

Oh dear.

“Yeah, course I
am.”

Beneath the
seat opposite was a drawer, which Curt opened. Inside was a bottle
of whisky in a padded compartment, along with three tumblers.

He pulled them
out and opened the bottle.

“Here, get this
down your neck.”

The whisky went
some way to calming her nerves.

Once she had
come back to herself a little, she realised how very
shirtless
Curt Gunner was. His chest had a smattering of
dark blonde curls, which matched the hair on his head.

And boy, was he
ripped.
Against her better judgement, Doris was having a
hard time taking her eyes off of his glorious torso.

What a hunk. No
wonder my sister fell into bed with him.

She shook her
head to dispel the dirty thoughts. It was just the whisky taking
effect. That, and the aftermath of puking her guts up which had
left her light headed.

“Feeling any
better?”

She nodded
slightly, tearing her gaze up to meet his pale blue eyes which were
watching with something that very much resembled concern.

But of course,
it couldn’t be. That would just be silly.

“Good,” he
said.

He lay his
shirt out on the seat next to him, presumably to dry off the sick,
makeup and tears.

“I’m sorry,”
she mumbled, confident that she had managed to get herself
sufficiently under control. “You must think I’m such a
nit-twit.”

He raised an
eyebrow, that famous, ironic arch that made every woman in Britain
swoon.

But not her, of
course. She was immune to his bad boy charms.

“You’re a
nit-twit
now? Have you learned a whole new language or
something since we quit filming? What’s happened to the
foul-mouthed Dahlia that we all know and love?”

Holed up in
rehab after a nasty, near death experience with too much
cocaine…

She reminded
herself that she needed to swear more, like her sister did. It
wasn’t that Doris had anything against swearing particularly, it’s
just she didn’t do that much of it. Her circle of friends in the
tiny village she lived in didn’t really swear either. Neither did
her job encourage swearing. She wrote sweet romances for a living
and they were very much a part of her personality. A big publishing
house had taken her on for their ‘sweet, moral, and sex after
marriage’ line. She wrote under the pseudonym Louise Lovestrong and
her flimsy paperbacks adorned supermarket shelves, library stores
and airport terminals the world over.

“I’m fucking
great, thank you very much.”

Curt burst out
laughing.

“What the hell
is with you, Dahlia? You’re being so weird.”

“No I’m
not.”

“Yes you
are.”

She took
another swig of whisky. She was going to blow her cover if she
wasn’t careful.

I have to be a
cold bitch. Come on Doris, you can do this.

By the time the
limo pulled up to the red carpet Doris had got herself as in
control as she was ever going to be.

“You ready?” he
asked her.

“Yeah,” she
answered, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze without even
realising she had even done so. “Let’s fucking do this.”

CHAPTER
TWO

When Dahlia
reached out to hold his hand, something twisted inside Curt’s
heart. It was almost like an actual physical
pain
.

How
strange.

He snatched his
hand away and shrugged on his jacket. Dahlia’s tears and remnants
of vomit had dried and wouldn’t seep through to his jacket.

Doris had
turned the colour of his shirt and he wondered if she would chuck
up on the red carpet as well.

What the
hell is with her,
he wondered.
She seems so different, like
another woman entirely. Nothing like the drug taking tart I knew on
the set of Brick Face.

“I’ll get out
first, then I’ll come round and open your door.”

She nodded
mutely.

God, this was
just so odd. Dahlia was, without doubt, the biggest attention
seeker he had ever met. He had never seen this sensitive,
vulnerable side to her personality before. He had almost fallen of
his seat when she had actually
blushed
. There was no way she
could’ve been embarrassed, that would involve an entire personality
transplant. Dahlia was utterly shameless. So he guessed it was
sexual arousal. It was nice to know she still wanted him because he
sure as shit still wanted her. More than ever. In fact, he couldn’t
remember
ever
being this attracted to her.

“I’m scared,”
she whispered.

How could she
be scared? This was the woman that happily got her tits out for any
photo shoot that required it, the woman who had made sure all eyes
were on her all the time on the film set of ‘Brick Face.’

“Don’t be
scared. I’m right here.”

She really is
bringing out my protective instincts, he thought wryly. It’s
probably an act to get me into bed.

As if she
needs to put on an act to accomplish that
…

A vivid image
of fucking Dahlia sprang into his head. It had been fun, but she
had been a bit ‘porn star’ for his tastes, all fake moaning and
groaning hiding her fundamental coldness. But did she ever have a
body to die for, there was no two ways about it. And that face.
God. It had haunted his dreams like no other before or since.

Her face is
different too
, he thought. It wasn’t anything that he could put
his finger on. Maybe she’d had a chemical peel or something,
because her complexion definitely looked brighter. But it was more
than that. Her face was softer, somehow. The big cheekbones and
slightly angular jaw line was still the same, but it looked less
severe.

Curt was
puzzled.

I don’t know,
maybe she’s had plastic surgery or something.

But he had to
say, he preferred her with a bit of meat on her. The sight of those
full tits spilling out of her dress had almost made him come in his
pants. He almost regretted his jibe about her being fat. She looked
amazing with curves, far better than she had ever looked
before.

He shook his
head slightly. Why was he even going down this road? What the hell
was wrong with him?

Without further
thought he got out of the limo to the glare and pop of flashbulbs.
It was a big turnout. A huge crowd gathered around the length of
red carpet for the film premiere of the biggest British film of
2014. It wasn’t doing bad in America either, and had propelled Curt
into superstardom pretty much over night.

And he wasn’t
sure he liked it.

He smiled for
the cameras, for all the people screaming his name to get him to
look in their direction.

When he opened
the passenger door for Dahlia, he saw how terrified she looked. Her
big blue eyes were opened wide in terror and that full, naturally
red mouth, painted even redder, hung open slightly in shock.

Shit, it
looks like she’s about to keel over
...

He reached in
and took hold of her tiny, cold hand.

“I won’t let
go,” he mouthed.

The crowd
erupted when she emerged from the limo, hand in hand with her
leading man.

He gave her
hand a little squeeze and they began the walk down the red carpet.
She seemed so short next to him, even shorter than usual. She
looked as vulnerable and as beautiful as Marilyn Monroe.

He decided to
take back what he said about her being a wooden actress. Because
this was surely the performance of a lifetime.

“Curt! Dahlia!
Over here!” screamed a hundred photographers and journalists.

The flash bulbs
went pop and he felt Dahlia edge closer to him.

A man with a
microphone was leaning far over the railing. “Over here!” he
shouted above the din.

Curt steered
his leading lady over in his direction. He recognised the logo on
the microphone as being a major television network. He knew he had
to ‘work the press,’ to quote his agent.

“How do you
guys feel about Brick Face storming the box office?” the man
shouted.

“We’re
thrilled, aren’t we Dahlia?”

“Yes.
Thrilled,” she said in a small voice.

“Do you two
have any more projects lined up together?”

“Nothing in the
immediate future, but never say never, right?”

“Speaking of
which Curt, are the rumours true? Are you lined up to play the next
Bond?”

“Not that I’m
aware of,” he said, knowing full there was talk of it.

“Dahlia!”
screamed another journalist from the other side of the carpet. Curt
led Dahlia in his direction. “I see you two are holding hands. The
question everyone here is dying to ask is, are you two an
item?”

What Curt did
next was completely out of the blue, and came as a surprise, even
to him. The way she was trembling by his side, how beautiful she
looked, the adrenalin coursing through him, it all conspired to
make him swoop her down in an old fashioned, Hollywood style
clinch.

The roar of the
crowd was deafening.

“Does that
answer your question?” he asked casually when he broke off the
kiss.

When he glanced
down at Dahlia, she looked positively shell shocked. God, she was
adorable tonight.

He pulled her
close to him so they walked the remainder of the carpet with his
hand firmly around her waist, stopping to talk to various reporters
and to pose for numerous photographs.

“Why on earth
did you do that?” she hissed once they were inside the theatre.

“Because if I
didn’t find an excuse to hold you up you would’ve keeled over on
the red carpet and made both of us look like ninnys. To use your
words.”

Except he knew
that wasn’t it. The thought of never seeing her again after this
film premiere was over was too awful. Now the press had linked them
up, he was bound to see her again through necessity.

“Oh come on
Dahlia, don’t give me that look, this will do wonders for both of
our careers, and isn’t that what you want more than anything?”

He fell silent
when they were approached by some smooth guy in a suit and they
were swept along into the theatre to watch their film.

The after show
party was a glamorous, glitzy affair and Doris did her best not to
feel overwhelmed.

She suspected
that she was failing miserably. Curt didn’t leave her side all
evening, steering her round to various people that were bigwigs in
the film industry. She spotted a fair few celebrities too and she
did her best not to stare.

Again, she
failed miserably.

“What is it
with you?” Curt asked, the amusement in his voice all too obvious
when he caught her staring for the millionth time. “Christ, that
one is only a newsreader for the Beeb, what’s so fascinating about
her?”

“Nothing,” she
mumbled, feeling the hot blush stain her cheeks.

But that wasn’t
to say she wasn’t enjoying herself. It felt so good to be hanging
off Curt’s arm. What woman didn’t secretly or not so secretly dream
of such a thing? And once she relaxed, she let her natural
sweetness and intelligence surface and she exchanged light banter
with all she met as they did the circuit of the room.