The Curvy Voice Coach and the Billionaire Actor (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) (2 page)

Men who didn’t exist, anymore.

It had started in high school, when I’d first started to be teased about my body. I’d retreated into historical romances, surrounding myself with a cast of heroes who’d spirit the poor young servant girl away to a better life. It didn’t matter that my parents were wealthy in those days. In my mind, I was the servant girl in need of rescue.

As I got older, it seemed more and more sensible. Why was it okay to dump a girl via a text message, when even asking her out on a date used to require an elaborately-crafted love poem written with a quill? Modern men just didn’t measure up: that was the problem. I hid behind the excuse and only agreed to blind dates set up by well-meaning friends when I couldn’t put them off any longer. I convinced myself I was happy in my little fantasy world, where a man would ride a hundred miles just to deliver a gift to a woman. Not—I winced—break her heart by asking her to the college ball as a joke and then laughing about it to all his friends.

So I kept reading. Old manners books. Magazines for men from the Victorian era, with articles on how to woo a lady in between the “shocking” photos of women in just their corsets. Journals of real-life lords—men who’d had a butler and hounds and a carriage. I knew real men weren’t interested in me, so I built up the perfect fantasy one in my mind and dreamed of him riding up and whisking me off on his horse, taking me out of the city and into the country where he’d make love to me in a meadow.

It was stupid. I knew it was stupid. I hid the books away and never showed them to anyone. But I still ached for my gentleman hero, just the same.

***

With an hour to go, I sat on the couch watching one of his old movies—for research, I told myself, so that I could check his accent. It wasn’t my usual sort of thing. I mean, I’d watched Tanner Cole movies—they were hard to avoid. But I preferred something more cerebral, maybe based on a book. I especially hated the romantic threads of Tanner Cole movies. He and the heroine always wound up together, however many earthquakes, wars and revolutions got in the way. Real life wasn’t like that.

What I heard, as a professional, was a bass American drawl, about as far from the clipped, regimented British accent as it’s possible to get. What I heard as a woman was something different. I heard rocks grinding together, coated with honey. A warm voice, one that entered through your ears and did funny things to your brain. A voice that could tell you everything was going to be okay, and you’d believe it, but could just as easily say
get your clothes off,
and you’d obey.

I blushed. I mean, not that he’d say that to
me,
but I was starting—grudgingly—to understand his appeal.

Five minutes to go. I adjusted the laptop screen for the twentieth time and then sat back in my chair. Then I realized that when I went to answer the call, I was going to have to lean right forward to click the mouse and the first thing they’d see would be a shot straight down my blouse. Not good. So I found the option for “automatically answer all calls” and checked the box.
There.
Now when they called, I’d be sitting there waiting for them, legs demurely crossed in my chair.

Two minutes to go. One minute. I held my breath….

Nothing happened.

Okay, fine. Well, obviously their watches were a few minutes out. No big deal.

Five minutes past eight. Were they just running late? Maybe I was being silly. Five minutes was nothing.

Ten minutes late. Fifteen. Okay, that was rude. Fifteen minutes was definitely rude, right? I triple-checked that Los Angeles was eight hours behind London. Yep.

At half-past eight I let out a long moan of anger at being stupid enough to think that they’d actually bother to call. They’d obviously found someone better and not bothered to tell me.

I stomped off and did what I always did when I’m annoyed: I took a bath. Not a long one, because I didn’t want to turn into prune-girl, but deep and hot and full of scented oil. I lay back until only my face broke the surface and sighed.

And thought about Tanner Cole.

I didn’t deliberately think of him. He just sort of slid in there, like the way he tended to slide across floors while firing a gun in each hand. Or the way he slid a gleaming red Ferrari to a halt, popping the door open and grabbing the hand of the heroine, and saying something like, “Come with me! I can protect you!” And then I’d jump in beside him and we’d blast off into the sunset in a shriek of tires and a cloud of smoke….

I stretched my legs out in the tub. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t even the kind of movie I liked. I liked intelligent movies with lots of long, pensive glances between the doomed lovers and classical music on the soundtrack. And yet I found myself thinking of something more along the lines of a Tanner Cole blockbuster.

After he’d single-handedly brought down the human traffickers and unmasked the android who’d replaced the President—or whatever—he’d take me off to a hotel. Some dangerous place in Tijuana where men pulled the corks out of tequila bottles with their teeth and spat them across the room before taking a slug. And after dancing salsa with me—or tango or whatever they dance in Mexico—he’d rent a room and carry me upstairs….

I slid a hand down my body.

And in the hotel room there’d be white sheets (unfeasibly clean for such a down-market hotel) and soft pillows and he’d lay me down, and somehow I wouldn’t feel big. He was so big that he’d make me feel small—delicate, even. And he’d strip my dress from my body, easing it down over my breasts, kissing his way down between them. Then over my hips, my body pale in the moonlight and the neon sign outside the window, and he’d toss the dress into the corner and climb between my legs….

My fingers started to stroke faster. I hadn’t even been aware of them starting to move.

Wait, what am I doing? Tanner Cole’s all muscley and loud and he probably wouldn’t even have shaved and...I don’t want that. Do I?

His cock—which I imagined as enormous—slowly rubbing along my lower lips. I’d be wet for him, of course, ready for him. He’d ease my thighs apart and I’d flower open for him, a soft moan escaping my lips—

The water in the tub started to slosh around.

He’d kiss me as he entered me, the thickness of him stretching me…just...enough. Sliding up inside me, making me gasp with his size. He’d gaze down into my eyes as he powered into me, fast and hard and I’d clutch at his shoulders, the hard muscles there bunching and flexing as he thrust and thrust—

What am I—Wait, God, wait, I’m not really going to—not about Tanner C—Oh God yes I am!

I had my eyes closed tight. I tipped my head back, back arching, feeling the sudden shock of cold as my breasts left the water, and then I was clenching my thighs together hard around my hand, trapping my slickened fingers as I groaned long and low.

Afterwards, I climbed out and stared at myself in the mirror, shocked. I’d never fantasized about Tanner—or even someone like him—before. Was it because of the email? Had it made him real, somehow, instead of just a guy on a cinema screen?

I looked at myself. Long, thick auburn hair that I could never do anything with. Boobs that boys had been staring at ever since they first appeared—too big, too heavy. Hips and ass that stuck out far too much. There was just too much of me and it was all wrapped in skin so pale that I fried as soon as the sun hit me.

Actually, my pale skin was sort of a blessing. It was a good excuse to cover up, even in the height of summer.

With my body, a fantasy was all Tanner would ever be. He wouldn’t want someone like me. He’d want someone special.

I dried off and padded through to the living room, still naked.
Better get some clothes on and grab some food,
I thought.
It’s nine O’ clock….

At that instant, my laptop made the “incoming call” noise. I turned towards it, just in time for the automatic answer to kick in.

The screen lit up with the faces of two men. One I recognized instantly as Tanner Cole. The other was a balding guy in his forties whose eyes seemed too small.

They were both staring right at me. Particularly Tanner. He was staring at—

My mind went into freefall.

HE

WAS

STARING

AT

MY

NAKED

BODY

“
WAAAAAAAGH!”
I screamed and flailed around. Ending the call would mean moving closer to the laptop and giving them an even better view. I could hide behind something, but then what? Stay there all night? And with every second I stood there flailing, breasts bouncing and ass swaying, Tanner’s eyes just ate up more and more of me.

My hands found a cushion from the couch and I hurled it at the laptop. It crashed to the floor, the screen slamming shut.

I stood there in the suddenly-silent living room, my heart thumping. Had that really happened? Had a billionaire Hollywood actor just copped an eyeful of me, stark naked?

My legs felt as if they were going to collapse. I grabbed hold of the back of the couch and then staggered out of the room and grabbed my clothes. I expected to feel better, once I was back in the blouse and pants, but I didn’t. My heart had slowed down, but sick fear was making my stomach churn and waves of hot humiliation kept drifting up my body to blaze across my face. How could I have been so stupid? What sort of idiot flashes her body to—my mind shredded—
to a Hollywood star!

Well, at least I’d never have to speak to him again. No way he or his agent would want me now, not after they’d both seen a good portion of my body.

I picked up the laptop. It didn’t seem to be broken, but the power light was flashing on and off angrily. I opened the lid to see if it was really okay, and the screen sprang back into life. Skype was still open, and I quickly turned off the auto-answer.

At that moment, an incoming call came in. From the same user as before.

They were calling me back.

I stood there with the laptop in my hands, biting my lip. Why would they call back? To laugh?

I stared at the screen, tears filling my eyes, and watched the flashing alert as it rang and rang and rang….

...and stopped.

There. If there’d been some last hope that I’d get the job, I’d missed it. Probably for the best.

Just as I put the laptop down on the table, a text message popped up.

Can we talk?

I blinked back tears. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak to him, not after he’d seen me.

Please?

I sniffed, my chest tight. And then, without quite knowing why, I hit the call button.

Tanner answered immediately. Just him—I couldn’t see his agent anywhere. And this time I wasn’t in as much of a panic. This time, I could actually
look
at him.

He was behind a big oak desk and there were books behind him—a study, maybe. He looked wrong in that room, somehow, like a bear that had wandered into a library. He hulked over the computer at his end, looking down into the camera’s lens, his shoulders almost filling the width of the screen.

He was in a black t-shirt that showed off the chiseled slabs of his pecs and clung tight around his thick biceps. He was smiling—sort of. That perfect, full lower lip seemed to be twisting into a grin and the dimples in his stubble-dusted cheeks seemed to confirm it, but...it was hesitant. Almost nervous. Why on earth would he be nervous?

His hand was over his eyes. And then, as my gazed drifted up to his soft, black hair, I got my first live taste of his voice. It was a rumble, almost a vibration through my body rather than something I heard. Slow and thick like treacle, taking his time with each syllable, the drawl stringing together the words into an incantation that penetrated deep into my brain, rippled down my spine and ended in a hot, glowing throb between my legs.

I suddenly understood how he’d bedded so many starlets. The movie version of him wasn’t a patch on real life.

I stared at him, his hand still over his eyes, and my brain finally stopped reveling in the feel of his voice and deciphered what he’d said. He’d said, “Are you decent, now?”

I could have taken it the wrong way. I could have assumed he was horrified and disgusted at seeing me naked, and wanted to make sure that it was safe to look. But something about the way he said it told me that wasn’t the case. He said it as if he was a gentleman. As if he wanted to spare my modesty. That couldn’t be right, for a bad boy.

“Yes,” I whispered. “You can look.” I sat down in the chair.

Tanner slowly removed his hand. And now he definitely did smile, a big, wide smile that made my heart lift—for a second.

“You always answer your calls naked?” he asked.

I felt my cheeks flush beet-red. “No. I’m not used to video calls—”

“Oh! But you do walk around your apartment naked?” Weirdly, he said it as if he liked the idea

“No! I was in the bath and I—”

Suddenly, the full force of it hit me.
I was jilling off to you about five minutes ago.
Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my face. “I was...washing,” I croaked. Then, defensively, “You called an hour late!”