Stunt: Hollywood Bad Boy Romance Page 2

  “Babe, go get my costume list for tomorrow from wardrobe. I'm not happy with some of these shirts that make me look more country and western than badass drug lord,” he says, flicking through a stack of clippings featuring guess who.

  Babe is, I realize, the catchall term for when a person can't remember your name because they never asked it in the first place. Why am I so in love with a man who has no idea I’m alive? I'm not even atmosphere for Knox Templeton. I'm the girl that brings him espresso and to-do lists.

  I head down a hallway in the enormous airplane hanger building, looking for wardrobe. Ten minutes later I realize I'm going in circles. Damn imperfect ones because I can't work out how I keep passing the same stack of daggers from the Chinese gang scene.

  I'm lost.

  I plunge into another hallway. Completely empty until Knox emerges from one of the doors lining the passage and heads straight toward me.

  Alone.

  Without his usual entourage of minders. The girl ready to primp his hair. Another whose only task appears to be to shoot 'selfies' on a phone to upload to his social accounts. He's completely alone. He comes toward me and his bulk fills the space in an enthralling way.

  He is hotter than ever, his thighs carving a fine stride in his low slung jeans threatening to slide over his narrow hips and reveal – jeez – get your mind off Knox Templeton's huge cock. My cheeks flush bright without my permission. I want to turn and run, or face the wall so he can't see what he does to me. And when I think about turning to the wall, I picture Knox's knee pushing between my thighs, forcing them to spread as he pins me there and – oh god.

  Although I'm sure he's used to women flustering around him, I have to act cool and professional. I'm his assistant. I organize his life. He's looking at me. He's actually seen me for the first time since I started working for him, he's meeting my eye and sending a shiver down to a spot buried between my thighs.

  He's almost on me and I have to move to the side to let him pass in the narrow passage. But he's already stepped away to make room for me. A chivalrous act I've never seen Knox undertake for anyone. I manage to keep going on unsteady legs and he gives his famous lop-sided grin as I pass. I can tell he's checking me out. His eyes trawl slowly to my breasts then drag themselves down to my ass and thighs before taking a leisurely stroll back to where my nipples are prodding hard through the thin white fabric of my cheap shirt.

  Oh my god, he's giving me a long hard eyefuck.

  I totter on past him and when I can't resist a glance behind me, he's still standing there, his back to the wall watching my ass sway down the corridor. Eyes front, I keep going, a massive smile spreading across my cheeks. Knox Templeton totally checked me out.

  I find the door marked wardrobe and head on in.

  “Good, thank god you're here, put this on,” the costume designer hands me a gown of silky chiffon that cascades like a clifftop waterfall from my arm.

  “I – I'm here for Knox's costume change list for tomorrow,” I mumble, unwilling to let go of this gorgeous piece of fabric, the color of a vibrant emerald. I just want to take it home and stroke its luxuriousness instead of the polyester my life is surrounded by.

  “I thought you were Emily Jayne's fit model. You look exactly the same. Dammit, can you do me a favor and slip this on. I'm so far behind and I can't take another screaming fit from madam if this gown isn't ready for her appearance tonight.”

  “Sure,” I say, “glad to help.”

  “You can pop in the change room behind the cutting table,” the wardrobe mistress indicates a red velvet curtain for me to 'pop' behind.

  I might have to start rocking a British accent like hers, it sounds so cool. I wiggle out of my pencil skirt and tight button-up shirt. Which I wear every day, I'm so totally immersed in playing my role of sexy girl Friday hoping Knox will do more than check out my wiggle.

  My underwear hardly does this amazing dress justice, but it'll soon be covered. As soon as the liquid fabric pours down my body I seem to change into the mermaid from the Disney movie or one of the silver screen queens that get to float through life on a permanent cloud beneath their feet instead of lurching step by desperate step.

  I have to admit I look amazing. As I pull up the zipper artfully concealed in the side seam, my waist morphs into a siren curve as though I'm wearing fifteen pair of Spanx. The illusion is incredible. My breasts push up into a pair of perfect round orbs. My tiny waist swells out to round hips from which that tightly pleated fabric drapes to form a kiss right at my pubis.

  The fabric then flares away in diaphanous sheets that show off my legs through thigh high splits either side. I push my hair up for a more sophisticated look and turn this way and that in the mirror, amazed at how good one dress can make a girl appear. “I'm ready for my close up, Mr Demille,” pouting my lips in that famous line from the golden age of cinema.

  “Halloo, how are you doing in there?” the wardrobe mistress calls out on the other side of the curtain. I emerge from behind the red velvet, imagining I'm coming out for my fans.

  “Wow, you really are just like her,” the woman coos. “Same body, blonder, younger. Better watch out.”

  I'm about to tell her she's a week late with the advice but her text alarm makes a loud twang.

  “Bugger, I have to pop out to Emily Jayne for a mo.” she says. “She needs a tuck.”

  She needs an entire uplift I think, meanly, about the girl who stopped me from getting a bit part that could have launched me as a real actress.

  “Can you hang on a mo until I get back?”

  “Sure. I could hang about wearing a dress like this for the rest of my life. It's stunning.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. Back in two ticks.”

  She picks up an extra box of pins beyond the ones she's wearing as a bracelet on a pad at her wrist and hurries from the room. I go back behind the curtain where the mirror feeds my vanity and do another little turn.

  She's right. There's not much to choose between me and Emily Jayne. I really could be one of those girls on the red carpet. Why do some people get the breaks and others are constantly fighting to get a peek behind the curtain of success and happiness?

  I do another little twirl, picturing myself at the Oscars, or the after-party at Elton's where I'll be feted by all the most gorgeous movie star hunks and Knox will come to claim me as his.

  I'm still doing my Disney princess revolutions when the door clicks open and closed. And then another click tells me it's been locked.

  Is the mistress back already?

  She must have secured the door so no one walks in while she fiddles with the fit on my body, making it perfect although I don’t see how it could be bettered.

  I pull the curtain open, a little embarrassed at how I'd been admiring myself with such vanity.

  “Sorry, I was playing -” I don’t get to finish before the lights snap out plunging the windowless room into darkness.

  “Who's there?” I call into the gloom. “Turn the lights on.”

  “Shhh, I wanted an alone moment with you,” a throaty voice murmurs, sending shudders of recognition through my chest.

  My breath quickens as I realize I'm in the dark with Knox and he wants a moment alone with me. Oh my god, his fingers move up my arm sending shower sparks through my core. He buries his face into my neck as he pulls me into his solid arms.

  Then it occurs to me that he thinks I'm someone else. Because how could he know I'm in the wardrobe department? Oh yeah, he sent me down here to get his costume list. Then he gave me a good eye fondle in the corridor. And did he make the call that encouraged the wardrobe mistress to step out? All so he could declare his feelings to me.

  “I've been watching you for so long, Kitten,” he moans into my neck. My back is pressed against his wall of torso that I've salivated over for years. His arms envelop me pinning my tiny waist, one hand crawls up to cover my breast and I gasp as his fingers pinch the point through the fabric.

  “You're so b
eautiful. So fucking sexy,” he moans. A solid bulge presses into my butt cheek and he lets out a low groan into my ear. “I can't stop thinking about touching you. Every part of you.”

  I'm rotating my hips so my butt writhes against his rock hard cock, almost burning a hole through the slinky material. I tip my head back so he can suck on more of my neck and he squeezes both my tits, mounding and pinching them through the dress.

  He's tweaking my nipple so hard I'm worried he might tear the fine fabric. And at the same time I don't care because I want more. I want him to rip the soft gown from my body and tear into me. He's trying to pull down the strapless top but the dress is too well fitted and refuses to malfunction.

  “Oh god,” I moan.

  “That's it, Little Kitten, let me be your god.”

  He already is and I want to tell him I worship everything about him except my heart is pounding in my throat.

  Tired of battling with the frock, he continues to tweak and twist my nipple as his hand trails across my pelvis and discovers the thigh high slit. His dick presses into the chasm between my cheeks, molding to my curvy cheeks as his fingers crawl beneath the fabric and travel across my upper thigh.

  “Relax, princess,” he growls softly against my ear. I try to do as he says but adrenalin is pouring through my limbs. I can't possibly inhale as his fingertips reach the edge of my panties. He has me pinned with a solid forearm across my chest, tweaking at my nipple.

  He hesitates only a moment making me arch my back, compressing his hot dick to encourage him. Then he thrusts beneath the fabric into my panties and sends a lightning shower through my core as he glides across my clit. His fingertips tug my lip aside and bury deeper into my spread, rubbing into the slick folds.

  “Jeez princess, you're fucking dripping.”

  “I adore you,” I whimper before I can hold myself back. Pulsations of white light are powering up my legs as he pinches my clit then stretches his fingers further into my secret spot, toward my sodden opening.

  “I adore you too, Kitten. Spread for me.”

  I do as he orders and open my my legs so he can push two fingers inside my pussy. Recalling that gorgeous smile as he passed me in the hall. He must have decided right then that he couldn’t wait any longer. I can't either.

  “Nice and tight,” he groans. “I wanna fuck this nice tight wet pussy right now.”

  “Yes,” I moan, my head whipping side to side with the delicious sensation of his fingers plunging into my inner channel. Knox Templeton the world’s biggest movie star wants to be inside me.

  A metallic sound from beyond the curtain makes him halt with his fingers pressed into my sweet spot. I automatically grind down, begging him to continue plunging the sensitive area inside me, powering me toward impact.

  Again, the clanking noise outside. There's some muttering in an irritated British accent, then the sound of a key and the door flies open.

  ChapterTHREE

  “What happened to the lights?” The costume lady, I'm almost certain her name is Celia, hits the switch. “What's going on?” she asks me, then notices the biggest star in the world standing behind me.

  She looks confused and unsure of what to say now. Knox is grinning while my face is scarlet shade further brightened by the green of the dress. I notice he's caressing his fingertips together, savoring the bath of my juices covering them.

  “I think Emily Jayne is on the warpath,” Celia eventually says, breaking the long uncomfortable silence.

  “Huh?” he looks at me and a frown of turmoil contrasts his perfect features. “Gotta jet,” he says and without another word or look at either of us, he exits the wardrobe department.

  I'm left to pull myself together, when my legs are two sticks of jello attempting to support a quivering mess. I notice my lungs hurt because I haven’t been breathing for at least the last five minutes. I'm relieved when she tells me to climb up on the platform so she can access the gown without groveling on the floor.

  “Very naughty boy that one,” she says with a shake of her head.

  I guess she's trying to warn me but I'm too tangled up in my mind to respond. She works in silence for a while, her mouth full of pins, leaving me to get it together.

  “So are they hooking up?” I finally ask, with as much nonchalance as I can muster. Not even sure I want to hear the bad news.

  “Who?” she asks, removing the last pin from her lips and sliding it thought the chiffon hem.

  “Knox and Emily Jayne.” Who else could she think I'm referring to?

  “Hooking? Oh I don’t care for that term at all. It makes us sound like a school of fish swimming around waiting to get skewered.”

  I laugh. She's so funny and all her words sound hip because of the accent. But back to Knox's fishing expeditions.

  “So are they dating?”

  “You'd hardly call it that either,” she says. “Not that I like to gossip, but those two are the most outrageous celeb pair in a world of outrageous pairs. Actors back home are a little more humble as a rule.”

  I wish she would gossip because I decide I want to devour everything about Knox and his love life.

  “Movie stars on a picture often get told to start a romance for the sake of publicity. And because of his, you know, reputation.”

  “Oh.”

  My heart plummets to my toes faster than a celebrity annulment. If he's seeing Emily Jayne, he's hardly going to announce me as the future Mrs Templeton.

  “She seems keen on the idea. She gets to lead him a merry dance, you know because of his past.

  “How's that?

  “Well the studio need him to hold off with the bad boy act in real life. So they've told him to play the romance with Emily Jayne and she's been posting a ton of shots on Instagram of them together. Not really together, any time they have a scene together, she has her PR girl shoot stuff that looks way more intimate than the real romance is off camera. I think he's peeved about it but what can he do?”

  “You don’t believe that stuff about him in the magazines?”

  “I believe you should be careful who you choose to be alone with in dark rooms.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to think about that.

  I just shoved my ass into his rock hard cock and begged him to plunder my pussy so I can hardly make judgments. I guess I'll just have to wait until we get the chance to talk about it. But fuck talking, I want his fingers sliding across my clit like that again, pinching the point until the pent up lust threatens to ignite. I need him inside me, moaning how tight and wet I am as he thrusts harder.

  “So Knox and Emily Jayne are a thing? They're seeing each other?”

  “Oh sure. That'll be hot and heavy through the production and all the premieres. You know how it works.”

  “Not really,” I admit, really feeling like the dumb hick with no understanding of how the beautiful people live.

  “This is my first job out in Hollywood.”

  “Oh, Sweetie. I'm sorry,” Celia shakes her head.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can tell by the glow you're wearing that you're smitten. He's a good looking boy but he's a devil. Definitely not relationship material. Not even dating material. You must protect your heart if you're going to survive in Hollywood.”

  And a lot of other parts too I guess. I tear the dress off as soon as she's done with her alterations, feeling it suddenly smothering me. Of course he wouldn't be attracted to a redneck like me. He probably just tries it on with every woman available to him.

  All those reports about him could be true. That he is a lecherous dog that hits on every woman. I'd like to know what happened to the last PA, Sam, the one that disappeared suddenly in a huff as Alaine put it. Why was she so upset? I can only imagine.

  “It's amazing how much you resemble Emily Jayne,” the costumier says before I make my escape.

  “Hmm, Thanks.”

  Although appreciation for that zinger is the furthest thing from how I'm feeling.
It only brings home how I'm not as good as the actress, not good enough to be with Knox. Unless he made a mistake in what happened. What if he thought it was Emily Jayne in the fitting room. He would hardly have been expecting his lowly PA to be standing around in a ten thousand dollar gown.

  Maybe he saw Celia leave, snuck in and turned out the lights for some sexy times with his main squeeze. He certainly did look shocked when we were caught. But he knew I was coming to wardrobe and he gave me a good visual strip-search, passing me in the hallway.

  I don’t know which of the many emotions swirling like a tornado around my mind is the one to finally settle on. I can't suddenly switch off the desire I've had for Knox for years. The only way to know for sure is to discuss this with him at the first chance I get.

  Because aside from anything, I really don't want him or Emily Jayne to decide it would be better if I wasn't around.

  Truan

  I'm kicking back in my little hovel of a dressing room, thinking about the girl with the biggest, hazelest eyes I've ever seen. And curves on her that would challenge a world class speedway driver.

  I haven't seen her on the set before but she was strutting her stuff in way that looked like she'll be sticking around. I have every intention of finding out who she is and getting her sexy lips to turn up in a smile like the one she just bestowed on me in the hall. The one that made my dick twitch harder than it's done in forever. Being surrounded by these plastic women who think only of lights and lenses.

  So I'm not in the mood for some of Knox's shit and my gut instinctively retracts when he slams into the room, panting like a cartoon character.

  “Sis, you gotta do something for me. I need your help.”

  “Whattupp, Sis?” I say. He doesn’t detect how I'm yanking his chain for the pseudo 'hood speak. He's been in one too many biker gang movies and fancies himself as a Charlie Hunnam sidekick.

  Ever since some celebrity blogger convinced him that 'Sis' is the new 'Bro' he insists on calling everyone that. And like the Emperor's New Clothes no one has the balls to tell him he's being a total douche.