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Rosie grinned.
As did Amy. “Honey, the devil wishes he was as badass as us.”
I could’ve seen this conversation going a lot further had two men not entered the room.
Two fricking hot men.
The majority of beauty found in LA was carefully constructed and curated by plastic surgeons, facialists, and makeup artists. There was a slight sheen to it. Everyone looked the same, fake.
Yet every single person I’d encountered in Amber thus far was as attractive as all hell, naturally. And beyond that, they were all unique.
The two men were no different.
Both were large in stature and in presence. They both wore Sons of Templar cuts. The one on the left was taller, leaner, and muscled to be sure. His blond hair effortlessly fell around his face in a way that most talented hairstylists in LA couldn’t replicate. His tanned arms were covered in tattoos, and his eyes lit with a smile focused on Amy, beyond focused, zeroing in, like she was his center of gravity.
The one beside him was shorter, but not by much. He was bald, about the same amount of tattoos, but an air of menace about him.
“Sparky, you’re here. The kids are with a sitter—until further notice—and you’re giving out margaritas. How worried should I be?” the blond guy asked, yanking Amy to his side.
She beamed up at him. “Oh, I’d say about a five.”
His smile dimmed ever so slightly. “Fuck,” he muttered.
The large, bald, scary-looking—but totally sexy—Hispanic man gaped at me. “Ohmigod, you’re Anastasia Edwards. I love your movies.” He said this all in a rush, his cheeks flushing with what seemed like embarrassment. I’d had this reaction before—from teenage girls—but not from big burly men like this one.
It was wholesome and somehow sweet.
“Dude, way to geek out,” the hot blond, but still scary-looking surfer said with a chuckle.
Bald guy glared, and there was nothing at all wholesome about that glare. “She’s the Meryl Streep of our generation. Fuck off.” He then focused on me and extended a tattooed hand, expression changing from the deadly menace he’d shown surfer guy to a soft adoring smile. “I’m Lucky. I’m not going to say I’m your biggest fan, because I’m sure you’ve got people that go through your trash and send you ears and shit. But I’m definitely up there.” He paused. “Not in a creepy way. I’m totally and utterly dedicated to my wife. I’m a feminist. I don’t see you as a sex object. I admire your artistic talent and what you’ve done for movies and women in acting.”
I blinked rapidly at the man, the man who had been totally intimidating…until he started speaking.
Usually I was practiced at handling fans like this, praise like this.
But I was no longer Anastasia Edwards, movie star. I was just…Anastasia Edwards. I tried to grasp the former as best I could. That’s all I would be after this was over.
“Thank you, Lucky. That really means a lot,” I said, smiling. “And I haven’t had any fans that sent me an ear. I have gotten toenail clippings though.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Amy demanded.
I nodded. “Yeah, and that’s not even the worst.”
Her eyes brightened with a spark that I guessed was dangerous. “Oh, we’re going to have to talk about that over cocktails.”
“Church. Now,” a voice boomed from behind us. I jumped, but naturally, the other women didn’t. I guessed they were used to scary alpha males yelling at them.
Cade had entered the room at some point during the interaction with Lucky and he didn’t look happy. He had the whole murderous glower thing down to a T, but no one seemed to blanch in fear, so it seemed I was safe.
And that’s how I felt.
Safe.
Safe around these beautiful strangers, in a fucking biker clubhouse. miles away from the one person my entire body craved like a drug, the person who I could guess was either tearing apart the country to find me or on his way here. Duke was a smart guy. He would’ve made the Rosie, Sons of Templar connection, especially if he even suspected what I might’ve been wanting to do.
That was my mistake.
I should’ve thought this through more, should’ve taken my time to distance myself from him, start adopting my old coldness and bitchiness.
Then it would’ve made it seem like I’d left for different reasons, made him less inclined to find me.
Maybe.
It hadn’t even been three days and I missed him like a limb, missed his touch, his smell, fucking everything.
But this was for the best.
Cade pointed two fingers at Rosie and me. “Both of you, in there.”
Rosie smiled bitchily at her brother, the facial version of a middle finger. Something I made note of—that was a perfect expression to replicate in movies. I did that, collected gestures and expressions of interesting people. There was a total wealth of material here, but it remained to be seen whether I’d be able to put it to good use after all this was done.
