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-1-
Danielle St. Claire rose blearily from the tangle of naked limbs in her expansive California King bed and stumbled away from the stale smell of bad choices and questionable judgment, needing space and a fucking Excedrin to still the pounding in her head. She grabbed her robe and tucked it around her, banging her toe on the stupid day sofa as she passed by. Who the hell put a sofa in a bedroom? Well, when the bedroom was as big as her entire house growing up, you might as well throw a sofa in there, she supposed grumpily. This house, this place, she didn’t know any longer who it belonged to because it sure as hell didn’t feel right for her. The parties, the sex, the drugs…it was too much for the small town girl she’d once been. Stop being a damn cliché, she thought as she grabbed a bottle of Excedrin and popped the top, shaking out a few to toss back with a bottled water. The entire house was dead silent even though it was close to noon and there were at least ten people scattered about in various rooms. People, she didn’t even know, she might add. Everything was spinning out of control. Fame — money — endless nights spent at the clubs…what day was it? Monday? Saturday? She didn’t even know anymore.
Needing something healthy to balance out the terrible damage she’d done to herself last night, Dani grabbed a banana and choked it down, her stomach threatening to launch whatever she had in it but she managed to keep everything down by force of will. So much had changed in a year’s time. Once Judgment had come out, her world had tipped upside down in a dizzying whirlwind of change. Suddenly, everyone had wanted a piece of her and it’d been intoxicating but now, she just wanted some peace and quiet. Was that possible? People had warned her that fame was a mixed bag but she hadn’t believed anyone because she’d been so damn hungry for the spotlight. Now it was fucking blinding her.
She returned to her bedroom and stared at the three people sprawled there, snoring in oblivion. Two guys, one girl. Had she had sex with a woman? Her cheeks crawled with shame and revulsion because she couldn’t remember, or maybe she didn’t want to remember. She vaguely recalled bits and pieces of last night, and her snippets definitely included getting railed by at least one of the guys. Which one? Hell, she couldn’t say even if her life depended on it. One of the guys opened his eyes and raised his head to grin lazily at her, beckoning her to come to him but she turned away, fighting the urge to vomit that banana. He wasn’t even her type. The dark-haired guy was all beefy muscle and cock-sure laziness wrapped up in one over-privileged package. Trust fund baby, most likely seeing as she’d picked him up at Crimson last night. Probably never worked a day in his life. Nor would he.
“Come on, baby…I got breakfast right here for you…full course meal.”
“Go away,” she muttered, needing to get away this very instant before she started freaking out and landed herself in the gossip rags — again — for everyone to pick apart. Her agent was constantly squawking at her to clean up her act and she’d tried but somehow, someone always dragged her back into the wild and crazy. The word rehab had been floated past her but she’d scoffed at the very idea. She wasn’t a drug addict; she was just having a good time. Right? Funny, nothing seemed all that fun right about now. She grabbed a pair of jeans and the first shirt she could find and then hustled out of there as if the devil were on her heels.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ground them out. Somehow her life had spiraled out of her own control and she didn’t know how to put it straight again. What could she do? Everyone expected her to be the life of the party, the one with the bright smiles and infectious wit and it was important to protect the illusion of who she was or else her fame might dry up and then where would she be? She rubbed at her eyes, trying to put her thoughts on a straight course but her brain wasn’t actually cooperating. Raina kept dragging her to the clubs, insisting that the right people were watching. Watching what? The entertaining freak show of starlet Danielle St. Claire…
Jesus, help me. I’m so lost…
#
Miles had just finished off the world’s best hamburger and was reaching for his beer when his cell went off. Lindy, an actress he’d met when he still lived in Los Angeles, was on the other line.
“Hey what’s up?” he asked, pleasantly surprised to hear from the jet-setting celebrity, who also happened to be part owner of the resort, Larimar, where he’d been holed up since fleeing Tinsel Town over a year ago. They’d struck up an unlikely friendship back in L.A. and it’d been Lindy who’d suggested a little R&R in St. John where her family owned an upscale resort. His R&R had turned into an extended stay that he’d been reluctant to end. And with good reason. St. John was paradise with its powder white beaches, lazy, azure waters, and never-ending supply of sunshine. He’d even found a job at the local clinic, so his cash flow hadn’t been interrupted. Like he said, paradise. “I thought you were in San Francisco doing that theater gig?”
“I was but my agent had me reading for this part that I couldn’t pass up so I’m L.A. for a few days. Hey, the reason I’m calling is — and don’t hate me — but I think Dani needs your help.”
Dani? As in Danielle St. Claire? Just hearing that name was enough to suck the joy out of his otherwise glorious day. “What do I care about Dani? She’s the last person I could be persuaded to give two shits for.”
“C’mon, I know you don’t really feel that way. She’s in a bad way.”
“That’s her problem.”
“Miles, the only reason I’m telling you this is because I think you’re the only person who truly cares about her well being. She’s being hounded by paparazzi, and she’s been seen hanging with the wrong crowd as of late. Parties, drugs, too much of a bad thing, you know what I mean?”
“She made her bed, she can sleep in it,” he retorted, refusing to feel even an ounce of sympathy for the woman who’d eagerly busted his heart into a million pieces for the sake of her career. “Sounds like she got exactly what she was craving all along.”
“You can play the hard ass but I know deep down, you still care about her.”
“For argument sake, what makes you say that?” he asked in a bored tone, pushing at the remaining French fries on his plate.
“Because I know how hard you fell for her and those kinds of feelings don’t just go away like a fart in the wind.”
“A fart…that’s an apt description for what I felt I had with Dani. Smelly, insubstantial waste product. Good one. I totally agree.”
“That’s not how I meant it,” Lindy growled. “God, you’re being such a prick about this. Listen, Dani is spiraling out of control. If something isn’t done, she’s going to end up dead. How are you going to feel about that?”
“And why do you care about Dani?” he countered, not eager to face the answer of Lindy’s question. Of course he would care if Dani ended up on a slab but he wasn’t ready to admit that. Not to Lindy, not to anyone. “I didn’t know you were tight.”
“We’re not,” Lindy admitted, then came clean. “All right, here’s the brutal truth: I need Dani to get her head on straight because she’s become uninsurable.”
“And that affects you, how?”
“David Konswolsky is ready to attach himself to Falling From Grace — a project near and dear to my heart — but he’ll only direct the movie, if Danielle St. Claire plays the part of Hattie.”
“Which has become a problem because the insurance companies won’t touch her with a ten-foot pole now that she’s become the poster child for wanton Hollywood debauchery?” Yeah, he knew a little bit about Dani’s exploits, not that he wanted to. Even though St. John wasn’t exactly a mecca of entertainment news, every now and then, he happened to catch a tabloid with Dani’s face plastered on its front page to get looks and likes. “And insuring her has become a bad investment?”
“Pretty much. Listen, you know Hollywood’s all about appearances. You can be a raging lunatic with a million dollar coke habit as long as you keep up appearances that you’re still professional and Dani doesn’t know how to play that game yet. She got too famous, too fast and now she’s drowning. If someone doesn’t help her, she’s not only going to end up without a career, but dead, too.”
A moment of disquiet filled him. An angry, brutally cruel part of him wanted to shrug and say, that’s her problem, but there was another side to him, probably the part of him that’d taken the Hippocratic oath, that couldn’t quite ignore the fact that someone he’d once cared about was nearing the edge. But what could he do to help? He was in St. John and Dani was in California. “I don’t know what I could do to help. Frankly, I might make it worse,” he admitted. “It’s not as if we ended things on a nice, amicable note.”
“I know. But I think you’re the one person she’d listen to. She’s young and out of control. She needs someone. And I think that someone is you.”
Miles didn’t want to care. He wanted to laugh at Dani’s problems because honestly, her problems were of her own making, but as much as he wanted to be an insensitive jerk, he just wasn’t hardwired that way. Maybe if he were more like Boston Kincaid — no, forget that. Good Lord, what was he thinking? — hell, maybe Lindy was right. He did care because the thought of Dani riding a bullet train to self-destruction was more than he could handle. “So what am I supposed to do?” he asked, cursing himself for being a damn sap. “Fly back to L.A. and rescue her from her life?”
“Or just kidnap her. Oh wait, that’s illegal, huh? I don’t know but whatever you do, do it fast because that girl is disintegrating and if I can’t deliver a sane and sober Danielle St. Claire to David within the month, the deal is off and you know it’s taken years to get a glimmer of funding for Falling From Grace. This is my baby, Miles.”
Miles withheld an irritated sigh at being dragged into the crazy life of Danielle St. Claire, once again. Just when he’d started to piece himself back together again, that girl blew back into his life like a fucking hurricane. But Lindy had been there for him when no one else was, offering him sanctuary when his own life imploded — how could he turn her down? Technically, he wouldn’t be doing it for Dani…he’d be doing it for Lindy, somehow that made the proposition a wee bit more palatable. Not much, but enough to get it down his throat.
“Fine,” he gritted out, unable to believe he was about to jump feet first into a disaster. “I’ll get someone to cover my shift at the clinic and take the first flight out. Do you have an address for this train wreck?”
“I sure do. I will text it to you. You’re a doll and I totally owe you!”
Miles grumbled but accepted Lindy’s gratitude and hung up. He would do anything for Lindy and her family. Guess it was time to get his hands dirty.
He’d help Dani — in a clinical, professional manner — but there was no fucking way he’d let that redheaded piranha anywhere near his tender parts — that being his heart or cock!
-2-
Her head was spinning like a top. Dani groaned and tried to roll from the bed but her body wasn’t cooperating. Her limbs felt pumped full of lidocaine, stiff and numb. What day was it? What happened? Her brain wasn’t functioning either. Someone stirred beside her and she swallowed a gargled protest as she tried to push the fumbling hands away from her. She didn’t want this. She didn’t even know who was in her bed. Everything had spun out of control again. She’d only planned to have one drink but one had turned into…she’d lost count. And now, there was a horny stranger in her bed, hoping to get more. Bile rose in her throat and she managed to roll to the side with a sluggish movement so she didn’t choke on her puke.
“Don’t be such a tease,” a male voice said at her back, sleepy and possibly still drunk. “That fine ass haunted my dreams, baby.”
“Don’t touch me,” she mumbled, pushing at him, hoping he’d get offended and just leave. When he failed to budge, she managed to yell, “Get out, will you?” And at that his vision cleared and his gaze narrowed.
“Hey, that’s no way to treat the guy who brought your drunk ass home,” he said, jerking her to him. Her eyesight refused to focus and she had the horrifying sense that she’d been drugged last night. He tugged at her shirt, ripping the flimsy material with one jerk, exposing her breasts. She tried to cover herself but her arms were stupidly sluggish. Fear and panic gave her an additional surge of strength and she shoved against the man grabbing at her tits and trying to climb on top of her. “Nothing’s for free, baby, I was too drunk last night but I’m good to go now. Time to pay up.” His body landed on hers, squeezing the air from her lungs. He caught her flailing, rubbery arms with a cruel laugh, saying as he nuzzled her neck, “What’s with the fuss? I heard you like it like this, party girl. Well, you’re in luck, I like it rough and dirty, too.”
“Stop it!” She struggled against the heavy bulk of the man’s body, fighting tears as she realized she was going to be raped in her own bed. “Please! Stop! God, help me!” The last part came out as a tortured gasp as black dots swam before her eyes. She was going to pass out and then there would be nothing stopping this asshole from raping her. Just as she started to lose her grip on reality, the man was jerked off of her and thrown to the ground with a loud whump. She sucked in a big, deep breath, heaving as her tortured lungs screamed for air and it took several gasping draws before she realized there was another man in the room, beating the shit out of her attacker. She rubbed her eyes and lumbered across the bed to get away from the struggling men. Grunts of pain and the sound of balled fists smashing into flesh filled her bedroom and she wasn’t above hoping her would-be rapist suffered a few broken bones for what he’d tried to do to her. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to focus as she clutched the pillow to her chest in fear as the two men grappled, knocking over shit as they fought. She didn’t know if she was going from the frying pan to the fire but she had to take her chances. The man landed a final kick to her attacker’s gut and then he hauled the son-of-a-bitch to his feet, dragging him from the bedroom. “Get the fuck out, you piece of shit before I call the
cops and have you arrested for attempted rape,” he yelled as the injured man scrambled, half stumbling, half-running, out of her house. The man was breathing hard and his hands were still clenched, knuckles bleeding as he turned to her with a hard look to ask, “Are you okay?” Even though she wasn’t quite able to focus all the way, she recognized that angular jaw and sensual lips — that face haunted her dreams with frightening regularity — and she fell back against the bed in shock.
“Miles?” she could barely manage the name but her heart leapt at seeing him again when she’d thought for sure she never would. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me, lucky for you, your front door was unlocked.” He paused a minute then said, “You have shitty taste in friends.”
“He wasn’t my friend,” she muttered, heat crawling into her cheeks. “I think he gave me a ride home but then thought he’d take payment by raping me.”
Miles grunted as if her answer meant nothing to him and she winced, hating that he was seeing her like this. She might not remember the details of last night but she recalled with crystal clarity the last time she’d seen Miles Lassiter and not a day went by that she didn’t regret turning him loose the way she did. She tried to stand and wobbled, her knees going out. Miles caught her in his arms and she tried not to sink into his touch. This felt like home. Tears burned her eyes and she had to sniff them back before she further embarrassed herself. “I’m sorry…I think that asshole drugged me,” she admitted, her mouth tasting like she’d licked mud and followed it with a gasoline chaser. “My eyesight is wonky and I’m so weak.”
She supposed it was good luck that Miles was a doctor, but she’d hoped that if their paths crossed again, it wouldn’t be like this. Miles hoisted her into his arms and carried her to the living room where he deposited her on the soft chair by the fireplace with surprisingly gentle touch. “Stay right here,” he ordered before disappearing out the front door, only to reappear a short moment later carrying a black satchel.
