Two Week Turnaround. Geneva Lee
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floor lamp. He couldn’t be sure.
Yep, this was going to be one killer hangover.
Flashes of memories filtered through his mind as he tried to piece together exactly what had happened. Big Ben. The film set. A pub. It was no good. Dropping back on his bed, he raised his hand to rub his throbbing temples.
His fingertips were black.
Not smudgy, I’ve-been-working-on-a-car black or it’s-probably-time-to-bathe black. Nope, they were stained black with a permanent ink meant not only to document his identity but also to shame him. Black ink on all ten fingers was the modern day scarlet letter. Who knew they even arrested people in London? It seemed too impolite.
When he finally touched his temples, he winced again. Poking the skin over his left eye gingerly, he discovered what was probably a helluva bruise, which reminded him that he’d been in a fight. He still didn’t remember going to jail, but if he’d been dumb enough to start throwing punches he must’ve been drunk enough to majorly screw up.
“You’re awake!”
Isaac flinched at the perky exclamation, uncovering his eyes as a pretty brunette skipped into the room. She was topless, and under normal circumstances he would have appreciated watching all three girls bouncing cheerfully toward him. Right this minute he was still working out the details of how he’d got home, wondering how bad his face was, deciding how to charm his agent and director into not caring that he looked like a prize fighter, and coping with a head-splitting hangover. Plus, pretty as she was, this girl was too goddamned bright-eyed for morning time—or waking hours in general.
“Do you want me to get you some breakfast?” She flopped onto the bed and ran a finger over his abs in an attempt at seduction. “Or I could help you wake up in other ways?”
Isaac held up a finger to silence her. “Shhh.”
“Oh!” she yelped. “Do you need an aspirin?”
“I need...”
“Yes?” she prompted breathlessly.
“Silence,” he finished.
The girl was quiet for a moment, and he peeked carefully out from his hands. She’d caught a strand of her espresso locks between her fingers and was twisting it with what looked like a considerable amount of effort.
“I can be quiet,” she burst out finally, and Isaac pulled a pillow over his face as she continued. “Or get you breakfast or give you a blow job!”
He shoved the pillow away and took her hand to soften the blow. “Look, um...”
“Heidi,” she offered, saving him from fruitlessly searching for her name.
“Heidi, look. You’re a pretty girl, and obviously, you’re very...nice—” it was the kindest thing he could think to say “—but I really just need to get some more sleep, drink my weight in water and call my agent.”
She tilted her head and stared at him. “You don’t want a blow job?”
This clearly puzzled her, and if he was being honest, his dick felt pretty puzzled, too. But if there was anybody dumber than him after a night of drinking, it was his dick. It might have a mind of its own, but it was also dense and easily distracted by pretty girls with their soft thighs that spread in welcome for him.
Isaac pushed the pillow over his lap to cover his hard-on and hopefully muffle the pleadings of his other half before Heidi got any ideas. If he hadn’t been out fucking things up last night, he might not have turned her down. Then again he probably also would have known her name without having to ask, not to mention that he’d remember how he met her in the first place.
Tears welled in her doe-like eyes and he cringed. He’d wanted to let her down gently, but she’d had to go and offer him a blow job. That meant she knew who he was. Offering a blow job? That meant she’d expected their time together to go a little differently, and based on the fact that he still had his jeans and shoes on, she was probably disappointed.
There was nothing left to do but pull his best get-out-of-jail-free card. It was ironic that this trick only worked with overly enthusiastic fans. “I’ve got to shoot tonight.”
“I totally understand,” she said, pressing a hand over her bare breasts in an uncomfortably maternal display. “Maybe we can get together later tonight and I can give you that back rub I promised you before you fell asleep last night?”
“Absolutely,” he lied, shifting out of bed and guiding her toward the door. “Let me get your number.”
She rattled it off to him as she hooked her bra and shimmied back into her shirt. Isaac pretended to key it into his phone, a performance he’d perfected over the years. He was an actor after all.
Now that she was fully dressed, he ushered her toward the door, eager to get her out and start dealing with the fallout from last night. She was probably a really nice girl, but the problem was that nice girls and guys like him didn’t compute. Plus, Heidi was eager and nice, which was a dangerous combination. Girls like her weren’t content to brag that they’d bagged a movie star for a night. They wanted him to call. Sometimes they showed up on set. They didn’t understand why he might only be in town for a week before he had to head to another location.
Reaching for the door, his fingers closed over the handle just as Heidi threw her arms around his neck. Smashing her lips against his, she stuck her tongue in his mouth before he processed what was happening. His body responded to her obvious ardency as he struggled for the doorknob. Jerking the door open, he wrenched away from her and forced his most charming smile onto his lips.
“Call me?” Heidi batted her lashes as if they were butterfly wings.
His grin broadened as he opened the door wider, but it fell from his face when he caught sight of the woman frozen there midknock. The blonde’s expression was blank, completely unreadable, but there was ice in her blue-eyed glare. She was nothing like the girl. No, her hair fell to her shoulders in soft, expertly styled waves held back by the Gucci sunglasses perched on her head. Her red pencil skirt matched her lips and hugged the shapely, but obviously toned, thighs that streamed into the longest legs on the highest heels he’d seen for a long time.
The woman stepped aside to allow Heidi to pass. Her momentary shock had worn off, and now her crimson lips twisted into a rueful smile as the girl glanced frantically from Isaac to the stranger before she took off down the hall. He owed her for her timing, that much was certain, but it didn’t explain what she was doing here.
“Good afternoon, Isaac.” Distaste colored her greeting.
She wasn’t eager to see him, which meant she was here for a reason. He extended his arm. “Come in.”
Sofia shook off the inauspicious start. Well, she shook off the random girl. The fact that Isaac obviously didn’t recognize her was a little harder to dismiss. It wasn’t the first time she’d been blindsided by a new client. She’d picked up strung-out, sixtysomething rockers from frat parties and bailed out drunk celebri-tantes under the radar of the paparazzi. She could handle a hungover, beat-up Isaac Blue.
So why did it feel as if she was barely hanging on to her composure?
Maybe because after six years he still looked incredible even with a newly acquired black eye. It hadn’t been a surprise to Sofia that Isaac had taken his career so far in so little time. He’d evolved from a lean, good-looking teen heartthrob into a well-built, panty-melting sex symbol. The brown hair that had once hung shaggy past his ears was cropped into a sexy mess just long enough to hold on to, but his eyes and that sinful smirk were the same. He’d been repackaged into a star, and while Sofia found herself drinking in the view as he stalked toward the couch in his low-slung jeans, she couldn’t help wondering just how much had changed on the inside.
Striding