Matt

It had been twenty-seven hours, ten minutes and roughly forty-five seconds since I’d arrived in Worthington, Maine, from LA. Which meant it had been twenty-seven hours, ten minutes and roughly fifty-five seconds since I’d last been recognized.

My heart rate was 132 and the muscles in my thighs had begun to burn but I kept running, taking in the fresh sea air. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d run outside. Most of the time it was just too goddamn hot in Los Angeles, though the freaking heat was the least of my problems. Being chased by fans, or worse, the paparazzi, was the bigger issue. But, apparently nobody in Maine went to the movies.

I should have been grateful. After all, fame was simply a byproduct of being a successful Hollywood actor, although some stars loved the attention. They kept the paparazzi on speed dial and let them know whenever they were stepping out for a hike. For me, the fame came with the territory and I put up with it because the upside outweighed the down. I liked that I could run here, but anonymity wasn’t worth giving up on success. Fame was a price I was willing to pay.

I shivered as a huge gray cloud slid across the sky like the alien aircraft straight out of Independence Day. Fuck. That seemed ominous.

I’d marked out a route before I left, so I crossed the street and headed toward the park I knew was a shortcut back to my rental. As I passed the entrance gate, my cell vibrated in my pocket. Shit, my agent. I slowed to a walk and answered.

“Hey, Brian,” I said, the crack of thunder from above nearly drowning me out.

“Where the fuck are you?” Brian asked.

Big, fat drops of rain began to splatter the path leading through the park. I was about to get drenched. “In a thunderstorm. What’s up?”

I scanned the park and spotted a small white gazebo. I headed toward it, hoping I’d be able to finish the conversation without my cell getting waterlogged.

“So, I got a call from Anthony Scott. He loved you in Vanity Fair. Wanted to know what your schedule looked like eighteen months from now.”

Wow. Anthony Scott had a way of turning things into box office gold. I couldn’t say I loved his movies, but an Anthony Scott film would be the next step up—a well-respected director, a sure-fire hit. “What project is he thinking about?”

“Who the fuck cares? If Anthony Scott wants you, that’s all you need to know. This is proof that your reputation is beginning to bounce back from your past indiscretions and that you’re on track.”

Indiscretions. Right. Nice of Brian to put it so delicately, when we both knew I’d lost sight of my goal when I wrapped my third leading role and cashed the corresponding huge paycheck. I’d partied way too hard. Drunk too much, known far too many women. It was almost as if I’d forgotten who I was and where I’d come from.

My dad and Brian had pulled me back just before I’d managed to ruin a bright career and future. The last eighteen months I’d rediscovered my focus and worked non-stop. I’d had two hit movies and a cover of Vanity Fair. Everything was coming together. My indiscretions, as Brian discreetly called that dark period, had been a bump in the road that I knew I was over, though I was still having to convince everyone else that I wasn’t about to go back there again.

“This might be your shot at a franchise,” Brian said. “You never know how these things are going to go.”

Franchise—the two syllables sent a shiver down my spine. The Hollywood Holy Grail. Bagging one would show that I hadn’t fucked up completely and that I’d arrived. Finally. I could practically feel my hands sinking into the wet cement outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater. A series of hit, big budget, studio movies would mean multiple contracts, which spelled job security and, most importantly, a big payday. I would never have to worry about money again. And neither would my family. I would have achieved all I wanted to when I left Gary, Indiana, ten years ago, determined to make it. My parents and my brothers would be able to have the lives they’d always dreamed of, rather than the ones that had been dished out at birth. Money bought freedom for me and my family.

“Did you hear me, Matt?”

“I heard you.” Climbing the steps of the bandstand, I glanced out over the ocean. The sky covered in clouds, the water looked darker than I’d seen it before. More dangerous. “That’s great news.”

“Are you sure everything’s alright? What are you doing out so early in the morning?”

“I’m out for a run.”

Brian was still suspicious that I was about to go off the rails again at any moment. It wasn’t going to happen. I’d learned my lesson. He’d been in talks with a big producer on my behalf who ended up pulling their offer once they heard about my arriving on set drunk. I’d lost out on a potential blockbuster as well as nearly being fired from the film I was shooting. But what was worse was my dad turning up to visit in the middle of it all. The shame had been unbearable. Catching the look of disappointment in my dad’s eyes was all it took. I’d cleaned up my act. And I’d never go back. Ever. “I’m just heading back. Stop worrying. There’s no temptation in this town.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

I put my finger in my ear to tune out the sound of someone shouting in the distance.

“I do. So, is Anthony going to send over a script or a treatment or something?”

“I don’t know. It’s opening discussions only. But I told him you’d free up your schedule to work with him.”

The yelling got louder.

“Sounds good.” I turned to find a woman marching toward me. So much for not being recognized. I pushed my damp hair out of my face and took a breath, ready to smile sweetly when asked for an autograph.

As she got closer, her damp clothes showed off the body of a fifties movie star—all small waist and great legs. Her shirt, weighed down with rain, accentuated her dangerously tempting breasts. Long, dark, wet hair clung against alabaster skin. Her soaked-through skirt treated me to a view of firm thighs and the lacy outline of her panties.

Fuck, it was like the weather wanted me to see her pussy.

I didn’t fuck fans—it was my number one rule. But at the moment, I wasn’t fucking anyone. My current girlfriend was a PR stunt and ever since Brian had made me hire a publicist—Sinclair Evans—to clean up my image, I’d been making do with my fist and an occasional old friend from New York. There were two ex-lovers I still saw. I was sure I could trust them and my publicist had them sign non-disclosures for an extra layer of security.

No fans. No more random models. No more ill-advised one-night stands.

But my fist just wasn’t scratching the itch, and the woman in front of me was temptation on a stick.

Maybe I could get away with indulging with a fan just this one time? No. Now was not the time to give in to temptation.

“Can you hear me?” Brian asked, but I was too mesmerized by the autograph hunter heading toward me to pay attention, even if he was talking about an Anthony Scott movie.

“Yeah, the line’s bad though. I’m not—”

“What are you doing, you crazy asshole?” the brown-eyed girl yelled, stomping up the wooden stairs of the bandstand.

“What?” Brian shouted over the drone of thunder.

Before I could figure out what was happening, the girl had gripped my wrist with her fingers and was trying to drag me out into the rain.

“Brian, I’ll call you back.”

“Are you the dumbest person on the planet?” she screamed, jerking me down the steps of the bandstand before finally letting me go.

Had I landed a stalker? If so, fucking her definitely didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Look, babe, if you’ve got a pen, I’ll give you an autograph, but I’m not posing for a selfie in this weather.”

She paused, a scowl seizing her face. “Are you an idiot? Who the hell shelters in a bandstand with a metal roof, on a hill, in the middle of a lightning storm?”

I swept my hand through my hair and shrugged. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Don’t shelter under the trees, either.” She began to walk away. “We don’t need some dumb-assed tourist getting struck by lightning and screwing up our visitor season.”

Well, whoever the girl was, she wasn’t some stalker who’d followed me from Los Angeles. She hadn’t even seemed to recognize me.

She didn’t look back, but she did grace me with the most delectable view of her ass as she sashayed away.

God, I wanted to sink my teeth into that ass. I hadn’t had a woman speak to me like that since high school. They were too busy giggling, gasping or flirting. As I watched the drenched woman walk away from me, I realized the easy conquest had gotten kinda old.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and began to stroll back toward the rental cottage. Maybe I’d take a detour through the park again tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind being accosted by that brown-eyed beauty again.