An annoying, obnoxious noise penetrated my dream, but I just pulled the blanket over my head and rolled over on the mattress, burying myself underneath my sheets.

Caught between that weird state of wakefulness and sleep, I slid back into the dream with little effort.

It was sunset at the beach. I always loved the beach.

It was my favorite part about living in California. I had a nice piece of land, my own private stretch, secluded and set apart from everybody else. Most the time, I could sit out there and be completely and utterly alone.

But I wasn’t alone. Maya writhed underneath me. That mouth, which pursed so thoughtfully when she was thinking, or puckered in pensive disapproval, was every bit as sweet as I’d thought it would be. Right now, it was open under mine and she moaned, the sound echoing in me and around me, driving me wild.

Her tongue slicked across my lower lip and she bit me, making me shudder.

She wasn’t shy.

She wasn’t pushy.

She just knew exactly what she wanted, and that made me even hotter.

Her body was warm, soft, and fluid as the water crashing against the sand behind me. And strong. She wore nothing, save for a pearl necklace which shimmered against her skin. And that skin was soft as satin.

I shifted over her on my hands, one knee wedged between hers. She kissed my chin and wrapped her legs around my waist.

“That’s it,” I muttered. “Just like that.”

She sighed as I drove inside her, and then she whimpered, scraping her nails down my arms as she arched up. Her pussy squeezed me tight, and I grunted in approval.

I went to kiss her again. She said my name, but although I could see the word forming on her lips, that wasn’t the sound that emerged.

It was ringing.

Loud, obnoxious ringing.

And then she said my name.

But it wasn’t her voice.

“Mr. Jackson, will you please wake up?”

I jerked upright and the dream fell apart around me.

The phone rang again.

Mrs. Blanchard stood there, frowning down at me. Arms crossed over her ample breasts, she had one foot tapping madly, letting me know she wasn’t happy.

She was my housekeeper, cook, and generally acted as my keeper—I needed one. She didn’t put up with my bullshit, and she was unfazed by my smile or whatever charm I supposedly had.

It was the main reason I kept her around. I liked that she wasn’t put off by me.

“Your manager keeps calling. He called five minutes ago, and I told him you were sleeping. Apparently, he’s decided you’ve slept enough.” She gave the phone a harsh look. “You can speak to him this time.”

She turned on her heel and strode out, her sturdy shoes clunking on the floor.

At the door, she paused and looked back. “You really should sleep with clothing on.” She muttered under her breath and closed the door with a decisive click.

I shouted at her back, “I love you too, baby.”

Then I gave the ever-ringing phone a dirty look.

Grabbing it, I said, “You interrupted one hell of a dream. This better be good.”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Peter drawled.

“It’s a little early for phone calls.” Flopping back on the bed, I flung my arm over my eyes.

“It’s noon. That means it’s not too early. You know, if you had your way, you would sleep in till two or three in the afternoon and stay up until well past midnight.” He sounded amused. “That’s no way to handle yourself in Hollywood. The early bird catches the worm. Don’t you know that?”

“There aren’t any worms for me to catch right now. Not since I was so politely asked to step down from my role in the movie. I’m good.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. A part might be opening up for you.” He paused, then added, “Assuming you’re up for it.”

Interest stirred. I’d been persona non-grata ever since the incident in Las Vegas. Part of me got it, but at the same time, I was pissed. I’d tried to stop her. I’d tried to help. I hadn’t known the drugs would mess her up that bad.

But nobody wanted to hear that.

Slowly, I sat up. “Really?”

“The male lead in the movie Florence is shooting apparently got into a heated argument with the director, so he isn’t going to stick around. They need somebody, and they need somebody now, somebody who can be ready to shoot fast. They were getting ready to start filming, so they don’t want to have to wait for some guy who’ll take forever to learn the lines.”

That was something I’d never had a problem with—my memory was like a steel trap. It wasn’t anything I made a big deal of, but I could have a script memorized within a few days, if that.

Nerves had my hands shaking as I rubbed my face, trying to clear the dregs of sleep away.

This was the chance I’d been hoping for: that somebody would need me and reach out. I would be able to show them that I was still the same guy, able to do the job and work under pressure. Once I did that, all the bad shit from the past few weeks—hell, years even—would fade away.

People would see me again.

“Florence,” I said slowly.

Peter said, “Is there a problem with that?”

I hadn’t been talking to him, but myself. I might have a problem with that, but nothing I could point out to him. “No, it’s good. Just trying to remember if she mentioned anything about the flick.”

“What do you say, kid”? Peter asked. He always called me kid when he wanted to remind me of his position. “Should I call them and tell them you’ll come in and do a reading? Or are you just going to brush it off?”

I heard the slight challenge in his voice and knew what he was thinking.

“Fuck you, Peter. Shit.” I sat up, feet braced on the floor as I studied the wall in front of me. I’d been doing too much of that lately—brushing things off, ignoring them, thinking everything would smooth itself out in time.

It hadn’t.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Well, it’s a great part,” he said. “It could boost your career in a whole new direction. It could make people start taking you seriously again…and it wouldn’t hurt to be around Florence, spend more time with her. Let people see you’ve settled down. It would be good for you.”

Fuck. Closing my eyes, I bit back the instinctive no. I didn’t want to do anything that would tie me to Florence like that.

But I wanted my career back on track.

Giving myself time to think, I asked, “Are you going to see Maya again?”

If the change of subject surprised him, he didn’t let on. “I don’t know. She wasn’t exactly my type.”

“You certainly talked to her quite a bit.”

“Yes. We talked. Quite a bit. She’s smart, funny, nice.” He hesitated before continuing, “There’s just something a little…off. I can’t explain it. But she’s just not my type.”

“Off…like how? Crazy girl off?” Wary now, I gripped the mattress, thinking of her unreadable eyes, that mysterious smile.

“No. It’s just…I can’t explain it.”

“Maybe you just can’t handle a smart woman,” I quipped, amused at the idea.

“You’re one to talk,” he replied. “Most of the women you date have more going on in their bras than they do in their brains.”

“Yeah, well I’m not looking to start conversations with them—and they don’t seem to want to talk to me, either. Besides, you’re the one who’s pushing me toward Florence. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with her? She doesn’t want to talk. She just sits there and stares at me with those big eyes of hers and smiles.”

“I’m not the one who’s pushing you toward her. It’s the studio people. And if she’s not your type, then find somebody decent who is. But you need to get away from those other women. This tomcatting of yours is going to ruin your reputation and your career.”

With a grunt, I got out of bed. Pacing over to the window, I stared outside. The sun danced over the water of the pool, but I didn’t have the time—nor the energy—to go for a swim. I had a feeling Peter was going to be sending a car to get me soon.

“So, do I have the okay to tell the studio that you’re interested?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.” I’d be spending more time around Florence. But also…Maya. More than anything, that was why I’d agreed.

When the conversation ended a minute later, I headed into my bathroom, already naked. Once I was inside the shower, I let myself bring her face to mind.

I liked her face. I liked her mouth. I liked just about everything about her, including the fact that she didn’t seem inclined to giggle or just gaze at me, like other women. I liked the fact that she wasn’t constantly fussing about how she looked and those legs that went on for years. I’d only spent a couple of hours around her, and that had been in spurts, but I couldn’t think of anything that I hadn’t liked about her.

Fragments of the dream came back to me, and I closed my eyes, arousal pulsing inside. Sliding a hand down my chest, I pulled the dream to the forefront of my mind.

I was already half-aroused, just from the mental image of her.

It took little more than a few seconds to go from half to a full-on erection. Wrapping my hand around my cock, I pictured having her here with me, in the shower, her hands on my chest, sliding down, down, down…until she was kneeling in front of me, those pretty lips wrapping around my dick.

I wanted to see her smile at me. I wanted to hear her gasp, then moan. I wanted to feel the wet heat of her mouth, the rasp of her tongue.

Water pounded down on my chest, belly and thighs. The moisture eased my rhythm as I fisted myself. I could almost imagine it was her. Almost. With each stroke, I pumped harder, faster. Imagined her squirming under me, breasts wet and naked, lifted up for me as she arched her back.

I imagined her calling out my name as she came. And then I was moaning and cursing as I climaxed, semen jetting from my cock to hit the floor of the shower before being washed down the drain.

Momentarily sated, I closed my eyes and let the hot water continue to pound me.

I already had a bad feeling about this.

I’d just met her, and I was borderline obsessed.

How was I supposed to focus on being on my best behavior and wooing Florence, when all I could think about was Maya?