Authors: Lexi Adair
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
www.samhainpublishing.com
Copyright ©
"You came a damn long way just to see me."
His words were harsh, terribly uncaring and might have made a lesser woman cry.
Perhaps if she had been some lovesick fan his reaction might have brought tears to her eyes. But Summer wasn't a fan and she was more than capable of dealing with his type without losing her head. She couldn't have cared less about his pretty face, celebrity status, gold records or millions of dollars. There was only one thing she wanted from Anthony Phoenix and it wasn't an autograph. “Let's make it worth the trip then."
She didn't bother to wait for an invitation as she took a seat beside him in the adjoining armchair.
In the shadowed corner of the dimly lit café a half-drawn velvet curtain shielded him from public view. It created a deceptive sense of privacy and solitude amidst the chaos. It muffled the chatter of other patrons, the hiss of the espresso machine, even the clatter of dishes. The curtain created a barrier between their world and his.
Rumor had it that this was his favorite hangout whenever he was back in his hometown. Her sources, damn secretive sources that had been almost impossible to crack, had told her he always made it a point to stop in for a cup of coffee.
Though he'd managed to escape the notice of the other patrons in the quiet Seattle café, he hadn't escaped Summer, and he certainly wasn't happy to see her.
"You want an interview you'll have to contact my agent. I don't get friendly with the media and I don't like reporters."
"So they tell me.” That was just fine by her. She sure as hell wasn't looking to get friendly with him either—his reputation as a womanizer had made him as famous as his chart-topping records.
Despite her repugnance for celebrity womanizers Summer forced a smile. She might not have been interested in seducing the man, but she had every intention of putting his story to bed. The story they told her was impossible to get. The story that would make her career and prove once and for all to her prick of a boss that Summer Staite was worthy of her own byline. “This isn't your typical interview, darling."
"Really? What is it then?"
"A bedtime story.” A hint of a smile curved her ruby-painted lips. “I don't do celebrity weddings. I don't do dirty gossip. I don't give a damn where you grew up, who you're dating or when your next album is dropping.
Stripped Magazine
is all about the sex. We're the best magazine to expose it all without ever exposing a thing."
It was a spiel she had given countless times before. A smirk, a smile, sometimes laughter, that was the standard response. But Anthony stared blankly. Her words, fraught with danger and sensuality hadn't cracked even the tiniest layer in his stone-cold façade.
"What's your name?"
She reached across the table and offered her hand. “Summer Staite,
Stripped Magazine
."
He took her hand in his. As his thumb grazed the back of her knuckles it ignited a trail of heat that flamed across her skin. “You're not exactly playing by the rules, Summer Staite."
She watched him slip a single cigarette out of the pack of Camels sitting on table. The pack was rumbled, no doubt having been shoved into the pocket of his jeans one time too many. She stared longingly at it. It had been two years since she'd quit but she couldn't deny the subtle and thankfully fleeting urge to light up. “Well, you know what they say about rules."
"They're meant to be broken.” He put the tip between his lips and touched the lighter's flame to it.
"There's no smoking in here.” Summer nodded to the signs posted near the back door.
"Yeah well, they make an exception for me.” His words were cool and confident giving her the impression that he really wouldn't have given a damn if they didn't. If she had to wager a bet she'd say the exception was made simply because he was
the
Anthony Phoenix. Apparently that afforded him a complete lack of manners.
Even as he puffed away on the cigarette, Anthony's gaze drew up to her mouth. Whether he was measuring her up or admiring the curve of her lips she couldn't be sure. As a journalist Summer had prided herself on being able to read people, but Anthony's expression revealed no insight into his character. He remained hard, dark and unyielding. It had her wondering if anything, or anyone, had ever managed to slip beneath that rock-hard exterior.
He blew out a breath laced with smoke that fanned across the table between them and made her wince in response. Her reaction sent the hint of smile to toy on his lips. A crack in the wall he had built around him. She wasn't sure what that said about him, after all she couldn't seem to read him and that, more than the second-hand smoke, unnerved her. It made her feel ill-prepared and out of control. Those were two things Summer never was.
"What does
Stripped
want with me?"
Summer bit down on her lower lip. How was she supposed to answer that? She could have told him plain and simple that
Stripped
was after a story. But she doubted very much that simple truth would make an impression on him. She needed some way to get past that barrier, to slip beyond the wall he'd built around himself and invoke a reaction. Any reaction at that point would have done. Laugh in her face, spit on the floor, hell, call her a nosey-bitch and walk away. Anything would have been better than his dark, silent stare.
"A lyrical lay."
The words dripped off her tongue like melted chocolate. Dark, sweet and terribly sinful. It was her favorite play on words and one that often worked so well in her particular line of work. The words painted a sensual, almost poetic picture in the mind and that was exactly what Summer did. She conjured fantasies on paper for the masses. In fact, if that asshole Spencer ever gave her her own column that was exactly what she intended to title it.
There was another crack in the wall as Anthony's lips curved into a sexy, half-cocked smile—fleeting but genuine. He wasn't known for being generous with his smiles and perhaps that was something Summer should have kept in mind. That dark, brooding gaze of his had become rather like an unwitting trademark.
He shifted uncomfortably, as though he hadn't intended for that momentary lapse in character. “What exactly is that?"
"Sex,” she murmured breathlessly, as though the word itself was enough to ignite her inner passions. And in truth, she found that her hidden desires were strangely alive and wired. It shouldn't have come as any surprise, for there was no other man more adept at making a woman ache with a single, unintentional glance, but ache she did.
She wasn't the type of girl to be so easily enchanted by anyone. She dealt with celebrities all the time. Handsome, charming men who were accustomed to getting exactly what they desired—men just like Anthony.
But something about him had captivated her. It wasn't his name or his striking face. Certainly not his record sales or celebrity status. Perhaps it was his inhibited manner. This coupled with her inability to read exactly what was on his mind intrigued her as much as it unnerved her. Perhaps it was that old adage, opposites attract. As clichéd as that was, Summer couldn't deny there was some truth behind it. It felt as though he was always holding back from saying what he was really thinking when she, a polar opposite, too often blurted out whatever happened to be on her mind.
She shifted, crossing her legs toward him. She was suddenly much too aware of the heat building between her thighs.
Business,
she reminded herself, she was here on business. She didn't have time for men. Her career saw to that on more than one occasion. But if she had the time and was so inclined, she certainly couldn't afford for it to be this man. Not when he unknowingly held her career in his hands. “
Stripped
readers want to know what Anthony Phoenix yearns for. What you desire. You provide the image, we provide the fantasy."
"But you don't want an interview."
"What
Stripped
wants is foreplay."
"I thought you wanted sex.” A dark, almost devilish smile curved at the corner of his mouth. A dimple played in the scruffy hair on his cheek. It added a childlike innocence to his face that contradicted the roguish gleam in his eyes and the wicked curve of his smile.
Perhaps he thought this was a joke, but for Summer there was nothing amusing about the situation. Her peers had warned her that trying to pry a story from Phoenix was like trying to uncork wine with your teeth. Anthony was notorious for being incredibly tight-lipped and very private. If you were lucky enough to get a few moments of his time, he never talked about anything more than his music. Summer was hoping her direct tactics would yield better results than those who had come before her. She hadn't hinted about what she wanted. She hadn't eluded his questions with queries of her own. She hadn't wrangled the conversation in hopes that he'd accidentally spill some deep, dark secret. There were no games, no illusions. She was after one thing and one thing only and that was sex between the sheets of her magazine.
She prided herself on her honesty and she was hoping it was that honesty Anthony would ultimately respond to. But without the ability to read him, to really be able to discern what he was thinking, she didn't know where she stood with him. It felt as though she was stranded on a sinking ship. She couldn't seem to relate to him. Couldn't seem to slip beneath the shield surrounding him and touch on the truth of his character beneath.
She huffed out a breath in irritation. Summer, like the men she wrote about, always got what she wanted. The fact that Anthony was refusing to give it to her only made her all the more determined to have it.
"Give me a drag?” Summer motioned to the dwindling cigarette in his hand.
Without a word Anthony offered her his cigarette and watched as she slipped it between her lips. She took a deep drag that flamed to life within her. It burned her lungs for a split uncomfortable second, then, as she exhaled, every muscle in her body relaxed. She was wound tighter than a drum. The cigarette, that momentary lapse in her character, had let loose one of the ties binding her.
"Want one?"
"No. Yes. No ... Fuck it, yes.” She took the cigarette he offered and let it rest between her lips. “Thank you."
"Once a smoker, always a smoker, as they say.” Anthony examined the cigarette in his hand. “So what, you want to ask me if I wear boxers or briefs?” He spoke to the cigarette rather than to her.
Summer laughed as she turned her attention to the cigarette between her fingers and avoided the eye contact that seemed to be the source of his tension. “
Stripped
is more interested in what it takes to get you out of them."
"You have a glib little comment for everything."
"I'm just honest."
"Okay. Let's do honest.” His words were curt and she couldn't have said for sure what she saw etched on his face. He was a master at masking his emotions, but she saw something. A flicker of anger maybe. A glimmer of despair. “Why me?"
"Because they say you can't be had."
"So you think if you get me it'll make you some big-shot reporter?” It was anger she saw this time and there was no mistaking it.
"You symbolize everything we offer. Intrigue, desire ... sex. You've got what every woman wants and we want to give it to them."
"You make me sound like a dirty novel when in reality I'm just another guy.” This time his words were wrought with despair. It was a startling contrast to the anger from just a moment before. It made her heart ache strangely—something in his voice, even more than his words, told her that perhaps normality was the one thing he longed for. The one thing she was trying to take away from him.
"I get the whole private life thing, I do. I'm not looking to invade. I just want to share with our readers, your fans—"
"The most intimate part of my life."
Summer laughed. It came out jittery, more nervous than she had intended. It seemed as if no matter what she said, no matter how she said it, her words seemed to elicit a negative response from him. All she wanted was a little harmless word play attached to a picture of his pretty face. Really, she didn't think that was so much to ask for. Didn't he understand that's all it was? Harmless words. A pretty picture. “Well yes, I suppose you could look at it that way, but—"