Malibu Betrayals (22 page)

She tossed him her phone. He gritted his teeth as he read text after text for Sam to call, for them to meet again, followed by more bullshit. “Son of a bitch.”

His mouth dry, he reached for a glass of orange juice and with two long swallows, he emptied the glass and returned it to the tray. “This is why I care. I’ve made my mistakes.” He tilted his head. “I want to make sure I learn from them, make sure I don’t repeat them with my own kids.”

“You’d never let that happen.”

Her vote of confidence made him grin. “You’re right, I won’t. And I won’t make the same mistakes with you, either, but I need you to trust me. You need to tell me things like this.” He pointed to her cell. “Team, remember?”

She nodded. “I should have told you right away.” She watched him. “Thank you for caring so much.”

He gave the cart a slight shove aside and dropped his feet over the edge of the bed to the floor. Turning back to her, he grabbed her hand. “Come on. Enough of Ms. Lombardi. Let’s go have some fun.” He’d take care of his mother later.

He made quick work of the window shades, flooding the room with light. “What should we do first?”

Sam studied him for a second longer and then pressed her lips together, looking toward the ceiling. “I’m dying to meet a celebrity.”

Gage stared at her a beat, then lunged. He grabbed her about the waist, swung her up and around with a growl before lowering her to her feet, her body sliding along his length. Her squeal echoed in the room. He bit her earlobe. “I’ll show you a celebrity, you brat.”

She laughed and it soothed him.

He wanted more of this Sam. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he grabbed her hand. “We’re going to need to trust each other, Sam. One of the things I can do is make sure you know the actors I’m working with, let you know where I’ll be, and when shooting runs late.”

She stood in front of him. “And me, what do you need from me?”

“Promise to always hear me out. Don’t run.”

Nodding, she bent over and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I can do that.”

He pushed up from the bed and then pushed her dark hair back over her shoulder. “It’s simple really. We just need to choose each other.”

His phone rang, breaking the moment. “Get ready, we’ll go see what’s going on down in the lobby.”

Moments later, she breezed into the room. Tan, glistening—youthful. She was healing and it warmed him. A cobalt blue sundress hugged her delicious form in all the right places. His mouth watered. Nude, strappy wedges brought her almost up to his height. He stood and found her at the perfect level to lean in for a taste of her lips. So he did. “Ready?”

She spoke against his mouth. “I was, but now—”

Her lips slid against his own, and the length of him immediately hardened. “We better get out of here before I change my mind.”

“Maybe I’ll change mine.”

He smiled and slapped her ass. “Let’s go find my girlfriend a celebrity to meet.”

Sam stilled, and Gage shoved his hands in his pockets, watching her. She tilted her head to the side. “Girlfriend.” She said the word as if tasting it for the first time. A smile pulled up the corners of her mouth. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been someone’s girlfriend?”

His shoulders relaxed, and he put out his hand. She slid hers in his without hesitation, and he swore if even one idiot hit on her, he’d hit him.

They made their way down to the main lobby and mingled with the other guests, stopping for a chat here, an exchange of information there. Having taken their time, it was now past noon, and many guests trickled out to the pools and the bar.

A string of well wishes followed them as they wound their way out to the patio.

“Gage Cutler.”

“Man, how’s it going?”

“I love you in
When the Tide Turns
.” A beautiful blonde wrapped herself around Gage’s waist. He slid his hand between them and brought it out with hers firmly in his grasp. “Thank you.” Smiling, he released her hand and kept moving.

“Nicely done.” Sam slid her arm through his, and he couldn’t help the little flicker of hope that it had something to do with marking him as hers, even if it was somewhere deep down.

Some were fellow actors he knew and others new friends. He pulled his shoulders back, at least an inch taller. Interested stares roved over Sam, dying to know the name of his latest paramour. He pulled her close. Let them talk. This one he’d keep.

If he had anything to say about it, he’d continue to show her. One step at a time, one day at a time until they found a lifetime.

Sam leaned close and whispered in his ear. “No matter what you do, Hollywood loves you.”

A light sensation ran across his shoulders and down his arms. Relief? Anticipation?

“Maybe.” But Hollywood was a fickle mistress, no telling how long her good mood would last, and in the end hers wasn’t the love he was fighting to keep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The rest of their weekend away had delivered exactly what they’d needed. Time spent together without all of Hollywood’s bullshit, allowing Sam to open up and relax, and allowing Gage to show her a side that wasn’t all about work. Once they got back, she filled her schedule with meetings to set up her next project, and he’d had a meeting with his agent. For so long his schedule kept him going at all hours, day or night, but he found that momentum a little too spontaneous now. He wanted to be able to make plans with Sam, evenings in, evenings out, it didn’t matter, but it would never happen with his current schedule. His agent would tighten the reins on Gage’s availability.

The producer of the film he’d just finished also produced his buddy’s latest flick and his after-party was in full swing. Sam had a few new scripts to go over and another she wanted to work on, so Gage let her off the hook. He imagined her back at his place, lying on the sofa with her feet propped up on the arm, computer in her lap, and a glass of wine in her hand. Maybe the fireplace was on, maybe she played a little jazz on the stereo. Either way, now he wished he was home with her.

He pulled in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He hated these events, but he’d promised to show. Thirty minutes and then he was out.

He ignored the multitude of camera flashes as he walked in, his gut tight, and made a beeline for the bar. Sliding a finger under his collar, he pulled at the fabric. His throat constricted against the tailored fit of his shirt and tie.

With a tumbler of scotch in hand, he scanned the room. A sea of Hollywood’s most beautiful mingled in a cacophony of conversations and laughter.

Fake. Overdone. Every one of them acting.

Tonight’s goal was simple: set up a few meetings, take a few pictures, and throw one back with his buddy. Quick and painless. Most after-parties were a lot of fun, but not when he had a better after-party option waiting for him at home. Tension strained his neck, and it was all he could do not to start pushing people out of the way every time he wanted to move. In the end, he kept his promise, made his rounds, and reconnected with a few old acquaintances. He mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

The harsh glare of a bleached blond coif caught his eye, immediately followed by a waft of heavy, overly sweet perfume. His stomach rolled. Of course she was here. After-parties of movie premiers were a great venue for networking, and his mother would be selling her wares like a streetwalker.

The music suddenly grated, and the crowds closed in. Gage shook out his free hand and threw back the rest of his scotch. He set the empty glass down on a tray and picked up another, draining half the glass a bit fast. It wasn’t called liquid courage for nothing. He took another deep swallow. The alcohol slid down his throat with a burn, and he coughed on the fumes. No reason to waste the opportunity to persuade Cecilia to direct her efforts in another direction and leave Sam alone. He wouldn’t get into anything with her tonight. Not here with eyes and ears hunting for gossip and heartache.

Pasting a neutral but friendly expression on his face, he moved in and out of groups of celebrities. Many stopped him for a quick word or to congratulate him on his finished film. As he approached the small group, his producer glanced up and broke into a smile. “Gage. I bragged on you all night. The film is going to be a classic.”

Gage shook the producer’s hand. “I agree, but not because of me. It’s a great script.” He dropped his hand to his side and resisted the urge to wipe it on his slacks.

Cecilia’s face pinched into a thinly veiled glare, her narrow lips pressed so tightly together they all but disappeared, leaving her over-lined lipstick like a halo of clown make-up. He nodded in her direction. “Ms. Lombardi.”

She turned away and placed a hand on a bony hip pushed out so far he thought she might fall over. His heart drummed in his ears, drowning out all the other conversations. Both hate and hurt burned deep in his chest. “Can I have a quick word in private, Ms. Lombardi?”

The producer spoke up. “I’ll go get us another drink.”

Gage shook his head. “None for me, thanks.” Regret for what he already consumed muddied the alcohol in his gut.

She spun to face him. “A private meeting? How perverse, why you’re young enough to be my son.” She tilted her head to the side, a smirk played at her mouth. “At least isn’t that the tired old rumor?”

Gage tamped down the pain of his younger self as he looked at his mother. Ignoring her he said, “Sam isn’t interested in any collaborations, and she’d like you to quit contacting her.”

“Sam isn’t interested in any collaborations? What a joke. Next you’ll tell me I have a daughter, too, and a broken-hearted husband who loved too hard and demanded too little.” She laughed at her own humor and shot him a look, as if daring him to stay and finish the conversation.

A waiter walked by with a tray of shots. He grabbed one and threw it back, the burn barely registering. On impulse, he reached for another but stopped, dropping his hand to his side and pulling back his shoulders.

He ran his hand down his chest. “A rumor, Mother?”

The producer stepped forward, shock on his face. “Mother?”

Cecilia let out a screech, her face turning the exact shade of her lipstick.

Heads turned. Conversations quieted.

“Mother?” She stepped toward him, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m no more your mother now then I was back then. You were nothing but a disobedient brat and your sister a simpering waif. Don’t get me started on your spineless father.”

He clamped his teeth together.

She quickly looked around to assess the damage her admission may have caused. The woman was Satan’s spawn, or worse, his mistress—wanting it all but entitled to nothing. Being powerless to be anything more left her bitter and cruel. Why did she ever have children in the first place?

He forced himself to speak beyond the boulder lodged in his throat. “We were better off without you.”

“All worthless. Every one of you,” she hissed.

The producer put a restraining hand on her shoulder, and she wrenched away. “Worthless. You did nothing but hold me back. I could have been great. But sticking around. It was too late. You”—her red tipped finger shook in his face—“ruined my life.” Great black trails of mascara ran down her cheeks, and her breaths came out in great heaves, almost exposing her man-made bosom.

Gage clenched his teeth together. His head spun.
Fucking bitch.
He tried to breathe but couldn’t get any air. He needed to get out of the overwhelming crowd, the music, the noise, the stench of desperation. Stumbling, he pushed past the masses.

The doorman snapped to attention and flung open Gage’s only exit just in time.

Martin Gallagher appeared and ushered him to his limo.

Gage folded into the back seat, his head pounding.

Martin slid in behind him and instructed the driver to go. He turned to Gage. “What the hell were you thinking, boy? Were you, for that matter? The woman isn’t worth it; when are you going to see that?” Martin drew his brows together. “I saw the look on your face once you’d seen her, but couldn’t get to you in time. Why would you confront your mother here?”

That got Gage’s attention. He snapped his head around to look at Martin, then quickly pressed his hands against his temples. “Ohhh.” When the spinning slowed, he peered over at the director. “You knew?”

Martin settled back against the dark leather. “Anyone with half a brain does. Don’t worry, that leaves out ninety percent of Hollywood. The remaining ten have too much class to speak of it.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Martin sighed. “Didn’t mean to what?”

His movements slow and measured, he shifted in his seat. “I only meant to tell her to leave Sam alone. She’s been blowing up Sam’s phone since they had lunch.”

“Why wouldn’t you just call her?” Martin demanded.

Gage peeked at the old man. “She’d never answer.”

Martin scoffed. “Sam can take care of herself. You executed a fool’s mission, boy.” He rubbed his hand over his face and studied Gage. “Cecilia walked out on you when you were what, ten?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “The woman was able to walk out on a crying boy, a begging child. Something most people can’t comprehend. Now that boy is a man, a very successful man who has usurped her dreams and made them his reality. What on God’s green earth made you think she’d ever be compassionate toward you?”

Gage’s head hurt, and his stomach ached. His heart heavy and empty in his chest. He didn’t know, couldn’t find an answer.

And finally realized, there might not be one.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Martin pulled into his garage and Gage moaned. He wanted to be by himself. “Martin, take me home.”

“No can do. If Raquel found out I left you to your own devices in this condition, she’d kill me, and I’m more afraid of her than I am of you.”

They walked into the kitchen, and Gage passed into the living room and dropped onto the buttercream leather couch.

Martin piped up. “Throw up on that couch and Raquel will kill you.”

Sam ran over to Gage and dropped to her knees at his feet. “What happened? Raquel called me. I came right over.” She touched his forehead, then slid her hand to his cheek, her cool skin soothing.

He pulled away. He could hear Raquel question Martin, their conversation muffled. Who cared? Muddled with an alcohol-laden brain, Gage leaned back and closed his eyes.

Raquel walked over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Helping him up from the couch, she patted his back and then directed him to the kitchen table. “Let’s get some coffee into you.”

For a moment Gage leaned into her embrace and then lowered to a chair. A steaming cup of black coffee was placed before him. His stomach rebelled at the thought, but if he didn’t get it down, they’d never let him leave.

Sam sat to his right and placed her hand over his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I never wanted you to say anything to that woman. I just didn’t want to not tell you, like last time.”

Gage pulled his hand away and used it to pick up his mug. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

A pained expression crossed her face, and Sam slid her hand back under the table. Taking a deep, pained breath, he closed his eyes. Her hurt expression was the exact reason he wanted to go home. In this state he was just as destructive as he used to be, racing around Malibu in his Ferrari. He couldn’t count how many front yards, mailboxes, or rear bumpers he’d torn up or how many close calls he’d had. He dropped his pounding head to his hands.

“Don’t be an ass.” Martin joined them at the table.

Raquel raised a brow at her husband and then winked at Sam in a conspiratorial manner. “Martin, leave him be, and Sam, don’t take it personally. Men don’t handle, well, anything with poise or grace. All they know how to do is beat their chests, and when that doesn’t work they hide behind arrogance.” She carried a tray of starchy foods to the table, her flowing skirt swirling around her legs. The movement made his head spin.

Gage didn’t look at Sam and ignored Raquel. He couldn’t care less about what any of them had to say.

He forced a dinner roll down his throat and finished his coffee. The spinning in his head settled. Sam watched him, her eyes concerned. He didn’t mean to hurt her, but he needed space to figure out why the hell he was so angry, why he’d let Cecilia of all people push him to drink like that.

With a sigh, he rubbed his face. “I need to go.” He pushed back from the table. “Raquel, thank you. Martin.” A nod of thanks to each of them. “Can you keep an eye on Sam for me tonight?”

Sam shot up. “I’m not the one who needs to be babysat.” She grabbed his arm as he stepped from the table. “Gage, let me take you home.”

He shook his head. “I need to be alone. Just—”

Her dark eyes filled, but she nodded, slipping her hand to her side.

Gage turned toward Martin. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you.”

“We really wish you’d stay. We have plenty of room, guest beds aplenty.” Raquel appealed to him with a smile.

He forced a slight smile. “Thank you, but—”

Martin stood. “Fine. Stubborn ass. But I’m driving you. Don’t argue.”

The drive to his house was made in complete silence, but Gage slid from the passenger side and sent Martin a wave. Once inside, he grabbed his twenty-five-year Macallan and flipped on his fireplace. What he really wanted to do was hop in his car and race the Pacific Highway until his head cleared. Turning off the fireplace, he grabbed his keys. An hour or two on the road, and then maybe go down to the local bar and hide in the back corner, drinking and watching the crowd.

He tossed back his drink. Anger burned him more than any whiskey could. Twenty-eight years he’d avoided the woman. Kept his mouth shut. In two minutes, he’d handed the harpy all the power, and she’d snatched it, with relish—just as she had his trust when he was a boy.

It was no different than the night of the accident with the paparazzi. He’d spent years taking his anger, his anxiety, out on the road. The speed and adrenaline pumping through him as he raced down the highway calmed him like nothing else. The salty ocean air filling his lungs, and the vibration of the road through the steering wheel filling his palms made him feel alive—human. He’d traveled speeds that pushed any car’s engine and his luck. After years of being an irresponsible ass behind the wheel, he’d grown up, slowed down. Miracle of all miracles, he’d started following traffic laws and became a law-abiding citizen. Then one night the paparazzi caused an accident while chasing him, splashing the tabloids with his past transgressions, calling him “murderer” and accusing him of manslaughter, making him un-hirable for a time. There was an official investigation—more invasive than the paparazzi ever dreamed of being.

Gage scowled and tossed his keys back on the coffee table. He poured himself another drink and then sank into his couch.

It would be the last one for the night. He’d told Sam he wanted to learn from his mistakes, and as much as the road and the crowds and the rest of the damn bottle of scotch called to him, they wouldn’t fix a damn thing.

…

Sam rolled onto her side and blinked her eyes until they accepted the morning light. She sighed and flopped to her back, the guest bed large and lonely without him in it. A world away, he slept in his room. Present but not. Quiet and somber, he’d spent the last forty-eight hours in his head. She’d thought they’d gotten closer during their getaway, but now she felt like she couldn’t even reach him.

When he’d pulled away at Raquel’s, her heart broke, and it scared her. For all of her digging in her heels, the idea of Gage walking away terrified her in a way that caught her completely off-guard.

Shit
.

Muffled voices floated through her bedroom door. She scooted to the edge of her bed and sat with her feet dangling just above the floor. A high-pitched laugh tightened her shoulder blades. Who the hell was there at seven in the morning?

Sam grabbed her robe, slid her arms into it, then belted it at the waist. She pulled the door open and then padded silently to the kitchen. As she rounded the corner she found a bright-eyed Dani stepping back from a sleep-mussed Gage.
What the hell
?

Dani clapped her hands together and smiled. “Good morning.”

Sam nodded, then tilted her head at Gage.

“Morning.” He stepped past Martin’s assistant and poured a cup of coffee. “Want one?” he asked without turning around.

“No, thank you,” said Dani.

“Yes,” said Sam. The two women responding in unison.

Gage turned around, and raised an eyebrow.

Sam stepped forward. “I’d like one, please.”

Dani laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who you were talking to.”

Gage filled Sam’s cup and handed it to her.

She studied him. “Thank you.” His face remained blank. Sam turned back to Dani. “How can we help you this morning?”

Dani shook her head. “Done. Mr. Gallagher needed to get a script to Gage, so I offered to drop it off on my way to the beach for a run. I called ahead and security let me in.”

Sam nodded. “That was nice of you. Do you get a few days’ breather in between Martin’s, I mean Mr. Gallagher’s, meetings?”

The assistant’s laugh jingled like a wind chime. “As if. He never seems to slow down.”

“That’s Martin,” Gage agreed. He leaned a hip against the counter, and his robe loosened, exposing his broad, molded chest. He wore pajama bottoms low on his hips and a light sprinkling of dark hair shot down from his navel, disappearing beneath the band of his pants.

She flicked a glance toward Dani. The young girl stood mesmerized. Sam wished Gage would belt back up. A surge of jealousy turned her stomach.

Gage pushed from the counter with an outstretched hand and engulfed Dani’s in a shake. “Thanks again. Let Mr. Gallagher know I’ll call him soon.”

The girl dipped her chin and pulled open the front door. “Have a good day, guys.”

Sam usually enjoyed Dani’s sunny presence. But this morning her muscles tightened, and her hands wrapped around her coffee mug in a tight grip. She followed Gage into the living room. “Well, that was chummy.” She regretted the words as soon as they were uttered.
Crap
.

“Was it?” He settled onto the chaise lounge, sipping his coffee as he stared out over the Pacific.

Giving her shoulders a shake, she walked over to him and lowered to the chaise next to his knees. She ran her hand along his thigh and looked up at him through her lashes. “Are you going to talk to me today?”

He briefly met her gaze, then turned his attention back out to the water, but turned his hand over as an invitation. “I didn’t realize I hadn’t been.”

She slid her hand into his, running her fingertips along his calluses as she went. “Are you kidding? You’ve barely spoken to me in two days, and I’ve been sleeping in the guest room.”

On a long exhale, he nudged her so he could spread his legs and then invited her to sit.

She stared out the window and then back to him. Stepping closer, she lowered to the edge of the seat. He pulled her back toward his chest. She resisted and then relaxed against him as he rested his chin on top of her head. They sipped their coffee in silence as the sun made its way higher into the sky. His voice rumbled against her back. “I’m just in my head right now, processing. Give me a few days.”

“Did I do something?”
Did I do something? What the hell? He isn’t Ethan.

“No.”

Relief lightened the heavy weight that found its way into her chest. This was why she didn’t want to get close. This need for acceptance, for love. The desire to remain close. It opened doors to pain. Doors she’d never meant to open, at least not until the odds ran in her favor. Dating an actor did not increase her odds.

Gage’s phone vibrated, and he glanced at it, then set it back down.

“You need to get that?”

He shook his head. “No, just Dani sending a message from Martin.”

Sam settled back against his chest, both comforted and on edge.
Ugh
. She hated this feeling. Insecure, jealous. Gage was a super star, and women fell at his feet every day. She tried to act as if it didn’t bother her, but she had yet to pull it off. This was an area she’d need to trust him in, whether she felt like they were connected or not.

Fuck
.

This whole love thing left her twisted in knots as often as it sent her soaring.

It had torn her up to see him so broken the other night, and worse, to be pushed away. Now all of a sudden Dani turned out to be his right hand girl, and he continued to linger just out of Sam’s reach.

She shook off her worry. No matter. He’d said she could trust him, that she needed to trust him, and she would. They were together, and they’d work things out. Everything was going to be just fine.

…

Gage stepped into Martin Gallagher’s reception area fifteen minutes early.

Dani greeted him from behind the front desk. “Good morning, Mr. Cutler.” Her smile stretched from ear to ear.

How was anyone that happy all the time? He returned her smile. “I’m here to see Mr. Gallagher.”

She directed him to follow her. “Of course, you can wait in his office.”

Gage walked a step behind Dani and noticed for the first time a significant swing in her hips. She pushed open the door and held it for him. He stepped past her and could have sworn she leaned toward him ever so slightly as he walked into the office. He glanced at her, confused, but she merely stepped in behind him and closed the door.

Gage looked around the familiar space. Dark woods and darker leathers graced the room with warmth and elegance. Just like Martin. Two tufted chairs sat across from a large desk with a maroon blotter. He made his way to a chair and turned to ask Dani a question.

She stood right at his side, which brought him up short. He stepped back. “Sorry, I just wanted to ask—”

Dani drew her messenger cap off and followed his retreat. “Anything.” Long blond curls cascaded down and over her shoulders. Her fingers worked at the buttons of her shirt, opening one, two—

“Whoa, wait a minute. Dani, what are you doing?” What the hell was going on? His eyes darted to the right, then to the left.

She bit her lip and looked up at him through thick black lashes. “Oh, come on, Gage. You know what I’m doing.”

The desk behind him stopped him cold. “Why? I’m with Sam. You know that.”

Dani pouted, then licked her lips. She trailed a finger from his buckle up and over his chest, then tapped his chin. “Don’t play with me, Gage. I know a come-on when I see one, and when you let your robe fall open, that was for me. I know it was.” She splayed her hands, fingers down, on his abdomen.

Leaning away, as far as the desk would allow, he grabbed her hands and pushed them back to her side. “Knock it off.”

What the fuck was she talking about? His robe? He shook his head. “Dani, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I assure you I did nothing to purposely send you any kind of message.”

Dani narrowed her eyes into glittering slits and cupped his crotch. “A tease then?”

Shock shot from his balls to his toes. Panic froze him where he stood. His mouth dry, he demanded, “Stop.”

He pushed her hand away, but she crowded closer and pressed her breasts to his chest. “Say you want me.”

Gage widened his eyes. “Dani.” Who the hell was she? For the first time, he saw the age around her eyes, the calculated gleam and hardened line of her mouth.

A cough at the door startled Gage, and he shot a look up to find Martin standing in the threshold. “Martin.”

Just then, Sam walked in beside him and froze. Her hand flew to her throat, and she pressed her lips together, an incredulous stare nailing Gage where he stood.