A past she wants to forget, a secret that will change everything and a hunky guy who should have known better.
It’s no secret that Katrina Quinn has been caught having an affair with her hunky co-star. Hounded by the press she has escaped to Yorkshire, England and the remote seclusion of Copse Cottage. It’s a house packed full of junk and memories—far too much for one woman to handle.
For odd job man Ryan Taylor, being hired to clear clutter while ogling one of Hollywood’s hottest stars seems like easy money. A good way to escape his jealous, drunken girlfriend, Eve, who seems intent on making his life a misery. But Copse Cottage is haunted with his happy past, stirring anew his longing for the girl he used to call the best in the world.
A stolen beat-up suitcase is going to change everything—secrets will be revealed, hearts will be broken all over again and the biggest mystery of all will finally be answered.
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of domestic violence and bullying.
General Release Date: 13th June 2014
“Ms Quinn, how long has it been going on?”
The microphone pressed insistently under my nose was nothing new, but the question puzzled me. It didn’t make sense. I didn’t answer or enquire further. That’s the first lesson of Celebrity 101—Do not engage with a journo unless you’re in a predetermined interview.
As far as I was concerned it was just another work day—I hadn’t expected the media hordes to greet me outside my Hollywood mansion that morning. The warm sun, the chirping birds, the gentle introduction to another day was completely disturbed by the clamour of camera flashes, hot bodies and microphones. I was completely confused by the mass of yelling at first. I was still waking up. Matt, my blond Adonis of a bodyguard, did his best to push back the eager media but it was a losing battle. I was hurried back into the house while he called for back-up.
“What the hell was that?” he growled after pushing the door shut and locking it.
My stomach sucked and bubbled with nerves. How did I explain it to Matt?
A few days earlier, Brian Paxton had come over to my place for a meal after confessing that he was missing his home comforts.
“God, you’re a wonder, Kat, taking care of an old man like me.”
“Oh hush, you’re not old,” I’d exclaimed, picking up his plate and carrying it over to the sink. There hadn’t been a scrap left on it, just a smear of sauce from the homemade lasagne I’d made.
“Do you want dessert?”
“Does the president live at the White House? Hell yeah, I want dessert. Fuck Cameron. I don’t care if I look bloated tomorrow—this is the best food I’ve eaten in months.” Brian had tapped his stomach, which was still as flat and toned as it had been back in the days when I’d lusted over him from afar.
I’d served up the pavlova, and the conversation had stayed light. The sweet treat had been enjoyed and Brian had even had seconds of dessert. The problem had started after we’d opened that second bottle of wine.
“I’m stuffed,” he’d sighed, throwing himself down onto my red leather sofa. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to the hotel.”
“Well, I’ve got rooms. You could stay here if you want.” I’d shrugged and dropped myself down on the seat beside him.
“Yeah of course. No problem.” I’d radiated laissez-faire but inside I had been a tumult of sexual chemistry. Brian had been beside me, exuding sexiness, smelling of wood, salt and manliness. It had been all I could do not to grab hold of him and snog his face off. But he was married. I’d had to hold myself in check.
I should have thought, should have sent him away and I really shouldn’t have drunk that last glass of wine. We’d sat there in the living room chatting quite innocuously. I had flicked on the TV and hopped through the channels. It had all gone downhill when I’d seen a particular film listing and giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Brian had asked.
“I used to watch this film over and over again when I was younger ‘cause I fancied the arse off you,” My answer had spurted out before I’d thought about it properly.
“Oh, is that right?” He’d crooked his eyebrow at me.
“Yeah, and I used to imagine I was the Mina to your Mike and that we’d kiss and cuddle and, well, you know. You fuelled many an orgasm, I can tell you.”
“Dear God, tell me you were of legal age.” He wiped his brow dramatically.
I nodded, cheeks bursting with heat.
“That is fucking hot. I bet you wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole these days, though, would you?”
“I’d fuck you right here and right now if I could,” I had answered bluntly.
“You’re only saying that to save my ego.” Brian had run his fingers through his hair, quickly, his hand quivering.
“No way, I’ve been trying to keep my hands off you all the time we’ve been filming. You’re the hottest man I’ve ever met.”
Bar one. But that one wasn’t in my house or even in my life anymore.
He hadn’t spoken—we’d just looked at each other. My eyes had been wide, I was hyper-aware of the thumping of my heart and the deep, languid brown of his eyes. And the real man had been there, it wasn’t a poster—I hadn’t been fantasising, he was really there.
Had he moved towards me or had I moved towards him? I didn’t know, but what mattered was that our lips had clashed together and the sea of excitement that swamped me every time I saw him on screen had swelled and the waves had swept me away. I hadn’t fought that, like I did in filming, I had just let it flow and allowed the tumult of lust to toss me about. I had been lost in a dream come true.
I should have stopped at the kiss. We had both been a bit drunk, both lonely and both hyped up after a week of crying scenes and heartbreak. It was just a kiss, we could have stopped, and although it might have proven a little awkward at future filming, we’d probably have laughed about it and carried on as before. But I hadn’t stopped kissing him and at some point he had gone from kissing me, to holding me, then I’d wrapped my arms around his shoulders—and the holding had turned to caressing and clothing had come off.
It had been a whirlwind of body heat and lust. My brain had switched off and my body had been in control. I’d run my fingers across planes I’d etched in my fantasies, that I’d played in my head so many times while I masturbated. The heat of his body, the soft caress of his flesh on mine far exceeded my dreams. It hadn’t been a long, drawn out seduction. I had been wet from him before we’d even started kissing.
Brian had concentrated on me and my pleasure, stroked my breasts, pulled my nipples, dragged his hands down over my hips and sought out my pussy. He’d fingered me as we’d kissed, his breath had danced with mine and I’d come explosively over his fingers.
He’d stood and dragged me with him, pushed me over the back of my sofa and fucked me with ferocity. He’d gripped my hair and pulled my head back. I had been able to see out of the huge window into the garden bathed with softening sunlight. The pool, to the left, bright blue, contrasting with the white marble surrounding it and leading out into the expanse of green lawn edged with trees and bushes created to shelter me from the gaze of the public.
My body had vibrated with ecstasy—rolling orgasms had made me scream and croon his name, my cunt had tightened around him and he’d come inside me. Well, luckily he’d not been that drunk. He’d slipped on a condom before entering me. Thank God he’d come prepared because I had been so lost in the excitement I hadn’t been able to separate the reality from my dreams and had forgotten about the protection I kept in the coffee table drawer.
He had stayed the night. We hadn’t fucked again but we’d snuggled in bed together. It had been comforting, and even when I’d woken in his arms in the morning I hadn’t panicked. It felt so good to be with him. It had been Brian who had done the panicking.
“This can’t happen again, it can’t. Fuck, Katrina, it shouldn’t have happened at all.” He’d scrambled the sheets between his hands, letting out his irritation in the folds of my bed linen.
“I know, I know. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t expect anything more. Brian, it was just a tipsy shag.”
“For you, yes. You’re single. I have a wife and kids and I love them to bits and I should be able to hold my desires in. Fuck.” He’d pressed his face into one hand and massaged his brow.
At first I had felt guilty and a bit sorry for him, then I’d realised he was calling me loose and incapable of controlling myself, and I’d become offended. What right did he have to judge me like that? My affront had escalated to anger in a matter of moments.
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco and Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker (She is TEB's resident "Naked Chef") and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.
Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.