“Goodbye, Micah.”
As she passed by him, he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. “Just one more kiss,” he said, his eyes pleading.
It would be hard to stop once she started, but she wanted his mouth on her. Even if it was only one more time. “A kiss goodbye, then.”
He pressed his body to hers, his stiff member throbbing through his pants against her pelvis. He put his hands on the sides of her face and held her still, capturing her lips in his.
He kissed her roughly, desperately and within moments she surrendered to his demanding mouth. Warm liquid pooled between her legs as she melted into him. She loved this like she loved him. She wanted him like this always. He moved a hand down to her breast. His fingers kneaded her frantically, drawing her nipple out easily.
She moaned, and he moved his lips to her ear. “Doesn’t this mean anything to you?” His voice was thick with need. “What you do to me? How you respond to my touch?” He pinched her nipple and her breath drew in sharply. “Can you really walk away from this?”
Maddie moved her hands to his chest and, fighting against every aroused nerve ending in her body with more strength than she knew she had, she pushed him away. He dropped his hands and stepped back.
She wiped her mouth, trying to erase the taste of him. “It’s sex, Micah,” she said when she could speak. “As long as you’re officially free and single, that’s all we have.”
She turned again to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Silent partner, I think.”
“I’ll tell Richard.” His voice was cold and empty, breaking her heart further—she hadn’t known it was possible.
Without another word, she walked out on Micah Preston, her chest aching, and her pride hurt. It killed her to admit, but she had learned something important: Fairytale endings only ever happened in the movies.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Micah woke up with a hangover from hell. He peered over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Ten forty-seven a.m. How come it felt so much earlier?
He lay in bed, massaging his temples for several minutes to no avail. Finally, he staggered to the bathroom for Advil only to find an empty bottle in his medicine cabinet. Dammit.
He relieved himself and splashed water on his face, then ventured downstairs in search of pain reliever. Dressed only in his boxers and squinting to shield his eyes from the bright light of day, he stumbled to the kitchen of his Brentwood mansion. Fudge sat on a stool at the island, eating a bowl of cold cereal, reading the latest Walking Dead comic book.
“Morning,” Fudge greeted around a mouthful of Cinnamon Life.
Micah groaned, heading straight for the stainless steel refrigerator. “Could you crunch a little less loudly, please?” He opened the freezer cabinet, pulled out a package of frozen peas—when on earth had he purchased frozen peas?—and placed the vegetables over his throbbing forehead.
Fudge tsked. “Feeling the effects of last night? I’m not surprised. I think you drank all the tequila.”
“Tequila?” Micah leaned back against the cool stainless steel door. “I thought I was drinking vodka.”
“That was the night before.”
The night before, that’s right. How many nights had he spent in a drunken haze now? Let’s see, since Tuesday after he’d last seen Maddie. What was that…five nights ago, now? Christ, if he kept this up he was going to be an alcoholic in no time.
Micah threw down the peas and rubbed his hands over his face. “Do you know where I can find some Tylenol or something?”
Fudge waited until he swallowed to speak. “There should be some in the cabinet under the minibar.”
“Good place for them.”
He made his way to the minibar in the dining room off the kitchen. There he found a bottle of aspirin, emptied two small pills into his hand and downed them with the rest of the almost empty bottle of Cuervo Gold. Hair of the dog that bit him, he reasoned.
After tossing the finished Cuervo into the trash, he opened the minibar’s fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “Do I have anything going on today?” he asked as he returned to the kitchen.
Fudge flipped a page in his comic book. “Hmm? I don’t think so.”
Even the sound of pages flipping irritated Micah. He took a swig of water, wishing it was something stronger. “What time do I have to be at the award show tomorrow?” He paused. “That is tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Fudge dropped his spoon in his bowl, causing an annoying clank. “Am I your secretary now?”
His friend had been teasing, but Micah wasn’t in the mood. “You’re my half-assed bodyguard who lives free of charge in my pool house. Excuse me for thinking you could maybe pull a little weight around here.”
“Grumpy.” Fudge rolled his eyes then crossed to the kitchen laptop. He clicked on a desktop icon and turned the screen to Micah. “Here. I pulled up your calendar.”
Micah massaged his scalp, trying to rub away his irritation. “Ooo, thanks. What effort that must have taken.”
“What the f**k is your problem? You’ve been in a foul mood all week.”
Micah ignored Fudge and glanced at the laptop. Yep. America’s Choice Awards were scheduled for the next day. At least he wasn’t up for an award. He was just a presenter—a much easier job with very little focus on him from the press.
“In fact,” Fudge was still talking. “You’ve been in a foul mood since that investment meeting you went to about Maddie’s movie.”
Micah scowled at her name. He didn’t want to think about her, hence the recent large consumptions of alcohol. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pulled the laptop closer, not really looking at it, but trying to discourage Fudge from conversation.
Fudge wasn’t deterred at all. “Come to think of it, you’ve been a bitch since the last week of filming. Since right around when Maddie left production.”
Ow, her name again.
Fudge patted Micah on the back. “Did the standard Preston brush-off not go well?”
Micah let out a groan. Even though the two of them were good friends, he didn’t share much emotional crap with Fudge. What he knew about Micah’s personal life was from observation and interrogation. Interrogating was today’s tactic.
“I didn’t give her the standard Preston brush-off. We ended things mutually.” Only a partial lie. She wanted one thing, he wanted another. They’d both had a chance to let it not end, and neither of them took it.