Page 24 of First Touch

But before I heard it, he spoke again. “Oh, and I think you made a good choice not to meet up with my former pool boy last night. As his title implies, he’s just a child. What you’re looking for requires a man.”

That was it. I was furious. He’d fucked with me. He’d scared me. He’d belittled and chided. Now he’d implied he was the only person who could give me what I need, yet he’d made sure I knew he was completely off limits. His weakness was me. He wanted me and he hated that maybe as much as I hated him.

I sat up and twisted toward him, purposefully letting the sheet fall around my waist. “You sound jealous, Reeve.”

He turned back to me, his eyes sparking at the sight of my naked torso. His expression was hot and primitive, drawing my nipples out to sharp points. He placed his hand over the thick bulge at the front of his pants and stroked himself. “Maybe I am jealous,” he said, his voice strained. “But I’ve learned from experience not to let jealousy inform my actions.”

With his hand still pressed against his cock, he delivered one last statement. “Leave my resort, Ms. Wayborn.” Then he was gone.

I let out an exasperated groan.

Then, I left too.

I dressed as fast as I could and hurried back to my room where I packed in a flurry. Within an hour after leaving my massage, I was checked out of the hotel and on my way home. Done. I was done with him. The whole thing had been a bad idea. The man was a psycho. A fucking manipulator.

For the entire two-hour drive back to Hollywood, though, as well as the days that followed, Reeve’s words stayed with me, haunting me as effectively as Amber did. He’d been warning me, yes. Proving he was a threat. Making sure I knew who he was and what he could do. And it worked – I was thoroughly convinced.

But I couldn’t stop remembering that look in his eyes – the one that wanted to devour me. The one that said his control was on a thread. That blazed as he stroked himself through his pants.

He’d threatened me, but that look made me wish I’d called his bluff.

CHAPTER 8

The backstage assistant smiled in recognition when she spotted me. She was dressed in a black, long-sleeve shirt and black jeans and looked out of place next to all the stars decked in evening wear. Leaning forward, she covered the mike of her headset and whispered, “Ms. Wayborn, you’re up in ten.”

I couldn’t hear her over the applause in the background but her lips were easy to read. In case I had any doubt, she held all ten fingers up.

“Thanks.” I nodded then turned to check my lipstick in the backstage mirror and tried not to vomit. Live performances scared the crap out of me. I preferred a camera, a clapboard, and the option to do over.

For the fifteenth time in as many minutes, I wished I’d declined the invitation to present an award. My agent had thought it would be good for exposure, as did our show’s publicist. The only reason they’d asked me in the first place was because Ty Macy, my costar in NextGen, was up for Best Actor in a Comedy Series. Ty had decided early on that the SAG Awards weren’t worth his time even though he was a shoo-in for the win. So they’d chosen me to present it so that, if he won, I could also accept his award on his behalf and not waste time with climbing out of my chair and approaching the stage.

Less time meant less money spent from the budget. Hollywood was all about keeping as much in the producers’ pockets as possible. I was economical. Woohoo for me.

I was also crabby. And restless. While I’d expected to easily get back in the rhythm of filming, I’d been on the set for two weeks and it hadn’t happened. I blamed it on Amber – still missing, still occupying my mind. I refused to credit Reeve Sallis for my distraction. The fact that I’d been counting the days since I’d left his resort – nineteen to be precise – didn’t mean anything either. That was simply the number of days since I’d abandoned my original Find Amber plan. That’s why I knew the count.

Of course, I didn’t have a new plan yet. Which was another reason I was in such a perma bad mood.

“Your forehead wrinkles when you’re pissy.” Amber had told me that more than once during our friendship, and sure enough I saw the crease now. Taking a deep breath, I forced my shoulders back and my face to relax. I swept another coat of gloss over my lips and stuffed the tube into the pocket of my designer dress – the absolute best thing about the evening. Pockets had been my only requirement for the evening’s apparel. I hated being tied to a purse.

As I put my hand in, I felt my phone buzz. I didn’t intend to answer it, just see who was calling. But it was Joe.

“She was spotted,” he said without a hello.

It took a few seconds to register the meaning of his words. “You found Amber?” I was so excited, I forgot to hush my voice.

The stage assistant glared at me with a finger pressed to her lips. I mouthed an apology and plugged an ear so I could hear Joe better over the show in the background.

“No, I haven’t found her. But she was spotted. Sallis is off the hook.”

Electricity pricked at the back of my neck but I refrained from getting my hopes up without more information. I stepped farther back into the wing so I wouldn’t disturb anyone. “What does that mean exactly? Spotted by who?”

“Don’t know. Someone texted me a picture. She’s standing in a casino in Colorado and she looks good. The photo is date stamped and there’s a sign in the background that mentions a Halloween Slot Fest. I’ll send it to you when we’re off the phone.”

“Halloween.” I went through the dates in my head. We’d guessed Amber’s disappearance had occurred sometime between August and September when Reeve had been seen with another woman. “Could he have gotten back together with Amber in October? Is there a chance we have our timeline wrong?”

“I don’t think so.” Joe’s quick answer told me he’d already been through all these possibilities before calling me. “And Amber’s with another guy in this pic.”

“What guy?” There was applause again behind me. I glanced back to make sure it wasn’t time for my entrance and saw there was still one more presenter before me.