Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
In another life, I might have been someone worthy of listening to that voice.
That was a long time ago.
Once upon a time, I was the most sought-after stuntman in Hollywood. I was fearless, capable of pulling off stunt sequences others wouldn't even dream of attempting. An on-set accident several years ago changed all of that. Save for the people who were there that day, no one knows what happened. In a town where gossip reigns supreme, rumors fly hot and fast, but not even a whisper of the truth has slipped past loose lips. All anyone knows for sure is that I was gravely injured.
No one knows that the lead actor lost his mind when he discovered the director was trying to fuck his seventeen-year-old baby sister. He drove his truck through the director's trailer. And I was the unlucky bastard in said trailer at the time.
I spent months in the hospital being carefully stitched back together. The first two years were an endless parade of surgeries, skin grafts, and rehab. It felt like living my childhood all over again…sidelined by something I didn't choose. Back then, it was a heart condition.
This time was worse.
By the time they finally cleared me to resume my everyday life, my career was long over. The things I once did with ease were no longer possible. The life I'd built for myself was just fucking gone. People who once worked side by side with me couldn't stomach looking at me. The whispers and jokes were endless.
Jackson Reed, my business partner, took on the brunt of the work. I faded into the background, training stunt doubles to do what I used to do. Every once in a while, an actor will seek me out, wanting to learn what I know, but those instances are few and far between. Most don't want to risk their pretty faces when those pretty faces make them millions.
I can count on one hand the number of times a woman like Laura Groves came looking for me. Those who did took one look at me and never returned. In a city where physical beauty is the golden standard, I'm a walking, talking reminder that the clock runs out on everyone eventually.
"Why are you here, Laura?"
"I need you," she blurts.
A menacing growl erupts from my lips before I can call it back. Fuck, I want to hear her say that while she's spread eagle on my bed and her first orgasm still coats my tongue.
"Say that again," I demand, even though I know she doesn't mean it.
"Um, I need you?"
I step toward her, compelled by the throb in my cock from my hiding place. Yes, I'll give her what she needs. I'll fuck her right and proper, let her make a mess of my back with those pretty nails. Whatever she needs.
She isn't short, yet I tower over her, dwarfing her. Christ, my sheer size eclipses her like the moon swallowing the sun. She doesn't shrink from me, though. There's strength in this innocent little starlet, courage that goes bone deep.
"What does a girl like you need with a man like me, princess?"
"Your scar," she gasps, her green eyes filling with distress.
I flinch, taking a step back as her reaction cools the fire running through my veins. "Doubt that's what you need from me."
She shakes her head, her cheeks turning pink. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I didn't realize…." She trails off into awkward silence. I can practically see her fighting the urge to squirm from foot to foot in her thousand-dollar heels. "I'm so sorry. I promise I'm not usually so rude. You just caught me off guard."
"I'm used to it," I rasp. "Most of you react the same way when you first see me." I rake my gaze over her, hot and predatory. She's so fucking pretty. Does she know how badly I want to put my filthy hands all over her? "Your world is glitz and glamour, not scarred old relics."
"My world is faker than a can of spray tan," she mutters.
One dark brow rises, pulling the edges of my scar taut.
"You were injured in a stunt."
My face falls into a scowl. As far as the world knows, that's precisely what happened. That's the story we all told. We certainly didn't do it to protect Alastair McDonald, the director. His predatory ways were revealed long ago. He was one of the first to be tossed into a cell when women in Hollywood started speaking out. I popped a bottle of champagne that night. But Damen Montero and his little sister deserved protection. Had Marissya been my sister, I would have driven a truck through McDonald's fucking trailer too.
"Sorry." Laura grimaces. "I'm nosy. And nervous."
"I make you nervous."
"Yes," she admits, slipping her hands into her coat pockets to hide the way she fidgets with her fingers. "You're a legend. I've heard stories about you since I came to Hollywood. But no one told me that you're so…."