“Oh?” She tried her best to repress the shiver that stole over her at his closeness, but it was no use. And she had a feeling he noticed, what with the sly smile that curved his perfect lips.

Perfectly kissable lips.

He stayed close to her, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. “Yeah, this role is my comeback, my first serious role I’ve ever taken on. The doctor I play is a recovering addict who’s tempted by all that surrounds him at the hospital. Pills, women, violence. The man has serious problems and he’s trying his best to overcome them.”

“Sounds interesting,” Reagan said, tilting her head toward him. If he moved just an inch more toward her, she bet his mouth would be brushing her earlobe.

“It is. The role both pushes my limits yet is something I’ve suffered from as well.” He laughed, sounding a bit embarrassed. “I probably shouldn’t have admitted that.”

She loved that he’d admitted that. “We all have our problems.”

“Yeah.” He smiled ruefully. “Just some of us haven’t had them splashed all over the gossip magazines and websites for all the world to see.”

Right. She recalled seeing a few unflattering photos of him coming out of a club, looking a little worse for wear. And that one particular incident when he threw a photographer’s camera on the ground and smashed it to bits. “That was a long time ago, though, right?”

“I hit rock bottom. Sometimes that’s what it takes to make your life turn completely around.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw, and she could hear the rasp of stubble as he brushed it with his palm. She wondered what that face would feel like pressed against hers. Or maybe rubbing against her inner thighs…

“I’ve spent some time at local hospitals recently, hanging out in their ER,” Declan continued as he stepped away from her. Disappointment flooded her at the loss, which was borderline ridiculous. “And I’ve seen some crazy shit.”

She laughed. “That’s a mild way of putting it.”

“I bet you have some fascinating stories.”

“I’ve seen my share of crazy.” She brought her glass up to her lips, realized it was empty and felt like an idiot. How she wished she had something to do with her hands. All she could think about was reaching out and touching him. He’d probably freak, though. Push her away. How many women did he have to push away on a daily basis? He was so handsome. He seemed very charming. Sweet. Sexy. She liked how he looked at her as if no one else mattered.

A lot.

“I’d love to hear your stories.” He sipped from his water, then took her empty glass from her and set them both on a table nearby. “Want to go outside?”

Reagan frowned. “Outside?”

“Yeah. There’s a balcony right over there.” He waved his hand toward the double doors that stood on the opposite side of the room. “Great view of the city. Not many people sitting out there, I bet. Allows for more privacy?”

“Privacy?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat, berating herself for sounding like a mousy little twit. She needed to remember she was a sophisticated woman in a sexy dress talking with a famous actor.

Or at least, she needed to pretend she was all of those things. Maybe she needed more liquid courage. Or maybe not, considering he just implied he was a recovering addict.

“I’d like to pick your pretty little head for gruesome emergency room stories.” He smiled, the sight of it sending a spiral of heat throughout her body, settling between her legs. He made pick your pretty little head sound downright dirty. “Especially if you have good dirt on the doctors.”

She laughed. “I have a little bit.”

“Perfect.” His smile grew, showing off a dimple in his right cheek, and she melted a little bit. She had a serious thing for dimples. She had a serious thing for this man, period, though it was all based on his good looks and charisma on the screen, nothing more.

Maybe, just maybe, she could learn a little more about him. And end up with a story to tell for years to come.

Declan couldn’t stop staring at Reagan. That sexy red dress she wore accented every single one of her assets—and she had plenty of them. Smooth, bare shoulders, full, perfect breasts and curvy hips. Those long legs filled him with all sorts of images, like having them wrapped around his hips while he plunged deep inside her body…

Yeah. Just thinking like that made him break out in a cold sweat. He hadn’t had sex in a while. It was all a part of his recovery plan. He’d pretty much given up the booze and the drugs for good. Eventually, he gave up the women too, but definitely not for good. That was on a temporary basis only.

He had to allow an indulgence here and there. But the women he’d been with since he’d become sober just didn’t do it for him, not like they used to when he’d been in a drug- or alcohol-induced haze. It was obvious that the women he used to go for were fake. Plastic and completely over the top. He was so over that. He wanted someone real.

And Reagan was definitely, one hundred percent real.

Not that he knew her that well, but he could tell she wasn’t a phony. Her conversation, her reaction to him, was authentic. She blushed, she stuttered and she stared at him as if he was the best thing she’d ever seen in her life.

He liked it. He needed it. Not the adulation and the screaming fans, the media praising him and the studio execs kissing his ass.

More than anything, Declan needed calm. Quiet. Someone who would listen to him when he had something to say. A woman who wanted to take care of him and not expect anything in return. He wanted to be normal.

Yeah. Normal. He had no idea what that was like. He’d grown up with a single mom determined to make something of herself. And when that didn’t work, she focused on him and became determined to turn him into a superstar.

He modeled. He did commercials. And when he was in his teens, he made his first movie. A summer beachside romance with a bunch of terrible dialogue and lots of kissing scenes with his leading actress. He became an instant success, a teen heartthrob—holy hell, he hated that word. All the teenage fans wanted him to be their summertime boyfriend on the beach.

So he gave them what he wanted and spread himself way too thin way too fast.

He’d banged that poor actress he’d worked with more times than he could count and then dumped her the day the movie premiered. Once he’d had his first taste of true fame, he’d fucked through an endless streak of groupies, girls willing to do anything to have one chance with him. He drank and drugged himself into a stupor. He made lots of movies—some good, some awful—and spent the money as fast as he made it.

And then it ran out. Just like everything else.

This time around, he was doing things differently. The new, serious movie role with the acclaimed director and big-time producer called for his utter devoted attention. He rehearsed endlessly. Worked with an acting coach, something he’d never done before in his life but knew he needed. He shadowed ER doctors to get a real sense of what they dealt with day in and day out, and seeing that sort of shit in real life blew his ever-lovin’ mind.

The experience prepared him. Made him realize this role was not just another movie. It could change his entire career if he handled it right. His co-stars were stellar. The director believed in him. All he had to do was prove he could handle it.

He thought he was ready for the role of a lifetime, but nerves ate him. Turned him into a seething, on-the-edge mess. His friends convinced him to come to Vegas one last weekend before he started filming. The assholes. They were just trying to get him laid. They’d complained time and again the last few months that he was acting like a grumpy dick, especially lately.

Damn it, he wasn’t grumpy. He was trying to be serious for once in his life. Throwing him into a party situation—no matter how completely different it was from his past parties—wasn’t the answer. But his friends meant well and he could appreciate them for that.