“That’s Darren Cable, the lead actor in the movie,” Dave, the screenwriter told him.

So that was the guy Parker would be kissing on set in just a few weeks.

He watched as the man moved closer to her and placed a hand casually on her back—so natural, as if it belonged there.

His temper rose within him. He needed to pull it together. This was her job. She had to entertain Hollywood’s finest . . .

But when the guy’s hand dipped lower to the base of her spine, he couldn’t stop himself. Crossing the room, he interrupted the conversation. “Parker, can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked, taking her wrist in his hand.

The look on the leading man’s face was pretty clear, but he didn’t give a shit.

Parker looked surprised at his sudden interruption. “Um . . . sure . . . Excuse me,” she told the men as he led her away.

He dragged her back inside the house and headed upstairs, not stopping until they’d reached her bedroom. Slamming the door behind him, he whipped her around and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What are you doing? I have guests,” she said as his head lowered to her neck.

“I don’t give a shit about your guests. You’re driving me crazy in this dress,” he murmured against the side of her ear. “Take it off,” he whispered.

“But I . . .”

“As your trainer, I’m telling you to let that dress fall to the floor at your feet before I rip it off,” he said, biting her flesh at her collarbone.

She whimpered, and her hand shook slightly as she reached for the straps of the paper thin dress. Bringing them down over her shoulders, the weight of the fabric fell to the floor at her feet.

Standing in only her red, lacy thong and her silver strappy sandals, she turned slowly to face him. “What now, Coach?”

In an instant, his mouth was on hers, his hands all over her bare skin. They dipped below the string of the thongs on both sides of her hips as he pushed them downward, sliding his hand along the front of her flat stomach until he cupped her swollen mound of flesh between her legs.

She bit his bottom lip as his finger plunged inside and he moaned. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered against his mouth, her gaze locked with his, telling him she would do anything he asked.

“Bend over,” he said, turning her around, pushing her gently forward until she was resting on her forearms on the bed. Her hair came loose from the clasp and fell to the side as she looked over her shoulder, to watch as he unzipped his pants and freed his already throbbing cock. He stroked himself and groaned as he moved forward, toward her. “Open wider,” he said, easing her thighs as far apart as her thong around her ankles would allow.

He needed to have her now. He didn’t care that there was a house full of people or that her ex-boyfriend was making a play for her. He needed to be with her, be as close to her as possible, cling to her to try to erase these feelings of inadequacy and powerlessness taking over his emotions.

Kneeling on the bed behind her, he slid his fingers along her wetness. Then stroked her back, and hips and thighs. Her knees shook slightly on the bed and she gripped the bed sheets in front of her.

His hands left her and she heard the sound of the condom wrapper, then she felt his cock between her legs, the tip easing in gently at first . . . then plunging deeper, harder. One hand held her lower abdomen close to his body, while the other flicked her clit and explored the folds of her pussy.

“Harder,” she said, and he pushed deeper inside her, a moan escaping him as she tightened around him.

He leaned forward, resting his weight against her as his hands traveled upward to cup her breasts. He grabbed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard. She let out a gasp and he kissed her neck.

A second later he pulled out, then sitting on the bed next to her, he picked her up and sat her on his lap, her body facing him, as he lowered her down over his cock once more. She rode him up and down, faster, harder, until she was panting and desperate for release.

His hands tangled in her hair and pulled her head backward as he kissed the base of her neck, burrowing his head into her breasts, as he came undone. A final thrust and he lost control, his fingers digging deep into the flesh at her back as he held her firmly in place as he pulsated inside her.

Knowing he was coming was enough and she rocked her hips forward as her body rippled in pleasure, before falling limp against him.

He kissed her shoulder, and smoothed her hair away from her neck. “See, wasn’t that better than the party?”

She nodded, kissing him. “You can crash any party of mine anytime.”

Chapter 11

From his office the next morning, Tyson saw Dane waiting outside the front door. He waved and Tyson went to unlock it. “What happened to your key?” he asked, unlocking the outside of the door and flicking on the open sign in the window.

Dane looked frazzled as he said, “I forgot it.”

“Well, don’t lose it. They cost like fifty bucks to replace,” he said, heading back inside.

“I won’t,” he said, as he followed him to his office. “I need more fights, Tyson.”

How had he known that was coming? Dane hadn’t fought in months and while he paid him as an assistant coach at the gym, it wasn’t the payday he received from the fights. “Okay. I’ll talk to Erik—see if I can get you on a card early next year.”

“Nah, man, that’s months away. I haven’t fought in almost a year. My sponsors are threatening to walk if I don’t fight again soon.”

Tyson studied the middleweight fighter. The truth was, the guy wasn’t the most disciplined fighter he had at his camp, which meant convincing the MFL’s matchmaker to put him on a card was a challenge. When Dane wanted to train, wanted to win, he was one of the best at 185, but most of the time, he neglected the strict diet and training schedules needed to become a champion. Sometimes he won, sometimes he didn’t, and either way he was happy. The guy loved to fight—for him it wasn’t about being the best. Unfortunately, while that made him a fan favorite and a respectable opponent, it didn’t make securing fights an easy task. “I’ll see what I can do, okay?” he said, seeing Parker come in.

An image of her in the stunning red dress—or rather, the dress falling to the floor—the evening before flashed in his mind and he grinned briefly before a sudden uneasiness formed in the pit of his stomach. The night had been both incredible and eye-opening. They were from two completely different worlds. The movie executives and the other actors were all so different from the people he surrounded himself with. He didn’t fit into that world and he wondered if she was starting to realize that too.

“I’m sorry, Tyson, but if I can’t get a fight soon, I’m going to have to give up training for a while,” Dane was saying, cutting into his conflicting thoughts.

“It won’t come to that. Trust me, okay?” he said, standing and heading out of the office. He felt unsure and uneasy as he approached her, and he ordered himself to man up.

But the twisting in his gut continued as he drew nearer. Something was up with her as well. She looked nervous as she bit her lip and kept one eye on the front door. “What’s wrong?”

“Brantley is coming to watch my training today.”

He frowned. “Why?”

She shrugged. “He said he wants to check in on his ‘star’s’ progress,” she said tightly.

His star? The one he’d dropped the moment her third movie didn’t do so well at the box office? The feeling of jealous possessiveness that had plagued him since the night before was a foreign feeling to him. He’d never cared enough about a woman to feel anything close to the emotions tormenting him.