Make Me Yours Read online

  Make Me Yours

  By Vanessa Vale

  Bridgewater County

  Book 5

  © 2017 by Vanessa Vale

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form or format, by electronic, digital, or mechanical means including, but not limited to, information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher. An exception is granted to book reviewers who may quote up to 250 words in a review.

  Cover design: Bridger Media

  Cover graphic: Period Images

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  MAKE ME YOURS

  Bridgewater County – Book 5

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lacey

  “Best sound ever,” I said to my assistant, Tessa, indicating the automatic door lock that had just thunked into place.

  I settled back into the plush seat—just as comfortable as first class on the plane, but I was on the ground and almost home. What was a slog through LA traffic after a fourteen-hour flight? I sighed, leaned my head back.

  “Even better than someone announcing your name for a walk down the red carpet?” Tessa teased as we settled in to wait for a family of five to finish loading their luggage into the SUV idling in front of us.

  “Oh yeah. So much better,” I said, tilting my neck from side to side to work the kinks out. “You know I love my fans, but a two-week press junket is enough. So is the batch of paparazzi outside customs. And those rabid fans who don’t know a thing about me.” I pointed out the window at a bunch of star followers.

  “Sounds like somebody needs a massage.”

  While Tessa investigated the basket of magazines, chocolate and champagne sent by her office, I wearily watched the crowd outside. Undeterred by the tinted windows, my fans jostled elbow to elbow as they angled to capture me on their phones. I was a people-pleaser by nature, but I took petty satisfaction in the frustrated expressions of people who realized they weren’t getting anything through the glass. They wanted more from me and I wasn’t willing to give it. Not now. Not after the long flight from South Korea, not in my leggings and sweatshirt, my hair up in a sloppy bun. Not when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed for twelve hours.

  Airport security finally showed up to clear the walkway. At the same time, the family in front of us finished stowing their luggage and piled into their vehicle. Our car started to move, which I took as my cue to let out a deep sigh and slump down even further. No cameras, no fans. I could be myself.

  Tessa chuckled. “So, you want me to book it?”

  I rubbed my forehead. “What? Sorry. I’m exhausted.” It was daylight, but I had no idea what time it was. All I knew was that I crossed the International Date Line and went back a day.

  “The massage. Do you want me to arrange it? I can make a call and have that massage therapist you like meet us at your house.”

  My head started to bob the automatic, expected response. Everybody knew being worked over by some big blond Viking with amazing hands was supposed to be the miracle cure to Los Angeles stress, but no. I couldn’t even count how many hours I’d spent being kneaded and rubbed since I’d ditched my small-town life as Lacey Leesworth in order to become rising star, Lacey Lee.

  None of those massages had done a damn thing. Instead of nodding, I turned my head to look at Tessa, who was thumbing through a stack of tabloids balanced on her lap.

  “No. I don’t need a massage. I need…” One of the tabloids distracted me and I sat up, reached for the tabloid. “Oh my God. Are they serious? A June wedding?”

  Tessa quickly flipped the rag over, but it was too late. I laughed humorlessly and shook my head.

  “I’d say I can’t believe this, but of course I can. I must have given a hundred interviews in South Korea alone, and all anybody wanted to talk about was my so-called love life.”

  Love? Hah.

  “You know how the media is,” she countered, rolling her eyes. Since she worked for a PR firm, she dealt with them twenty-four/seven. “They’re hungry for the next big love story. You’re the current sweetheart of TV and Chris is—uh, has the potential to be the next big swoony rock star.” Her voice changed when she spoke of Chris, the words filled with some doubt. “Of course, everyone wants the two of you together.”

  Instead of calming me down, it made me grind my teeth. Any mention of Chris did that these days. “Yes, I get the media. I just…argh!” I waved my hands in the air. The gesture indicated all of my frustration with the media, the fans and even Chris.

  Tessa winced and patted my leg. “You’re burned out. Anybody would be after filming and the press junket. No one imagined the Hunters series would be such a hit. Vampire romance still has a huge following, not only here in the US, but in the Asian market as well. You’ve been going and going at this pace for five years and know how it is. Let all this stuff go. Besides, it’s not like anyone believed you had Elvis’ secret baby last month.” She was using her familiar placating tone, which was probably the first thing they’d taught her in Celebrity Management 101.

  That had been different. Elvis died before I was born. Chris, though, was alive and well—as far as I knew—and thriving in the press of our barely-real relationship.

  “’All this stuff’, meaning all these lies?” I grabbed the magazine off her lap, lifted it up so I could see my face smiling from some red-carpet event. I recognized the red dress. Paris? Sydney? I couldn’t remember. A smaller picture of Chris was in a square in the right corner, big bold type screaming “Wedding Bells or Wedding Hell?” across the top. I dropped it back in Tessa’s lap, then stared out the window, watching LA pass by, yet at the same time seeing nothing at all.

  “This is Hollywood, Lacey. You’re a TV star. Very little about your life is true. If the truth got out…”

  Tessa trailed off ominously, shaking a genuine laugh from me. I shot her an amused glance.

  “You say that like I have some kind of deep, dark secret when nothing could be farther from the truth. Like Elvis’ love child.” I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “All I do is work and sleep. I couldn’t even think up half the things they say I do. My life has been an open book since my first deal, and the paparazzi helped themselves to everything before that. My real name isn’t even a secret.”

  She gave me a look that said it all. She pitied me. Yeah, I had money and fame, but nothing else, and she knew it. She knew what it was really like to be a famous actress, and because of that, she was content to remain behind the scenes, anonymous to the fans and stalkers. When Tessa dropped me off, she’d go home to play tennis or go to the library. Maybe even go to the grocery store with no makeup on. Normal stuff. I hadn’t seen the inside of a grocery store in years; I couldn’t pick out my own produce without the paparazzi following me, snapping some horrible candid and putting it online and saying I was on a juice cleanse. God forbid I picked out my own tampons; an article about a miscarriage or a post about how the zit on my chin was obviously from PMS would surface the next day.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she countered. “But how do you think fans would react if they knew you and Chris weren’t their dream couple? Headlines aren’t made based on ‘casual dating’ and ‘we hit it off, but there’s nothing serious’.” Tessa air quoted in all the right places
.

  I rolled my eyes, sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe they’d start reacting to my acting ability again instead of all this…nonsense. What do you think people would say if they knew Chris and I haven’t exchanged more than a single text during the past week?”

  Tessa got a panicked look. “Don’t tell anybody that.”

  I laughed at her expression. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. The truth would ruin my career, which is so ridiculous, I can’t even list all the ways. I hate this, Tessa. I don’t want people marrying me to Chris and I’m resentful of the PR team for pushing me to go along with this whole stupid charade while I was away.”

  “Okay. Just hold on.” Tessa shuffled all the tabloids aside and angled to face me, tucking one leg beneath her. She had on skinny jeans with wedge sandals, a cute tank top with ruffles down the front. It was obvious she hadn’t been on a flight from Asia. “What’s really going on? You’re way more off than usual. If it’s burnout, we can set up a self-care retreat. Self-care is the big buzzword right now anyway. Your fans will go nuts with admiration and the press will run with that.”

  “The press will start speculating that I’m carrying Chris’s baby. Or that I’m in rehab.”

  I couldn’t decide which was worse—fake pregnancy or fake bulimia. Maybe I should go buy some tampons. That would settle one of those things.

  Tessa opened her mouth, but then closed it with a rueful laugh. “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

  “Mm-hmm. But a retreat does sound amazing.” Sighing, I tugged my hair out of the sloppy ponytail, smoothed it out and tied it back again. I’d been all around the world, yet I wanted to get away. Not to a jam-packed schedule full of meetings, interviews, release parties and red carpets. No, to somewhere quiet. No cameras. No phones. No connectivity.

  Tessa looked genuinely concerned. We’d been together long enough that I knew she was actually worried about me, even if only because her job depended on my career remaining stable. The professional barrier kept us from being friends, but since she was the closest thing to one I had in LA—and the fact she’d signed a non-disclosure agreement not to share my secrets—I decided to confide in her.

  “You’re right. It’s more than burnout. I’m lonely, Tessa. It’s just me when I’m home and it’s even worse when I’m touring. Please don’t tell me I have all these ‘adoring fans’.” I could air quote at key moments, too. “I don’t—well, I do want fans. Obviously. But I can’t be sustained by the fickle love of billions of strangers, especially since the person they’re really drawn to is a fictional character. A series of them.” I sighed, tugged at the string on my hoodie. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  Tessa nodded slowly, setting her dark hair swinging. “I think I do. So—what about Chris? Would it really be so bad to be more than casual with him?” At my dry look, she wrinkled her nose and laughed. “Okay, yeah, stupid question. He’s an arrogant, self-important mess.”

  Not to mention a user, but I didn’t need to tell Tessa that. She was well aware of how my affiliation with Chris benefitted his career. Mine? Not so much. I was already the sweetheart of the big screen. Our so-called engagement was pure fiction, dreamed up by the PR company that represented both Chris and me.

  I shrugged. “He’s…I don’t know. Chris just isn’t what I want.”

  I wanted love, the sweet, simple, uncomplicated kind of love my sister had found. I wanted instant connection. I wanted a guy who wanted me more than anything else. Hot sex, too. Yeah, I wanted that with a guy who knew he was in bed with me, real Lacey.

  What good was money and stardom if nobody wanted the real me? The woman, not the star? And Chris didn’t even know who the real me was. He didn’t care.

  Poor Tessa didn’t deserve this heavy conversation so I shrugged and gave her a wan smile. “Okay, book me the retreat. Make sure it has plenty of long, hot baths. I only have two weeks between now and the next tour. Let’s make them count.”

  “Yes! That’s the Lacey Lee I know and love.” Tessa clapped her hands, then whipped out her tablet.

  As she fired off retreat options, I picked up the stack of tabloids. The glow of the tablet screen made the headlines seem lurid and too ridiculous for words.

  La-Chris was an absurd couple name. Chr-acey was even worse, but at least the sentiment was right. Crazy was just the word for all of this. For the fake relationship I had with a guy I barely knew.

  One headline made me huff a laugh. Tessa glanced up. I brandished the paper at her. “Rock4Ever? What is this, a time machine back to the nineties?”

  Tessa didn’t get a chance to answer. The car slowed in front of my house, which was lit up like Christmas. Trucks and cars alike parked up the driveway and the lawn.

  “Holy shit.” Tessa leaned over me to look out the window, eyes bugging out. “Is that a tour bus?”

  “What’s going on?”

  Tessa and I looked at each other. At the same time, we both groaned, “Chris.”

  Nobody else would have the nerve to turn my million-dollar house into a freaking party palace. Especially while it was well known I was out of the country. Or had been.

  Music pumped from every window, so loud I could hear it inside the car. As I watched, horrified, three women I didn’t know pranced out the front door, stark naked, carrying wine glasses and passing a joint between them.

  Tessa made a disgusted sound. “I can’t believe this. Stay here. I’m going to clean this mess up and get rid of Chris.”

  I reached for the door first and waved her back. “No, don’t. You go home. I’ll handle this myself.”

  I might not have any control over the media’s portrayal of my so-called love life, but I could sure as heck tell one person the truth. If Chris thought he had a right to anything I’d busted my butt to earn, he was dead wrong. This wasn’t a relationship, this was a self-centered asshole using my name.

  Flinging open the car door, I grabbed my carry-on and marched right through the pack of drunk groupies. My front door was hanging wide open. That would have been perfect for my dramatic entrance except for one thing.

  Chris wasn’t there to see it.

  The people who were around were either too blitzed to notice me or they just didn’t care that they’d been caught trashing my home. They probably didn’t even know whose home they were in. And why would they care? Chris’s people were all from the rock scene, musicians and groupies. A rager of a party was the norm, even in the middle of the day—whatever time it was. Mine was probably the third house or hotel they’d wrecked this week.

  Head pounding from the blasting music and the wicked strobe lights someone had installed, I wandered from room to room. The house wasn’t big by LA standards, but it had floor-to-ceiling windows with incredible views. When I didn’t find Chris on the first floor, I headed upstairs, avoiding empty beer cans and carelessly strewn panties.

  I didn’t even bother checking the guest rooms. If Chris had the nerve to invade my house, he wouldn’t behave like a guest. Following the trail of discarded clothes and shoes, I walked through my open bedroom door to a sight that would have shocked me at eighteen.

  Some blonde I didn’t know was on all fours on my bed while Chris pumped away behind her. Up until this moment, I’d walked through the house with a sort of numb sensation, my vision freaking out over the light show, the crazy partying. Now the numbness evaporated and sharp clarity rushed me.

  I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it. Not the fancy house I’d purchased because that’s what LA stars did, not the famous rocker boyfriend fans thought completed my image. Not the drugs, parties, and endless travel.

  I didn’t want any of it. I was done. D.O.N.E.

  Leaving my bag beside the door, I walked over to stand directly in front of Chris and his groupie, the sound of his hips slapping against a perfect quarter-bouncing ass filling the room.

  Chris didn’t display an ounce of shame when he saw me. The opposite, in fact. He grabbed his sex toy’s hips and jerked her ass against his
groin lewdly. If he was caught, he didn’t want it to be with his dick hanging out. No, he wanted it buried deep.

  He grinned, giving me that drop-dead gorgeous look cameras loved. Tousled blond hair, square jaw, perfect body. Even his dick was good looking—when it wasn’t filling up some nameless, faceless chick. He disgusted me. Nothing about him appealed to me—even before I had to stand here and watch him fuck someone else. His personality was narcissistic. He dreams, shallow. So was his behavior. No, he was an asshole and I had no idea why I let the PR people string this along. They must have loved me being in Asia; I couldn’t see what the real Chris was like with the Pacific between us.

  “This cock’s occupied, Lace,” he said, his voice deep and yet full of mocking humor. “If you want in on the action, you’ll have to ask my lady friend for some tongue.”

  “Your lady friend.” My eyebrows couldn’t possibly rise any further. She was no lady and I would bet my house he had no idea what his friend’s name was.

  Yeah. D.O.N.E.

  “You know what, whatever.” I tossed up my hands, let them fall back to my sides. “I’m not going to ask. You and your lady friend need to get off my bed before I call the cops.”

  With one hand, he reached around and cupped a very fake breast. “You wouldn’t.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. I would.” I didn’t realize I was shaking until I jabbed my finger toward the door. “Get out. Both of you.”

  The blonde flipped her long hair back and gave me a dirty look. “Bitch, ever heard of waiting for your turn?”

  I held up my hands and took a step back. Then another. “I’m not doing this.” And I wasn’t referring to getting some tongue.

  Turning, I grabbed the house phone off the nightstand.

  “For fuck’s sake, Lacey.” Chris pushed his partner away and looked around the room, condom covered dick glistening. At least he was smart enough to use protection. I wasn’t sure if I should gag from the porno in front of me or if I should be impressed he used protection.