ONE NIGHT (Novella) (Superstars in Love Series) Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products such as: Les Miserables, iPhone, Blackberry, Sabrett, Oreo, Patron, Justin Bieber, Sippy, Playbill and Spiderman.

  Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Laughlin.

  ONE NIGHT by Diane Alberts

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance.

  Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Books, LLC.

  No part of this e-Book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Edited by Georgia McBride

  Cover design by Su Kopil

  Cover art copyright©: Swoon Romance 2013

  Cover photo: Licensed by Shutterstock

  KNOCK LOVE OUT sample copyright©: Pella Grace

  To all the actors out there, singing their hearts out on stage. This one’s for you.

  ONE NIGHT

  Superstars in Love #2

  Diane Alberts

  Chapter One

  Justin Holloway was bloody fucked. No, not just fucked. Fucked, with a capital “F.” He had barely made a splash in the London theater scene before his agent booked him this role. Gary said he was ready to be the lead actor inside an opulent Broadway theater in New York fucking City.

  Justin wasn’t quite as sure.

  How could he possibly be ready to play the role of Marius in Les Miserables? When he had told his agent he wanted to be on Broadway someday, he’d meant it that way. Some-bloody-day. Not this day. Not this early in his career. Les Miserables was only scheduled to be in New York for a limited run. It had been taken off of Broadway a few years ago, but he, Justin Holloway, managed to land a role.

  A big role, at that.

  But he didn’t belong here, in more ways than one. Usually, his accent stood out like an Oreo crumb in a cup of milk, and no matter how many times he walked home from rehearsal, he still got lost at least once each week. It was as if the city blocks moved locations overnight just to mess with him.

  How bloody big was this city, anyway?

  Guess it was time to find out. On his way out the door, Justin caught sight of himself in the mirror. He’d borrowed a stage crew shirt after a lunchtime mishap rendered his own shirt unwearable. If he didn’t succeed in the role of Marius, he’d be wearing one of these shirts for the rest of his life. But he loved the business too much to slink away into the shadows at the first sign of failure, hanging in the eaves, changing scenery and shining lights on the stars he’d once sung with.

  Justin tossed his messenger tote over his shoulder, shut off the lights in the dressing room, and headed down the hallway. His footsteps echoed in the deserted corridor. The rest of the actors had gone home long ago. Or perhaps they’d gone out to party. He’d been invited to join them, but tomorrow was opening night, so he decided to go home, drink some whiskey, and convulse in the corner instead.

  Blast. He gave up.

  He reached into his coat pocket, muttered a curse, and closed his fingers around his cell. Perhaps he would ring Gary, his agent in LA, and ask him what the bloody hell he’d been thinking sending him to this country. Although, that would be the third time this week he’d posed the same exact question …

  With a press of his thumb, his phone came to life. “Call wretched agent.”

  Siri beeped and said, “Calling Gary Hassleman.”

  He picked up on the second ring. “Yes, Justin, you can do this. And why are you calling me? You should be out getting laid. That solves everything.”

  Justin grit his teeth. He might have resorted to carnal satisfaction in the past, but his days of being London’s leading wanker were over. He wanted to be taken seriously as an actor, not a womanizer. He needed to focus. “I’m not in need of a bloody shag, Gary. I need my agent to reassure me that I can do this. That I can be Marius.”

  Gary sighed. “When the reviews start rolling in from the New York Times, and popping up all over the web, you’ll know what I already do.”

  “Yeah?” He shifted the phone to his other ear. “And what’s that, Gary?”

  “You were made for this role. You’ll be perfect.” The clunk of papers being stapled came through the phone. “I’m gonna tell you a little secret about myself. I’m a little bit of a dickhead when it comes to work. I only sign the best because I only want to work with the best because I’m the best. If I signed you as my client … you’re the best. Now get over it.”

  That shouldn’t have made him feel better, but it kind of did … for all of two seconds. Then the doubt came rushing back. “Yeah? Well I don’t feel like the best right now.”

  “That’s your choice. But either way, stop calling me for reassurance. You wouldn’t have gotten the role if you weren’t ready.”

  Justin opened his mouth and closed it. “But—?”

  The beeping of his phone told him either the call was dropped, or his agent had hung up on him. Brilliant. He felt so much better. He should call him back and tell him exactly what he thought of his brash manner and where he could shove it. Taking his frustration out on the door with his shoulder, he slammed into something solid. Judging from the feminine cry, immediately followed by a resounding splash—the something he hit was a woman.

  His iPhone clattered to the ground, bounced, and landed on his left shoe. Bending down, he snatched it up and dropped his phone back into his pocket before peering around the door cautiously. With his luck, it would be the woman who played the lead prostitute and who had been trying to get into his bed since the second his foot crossed the threshold of the theater. And he would have to apologize to her and help her to her feet. Then she would grope at him for the millionth time, and he would have to politely decline.

  But it wasn’t her.

  A blonde woman sat in a huge puddle, her hands on either side of her hips, with a bemused expression on her face. Her full lips were pressed in a thin line, and her green eyes shone even in the moonlight. Her cheeks were damp with tears, and her mascara had run, as if she’d been crying before he crashed into her.

  A pity that a woman as beautiful as she was should have something to cry about.

  Her pink skirt ended about three inches above the knee, and despite Justin’s concern for the woman, he couldn’t help but notice the exposed skin of her thighs. Her bare, wet skin. Though he knew he should move and help the woman to her feet, he couldn’t stop staring at her. There was something about her that called to him.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” she said dryly. “Despite the heat, I would have preferred to chill off a bit in a pool rather than a puddle. But this helped immensely. Thanks.”

  Clearing his throat, he ignored the primal urge to continue examining the beautiful woman he’d knocked to the ground, and offered her his hand. As he should have done immediately. “Sorry, miss, I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously,” she mumbled, her eyes still on him. She flicked a glance at his extended hand and then stood on her own, wobbling on her white stilettos. He reached out to steady her, but she jerked her arm back and shot him a look. Tugging her soaked skirt back down to her knees, she asked, “What’s your rush? And do you always shove through doors like you’re running from a
masked gunman?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. She was absolutely cheesed off. “Yes, actually, I do. But I wasn’t expecting someone to be lurking by the stage exit on a non-performance night, either. Do you fancy hiding in dark alleys?” He cocked his head. “Or do I have my very first American stalker?”

  Her cheeks tinged pink, but she fisted her hands. “Yes, because I’m certainly stalking a stage crew member in my spare time.”

  What made her think he was stage crew, as opposed to an actor? Even after looking down at his admittedly worn slacks, he couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps it was his messenger tote. Had she mistaken it for a utility bag? Then he saw the T-shirt, and he could’ve slapped himself on the forehead. Of course she thought he would be in the stage crew. He was wearing a shirt that quite literally placed him as one. He should correct her. Let her know who he really was. But then again …

  Perhaps not.

  He shrugged. “I’ll have you know that stage crew are just as stalker worthy as actors. If not more.”

  “If you say so.” She cocked her head. “I’ll have to take your word for it. The first one I met knocked me down within seconds, so color me unimpressed.”

  He flinched. “Yeah. About that. Sorry that I knocked you on your arse.” He made a sweeping gesture toward her general hip vicinity. His gaze dropped down, and stayed. She had a hell of an arse, after all. “Hopefully it’s not too sore. I’d hate to think of you limping through the streets on my account. Need some help getting home?”

  “First you knock me down, then you ask how my butt feels,” She tilted her head, her green eyes lit up mischievously. All signs of her earlier tears were gone. “And now you want to follow me home? I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”

  A horn beeped in the distance, setting off a domino effect of honking. New Yorkers had no patience whatsoever. He rubbed the back of his neck and stifled a laugh. He should walk away now. Go home. Get bladdered with a bottle of whiskey. Save his voice for tomorrow. “What? That’s not a normal American introduction?”

  She canted her head. “Not really. We usually save the butt talk for the second meeting. And we usually wait to beat each other up until then, too.”

  “Blimey. I had no idea.” He grinned. “If we meet again, I’ll refrain from knocking you down, and then we’ll be squared up. Deal?”

  “Somehow I think this is a one-time-only thing,” she said, waving a hand toward the back of the alley. “As nice as you seem to be, I think we’re done here, uh … ?”

  “Name’s Justin.” He grinned and used his best sleazy-guy voice, holding his hand out for hers. “You look familiar. Do you come here often?”

  “Wh-What?” She shot him a startled look and then laughed. She looked surprised at the sound that escaped her, even going so far as to cover her mouth. “Uh. No. I don’t come here often.” She shook her head, but a smile played at her lips. “And I can’t believe you just used the corniest pick up line ever invented on me in a dark alley. That’s a first.”

  He bowed. “Well, you’re the first woman I’ve dumped on the ground, so I’d say we make a great team.”

  “Yeah, sure.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and averted her eyes. She started to walk past him. “Any who, thanks for the puddle and the wet skirt. It’s been great. Really. A fantastic end to an otherwise horrible day.”

  He cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say to get her to stay. Her banter was providing the perfect distraction. And he wanted to make her laugh again. He liked her laugh. “Why were you here? In this dark alley at night?”

  She stilled. “Would you believe I was planning to mug you?”

  “If that’s the case,” he took his bag off and held it out. “Here you go. It’s yours.”

  She flitted a gaze down at it. “No thanks. I changed my mind. Can’t rob people in a wet skirt. It’s just not fashionable.”

  He chuckled, and of their own accord his eyes focused on her arse. The wet skirt defined every single curve, leaving little to the imagination. “I didn’t know society rules held out over nefarious robberies.”

  “Fashion always wins,” she replied, turning back to him with a smile. “It’s girl code.”

  His heart sped up at her soft smile. She really was gorgeous. “Is it also girl code to look so stunning in a wet skirt?”

  “No, that’s just me.” Her cheeks went red. “I was here because I went for a walk. I was scoping out the theater and got distracted.”

  He stepped closer, his breath held. Reaching out, he swiped a hand across her damp cheek, smearing away the makeup that had escaped with her tears. “You had a little mascara on your cheek.” He hesitated, wondering if he should ask her why she’d cried. He wanted to know, needed to know, but he barely knew the woman. “Must’ve been from the splashing of the puddle.”

  She moved away from him and swiped her hands under her eyes with shaky hands. “Yeah. Must’ve been.”

  “Hey … ” He watched her, not missing the tight lines around her mouth. Something was wrong with her. He knew it. “Are you all right?”

  She flushed. “I’m fine. I’ll be going now.”

  He clenched his fists. He couldn’t force her to talk to him or to stay if she didn’t want to. “See you around our alley sometime?”

  “I doubt it.” She clung to her purse. “I don’t like plays … or musicals, so I’m not usually here.”

  Wait. What? She didn’t like Broadway? “You’re from New York, correct?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “I thought it was written in the laws of New York City that all New Yorkers had to like Broadway, or they would be hanged until death in Times Square for all to see.”

  She laughed again. “If so, I’m doomed.”

  “Don’t worry.” He leaned closer. So close he could smell the soft scent of her perfume. Something flowery and light—like her laugh. “I won’t turn you in to the authorities.”

  “Really?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “You mean, it’ll be our little secret?”

  “Absolutely.” He got lost in her eyes. There were little specks of amber in the green. He hadn’t seen that from further away. “Our dirty little secret. But only if … ”

  She cocked her head. “If what?”

  Should he say what was on his mind? Or should he stick to the original plan of a night at home … alone? Her rose-scented perfume filled his senses more completely than the evening’s July heat, and he knew he didn’t want to let her leave just yet. He wanted to make her laugh some more. To chase away the shadows of pain that still lurked in her eyes even now. He might have knocked her down, but now? He wanted to pick her back up.

  She looked like she needed that tonight.

  He stepped in front of her, this time his frame towering over her petite one. He wasn’t the tallest man in the world, and yet the tip of her head barely reached his shoulders. “ … If you go out with me tonight.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What? I don’t think so.”

  “You look like you need a distraction tonight.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, watching her closely as she shivered. Yes, she definitely felt something, too. Good. “Let me be your distraction.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “And what do you hope to get out of this? Sex?”

  “Did I say that?” he asked softly. “It’s the fourth of July.” He interjected a fair amount of drollness to his tone. “As I understand it, this is an important date to Yanks. The reason escapes me.”

  Her lips twitched and she eyed him. “It’s when we sent your ancestors packing.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s right.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “Do you have a barbie to attend?”

  “A barbie?” She chuckled and gave a slight shake of her head. “You mean, like, a barbeque?”

  “Yes.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair, feeling awkward and foolish and as out of place as ever. “That’s the tradition, right?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, u
sually. I was supposed to go to my sisters, but I’m kind of avoiding people today.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m in a mood.” She flitted a hand in front of her. “I’m avoiding people for their own good. Being with Debbie Downer on a holiday isn’t fun for anyone. So I’m going to spend the holiday in my apartment. I just wanted to go for a walk, first.”

  “You’re going to be all alone?”

  She lifted a brow. “Now who’s the stalker?”

  He chuckled, though inwardly he cringed. He’d give her that. He had sounded a bit on the creepy side. All he needed was the eerie Darth Vader voice to go with it. “I bet you have lots of stalker or admirers.”

  “Wow.” Her lips tilted up into a smile. “That’s a sweet thing to say. I think. But I’m not an actress or even remotely famous. No stalkers in my life.”

  Eyeing her mouth, he couldn’t help but wish she were an actress. Namely, Cossette. He wouldn’t mind having to kiss her every night for the next year. Sometimes twice a day. And then, when they went home together, he could kiss her because he wanted to—not because the script called for it. And he could spend every night making those eyes shine and hearing her bubbly laugh.

  He cocked a brow. “Shall I audition for the part?”

  “That would be the most boring role you’d ever find.” She pulled at her skirt again, clearly uncomfortable. He should let her go, and yet …

  “I doubt that. I’ve had my share of tedious jobs.”

  She nodded and started scooting away from him again. “Anyway, thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. It was nice meeting you.”

  He took a deep breath. Time to tumble arse over tit into it. “You want to know what I hope to get out of this?”

  She stopped walking away from him, her shoulders straight. Slowly, she turned back to him, her brows up. “Sure.”

  “I need a distraction, too. Sorely.”

  She took a slow breath. “How convenient that we both need to forget, and we’re both here in this alley.”