Ann Major - Love Me True

But as irresistible as dark, gooey chocolate.

Dusky skin stretched over ruthless, rawboned features. And, oh, why had God given him that sensual, kissable mouth that could tempt a girl to madness? Even on television Joey’s intense, black eyes burned too deeply and too hotly. His devastatingly bitter smile saw through her rich girl defenses and made her pulse skitter.

Get a life.

He’ll hurt you again; hurt your family; hurt Nicky even more.

You belong to Laurence.

Heather stared wordlessly at Joey whose long hair was tied at the nape in a ponytail. The tuxedo accentuated the breadth of his powerful shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. She was keenly aware of dangerous, sinewy muscles rippling beneath well-cut cloth.

The rough boy she’d loved was gone. This new, older, elegant version was somehow leaner, meaner, smoother, tougher. A darkness had entered this man’s soul and was etched into the hard planes of his arrogant face. He had played pirates, bikers, gypsies, warriors, mercenaries—irreverent, unrepentant scoundrels all of them. This battle-worn giant who lit big screens with his smoldering love scenes and know-it-all smiles was a stranger.

So, why after all these years could the mere sight of this embittered warrior and his saying she was unforgettable make her head pound and her womb ache? Her throat go dry? Her brain go comatose?

His raspy voice mocked her.

No more wine for you, babe.

If only he didn’t look so much like her darling Nicky.

Their uncanny resemblance turned her skin to gooseflesh.

Beneath dark, slashing brows, Joey’s hot black eyes seared and seduced her. His gaze lured her with promises even as he kept his own dangerous secrets.

Heather’s palms grew clammy.

No more dangerous than her own secrets.

His companion of the night, supermodel Daniella Wolfe, was slim and tall. With masses of gold ringlets and huge violet eyes, Daniella meant to dazzle.

She looks like me. Why do his girlfriends always look like me?

Again Joey’s roughened voice scoffed. Don’t flatter yourself, babe. What’s it to you if I dig leggy blondes?

Heather’s head buzzed when Joey leaned too far back in his seat just like he’d done in high school to taunt the teachers when he hadn’t known the answers. His gorgeous mouth was curled into that same cocky smile he’d worn when her rich crowd had snubbed him because of his bad clothes.

Even if you won’t tell your father about us, you aren’t ever going to forget me, Heather Wade... or what we did together... in bed... in the woods... in my hideout.

Her hands fisted against her chiffon-clad thigh. Yes, I will. I will, too, forget you, Joey. I have forgotten—

God created me just for you, babe.

“Maybe the devil put a hex on me,” she’d replied sassily.

The reverend once called me the devil’s spawn. You’re mine.

Joey had been the first boy to kiss Heather full on the mouth. The first boy to French kiss her. Indeed, he had claimed plenty of those long, wet kisses before seducing Heather when she’d been a naive seventeen. At eighteen, he’d been a virgin, too. There had been lots of firsts with Joey.

Lots of firsts. Lots of only’s.

From what she’d read in the tabloids, Joey no longer discriminated when it came to women. He had a revolving bedroom door. He was Hollywood’s sexiest, reigning superstud.

So—that’s his business!

The next camera shot zoomed in on the number one sex goddess who stood up on the stage holding an envelope. Strobe lights flashed behind her. The world-famous actress with the little girl voice looked like she’d poured her voluptuous body into a sequined, tubelike black gown that was slit to her navel. Beside her towered the biggest cowboy star in the business.

The long slim envelope was ripped open.

“—the nominees for Best Actor are—”

Heather gripped the remote control harder as the names of films and stars were read in the actress’s feather-soft tone.

“—the winner is—”

Applause exploded in the auditorium, drowning out the end of her sentence.

Joey’s name pulsed through Heather as she lifted her empty wineglass and then set it down, resisting the temptation to refill it again.

Now. Now he would go white with shock and then swagger up to the stage, stare into the camera with his bleak, level gaze and say it.

Heather’s breath stalled in her lungs.

No more. Turn it off. Don’t put yourself through it again.

The camera followed the tall, dark man striding down the aisle with pantherlike grace in his elegant tux. The audience rose and gave him a thundering ovation.

Heather’s blood heated in anticipation.

You got it bad, babe.

Still, her violet eyes remained glued to his powerful image.

The moment she had been waiting for came all too soon.

After thanking the Academy, his agent, and his director, Joey grew quiet. For a long, intense moment, he continued to stand before his spellbound audience. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. As his silence lengthened, he looked odd and blank-faced and suddenly very ill at ease. His dark face paled. Hard lines bracketed his mouth. His grip tightened threateningly on his gold-plated statuette.

For a tough guy, he sure looked afraid.

Every bit as afraid as he’d looked that night in the hospital.

Still, without speaking, he leaned into the mike. Glaring white light bathed his chiseled features. A muscle in his tanned cheek twitched as if long-suppressed emotions raged so close to the surface he couldn’t hold them back.

Then his cynical black gaze targeted her, and his deep, raspy voice wrapped her. For an instant he was that unsure, cocky boy she’d loved, and they were the only two people in the world.

Terror gripped her. Once that special, measured look had been meant for her alone. The only time she’d ever seen his hard features go still like that was right before he shut his eyes to kiss her. As he stared at the cameras, he broke into that special smile that had belonged only to her.

The smile died.

“I wish I had someone in my personal life to thank. But I don’t. God, here I am. You’d think I was the luckiest guy alive. But hell... I’m probably the loneliest.”

He had been a lonely little boy, too.

Joey had been bean-pole skinny in ragged, dirty jeans that always rode too high on his ankles. His hair had hung long and lank. Scorned by the teachers, ridiculed by the other kids. She remembered the way he’d sat hunched over in the back of the classroom, reading books he’d checked out of the school library to escape the bitter reality of his childhood. She remembered how sometimes she’d used her ballpoint pen to shoot spitwads at him. How once she’d hit Mrs. Vanderfort who’d then pounced on Joey. How he’d taken the abuse with an insolent smile and then later teased her. “Someday, Heather, I’ll make you pay for your crimes.”

The man on television stood up straighter. His deep tone roughened. His fathomless black eyes bored into her. “But there is someone... someone who has proved to be... unforgettable. So, Heather.... Babe, if you’re out there, I’m gonna thank you right now because I may never get another chance to. You were the first person to ever believe in me. The only real—I wish...we could go back and start—” He sounded choked. “Oh, God—”

Flushing darkly, he turned to the half-naked goddess in the slit gown. “I’m making one helluva fool of myself over a woman who threw—” Then, as if he suddenly realized the magnitude of what he’d so publicly revealed, he ducked his black head and bolted off the stage. The crowd stood up and cheered him as he ran for cover. The only person not standing and not clapping was the breathtaking Daniella. When he sat down beside her and reached for her hand, she snatched it away to finger the diamonds at her throat.