Happily Ever His
Singletree, Book One
Delancey Stewart
Prologue
Ryan
I’ll say this here because it’s important.
I’m not the kind of guy who believes in fairy tales. Or happy endings, unless they’re in the movies. That’s just not the way my life has gone.
I’m the action hero, the guy who takes the role and does his own stunts, the hard-working actor who just hasn’t quite managed to get his star to stick. But I’m working on it. Because honestly? I need the money.
Of course, most of the public remembers me for my role in an epic television drama called Charade of Stones. And after the writers wrecked the whole series in one fiery ending episode full of rampaging elephants and flying monkeys? Well, I was still getting questions about that.
Flying monkeys, for fuck’s sake.
But actors don’t write the shows. You know that right?
I was scrapping to make it in Hollywood, doing whatever it took. That’s why I never thought I’d find the role I’d been made for so far away from the Sunset Strip. And I never thought real life would be the most important role I’d ever play.
And I definitely never believed in love at first sight.
Until I saw Tess Manchester.
Chapter One
Ryan
A voice rang out as I stepped into the terminal at LAX with my arm wrapped around the waist of America’s most famous movie star. “How long have you two been seeing each other, Ryan?”
Here we went.
Juliet Manchester pressed herself against my chest, her arms around me lightly, turning to me to smile up into my face and laugh as if she didn’t have a care in the world. At this moment, I was Mr. It. I was the guy almost every red-blooded American man wanted to be. And maybe the only guy who didn’t care much about being here. I was doing this because I was supposed to. It was a job.
“Juliet! Juliet!” The assembled reporters and photographers called out to us as we turned and made our way through the terminal.
Juliet’s hand snaked down to my butt and she pulled me to a stop again, her other hand coming to my chest. She looked up at me, blinking the big blue eyes and turning up her pert little nose, her lips in a pout.
Man, she was good at this.
I glanced around at the cameras, and angled my head in for a kiss.
Hell, that was why I was here, after all. I met her lips with mine as flashes lit the terminal area. Our carry-on bags made the embrace awkward, but I did the best I could to make it authentic. Juliet played her part too, her hand gripping my butt as she pushed herself into me. It probably looked pretty hot. I hoped it did at least. We were actors, weren’t we?
I mean, I was a struggling actor maybe, but I hoped that said less about my talent and more about my opportunities so far. And this right here? This was an opportunity. I needed to maximize it, no matter how wrong it might feel on a human level.
I hoisted my bag to my shoulder, freeing my arm, pulled her small frame closer to me and moved my lips softly against hers, deepening the kiss after a moment. When her tongue met mine, I braced myself for the explosive sparks I was expecting—not that I’d ever made out with Juliet before—we’d actually barely had coffee together. We made that one movie, of course, which was how we ended up here.
I wouldn’t say I’d made out with lots of women either, but I’d been with enough to know what I liked. And I generally liked kissing. A lot. But Juliet and I were new at this, and there was a fair bit of external pressure—considering the mob surrounding us and the hard-eyed security guard at my back, the one who never let Juliet out of his sight.
It was important to make this kiss searingly hot. Blazing. But it wasn’t working, and I worried it might be obvious.
My body—all the parts of my body—stayed nonchalantly relaxed, evidently unaware that I had one of the hottest women in America in my embrace. I gave a soft nip to Juliet’s bottom lip and felt her soften in my arms, and . . . there it was. That did it. Not a rocketing surge of excitement, but at least I had confirmation that I wasn’t actually dead.
And I guess that was something I already knew about myself. For me, it was usually less about what I wanted and more about making someone else happy. Not just in sex—in life. But when a woman showed me I was making her happy? That was the Holy Grail for me.
Still, Juliet might have made me believe I was having an effect on her, but she was also one hell of an actress. And it didn’t matter what I believed. What mattered was what this rabid crowd of paparazzi thought.
“One more for the cameras!” Someone called as we broke apart.
Juliet stood on her tiptoes to nuzzle against my ear as the crowd hooted.
“You’re doing great,” she murmured. “There hasn’t been a single question about my divorce. Grab my boob.”
“Grab your …?” Shock pumped through me.
She tilted her head back and pressed harder into me, and instinct led me to plant a lingering kiss on the column of her throat as my hand found her breast through the thin sweater she wore. She lifted her head to meet my mouth again as my thumb brushed across the upright pebble of her nipple, flashes lighting the stale airport air around us.
If this didn’t convince the cameras, reporters, and random tourists we were a hot new item for them to examine, inspect, and tear apart, then nothing would. This was some of the best acting of my career.
A little part of me
