Page 4 of Flirting With Disaster

What the fuck had he been thinking?

His erection throbbed. He had to stop obsessing over a woman he didn’t even know. It was diabolical. He’d been celibate for twelve months—as long as he’d been sober—because sex and alcohol had just gone together for him.

The alcohol had helped him forget his cursed past, and the sex had naturally followed. A “Hail Mary” attempt to feel something—anything—again. Now, tonight, the torrid emotions running through his veins were so foreign and ludicrous, he had to wonder about the stories Alana and Liam had told him about the castle. The secret powers it had to grant the residents’ deepest desires. The ghosts.

In this moment, the most urgent desire he had, was to get off.

He grabbed his cock and went at it, thinking about her. That smart mouth, those plump lips wrapped around him, instead of his raspy, callused hand. Those gorgeous eyes staring up at him with trust and love.

He laughed at those two words, then came harder than he had in ages. He couldn’t be trusted. He didn’t trust himself, not to slide back into the clutches of alcoholism, destroying people’s lives again.

Like he’d destroyed Jude’s, all those years ago.

And Elizabeth’s.

He’d started drinking to fill the gaping wounds of an emotionally abusive father. Sadly, the alcohol bored holes in every part of his life, and had failed to fill his sorrow.

But that was the past. He had to move on and stop blaming Dad for all his shit. He’d finally been given a second chance at rekindling his acting career.

Immersing himself in the numbing hours of pretending to be someone else, would keep him from his demons. This lead in an upcoming motion picture would be his big break, after years of landing weak roles in daytime soaps because of his riotous reputation. The producers of the new vampire-themed movie were willing to give him a chance, but they wanted a respectable professional for the romantic lead.

He’d been nothing but a drunk, violent storm the last six years, ever since Elizabeth had died, and this twelve month hiatus was almost over. Much longer away from the screen and he’d be forgotten by his public, obsolete. He only had so much time to clean up his act.

Getting his career back on track meant he could go back to ignoring the pain. All work and no play, would make Beck a dull boy, but he’d be a sober dull boy. He’d be able to forget who and what he was.

A monster.

That was the sole reason he’d changed his name seventeen years ago. A decision forced by his father, so Beck wouldn’t bring any more shame to his family after the accident that ruined Jude Duffy’s life, and started his descent toward self-destruction. Fine by him. He didn’t want anyone delving into his past. Gabriel Beckette Slauter did not exist anymore. Not to him, and not to his family. Only the phantom, Beckette Slader, remained.

Beck finished his shower and dressed for bed. He bunked in the lower level since he was only staff. The place suited him—cold, bleak, alone…haunted. His AA sponsor figured doing a little grunge work would help him “find himself.” His agent had suggested volunteering for this twelve month, maintenance man stint at Castle Alainn—which supported many non-profit organizations similar to his own, Angel Wings—would help his recovery and endear him to the producers of Dark Hallows.

All the freaking restraint of the past twelve months was probably why he couldn’t get Ms. Jude Duffy out of his mind.

He needed to get laid.

He didn’t do relationships anymore. He just needed a good fuck. 'Cause there were no such things as fairy-tale spells, and curses that granted secret desires. If there were, he’d have no dark past to keep from her, no daily recovery to saddle her with. And he’d have her here, writhing in his arms, while he fucked her senseless and kept her safe from assholes like himself.

Naive women like Jude Duffy, knew nothing of the games damaged men could play, and they could not be left to their own devices. They needed to be saved, but he’d be damned if he was the one for the job.

He was no savior.

No, quite the opposite.

He was a murderer.

Three

“Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.”

Albert Einstein

Someone had poured a box of stale baking soda in Jude’s mouth and her stomach was not happy about it.

She gingerly rolled over to the crackle of crunchy sheets. Everything hurt and, as the room spun, her belly contested. Something poked her back. She reached underneath her and pulled out a wrinkled Almond Joy wrapper.

She loved Almond Joys, but hadn’t had one in over a year. Not since her diet…since losing thirty pounds, since becoming the ignoramus anthropologist studying homosexuality, who didn’t know her own fiancé was gay.

“You look…nice.”

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