Written in the Stars: A Contemporary Hollywood Romance Read online

  Written in the Stars

  Renea Mason

  Written in the Stars

  A STANDALONE Contemporary Hollywood Romance

  Copyright © 2019 Renea Mason

  ReneaMason.com

  Published by Mad Mason Press

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Except in the case of brief quotations for the purpose of critical analysis or review, this book may not be reproduced in any form (print, electronic, audio, or any other format), in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author.

  This includes uploading the book in whole or in part to Internet sites that distribute pirated materials. In these cases, perpetrators may be subject to penalties for copyright infringement and other laws intended to protect the integrity of published works. Stop book pirating by only purchasing and downloading books from major reputable retailers.

  Editor Nancy Cassidy at The Red Pen Coach

  Cover Artist Haven Cage

  Due to the dynamic nature of the Internet, website links contained within this book may be outdated and/or no longer valid.

  To all who believe in second chances…

  Thank you to my fabulous beta readers:

  Haven Cage, Laurel Tracey, Lisa T Lord, Dawn Stewart, Kat Reynolds, Shari Robinson, Tammy Becraft, and Nicole Ulery

  Story Blurb

  With the death of her husband, Katherine Acosta gave up on the idea of a happily ever after. But when a doomed trip to L.A. leads to a tabloid scandal with Hollywood heartthrob, Lachlan Sinclair, she finds herself having to fortify her deeply held convictions to resist his charm.

  When the sexy, leading man finds himself in need of a place to hide from a deranged stalker, he becomes Katherine's unexpected house guest. Already attracted to her pragmatic nature, he makes it his goal to test her every assumption about what the future might hold for them.

  Contents

  1. Boarding

  2. Shelved

  3. Dead End

  4. Correspondence

  5. Critic

  6. Breaking

  7. Resist

  8. Viewing

  9. Surrender

  10. Storytime

  11. Visitation

  12. Home

  13. Ceremony

  14. Waiting

  15. Recovery

  Epilogue

  Also by Renea Mason

  About the Author

  1

  Boarding

  Airport security and hell shared the same address in my world. The two constructs were virtually indistinguishable. I had forgotten how tedious the theatrics of quart-sized Ziploc bags, three-ounce toiletries, and the "Please remove your shoes" foot fungus shuffle could be—another reason I rarely left my house.

  Years ago, it was nothing to be in three different cities in the same week, hobnobbing with executives, waiting for the next big break, but that was before when the corporate humdrum seemed important. A time when I gave pieces of myself to people who forgot my name the very next day. They took parts of me I could've given to someone who appreciated me, craved me even.

  "Ma'am, I need to check your right ankle. Is anything sensitive to the touch?" The stocky woman in the TSA uniform didn't smile. Her hard features told the tale of a job that didn't offer many pleasantries.

  "No, it's fine." With a sigh, I awaited her intrusion.

  She bent at her plump waist and patted my ankle. Her stubby fingers, covered in latex, smoothed over my pant leg. "You can go." Her voice was gruff and full of authority.

  "Thanks." I dead-panned and walked to the conveyor belt where a large man rummaged through my luggage in search of contraband. Secretly, I wondered if the man monitoring the screen noticed my vibrator. Did they keep a poll of every phallic that appeared on the x-ray? Maybe extra points if it turned on during inspection. That's probably what I'd have done if I worked in such a soul-sucking job. I mean, it's what the old me would've done. I once made light of pretty much everything, but that was before the lights went out.

  After hefting my fifty-or-so pound bag from the belt, donning my shoes and coat, and stowing my three-ounce hygiene survival kit into my backpack, it was off to the tram and then the gate. It was strange, the feelings running through me. Traveling again was like meeting an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time and realizing, once the enthusiastic tidings had quieted, I never liked them to begin with. Normally, I would have called Daniel. I would've checked on his day, given him the status of my flight, and complained about my assignment once I reached my destination. But that would never happen again. Daniel was gone. There was no one to call.

  Pulling up the notification on my phone, I scanned my electronic boarding pass—gate C14. A yawn came out of nowhere, a reminder of my tossing and turning the night before. It was 6:30 a.m., and sleep had become my nemesis after Daniel's passing. I reviewed my flight status on the blue screen at the top of the escalator. My heart warmed with the realization there was enough time for coffee.

  On the way to my concourse, I happened upon a coffee roaster's kiosk, a small bit of dumb luck. While waiting in line, I decided to swipe through my phone and catch up on the news. The line crept forward, and I mindlessly followed, engulfed in an article about the latest social media craze. The man in front of me mumbled something under his breath as he shoved his hand in one pocket and then the other. Intrigued by his disappointed sigh, I peeked up under my lashes in time to see him pulling his empty pocket inside out. He flipped back his long coat and whirled around, frantically searching for some lost object. His coat-tail snagged his luggage handle, knocking the black case into mine. They both toppled to the floor like dominoes.

  "Oh, bloody hell. I'm so sorry." His agitated state upended his apology. He reached for my luggage, but I raised my hand to stop him.

  "Thanks, but I got it." I shot him a warm smile, but he didn't return one, far too distracted, looking for something to notice.

  He was tall, much taller than my five-feet-five inches, by at least a foot, and devastatingly handsome. His British accent was subtle. His cropped hair, chiseled stubble, and impeccably dressed state spoke of wealth beyond anything I'd ever know. My God, he even smelled rich. Like those boutique designer fragrances custom made to make a statement—like musk, sandalwood, and spice in an expensive bottle. Most cost more than a new kidney, but beyond his masculine aroma was something familiar I couldn't quite place.

  His flustered presence was hard to ignore.

  I righted my luggage and asked, "You OK?"

  He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow then combed his hand through his auburn-tinged hair. A few dark, disheveled strands spiked up from his forehead. "It's bloody embarrassing. Ahh…I…I seemed to have somehow lost my wallet between security and here?" He was clearly a man with money, so I didn't doubt his sincerity.

  The lady behind the counter, in the brown apron, cocked her head to the side. "You ordering or what?" When he turned toward the impatient barista, her eyes widened, harsh features lighting up. "I mean… How can I help you?"

  He was handsome, so I could understand her doe-eyed reaction, but I still rolled my eyes. The rich and attractive really did get better service.

  He waved me forward. "Please, go ahead. I'm sorry for the delay." He dug in the pocket he'd checked twice already and sighed.

  I stepped up to the counter. "Hi, I'll take a large black coffee and…," I turned to the gorgeous stranger, who was frantically searching through his messenger bag. Placing a hand on
his arm. "What would you like?"

  His head jerked up, his eyes studying me with bewilderment. "Pardon?"

  "You can't find your wallet, and it would be a travesty to let a fellow air traveler proceed without a morning jolt. So, what would you like?"

  He returned my smile, but it held a hint of suspicion. "You don't need to do that, but I do appreciate your generosity." His mussed hair. The light film perspiration on his brow said all I needed to know.

  "I'm afraid I must insist. Looks like you need it. I won't be responsible for your undoing today. Just think about the cascade of unfortunate events I could be responsible for. I take my responsibilities seriously. So what's it going to be?"

  He pressed his full lips together, one corner tugging up. Was he amused, or did he think I was crazy? I was a bit out of my element in social situations these days. I used to be witty and fun with Daniel. I often wondered if that side of me died with him.

  He straightened the sleeves on his jacket. "Well… all right. If I have no other choice. Can't have the world coming to an end and all that." He shot me a flirty grin. "Regular coffee would be splendid." His accent was like a fine aged-wine—sophisticated and smooth—adding to his already overwhelming sex appeal.

  I turned back to the cashier, who still stared at him like he was a god. He was attractive, but just a man. "Can you add another coffee to my order?"

  She bit back with a snarky tone but kept her smile trained on him. "How does he want it?"

  He heard her and responded, "Black is fine."

  I handed the cashier my credit card. "A man after my own heart. Two large black coffees, please." Realizing how what I said might be interpreted, I clarified, "I mean, you have good taste. Or maybe… You know what? 6:30 a.m. I'm not quite sure what I mean."

  He rewarded my foolishness with a soft laugh and a shy smile.

  After returning my card, the cashier handed me the first beverage. I passed it to tall, dark, and handsome, then took my own.

  We both took a sip at the same time. The way he observed my every move unnerved me in a most pleasant way. So much so that words flowed from my mouth, I had no business saying. "I'm so tired. That first sip was almost orgasmic."

  My playful banter seemed to allow him to relax somewhat. He blew into the hole in the cup lid, trying to cool the beverage, and then raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you need to start having better sex, my dear." He winked.

  Too bad he wasn't offering to help; I could let my vibrator take a vacation.

  He interrupted my thoughts before they took a more salacious turn. "I'm sorry, how rude of me, I didn't catch your name."

  "Katherine."

  He took another sip, and an overhead light glinted off the tiny gold arms of his watch face. His silent but intense gaze cause me to look away.

  I straightened and grabbed the handle of my roller bag. "Oh, wow, it's late. I've gotta run. Don't wanna miss my flight."

  Before I could retreat, he grabbed my hand and squeezed. I kept waiting for the intimate gesture to transform into a more professional handshake, but instead, he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the top of my hand. After a long, awkward pause, he said, "Thank you."

  "It was my pleasure. Safe travels. I hope you find your wallet." I stood waiting for him to release my hand. My eyes darted toward my gate, trying to see if the boarding process had started.

  He finally unwrapped his hand from mine. "Thank you, Katherine." His use of my name made my skin flush. Maybe it was the accent or those eyes, but I found it hard to push him from my mind. God, I needed to get laid. I guess all it took these days was a polite, sexy man in distress to march my thoughts straight into the gutter. How long had it been? Years. Many years.

  Giving him one last smile, I rushed to my gate and tried not to drown in my bitter morning delight. The flight to Los Angeles was full, and the plane large. What seemed like a million passengers stood between me and my seat, all herded like cattle into two imaginary lines.

  As they began the boarding process, I suddenly missed having airline status. I was in the absolute last boarding group. Somehow, I managed to dodge the dreaded middle seat, but my bag making my flight with me was iffy. The overhead compartments were no doubt jammed full already. Oh, fucking hell.

  I rolled my head from side to side, cracking my neck. It did little to relieve the tension and boredom of the on-boarding process. I took a swig of coffee and stepped across the gap into the fuselage, preparing for the awkward trip through first class. It was an adventure only upstaged by leading the last boarding group walk of shame.

  Avoiding eye contact was advisable when dodging the scrutiny of first-class, but something caught my attention. It was a smile—brilliant and show-stopping—his smile. The man from the coffee stand peered up at me from his roomy, extra-cushioned seat.

  I smiled back.

  Raising his cup, he mouthed, "Thank you," then took a sip and rolled his eyes back in his head, giving his best fake orgasm face.

  I grinned from ear to ear with amusement. The passenger behind me cleared her throat and nudged her carry-on into the back of my knee. I stole one last look at the handsome stranger. Damn, he was a fine-looking man.

  Everyone ahead of me had settled in their seats, so of course, the two people occupying the aisle and middle spots in my row were already buckled in when I arrived at row six. I frowned, eyeing the empty, narrow chair next to the window. I had gained a few pounds after Daniel's death. Well, more than a few, but I didn't remember the seats being quite so small.

  The woman in the aisle huffed as she unbuckled her lap belt and stood. She slid back to the row behind us to let me in, but the behemoth of a man in the middle seat hadn't touched his lap belt.

  "Excuse me, sir. That's my seat." I pointed to the window.

  He looked like he could have been a fixer for the mob or a bouncer at a swanky night club. His shaved head gleamed in the morning sunlight beaming through the small window.

  "Sweetheart, if your ass is too big to squeeze past me, that's your problem. They'll need to put you on another flight because I ain't moving."

  For the logistics to work, I had to straddle him, get my bag under the seat, and not spill my coffee.

  Still not sure how I was going to make it work, I lifted one leg as high as I could, trying to stretch it over his, without planting his face squarely between my breasts. The low ceiling clearance, his knees pressed against the seat in front of him, coupled with my womanly figure, spelled disaster. My foot caught on his leg, and I slammed my head into the side of the plane, spilling my coffee straight onto the dickhead's lap.

  "You clumsy bitch," he bellowed.

  I offered my apology, even though he didn't deserve it. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't get through. If you would've moved..."

  He plucked the saturated garments away from his skin. "Ain't my place to move. You're too fucking fat. You're going to hear from my lawyer."

  One of the flight attendants managed to squeeze her way through and handed me towels. Mr. Big and Feisty turned to her and said, "You need to move her. I'm not sitting by her for the rest of the flight."

  "Sir, I'm sorry this is a full flight."

  He wasn't the only one who didn't like the prospect of keeping his company for six hours. I mopped at the coffee and handed the flight attendant the soaked towels. "I am really sorry."

  He ignored me, growling under his breath.

  Just then, another flight attendant approached. "Sir, one of our first-class passengers offered to trade seats if you'd like to move."

  He glared at me. "Yeah, I think I would."

  My head whipped towards the man, and I ground my teeth together. So now he could move. What an asshole. I emptied the last few drops of coffee down my throat then handed the cup and final towel to the petite woman with tiny wings attached to her navy sweater.

  I sat down, so thankful the man decided to leave. I pushed my bag further under the seat and looked up. It was him—the coffee man.

 
"Excuse me, but is this seat taken?"

  The woman in the aisle seat stared up at him. "Aren't you…?" She had the same starry-eyed expression as the cashier.

  He flashed those impossibly white teeth again in a wide smile. "Yes, but in a moment. Right now, I need to take my seat before this nice lady…" He nodded to the flight attendant. "tosses me out on my ear." His eyebrows rose, focus training on me. "So, may I?"

  What was he doing? Why was he here? Right, the seat. Did he trade places with the oaf?

  "It's a little damp, and there's not nearly enough legroom for you, but you are more than welcome to it." I moved the moist belt off the seat and patted the leather cushion.

  "Splendid. If you don't mind, I could use your assistance." He stretched his arm out and handed me his coffee cup. "If you'll excuse me." He smiled at the middle-aged woman, wearing a beige business suit, in the seat nearest the aisle.

  "Certainly," she said, beaming at him before scurrying to get out of his way.

  He folded himself into the tiny seat, adjusting the position of his legs and where his elbows fell on the armrests. "There… all set."

  The flight attendant was wild with excitement. "You didn't need to do this. If you need anything at all, I mean anything at all, please ring." If her overwhelming giddiness was any indication, she'd gladly fall to her knees and open her mouth the moment he did anything that remotely looked like an invitation to suck him off.

  "Much appreciated." He smiled, but it seemed rehearsed, a graciousness wrapped in annoyance.

  Perhaps I had spent way too much time alone and forgotten how to interact with men. If this was the new way of things, I'd happily maintain my single-not-looking status. The man was attractive, but seriously, some self-respect was in order. These weren't fifteen-year-olds meeting a crush. He was just a man for God's sake.