Free Typecast by Kim Carmichael Page A

off with the stock answers he tried to give her the other day.
    Ivy held her hand out as a makeshift shield. “Twenty years ago the media was not even close to what it is now, and you are relying on a few accounts of spoon-fed news to tell the whole story?”
    Never, in the twenty years since the day in the hotel, had he ever heard one person try to defend him. He froze. Ivy couldn’t be on his side. He went to reach for her but resisted.
    The woman’s chest heaved. “The sequel —”
    “Didn’t happen. It will go down as one of life’s major mysteries, but many people have addressed this dilemma on fan fiction, some very wonderfully written.” She tilted her head. “Sometimes its better to not know the ending.”
    Fan fiction? He had heard of the stories but had never read any.
    The woman glanced at him again. “He’s going to hurt you just like he hurt Roxanne.”
    “I thank you for the warning, and I would discuss the matter with Steven if he existed.” She took a step back.
    With the admission that she recognized he was not Steven, he exhaled. While he wanted to wrap his arms around her, he chose to take her shoulders and inched closer, looking down at the top of her head.
    “Who are you?” The woman wrinkled her nose.
    “A woman who is very hungry for dinner.” Evidently done with the exchange, Ivy spun around to him.
    “Well, I definitely can’t have you malnourished.” Rather than offering his arm, he pointed ahead. He nodded at the congregation around them. “Good evening.”
    “Seriously.” Ivy stomped by his side.
    Caught in a stare at nothing and struggling to take in exactly what had happened, he put his hand on the small of her back and led her through the large glass doors to his friend’s restaurant. Finally inside, he gave a quick nod to the maître d’, took her hand, pulled her through the dining room and kitchen, and into the walk-in cooler. The blast of frost did nothing to clear his mind.
    Ivy looked around at all the shelves with the restaurant’s food, the vegetables, the fruits, and some little baked goods for desserts. “Logan?”
    “Did you just defend my honor because you are reenacting a scene in Hollywood Stardust ?” His voice sounded distant, disjointed, but he needed the answer.
    “Considering that was never a scene in Hollywood Stardust , I would have to say no.” She let go of him and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
    “I have a question for you.” He stared into her eyes. Everything about her was beautiful and more importantly genuine. She meant it when she said Steven didn’t exist, when she told him she would quit if he didn’t do the project with her, everything.
    “Is this the start of our meeting?” Her voice quivered with her teeth chattering.
    “Are you freezing?” He closed the distance between them and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
    “Is that your question?” she whispered.
    “No, this is.” Without another thought, he lowered his head and found her mouth with his own.
    Most kisses he experienced were forgettable, quick flashes of fun that might lead to a whole night. Actually, if he dared to be honest, quite of few of his kisses were written into a movie, scripted seconds with no emotion.
    His kiss with Ivy possessed many things he had never experienced—passion, truth, and anticipation.
    On top of everything, she kissed him back.
    No, she didn’t stand motionless waiting to be serviced, expecting him to do everything. Instead, she responded, parting her lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. The small coo escaping her throat only fueled the need he had since the day he walked in on her defending him the first time.
    Her taste matched her to perfection, sweet with layers and depth, and even the unexpected when she took the lead in searching out his tongue with her own and pulling him closer. Any questions he had left about her were finally answered with two opposing forces, his intense arousal and his alternate urge to