Passion Unscripted

By Anya Sharpe

A celebrity playboy looking for love... Carson Wells’ heart closed up shop six years ago when his fiancée ran off with his rock-star best friend. Since then, the dancer-actor has turned his back on serious relationships, seeking no-strings, down-and-dirty sex with a laundry list of hot women. But lately, a growing loneliness tugs at his gut...along with an unrelenting desire for his co-star. When he finally acts on their smoldering mutual attraction, there’s no turning back. He’s hooked. A sassy screen star putting her heart on the line... Having spent years guarding her scarred heart, Lara Kincaid is totally out of her depth with the fiery attraction to her playboy leading man. His history with women is a deep well, and her insecurities and secrets run even deeper. Even so, something about the man tugs at her heart and soul. Carson’s sex appeal and charming persuasion have cast a spell on her, but their pasts threaten to unravel that magic. She’s dipped a toe in the water—should she dive right in, she just might drown.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Oct 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509217045

Anya Sharpe

Anya Sharpe is a former journalist and teacher who has been addicted to reading her whole life. Key to Heart is Book Two of the Hearts on the Line Series. When she isn’t writing or with her nose stuck in a book, she loves to travel—especially anywhere there is a warm, sunny beach—scuba dive, ski, and try interesting restaurants. She’s a pretty good cook, too. Anya lives near Boston with her family, along with her side-kicks, The Dog and The Cat. Visit Anya at www.anyasharpe.com

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Passion Unscripted

by

Anya Sharpe

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Anya Sharpe

COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Anya Sharpe

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

Publishing History

First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2017

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1703-8

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1704-5

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Mike, whose gifts of free time, love and encouragement are priceless.

To Sarah, because your edits, advice and humorous enthusiasm kept the fire burning!

And, to Jill—Here’s your boy Carson! Thanks for loving this character so much!

Prologue

Six years ago, New York City

Taking the stairs two at a time, Carson Wells flew down to the subway and squeezed through the train doors seconds before they closed.

Hot damn! Can’t wait to tell Natalie! I got the fuckin’ lead! I’m gonna be Tony in West Side Story!

Snagging this part in the upcoming Off-Broadway revival would definitely jump-start his slow-ass career, opening doors across the damned city.

Fuck, yeah!

Finally, the train arrived at his stop. Blood pulsing through his veins like a firehose, he shoved his way through the crowd, emerging to street level and making a beeline for the brownstone apartment directly across from the station’s entrance.

The heavy front door slammed open with a bang that echoed into the quiet.

Natalie! Nat! You here, baby? Carson shouted into the stillness of the apartment.

The worn brown leather satchel he’d slung carelessly over his shoulder back at the theater fell with a thump to the ground.

Natalie?

A note on the round glass dining table across the open space caught his eye. Along with a small, shiny object. His heart thudded. His throat went dry.

What the hell?

An ice-cold, prickling sensation rolled through his entire body as he slowly moved from the door to that table.

No. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Natalie’s engagement ring lay there sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

On top of a short note. He was afraid to touch the slip of paper.

Carson—

I’m so sorry. I’m giving you back your ring. I can’t keep lying to you anymore. You’re too good of a person. I’ll always love you, but just not enough to marry you. Jesse and I, well…you know. I think you’ve known all along. So, anyway, I’m going on tour with him. I hope you get the part. You’ll be an amazing Tony. Take care of yourself.

Natalie

Natalie left with my best friend, Jesse? WTF?

Blinking down at the note, half-expecting the words and letters to rearrange themselves into something he could comprehend, the dark-blue ink and white paper stared back up at him instead. He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Lead singer for Rhude Rhinos, Jesse Palmer, and his rock band left today for a six-month US/European tour—and Natalie went with him?

His world came crashing down on him as he numbly stared at the ring. Then, anger kicked in, he picked it up and pitched it at the window, where it cracked the glass. Just like his heart.

Had he known and chosen to ignore the signs? Or was he that oblivious? Three Goddamned years he and Natalie were together, and that’s how she ended it? With a few lines scribbled on a sheet of paper topped off by the ring he’d given her at Christmas?

His so-called best friend? With no place to live between tours, Carson had offered him the tiny guest room, where he’d crashed for the past four months.

And fucked my fiancée during that time, apparently.

Carson wasn’t fool enough to believe they hadn’t.

He sank onto the sofa with Natalie’s note in hand, and an emptiness overtook him. All the joy and excitement of winning the role of Tony drained away. It wasn’t even important anymore.

What’s the point?

Now what do I do?

Most guys would drown their sorrows in a bottle or six of whiskey. He hated whiskey. He also hated hangovers.

Hell, I don’t even have a best friend to call and cry to. Because the asshole took off with my girlfriend. Could life suck any more than right now?

****

For the next few weeks, Carson robotically worked his way through rehearsals, lifeless inside, his mind numb, and the apartment nothing more than an empty reminder of Natalie and Jesse. He hated going home. The place felt dirty, their ghosts mocking him with their silence.

How much longer do I have on this damn lease? he muttered uneasily as he let himself into the stale apartment.

A pizza and six-pack in hand, he flipped on the TV, settling on a Friday night baseball game to take his mind off his troubles. The Yankees versus the Red Sox. Normally, he’d have been all over that game. Tonight, however, it was a pacifier. A means to an end of a rotten week. If he drank all the beer, he might be able to sleep. Maybe. The damned bed still smelled like Natalie—even though he’d washed the sheets and had the comforter dry cleaned.

He hated rolling over in the middle of the night and reaching for her lithe, soft body only to find a cold, empty space. Maybe he should learn to like whiskey. A couple shots of that and he’d sleep like a baby.

His phone rang, breaking him from the unpleasant reverie.

Gray Daymon. Huh. He hadn’t heard from the guy since he left New York for LA six months ago to take a role on one of those soap operas—or to be more politically correct, daytime dramas.

Gray. What’s up?

Just checking in on you, pal. Gray paused, then got right to the point. Rhude Rhinos are in town. I saw a news clip. Jesse and Natalie? What happened, Carson?

Oh, hell… Carson groaned at the image forming in his brain.

I was more than a little shocked to see Jesse with his tongue down Natalie’s throat in the clip.

Yeah. She left. Came home to an empty apartment one day. His gut clenched at Gray’s words. He didn’t want to think about anyone else with Natalie. Certainly not his former best friend.

Man. That’s rough stuff. I’m guessing you didn’t see it coming?

I don’t know. I didn’t think so, but maybe there were signs I wasn’t seeing.

"Come out to LA. I’ll put in a word for you on Seasons. There are a few roles coming open soon."

"Thanks. I landed Tony on West Side Story. An Off-Broadway is putting together a revival version. I have a six-month contract to suffer through, or I’d be on the next bus out there," he said with a wry chuckle.

That’s great, man! I’ll come out for the opening. Let me know the date. I’ll be there.

Thanks. That means a lot, Gray.

So…how are you taking it?

It sucks, man. I thought Natalie was…‘it.’ Apparently, I was wrong. Very wrong.

Well, think about LA when your contract is up. Maybe you need to get out of New York for a while.

Yeah. I might take you up on that.

Six months later, Carson headed for the West Coast.

Chapter One

"When you came along

The time was right…"

—Chris Cornell, Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart

Carson gripped Elexys’ long, silky black hair and pulled hard. The woman loved it rough, and he loved giving it to her rough. She was pretty much a bitch, and he didn’t care. Ever since Natalie left him, he’d chosen women he wouldn’t form an emotional attachment to. It was better that way.

Fuck ’em and leave ’em. Elexys Broward was a diva who was starting to get on his nerves. He only stuck around because the sex was good, and there wasn’t anyone right now who struck his fancy.

Except for Lara Kincaid. That was one hot woman. But she was off limits for several reasons. The main one being that she was a woman who would be—should be—a relationship. And he definitely wasn’t going down the relationship path again. Maybe never. Better to stick with hook-ups that didn’t involve emotion and ended sooner rather than later without being messy.

The other reason was his friend, Gray Daymon. Gray and Lara had been on-screen lovers for a long time. They were close friends now. Carson figured that one day Gray would wake up and realize that Lara was for him, and Carson wasn’t about to get stuck in the middle of that.

Been there, done that. Not going back.

Nope. Gray could have her. He’d be good for her—if the guy could get past his own shit.

He smacked Elexys hard on the ass as he pumped into her from behind. She shouted and moaned and rolled her hips.

Stay still. He smacked her again, two bright pink handprints now gracing her backside.

Holy hell this feels good.

The moans grew louder. She was close now, and so was he. Grinding ruthlessly into her, Carson reached around to pinch her clit, setting her off in convulsing waves and shudders.

Oh, God, Carson. Harder. Harder, dammit.

Yeah, babe. A familiar tingle began to spread from his balls, sweat beading his body. With another long, hard tug on her hair, he wrapped his arm around her waist, banging into her until his own climax hit.

Breathing heavily, they collapsed flat onto the bed, Carson’s big frame plastered on top of her. He rolled off and wondered how quickly he could get out of her place. He hated staying any longer than necessary with Elexys. Frankly, he didn’t like her at all. He wasn’t sure she much liked him either. But the sex was phenomenal.

Either way, he suspected this ride was coming to a complete halt any day now. Elexys had her eye on Graham Zucker, an actor she’d been working with in a prime-time show.

Elexys sat up, drawing the rumpled white sheet over her voluptuous body.

So…that was awesome, she purred.

Here it comes…

Yeah. Always a good fuck with you. Being crude helped put up a wall and keep it firmly in place.

It’s the last time, Carson. I’m done. Not a hint of emotion in her voice. The woman was an ice queen.

Me too. Thanks. It was fun. He ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair.

What the hell kind of warped relationship was this?

It’s the only kind you want, asshole.

Give me a minute here, and I’ll split.

Sure. She flopped back against the pillow, her waist-length, pin-straight black hair splaying out beneath her like not-so-angelic wings. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that. That curvaceous body of hers was deadly. But Elexys was beautiful only in looks. The rest of the package, not so much.

He stood and gathered his clothes. They didn’t talk while he dressed. When he was done, he simply said, See ya around, and walked out.

No tears, no argument, no fuss, no muss. Just the way he liked it.

****

Carson arrived early at the studio for the day’s run-through and was seated at the conference table reading his script.

What are you doing here so early? You’re usually the last one in, said Gray, sitting next to him looking like a million bucks, as always.

Went to bed early last night. Got lots of sleep. He didn’t move his gaze from the script he was studying.

Ah. It’s over then? Elexys ran her course, eh?

Yeah. Done deal. Time to go out on the prowl again. He smirked, finally glancing at his friend.

God, Carson. Could you be a little crude?

He laughed. Hey, I’ll just get the Lamborghini outta storage and see what I can reel in.

Gray smiled and shook his head. You taking a date to the Bravos this time?

Nah. Maybe I’ll find something there.

Meeting a woman’s not like grocery shopping, you know? You can’t just pull one off the shelf and charge it to a credit card.

Hah. I wish. Half the fun is in laying eyes on someone and flirting with them. You ought to try it sometime. Do you have someone lined up for it? Or is Lara going with you again.

No. Not going with Lara. No date. Not in the mood to look for one. Gray rubbed the back of his neck in a restless gesture.

Huh. I still don’t get why you and Lara aren’t doing the dirty. She’s a hot woman.

Gray stared at Carson before answering. She’s not for me. Carson knew Gray’s reasons for not getting involved with anyone were similar to his. It wasn’t worth the pain in the end. She’s better suited for a different guy. He doesn’t see it yet.

Carson snapped a fiery stare at Gray. What the hell does that mean?

Gray grinned.

****

Club 100 was in full swing when Carson walked through the door of the exclusive nightclub. It was well past ten o’clock, so by now, anyone who was anyone was here. The music was loud, the dance lights bright, and the booze was flowing.

A perfect place to drown my misery.

Scanning the room, it was obvious the clientele here meant business. Party all night business. Weaving his way through the crowd toward the bar, several women checked him out along the way. Not really in the mood for a hookup, he ignored the visual invitations. Maybe after a drink or two, his mood would improve enough to create a spark of interest.

Surprised to find an open seat at the corner of the jam-packed bar—providing an excellent view of the huge room—Carson slid onto the stool.

Good, Matt was bartending tonight. The guy was cool. Tall and lean, but showcasing a physique that made it clear he spent a lot of time at the gym. His almost-too-long, dark hair and scruffy facial hair attracted the ladies. The guy kept his place and flirted, but Carson never saw him act on anything. He was probably the only bartender in LA who wasn’t using his job to get into the business. Matt genuinely loved being a bartender to the celebrities.

He was discreet, too. If you made an ass of yourself because you drank too much, he’d call your driver or a cab, and no one would be the wiser. He never tattled to the tabloids or took secret videos of your indiscretions.

Plus, he made a damned good gin and tonic. Which is what Carson ordered.

What’s shakin’ Carson?

Nothing new. You?

Same old. Just pouring drinks for the beautiful people. Staying out of trouble. Matt allowed a few extra splashes of gin to flow into Carson’s drink, topped it with a squeeze of lime and slid the glass toward him.

Damn, that’s good. He took a healthy sip of the ice-cold cocktail. Busy for a Thursday night, eh?

Yeah. Thursdays have been picking up. Matt popped the top off a beer and handed it past Carson to another patron. What brings you out tonight? Looking for a hook-up? He leaned his elbows against the bar.

Nah, not really. Just needed to get out for a while. Carson rolled up the sleeves on his navy button-down shirt and rested his forearms on the glass-topped bar. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was here. He’d felt restless all week. Not that he missed Elexys. He didn’t. Frankly, he was glad to put that affair to rest.

Some women just weren’t worth the trouble.

The heavy scent of perfume announced her arrival. Well, look who came out to play tonight. Hello, Carson. A sultry, smooth voice spoke into his ear.

Shelly Talbot slid her curvy body between the tight space of Carson and the guy sitting next to him.

Hey, Shelly. It’s been a while. A long while, actually. But Shelly looked as good as always. The woman was the definition of a bombshell, and she knew it. Her natural red hair flowed around her shoulders in waves, pointing south to a body that didn’t quit. Ever.

With her generous tits nearly at eye level, he tried hard to remember why he’d ditched Shelly for Elexys. His hands suddenly itched to roam that familiar body—the tits in particular, right now—in turn making his dick twitch to life.

I’m a hound.

Buy me a drink tonight? Or are you with someone? Her amber eyes pierced his gaze, lips lifting into a seductive smile that woke up certain body parts in no time flat.

Goddamn, the woman knows how to work it. What are you drinking?

Vodka. Cranberry. The usual. He caught Matt’s eye and nodded. Apparently, Shelly’s standing order was well known at Club 100.

Guess that means you’re flying solo tonight. Me too. What a coincidence. She cast a wink at him as she sipped her drink. A drop of liquid pearled on her glossy red lips. He contemplated leaning over to lick it off. She beat him to it, her tongue tracing a sensual path across her upper lip—definite innuendo there.

Clearly, Shelly was eager to hook up, which was no surprise. He purposely let his eyes roam her with heated interest. He’d wrapped himself around that body a time or two, so he knew what hid underneath the sleek black dress.

I wouldn’t mind a little refresher. A wicked grin formed on his lips.

If Shelly wanted to do the mattress mambo, fine, he was in. While he didn’t feel like playing games tonight, he also didn’t want to be a total asshole and drag her out of the club within thirty seconds of meeting her.

Another drink and maybe a dance or two. Build up the tension. Then, he’d take her home. To her home. That way he could get the