Julie Kenner - Tame Me

That, I think, was one hell of a party.

I am standing with my back to the Pacific as I watch the efficient crew break down the lovely white tents. The leftover food has already been packed away. The trash has been discarded. The band left hours ago, and the last of the guests have already departed.

Even the paparazzi who had camped out on the beach hoping to snag a few choice pictures of my best friend Nikki Fairchilds wedding to multi-bazillionaire and former tennis star Damien Stark are long gone.

I sigh and tell myself that this vague emptiness Im feeling isnt melancholy. Instead, its an aftereffect of staying up all night drinking and partying. I am, of course, lying. Im melancholy as shit, but I figure thats normal. After all, Ive just watched my best friend get married to the one man in the entire universe who is absolutely, positively perfect for her. Great news, and Im really and truly happy for her, but she found him without trolling through the entire male population of Los Angeles.

Compare that to me, whos fucked approximately eighty percent of that population and still hasnt found a guy like Damien, and I think its safe to say that Nikki got the last decent man.

Okay, maybe not the last one, I amend as I catch sight of Ryan Hunter coming down the walking path that winds from Damiens Malibu house all the way to the beach where Im now standing. Ryan is the Chief of Security for Stark International, and he and I have been the de facto host and hostess for this post-wedding soiree ever since the bride and groom took off in a helicopter bound for marital bliss.

Ryan is not among the eighty-percent, and that is truly a shame. The man is seriously hot, with piercing blue eyes and chestnut hair worn in a short, almost military style that accents the hard lines and angles of his face. Hes tall and lean, but strong and sexy. Ive seen him now in both jeans and a tux, and the curve of his ass alone is enough to make a woman drool.

Weve gotten to know each other over the last few months, and I consider him a friend. Frankly, Id like to consider him more, and I think he feels the same, even though he has yet to make a move.

Ive seen the way he watches me, the heat that flares in his eyes when he thinks Im not looking. Maybe hes shybut I doubt it. Hes got a dangerous edge that perfectly suits his job as the head security dude for a guy like Damien and an enterprise like Stark International.

Nikki once told me that there was nothing Ryan liked better than chasing monsters. I believe it, and as I watch him stride down the walking path, his movements a combination of grace and power, I can imagine him in battle and am certain that he would do whatever it takes to win.

No, I dont believe that Ryan Hunter is shy. All I know is that hes never made a move on me, and thats a damn shame.

And now, of course, its too late. Because Im heading back home to Texas tomorrow as part of my newly implemented life goal of getting my shit together. And, as part of the whole Repair My Life plan, Ive put the kibosh on sleeping around. Im focusing on Jamie Archer. On figuring out who she is and what she wants, and step one of The Plan is to not do the nasty with every hot guy who crosses my path.

Honestly, men are so five minutes ago.

So far, The Plan is going pretty good. I found a tenant for my Studio City condo a few months ago, then went home to live with my parents in Dallas. Its hard being a twenty-five-year-old actress in Los Angeles, especially one who has yet to land a decent gig. There are too many guys who are prettier than meand who know it. And way too many opportunities for a fast fuck.

Texas is slower. Easier. And even though its hardly the acting capital of the universe, Ive already had a few auditions, and I think I may even have a decent shot for a job as an on-air reporter at a local affiliate. Id auditioned right before flying out here for the wedding, and Im hoping to hear back from the programming director any day now.

And, yes, true, Id also auditioned for a commercial here in SoCal, but I didnt get the job. I tell myself thats a good thing because I would have taken it and stayed in Los Angeles, because I love Los Angeles and my friends are here. But that would have put me right back on that hamster wheel of auditioning and fucking, and then starting the whole destructive process right over again.

The Plan is good, I tell myself as I watch the crew finish the job. The Plan is wise.

As a dozen workmen haul the last of the tent poles to a nearby truck, the supervisor approaches me with a clipboard and a pen. He takes me through the list, and I duly check off all the various items, confirming that the final details have been attended to.

Then I sign the form, thank him, and watch as he climbs into the truck and drives away.

So thats it, Ryan says as he approaches me. Hes still in tuxedo pants and the starched white shirt, but the cummerbund is gone, as is the jacket. He really does look sexy as hell, but its his bare feet that have done me in. Theres something so damn devil-may-care about a guy in a tux barefoot on the beach, and I cant help but wonder if there really is a bit of the devil in Ryan Hunter.

And if there is, will I ever get to peek at the wickedness?

No more cars in the driveway, he continues, as I try to yank my thoughts back to reality. And I just signed the invoice for the car park company. I think we can safely call this thing a wrap. And a success. His smile is slow and easy and undeniably sexy. It really was one hell of a party.

I laugh. I was just thinking the same thing. My stomach does a little twisting number, and I tell myself its hunger. After all, champagne isnt that filling, and Im sure all the dancing I did during the night burned off the three slices of wedding cake Id devoured.

Im lying again, of course. Its not hunger thats making my stomach flutter. Its Ryan. And as I stand there silently wishing hed just touch me already, Im also getting more and more irritated. Because why the hell hasnt he touched me already? Weve spent time together. Weve even danced together during various club outings with friends. Not touching, maybe, but close enough that the air between us was thick with promise.

And once, when Damien had a security scare, he sent Ryan to check on me. Id been wearing a tiny bikini with a sheer cover-up, and I looked damn hot. But he hadnt made a move. Wed ended up talking for hours, which was great, and I even made him eggs, which is about as domesticated as I get.

Im certain I havent been imagining that sizzle between usand yet never once has he made a move. I cant fathom why, and the whole situation grates on me.

Except Im not supposed to careRyan is not part of The Plan.

He starts to walk toward the surf, and I fall in step beside him. Id kicked off my own shoes once the workmen hauled away the dance floor because beaches and two-inch heels really dont go well together, and the sand beneath my feet feels amazing.

I love strolling the beach in the morning. Theres so much to look atthe seagulls that scavenge for their breakfast, the waves that pour like latte foam onto the sand, the tanned hard bodies of twenty-something surfer dudes out to catch a morning swell. Its like a little slice of heaven.

This morning, Ryan adds value to the view. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing well-muscled forearms, and when he bends down to pick up a lovely purple seashell, I find myself fascinated by his hands. Theyre large and strong, but as they hold the shell, I cant help but think that his touch would be surprisingly gentle.

I start to pick up my pace because, hello, mind really not supposed to be going there, but he reaches for me, holding the shell in his outstretched hand. A souvenir, he says, and though his smile is casual, theres nothing easy about the heat in his eyes. His gaze is hot enough to cut right through me. The hair at the back of my neck prickles, and for a moment, Im not certain I remember how to breathe. Id hate for you to get back to Texas and forget everything youve left behind.