The Princess and the Porn Star Read Online Free PDF

meet you back at the dressing room.”
    Quinn nodded and put his phone to his ear. While he handled the call, I left the soundstage and tried not to limp on the way back to my dressing room. I couldn’t wait to get out of this suffocating leather, not just because of the heat and the way it constricted my rib cage, but because then I’d be able to bend far enough to rub my sore ankle. And take off my fucking shoes.
    With every step, the pain in my ankle intensified. Or maybe I just noticed it now that I didn’t have to concentrate on dancing, Buck, lip-synching, Buck, the director’s orders, Buck…
    What in the world is wrong with me?
    Just a few hours ago, I’d been horrified by the idea of appearing on camera with him, and now? Now I didn’t know what I felt. Not horrified, that was for sure. Maybe his raw sex appeal had roped me in like it did everyone else. Which totally explained why I was so much more relaxed around him after he sweetly asked what he could do to make me more comfortable. It was all about his jaw-dropping good looks.
    Yeah, right. As I hobbled down the hall toward my dressing room, I shivered again. It was bad enough Buck was so gorgeous I forgot the lyrics to my own song when I was looking at him, but he also had to be nice and considerate and a total goddamned gentleman. He wasn’t playing fair.
    I have to dance with you, Buck. Stop being so amazing.
    Dance. Right. On this fucked-up ankle?
    Every step was more painful than the last. Maybe six doors down from my dressing room, I stopped and put my hand against the wall. Then, wincing, I lifted my right foot and gingerly moved it from side to side, trying to work out some of the soreness. Just enough to get me to the end of the hall.
    “Those shoes hurting your feet?”
    I turned around, half expecting the playfulness in Buck’s voice to bring to life that smarmy grin from his photo. I knew better, though, and shouldn’t have been surprised when he grimaced and his forehead creased with what looked like genuine concern.
    Just like it was no surprise when his gaze made my knees shake all over again. Especially after a few hours of bumping and grinding with his gorgeous, leather-clad and obviously aroused body. It didn’t help that the photos Quinn showed me earlier had had a little bit of Photoshop magic. Buck’s eyes were green, but they weren’t really that startling, vivid green. The real color was paler, more subdued, and so, so much more disarming.
    Oddly, it was my high heels that kept me safe from melting or falling on my face right then. Ever since I’d put them on, at least part of my awareness had been focused on how easily I could re-fuck up my ankle, and I’d had to concentrate on keeping my balance. If I’d been in sneakers just then, God knew what might have happened.
    And a second before awkward silence would have become a ridiculously uncomfortable silence, I remembered he’d asked me a question. Clearing my throat, I lowered my gaze to my ankle. “Old injury. It’s…not really agreeing with these shoes.”
    “Ouch.” He grimaced again. “Do you need a hand?”
    “Oh. I…” I looked in the direction of my dressing room. “My assistant. He’ll be…”
    “You know, I’ve got some stuff that might help.” He gestured at my foot. “With the pain, I mean.”
    Hadn’t I heard “I’ve got some stuff for you” before? But curiosity got the better of me. “What ‘stuff’?”
    “It’s a topical. One of those homeopathic things. Works wonders on stuff like that.” He inclined his head. “I can go get it if you want to give it a try.”
    Thanks to Quinn, I had an appointment for a cortisone shot in very short order—bless his dirty little heart, he was quite persuasive when it came to those responsible for my physical well-being—but with getting dressed, getting out of here and fighting Los Angeles traffic, it would be at least an hour or two before needle met skin. Oh, what the hell? I couldn’t imagine