He knew where she lived.
Mark Stratton knew as much about Alana Hunter as anyone alive. He knew she had been born in Galveston, Texas, and her parents still lived in Houston. Her father was a doctor and her mother was a writer and illustrator of children’s books. Her older sister lived in Dallas with two children, a husband and three dogs.
She kept an apartment in the city, but spent several months a year filming in Los Angeles, where she owned a small house in Malibu. He had seen all twelve movies she had been in, even the first one, in which she had a bit part as the star’s little sister, and he had downloaded every interview and YouTube video of her there was, not to mention bought every magazine in which she’d ever appeared.
She was slated soon to begin work on a romantic comedy, with that untalented pretty boy, Tim Rutherford, as her co-star. Despite all the bullshit gossip and speculation on Twitter and in the tabloids, Mark was certain they weren’t romantically involved. No way Alana Hunter would stoop so low.
As he hurried along the crowded streets of New York, he almost tripped over a homeless guy who was snoring loudly, slumped against the wall of a building. Mark cursed softly under his breath as he stepped over the bum. He hated the city and his crappy, expensive, tiny apartment. Even in her snazzy penthouse, Alana probably hated it, too.
Happily, it was temporary. He was nearly ready to put his plan into action. At last he would save his darling girl from the undisciplined turmoil of public life. She would love the home he’d been working on every spare moment for the past year and a half.
Luckily, his job as a programmer with a software development company was going quite well. He had been slowly getting them used to the idea of his working less and less in the office, and more and more remotely. They were okay with this, for the most part, as long as the work got done. They recognized his creative genius, and thus gave him the leeway he needed, not to mention an excellent salary and a generous stock option plan.
He got to the restaurant just as Alana’s driver was opening the car door for her. Mark’s fists clenched in sudden rage, but it was just jealousy. The driver got to be close to Alana, so close he could smell her perfume. He got to take her places and open doors for her. Maybe they chatted as they drove, Alana telling him tidbits about her latest project.
Calming himself, Mark waited a minute or so in the shadows before entering the restaurant. Spying Alana and Lisa at a table near the back, he managed to get himself seated in a small booth nearby.
Poor Alana, she looked tired. She worked much too hard. Soon that burden would be lifted from her lovely shoulders. Soon, her sole occupation in life would be to be worshipped and adored by him, Mark Stratton, the only man who properly understood and appreciated her.
Sometimes he imagined them together as husband and wife, strolling in the park, a baby in Alana’s arms. Alas, children weren’t in her future. Mark had suffered an injury when he played college football, which had made him sterile. Just as well. He wouldn’t want to share Alana with anyone else, not even their child. She would belong only to him, forever and always.
Mark’s musings were shattered as he overheard Lisa’s words. “Yes, he called again for you. And he sent a huge bouquet of the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen. The note said he can’t wait to work with you, and that he’s your biggest fan, and he signed it, ‘with love and anticipation, Tim.’”
Tim! Rutherford, that bastard. How dare he push himself on Alana like that? The nauseating little prick.
“Wow, I can’t wait to see the flowers. Tim is so hot I’m afraid I might get burned during our sex scenes,” Alana replied with a grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief.
Blood rushed into Mark’s face, every muscle in his body tensing for a fight. A lesser man might have leapt up at that moment to protest, but not Mark. Oh no, Mark was nothing if not patient. He had waited a long time for the right moment to introduce himself to his beloved. He wasn’t about to blow that now, just because that pretty-boy asshole Rutherford thought he could charm Alana.
But he would have to move fast. Clearly, Alana had deluded herself into thinking she wanted to work with this jerk, even to do love scenes with him. Mark couldn’t bear the thought of her lying naked in another man’s arms, even under the bright, artificial lights of a film studio. Another man’s mouth on her perfect nipples. Another man’s whip lashing that tender flesh…