Teach Me To Sin- Jace and Clara

CLARA'S POV

The spacious hall vibrates with music as I trail the hotel manager and security team in their neat suits. It's past one in the morning, but when my job demands it, I leave my bed and dress for work. This time, I have to rescue my boss from himself.

The manager swipes his keycard over the lock. "After you, Ms. Bellamy."

The second I push the door open, my head pounds in time with the deafening music. I'm shocked my eardrums didn't burst. It's dark inside, but I can see women, some barely dressed, others completely naked, moving everywhere.

If they believe they can get anything long term from Jace, one of Miami's biggest movie stars and wildest men, they ought to give up now. Jace doesn't do relationships. He has the H&D the Humped and Dumped. Yeah. Some reporter who thinks he's far cleverer than he is came up with that term for the groupies Jace supposedly sleeps with.

I inhale. The suite reeks of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. And marijuana. "Dear God, or whatever being watching over me, don't let it be Jace smoking pot," I whisper under my breath. And no hard substances. Jace has no past with drugs, but you never know. After all, this is Miami...and he has too much money and too much free time lately. And he's hunting for an excuse any excuse to avoid traveling tomorrow.

I hit the light switch, making several people suddenly cover their eyes, and look for the source of the music. I can't even hear myself think in this racket. Finally, I locate the plug and yank it out. The music stops, thank goodness, even as complaints and swears come my way.

"Turn that back on, you witch!" one of the women shouts.

"Be quiet before I summon the police on everyone," I state in my firm voice. I face the hotel manager and his security crew. "Can you remove the women from here? I'll handle Jace."

The security team, all men, glance at the crowded mass of barely dressed female bodies and agree. At least someone will enjoy themselves tonight.

The suite is a disaster. The floor is covered with leftovers of gold crackers, empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol, and something dark and gooey probably caviar. The four vases stand empty, their petals scattered everywhere. One of the bare bottomed women has a lily wedged in her rear.

There are a couple of motionless and naked women on the grand piano in the corner with vacant stares, and several others sprawled across the living area. They look sad in the light, hair messy, and makeup smudged. Nearly all of them fit a pattern, young, tall, slim with oversized breasts, courtesy of implants. Their hair likely isn't real either. I notice a few dark roots.

Breathing softly through my mouth, I stride with purpose into the bedroom. More women on the bed. One offers me a cigarette with a foolish smile. I tilt my head to ease the tightness in my shoulders and neck and push into the huge master bathroom, which offers a stunning view of Miami.

It also features a gleaming marble double sink or at least it used to gleam and a hot tub. There are five women in the tub along with Jace Sterling Hayes. Or Jace Hayes, if you recognize him only from his films.

People assume Jace is incredibly photogenic. There has never been an unflattering picture of him. If a higher power had any fairness, Jace would be unphotogenic. Sadly, he isn't. That's just how the world works.

His face has the purest and most defined lines I've ever observed. Articles claim those are the Hayes traits he got from his mother, and it's likely accurate. His father, Alistair Sterling, is fair haired and of average build, while Jace has impressive height, thick dark hair, and a wide, strong physique covered with plenty of muscle.

He waves. His broad, bright grin is so flawless and attractive, it's nearly enough to make me overlook that his behavior has pulled me from bed at this ungodly hour. "Babe!"

He almost never uses my actual name. It's always "babe" or "doll" or something similar which would land ninety nine point nine nine nine nine percent of male bosses in trouble for harassment. But not Jace. He can escape anything. If there's even one woman on a jury, he'll be cleared.

Then there's his voice. It strokes your most sensitive spots and steals your breath. When I first began working for him, I believed he did it deliberately. Now I understand it's simply part of him.

I clear my throat. It's absurd he still affects me, but when you're Jace Hayes, you have that impact on every breathing female. I'm aware of what his agent Ivy Thorne will do if she discovers I'm drawn to him, she'll fire me instantly. She cautioned me on my first day.

There are at least ten empty champagne bottles around the tub. The women likely helped, but I'm sure he consumed most of it. He drinks like an extremely large and thirsty fish. Either his liver is about to burst, or it's constructed of titanium.

I grab a robe from the closet and extend it, looking away. "Exit the water."

"Why? There's plenty of space for you too."

"No! She's so heavy!" one of the women complains.

He flashes her his brilliant smile. "I prefer them soft and curved."

"Come on, Jace. Let's move." When he doesn't budge, I clench my teeth. The women are irritating me; they're attached to him like octopuses, stroking his body and pressing their chests against him. He's nearly trapped in the tub by silicone.

"You're aware you need to attend your cousin's wedding tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner." I dislike how I sound, like a rule enforcer. "You can't skip it. Your mother will be present."

CLARA'S POV

Even drunk, the mention of his mother makes his face scrunch. "Jus' had to ruin the moment." He pushes to his feet, then almost loses his balance.

I catch him before he falls and breaks his face. It would serve him right, but it's my job to keep him safe, among other things. He's extremely heavy. And extra warm from the hot water.

"You know you're not supposed to drink and get in a hot tub, right?" I mutter under my breath as I labor to keep him upright.

"Stop nagging."

I resolutely keep my eyes on his face, but I can feel every hard line and plane of his body flush against mine even through my clothes, which are currently getting wet and plastering themselves to my skin. My mouth dries.

I've been working for him for four years, but I've never had him against me like this before. And no matter how annoyed I am with him, I would have to be dead to not feel anything when the Sexiest Man Alive multiple time winner is hanging onto me even if he is currently drunk.

The women from the tub reach out and try to pull him back. I glare at them, but they are either too drunk or too intent on him to pay any attention. Maintaining balance suddenly becomes a lot more difficult.

"Hey!" I yell.

Then two of them actually pull me into the tub, apparently deciding that may be the easiest way to free Jace. I crash head first into the water. The roaring of the jets is deafening. I try to get up, but a hand pushes my head down. I claw at the person, but it's no use.

Suddenly the hand vanishes, and I sit up, gulping in air. I rub my face to get the water out of my eyes. Jace is perched on the side of the tub, giving the women a dark smoldering glare. "No rough play, I said," he mutters, his words slurred.

He wags a finger at them like naughty children, then bursts out laughing, almost losing his balance again from some hilarity only he can appreciate. For god's sake. If he slips this time, he's on his own.

One of my pumps is floating in the sudsy water. I grab it and get out before the psychos in the tub think of any other crazy thing. My shoes are ruined, but I'll worry about that later. First things first.

I forcibly drag Jace away while the women hurl insults, most of them having to do with me being greedy and fat. I let their invective roll over me. Not like it's the first time, and I just don't have the time to deal with them in addition to Jace right now.

My goal is to take him home without the pap getting a shot for the scandal rags. I consider leaving him on the bed, but there are women there too. Security apparently hasn't gotten rid of all of them yet; I can still hear angry screeches in the living room. Only one armchair is empty, so I deposit him in it. "Don't move!"

He waves me away. Probably too drunk to move. His complexion's slightly pale and sallow with a tinge of green. Alcohol's dulled his eyes, and his wet hair is sticking out at odd angles.

Anyone else, and the sight would be pathetic. But Jace somehow still manages to look hot. I swear his mother sacrificed an entire African country of goats when he was born. I, of course, look like some kind of waterlogged rodent. Ugh. The carpet's soaked beneath my feet. I gaze up at the ceiling for patience.

I march back into the bathroom, ignore the group of inebriated tub strumpets, grab a couple of fluffy white towels, march back out and toss one his way. "Dry off and get dressed. You're going home." I run a towel all over myself, but it's no use. I need a new set of clothes, but I'm not going to get it right now.

"I have a late checkout. Two p.m.," Jace says.

"You are not staying here until two p.m."

"I haven't even banged them yet." He gestures in the general direction of the women on the bed. One of them spreads her legs. Outside is cursing and grunting, and women whining about party poopers.

I cross my arms. "Shouldn't have wasted your time drinking then, should you?" The hotel informed me he checked in at eleven. He was probably drunk at that time, too.

"I don't wanna dry." He smiles at me goofily. "You do it."

My mouth tight, I shove him into a robe without bothering to dry him. He doesn't resist. Once he's decently covered, I retrieve his clothes and dump them into a white plastic laundry bag with the hotel logo. Then I toss a towel over his head to obscure his face and take him to the service elevator.

He stands mutely on the way down, looking like some kind of punchy boxer after losing a fight. Some of the hotel staff are waiting for us on the ground level. Before we leave, I instruct them to send Jace's things to the office, settle his account on the AmEx and forward me the invoice within thirty days.

I assure them photos won't be necessary; I've seen the damage myself. If the staff notices my wet rat look, they don't let it show. Once that's done, I start leading Jace to the Mercedes waiting outside.

"Wait, my car," Jace says. He loves his Ferrari.

"I'll have it brought to the house tomorrow. You know you can't drive."

"Not that drunk."

"Jace, if you can hop on one foot from here to the back exit without stumbling, sure. But you know you can't."

"Watch."

He goes on one foot. Then promptly stumbles and puts the other foot down before he can even jump. The driver's waiting for us. I push Jace inside. It's not easy to maneuver him drunk, but I manage. I've had lots of practice.

CLARA'S POV

I sit down next to him and shut the door. If I leave now, he'll end up in another hotel suite or a club. It doesn't matter that he isn't even dressed. This town worships fame and money, and he has plenty of both. The air conditioning inside the car blows over me, and I shiver. My reaction annoys me further. If I weren't soaked, the temperature would be perfect.

"We're going home," I say in my most stern don't argue with me boss voice. "You're going to sleep this off. And you will go to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow."

"Don't want to," he mutters.

"Would you rather attend your father's wedding?" Jace's sixty something father is marrying for the sixth time, and to a woman who is barely twenty and there seems to be an epidemic of matrimony in the family because it's on the same weekend as his cousin's ceremony. "It's not too late to make the travel arrangements."

"Hell no." Jace moans theatrically. "Hey, maybe I'll be too hung over to go to either of 'em."

"Then I'll have a driver take you. Don't worry."

By the time I'm home, it's well after four a.m. I open the door and spot my roommate, Sasha Vance, kicking off her shoes after having finished her shift at the bar downtown. An aspiring actress from Chicago, Sasha is petite with flowing black hair that reaches her lumbar, and pale green eyes that look arrestingly large in her tiny pixie like face. Combined with a pert nose and wide mouth, she creates the kind of mesmerizing beauty you can't look away from.

When I first came to Miami, she more or less took me under her wing. It was pure luck that I found her listing for a roommate online. Her lack of success as an actress bothers me, because she works so hard. Amazingly enough, I've never heard her complain about it. Her upbeat attitude makes me wish I could do something for her, but she's asked me not to bother because stuff like that can jeopardize my job.

Jace is a nice guy, but he's made it clear he doesn't do favors for aspiring anyone, and Ivy is uninterested in newbies.

"Hey," I say.

She turns, and her eyes widen. "Oh my gosh, what happened to you?"

"It's a long story." My clothes are clammy, and I feel gross. I remind myself to leave an extra change of clothes at Jace's place.

"Uh you okay?" she asks, peering into my face.

"No." I don't tell her what happened because my employment contract comes with an NDA. I'm not allowed to talk about anything that happens while I'm working for him.

"You aren't doing anything crazy because of you know Cole?"

"No." Cole Reynolds is my ex. We broke up earlier today. Well, technically yesterday. We met because I wanted to tell him I was pregnant. But he told me I was worthless before I could get a word out. And once he made it clear how contemptible he found me too fat, too unhelpful, too bitchy I couldn't talk about the baby.

"Um. Okay." Sasha's giving me a look that says she doesn't really believe me. "He's a jerk. I never liked him. Neither did Zane."

"I know," I say, although I didn't. Sasha was always friendly to Cole. So was Zane, her twin brother. I sigh. They were probably polite to him for my sake. Who knows? I'm too tired to care.

"Hey, come here." Sasha opens her arms for a hug.

I duck away. "You're going to get wet."

"Whatever. I need to shower anyway." She hugs me tightly. She doesn't say anything. But I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the affection and love from my friend.

It's been seven days since the hotel. Seven glorious, incident free days. I even got the whole weekend off because Jace was away at the wedding, and he insisted that he didn't want me coming with him. He promised he would attend and do all the right things. I've never seen him break a promise, so I stayed home. Read some books and relaxed. Pampered myself a little. I figured I deserved it after finding out that I'm pregnant, getting dumped by Cole and being dunked in a hot tub full of skanks.

And the days following the weekend pass in relative peace. Now why can't we do this all the time?

On Friday, I drive up the road that winds through what seems like miles of lush flower gardens. A giant pool appears to my left, the water sparkling like liquid jewels. I park my six year old Altima and get out. Even after four years, I still can't get over how grand Jace's Star Island mansion is.

The main house is three stories tall, with thick columns between the doors. I go inside without ringing. I am one of a very very few people who can do that at Jace's place. The interior matches the splendor outside. The floor is real marble; huge and glittering chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling. The walls have numerous paintings, but not a single photo of Jace or poster from one of his movies. For such a handsome man, he doesn't like to look at himself much.

After grabbing a cup of ginger ale from the state of the art kitchen, I head toward my office on the second level, climbing the winding staircase. It's exactly like the one from Tara in Gone with the Wind.