This is a work of fiction, loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe.  No insult or injury is intended, this story is for entertainment purposes only.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

Debra grabbed another towel off the rack and dried her hair and herself.  She found a brush on the counter and ran it through her wet locks bringing them into some kind of order.  She hunted about a bit and found a toiletry kit provided by the hotel, thank God, and freshened up.  Now for clothing.  Wondering wickedly how the hotel management would feel about her making a scandalous fashion statement in one of their towels, she resigned herself to having to walk through the lobby in Fern’s dress.  She found it draped across the back of the chair in the bedroom.  Happily, it hadn’t spent the entire night on the floor.  After she shimmied into the dress and got her panties back on, giggling at how many times he had gotten into them, she sat on the chair to put the heels on.  That was when the shouting began.  Debra’s heart began to pound and she sat completely still.

Russell’s voice, loud and stenorous: “I don’t care what they think, mate.  Tell ‘em something, I don’t care.”

Quieter voice, sounded like Mark’s, but Debra couldn’t make out the words.

Russell again, not as loud, but still angry:  “Just fix it.  It’s not like I won’t be at their bloody meeting this afternoon.  I told ‘em I wasn’t available this morning and that’s that.”  The conversation continued, down to a volume that was low enough so that Debra couldn’t make out what was being said again.

Her appetite, ravenous only a few minutes before, fled.  She actually felt nauseous, wishing there was a back way out of his room.  He had missed a meeting.  Because of her.  The absolutely last thing she had wanted to happen.

“Fuck,” she whispered, hearing the catch in her voice.  “Pull it together, Deb, he’s pissed off and the last thing he needs is some wimpy little shit crying in his room.”  She hated this about herself, that her emotions were always so apparent to everyone.  She didn’t just wear her heart on her sleeve, she put a neon sign around it saying, “Look at ME!”  She dragged in several shaky breaths and barely felt composed enough to face him when the hotel room door slammed closed and his heavy footsteps stomped over to the bedroom door.  She fully expected him to come barreling in and take out what was left of his anger on her, and she felt she probably deserved it, she shouldn’t be here, dammit!

But he didn’t.  The sounds of his footsteps stopped in front of the door.  Several minutes passed.  Debra was holding her breath.

Goddammit, girl, stop it.  He’s a grown man, completely capable of handling his schedule.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  Then why did she feel so fucking guilty?

There was a soft knock on the door.  What the fuck…?

“Deb?  Baby, can I come in?”

Huh?

“Uh, yeah!  It’s your room!” she called out, so confused, the rest of her feelings got put on hold.

Russell opened the door tentatively, poking his head in with such a sincere look of “I’ve been bad” on his face, she almost burst out laughing and would have if the rest of her wasn’t so damned confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “You shouldn’t have had to’ve heard that.  I forget m’self sometimes.”

Debra could feel her eyes get wide and her words completely leave her.  Was this actually happening?

“Oh, God, I did scare you.  I’m so sorry, luv.”  He came over and knelt in front of her, his hands on her thighs.

She shook her head vehemently.  “No.  No, please don’t!  I’m not scared,” liar, “just incredulous.  Why would you be apologizing?”

Russell chuckled.  The smile on his face was that one that she had fallen in love with on the internet.  The one that was so boyishly rakish, the one that lit up his whole face.

“Because I’m a mean old bastard who doesn’t think about who could be hearin’ me when I get pissed off.”

Debra reached out and touched his cheek.  This helped a lot.  She smiled wickedly at him.  “You’re not old, sweetie.”

Russell blinked and reached for her.  “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, ya evil little sheila!”

She squealed and ducked out from his grasp.  “You said it!” she protested.

She grabbed the towel from around his waist as he regained his feet and chased her into the sitting room.

“Watch the dress!” she cried as he made to grab her again.  He stopped short and held his hands up.

“Fine, you win this round, luv, but I’ll get ya for that.  Mark my words.”

“Time for honouring yourself has come to an end…”

“Don’t you dare!”

Debra caught her breath as she sank to the couch, holding out the towel for him.  “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

He rolled his eyes at her, grabbed the towel and, with a dirty look, stalked off to the bathroom.

After giving him a few minutes, she followed him.  She stood in the doorway watching him shave.  Men always get the cool things, she thought, thinking how sexy a man shaving had always looked to her, wondering what they thought of the whole make-up routine.  She wore very little, and thank God, cuz I woulda looked horrific this morning, but still found nothing sexy about the application of it.

“Decided you’d had enough whisker burns, hope ya don’t mind,” he smiled through the shaving cream surrounding his mouth.

She suddenly realized what those slightly red marks around her neck were.  “Oh, shyte,” she groaned, “I gotta walk around in public like this?”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask ya, why do you speak like you’ve spent time in the U.K.?”

“My Dad was from London, musta picked up a few pronunciations from him.  And I have this ear for accents, whoever I’m around influences how I talk.”

“You are a barmy sheila, then,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Too right, mate,” she giggled, making him laugh at how she got it just right.

A few minutes of silence passed between them as he finished shaving and walked past her to get dressed.

“Russell,” she said softly, daring to broach the subject of what had happened earlier.

“Yeah, luv?”

“I’m really sorry I got you into trouble.”  It was the only thing she could think to say and still not make too big an issue out of it.

He appeared to consider his response, which made her feel a little better.  At least he didn’t try to brush it off with bravado or try and take away her responsibility in the situation without explanation.

“Nah, luv, I meant what I said.  I didn’t mean to scare ya, and I shouldn’t have blown up at Mark like that when I knew you’d be able to hear.  Look, I arranged my schedule to have the time off I needed and those vultures just thought they could make Mark change it back cuz it’d be more convenient for them.  My time is my time and they should know that by now.  This isn’t something you need to feel responsible about.  This is a long standing argument I have with these particular gents so, no worries, okay?”

“’Kay,” she grinned at him, relieved.

He had finished dressing and walked over to her, looking wonderful in his blue Oxford shirt and jeans.  He tilted her chin up and gazed at her with those sea-green eyes she adored.  “Did I tell ya I had a good time?”

“No, I think you forgot that part.”

He kissed her lips softly, holding her face in his hands tenderly.  “I had a real good time, luv,” he said softly when they broke apart.  “How about some brekkie?”

“I’m a little overdressed, but sure!  I’m starved.”

“Oh, I can solve your clothing problem, luv.  Come on.”  He grabbed her hand and whisked her out of the hotel room, retrieving the black suit jacket from the back of a chair in the living room before they left.

Before she knew it, Russell had her in the clothing store in the lobby and had picked out the sweetest sundress.  Of course it was as short as he could find and a deep cherry red, “To match yer panties,” he whispered in her ear seductively, causing her to giggle and blush.  The girl helping them also turned ten shades of red and Debra realized she must have overheard Russell’s remark and not entirely sure he hadn’t said it loud enough for her to hear on purpose.

Once she had tried it on, amazed it fit, he’s got quite an eye to know my size, she emerged from the dressing room to show it off.  The lascivious smile on his face told her he liked it.  He grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and snipped off the tags, then asked the girl to have the black dress sent to the valet service and back up to his room.  He scrawled his signature on the paper she gave him, then offered his arm to Debra and they went to leave the hotel in search of food.

~*~

He loved to watch her eat.  She was enthusiastic, not one of those whimpering little females who ordered water and a leaf of lettuce and then proceeded to eat everything on his plate.  They had ended up at a small café in Westwood, where they had ordered eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast, a basic American breakfast he had grown to love.  He had insisted on tea and she had insisted right back on coffee, something they would have to agree to disagree about.  She ate with her fingers as always except for the eggs, and when she licked them at him, he found his southern region responding completely inappropriately given their public situation.  When he shifted in his chair, she laughed at him.

“Something, ‘up’, Mr Crowe?”

“You damn well know there is, you wicked little sheila.  Stop it.”

“Stop what?” she asked innocently.

“You bloody well know ‘what’.”

“Oh, you mean this?”  She licked her forefinger.  “Or this?”  She licked her thumb.

“Bloody Oath,” he groaned, thankful for the napkin in his lap.  She would be the death of him.  But whatta way to go, he thought with a smirk.

“Or I could just,” she bent down, “remove one shoe,” she sat back up, “and do this.”

He sat up quickly as he felt her foot in his crotch.  “Fuck,” he whispered, at once annoyed and turned on.

Then her foot was gone and she had returned to eating.  “Which do you prefer I stop doing, Mr Crowe?”

“Okay, you win.  Lick away, just don’t do that again.  You’ll get us thrown outta here.”

She giggled wickedly, continuing her meal.

When Russell had brought himself back under control, he said, “I have a meeting this afternoon.  Ben should be at the hotel when we get there to take you back home.  I had Mark leave your name at the front desk so you’ll be able to go upstairs and retrieve your dress cuz I’m gonna have to fly once we get back if I’m gonna make it out to the Valley by one.  But if you give me your number, I’ll call you tonight.  Will that be all right?”

Debra looked at him over her coffee cup.  He read the confusion in her eyes.

“Sure, but –”

“But what?  Are we gonna have the same conversation everytime I tell you there’s more?”

“I’m sorry.  You’re right.  You have explained your feelings to me already and I just need to get my little OC DJ Girl mind around it.  But here’s my thing.  I’ve already managed to interrupt your life and although you have quite graciously clarified it, it still gives me pause.  For you this is just something to enjoy, but it’s gonna take me more than a few days to get used to you, so give me some space, ‘kay?”

Russell took her hand, more than appreciating her honesty regarding her position.  He did assume a lot when it came to women, this was the first time one of them had articulated it so succinctly without the simpering.

“Sure, luv,” he replied.  “Whatever you need.”  He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the palm softly.  “So, when can I see you again?”

She grinned at his determination.  “I think your schedule is a little more demanding than mine,” she laughed.  “But I do have to work for the next four nights.  Other than that, I can be at your disposal.”

“Would I be an arrogant bastard if I let ya know tonight?  I can firm up my schedule with Mark on the drive out to the Valley now that I know yours.  And, seriously, I want to spend every minute I can with you.  Whaddaya think?”

“I think I can get used to that fairly quickly.”

“Good.

Chapter Five or Index for Strange Affair

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