Splinters (17 page)

A very pleased warmth glides through me. “Okay.”

“And… Well, you wanna try doin’ that Skype thing sometime?”

Should we? I cringe and rub at my forehead as all those worries slither back in.

“Talk to me, Al.”

“It’s just…” I try to sort these feelings. Nervousness? “Could we, maybe just do—”

“You wanna do calls, I’m all for that.” He doesn’t sound anything but happy to oblige. “But you get a free night sometime, I’ll be here with a camera all set up, and eager to see that handsome face of yours.”

“You think I’m handsome?” It’s silly how much that pleases me.

“In the prettiest way.”

I roll my eyes even as I blush. “All right. Yes, we could Skype sometime, too.” Why deny us a look at each other every now and then? We’d come this far…

Sandra Dee whinnies. “On that note,” Duke says a touch urgently. “I’ll say good-night.”

“Good-night, Duke. Good luck with the…foal.”

“Thanks, darlin’. Sweet dreams.”

I let him disconnect and sigh. I
will
have good dreams tonight. He’ll be in them.

should be happy.

A month away from Duke and my acting career is now solidly bankable thanks to the movie’s blockbuster release. Perhaps news of my abduction is fueling box office sales, but I’ve grown more and more okay with that. Acting is part of how I make my living, so I don’t want to see sales drop and put me out of work. I won’t allow Dean to make me feel bad about success.

My modeling gigs are also going well. And not just in what I get to model or how often they call for me, but even how I’m treated during the shoot has improved. More than just a curiosity to mainstream fashion, I now have more selling potential than before. I already had
It
, but now there is a boost of recognition as well.

Fans stop me on the street. Photographers are camped outside my building. Stuart escorts me down back stairways and out through restaurant kitchens. I’m taking advantage of the publicity, voicing my opinion about things that matter to me while my popularity skyrockets and…

And all I want is to be anonymous on a Texas ranch where the yellow grass crunches beneath my feet and a sweaty man with a mustache smiles at me just for being near him.

I fidget in front of my laptop. Duke and I have graduated to our first Skype session tonight. Hearing his voice in my ear, so intimately, is both heartbreaking and arousing. Even our shortest conversations make me ache for more than just his growl at missing me, or the purr when he calls me his baby. So, of course, after a mere three days of that, I’d suggested Skype.

Dressed for this date, I sit here in black slacks and a turquoise tunic that slips off my left shoulder and plays up the color of my eyes. I’m waiting for Duke to click in when I realize that in hi-def and bright lighting, I look a bit gaunt and pale. My hair is growing in, but it’s still horrifically short. Should’ve worn one of my wigs. Or a different color. I get up, dim lights, add candles.
Awesome
. Now I look vampiric. All I need is a little more tooth and a red velvet curtain behind me. I’m about to redo everything when a notification informs me that Duke’s now online.

Do I want to accept? I haven’t seen his face in a month.
Of course, you’re accepting. Push the button
. I do it.

His camera clicks on and there he is. He looks freshly bathed, a few blond curls still damp on his forehead and his cheeks ruddy. The open collar of his black shirt emphasizes his tan skin and frames a swirl of golden chest hair. I lick my lips while staring at his smile.

I touch the screen, and my heart aches when I feel cool electronics instead of warm man. Putting my hand down, I smile a little, feeling like a fool for thinking I could touch him through the monitor.

“I keep fondling your photos,” he says and cocks his head as he grins.

I squint at him in mock suspicion. “Fondling how exactly?”

“Nothin’ that makes pages sticky, just wishin’ I could feel your skin instead of paper.”

I’m sure there’s a sappy grin on my face.

“You look good,” he says.

I wave that off. “I look rough and tired.”

“You look like you could use a rest, and I’d like to be your pillow.”

I look down at the keyboard, clean a little lint from between the B and N keys. “I’m not sleeping well. Bad dreams.” I sigh and start finger-dusting the rest of the letters in that row.

“Wanna tell me about ’em?”

I shrug and, when the laptop pings at me for hitting an illegal key, I rest my chin in my palm and tuck my other hand under my thigh.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He looks away and rubs at his forehead.

“No, don’t do that. You’re the good part, Duke.”

“The good part?”

“Not everything that happened was terrible. Meeting you wasn’t.” I smile. “You even made a good time out of getting splinters in my butt.”

He barks a laugh, waggles his bushy eyebrows. “I couldn’t resist you.”

“Getting those lips on my ass, you mean?”

“And untying that nut knot.” He shakes his head, but he’s grinning fondly.

“Pervert.”

“Exhibitionist.”

I gasp and laugh. “I am
not
.”

He squints and points at me. “A little bit, yes, you are. Those ads for bits of cloth and elastic that hardly qualify as underwear? Everybody knows you’re uncut.”

“Ha! Okay, fine. Maybe a little exhibitionism gets me going, but that wasn’t—” I stop myself and close my eyes for a second. A shiver snakes through me.

“Not out there,” he says quietly. “I know that wasn’t anything but frightening.”

I flash a grin. “Until you showed up.”

“You liked me looking.” He smirks. “Liked being naked while I was dressed.”

“I liked you rugged and sweaty, Cowboy.” I narrow my eyes at him. “The next day, were you aware of the fact you could’ve had me any way you wanted me on that hill under that tree?”

A naughty, confident laugh. “I knew.”

“And?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t wanna jump if you were leavin’ is all.”

And I’d already jumped by then.

“So that night…” I whisper.

“Irresistible temptation.” He sighs and it comes out as a long, low groan. “I saw what you were wearin’. How was I supposed to resist that? Those long legs, bit a white lace, and your eyes big and begging…” His hand disappears below the edge of his desk.

I clear my throat. “I don’t recall any begging.”

What’s he doing under the desk? I mean, I
know
, but I want to know.

“I remember a please or two.” The muscles in his forearm flex.

I squirm in my seat. “Both hands where I can see them, Duke Walters.”

Oh, that rakish grin.

“You want me to stand up or put the laptop on my thighs so you can see?”

I bite my lip and cut off a whimper.

He gives a soft moan before saying, “I’ve never done this before.”

Walking right into it, I ask, “Done what?”

“Skype sex.” He unbuckles his belt.

I point at him. “Stop right there. We’re not doing that.”

“No?”

“No.”

He nods and fixes his belt. “Sorry. It’s just that seein’ you…” He nods again. “I won’t assume.”

“Aw, Duke, it’s not that. Seeing you gets me worked up just like reading your words and hearing your voice did.” I lean closer. “I
want
you, but like this? So far apart and…and alone?” I slump back in my seat. “It would be great while it happened, but then…” I can’t help pressing a hand over my poor heart.

His tone is understanding as he says, “Still all alone.”

I sniff and rub at my nose.

“Sandra Dee’s colt has a name now.”

I look up and smile, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah?”

“Yep. Since he’s all black with three white socks, I went with TriSock.”

I laugh. “You and your cute horse names. I thought people named horses, like, Blue Lagoon’s Last Donut.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “That’s thoroughbreds, babe. TriSock’s gonna work for a living.”

“Racehorses work.”

“They’re pampered legs that run in a circle.”

I
tsk
at him, affronted on behalf of all expensive creatures. “Blue collar snob.”

“Thoroughbred.” He grins.

I whinny, which only loops us back to talk of cowboys and saddles. When Duke says, “I still don’t know who’s s’posed to get ridden in that save a horse scenario,” I lose it completely, laughing until I cry my eyeliner off.

We’re so different, but we fit so well anyway. Which is good because I’m falling a little more in love with him the longer I know him. But is an on-screen romance all we’ll ever have?

uring the second month after I came home, I’m on a rooftop doing a photo shoot for Henri Dubois, the man who launched my career. My phone’s blowing up with tweets thanks to his marketing guru/idiot leaking my location. I’d much prefer texts from Duke. I have to mute my phone just to stop hearing all those damn dings. Of course, I can hear people down on the sidewalk now instead. Someone keeps hollering my name like Brando in
Streetcar
.

“Alllll-annnn!”

And because there’s a hole in my heart where a cowboy should be, I wish it was Duke down there begging for me. Something needs to give, but Dean’s still out there. No one’s seen any sign of him. He could be anywhere. He could be Brando down there.
Shit
. I gulp and try to breathe through a skitter of anxiety. Dean is not anywhere near me, and Stuart wouldn’t let him get close even if he was.
I’m fine
.

But if Duke
was
here… I sigh and focus on thoughts of him to ease my fears even though I yearn for him.

“You’re doing it again,” the photographer grouches.

“Doing what?” I say, even though I know.

“This is not hot, Allan. Looking like your lover just
died
isn’t going to sell the jock you’re wearing unless we cut off your head.” He squints his little hamster eyes at me. “And nobody’s paying for anonymous here, sweetheart.”

I want to tell him what he can do with
his
head, but he’s right. I’m getting lost in being maudlin when I should be doing my job. It’s not that hard today. Lay on a fake rooftop ledge—because no one wants to risk me falling off the real ledge on the side of this building—and look like I’m the sexiest man to ever fill out a jockstrap.