“Because you had to. She was trying so hard. And it’ll be okay.
I just hope she can cook.” He took the mattress out of the box and began to
assemble the pump.
“She can bake. I don’t know about anything else. We’ve never
been friends. I just agreed to have dinner with the girl who stole my date for
junior prom simply because she could.”
“You didn’t tell me about that.”
“Because it’s not what matters. Not compared to Scott.”
“Something like that is pretty traumatic to a teenager....”
“I couldn’t blame the guy who ditched me. My dad was so strict
I had to be home by eleven o’clock, which counted out the after-party. And my
prom dress would’ve looked like a gunnysack compared to everyone else’s. He
wouldn’t let me show an inch of skin.”
Simon smiled at the image she painted of herself as an
embarrassed girl with a domineering father. “Ah, now I see where you developed
your penchant for the boxy business suit.”
Her eyebrows came together. “Why don’t you like my suits?
They’re stylish.”
He had to speak over the whine of the air pump. “It’d be nice
to see you in something sexy for a change.”
“That won’t fix the red hair and freckles. I’m sure you can see
how I might get passed over.”
She had a lot more to offer than most women. But he didn’t say
so.
He’d
passed over her, hadn’t he? It took a
second look to really see her beauty. “There’s nothing wrong with your
appearance. Anyway, I’m glad you gave in on dinner.”
“Why?”
“Beats kicking Sophia while she’s down.”
“Like people have kicked you?”
“Deserving it only makes it worse,” he said with a wry grin. He
squeezed the mattress to see how firm it had become. Almost done. “What about
her husband? Is he any more popular than she is?”
Gail sat near him and pulled her knees to her chest like a
child. She was so unaware of the assets she did possess. It was refreshing.
Beyond refreshing—endearing.
“He keeps everyone at arm’s length,” she said. “But he has a
good reputation. Most of Whiskey Creek has invested with him at one time or
another. Even my father. And Martin’s about as conservative as a person
gets.”
“I can only imagine,” he said wryly. “What does Skip do?”
“Puts together venture capital partnerships, so he meets with
investors all over the world.”
Simon turned off the air pump. “Did you see that bruise on her
face?”
“I did.” She frowned. “The way she kept trying to hide it makes
me think it didn’t come from a door.”
“Have there been rumors about abuse?” Simon rolled out the
sleeping bags while she got up and plugged in her laptop.
“A few. She’s been seen with other injuries. But it’s hard to
believe Skip would strike her. He acts like the perfect husband and father—makes
sure his family always has the best of everything.”
“Maybe they only look perfect in public.”
“Or maybe we’re jumping to conclusions,” she said as she queued
up the movie they’d selected, which was another indie film. Unless they were
particularly well done, Simon had a hard time watching big, commercial movies
like the ones he worked on. After being in the industry for so long, and being
exposed to its inner workings even as a child, they seemed too predictable and
formulaic to him. He preferred the off-beat humor or unusual situations and
settings he could find in indies or foreign films.
“Could be.” Lighting the instant log they’d bought on the way
over, Simon started a fire. “Has anyone ever come out and asked her if he gets
violent?”
Finished prepping the movie, Gail left her computer to warm her
hands above the flames. “She’d never admit it, even if they did.”
The smell of smoke and accelerant filtered into the room,
chasing away some of the mustiness of the old home.
“Maybe she’s afraid to leave him for fear he’ll
really
hurt her,” Simon said. “Or that she’ll wind up
with nothing. Does she have any education or job skills?”
“Not that I know of. Just her looks, but that’s always been
enough in the past.”
As far as Simon was concerned, she was too Barbie-like, which
reminded him of so many of the women he’d met in Hollywood. “I guess she could
always become a Playboy Bunny.”
Gail arranged her laptop next to the bed he’d made and slipped
into her sleeping bag. “I bet you could put her in contact with the right
folks.”
“I’ve been invited to the mansion.”
“How was it?”
“I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
He found that whole scene to be a little too misogynistic.
Anyway, it was his father’s crowd. But he didn’t see any point in denying
involvement, however minimal. Having avoided
one
mistake was hardly enough to improve his reputation. “I must’ve been busy that
night.”
“How unfortunate for you.”
“Should I make the offer?” he asked, just to see what she’d
say.
She glared at him. “Stay away from her.”
Leaning over, he peered into her face. “Do I detect a note of
jealousy?”
“Of course not. I’m just trying to keep you out of
trouble.”
“Then you won’t be interested in this, but—” he caught a lock
of her hair between his fingers “—I’d rather make love to you than her any
day.”
He probably shouldn’t have said it. The admission made him that
much more aware of her sexually. He wanted to touch her to see if she’d welcome
it, to see if she’d respond with the same earthy realness she brought to
everything else. She was so different from any of the other women he’d known,
most of whom stripped before he could even suggest it. They wanted the bragging
rights of having slept with someone famous, wanted to gain entrance to his world
or to feel they had the right to ask him to recommend them for an acting role.
His partners had used him as much as he’d ever used them. Even his ex had used
physical access to her body like a weapon. Or an incentive.
But maybe he was merely justifying what he’d done....
Gail wanted something more from that aspect of a relationship,
and that made him eager to see what “more” might feel like. He’d been so empty
when she assumed her new role in his life, so disillusioned. But she’d made the
little things important again.
He was trying to tell her that he felt differently about her,
that making love with her would be different, too, but she wasn’t listening.
“You just feel that way because I’m the only woman who’s ever
refused you,” she said with a dismissive laugh, and reached for the hangers
they’d brought for their marshmallows. “The second I give in, you won’t be
interested anymore.”
When he didn’t say anything, she glanced over to see his
response and he forced a smile. “You’ve got me all figured out.”
She studied him for a second. “I didn’t offend you, did I?”
“Of course not.” What she’d said shouldn’t have bothered him.
It wouldn’t have, except he was beginning to care what she thought of him. Which
was crazy. She’d seen him at his absolute worst. The past year he’d been her
client, he’d done everything possible to let her know just how little he cared
what she or anyone thought. So how could he expect her to see even a glimmer of
something worthy in him now?
“Everyone knows what a shitty person I am,” he added with a
shrug. Then he straightened her hanger, stuck a marshmallow on the end and
handed it back to her. “But I can roast a mean marshmallow.”
22
S
imon didn’t talk much the rest of the
evening. He was polite but the casual camaraderie they’d established since
coming to Whiskey Creek was gone. Gail hadn’t realized how much she’d enjoyed
his companionship until that warmth was replaced with the old indifference.
Accusing him of wanting her only because he couldn’t have her
hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, but it’d hurt him somehow. She was
afraid it kept him from changing, becoming a better person. Every time he tried,
every time he started to believe he could, she held up the mirror of his past
and reminded him that there was no way to outdistance his deeds, that she’d
never forget and therefore he couldn’t, either.
He was probably confused and disappointed. So was she. She
didn’t want to send mixed signals. But no one had ever frightened her in quite
the same way as Simon O’Neal. Charisma rolled off him in waves. If she let it
carry her away, there was no telling where she’d end up.
“You okay?” she said at one point.
“Fine.” He offered her another perfectly roasted marshmallow.
But his emotional withdrawal made her feel as if the sun had suddenly
disappeared behind a cloud.
Simon dozed off before the movie ended, but Gail lay next to
him long after, wide-awake and feeling…she didn’t know what. Remorseful.
Conflicted. And attracted. Always attracted.
In the light of the log’s dying embers, she admired the
contours of his face while trying to decide how to keep this “marriage” on
track. She was supposed to care about Matt. She’d yearned for him for years. The
flutter she’d felt in her stomach when she’d seen him earlier had made her
wonder what she’d done. Yet she’d scarcely thought of him since their encounter
in the coffee shop. As long as Simon was around, nothing else seemed to
matter.
But Simon wouldn’t be around forever....
Suddenly he opened his eyes as if her intense regard had
dragged him from sleep. She told herself to roll over and pretend she hadn’t
been watching him, but she refused to be that much of a coward. Even after his
eyes met hers, she continued to stare just as intently and allowed him to do the
same.
Finally he broke the silence. “What are you thinking
about?”
“You,” she admitted with a sigh.
“Don’t waste your time on that.” He turned over, but she
refused to let him exclude her so easily. She put her palm on his back, and when
he didn’t move, she slid it up and into his hair. The thick, silky locks felt so
good....
“What do you want from me?” he murmured without moving.
“Sometimes the way you look at me…it’s as if you want to be with me. And yet…the
second I act on that, you shut me down.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
After another strained pause, during which she went on touching
his hair, he turned to face her again and unzipped his sleeping bag. “Come
here.”
Gail’s heart pumped hard and fast. She’d done it now; she’d
started down the path of no return. But she couldn’t blame Simon. He was right
about the way she looked at him. And what else could he assume when she kept
touching him?
“Maybe…maybe we should lay down some ground rules first,” she
said.
“What kind of ground rules?”
“How about this can only happen once. And it doesn’t mean
anything. Those kinds of rules.”
“There isn’t any need.”
But the next few minutes would change everything. At least for
her. She wet her lips. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. You coming or not? Because it’s cold, and I’m going
to zip this thing up if you’re not.”
Supremely conscious of the fact that she’d chosen to wear a
T-shirt and pajama bottoms—nightclothes that weren’t the slightest bit sexy just
so she wouldn’t be tempted to do exactly what she was about to do—she took a
deep breath and wiggled out of her own bag. Fleetingly she wondered if her
underwear was attractive enough. She thought so. She’d recently bought new ones.
Just marrying Simon was enough to make her worry about her underclothes.
Thinking of her panties made her question whether she should
undress before climbing inside his bag. They already had
his
T-shirt and pajama bottoms to remove, which wouldn’t be easy in
such a confined space.
The practical side of Gail suggested she strip now. But maybe
that was unromantic. He didn’t tell her to....
In the end, she didn’t have the nerve. She figured he could get
creative; after all, he had a lot more experience than she did.
“I’m a little self-conscious,” she admitted.
“Everything will be fine,” he said.
“But…talk about pressure.” She worried her lip. “You’ve been
with supermodels and actresses and Olympic athletes.”
He surprised her with a laugh. “Where did you get Olympic
athletes?”
“Just guessing. Some of them are pretty hot, right? And you can
take your pick.”
Sobering, he lowered his voice. “It’s not a contest, Gail. You
don’t have to compete with anyone.”
“I wouldn’t want to be your worst. I’d at least like to hit
somewhere in the middle.”
“God, no wonder you don’t want to sleep with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Come on.”
The nerves in her stomach were making her jittery. “I’m just
trying to tell you it’s been a long time for me. I’m out of practice.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three years.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Wow, you really are
selective. How many men have you been with?”
“At one time?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“That was a joke.”
“You had me for a second. How many?”
She considered lying. Too few might make her seem like she
wasn’t playful or sexy enough—or someone guys sought out. But she figured he
should know what he was getting into. “Two.”
“That makes it easy to see why you’re self-conscious. But it’s
just me, right? You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Just you…” she repeated, and somehow managed to suppress a
nervous giggle. She was going to sleep with one of the biggest movie stars on
the planet. She figured she had a right to be anxious about it. But after he’d
helped her inside his bag and managed to zip it up, he simply enfolded her in
his arms. He didn’t even kiss her.
“Simon?” she said when minute after minute ticked away and he
didn’t move. He seemed to be going to sleep....
“What?” he mumbled.
Sure enough, he sounded as if he was just on this side of
sleep. “Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?”
“No.”
Shocked, she blinked at the darkness. She couldn’t look into
his face. The way he was holding her kept her cheek against his chest. “Why
not?” she whispered.
“Because you’ll only regret it in the morning.”
This was not the answer she’d been expecting. He’d tried to
make sex part of her contract, for crying out loud. “How do you know?”
“You don’t trust me.”
She considered that before breaking the silence again. “So…what
are we going to do?”
His hand swept her hair back as his lips brushed her forehead.
“Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to sleep.”
“Have you ever just…slept with someone like this before?”
“Only my wife.”
So she hadn’t gone
too
far. He was
offering her the comfort of his body in an asexual way and she sort of liked
that. It certainly eased her fear and anxiety, even her self-consciousness.
As she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of warm male,
she experienced a strange sense of satisfaction. Maybe this wasn’t as exciting
as a sexual encounter, but it was oddly gratifying. “You smell good,” she
whispered.
His hand slipped up the back of her shirt. But he didn’t bring
it around to her breasts. He merely flattened his palm against her bare skin.
Then, slowly but surely, his breathing evened out and hers must have, too,
because the next thing she knew it was morning.
* * *
Gail had slept deeply. But when she came to full
awareness, she realized that the contentment she’d felt the night before was
gone. She liked being in Simon’s arms just as much as before—didn’t want to be
anywhere else. But after spending the night pressed to his body, the awkwardness
of climbing into his sleeping bag had vanished. So had her reluctance to touch
him and be touched by him. As a matter of fact, all she could think about was
getting naked so she could feel more of him.
The love scene in
Shiver
played in
her mind as Simon’s chest rose and fell with each breath. She imagined him
making love to her as he and his costar had depicted, imagined his mouth moving
down her stomach—
“What’s wrong?”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was awake. But his thoughts
didn’t seem to be going in the same direction as hers. He didn’t sound happy to
be disturbed. “Nothing, why?”
“You keep moving.”
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, but shifted again—to bring their hips
into full contact.
She noted his surprise as she glanced up at him, felt his
irritation fall away as he came almost instantly to full attention. She’d
attracted his interest; she could tell by his growing erection. He opened his
mouth to say something. Then the doorbell rang.
“No way,” she grumbled.
He rolled onto his back and covered his face with one arm.
“Already?”
She pulled her cell phone closer to check the time. It was
barely eight.
“Who do you think it is?” he asked without looking over.
“Probably Kathy,” Gail guessed. “She said she’d bring us copies
of the fully executed real estate contract, but I don’t know why she has to do
it this early. I’m sure she couldn’t wait to see
you
again. I’ll get it.”
As soon as she left the sleeping bag, Simon got up, too, and
went into the bathroom. She heard the door close just as she peered out the
window. But the person on her porch wasn’t Kathy. It was a man.
Did she know him? There was something familiar about him, but
he was turned away from her....
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“Tex O’Neal.” At the sound of her voice he’d turned back to
face her. It was Simon’s father.
“Oh, God,” she muttered. “Simon?”
She’d had to whisper his name. Simon probably couldn’t hear her
over the running water. In any case, he didn’t answer.
“I need to talk to Simon,” Tex called.
Gail pivoted to head down the hall. She wanted to check with
her husband before letting Tex in. She knew he and his father weren’t on good
terms. Their relationship had always been rocky, more so in recent years. But
what was the point of asking Simon whether or not to let him in? They couldn’t
sit inside their house and refuse to open the door when she’d already given away
the fact that someone was home.
Self-conscious about her appearance, since she’d come straight
from bed, she smoothed her T-shirt and cautiously opened the door.
Simon’s father wasn’t nearly as attractive as Simon. He didn’t
have the same bone structure—the kind that made Simon almost as beautiful as he
was handsome. Simon had inherited those features from his mother. But his
father’s face was interesting the way Clint Eastwood’s was. Shrewd. Tough.
Unflinching. Despite their visual differences, father and son had the same
powerful personalities, however—the same magnetism and keen intellect. At least
that was Gail’s impression.
“I want to see my son,” he said without preamble.
His gaze swept over her, then shifted away as if he found her
wanting, which made Gail regret her courtesy in answering his knock. “He’s in
the bathroom. If you’d like to come in, he’ll be out shortly.”
She stepped back, half expecting to hear the jingle of spurs as
Tex walked in. He’d taken a lot of acting parts over the years, but none fit him
better than that of a hardened gunslinger; that, of course, was where he’d
gotten his nickname. He’d been called Tex for so long she couldn’t remember his
real name. Even now he was wearing a pair of fancy snakeskin cowboy boots and a
hat. No doubt he’d come straight from the ranch he owned somewhere farther
north.
Was it near the town of Chico? Gail couldn’t remember that,
either.
Simon came out of the bathroom, froze as soon as he saw his
father, then flipped his hair out of his eyes and ambled toward him. “What a
surprise,” he drawled.
Tex acknowledged him with a brief tilt of the head. “Must be,
considering you disappeared without letting anyone know where you were
going.”
The belligerent attitude that had become synonymous with Simon
over the past couple of years reasserted itself. His eyes glittered; his chin
jutted forward. The transformation was so marked and immediate it caught Gail
off guard. Obviously just seeing his father was enough to drag him into a dark
place.
“So…how did you find me?” Simon asked.
“Ian finally got tired of me busting his balls and gave me the
information I was after. But he said not to tell you it was him.”
“So of course you out him first thing.”
His father studied him for a second. “I’m not in the business
of protecting Ian.”
“No, that would require looking beyond your own concerns. But
I’m afraid harassing my business manager was a waste of your time. It would’ve
been smarter to call me.”
“Why would I bother?” he said. “You won’t pick up for me.”
Simon shoved a hand through his hair. “Most people would take
that as a sign and not show up on my doorstep.”
“Ordinarily, I’d leave you in peace. You’ve made your wishes
clear where I’m concerned.” He tipped his hat to punctuate his words. “But this
isn’t personal. It’s business. If you weren’t my lead actor, I’d be banging on
someone else’s door.”
A muscle flexed in Simon’s cheek. “
Your
lead actor? What the hell are you talking about?”
With a condescending chuckle, Tex stepped forward. “You don’t
know? Man, you really have been in a world of hurt. I’m bankrolling your next
film.”