Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California)

by Maureen Child

  “I don’t know if I can drive that far on clear enough,” Thalia said. “I haven’t driven on snow in a long time.”

  “J.R. will take you, and we’ll get the rental back to Billings for you,” Minnie offered in what was supposed to be a helpful tone. It made J.R. want to yell at her. What were the two of them trying to do, push Thalia out of here?

  “You can stay as long as you want.” He told her that at dinner, and he told her that in bed that night, the scent of sex still hanging over them. He wanted to tell her she could stay forever, but it sounded crazy, even to him.

  “I have to get back.” He hugged her tight, wishing she wasn’t right but knowing she was. “But not tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. One more day,” he said. One more day of happiness.

  How was he going to let her go?

  There had to be a way. He just didn’t know what it was.

  * * *

  That last day together was hard on Thalia. She knew she needed to be enjoying every last second of her time with J.R., but reality was too insistent. She was heading home tomorrow morning—where she’d have to face Levinson without the actor she’d promised to deliver. She had no doubt he’d fire her on the spot, and she had little doubt he’d make sure she didn’t get another job.

  Inevitable unemployment wasn’t what she found the most depressing. No, the most depressing thing was that she was going to have to say goodbye to J.R. True, they’d get a few extra hours together on the drive to Billings, but then she’d get on her plane and he’d get back in his truck, and that would be that.

  Maybe not, she found herself hoping. He’d said she could come back; she’d invited him out to California. Maybe she’d see him again. Maybe this wasn’t The End. Maybe it was To Be Continued...

  Of course, the last time she’d attempted a long-distance relationship had been when she left her college boyfriend behind to go to Hollywood in the first place, and that hadn’t made it a month before the relationship fell to bits.

  The whole thing sucked. She couldn’t give up the life she had—the career she’d made—to take up with a rancher, even if that rancher was J.R. This wasn’t the movies, after all. This was real life.

  So, on February 2, she packed up her things and carried her bags down to the kitchen. J.R. was outside with Hoss, which was just as well. He’d been quiet the whole night and morning, and Thalia wanted to say goodbye to Minnie without any men around. She was pretty sure there would be tears.

  “You’ll let me know how it goes?” Minnie said while hugging Thalia.

  “Of course.” How could she not let Minnie know how the firing went? “You’ll take care of J.R. for me, won’t you?”

  “Oh,” Minnie said, sniffling a little as she waved the question away. “I predict a few months of temper tantrums after this.” Thalia guessed it was supposed to be a little joke, but it almost broke her heart.

  J.R. and Hoss came back in, and J.R. went upstairs to get his bag. He’d told Thalia he was packing a change of clothes, in case the roads were bad enough that he couldn’t make it home in the dark. That left Thalia with a sniffling Minnie and Hoss, who looked as uncomfortable as a man of his size could. “Thalia,” he said, sticking out a hand for what was bound to be an awkward handshake.

  “Hoss.” She couldn’t leave it at a shake. These people had become too important to her. She gave him one of those awkward hugs with their clasped hands in between their bodies.

  “Don’t forget, I’m still looking for a casting couch.”

  “I’ll do my darnedest to find you a good one.” Thalia had to blink a couple of times to keep the tears from spilling over.

  Then she heard J.R. thumping back down the stairs. Putting on the happiest face she could muster, she turned to him.

  He stood there, taking in the scene. He had a duffel bag in his hand, a hat on his head—and a suiter slung over his shoulder. “J.R.?”

  He locked his gaze on her. “I’m going with you.”

  She couldn’t tell if this was a dream come true—he wanted to come with her—or a nightmare of epic proportions. “What? No—you can’t!”

  A look crossed his face—the same look he’d given her on that first day, when he’d left her out in the cold. It sent a chill through her. “I’m not saying I’ll take the part. But I’ll meet with Levinson.”

  “But—but—but you hate him! And if word gets out about you, the press will come after you—you have no idea what it’s like these days, J.R.!” The irony of her words struck her. Was she actively trying to keep him from coming with her? Really?

  “I’m not afraid of him or anyone.” He squared his shoulders. “I can take it. I’m coming with you.”

  He was doing this for her. She knew that with unwavering certainty. He wasn’t protecting himself. He wasn’t throwing her under the bus—or, as he said it, in front of the bus. He was putting himself at risk for her.

  No one had ever laid it on the line for her before. He’d said it himself—a real man made sure a lady was safe. If he came, if he took the part, if he made a big return to the screen, she’d get to keep her job. She might even get to see him on a semiregular basis, especially while they were filming. It could work.

  But he wouldn’t be happy being famous again. She knew it—and so did he.

  “No.”

  That was the hell of it. He wanted to come with her, she wanted him to come with her—but she had to protect him. From himself, it seemed. She couldn’t let him throw away everything he’d worked for, just for her.

  The tension in the room felt like a rubber band about to snap. J.R. leveled those beautiful amber eyes at her. God, he would be her undoing. “I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

  “I’ll make Hoss take me.”

  This threat proved empty before the words had dissipated out of the air. Hoss coughed behind her. “Sorry, Thalia. I got work to do.”

  The desperation that gripped Thalia was sadly familiar. She wasn’t going to be able to talk herself out of this. She couldn’t control the situation—instead, the situation was controlling her. Still, she heard herself say, “Minnie?”

  “I don’t drive on snow if I can help it,” Minnie said, her voice small. “Black ice,” she added.

  One corner of J.R.’s mouth curled up, a smile in victory. He looked like a mercenary. “I’m going.”

  “It’ll change everything.”

  That wasn’t some half-baked attempt to stall. That was the truth. Everything would be different for him. For her, too.

  His face softened. He looked less deadly, more thoughtful. “Maybe it should.” Then he picked up her bag and walked out the door.

  “Take care of him,” Minnie said, and Thalia heard the catch in her voice.

  “I will.” It felt like an empty promise, though. Taking care of him would be making sure his secret was safe—that he was safe. Letting him come to Hollywood? How was she supposed to take care of him there?

  The path Hoss had plowed was passable, at best, and she was extra glad she didn’t have to drive. J.R. was silent, both hands gripping the wheel. She wanted to try and talk him out of making the journey with her, but she also didn’t want to make him drive into a snowbank.

  Hoss had been right—the road was pretty good, once they reached it. J.R. loosened his grip on the wheel and relaxed back into his seat a little. They still had a long way to go, though.

  Again, she found herself knowing she had to plead her case to J.R. and not knowing how to go about it. At least this time, she wasn’t in danger of freezing to death.

  She’d spent a week and a half in this man’s bed. Trying to talk to him shouldn’t seem like such a treacherous mountain to climb.

  “Listen,” she started, because she didn’t have any better ideas but also because that’s what she wanted him to do.
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  “No, I understand how it is. Beautiful, intelligent woman like you—you probably have someone else.”

  He thought she’d lied to him. “That’s what you think?”

  His only response was a curt nod of his head.

  “J.R., you listen to me. The only thing I want more than for you to come with me is for me to stay with you. But I can’t—and not because I’ve got some other lover stashed somewhere. The only reason I’m trying—trying—to talk you out of getting on that plane with me is because I know it won’t work.”

  “It could,” was his gruff reply.

  “It won’t—and not because we don’t want it to. It won’t work because sooner or later, you’ll be James Robert Bradley again, and the moment that happens, the moment you lose J.R., you’ll hate it all over again. And since I’m the reason you gave it up, you’ll...” Hate me. She couldn’t say the words. She hated having to say these things, hated having to break her own heart. Most of all, she hated being right.

  Because she was. When she’d shown up on his porch that first day, she hadn’t cared about J.R. All she had cared about was the great press James Robert Bradley would bring to the role, the tickets his comeback performance would sell.

  All that had changed. Now, money was the last thing on her mind. The man was more important. The man, she realized, was everything.

  Unable to keep her tears back, she turned to look out the passenger side window. It was better this way, she tried to tell herself. Better to end it now, when they could just be unhappy with each other, before both of their lives got turned upside down and inside out. She’d seen that happen too many times. People on a set—away from their real lives—fell madly in love, only to watch the whole thing disintegrate on them when they had to go back to the real world.

  She didn’t want that to happen to them.

  The silence in the cab of the truck weighed down on her. Breathe, she told herself.

  J.R. cleared his throat. Thalia tensed, but he didn’t say anything for a few more agonizing seconds. “You aren’t seeing anyone else?”

  “No. Dating within the industry is a death trap on the best of days.” Why did she have to defend herself here? She’d been honest with him. She hadn’t slept with anyone in a year. She’d dumped her last boyfriend before Valentine’s Day as a matter of self-preservation.

  Of course, the moment she thought that, guilt rushed in. She hadn’t been completely honest. She hadn’t told him about her disastrous affair with Levinson. When she’d been leaving and he’d been staying, it hadn’t seemed relevant. But now?

  The silence stretched for another painful minute. Thalia couldn’t decide if she should keep her mouth shut or tell J.R. about her messy history with Levinson.

  Was it any of his business who she had or had not slept with in the past? They were lovers now—obviously. That didn’t necessarily entitle her to the list—and she knew it was long—of his previous paramours, both of the famous and not-so-famous variety. Why would it be any different for him?

  The past was just that—the past, she decided.

  “I’m, uh, not real good with apologizing.” J.R.’s hesitant statement should have been awkward, but instead it only made Thalia want to smile. She looked at him. His eyes were still glued to the road, but his face had relaxed. He was in danger of smiling.

  No, he wasn’t good at apologies. But he was willing to attempt it. For her. “Practice makes perfect.”

  He reached over and squeezed her leg. Then they hit a slick spot and he had to put both hands back on the wheel. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard. But you’re...” He cleared his throat again. Thalia felt like she should look away from him, so he could get what he was about to say off his chest. He was incapable of talking with eye contact. At least, out of bed.

  So she moved her gaze to the windshield and waited.

  “You’re important to me and I’ll fight to be with you.” The words came out in a rush, like air escaping a balloon.

  Now how was she supposed to argue with that? Was she supposed to say that she wasn’t that important? Tell him he didn’t mean as much to her as she did to him? Was she supposed to lie to his face and tell him that wasn’t one of the more romantic things anyone had ever said to her? That he didn’t make her melt?

  No. There wasn’t any way to argue with the fact that she was important to him, and he was willing to take a huge risk for her.

  “It’s my choice. Even if it isn’t the best one, I want to be the one who makes it. And I choose to hold on to you right now. If you don’t feel the same way, I’ll understand.” This time, he didn’t talk like he was mad at the world. His voice was tender again, more questioning than demanding.

  Thalia couldn’t remember if she was supposed to breathe in or out and wound up coughing. “You okay?” he asked, giving her leg another quick squeeze.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Things could still go a thousand ways wrong, but she had to take a chance—this chance—that things would go right. She had to trust him, and she had to trust herself.

  She leaned over and touched his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better, J.R.”

  Fourteen

  One thing was for sure. J.R. wasn’t used to traveling anymore. The drive to Billings wasn’t so bad, but the puddle jumper to Denver about did him in, and the 737 to LAX wasn’t much better. Even from first class.

  Another thing he learned real quick was that, even though he could handle a Montana summer, he wasn’t ready for the warm air that hit him in the face the moment they stepped outside the airport in sunny California. Despite having to deal with manure on a daily basis, the smell of L.A. made his head hurt. Was that a new odor, or had he just not noticed it before?

  The throng of people was the third thing that set him back on his heels. Yeah, he had a lot of cowboys on the ranch in the summer, and yeah, he did fine in the bar in Beaverhead, even when it was crowded.

  But he’d forgotten about the sheer volume of humanity that walked around L.A., often in outfits that barely qualified as clothing. Thalia had offered to put him up at the Chateau Marmont, but he had too many memories of the hotel where Hollywood went to party. When she had then suggested he stay at her place, he jumped all over it. After all, it didn’t matter so much about the noise or the people or the smell as long as he was with her. It felt strange to sleep in a different bed, but she was in it with him, so it wasn’t that strange at all.

  The next day, instead of hiding from people who might or might not recognize him, he’d spent part of the afternoon sitting in a coffee shop a block away from Thalia’s apartment, reading Variety and drinking cups of coffee with six-word names while she was at work. He’d watched the people, too. Everyone was so skinny here, with the women all looking eerily similar to plastic dolls and the men appearing to be waxed within an inch of their lives. J.R. had found himself stroking his chin. Very few beards around here. He stuck out like a sore thumb, which didn’t jibe well with the whole trying-to-be-invisible angle he was working on.

  Thalia had called a couple of hours ago, after she got out of her meeting with Levinson. Yes, he was excited to hear J.R. was interested in the part, but he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, she’d said. There was a party happening tonight at some club that hadn’t existed eleven years ago. If she’d told him what the party was for, he didn’t remember. Everything but the fact that he was going to have to go to a social event with God only knew how many celebrities—and accompanying paparazzi—washed over him.

  “You don’t have to go,” Thalia had said when he hadn’t come back with a response.

  On the one hand, he liked that she wanted to protect him. He knew his trust in her wasn’t misplaced, that she cared for him. It made him want to spend another night making love to her—to hell with parties.

  On the other hand, it was a
direct blow to his male pride. He would not cower in this apartment, by God. He didn’t cower. “It’s fine.”

  The pause had been long, and he could see her trying to decide if she should argue with him or let it ride. “I’ll be home in an hour. We’ll eat dinner and go. We won’t stay long, not if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s fine,” was all he had been capable of saying.

  Which is how he found himself standing in Thalia’s bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel and a beard. The options weighed heavy on him.

  No one else in this town seemed to have a beard, not a full one like his. It wasn’t like he was married to the beard. He shaved in the summer, when extra insulation wasn’t required. Plus, he cleaned up well. If he shaved, he’d look more like his old self, the celebrity people would recognize.

  But he didn’t want to be what people expected, not anymore. He lived his life on his terms now. Maybe he should keep it. Thalia loved it, after all. It’d be a quick ’n’ easy way to announce to these people that he didn’t play by their rules. He didn’t have to conform to their expectations. He was his own man, for crying out loud, and he could wear a beard if he wanted.

  Jeez, it was like the beard was his life. Did he want to look like James Robert or J.R.?

  Who the hell was he?

  “Screw it,” he muttered to himself. Ten minutes later, he rinsed off his face and looked at his reflection. God, he hoped Thalia liked it.

  He’d never worn a goatee, but sometimes, a man had to split the difference.

  * * *

  “Ms. Thorne,” a beefy, bald bouncer said, nodding his head in greeting. He lifted the velvet rope—they still had velvet ropes, so that hadn’t changed—and motioned her up the staircase in the middle of the club. The thing seemed to be made of solid glass, and J.R. saw a go-go dancer, or whatever they were called now, gyrating on the landing halfway up.

  Thalia led the way, which gave J.R. a chance to appreciate the fine view of her backside in a skintight red cocktail dress that was backless. As far as he could tell, the dress didn’t make any allowances for underthings of any sort, and his imagination was running rampant. Raw desire was the only thing that kept him from panicking at this point.