Red Carpet Kiss

by Melissa Brown

  Elle lowered her voice, looking at the floor. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Troy looked back toward Elle’s table. And in that very moment, Elle realized she’d completely forgotten about Luke. She turned to see him sitting at the table, watching their heated discussion.

  “I should really get back.”

  “To your boyfriend?” Troy asked, his voice low as he stared at Luke with contempt in his deep eyes. Elle used to crave the soulful, expressive nature of those eyes. Now, they held nothing for her but disdain. Her stomach flipped and she felt like she could vomit.

  Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake?

  “Yeah,” she said softly, not wanting to explain the nature of her relationship with Luke. The conversation was awkward enough already. “To my boyfriend.”

  “Lucky guy.” His words were snide, as if he was trying to transfer his anger to its rightful owner. She knew who that owner was. They both did. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tilted his head to the side. “Has anyone warned him yet?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not to get too attached, the poor sap.”

  His words were like a swift punch to the gut. And she knew if she didn’t walk away that instant, she’d sob in front of him, exposing her pain to the world. There was no way she’d allow that. Not after ten years.

  “Good-bye, Troy.”

  Elle returned to the table, leaving Troy standing at the bar. Luke had paid the bill and requested their pizza be boxed up to go. Elle was grateful for the gesture as she knew she couldn’t stand being inside Troy’s restaurant for even just a moment longer.

  She needed to run far, far away from Anthony’s Pub.

  Wanna talk about it?”

  Luke’s question interrupted the hurricane inside Elle’s head as they drove along the highway, headed back to Elle’s home. Thoughts of Troy, both good and bad, flew with wild abandon around her brain. Despite the calm, tranquil breeze of the evening, she couldn’t focus on anything, not even Luke’s request. She shook her head. She knew it wasn’t fair to shut down in such a manner but had no idea what to even say.

  Luke reached to take her hand in his. Elle squeezed his fingertips while staring at the road ahead, attempting to process the events of that evening. Troy lived in California, not back in Chicago as she’d assumed. He owned a restaurant only half an hour from her place. And if his eyes were any indication, he still resented her just as much as the day he left her behind in their hotel room at the Bellagio. That final thought made a chill run down her spine.

  Even though she was filled with resentment and lingering questions toward her ex, the thought of him hating her was just . . . too much.

  Luke released her hand and turned off the radio. “Listen, I’m not gonna pretend to know what happened back there, but whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  Elle turned to face Luke. His wavy locks blew in the evening breeze. He was so handsome, with such a good heart, she knew he deserved to know the truth about Troy, the truth about her past. But their relationship was new and she was apprehensive.

  “He’s an ex.”

  Luke chuckled and patted her bare knee. “I figured that.”

  “A complicated one.”

  “Were you together long?”

  Elle shook her head before resting it on her hand. Her elbow perched against the interior of Luke’s SUV. “On and off. We couldn’t seem to figure it out.”

  “What did he call you . . . back at the restaurant?”

  Elle pressed her eyes shut before repeating her nickname. “Rigby.”

  Luke paused. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s from the Beatles song.” Elle waited for Luke to make the connection to the song, but his brow remained knitted as his eyes remained on the road. “My real name is Eleanor. Elle is just a nickname.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know the song. I’m not really a fan.” He clenched his teeth, baring his pearly whites in a please forgive me manner.

  Of course listening to the Beatles wasn’t a prerequisite to date her, but she always found herself surprised when people weren’t as wrapped up in the pop culture icons as she was. “Oh, I had no idea. Sorry, I just assumed—”

  “I don’t dislike them or anything. I just prefer the Stones.”

  Elle liked the Rolling Stones, but in her mind there was no comparison. She’d once read an editorial in which the writer claimed the 1960s were all about the Stones, not the Beatles. She’d vehemently disagreed.

  Luke cleared his throat and continued. “So when did you go out?”

  “Ten years ago.”

  “Wow. Long time.” He paused, shifting in his seat. He looked uncomfortable and Elle could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “And you still . . . never mind.” He shook his head.

  Elle shifted in her seat, turning her body toward Luke. “No, what is it?”

  “Nah.” He patted her leg again, this time allowing it to linger on her knee. “It’s way too soon for discussions like that. It’s not like we’re exclusive . . .”

  Elle’s brow formed a deep crease above her nose and uncertainty built within her. Luke’s tone was confusing. He was either fishing for a declaration of exclusivity or relieving himself of any sort of commitment hovering in the SUV. Normally, she’d confront him and insist on knowing exactly what he meant by that. But Troy’s reemergence was more than enough chaos for her to handle at the moment. She felt like she was walking through the surfing part of a fun house where you have to walk through the turning disk. Around and around it goes, as your feet attempt to walk across its constantly spinning axis. She was disoriented, confused, and felt as if she’d left her bearings back at Anthony’s Pub.

  The remainder of the car ride was silent. Elle stared out the window, breathing in the ocean air as they entered Santa Monica. She craved the comforts of home and wanted nothing more than to hide under the plush covers of her bed, allowing only Linus to puncture her solitude.

  Luke walked Elle to her front door, his hands in his pockets and his lips pressed in a straight line. Elle fumbled with her keys, her hands trembled, and her concentration faltered. When she inserted the proper key, the door pushed open. She sighed with relief, turning back to Luke.

  “I think we should call it a night.”

  Luke nodded. “I figured that.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She faked a smile. “Bright and early.”

  “You got it.” Luke removed his hands from his pockets, placing them on Elle’s waist, pulling her close. “Good night, Elle. I hope you have pleasant dreams.”

  Elle pressed her eyes tight, willing the tears that were forming to go the hell away. She had no time to cry over Troy or the burden he placed on her mind and she had no time to ponder what this meant for her budding relationship with Luke.

  Elle pressed her lips to Luke’s, softly at first, but when his fingers gripped into the skin of her back, she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. She cupped his cheeks with her hands, pressing them tightly to his warm skin, hoping he could make everything better. Somehow.

  With one outstretched arm, Luke opened the door, walking Elle backward into her house. His mouth drifted to her neck and the tickling sensation of his lips served as respite for her conflicted body and mind. Luke’s touch was intoxicating and she wanted nothing more than to get lost in the beautiful man who was worshiping her body, awakening every cell with his expert touch.

  In a swift motion, he’d taken her hands and lifted them above her head, pressing her back into the cold wood of the door. A small gasp left Elle’s mouth and her eyes locked with his. Luke’s voice was husky and deep. “I’ll make you forget about him.”

  One simple tear, filled with the pain of the past and conflict of the present, fell from Elle’s eye. Luke watched it as it drifted down her cheek. When the warm tear reached her jaw, he lunged slightly and kissed it from her skin. Elle was tormented by guilt. She wanted to succumb to Luke, to indulge
in the way he made her feel, but how could she do that when her thoughts kept drifting back to someone else?

  Elle freed herself from his grasp. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, turning back toward the door. “We should really call it a night.”

  Luke grabbed her hand, pulling her back. He nuzzled his nose against the most sensitive part of her ear. “Be here now,” he whispered. “Nowhere else. Just here.”

  Overwrought with both sadness and arousal, Elle pressed her lips to Luke’s; he reached to support her, hoisting her up against the door, allowing her to wrap both legs around his waist. He rocked into her again and again. The sensation of him, hard beneath his jeans, sent Elle into a frenzy. She wanted to escape into Luke, to forget about Troy and the burdensome conflict of her past.

  With her legs still wrapped around his waist, Luke carried her upstairs to the bedroom. They made love in the darkness and when Luke drifted off to sleep, Elle stared up at the ceiling, once again enveloped in the incident at Anthony’s Pub. Despite her sated desires, despite the slow rise and fall of the handsome man next to her in bed, a man she’d done nothing but think about for the last few months, she was back at the pub. She was standing next to the bar, looking into Troy’s soulful eyes, wanting to know more about him, despite the resentment that stood within her like a hulking tower. She was standing there, smelling the marinara, feeling the heavy weight of the bar against her fingertips and staring at the man she couldn’t forget despite the rantings in her head and the tugging of her heart.

  She tried.

  She tried to forget about Troy.

  But that just wasn’t possible.

  The fourth season of Follow the Sun was well on its way. Six episodes had aired and the tabloids had received word of a new actor who would soon grace the screen of the television hit. Paparazzi stalked Luke like newly discovered prey in the wild. He was a fresh face and although he wasn’t involved in any kind of personal controversy just yet, the photographers held on to any shred of a chance they could get at discovering just the tiniest bit of dirt on Luke Kingston.

  Nicole had been fielding phone calls from the gossip rags for several weeks. Elle had given her assistant a script to follow. She was to acknowledge Luke’s role on the show, but to answer nothing else. Of course, Nicole knew nothing of Elle’s personal relationship with the new member of the cast. A very small circle of people was aware of that information and Elle intended to keep it that way.

  Elle and Rob were discussing episode fifteen in her office when Nicole knocked on the door.

  “Elle, sorry to bother you, but you have a delivery.”

  Elle was confused. Nicole knew that, aside from an emergency, she was not to be disturbed while meeting with a colleague, especially Rob or Whitney. Whatever it was, Nicole could place it on her desk when they’d finished their discussion.

  “Okay, bring it in, whatever it is.”

  “Um, actually, it’s a pizza.”

  “Pizza?” Elle glanced at her watch. It was barely 11:00 a.m.

  A distinctive flutter spread throughout her abdomen and her heart rate increased within seconds when the deliveryman slid next to Nicole and revealed his face. A face she couldn’t forget even after ten years of trying. A face she hadn’t seen in weeks since their awkward confrontation at Anthony’s Pub.

  “Oh.” Elle stood, staring at Troy, who with one hand was holding a small white, green, and red pizza box. His other arm was hidden from view. His dark hair was perfectly coifed and a set of dark sunglasses rested atop his head.

  “Thought you might be hungry.”

  Rob stood, looking down at his cell. “That reminds me, I told Whitney I’d meet her for a bite. I’ll check in later, Elle.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rob followed Nicole out of the office and Elle stood staring at Troy. The butterflies in her stomach started out tiny, but were now spreading their wings and bouncing around inside her. She attempted to appear stoic, to sound like her normally confident, collected self. But he knew her too well. He must have known how anxious she was to see him again.

  “Rigby.”

  “Troy. What are you doing here?”

  Troy extended his other arm, revealing a small, pale green branch with slim leaves. Two small olives hung from the sprig.

  “You brought me an olive branch?” She resisted a smile as best she could, but the truth was, she was touched by the sentiment.

  “It was either this or a jar of olives. I thought this was a little more symbolic.”

  “Most definitely.” Elle crossed her arms in front of her chest but walked closer to Troy, taking the branch from his hand. His fingers brushed hers and an undeniable electricity traveled up her arm and down her spine.

  “How on earth did you get in here?”

  “I told the security guard I was delivering your lunch. You didn’t get to finish eating when you came to my place, and I felt bad about that.”

  “Thanks. Come, sit.”

  Elle watched as Troy glanced around her office, taking in the photographs on the walls, the posters of previous seasons, and her framed Emmy nomination letter. Once he’d inspected every bit of memorabilia, he sat opposite her, placing the pizza box on her desk.

  “Sausage and mushroom, your favorite.”

  Elle tilted her head, again touched by the gesture. This wasn’t the same Troy who’d confronted her in the restaurant. This Troy was kinder, gentler, more in control of his emotions. This Troy reminded her of just how sweet he could be. He had a soft side, even though he did his best to conceal it.

  “I asked around. The show’s a big hit. Congratulations.”

  “You asked around?”

  “You know, my staff. The waitresses are huge fans. I may be asking you for some autographs sometime in the near future.” He chuckled, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against his chin. The slightest bit of stubble was coming through and Elle remembered how much she used to love running her fingers over his five o’clock shadow.

  “Ah, I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive,” Elle teased.

  Troy shrugged. “What can I say? I’m full of ’em, I guess.”

  One of the butterflies in Elle’s abdomen stretched its wings to full capacity and she grasped her desk to get her bearings. Being in such close quarters with Troy was unreal—a scenario she’d played out in her head dozens of times over the years. She’d practiced speeches, rehearsed scenes in her head. She’d confront him for leaving her alone in that hotel room. No plane ticket home. No clue as to where he had gone.

  But now, she was finding it difficult to simply form a coherent thought while in his presence. She looked around her office as Troy opened the box of steaming deep-dish pizza.

  “Plates. I, um,” she stammered. “I don’t have plates. Give me a minute, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Elle hurried out of her office, walking briskly down the hall to the kitchen to collect plates, napkins, forks, and knives for their lunch. She had no idea how it would even be possible for her to eat around him. There was no way her frayed nerves would allow it. She retrieved two cans of soda from the fridge and made her way back to the office.

  Troy looked relaxed sitting in the office chair, his arm casually draped along the back. One ankle rested on his opposite knee and his hand rested on his thigh. His comfort and ease was sexy, yet disheartening. She didn’t want to be alone in her anxiety. She wanted them to suffer together, to commiserate in their discomfort. But that didn’t appear to be the case.

  “I got you a Coke. Do you still—?”

  “Yep. Haven’t kicked my sugar habit.”

  Elle placed the can in front of Troy.

  “And I see you haven’t kicked your poison habit either.” Troy always insisted Elle’s addiction to diet soda was her unhealthiest habit. He was vehemently against all artificial sweeteners, referring to them as poison to the body.

  “Yep, still addicted.”

  “I guess we haven’t changed all that muc
h, have we?”

  Elle paused before popping the top of her can. Her eyes bored into Troy’s. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

  Troy’s lips pressed into a thin line and he nodded. The tension in the air was thicker than the deep-dish pizza he sliced open with the knife. He served Elle first, then himself before closing the box and pushing it to the side. The room was still as Elle and Troy stared at one another. They’d already spent entirely too much time dancing around the topic at hand. The elephant in the room was wearing a cowboy hat and a feather boa—it demanded to be seen, discussed, felt.

  She stabbed her pizza with her fork, which stood straight up in the layers of cheese, sauce, and toppings. “So I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m terrible at small talk. I need to know why you’re here.”

  “I was hoping we’d cut to the chase. I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Oh.” A lump formed in Elle’s throat as heat grew in her cheeks. She never thought she’d hear those words from Troy Saladino. But she liked them. She liked them a lot.

  “The thing is, I gave up hope a long time ago. I never thought I’d see you again.”

  Elle crossed her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head. “And whose fault is that?”

  Troy flinched. “I probably deserve that.”

  “Probably?”

  Troy closed his eyes, shook his head, and continued. “We’re in the same city. I had to see you.”

  “You left, and then you shut me out. I tried . . . so many times, I tried.”

  Troy closed his eyes and grimaced. If he thought she wouldn’t bring that up, he was sorely mistaken. The years could soften some things, but his sudden departure from her life was not one of them.

  “I know,” he said.

  “I know nothing about your life. Are you married? Divorced? Do you have kids?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as she attempted to appear calm and collected. “To which question?”

  “I have a daughter. She’s the reason I live out here.”

  Troy was a father? Elle’s stomach tied itself into knots. She hadn’t expected that.