"I'll wait for the nurse," Bellamy said with a frown.
"I am a nurse," she said and met his gaze.
His brows lifted and he glanced at Leon for confirmation.
"She is," Leon said with a shrug.
She reached for his hand. "You don't want to put any pressure on it if it's broken." Her fingers carefully felt for any bones out of place as she rambled on like she was an encyclopedia expert for medical jargon. "The carpals are the eight bones of the wrist. They aren't actually part of the hand but are vital for its function." Stop talking, she kept telling herself but her damn tongue wouldn't listen. She could feel her heart throbbing in her burning cheeks, but she couldn't stop. Her nerves were on edge. Not because she didn't know what she was doing, she did, but she was actually touching Bellamy Lovel, sitting right next to him, her knees touching his thigh… Fan-girl mode just wouldn't shut down. "Metacarpals are the five bones that form the palm of the hand." She had gently turned his hand over and ran a finger over the palm. She probably would have gone on to describe the phalanges – all fourteen bones – but Bellamy had placed his uninjured hand over hers.
She met his gaze and his lips curved. "It's truly sexy and all with you giving me an anatomy lesson, but–"
"His anatomy lessons," Clark snickered, "usually end up in his bed."
Her face heated even more if that were possible and she wanted to just crawl away and die.
"Don't mind him," Bellamy said as he touched her chin, making her look at him. "Clark doesn't have many lady friends. I'm sure you can understand why." He winked.
The other band members chuckled. Even Clark laughed, not caring he was the brunt of the joke.
"Well?" Bellamy asked. "Am I going to live?"
"There's no swelling or bruising. No misalignment of the fingers. How's your ability to grasp?"
"I'm sure it depends on what he's grasping." Clark just couldn't keep his mouth shut, but Maury elbowed him in the ribs in an attempt to try. "Ouch," Clark said with a grimace.
Bellamy ignored his band mates' antics and squeezed her hand. "A little tender, but I can already feel a difference from a few minutes ago."
"Good. That's really good." He was still gripping her hand when she stood and offered a shoulder to help him to his feet, though she was pretty sure he didn't need any help at all.
Straightening to his full height his gaze met hers. "You have pretty eyes, Book Marm," Bellamy said. "Did anyone ever tell you that?"
It must have been a rhetorical question because he turned away and jumped back on stage. Leon handed him the microphone and it was business as usual.
She just stared at him, feeling a bit off-centered. Bellamy thought her mismatched colored eyes were pretty. He asked if anyone had ever told her that. No one but her grandmother had. His compliment made her feel all bubbly inside.
Chapter Five
What Would You Do
If anyone asked when there was a turning point in her relationship with Bellamy, she'd have to say it was at the video shoot when she'd come to his rescue…or so to speak. She suddenly had become a blip on his radar and he couldn't ignore her anymore. For the next two days, he made a point to engage her in conversation as if he were truly interested in what she had to say.
"How are you getting along so far? Have enough towels? Are there plenty of drinks and snacks in the fridge?" Bellamy asked her as they headed down in the elevator this morning. They had another video to shoot. This one was at a park.
She'd been with them for a total of five days and now he wanted to know how she was getting along. "Fine," she said.
"You say, fine a lot," he told her. "Do you need those glasses?"
"Only if I want to see."
He chuckled. "I take that as a definite yes."
At their lunch break, they were standing at the long table where food had been laid out potluck style. The park had plenty of trees and overhead coverings in the picnic areas to keep the sun from beating down on them. The crew secured the picnic benches located not far from the manmade lake.
Bellamy reached for two plates and handed her one of them. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"What?"
"Girlfriend is it?"
"No." She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
"No to a boyfriend or no to a girlfriend?" He plopped a roll on her plate as if she didn't know how to serve herself.
"Neither."
"So which do you prefer? Boys or girls?" He plopped some potato salad on her plate.
"Is this an interrogation?" she asked. He'd been shooting off random questions at her for the last ten minutes.
His shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug. "Just trying to get to know you. So?" He met her eyes without apology.
"I prefer men, not boys," she said and straightened her shoulders.
"That leaves you out," T.C., who had been apparently listening, told Bellamy as he passed by them to grab one of the sandwiches arranged on a platter.
"I'd say that leaves every one of us out," Bellamy countered, earning him the finger from T.C. and he chuckled. His eyes returned to her again.
"Why do you keep staring?" she whispered. "Do I have something on my face?" She brushed a hand over her nose.
"Am I staring?" he asked. "I guess I'm wondering what makes you tick. What do you do for fun? You've told me you work six days a week at some old folks home. You take foreign language classes when you're bored. You volunteer at some mysterious group that arranges events."
She couldn't very well tell him she was the president of his fan club that doesn't exist yet.
He added salad mix to her plate, but not to his. "It's the summer, but instead of taking a vacation, you signed up to babysit me."
She added grilled chicken strips and dressing. She glanced at Bellamy's plate of pasta and shrimp. "I thought we established on that first day I wasn't babysitting you."
"I didn't believe you," he said with a shrug when she met his gaze.
"And now?"
"Now, I'm interested in the woman who has a room next door to me." With that said, he went ahead of her to find a seat at one of the picnic benches.
She wasn't sure what happened in the last few days to change his mind about her and wanted to be friendly if she could call his endless questions anything of the sort. Was it because she was a nurse and not some bimbo his band hired? Or was it because she took the time to see if he was all right the other day when he fell?
She walked toward one of the picnic benches, not expecting to sit by Bellamy, but he was standing by the table he'd chosen, waving her over like he was directing a plane to land on the runway.
"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked him as she took her seat.
"Why what?" he countered and scooted way too close to her. She repositioned her seat and his lips curved slightly as if he thought her funny for wanting space.
"Why are you being nice to me?"
He appeared affronted. "I didn't know I hadn't been."
She was not going to back down. She lowered her glasses and raised a brow.
"Okay," he chuckled. "So I wasn't overly friendly at first. Maybe I realized my mistake and want to correct it. Or maybe I have a thing for nurses." He winked. She really wished he would stop doing that. Her stomach flip-flopped every time in response. She felt like she was on a rollercoaster. "Or maybe," he said as he held his fork in front of him as if he were really giving her question his complete consideration, "it's all superficial and I just dig your eyes." He stabbed his fork into a watermelon slice and took a bite.
"Hey, Chia," Clark called her attention as he plopped down across the table from her. She rolled her eyes in annoyance before leveling what she hoped was a disdainful look his way.
"Do you mind not calling me that?"
"Why not?" His lips twitched in amusement. "I think it's kind of cute."
"It's not cute," she snapped, losing a bit of her cool. "It's annoying."
She couldn't help but notice Bellamy
's grin had widened to show his teeth.
"Keep it up," her brother said as he sat down next to Clark on the bench, "And my sister may give you the stink-eye or the evil eye as my nana called it."
She shook her head and threw a grape at her brother, who caught it in his mouth. "Show off," she murmured.
"Our Romanian grandmother," Bryce continued, "used to say, she was a drabarni, a fortuneteller." He used his index finger to circle his eye. "Two different color eyes and all. She can read your palm and tell you your future. Piss her off, and she just may curse you instead." He wagged his eyebrows at Clark.
She'd forgotten her grandmother had made that claim about her. Though she knew it was to make her feel special, not that it held any truth to it, and also to keep the kids from teasing her. It had worked for the most part.
"Read my palm," T.C. said as he stood thrusting his hand over the table to her. His bright blue eyes were his best feature. Though if he didn't dye his hair pitch black, or at the very least colored his ruddy eyebrows too, he wouldn't look half bad.
"Okay," she said and decided to play along. She put down her fork and took his hand as she tried to remember something from 2007 that she could use without influencing his future. Then she knew. "You will one day think having red hair is cool."
T.C. took his hand back, not looking at all pleased with the prediction.
This had Maury cracking up. "Told you, man, your red hair is much cooler than that black ink you use. What about me?" Maury came around to the other side of the bench and made her scoot over so he could sit down next to her. His intrusion pushed her closer to Bellamy, but he didn't seem to mind in the least and didn't give an inch to lend some space. She looked at Maury's hand. "Hmm, I see you surrounded by children."
"Thought I told you to pack rubbers, dude," T.C. barked with laughter.
Maury threw him a disgruntled look, though the others thought it was funny.
"Did you ever consider," she said, "he might be a teacher or something?"
Maury grinned. "I've thought of being one now and again. Shit, she's good," he said to everyone.
"Okay, I'm game." Leon was next. He wiped his hand on his T-shirt and reached over the table.
"You'll compose many songs that become hit singles," she told him. It wasn't a stretch to think he would since everyone knew he was a musical genius.
"Why does he get a glamorous future?" T.C. whined. "And I get red hair."
"She can only read the truth boys," Leon said and puffed out his chest.
Clark was next and switched places with Maury. He gave her a hopeful glint.
"I see hamburgers in your future." She knew he opened a restaurant in Santa Barbara. She'd visited him there, once with Bryce. Still the same old Clark, only a little grayer.
"Hamburgers. I get hamburgers?" he said. "Hell, I'd take red hair instead."
She shrugged. Before she could say more, Bellamy had placed his hand in front of her. She glanced his way. His sunglasses were in place now and she couldn't read his expression. She took his hand and it felt so warm in her palm. What could she say about his future when he didn't have one? She went with what she believed he sought. "I see you want peace and happiness. You only have to reach for it."
"Maybe you're going to join a cult," Clark offered his interpretation. "You know, shave your head."
That had everyone laughing. Even Bellamy smiled.
"Nah," she said. "Girls would weep if he shaved off his best feature."
"Ooh," Bryce teased, "you better hope you don't end up bald, man, if that is your best feature."
Bellamy shook his head and that gorgeous mane fell into place once again. "Ain't goin' to happen."
The other guys chortled and began talking all at once, and it soon became difficult to follow the conversation.
Bellamy leaned near and whispered in her ear, "Interesting parlor trick, Book Marm."
"It's all in fun," she said and glanced his way.
"So you have a Romanian grandmother, do you? Now, I can understand your interest in learning how to speak Romanian." He shook his head. "Gypsies and fortunetellers," he said more to himself, but his lips curved.
"Why are you smiling?"
"My parents are from Romania," he told her. She knew, but she wasn't going to volunteer the information. "My father liked to entertain me with stories about his gypsy family." He reached for her hand and his thumb glided over her palm, sending a chill down her spine. "How about I read your palm?" She really thought he enjoyed seeing her squirm, especially when he gave her a sexy wicked smile, like now. "I see a woman who could use a night off just to let her hair down." He glanced at her hair tied back in a knot, and she could imagine her unruly mess doing its best to come loose from its confines, just because he ordered it.
"Letting my hair down," she lightly touched her locks. "Would be disastrous." Though she knew darn well that wasn't what he meant.
He chuckled softly. "I'd like to see it anyway." He reached for another beer that seemed to keep coming his way without him asking. She wondered if it was a standard order that someone deliver him a beer every hour. She'd lost count how many he had consumed already. A lot. Too much.
"Lunch is over," Bryce announced as he glanced at his watch. "We have to get going if we're finishing the video shoot today."
There were grumbles, but everyone stood. By the time they left the park, it was well past 9pm, but Bryce finally called it a wrap. It was a good thing some of the video called for nighttime shots. Now it was up to the editing department to do their magic and make the video a success.
Everyone was tired. The exuberance of earlier had deflated to half-hearted joking and final good nights. Her feet hurt from standing so much of the day and she couldn't wait to go back to the hotel room and stretch. She knew the perfect yoga sequence that would relax her and ready her for bed. Or maybe she'd soak in that hot tub for a while.
She noted Bellamy seemed mildly drunk, though he should have been worse off by her calculations from how many more beers he had consumed after lunch. He had wanted to go out for one last nightcap, but thank goodness, Leon vetoed it. They had an early morning roll call.
By the time they packed up the equipment at the park and headed back to the hotel, it was almost 11pm. Bellamy asked her to wait for him, while he went to the front desk and requested a wake-up call. He usually slept through the call, and she had to ring his room, but she let him go through the ritual.
They took the elevator up with a couple that left them when the doors opened on the third floor. Then they were alone. All alone. He was staring at her again, and she wondered for the umpteenth time why.
Finally, the doors to the elevator opened on their floor and he allowed her to go on ahead of him, like a perfect gentleman. She had a hunch it was more so he could check out her behind as she walked, but she had her sweater wrapped around her waist, so he wasn't seeing much.
She fished out her key from her purse once they were at her door. She turned to say goodnight to him, but he was so close she took a step away. He took a step closer and she backed herself against the wall. His lips slid into a smile that reminded her of a predator ready to take down its prey. This was Bellamy though: sexy as hell Bellamy with the voice that could seduce any woman into compliance. He knew it too. God, how he knew it.
His sure fingers removed her black-rimmed glasses. "I've been wanting to do that all day." He slipped the handle at the opening of her blouse. It was only her glasses, but it felt way too intimate, like his finger was doing the caressing as the handle brushed her cleavage. Next, he reached for the pins holding her hair in a bun, leaving it to cascade around her face like the frizz ball it was, but he didn't seem to mind. She wondered if he could hear her heart. It beat so fast, pounding hard as if it wanted to move closer to him.
"What would you say, Book Marm, if I picked you up and carried you to my room? Would you let me fuck you?" He nuzzled her neck but didn't kiss her, though she could feel the heat of those luscious
lips.
She bit her own to keep herself from crying out, Yes, yes, take me.
"You smell divine," he murmured.
She nearly snorted. Everyone knew Bellamy Lovel couldn't smell or taste due to a blow to the head. Well, in her time they knew that. He'd kept it a secret. Only after his death did everyone find out the truth. It had been a freak accident at a baseball game. The foul ball hit him in the head, but it was the fall where he hit the back of his head that caused the damage. His loss of those senses had also added to his depression.
"Well?" He glanced at her now. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and she could smell the alcohol he'd been consuming all day on his breath, but if she didn't know better, she would have thought he was indeed turned on.
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