“I hope so.” She bent and slid onto the leather seat of the limo. Hugh closed the door, leaving her alone in the luxurious car for a few seconds. She skimmed her fingers over the polished wood paneling and admired the subtle lighting. A privacy screen shut the passenger compartment away from the driver, turning the space into a cocoon of intimacy.
Hugh entered the limo on a waft of chilly winter air that made her shiver. The cold didn’t usually affect her that much, but being around Hugh seemed to heighten her senses. Now the rich scent of his soap drifted past her nostrils, and she couldn’t resist a deep inhale.
“When’s the interview with the vet?” he asked.
“The interview? Oh, it’s Saturday.” She’d been sidetracked by the memories his soap evoked.
He nodded. “Maybe you can get an extra day off after you hire her.”
“If I hire her.”
“I’m being optimistic.”
Hugh was never optimistic about people. “Do you know something about this vet that I don’t?” she asked, turning to find him staring straight ahead. “Hugh?”
He shifted to give her a look of astonishment. “How would I know anything about her?”
“Good question,” Jessica muttered. Would Hugh be able to conjure up the perfect veterinarian to work for her? Something about his responses made her suspicious. However, Carla had said not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she would keep the rest of her questions to herself.
“How did you spend your day off?” he asked.
“Sleeping late. Running errands.” She gave a little laugh. “I even picked up some paint samples for when Aidan finishes stripping the walls. I can’t believe my living room might get renovated in this decade.”
“You know, I’d really like to give him a hand when I have a break from shooting. I get genuine satisfaction out of doing that kind of work.” He gave her a wry look. “Every now and then.”
She remembered the time she’d visited him on a job site, where he’d been doing the kitchen cabinetry. He’d shown her how he’d dovetailed the drawers and made her run her fingers over the sanded edges of the cabinet doors to savor their smoothness. Then they’d made very illicit use of the expensive granite that topped the kitchen island. “Thanks, but it’s not a good idea.”
Instead of arguing with her, he leaned back in the corner of his seat while an odd smile played over his lips.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It was an interesting answer.”
“It was honest.” She tried to figure out why it had made him smile but couldn’t. “What did you do today?”
“Froze my balls off climbing around on a bridge. Of course, Meryl did the same thing in a ripped-up evening gown, so she was even colder.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be an actor.”
“I’ll like it better when we get to Palau.”
A pang of loss rattled her. “When do you leave New York?”
“In about ten days. We’re doing the bridge scene, another chase scene, and some interior shooting here before we depart for DC.”
She let her gaze skim over the length of him, taking in the legs stretched out across the limo’s carpet, the shoulders wedged against the door, the powerfully elegant hands, one resting on his thigh and the other on the leather between them. She lingered on the lines of his jaw and cheekbones and knew it was impossible for her to forget this man, no matter how many miles or years separated them.
The thought sent a slash of depression through her. She needed to remember the Hugh who had made her feel like a failure, not the man who had made her peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and massaged her aching feet at the end of a long day. To remind herself of why she had given back his ring, even though she loved him. Because otherwise her heart would break all over again when he got on the plane to DC and never looked back.
“I’d like to stay in touch this time,” he said, as though he had read her thoughts. He reached across the space between them to take her hand from her lap and curl his fingers around it.
“Why?” The simmer of his skin radiated deep into the bones of her fingers.
“You’re part of who I am.” He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.
The friction of his movement sent tendrils of sensation winding up her arm and through her body. She couldn’t pull free without making a fuss, so she tried to ignore his touch. “Just old friends, then.” Maybe she could manage that if he was halfway around the world.
His thumb went still, and he said in a flat tone, “Just old friends.”
At the theater-district restaurant, they were seated in a private corner, screened from the rest of the room by half-height walls. Hugh had explained that the owner was a former actor who understood the need for recognizable faces to be hidden so they could dine uninterrupted. As a result, many celebrities patronized her establishment, which brought in the general public hoping to catch glimpses as the famous folk entered and exited.
Now Hugh sat across the linen-covered table from her, the angles and planes of his face thrown into relief by the shadows of the candlelight. “Has anyone ever done a bust of you?” she asked as she slathered butter on a warm apple-raisin roll.
His eyebrows arched in perplexity. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“They should. It would be a shame not to capture that incredible bone structure in three dimensions.”
He dropped his gaze to the spoon he was fidgeting with.
“You still don’t like it when people compliment your looks,” she said, remembering his reaction at her front door. “I thought you’d be used to it by now.”
He put down the spoon and met her eyes. “It’s not what I want people to think about . . . the ones I respect, anyway.”
“I don’t understand why it bothers you.” She bit into the crusty roll and sighed with pleasure.
He shrugged and took a sip of red wine. Then he surprised her. “When I was a young kid, potential foster parents were scared away by my looks. I heard one man say my eyes were unnatural. The bone structure everyone admires so much made me look older than I was, harder, less innocent. I would have preferred to be a blond cherub with round cheeks and brown eyes. Those were the kinds of kids who got chosen.”
Jessica put down her roll. “You never told me that.” She was stunned by the anger she felt that he had concealed such an important piece of the puzzle that was him.
“There were a lot of things I didn’t tell you,” he said, his voice tight. “I recreated myself when I became an actor. I didn’t want anyone to know who I’d been.”
“I wouldn’t have loved you any less. And I might have understood you better.” Although they’d both been so young then.
He locked his blue eyes on her. “I couldn’t take that risk. You were so smart, so accomplished, so normal. I needed you to be dazzled by me so you didn’t realize who you were really in love with.”
Jessica rocked back in her chair. “But you told me about being a foster child, so why not tell me the rest?”
He gave her a crooked smile that held no amusement. “I was playing on your sympathy. I didn’t want you to know the whole truth.”
“You didn’t have to play on anything. I loved you.” And then it struck her like a flash of lightning. He hadn’t felt lovable. How could he, when no parent had ever been there to tell him he was? Her heart seemed to contract into a fist of sorrow. She stretched her arm across the table to lay her hand over his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through a constricted throat. “I didn’t realize . . .”
His brows drew down into a near scowl. “Sorry for what?”
“For—” She’d been about to say “for you,” but that sounded ridiculous when she remembered whom she sat across from. “For not understanding better.”
Hugh didn’t like the pity he saw clouding the clear gray of Jessica’s eyes. However, he did like the fact that she was touching his hand. He was also glad she hadn’t been offended when he’d c
alled her normal.
In his world, normal was rare, but other people didn’t always comprehend that. Normal meant two parents, a home where they had to take you in, a significant other who didn’t care what part you could get for her or him, and being able to eat cheese puffs whenever you wanted to.
Dear God, he was turning into a whiner.
He rotated his hand under Jessica’s so he could feel her palm against his. She had the hands he’d expect of a working vet: short, unpolished nails, slightly chapped skin from the constant washing, and a strength developed from continual use. He remembered how they’d felt moving over his body during their night of lovemaking and felt the stirring of desire again. His gaze slipped down to the swell of her breasts exposed by her top’s curving neckline.
She wanted to be just “old friends.”
“Hugh? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset?” He shook his head. “Just thinking about the past.”
The little worry line formed between her eyebrows. He used to smooth it with his thumb when they were lying in bed together, usually naked.
“We were young and ambitious. Both of us, not just you,” she said. “Maybe our attention wasn’t on each other as much as it should have been.”
“Don’t feel guilty,” he said, putting his other hand over hers to hold it there. “I was the one who tried to make you into someone different. I fell head over heels in love with a hardworking veterinarian. Why would I want you to be anyone else?”
“It goes both ways. I loved an up-and-coming actor. I should have expected the publicity that went along with that.” Honestly, she’d been fine with it—even enjoyed their forays into an alien world of sparkling glamour—until Hugh started to dissect her public appearances under the microscope of his disapproval.
“Let’s stop worrying about our youthful mistakes,” he said.
“And try not to compound them with more recent ones,” Jessica said.
He knew exactly what she was referring to. “I don’t consider our night together a mistake.”
She pulled her hand away from his. “It wasn’t a good idea.”
“That’s the second time you’ve used that phrase in reference to me. I believe I’m offended.” Unless he could interpret it to mean that he affected her more than she wanted.
She folded her hands on the table and looked down at them.
So he could interpret it his way.
She lifted her head to look him in the eye as though she wanted to strip away all his masks. “What do you want from me?” she asked with quiet intensity.
“Nothing. And you don’t want anything from me. That’s the point.” He moved his hand to the center of the table, palm up, and held his breath while she stared down at his invitation. For a long moment, he thought she would refuse it. But then almost in slow motion, she pulled her left hand from the security of her right and laid it on his. Relief washed through him like a heady taste of champagne as he closed his fingers around hers ever so gently, because he didn’t want to scare her away.
He nearly cursed out loud when the waiter arrived with their appetizers and he was forced to relinquish the delicious contact with her gentle vitality.
Watching her savor the onion tart with parmesan and pancetta almost made up for it. Unlike so many actors he knew—including himself at times—Jess ate with gusto, her face an open canvas of bliss. He barely took his eyes off her as he picked at his pear-and–goat cheese salad, his concession to the Julian Best diet.
“This crust is heaven,” she said, a dreamy smile curving her lips as she cut another bite. “Like butter made flaky.”
A tiny crumb lodged in the corner of her mouth, and he imagined himself licking it off, sending a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.
“My salad is equally delicious . . . if one is a rabbit,” he said.
She waved her fork in his direction. “Ha! It’s only fair to have a guy worry about his weight every now and then.”
“Stick with me and you’ll hear many, many guys moaning about their weight. It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Thank God my clients don’t judge me by my appearance.” She grinned. “Because there’s no way I’d wear Spanx to work.”
“It was a lot easier when I was twenty,” he said. “I could eat anything and not show it.”
“Like three bags of cheese puffs in twenty minutes,” she teased, referring to a night when he’d gotten drunk at a cast party, accepted a dare, and then puked up bright orange for the next few hours. “Of course, you purged those before they could turn into love handles.”
“Ah, but it got the attention of Lorenzo d’Albo, so it was worth the repulsiveness.” Stupid to be cast in a movie because you ralphed up cheese puffs, but the director had remembered Hugh’s stunt when he’d auditioned for d’Albo a week later, just by coincidence. Being memorable often paid off in Hollywood.
“I couldn’t believe you ate cheese puffs again the next day. I would have been off them for life.”
“Iron stomach.” He patted his hard, flat abdomen. But the ability to eat virtually anything had been a necessity in foster care.
The waiter whisked away their empty plates, and Jessica reminded him of another embarrassing story from their time together. He retaliated with an equally disconcerting moment in her life. Soon they were one-upping each other and disagreeing about what had really happened eight years before. And laughing. Just like old friends.
He loved it and he hated it. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what he wanted from Jess, but he knew that he wanted her.
For the first time in her life, Jessica regretted the appearance of dessert, because it signaled the end of dinner. Not that she didn’t find the rich-but-light-as-a-feather chocolate mousse layered between thin sheets of chocolate sponge cake nearly orgasmic, but she and Hugh were having so much fun. Trading stories took her back to those sunshine-filled days in California when her life opened out before her with what seemed an endless array of pure possibility. So many paths had spread out in front of her; she felt like she had all the time in the world to explore them. Part of the thrill was the prospect of having Hugh by her side for the journey.
When he was laughing with her over their meal, he seemed like the Hugh she’d known eight years ago. But when the last mouthful of mousse cake had been savored, while Hugh paid the bill and accepted the waiter’s discreet but heartfelt speech of admiration with practiced ease, she watched the younger Hugh disappear within the star.
Strange to realize how much she missed that old Hugh.
Chapter 13
The limousine pulled up to a plain metal door well away from the regular entrance to the theater.
“Is that the stage door?” Jessica asked.
He shook his head as he pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen. “Too obvious. This play is prime paparazzi territory, and they’ll be watching the stage door. So we’re going in through the delivery entrance.” His phone beeped with an incoming text. He glanced at it and stowed the phone in his pocket before he put his hand on the door handle. “Get ready to dash.”
A bubble of delighted laughter escaped her throat as Hugh took her hand and pulled her across the sidewalk, his strides so long that she had to trot to keep up. It felt ridiculous until she saw a man with a camera running in their direction, shouting, “Hugh! Hugh Baker!”
Hugh angled his body between her and the photographer for the last two steps before the door swung open and they hustled into the utilitarian, behind-the-scenes area of the theater. A flash of bright light made her blink.
“Damn it!” Hugh muttered. “Now they’ll be watching for the limo. I’ll get a regular sedan to pick us up.” He squeezed her hand. “I don’t think they got you in the photo.”
“Would you care if they did?” Jessica asked as they followed the stagehand who’d opened the door for them down a narrow hallway.
Surprise flickered across Hugh’s face. “I thought you would. You weren’t big on being photo
graphed in the past.”
“I was always worried that I would hurt your image.” Because Hugh had been so concerned about it. She liked to match her sneakers to the color of her scrubs, but that was the extent of her attention to fashion. “Now I imagine your image is virtually bulletproof, and we’re not an item, anyway.”
He laced his fingers between hers. “I would be proud to be photographed with such an impressive woman by my side.”
Their escort stopped in front of an elevator and pressed the call button. “The box is on level four. Someone will meet you at the elevator up there.”
Hugh nodded his thanks while Jessica stared at him, fighting the unsettling pleasure evoked by his words and his touch. There was a potent, almost sexual intimacy in having his fingers thrust between hers. A shudder ran through her when he lifted her hand to brush his lips over her knuckles while they waited for the elevator door to slide open. The flood of sensation almost obliterated the fact that he’d called her impressive, but she hung on to the memory.
The backstage elevator was barely large enough to allow the two of them to squeeze in, which magnified her awareness of Hugh a thousandfold. His scent enveloped her, his clothing rubbed against hers—even his breathing was audible in the charged silence that fell between them while the creaky contraption crawled slowly upward.
“I want to kiss you.” Hugh’s voice was a rasp. “Badly.”
She knew it would be a mistake, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him. His eyes blazed down at her, sending a flash of heat searing through her belly. “Yes,” she whispered.
Somehow he pivoted in the small space and sandwiched her between the back wall and his muscled body, the living, breathing solidity of him making her feel fragile and feminine. Threading his fingers into her hair, he tilted her face up and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that merged promise and demand. She locked her fingers around the swell of his biceps and hung on as lips and tongues met in a dance of seduction that melted her insides into pure desire.
Second Act Page 14