by Marie Force
I look at him, and he nods for me to go ahead and tell her. So I relay the story of how we met in the park, how Fluff bit him, and how we had coffee and then dinner together Saturday.
“So you guys are dating?” she asks, her squeal reminiscent of Leah’s.
I answer quickly. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
He shocks me when he reaches for my hand and links our fingers. “Yeah, we are.”
Aileen fans her face. “Holy shit.”
Logan pounces. “Mom!”
“Sorry, honey, but really, you have to admit this situation calls for a swear word or two.”
Madison giggles while Logan stares at his mother like he’s never met her before. I get a glimpse of what Aileen was like as a younger, healthier woman, and I’m saddened all over again for the battle she’s waging.
“I’ve seen all your movies,” Aileen says almost shyly to Flynn. “Most of them at least five times.”
“I’m so glad you enjoy them. That’s great to hear.”
“You must hear it all the time,” she says.
“Never gets old to know that what we’re doing is connecting with people.”
“It’s connecting all right.” The dirty double meaning isn’t lost on us, and we laugh.
“Which one is your favorite?” I ask.
“Oh gosh, do I have to pick just one?”
“You can pick as many as you want,” Flynn says, making Aileen giggle.
I love seeing her laugh. We spend an hour with them, talking movies and Hollywood. Flynn is amazing. He answers all her question about his friends and what they’re really like and how much of what is printed about all of them is utter crap. Aileen hangs on his every word, as do I, because I feel like I’m learning more about him listening to him talk about his work.
When I see her begin to tire, I suggest we should go and let her rest.
“Not before we take some pictures,” Flynn says. “Aileen will want to brag to her friends about this, and she can’t do that without pictures.”
In that moment, I absolutely adore him. It no longer matters that he didn’t call me. I feel like I’m seeing his heart right now, and I like what I see. I like it very much. He poses for no fewer than fifty photos with Aileen and the kids, some of them silly, some of them ridiculous and a few that will give her something to keep her warm on cold winter nights. He is endlessly patient with her and the children.
“I will never, ever forget this,” she tells him when he gives her a final hug to say good-bye.
He kisses her forehead and then pulls back to look her in the eye. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you or the kids, here’s my card. Call me. I mean it.”
Aileen’s eyes fill with tears. “You’ve already done more than you’ll ever know.” She turns to me. “And you, you sneaky devil! Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. Feel good and keep in touch, okay?”
“I will.”
After we say good-bye to the kids and I receive a very tight, very emotional hug from Logan, we take our leave. We are quiet as we descend the stairs and head outside into encroaching darkness. The days are so short this time of year, something I normally find depressing. But I’m so exhilarated by what we just did there’s no space for depression.
“That was so fun,” I say to him when we reach the bike. “Thank you again.” I look up at him and note that he seems tense.
“What can I do for them? How can I make this easier for her?”
“What you just gave her—”
“Is a small thrill that’ll last a day or two until reality sets in again. How can I help her in some more meaningful way?”
I stare up at him, not sure how to reply.
“How do I give her money?”
“You, um, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t. I want to. That would make me happy. Is there a fundraising effort or anything?”
“Yes, through the school, but you don’t have to—”
He taps his finger against my lips and smiles. “I know I don’t. I truly want to.”
“That’s very nice of you. All of this… Really, I can’t begin to tell you how much it meant to her—and to me.”
“It was a pleasure.”
“I’m sure you have somewhere to be, so I, um, I’ll let you get going.”
“That’s it?” He fixes that gaze on me, and I feel like the proverbial deer trapped in headlights. It’s that potent.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re going to walk away and that’s that?”
“I know how busy you are, and I’ve already taken a good chunk of your time.”
“I’m actually enjoying a rare bit of time off before I leave for LA and then begin postproduction on the film we just wrapped.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say. Hearing he’s been enjoying time off that didn’t include calling me annoys me, even if I wish it didn’t. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time off.”
“Thank you.”
Suddenly I need to know. I have to know. It’s the last thing I want to ask and the only thing I need to know. “Were you going to call me? If I hadn’t texted about Aileen, would I have ever heard from you again?”
He looks down at me for a long, intense moment. “No.”
“Good to know.” I begin to walk away, but he follows, grasping my arm in a grip loose enough that it doesn’t trigger any of my well-honed defense mechanisms but tight enough that I can’t get away without a fight.
“Let me explain.”
I attempt to pull my arm free of his grip. “No need. I get it. You could have anyone.”
He gives a gentle tug that throws me off balance, and before I know what’s happening, I’m pressed against his chest and his arms are around me. “I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”
I’m so busy trying to catch my breath from the events of the last two minutes that I can barely process what he’s said. And then he’s kissing me. His hands frame my face as his lips move softly over mine. The kiss is sweet and undemanding, but I feel its impact everywhere. I lean into him, wanting to be closer, and raise my arms to encircle his neck.
I forget we’re on a city street where anyone can see us. I forget who he is and that photographers stalk him. I forget that it’s freezing or that I was about to walk away. I forget that he had no plans to call me. I can only think of what it feels like to be surrounded by his rich, masculine scent as his lips destroy my resistance.
He breaks the kiss and turns his attention to my neck. “I wasn’t going to call because of me, not because of you. Not because I didn’t want to see you again, because I did. I do. You’re all I’ve thought about since I saw you last. When I got your text yesterday, I was so happy to hear from you.”
I’m not sure which is having a greater impact on me—what he’s saying or what he’s doing to my neck as he speaks. His breath is warm against my cold skin. I’m one big goose bump as I hang on his every word. I’m breathless as I wait to hear what else he has to say.
But he withdraws from me, so suddenly I stumble. He’s right there to catch me, his hands on my shoulders steadying me. “Will you come with me so we can talk some more?”
I know I should decline. I should walk away from him while I still can. This whole thing is nothing more than a fantasy that can’t possibly go anywhere. I already know he has the power to hurt me, perhaps worse than I’ve been hurt in the past, and I can’t bear the thought of that. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Please?” He bends his head to the side and smiles at me. He’s cute, and he knows it.
Maybe if he hadn’t kissed me, I’d be able to resist that adorable grin and the equally adorable plea. He who could have anyone wants to spend more time with me. It’s hard not to be flattered by that. What’s another hour with him at this point?
“Okay.”
He raises his arm and flags down a cab. “You’ll freeze on the bike. I’ll come back
for it later.”
Only when we’re ensconced in the back of a toasty warm cab do I realize how cold I am. How long were we outside? I have no idea. Could’ve been five minutes or an hour. My brain is still scrambled from the Kiss with a capital K. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been kissed. The last time, I was fifteen, before my life changed forever.
Two boys kissed me that year, but what a difference it is to kiss a man rather than a boy. There’d been no overabundance of spit or awkward tongue thrusting with Flynn. No, his kiss was sublime and skilled, even if it included only the touch of lips and nothing more. He knows what he’s doing. And the spontaneous way in which it happened… I’ll be thinking about that long after this interlude with him is a distant memory.
Chapter 7
In the backseat of the cab, he puts his arm around me and nuzzles my hair.
I lean into him, wanting to be closer to him.
“Did I fuck up by kissing you?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I raise my head off his shoulder to meet his gaze. He seems genuinely worried. “What? No. You didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod because the words I wish to say are stuck in my throat. I can’t look away from him. He draws me in with his magnetic appeal, and the closer I get to the heat, the more enthralled I seem to be. His kindness to Aileen and her children makes him even more attractive to me than he was before.
I need to be careful. I know that. I can’t afford the kind of disruption he could be in my well-planned and well-ordered life. But right now, in this moment, with his arm around me, his scent filling my senses and his nearness making me want so much more, being careful isn’t my top priority for the first time in eight years.
We ride uptown in silence, until the cab stops outside a high-rise.
Flynn releases a low curse. “Can we go around the block?” He rattles off a new address, and the cab merges into traffic again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Paparazzi camped out front waiting for me.”
“How could you tell?”
“I recognize them. They’re paid to follow me.”
“Paid to follow you… What that must be like...”
“It’s no fun, especially when you value your privacy and that of your friends.” He asks the driver to pull into a driveway that slopes downward to a metal door. “Stay here for a sec.”
I watch him get out of the car and punch a code into a number pad that opens the metal doors. Then he gets back into the car. Handing a fifty-dollar bill to the cab driver, he says, “Will you take us in please?”
“Will I be able to get out of here?” the cabbie asks.
“Yeah.”
We descend into the parking garage we were in the other night. The cabbie lets out a low whistle at the sight of the Bugatti.
Flynn directs him to turn around on the other side of the garage, well away from the priceless vehicle. He gets out and reaches for me. “Thanks for the lift. The door will open for you.”
“Could I bother you for a photo with the car?” the driver asks in broken English.
“Sure,” Flynn says, even though I can see he’s impatient and not really in the mood for pictures. Still, he stands with the driver, smiles for the photo I take of them with the driver’s camera. We wait to make sure he actually leaves the garage before we head up to his place.
“That was nice of you,” I say in the elevator.
“What was?”
“Taking a photo with him.”
He shrugs off the compliment. “It was no big deal.”
I like him all the more for his humility. “It was to him and to Aileen.”
“My dad likes to say it doesn’t cost anything to be nice to people.”
“I think I’d like your dad.”
“I know he’d like you.” He reaches for my hand and leads me into his apartment. “Can I take your coat?”
Still processing what he said about his dad liking me, I unwrap my scarf and hand it and my coat to him.
“I could go for some hot chocolate,” he says. “You?”
“I never say no to that.”
“Come help me. I’m lost in the kitchen.”
“Can you boil water?”
“It’s best if I don’t do that on my own.”
I roll my eyes at him because I can tell he’s being outrageous on purpose, but since he’s also being adorable again, I go into the kitchen to help.
“I’m going to be really bummed if I offered you hot chocolate and I don’t have any,” he says as he roots through cabinets.
I spot the box of instant hot chocolate mix and reach over his head for it. When I start to lose my balance, he steadies me with his hands on my hips. That’s all it takes for my entire body to feel like it’s encountered a live wire. The current travels through me, waking up all the parts that make me a woman. “Here,” I say as I hand him the box.
“Thanks.” He seems reluctant to let me go, but he does so he can get mugs.
We sit at the bar, and he produces whipped cream that he applies to both mugs of steaming hot chocolate.
“You know what this needs?” He stands and goes back into the kitchen, returning with a bottle. “Bailey’s.” Holding up the bottle, he says, “Yes?”
“Sure. I’ll try a little.” After he pours the liquor into my mug, I take a sip and feel the warming burn of the Bailey’s deep inside. “That’s good.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and traces my cheekbone with his finger. His touch starts an all-new burn inside me that has nothing to do with liquor or hot chocolate.
I glance at him. “You wanted to talk?”
Seeming reluctant, he drops his hand from my face and looks down at the floor.
I hold my breath, waiting to hear what he will say.
“I was convinced, by a friend, that there’s no place in my life for someone as sweet and lovely as you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says with a deep sigh, “I’m an idiot because I let someone tell me this is a bad idea when every cell in my body is telling me you’re the best idea I’ve had in years. Perhaps the best idea ever.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say to that.
He takes my hand again, bringing it to his mouth and running his lips over my knuckles. “My life isn’t for everyone. You just got a small demonstration of how the paps camp outside my building hoping for a glimpse of me so they can sell a picture to a tabloid. They pursue me relentlessly.”
“And that’s why your friend doesn’t think it’s a good idea for you to see me?”
“That’s part of it.” He twirls his finger through the dollop of whipped cream in his mug. “The thing is, though, since Saturday, you’re all I think about. I’ve relived every second we spent together probably a hundred times since then.”
“So have I.”
“Yeah?” He looks so hopeful that I can’t help but smile.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve cast some sort of spell on me, haven’t you?”
“That’s it exactly. You’ve figured me out.”
“It’s the only possible explanation for the way my heart nearly jumped out of my chest when you texted me yesterday.”
“It did not.”
“Yes, it did.”
I focus on my drink because I don’t know where else to look. His confession has me reeling.
“Natalie… Look at me.”
I summon the courage to let my gaze meet his, and I’m astounded by what I see—affection, amusement, desire.
“You’re very satisfied in your life. You love your job, your kids, your roommate and your new life in the city. If you get involved with me, your life will change in ways you can’t imagine.”
“What sort of ways?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“For one thing, the paparazzi will stalk you, and when I say stalk you, I mean they will be relentless. They’ll take photos and print lies about you. They�
�ll tear apart your clothes, your hair, your past.”
I take a sip of my drink, and we both notice the tremble of my hand. My past is buried so deep, it’ll never be uncovered, but that doesn’t mean the thought of being pursued doesn’t terrify me, because it does. I didn’t do anything wrong in that situation, so it’s not like I have something to be ashamed of. But I’m ashamed nonetheless, and I’d hate for him or any of my other new friends to know about my past.
“What else?” I ask.
“That’s not enough to scare you away?”
“I’d like to have all the information before I decide.”
He tips his head again, something I’m coming to recognize as one of his charming characteristics. It conveys interest and a sense that I’m the only person in his universe, even when I know that’s so far from true. “There’re women who will say things, do things, infer things… You’ll always be wondering. Is what he says true? Is he leading me on? Is he lying? She has pictures… She must know something I don’t know.”
“That’s a tough one.”
“It was a deal breaker for the last woman I cared about. She believed everything that was said and written about me. I got tired of defending myself.”
“I can see how that would get old fast.”
“It does. I like to think I’m a trustworthy person.”
“Have you ever done something while in a relationship that you’re not proud of?”
After a long pause, he says, “Yes. When I was married. I told you she cheated on me.”
I nod.
He blows out a deep breath. “I was so furious and hurt and embarrassed. People tried to warn me away from her, but I was blind and in love and stupid. So stupid. I cheated on her after she did it to me.”
“Did you feel better after?”
Laughing, he says, “No. I felt worse because I let her make me into someone I didn’t even recognize, but what I did is on me, not her. I did it. I knew what I was doing. And it was all about revenge. I slept with her friend and made sure she found out about it.”
“Ouch.”
“Not my finest moment.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And this is why you’ve said you never want to be married again?”