by Jill Monroe
Dedicated, with love to Hayden.
With love? What did that mean? Did Tony still love her?
No, she wasn’t going to analyze his words. Hayden only wanted to enjoy the power of his work. She sat enthralled for the next hour and a half as the beautiful story Tony wove together of the lonely and harsh life of a modern-day cowboy came to life.
He ended the film with one of the shots she’d suggested—a lone rider on the flat plains of a drought-ridden Texas. The camera widened its shot, taking in the rugged stretch of the wildness surrounding the rider until he was lost in the expanse. Then it faded to black and the credits rolled to the sound of the wind on the Texas plains rather than music. It was haunting and natural and beautiful, and Hayden loved Tony even more. She ached with her need for him.
Damn, those three months would have to start all over again now.
Tony had loved her. He had. Just not enough.
Hayden closed her eyes and allowed the wrenching pain to course through her, living each wave of aching hurt. She fell asleep on the couch, only waking when the puppies rang their bell to go outside.
* * *
THE MUSIC BLASTED from Tony’s stereo as he drove along the Pacific coastline, the waves and surf right outside his window. And he was miserable. Each day a little more than the one before.
He wasn’t prepared to admit Hayden was right about all her assertions. On some points, she’d nailed him. He’d wanted to keep the adventure going between them because he was so damn in love with her. He couldn’t understand how he could keep such a woman around if he didn’t make every night something to look forward to.
He’d abandoned his work on the drug-testing documentary. Every time he picked up his notes he thought about her. When he planned a shooting schedule, he’d remember her smile and a wave of pure loneliness bashed him in the gut. And damn if he wasn’t still trying to forget her suggestion to think of her every time he used his finger. Which was constantly.
He couldn’t work. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. Tony had to do something or he’d lose his mind. He hated the way things had ended between them, primarily because he knew Hayden had been right. He was a coward, a man who used his past as a shield so he wouldn’t have to struggle to make things work.
What an idiot. He’d already lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He’d got soft. But not so soft he didn’t remember how to change his life. She’d accused him of not being willing to fight, but that was changing. Now. He clicked on his phone. “Route me to Dallas, Texas.”
* * *
THREE MONTHS TO the day of when Tony had walked out of her life, a Los Angeles area code popped up on Hayden’s cell screen. She’d deleted his contact, but she’d somehow managed to memorize his number.
Why would he call now? She’d finally managed to put away the ice cream and the streaming service.
Her finger hovered over the Send Call to Voice Mail button. But she couldn’t really accuse a man of not facing reality when she played the avoidance game.
“Hello?”
“There’s a family of four living in your old apartment.”
Hayden almost choked. “You’re here? In Dallas?” she managed to ask between coughs.
“I came for you.”
A shudder racked her body. Not I came to see you, but I came for you. Better tack on another three months.
“Hayden, are you going to give me your address? I’ve done nothing but drive for two days and I need to see you.”
She quickly recited her street number and hung up. Hayden needed time to compose herself, and if he was at her old apartment, it would take him less than ten minutes to get to her new place. Boots and Harley each got a peanut butter treat and she let them out in the backyard so nothing would disturb their conversation.
I’ve done nothing but drive.
Did that mean he’d just aimed his car toward Texas on the spur of the moment? Hayden wouldn’t doubt it; he loved the big, romantic gestures. She placed a few dishes in the sink, and then raced to make up her bed. Tony preferred neatness.
Wait a minute. This was her home and he was the one who’d dumped her. The bed he could see as it was—messy. But not her hair.
She popped into the bathroom and ran a brush through her hair and wiped off a smudge of dirt one of the puppies had gifted on her cheek.
Barking announced Tony’s arrival before the doorbell. The dogs were outside and still knew when a stranger was at the door. She eyed him through the peephole. Tony waited on her stoop, looking tired and worn and gorgeous as hell. Had he come for her, really?
Hayden squeezed her eyes tight, and damn if a tear still didn’t slip from the corner of her eye in some clichéd form of torture. She did not want to cry in front of him. But then, why the hell not? They’d done the superficial thing. This was real life, and if she wanted to have a grown-up relationship with the man in front of her, he had to participate when things weren’t made up of great shots, perfect sunsets and shallow emotions. She opened the door.
“You broke my heart when you left,” she told him. No anger. No accusations. Just simple truth. That was not how she’d wanted to start this conversation. It sounded too accusatory, especially when she’d practically shouted at him that he didn’t know how to love the right way.
Tony blanched. “Don’t say that,” he urged.
Okay, now she was angry. “Why not? Because then you’d have to acknowledge that it hurt when you left? That I have feelings? That you have feelings?”
“Hayden, please understand. I don’t think I’ve ever looked in my mother’s eyes without seeing disappointment. I left you because I had to. Because one day I’m sure you’re going to look at me and wonder, what the hell am I doing with this loser? The idea that you could look at me like that, rips my gut out.”
She shook her head. “Tony, how can you even consider yourself as a loser? After all you’ve accomplished. You’re smart and funny and against almost all the odds imaginable, you are rising in a field that must be tough as hell—and with no help, nothing from your family. You’re amazing.”
“Doesn’t make me a good guy.”
And there it was. “You don’t believe you’re a good person, do you?”
Tony’s gaze dropped from hers.
“The fact that you’re worried whether or not you’re a nice guy answers that question. You’re the man who turned his back at the cabin when I was naked. You’re the one who waited to kiss me until I was ready. Not only did you stick with me every step of the way, you made what could have been horrible and scary, fun and adventurous.”
He met her eyes then, and she stole a step toward him.
“And as for the disappointment you saw in your mom’s eyes, that was her issue. Not yours. You were a child. I’m angry all over again at her for saddling you with that stupid doubt about yourself. Are you going to say things that will irritate the crap out of me? Yes. But you...” She reached for his hand. “As long as you love me, you will never disappoint me.”
“If I lose you—the real me, that is, not make-everything-perfect guy. Me. If I lose you...”
“You left me to go back to California, and I still love you. I can’t even remember wish-fulfillment Tony. It’s you, Anthony Garcia, who was there beside me every step of the way.”
His hands fisted at his sides. Then he reached for her, hugged her tight. “I will love you forever,” he said over and over again as he stroked her hair and down her back.
Hayden sucked in a breath that came out as a sob.
“Cariño, I didn’t come here to make you cry. I came to give you this,” and he brought something forward from behind his back.
She hadn’t even realized he’d been hiding something. Then her jaw dropped. “Is that a... Is that a mop?”
He grinned. “Si.”
Had he just used the Spanish on her because he knew she had a weakness for it? She shook her head. “I know it’s a mop—I mean why?”
“Because I want to live a real life with you, Hayden. I want to mop the floors, and take out the trash with you. And later we can balance my checkbook. But if you’re lucky we can do yours next,” he promised, his voice low and seductive.
She sucked in a deep breath, and his warm strength surrounded her. Oh, how she’d missed him. His carnal scent, the urgency of his kisses.
“Now, ordinarily, if I wanted to ask someone to share her life with me, I’d order up a hot air balloon or send you on a treasure hunt, but that’s not me anymore. What did you call that version of me?”
“Wish-fulfillment Tony,” she admitted.
“No grand gestures. This is just you. And me. Telling you I want to call you mine. Forever.”
Now that was perfect. She flung herself into his arms, and his lips came down on hers.
After a few moments, his fingers curved around her shoulder and he gently held her away from him. “It’s not going to be easy. I travel around the country most of the year. Long-distance relationships are tough.”
“I think I can come up with a few ways to keep us close despite the distance,” she assured him. “Believe it or not, I’ve actually experimented with a little filming for my boyfriend. The sexy kind,” she added in a thick Texas drawl and a wink.
“Which, if I remember correctly, he didn’t get to keep. Will that be different now?”
“I may have investigated some encryption technology.”
“Then I may have one big gesture up my sleeve.” He shoved his hand up his arm, pushing back his jacket.
“Oh, you mean you literally have something up your sleeve.”
“I got this about three weeks ago.”
On his skin stretched a perfect likeness of her dragon tattoo.
“They’re not a perfect pair. But they are a matching set.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from KISS AND MAKEUP by Taryn Leigh Taylor.
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Kiss and Makeup
Taryn Leigh Taylor
1
“DO YOU WANT me to kick the crap out of that seat back and tray table for you?”
Chloe Masterson looked over at Window Guy, the man that the Goddess of Economy Airline Seating had seen fit to plaster against her right side. The upper-arm contact had started in Seattle and lasted until Chicago. Thanks to bad weather, their scheduled forty-five-minute layover in the Windy City was now pushing two hours, and had featured a long wait in the plane deicing line and then a “that didn’t sound good” thunk. The plane was now sitting motionless on a vast expanse of snowy tarmac and they’d officially hit the six-hour mark of their touching-a-stranger marathon fifteen minutes ago.
It wasn’t his fault, really. Window Guy had broad shoulders, so the contact was incidental and, in a weird way, kind of comforting. She liked that the sleeve of his gray wool suit was soft and warm against her skin.
And okay, maybe she was leaning against him a little more than was strictly necessary. Not because he smelled of spicy soap and warm man—which was a pretty wicked combination—but because he smelled better than the guy to her left. The gag-inducing aroma of stale sweat, onions and something else she couldn’t quite place but preferred to leave a mystery had worn her down about twenty minutes after boarding. That’s when Chloe had decided that the comfort of her left elbow wasn’t worth permanent olfactory damage and had conceded the battle of the joint armrest to him.
Damn middle seat.
“Sorry?”
Despite their close confines, she and Window Guy hadn’t exchanged more than the official “that’s-my-seat” gesture of air travelers the world over before he’d awkwardly shuffled past her to sit down. After that, he’d pulled his laptop out and tapped away at the keys like a good little company automaton while she’d worked her way through a few chapters of a gently-used Stephen King novel. She’d been so engrossed in her book, she hadn’t noticed that at some point he’d put the laptop away and moved on to reading the offerings from the seat pocket in front of him.
And that wasn’t all she hadn’t noticed.
Now that she was actually looking at him, his breach of their companionable silence was even more surprising. Because Window Guy was kind of sexy. Bedroom eyes the color of whiskey and twice as potent. A strong jaw and a straight nose. His brown hair was short enough to be business-appropriate, but long enough to get mussed up under the right circumstances. And that mouth! As she took her fill of him, it pulled slightly up at the right corner in an easy smirk that was hot as hell. He was the clean-cut kind of handsome that came with no visible neck tattoos and an expertly-knotted blue silk tie that bespoke gainful employment.
Men like him didn’t talk to women like her. He was way too...corporate. And she was...not.
At her question, he raised his chin at the worn gray vinyl seat back in front of her. “You’ve been giving that chair dirty looks for the last twenty minutes, and then you sighed,” he explained.
“I did?”
Window Guy nodded. “The sigh was pretty loud, actually. It disturbed my reading.”
“Oh. Well. I’m sorry that my sigh threw off your concentration.” Chloe sent a meaningful glance toward the airline safety pamphlet on his lap.
“The damage is done.” He picked up the tri-fold piece of card stock. “It was just getting good, too. After the cabin depressurized, the plane crashed and the passengers were proceeding in an orderly fashion for their lives!”
Huh. She hadn’t expected funny. Hot guys rarely had to develop such plebeian talents. “Sounds intense.”
“You’re telling me. I was really enjoying it until the author got all kinky and made the heroine take off her high heels before she used the inflatable slide. I think he might be a foot fetishist.” He shoved the pamphlet back in the seat pocket in front of him before he met her gaze with a teasing glint in his amber eyes. “Wow. Spoiler alert. I hope I didn’t give too much away.”
“No, I appreciate the recommendation. I’ll be sure to tell my book club about it.”
His grin was practiced, but appealing. “I’m Ben.”
Uh-oh. Time to nip this in the bud. “Well, Ben. You’re a very handsome guy, and I appreciate the effort, because I’m sure that maneuvering a sober pickup with only a safety card, an in-flight magazine, and an airsickness bag as props is a challenge that few men could meet. But don’t waste all your sweet, panty-dropping material on me. Save some of that A-game for Stewardess Barbie over there.”
They both looked at the perky blonde flight attendant who’d been making doe eyes at Ben since he’d boarded. Right on cue, she twirled her ponytail and glanced away coyly.
Ben shifted, trying to arrange his large frame more comfortably in the tiny chair—a futile cause. “Let’s get one thing straight here, if this had been a pickup, we’d already be—” he eyed his Rolex—so cliché “—three minutes into you becoming an airplane-bathroom sex convert. Let the record show that we are both still safely buckled into our designated seats, ipso facto, I clearly wasn’t flirting with you.”
Ignoring the frisson down her spine—legal jargon always had that effect on her—Chloe raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Okay, I was kinda flirting. But, it was completely recreational. Minor league stuff.”
“Oh, please!
Foot fetish references? That is gateway flirting. If I hadn’t called you out, you’d have escalated to the hard stuff—asking me my astrological sign and telling me how beautiful my eyes are.”
He laughed, and Chloe ignored the flare of pride at having elicited the sexy, rumbling sound. Not that she was flirting, either, mind you.
“Well, it’s hardly my fault that your eyes really are beautiful. Emerald green, with golden flecks that sparkle when you roll them like that because you think I’m being cheesy.”
“Oh. Well that’s probably because you are being cheesy. At least the safety pamphlet pickup was original.”
“Original enough to get your name?”
“Chloe,” she relented.
“Nice to meet you, Chloe.” He offered his hand again, and this time she accepted it.
His palm was wide and his fingers were long. He didn’t molest her hand; it was just an acceptable, firm shake between new acquaintances. Even so, a phantom warmth lingered after he’d relinquished his grip, the kind that buzzed up her arm and sort of made her wish he had molested her hand, at least a little. Chloe rubbed her tingling palm against the thigh of her jeans.
His gaze held steady on hers and his focus was flattering, almost seductive. If you went for that whole slick-successful-businessman-in-a-five-thousand-dollar-suit look. Which, she reminded herself, she didn’t. Not anymore.
For the most part, her tiny diamond nose stud and purple highlights were enough to warn corporate wunderkinds that they had nothing in common with her.
But then she remembered that she no longer had purple highlights. She’d dyed her piecey, deconstructed bob for her sister’s wedding. Right now it was a respectable, boring, normal shade of mahogany that skimmed her jaw before angling a bit lower in the front. The dye job was her attempt at a peace offering to her family. She just hoped it would be enough.
“...so if you look at it that way, cheese could be considered a high form of flattery, you know?”
Ben’s voice snapped her out of a flashback of the most recent guilt-laden, middle-name-invoking phone call with her mother.