Untangling The Stars

by Alyse Miller

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud. Okay, another point for Guy. She hadn’t expected that one. He was just about to say something else when his phone buzzed from inside the pocket of his jacket. He pulled it out, frowned at the screen, and clicked the ringer off.

  “I’ve got to go, but I’ve got an idea first.” He waited for Andie to look intrigued—which took all of four seconds—before he continued, “Let’s back up just a little bit.”

  Andie’s characteristic curiosity peaked as Guy held out his hand to her. “Hi, I’m Guy Wilder.”

  She raised an eyebrow and took his hand, or, rather, she lost her hand inside of his much larger grasp. His skin was warm and his grip firm, nothing like the shaky, sweaty handshake the day before. “Dr. Alessandra Foxglove,” she introduced herself properly for the first time. “My friends call me Andie.”

  He kept her hand in his, and laced his fingers across hers so that the formal greeting morphed into something more intimate. “A pleasure to meet you, Andie.”

  He loosened her hand and stood, took a step forward, and then stopped and looked back down at her. More combed hair tumbled down, his hair reclaiming its trademark disheveled status. Andie had to admit it; she liked the hot mess look. He slid the sunglasses back into place, eclipsing the blue of his eyes.

  “Have dinner with me. Tomorrow night, say seven o’clock? Let me prove that there’s more to this jerk than meets the eye.”

  Her voice got stuck in her throat on its way to answer him. A dinner date was something she had not been expecting, and if there was more than met the eye, Andie wasn’t sure she could handle it. Unable to find words, she nodded and hoped she managed to find a tempo between hell yes and bobble head yes.

  “Great. See you then. Should I send a car, or would that be presumptuous?” His smirk was back, and this time, Andie kinda liked it.

  “I think I can manage.” It sounded more like a croak than her normal voice, but it worked.

  “Great. I’ll send details. And, don’t worry; I know where to find you.” Guy winked, pivoted on his heel, slid his glasses into place, and pulled his phone from his pocket in one smooth movement. Then he disappeared out of the café almost as suddenly as he’d appeared.

  Seconds later Scott’s fedora poked around the sidewall. “Call me crazy but that handsome devil looked just like that actor, what’s his name? The one on that vampire show that’s all the rage? Guy Wilder.”

  Andie cleared her throat and found that her voice box still worked. Oh good, so she could still speak after all. She pulled a strand of hair between her lips and tried to contain her thirteen-year old inner self that wanted to start squealing. “That handsome devil was Guy Wilder.”

  “No!” Scott’s voice sounded almost as incredulous as his face looked. Even Oz’s big brown eyes looked like wide, dinner plate-sized eyes of curiosity.

  “It was.”

  “And you’re going on a date with him?”

  If she hadn’t just witnessed it herself, Andie almost wouldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  Weepie’s lyrics floated through her brain again. It really would never work between her and Guy.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Hi—come in.” Guy seemed to look beyond Andie as he swept her into the hotel room and shut the door softly behind her. He paused a second to check the peephole before turning to face her.

  “Hi back.” Hopefully her grin didn’t reach all the way from ear to ear. It was really hard not to be smiling right now. She was standing in the Guy Wilder’s hotel room, and the two of them were completely alone. That wasn’t exactly something that happened every day.

  This was the first time she had seen Guy without his trademark leather jacket and dark sunglasses, which made him a little bit less intimidating and a little bit more like the boy next door—if that boy were smoking hot. He was wearing a tight-fitted cotton t-shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes and faded denim jeans that were starting to wear thin at the knees. He was barefoot and disheveled as always, and the shadow of stubble on his face looked like he hadn’t shaved since she last saw him. If he were cake, she’d take a bite.

  Yet, for every bit as comfy as his clothing looked, his body seemed tensed and on alert. He stood between her and the door like there was an enemy on approach and he was waiting to see if they’d pass or pounce. After a few seconds of awkward stillness—during which he kept the palm of his hand firmly pressed against the closed hotel room door—his body relaxed a little, but he kept his eyes diverted from hers as he ran a hand through his hair. It was impossible to tell his expression beneath the swatch of dark hair that tumbled across his face. The curtain of hair was almost as bad as the damned sunglasses.

  Guy took a small step toward her. His eyes briefly washed over her from her head to her shoes. He made a stunted movement like he might offer to take her purse, but almost immediately his arms fell back, uncertain. He inhaled deeply and waved the palms of his hands toward her awkwardly. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Oookay. Andie hoped she didn’t look as confused as she felt. Why was he being so shifty about pulling her into the room so quickly? What was the deal with the whole checking the peephole and staying on guard like he was waiting for some kind of danger? Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be nervous? This was just too bizarre.

  Andie was too bemused to be suspicious in earnest, but that didn’t stop the list of questions from piling up in her mind. After all, she’d been over one hurdle of doubt after another ever since yesterday morning in the coffee shop. She’d gone through the past however many hours on autopilot, not daring to speak a word to anyone about her upcoming date with the infamous Guy Wilder. It was half self-preservation so she’d never have to tell anyone if—and when—it all went up in flames, and half disbelief that it was even happening at all. Honestly, she could hardly even believe it herself. If Scott hadn’t been in the coffee shop with her when it all happened, she was certain she would have thought she imagined the whole damned thing. She’d be wearing scrubs and petting her clowder of imaginary cats in the loony bin in no time.

  Actually, Andie had been so worried about keeping her date a secret that no one knew where she was or who she was with—well, except maybe Scott. If she ended up drugged and harvested for her kidneys right here in the hotel suite’s bathroom, no one would ever be the wiser. They’d all be shocked when her face showed up on the evening news with the headline “Local Professor’s Body Found Kidney-less in TV-Monster’s Hotel Bathroom.” That would be one hell of a way to go.

  That last made Andie bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. From first date jitters to an episode of Criminal Minds in five seconds flat—who else but she could come up with such crazy ideas? Oh well, at least it set the potential terror level of the night extremely high. Whatever actually happened—like, you know, being on a date with an incredibly sexy, enigmatic, rich and famous drool-worthy man that would surely make for one of the best stories of her life, even if was only a one-time fling, would be a piece of cake, maybe even anticlimactic. That was comforting. She was a Taurus after all; boring was just right by her. Hopefully Guy was only dangerous onscreen.

  Speaking of the devil, Guy had apparently determined the doorway was safe and was now swaying from the ball of one naked foot to the other, tapping his finger against his nose. He had shockingly nice feet for a man, which was a lovely surprise. He looked at her with furrowed, considering brows as if he were deep in thought.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m, uh, I’m just going to powder my nose. Be right back.”

  Powder his nose? Seriously, who said stuff like that—besides southern debutantes from the 1950s? Well, dangerous might be part of his act, but dancing to his own drummer was definitely all Guy. Andie played it cool as Guy disappeared into one of the several doorways off the suite’s foyer without sparing her a second glance. Oh well. Whatever he was so on edge about, it was still pretty entertai
ning to watch those tight-fitting jeans walk away.

  Guy’s anxiety was a good distraction for Andie’s nerves. All of his fidgeting was a good placebo for her stomach so she could function with some degree of normalcy at least. She still hadn’t totally recovered from him walking into her classroom days ago. This was one hell of a long bounce back, but if Guy would have answered the door with that same brooding intensity and seductive heat he’d given off the other day in her classroom, she’d probably have made a total ass out of herself right there in the hallway. She would much rather be the strong one, like always. Thinking that way helped her avoid jelly knees every time she looked at that chiseled jawline and mesmerizing eyes. Besides, she wasn’t exactly proud of the way she didn’t seem to be able to practice what she so often preached about separating the entertainment effect from reality. It was like she just dove into Guy’s spell at the mere mention of his name. Her students would be so ashamed.

  Pick the hill to die on, she thought. And Andie Foxglove was not going to give up without a flight.

  ***

  At first, she waited for Guy to reappear, but, after a few moments alone, Andie set her purse down on a small table and took a moment to survey the room around her. On the far side of the room, an entire wall was devoted to a massive picture window that showed off the beautiful lights sparkling across the skyline of downtown Denver. Far in the distance, the snow-tipped peaks of the Rockies were just visible in the twinkle of towering skyscrapers. Though Boulder and Denver were less than thirty miles apart, it had been a long time since Andie had made the trek from the foothills to the Mile High City. In fact, because she lived so close to campus and could easily get to nearly everything she needed on foot, it had been a while since she’d even taken her car out of the garage for a drive. Looking out the window, it almost felt like she’d left some small, forested village and wandered into some fantastical city of lights. The palatial suite, which was easily bigger than her entire loft apartment, didn’t do much to quell that feeling.

  Beyond the window, there was a large living room lined in overstuffed white couches that framed a fireplace burning with a pair of electronic logs so bright and crackling they could easily be mistaken for real ones. A fully stocked bar with a wide selection of stemware sparkled from the corner. There was also a pair of French doors to the left that opened, Andie guessed, into a bedroom. She could hear the sounds of water running as she pressed her ear against the glass. It was mildly tempting to open them in walk through…tempting in the same way poking at a sleeping snake was tempting.

  “Nice place,” she called through the closed doorway. No answer. The faucet turned off.

  She’d never admit it to another soul, but wandering around the expansive hotel suite, Andie almost felt liked she’d wandered into a real life set of Pretty Woman. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. It awakened some of the sleeping butterflies in her belly and Andie silently begged them back to stillness. Any minute now, Guy would come walking out of that bedroom wearing an unbuttoned vest and holding a thick wad of cash as he approached to pay for “services” that Andie would be damned if she was going to render.

  Not that Guy hadn’t at least tried to butter her up a little. She wouldn’t have pegged him for a flower guy, but nevertheless a beautiful spring bouquet of peonies and tulips had arrived in her office yesterday, along with a card that said cryptically little. “The Ritz, Downtown Denver. Penthouse Suite. Ask for Dickey Valentine.” Dickey Valentine was one of Guy’s lesser-known alter egos from a low-budget gumshoe flick he’d made before he’d hit the big time and gone mainstream on prime time cable. Andie remembered it from a time she’d accidentally caught it on late night television when she’d been working on her dissertation. It was very noir, a much classier role for Guy that he’d fit perfectly into. With the flowers and the little bit of mystery, the whole thing seemed like some cute cheesy meet straight out of some dark noir, where two strangers don fake names and meet for a racy late night rendezvous in some neutral place. It was pretty damn sexy, except for the fact that film noir wasn’t exactly known as the place for women who intended to survive. It was femme fatale for a reason. Andie hoped that wasn't some kind of bad omen.

  Come to think of it, he had rushed her in through the door really fast. Was he hiding something? Or worse—was there something wrong with her being here? Of course, there was something wrong with her being here. The thought struck Andie like a slap in the face. A guy like Guy Wilder had to a have a girlfriend, right? Probably a supermodel, maybe one of those Victoria Secrets angels. Or, he’d at least have better options than some simple college professor dumb enough to think she could hang with a guy whose face was plastered over magazine covers. Shit, was he Pretty Woman-ing her?

  Whatever he was up to, “powdering his nose” was sure taking a lot longer than she thought it should. Maybe he’d let her in out of politeness to save face, and locking himself in some out of the way bathroom was some kind of slang for “if I stay hidden long enough she’ll get the point and get lost”?

  The past two days had alternated between the extremes of snail’s pace slow and light speed fast, and the vertigo for Andie was all too real as her mind traipsed through these possibilities. As it was, she had almost managed to convince herself that she had fallen off the deep end and now here she was, trapped inside Guy Wilder’s empty hotel room while he waited her out on the other side of a locked door. You watch celebrities on TV and fantasize about going on dates with them—you don’t actually go on dates with them. That was reality, and anything else was simply not how life worked. The swarm of butterflies had somehow morphed into wasps and were buzzing angrily in the pit of Andie’s stomach. She steadied herself with her hands on the back of a couch, which luckily saved her from crumpling to the floor.

  She sucked in one deep breath, two…three, four, five. Get it together, Foxglove. There was nothing sexy about hyperventilating. She spotted her reflection in a large ornate mirror that seemed out of place in the very modern hotel room. At least, she thought it was her reflection, but the girl in the mirror looked much more like a deer trapped in headlights. Forget her kidneys; Andie was more likely to die of a heart attack.

  Since she’d had no idea what the night would hold, Andie had decided to go classic and opted for her favorite little black dress—the one she’d hoped to wear to the gala. The smooth, woven sleeveless sheath—topped with sheer lace shoulders and paired wonderfully with the peep-toe watercolor heels—was the perfect LBD for any occasion. Now the smooth fabric was bunched and twisted around her waist as she cowered against the couch, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. Seeing herself like that, all trembling and cowardly, resurrected Andie. She snapped up straight, smoothing out the folds of her skirt as she rose.

  Oh, hell no! You will not be timid and miserable, Alessandra Foxglove, she scolded herself. You will put your big girl panties on and face this man like…well, like a man. Whatever. And if he doesn’t want you here, you are going to show him exactly what he is missing out on. He asked you here—don’t forget that.

  She nodded curtly at herself in the mirror and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. There, the logical Andie and the deer in headlines doppelganger were agreed. That little pep talk seemed to be just what she needed to pull herself out of the pathetic wallow of self-pitying insecurity she’d jumped into. She was ready to turn and march back across the room to bang on Guy’s shut door when his reflection slid suddenly behind hers in the glass.

  “Oh.”

  One glance told her exactly what had taken him so long. No longer in jeans and a t-shirt, Guy had been tucked away, transforming himself from rags to riches like Cinderella readying for the ball. He was now swathed in a slim-cut speckled charcoal suit, with a striped shirt that alternated between cornflower and royal blue, and a skinny navy blue tie speared with a thin gold arrow clip that looked to Andie like something Cupid himself may have tagged him with. He’d left the stubble of his mustache and beard intact, but his c
heeks were smoothly shaved and his hair was combed back in a slick wave (that one unruly strand had been already fallen into place perfectly above his right eye). He was still barefoot, but this time it felt intentional, like an ending piece of punctuation just to see if she’d notice. She did. Holy sweet mother of lustful thoughts, did she notice.

  “I didn’t know powdering your nose could look so good.” Great. That didn’t even make sense.

  He smirked at her, all uneasiness gone and replaced by a collected confidence that was neither arrogant nor bold, but cool and slick…like a graceful predator closing in for the kill. The butterflies in her stomach dropped dead.

  Andie didn’t remember saying anything, but some sharp intake of air must have pushed between her lips because as if on cue Guy took a resolute step toward her. One of his hands moved to do that false adjusting the knot of his tie thing that men were want to do, the other slid into the pocket of his suit jacket. She watched his reflection come closer until he stood beside her. They stared at each other in the glass.

  Mirror Guy’s eyes moved over his own reflection. He smoothed his hair flat against the sides of his head. “I thought I should change.”

  Andie opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. She blinked mutely at Guy in the mirror. Well, this was just not what she had expected at all.

  Guy turned to face her, but Andie couldn’t take her eyes off the man in the mirror. She watched his reflection pivot with liquid grace. He brought his fingertips so close to the edge of her elbow that she could almost feel what she saw in the glass. The little hairs on her arm leapt to attention in the static electricity that buzzed between them. Without touching her, he gently prompted her to turn toward him, and she found herself staring almost evenly into his striking blue eyes. Although Guy still had several inches on her, Andie’s four-inch heels were a fierce contender against his bare feet, and their heights were more closely matched. This close, with his head bowed toward hers, that little strand of uncombed hair tickled against the top of her forehead. It sent a shiver tickling down her spine, like the kind of static electric shock you got when you touched a metal surface.