Home to You

by Robyn Carr

  “Would you like some more garlic bread?” Gail asked Simon.

  He looked up from his own plate. “No, thanks.”

  This polite exchange aside, Simon thought they’d go the whole meal without any conversation. Which was fine with him. He didn’t have a lot to say to her family, anyway.

  But then Martin wiped his mouth, tossed his napkin on the table and spoke. To him.

  “What do you think of Whiskey Creek?” he asked.

  There was a bottle of Napa Valley wine sitting on the counter. Simon had been given a glass of soda. Gail had poured herself a soda, too. But he could smell the wine from where he sat. “I like it.”

  “Great place to raise a family.”

  Was he referring to his having raised a family here? Or was he fishing to see if Simon and Gail planned to have children?

  Simon supposed it was natural that the old man might hope for another grandchild. But even if they hadn’t already made provisions for their divorce, even if he could get Gail to sleep with him, Simon would insist on using some form of birth control. Never again would he hand a woman a weapon as powerful as a child. Love was far too fickle.

  “I’d like to bring my son here sometime.” He’d sidestepped what he suspected might be the real issue, but he couldn’t be faulted for what he’d said.

  Joe nodded. “I was wondering if we’d get to meet him. My daughters come every other weekend.”

  Simon twirled another forkful of pasta but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “Where do they live the rest of the time?”

  If Joe recalled Simon’s earlier words about his divorce, he seemed willing to let bygones by bygones. “In Sacramento. Their mother’s a nurse at UC Davis.”

  “How old are they?”

  People with children loved to talk about them, and Joe was no different. He took a couple of pictures out of his wallet. “This is Summer. She’s ten.” His face split into the proudest of grins. “And this little devil’s Josephine. She’s only seven, but she’s a spitfire.”

  “Like her mother,” Martin added dryly.

  Joe clicked his tongue. “Yeah, her mother’s something else.”

  Simon got the impression that wasn’t a compliment.

  He looked at the pictures long enough to seem interested, even though he didn’t want to become embroiled in the family dynamic. “They’re pretty girls. You’re going to have your hands full when they get older.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Joe said.

  “You planning to do another movie soon?” This question came from Martin.

  “I’m thinking of accepting another romantic thriller in March, one called Last Train to Georgia.”

  “A thriller, huh? Sort of like Shiver?” Joe asked.

  Simon couldn’t help glancing at Gail. She was definitely familiar with his work in that movie. She turned red every time someone mentioned it, which made him want to laugh. If only she knew how hard he’d worked to get that love scene right. Tomica, the actress he’d been paired with, had worn the same perfume as his mother, which made it revolting for him to kiss her. He was proud of his performance simply because no one seemed to be aware of his repugnance. He’d considered demanding they hold off and shoot another day, but it would’ve cost the production company a shitload of money. “More or less.”

  “Who else is in the new one?” Joe asked.

  “An actress by the name of Viola Hilliard-Paul.”

  Joe washed his food down with a sip of his wine. “Never heard of her.”

  “She’s new. But she’s got talent.” And she didn’t remind him of his mother. He had slept with Vi a number of times—although he couldn’t remember whether he’d enjoyed it. He’d been drunk more often than not and had broken it off the minute she began taking it seriously.

  Joe looked at Gail. “How are you going to feel about your husband doing love scenes, baby sister?”

  She got up to put some more bread on the table. “He’s an actor. That comes with the territory.”

  “You won’t be jealous?”

  “Why would I? It’s not real.”

  Martin lifted his glass. “Better not be,” he muttered.

  Gail promptly changed the subject. “We found a place to live today.”

  “Where at?” Joe signaled for more wine, and since Gail had just filled Martin’s glass, she came around to pour it.

  “You know that little Victorian where the Widow Nelson used to live?”

  “The white one? All by itself at the end of Autumn Lane?”

  “That’s it.”

  A nostalgic smile curved Joe’s lips. “How could I forget? She used to give out caramel apples at Halloween.”

  “Yeah, her place was always our first stop,” Gail said.

  Apparently in this area they didn’t have to worry about someone putting razor blades in the apples. That was definitely an upside to such a small community. Another upside. Simon was finding quite a few of them.

  Martin pushed back his chair. “I thought you wanted to rent. That house is up for sale.”

  “We’ve decided to buy,” Gail informed him as she put the wine back on the counter.

  “How much are they asking?”

  Simon tried not to let his eyes latch on to the bottle. “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “That’s not bad,” Martin told him, “considering the land.”

  “The house needs some work,” Gail said.

  Joe carried his plate to the sink. “You could have Riley fix it up before you move in.”

  Gail motioned in Simon’s direction. “Actually, Simon is planning to do the renovations once he gets his stitches out. He’s very good with his hands.” She cleared her throat when she realized how that had sounded. “With wood,” she clarified.

  Joe turned off the faucet and set his plate on the counter. “Holler if you need any help with that,” he said to Simon. “I’m not so bad with my hands, either.” He grinned at Gail but seemed serious about the offer of help.

  “Will do.” Simon relaxed despite the relentless pull of the alcohol. There was something about Whiskey Creek and its people. Even with a wife who wouldn’t let him touch her and the doubt Gail’s father and brother had to be feeling about their marriage, Simon was beginning to feel comfortable. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t felt this good, this whole, in months.

  Maybe he was through the worst of it, he thought.

  But then he got another text from Bella.

  * * *

  Gail could tell this night wasn’t going to go as well as the last one. Simon had been fine for most of the day. Better than she’d ever seen him. There’d been times when they’d talked and laughed as if he was just an average person and not a celebrity desperate to recover his son.

  But now he was restless, fidgety. He couldn’t seem to shut down and sleep. After tossing and turning for a while, he seemed to doze off. But when she woke sometime during the night, she found him standing at the window, gazing pensively out into the yard.

  “Is anything wrong?” she mumbled.

  He glanced over his shoulder. He was still wearing the pajama bottoms he’d had on earlier but not his T-shirt. Gail had no idea where that had gone.

  “No. You can go back to sleep,” he said.

  Unwilling to leave him up alone, she slid over to his side of the bed. Getting closer to him meant she could keep her voice down. “We could talk, if you like.”

  He shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  The moon outlined his profile in silver. Gail stared at his bare back, his broad shoulders, hunched just enough to show he was brooding even if he pretended otherwise. His hair stood up as though he’d run his fingers through it several times. Obviously he wasn’t okay.

  Could she get him to
tell her what was troubling him? Or...somehow...help him stop worrying? She didn’t want him to backslide. He’d made so much progress in the two weeks since they’d reached their agreement.

  “Come here,” she said.

  Suddenly wary, as if he didn’t trust what she might be offering, he glanced at her again. “What for?”

  “I’ll give you a massage. It might help you sleep.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  Under normal circumstances, he would’ve had a flip answer for her, or some sort of sexual innuendo; the fact that he didn’t told her he was hurting too badly to accept help. Maybe he thought accepting help would be revealing he needed it, and heaven forbid he need anyone, especially a woman.

  “Come on,” she coaxed. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d been looking for an excuse to touch him ever since he’d kissed her earlier. No, before that. From the beginning. He’d just never shown any interest in her—not when he was a client, so she’d never allowed herself to seriously entertain the thought.

  “There’s no reason for you to be up all night,” she said with a little more authority.

  Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed, and she got up to fetch the lotion from the bathroom across the hall. But when she returned and put a hand on his shoulder to urge him to lie down, he resisted.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He gave her such an intense look she knew he wanted something other than a massage. “Kiss me instead.”

  Gail swallowed hard. Today, every one of his smiles, every touch of their fingers or accidental brush of their arms, had sent her nerves into a jangling riot of desire that reminded her of those few minutes when he’d cupped her breasts. It didn’t help that she was beginning to really care about him, that seeing him healthy and happy was becoming more important to her every day.

  She was in a very precarious position, had no reason to even consider his request. But she wanted to ease his discomfort. And she wanted to kiss him.

  “You’d just like to check out of reality for a while,” she said, forcing them both to face the truth. “And I’m convenient. But...whatever you’re feeling...it’ll pass by morning.”

  “Damn it, don’t say that like I’m trying to use you,” he snapped. “I’m tired of being psychoanalyzed, tired of being found lacking. I know more about what’s wrong with me than anyone else does. I don’t need you to tell me what I want or what I’ll do.”

  He was impatient, irritable, probably unsure how to end the pain. He wasn’t even in familiar surroundings. Gail feared that might weaken his determination, cause him to turn back to alcohol.

  But if she gave in and had sex with him tonight, where would she be in the morning?

  She’d be no better off than the other women who’d come before her.

  “Relax,” she said gently. “And lie down.”

  “One kiss,” he pressed. “Show me you trust me enough to give me one kiss.”

  “You kissed me at the house today.”

  “That doesn’t count. I want you to kiss me back, here in private, where we’re not putting on a show. I won’t take advantage if you do. I’m not as big a bastard as you seem to think I am.”

  “I know you’re not a bastard.”

  “Then prove it.”

  “Fine.” Planning to allow him a quick peck, nothing more, she leaned forward, already braced to pull away. But he was as good as his word. He didn’t attempt to draw her up against him. With his left hand lightly touching her cheek, he kissed her so tenderly she wasn’t sure he was looking for a sexual escape so much as he wanted human contact, someone to hang on to.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, surprising her by breaking off the kiss before she was even tempted to pull away.

  His gentleness and honesty shattered her resistance. As she stared into his face, she nearly slid her arms around his neck to kiss him again. More. That was all she could think about. “Not at all.”

  “You liked it.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He raised his hands. “See? And you’re no worse for wear. You’re not contaminated or anything.”

  “I never said you’d...contaminate me.” She had accused him of carrying disease, but that was back when they’d been fighting. He’d told her he was clean and had the test results to prove it.

  “You believe I’m morally beneath you, that I don’t care about anything except myself.”

  Because she needed to think that. It was her only defense against the onslaught of desire she had to battle on a daily basis. She tried to conjure up an appropriate response, one that explained without giving too much away. But he didn’t allow her the chance.

  “Now I’m ready for my massage,” he said, and flopped down on his stomach.

  Twenty

  When Gail woke up Simon was wrapped around her. She could feel the warmth of his bare chest at her back, feel his breath graze her ear and remembered the excitement she’d felt while touching him last night. As he’d begun to relax and fall asleep, she’d remained completely awake and vitally aware of him as a man. There’d been moments when she’d been so aroused, she’d nearly nudged him so he’d turn over.

  She was pretty sure there’d been one moment when he knew that, too. She’d leaned down, kissed his jaw, then the side of his mouth. But as soon as she’d felt him stir as if he might respond, she’d pulled back.

  They hadn’t done anything. So why was his hand sliding up her shirt now?

  At first, she thought it was purposeful, but the cadence of his breathing didn’t change. He wasn’t awake.

  She considered removing his hand as soon as it touched her breast, but there was no intention behind his caress. He burrowed closer as he touched her, and she liked that. Liked all of it—so much that her body seemed to melt into his.

  She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, telling herself to stop him. But she never did, and eventually she must’ve slept because when she woke up again, Simon had left.

  There was a note on the nightstand. “Went to the coffee shop. Join me when you wake up.”

  * * *

  So this was Matt.

  Transferring his laptop to his other hand, Simon turned to get a better look. But it was difficult to be discreet when he had to tilt his head so far back. The guy standing in line three people behind him had to be six-foot-six. He towered over Simon, over everyone, easily weighing two hundred and sixty pounds.

  Simon sort of wished the guy had a crooked nose, or a gut that hung over his belt like some linemen, but Matt was all muscle. Not only that, he was blond, tan, with chiseled features—what most women would consider handsome. To top it off, he had a quick smile and was obviously well-liked. Three different people had hailed him since he walked in, which was what had drawn Simon’s attention to him in the first place.

  Gail had gone out with this guy. She’d almost slept with him. And Lord knew Gail didn’t take off her clothes for just anyone.

  “How’s the knee?” someone asked.

  While Simon took note from behind his Ray-Bans, Matt gestured at the brace on his right leg. “Hurts like hell, but... I’m in therapy. I’ll get it back eventually.”

  “I can’t believe you’re gonna miss the rest of the season.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Good to see you, man.”

  “Good to see you, too.”

  “You think the Packers can take the Raiders on Monday?”

  A woman broke in. “Excuse me? Can I help you?”

  Simon had been listening so intently to Matt’s conversations it took him a moment to realize that this voice came from a different direction. The barista was asking for his order. Forced to shift his attention, he requested his usual—an espresso.

  Several more people approa
ched Matt while Simon waited for his coffee, all of them excited to see their favorite football player.

  “Your coffee’s ready,” a girl called, dimpling as she handed Simon the cup. On one side she’d written her number. But she barely looked eighteen. That wasn’t a call he would’ve made even at his worst.

  “Thanks,” he said, and headed to a table. He’d been planning to read some scripts. There hadn’t been much time for that this past year. He hadn’t had much interest, either. But even with the new picture Bella had texted him last night still fresh in his mind—of her completely naked and posing with her hands on her breasts—he was eager to find a gem among the files Ian had sent, a character he was dying to play, a film that would get him excited about his career again.

  He hadn’t had a drink in two weeks, was doing everything he possibly could to get Ty back. As long as he stayed the course, he’d look a lot better in the coming hearing. No need to worry about Bella’s threats. She could pose and taunt him all she wanted. He wasn’t going to let her rub salt in his wounds anymore.

  For a second, he debated turning that sex video and this latest picture over to his attorney, who would then present them to the judge deciding Ty’s future. The way Bella was acting meant she cared more about hurting him than protecting her parental rights. But she knew he’d never tell on her. He couldn’t. Because that might make the court decide neither one of them was fit to care for Ty. Then they might put him in a foster home, and that was the last thing Simon wanted. At least Bella was a loving parent. Ty was better off with her than complete strangers.

  He opened a script called “To The Bone,” yet another thriller, but he couldn’t concentrate. His eyes kept wandering to Matt, who had his own drink now and was sitting with an audience in the same booth where Simon had joined Gail and her friends yesterday.

  “You going to the crab feed over at the school?” one of his admirers asked.

  “Of course.”

  “You give ’em anything to auction off?”

  “A signed jersey, but I do that every year. Hell, everyone in town has my jersey by now,” he joked.

  “You’ll have to go for a jockstrap next year,” someone quipped.