by Robyn Carr
“Like people have kicked you?”
“Deserving it only makes it worse,” he said with a wry grin. He squeezed the mattress to see how firm it had become. Almost done. “What about her husband? Is he any more popular than she is?”
Gail sat near him and pulled her knees to her chest like a child. She was so unaware of the assets she did possess. It was refreshing. Beyond refreshing—endearing.
“He keeps everyone at arm’s length,” she said. “But he has a good reputation. Most of Whiskey Creek has invested with him at one time or another. Even my father. And Martin’s about as conservative as a person gets.”
“I can only imagine,” he said wryly. “What does Skip do?”
“Puts together venture capital partnerships, so he meets with investors all over the world.”
Simon turned off the air pump. “Did you see that bruise on her face?”
“I did.” She frowned. “The way she kept trying to hide it makes me think it didn’t come from a door.”
“Have there been rumors about abuse?” Simon rolled out the sleeping bags while she got up and plugged in her laptop.
“A few. She’s been seen with other injuries. But it’s hard to believe Skip would strike her. He acts like the perfect husband and father—makes sure his family always has the best of everything.”
“Maybe they only look perfect in public.”
“Or maybe we’re jumping to conclusions,” she said as she queued up the movie they’d selected, which was another indie film. Unless they were particularly well done, Simon had a hard time watching big, commercial movies like the ones he worked on. After being in the industry for so long, and being exposed to its inner workings even as a child, they seemed too predictable and formulaic to him. He preferred the off-beat humor or unusual situations and settings he could find in indies or foreign films.
“Could be.” Lighting the instant log they’d bought on the way over, Simon started a fire. “Has anyone ever come out and asked her if he gets violent?”
Finished prepping the movie, Gail left her computer to warm her hands above the flames. “She’d never admit it, even if they did.”
The smell of smoke and accelerant filtered into the room, chasing away some of the mustiness of the old home.
“Maybe she’s afraid to leave him for fear he’ll really hurt her,” Simon said. “Or that she’ll wind up with nothing. Does she have any education or job skills?”
“Not that I know of. Just her looks, but that’s always been enough in the past.”
As far as Simon was concerned, she was too Barbie-like, which reminded him of so many of the women he’d met in Hollywood. “I guess she could always become a Playboy Bunny.”
Gail arranged her laptop next to the bed he’d made and slipped into her sleeping bag. “I bet you could put her in contact with the right folks.”
“I’ve been invited to the mansion.”
“How was it?”
“I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
He found that whole scene to be a little too misogynistic. Anyway, it was his father’s crowd. But he didn’t see any point in denying involvement, however minimal. Having avoided one mistake was hardly enough to improve his reputation. “I must’ve been busy that night.”
“How unfortunate for you.”
“Should I make the offer?” he asked, just to see what she’d say.
She glared at him. “Stay away from her.”
Leaning over, he peered into her face. “Do I detect a note of jealousy?”
“Of course not. I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble.”
“Then you won’t be interested in this, but—” he caught a lock of her hair between his fingers “—I’d rather make love to you than her any day.”
He probably shouldn’t have said it. The admission made him that much more aware of her sexually. He wanted to touch her to see if she’d welcome it, to see if she’d respond with the same earthy realness she brought to everything else. She was so different from any of the other women he’d known, most of whom stripped before he could even suggest it. They wanted the bragging rights of having slept with someone famous, wanted to gain entrance to his world or to feel they had the right to ask him to recommend them for an acting role. His partners had used him as much as he’d ever used them. Even his ex had used physical access to her body like a weapon. Or an incentive.
But maybe he was merely justifying what he’d done....
Gail wanted something more from that aspect of a relationship, and that made him eager to see what “more” might feel like. He’d been so empty when she assumed her new role in his life, so disillusioned. But she’d made the little things important again.
He was trying to tell her that he felt differently about her, that making love with her would be different, too, but she wasn’t listening.
“You just feel that way because I’m the only woman who’s ever refused you,” she said with a dismissive laugh, and reached for the hangers they’d brought for their marshmallows. “The second I give in, you won’t be interested anymore.”
When he didn’t say anything, she glanced over to see his response and he forced a smile. “You’ve got me all figured out.”
She studied him for a second. “I didn’t offend you, did I?”
“Of course not.” What she’d said shouldn’t have bothered him. It wouldn’t have, except he was beginning to care what she thought of him. Which was crazy. She’d seen him at his absolute worst. The past year he’d been her client, he’d done everything possible to let her know just how little he cared what she or anyone thought. So how could he expect her to see even a glimmer of something worthy in him now?
“Everyone knows what a shitty person I am,” he added with a shrug. Then he straightened her hanger, stuck a marshmallow on the end and handed it back to her. “But I can roast a mean marshmallow.”
Twenty-Two
Simon didn’t talk much the rest of the evening. He was polite but the casual camaraderie they’d established since coming to Whiskey Creek was gone. Gail hadn’t realized how much she’d enjoyed his companionship until that warmth was replaced with the old indifference.
Accusing him of wanting her only because he couldn’t have her hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, but it’d hurt him somehow. She was afraid it kept him from changing, becoming a better person. Every time he tried, every time he started to believe he could, she held up the mirror of his past and reminded him that there was no way to outdistance his deeds, that she’d never forget and therefore he couldn’t, either.
He was probably confused and disappointed. So was she. She didn’t want to send mixed signals. But no one had ever frightened her in quite the same way as Simon O’Neal. Charisma rolled off him in waves. If she let it carry her away, there was no telling where she’d end up.
“You okay?” she said at one point.
“Fine.” He offered her another perfectly roasted marshmallow. But his emotional withdrawal made her feel as if the sun had suddenly disappeared behind a cloud.
Simon dozed off before the movie ended, but Gail lay next to him long after, wide-awake and feeling...she didn’t know what. Remorseful. Conflicted. And attracted. Always attracted.
In the light of the log’s dying embers, she admired the contours of his face while trying to decide how to keep this “marriage” on track. She was supposed to care about Matt. She’d yearned for him for years. The flutter she’d felt in her stomach when she’d seen him earlier had made her wonder what she’d done. Yet she’d scarcely thought of him since their encounter in the coffee shop. As long as Simon was around, nothing else seemed to matter.
But Simon wouldn’t be around forever....
Suddenly he opened his eyes as if her intense regard had dragged him from sleep. She told her
self to roll over and pretend she hadn’t been watching him, but she refused to be that much of a coward. Even after his eyes met hers, she continued to stare just as intently and allowed him to do the same.
Finally he broke the silence. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” she admitted with a sigh.
“Don’t waste your time on that.” He turned over, but she refused to let him exclude her so easily. She put her palm on his back, and when he didn’t move, she slid it up and into his hair. The thick, silky locks felt so good....
“What do you want from me?” he murmured without moving. “Sometimes the way you look at me...it’s as if you want to be with me. And yet...the second I act on that, you shut me down.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
After another strained pause, during which she went on touching his hair, he turned to face her again and unzipped his sleeping bag. “Come here.”
Gail’s heart pumped hard and fast. She’d done it now; she’d started down the path of no return. But she couldn’t blame Simon. He was right about the way she looked at him. And what else could he assume when she kept touching him?
“Maybe...maybe we should lay down some ground rules first,” she said.
“What kind of ground rules?”
“How about this can only happen once. And it doesn’t mean anything. Those kinds of rules.”
“There isn’t any need.”
But the next few minutes would change everything. At least for her. She wet her lips. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. You coming or not? Because it’s cold, and I’m going to zip this thing up if you’re not.”
Supremely conscious of the fact that she’d chosen to wear a T-shirt and pajama bottoms—nightclothes that weren’t the slightest bit sexy just so she wouldn’t be tempted to do exactly what she was about to do—she took a deep breath and wiggled out of her own bag. Fleetingly she wondered if her underwear was attractive enough. She thought so. She’d recently bought new ones. Just marrying Simon was enough to make her worry about her underclothes.
Thinking of her panties made her question whether she should undress before climbing inside his bag. They already had his T-shirt and pajama bottoms to remove, which wouldn’t be easy in such a confined space.
The practical side of Gail suggested she strip now. But maybe that was unromantic. He didn’t tell her to....
In the end, she didn’t have the nerve. She figured he could get creative; after all, he had a lot more experience than she did.
“I’m a little self-conscious,” she admitted.
“Everything will be fine,” he said.
“But...talk about pressure.” She worried her lip. “You’ve been with supermodels and actresses and Olympic athletes.”
He surprised her with a laugh. “Where did you get Olympic athletes?”
“Just guessing. Some of them are pretty hot, right? And you can take your pick.”
Sobering, he lowered his voice. “It’s not a contest, Gail. You don’t have to compete with anyone.”
“I wouldn’t want to be your worst. I’d at least like to hit somewhere in the middle.”
“God, no wonder you don’t want to sleep with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Come on.”
The nerves in her stomach were making her jittery. “I’m just trying to tell you it’s been a long time for me. I’m out of practice.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three years.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Wow, you really are selective. How many men have you been with?”
“At one time?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“That was a joke.”
“You had me for a second. How many?”
She considered lying. Too few might make her seem like she wasn’t playful or sexy enough—or someone guys sought out. But she figured he should know what he was getting into. “Two.”
“That makes it easy to see why you’re self-conscious. But it’s just me, right? You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Just you...” she repeated, and somehow managed to suppress a nervous giggle. She was going to sleep with one of the biggest movie stars on the planet. She figured she had a right to be anxious about it. But after he’d helped her inside his bag and managed to zip it up, he simply enfolded her in his arms. He didn’t even kiss her.
“Simon?” she said when minute after minute ticked away and he didn’t move. He seemed to be going to sleep....
“What?” he mumbled.
Sure enough, he sounded as if he was just on this side of sleep. “Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?”
“No.”
Shocked, she blinked at the darkness. She couldn’t look into his face. The way he was holding her kept her cheek against his chest. “Why not?” she whispered.
“Because you’ll only regret it in the morning.”
This was not the answer she’d been expecting. He’d tried to make sex part of her contract, for crying out loud. “How do you know?”
“You don’t trust me.”
She considered that before breaking the silence again. “So...what are we going to do?”
His hand swept her hair back as his lips brushed her forehead. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to sleep.”
“Have you ever just...slept with someone like this before?”
“Only my wife.”
So she hadn’t gone too far. He was offering her the comfort of his body in an asexual way and she sort of liked that. It certainly eased her fear and anxiety, even her self-consciousness.
As she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of warm male, she experienced a strange sense of satisfaction. Maybe this wasn’t as exciting as a sexual encounter, but it was oddly gratifying. “You smell good,” she whispered.
His hand slipped up the back of her shirt. But he didn’t bring it around to her breasts. He merely flattened his palm against her bare skin. Then, slowly but surely, his breathing evened out and hers must have, too, because the next thing she knew it was morning.
* * *
Gail had slept deeply. But when she came to full awareness, she realized that the contentment she’d felt the night before was gone. She liked being in Simon’s arms just as much as before—didn’t want to be anywhere else. But after spending the night pressed to his body, the awkwardness of climbing into his sleeping bag had vanished. So had her reluctance to touch him and be touched by him. As a matter of fact, all she could think about was getting naked so she could feel more of him.
The love scene in Shiver played in her mind as Simon’s chest rose and fell with each breath. She imagined him making love to her as he and his costar had depicted, imagined his mouth moving down her stomach—
“What’s wrong?”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was awake. But his thoughts didn’t seem to be going in the same direction as hers. He didn’t sound happy to be disturbed. “Nothing, why?”
“You keep moving.”
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, but shifted again—to bring their hips into full contact.
She noted his surprise as she glanced up at him, felt his irritation fall away as he came almost instantly to full attention. She’d attracted his interest; she could tell by his growing erection. He opened his mouth to say something. Then the doorbell rang.
“No way,” she grumbled.
He rolled onto his back and covered his face with one arm. “Already?”
She pulled her cell phone closer to check the time. It was barely eight.
“Who do you think it is?” he asked without looking over.
“Probably Kathy,” Gail guessed. “She said she’d bring us copie
s of the fully executed real estate contract, but I don’t know why she has to do it this early. I’m sure she couldn’t wait to see you again. I’ll get it.”
As soon as she left the sleeping bag, Simon got up, too, and went into the bathroom. She heard the door close just as she peered out the window. But the person on her porch wasn’t Kathy. It was a man.
Did she know him? There was something familiar about him, but he was turned away from her....
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“Tex O’Neal.” At the sound of her voice he’d turned back to face her. It was Simon’s father.
“Oh, God,” she muttered. “Simon?”
She’d had to whisper his name. Simon probably couldn’t hear her over the running water. In any case, he didn’t answer.
“I need to talk to Simon,” Tex called.
Gail pivoted to head down the hall. She wanted to check with her husband before letting Tex in. She knew he and his father weren’t on good terms. Their relationship had always been rocky, more so in recent years. But what was the point of asking Simon whether or not to let him in? They couldn’t sit inside their house and refuse to open the door when she’d already given away the fact that someone was home.
Self-conscious about her appearance, since she’d come straight from bed, she smoothed her T-shirt and cautiously opened the door.
Simon’s father wasn’t nearly as attractive as Simon. He didn’t have the same bone structure—the kind that made Simon almost as beautiful as he was handsome. Simon had inherited those features from his mother. But his father’s face was interesting the way Clint Eastwood’s was. Shrewd. Tough. Unflinching. Despite their visual differences, father and son had the same powerful personalities, however—the same magnetism and keen intellect. At least that was Gail’s impression.
“I want to see my son,” he said without preamble.
His gaze swept over her, then shifted away as if he found her wanting, which made Gail regret her courtesy in answering his knock. “He’s in the bathroom. If you’d like to come in, he’ll be out shortly.”
She stepped back, half expecting to hear the jingle of spurs as Tex walked in. He’d taken a lot of acting parts over the years, but none fit him better than that of a hardened gunslinger; that, of course, was where he’d gotten his nickname. He’d been called Tex for so long she couldn’t remember his real name. Even now he was wearing a pair of fancy snakeskin cowboy boots and a hat. No doubt he’d come straight from the ranch he owned somewhere farther north.