He hadn’t made a move yet. He was just standing there letting her explore. Letting her have the control.
You’re not supposed to be doing this.
Uh, no, she really wasn’t. But something tight had begun to ease inside her. A ball of…no, not so much fear as apprehension. Wariness about what would happen if he did make a move. Uncertainty about her own feelings, the strength of her response to him. It scared her, yeah, she could admit that now. What he’d offered her, the chance to have that precious time with him she’d missed out on, to have those hours again, without cameras or sound effects or millions of people watching, was something she’d secretly yearned for.
If she did let him give her that, what would happen afterward? When their time came to an end? Would she be setting herself up for an even bigger hurt?
Yet touching him… It felt so good. So right. Better than anything ever had. Like something starving in her was being fed. The need for connection.
Her hand paused, resting on the firm plane of his stomach just above the fly of his jeans. Then she looked up at him. His burning gaze stared into hers, the lines of his face stark and tight with tension. “What do you want, Ash?”
“I think you know what I want,” he said in a tight voice.
“But you haven’t done anything about it. You’re just standing there.”
“I’m not touching you without permission. That was your rule.”
“That’s very…unselfish of you,” she said thickly.
He gave a rough-sounding laugh. “I was hoping you might spot that.”
“I thought you told me you weren’t any different?”
“I’m not. But you wanted me to prove it to you so that’s what I’m trying to do.”
Her throat went even tighter. “Oh.”
“Is it working?”
It kind of was. “Yes.”
“Good.” He let out a breath. “What about you? Tell me what you want.”
The heat from his bare skin burned into her fingers. “I want…I want to touch you.”
“I want you to touch me, too. But if you keep doing that, you’re going be on top of that vanity naked in about two seconds.” He paused. “Are you ready for that, Lizzie?”
On the vanity, naked. Ash parting her thighs, moving inside her…
A surge of intense heat went through her, scalding her.
She snatched her hand away from Ash’s hot skin. “Uh…no,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. “I don’t think I am.” Letting herself touch him was one thing, having sex with him quite another.
There were still too many bad associations. Too many bad feelings. Too many good reasons not to go there again. But even if all those things weren’t there, she had to remember, this was temporary. In another two weeks, she’d be back at the clinic and he’d be back in the fame game. A game she couldn’t play. Because if she wanted her past to remain secret, they’d never be able to acknowledge they knew each other again.
He gave her a half smile. “Didn’t think you were.” He pushed himself away from her and she almost reached for him, feeling the loss of his warmth like a blanket slipping off in the middle of a frosty night. “Be downstairs at seven.” His smile deepened. “And wear something pretty.”
Chapter Seven
Ash got off the treadmill and reached for the towel he had slung over a nearby bench. He’d just spent two hours in the gym working off the effects of the raging hard-on, courtesy of Lizzie Kent, and quite frankly even all that physical exercise hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference. Now he was not only horny but also exhausted. Not a great combo.
His wound ached as he toweled off the sweat, but the dressing Lizzie had put over it protected it from the worst of the moisture so he ignored it. His brain was too full of her. Of the sensation of her gentle fingers on him, light, soft touches. No one touched him like that these days. In fact no one pretty much touched him at all unless it was part of the script. Or one of the starlets he took to his bed periodically. Even then they never touched him so gently. As though he was a person, a man, not an ideal. Or a fantasy. Or even a star. He decided he liked it.
As he took a gulp of water from his water bottle, his phone went off. He glanced down at it where it sat on the bench beside the towel. Sam. No doubt with another update on the media situation. Or the Christiansen situation. Or some other situation in which he suddenly had no interest.
Man, if it was important his agent could leave a message. He didn’t have the concentration to deal with Sam at the moment. There were too many other important things to do. Like plan this date with Lizzie, for a start.
Slinging the towel around his neck, Ash sat down on the bench to take a breather, his elbows braced on his thighs.
He shouldn’t have let his temper get the better of him earlier. Yeah, he knew she hadn’t meant to make him feel bad, but he had anyway. And what was worse, he’d been kind of petulant about it, backing her up against the vanity and demanding he get what he wanted.
Bit like an overgrown man-child.
He grimaced at the thought. Behaving like that had never bothered him before, mainly because he didn’t give a shit what other people thought of him. Unless it involved his career, he didn’t care. But he cared about what Lizzie thought of him and he didn’t like that she viewed him as selfish.
You could try proving to me that you’re not a selfish douche bag.
Ash let out a long breath. With anyone else he would have laughed in their face, but Lizzie? She’d always been different. Right from the very first moment he’d seen her, sitting on the grass behind a hedge in the grounds of the Misty Mansion, her cloud of curly red hair like a bonfire in the sun. She’d scowled at him and told him to go away and leave her alone, words he’d never heard from a girl before.
No, he cared about her opinion and yeah, he did want to prove himself to her. In fact he’d hoped to prove he wasn’t the selfish movie-star type she seemed to think he was tonight on their date.
But what if I don’t want to sleep with you at the end of it?
He’d said he’d talk her into it and he’d meant it. Fixing things for her also meant giving her back the first night they should have had. Without the cameras outside the door.
Oh, sure. Tell yourself it’s all about doing it for her if it’ll make you feel better.
He cursed under his breath. Okay, so maybe it was for him, too. But not only because he wanted her under him more than he could ever recall wanting anything. Her apology afterward had both touched him and made him uncomfortable. Touched him because she’d offered it so unhesitatingly, yet made him uncomfortable because it had reminded him of what she’d once been to him. The only person who’d ever been there for him.
And then she left. Don’t forget that, too.
Ash shifted on the bench. No, he wouldn’t forget that, but then wasn’t that the whole point of their time together? To heal what had broken them apart?
His phone rang again, buzzing like an angry bee. This time Ash picked it up and turned the damn thing off. Whatever Sam had to tell him, it could wait. This thing with Lizzie was way too important to be interrupted. He had a date to organize and he wanted it to be special. One last look back to the past so they could both move on to the future. Because it wasn’t as if there could be anything more.
She had a life she’d created for herself, one that was in no way compatible with his.
No matter how much you want it to be?
Ash scowled. No, he didn’t want it to be.
Two weeks. That’s what he’d promised her and that’s what he’d deliver.
Two weeks and no more.
…
Lizzie stood in front of the dresser and decided she had no freaking idea what she was doing. Wear something pretty, Ash had told her. Sad thing was, she really didn’t have anything pretty. When she’d lived at home, that had drawn the wrong kind of attention—mainly from the cameras—so she’d soon learned not to draw attention to herself.
Pity sh
e couldn’t wear her uniform to the date.
Lizzie frowned at the dresser. Then again, even she could see that wearing a uniform on a date was kind of lame. She could, of course, just wear a different top with the pants she had on already but…
You know that’s just as lame. Would it hurt to make an effort this once?
She sighed. No, it probably wouldn’t. And if she was really honest with herself, a small part of her wanted to. Besides, she wasn’t a teenager now and this wasn’t school. She wasn’t going to get groped by some idiot who thought a short skirt on a porn star’s daughter was an invitation. How ridiculous to keep thinking that.
Decisively, Lizzie pulled open a drawer, sifting through the meager amount of clothes she’d bought with her. At last, right down the bottom, she found the green-and-white sundress she’d chucked in as a last-minute addition. It was a bit wrinkled and probably wasn’t exactly what Ash had meant when he’d said “pretty,” but hey, it was a dress. And the green went well with her hair, especially as she hadn’t had a dye job for a while and her red roots were showing.
Pulling off her other clothes, Lizzie slipped on the dress, then went into the bathroom to fiddle with her hair. Without her flatiron she’d have to leave it curly, which was a pain. Then again, Ash did like her hair; he always had. She frowned at herself in the mirror. The red was more noticeable now, her gray eyes looking weirdly light without the brown contacts she’d grown used to.
Her mother had made millions from her distinctive looks. Looks that Lizzie had inherited. Looks she’d come to hate. Yet Ash didn’t hate them. In fact, he’d never hated them.
She lifted her hands, ran them through her hair, shaking out the curls over her shoulders. The thought of looking beautiful for him was…rather attractive. So why not? It was a date, after all. Normal people made an effort for each other when they went out on dates. They wore nice clothes and put makeup on and had fun.
Lizzie reached for her makeup bag and put on a bit of foundation, some mascara, and the merest hint of gloss. Then she studied herself again. She looked kind of wholesome and fresh-faced, which she didn’t mind. Not at all. Wouldn’t be what Ash was used to, she suspected, but then maybe that would be a good thing.
After fluffing around with her hair for another five minutes and feeling stupidly nervous for another five, she left the guest suite and walked down the hallway to the stairs. She was early but that didn’t matter, did it? Or was she supposed to be late? Wasn’t that what girls did on a normal date? Be late?
Her palms felt sweaty. She curled her fingers and tried to calm her racing mind. This was ridiculous. She’d been on dates before, including one with Ash, yet they’d never made her quite this nervous.
As she came down the stairs she saw a tall figure standing by the windows, looking out at a city awash with the red light of the fading evening. A figure wearing an impeccably tailored, and no doubt extremely expensive, dark suit.
Lizzie’s heart paused between beats. Good God, the man had dressed up. And if he looked this good from the back, how in the hell was she supposed to resist when she knew the front was going to be even better?
As this thought crossed her mind, Ash turned around. And her heart nearly ceased beating altogether.
He looked…incredible. His shirt was white and he wore it with a silk tie in shades of silver and gray. So dark and sexy and powerful, the cut on his face adding a dangerous edge that made him even sexier. In one hand he held a bouquet of flowers. They looked like magnolia blooms.
He didn’t say anything as their gazes met, nor did he smile. And she found that neither could she. Her throat had constricted; her mouth was dry. As if this was more than just a date. As if this was something bigger, more powerful than that.
“You look beautiful, Lizzie-girl,” he said at last, breaking the strange tension that had pulled tight between them.
Her hands were clutching the banister as if it was the only thing holding her up. And, yes, it was the only thing holding her up, because her stupid knees had gone weak.
“Thank you,” she managed to get out, blushing like an idiot. “This dress isn’t quite what I wanted but—”
“The dress is perfect. And so are you.”
She blushed even more. “You look pretty good yourself. For a movie star, I mean.”
His mouth turned up and the atmosphere lightened. “I hate suits but I wanted to make an effort for you.”
He had made an effort for her. How many movie stars actually exerted themselves like this for another person? The ones she’d had experience of didn’t.
With sudden, blinding clarity, she remembered their first and only date. Her first date with a boy ever, because the kind of dates boys wanted to go on with a porn star’s daughter weren’t the kind of dates she wanted for herself. Ever. Besides, with her mother’s cameras following her every move, she’d felt unbelievably self-conscious just hanging out at home, let alone going out with a boy.
But being with Ash had never been like that. Never ever. He’d taken her to the beach and bought her ice cream, and then they’d walked barefoot in the sand, hand in hand. She’d felt special. Treasured in a way no one else had ever made her feel.
He made you feel worth something.
Yes, he had. Certainly worth more than the ratings booster she’d only been for her mother.
That sense of being special curled inside her now, along with a fizzing sense of excitement and anticipation. God, it had been too long since she’d felt either of those things.
Slowly she released her chokehold on the banister and came down the stairs. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the effort.” She stopped at the bottom, excitement and nervousness coiling inside of her. Making her feel like that teenage girl all over again. “You brought me flowers?”
“It’s a date. Of course I brought you flowers.” He came toward her and with a theatrical flourish, held out the bouquet. Lizzie reached out to take it, a small bolt of electricity zinging up her arm as their fingers brushed.
The look in his eyes darkened and her breath caught. “They reminded me of you,” he murmured. “All white and pink and soft.”
They? The flowers, idiot. Dear God, if her brain kept taking short vacations like this, how the hell was she going to get through the rest of the date? She ducked her head, trying to keep hold of her dignity and not melt in a puddle at his feet, inhaling the magnolias’ heavy scent. “I’m not much of a fragile flower, Ash.”
“Not fragile, no. You’re a strong woman. But I think underneath you’re much softer than you like to let on.”
“Really?” She risked a glance up at his face. “What makes you say that?”
His gaze dropped down her body in a long, slow, heated look that made her aware of every inch of skin that wasn’t covered by her dress. And every inch that was.
Judging by the temperature of her, she was probably the color of the roots of her hair.
“Because you blush when I look at you like this. And your hands are shaking.”
“I…I’m nervous.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Why? It’s just a date with me.”
“Only with you?” She swallowed. “There’s nothing ‘only’ about you.”
An odd expression crossed his face. Then his hands were wrapped around hers where they clutched the bouquet, the heat of his touch shooting straight up her arms. “Don’t, Lizzie,” he said softly. “I don’t want you scared or nervous of me. There’s no pressure, no expectations. This night is for you. What you want, okay?”
He was touching her, again without asking. But she didn’t care. Despite her head telling her that this was a bad idea, that this would only set her up for heartbreak later, her heart didn’t give a crap. Her heart had been starved for him, for the connection they’d once shared, and now it wanted another reminder. Another taste of the happiness she’d had once with him. A brief, blinding happiness she’d never had since.
“Okay,” she said, hoarsely.
&nbs
p; He smiled and released her hands. Then he bent one arm at the elbow and lifted her left hand so her fingers rested on his forearm. “Shall we?”
It was such a ridiculous, gentlemanly gesture she couldn’t help smiling. “Chivalry, Ash? Who knew?”
“Of course. I may not be much of a gentleman but I am one hell of an actor.” His smile turned wicked. “Shall I show you to our table, madam?”
“Sure. But if you call me madam again, I may be forced to kill you.”
“What about Coco? You look like a Coco.”
Lizzie’s chest got tight. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “Maybe tonight I could be.”
With her hand still resting on his arm, he led her out through the big glass lounge-room doors to the pool area, where a table had been set up. With flowers and candles, and crystal glassware.
It was totally romantic and utterly perfect.
He sat her down and put a napkin over her dress, poured her wine. Then served her sushi, delivered especially that afternoon from one of LA’s top sushi places. It was the best meal she’d ever had. And while they ate, he asked her neutral questions about her job, then answered hers about the movie industry.
He’d always been so easy to talk to and interesting to have a conversation with, and it seemed the years had only made him more interesting.
“So what’s with this audition?” she asked, pushing her empty plate away. “The one you need the scar healed in time for?”
He grinned, an almost boyish look crossing his face. “Oh you mean the Red River audition? Yeah, it’s for Tom Christiansen, an awesome director with lots of indie cred. He hates A-listers and actors who draw attention to themselves, though, so that’s why I’ve been on the straight and narrow for the past six months.”
She leaned an elbow on the table. “What’s so important about this movie?”
“It’s not action, for a start.”
“What?” She widened her eyes in mock horror. “No fights? No guns?”
He laughed. “Nope. It’s a straight-out drama.”
Intriguing. Very intriguing. “That’s a change, isn’t it?”
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