by Regina Kyle
He let her slide down the length of his body to the floor and she instantly regretted opening her big fat mouth.
“Would that bother you?” He loosened his hold but kept her in the circle of his arms. “Them finding out about us?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, but if they knew we were...together...it might get awkward.”
“So you don’t want to take this public?”
“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”
“You. Me. Together.” He slipped a hand down to the small of her back and pressed her against his hardness. “Having hot monkey sex every chance we get.”
“Like friends with benefits?” Holly shuddered. Was that what they were doing? It sounded so sordid when she put it that way. She would’ve said they were “seeing each other,” but that sounded just as casual. Not the kind of thing she should be risking her reputation for. She’d earned this gig. Belonged here. She didn’t want anyone to say she’d slept her way to success.
“What I feel for you is far from friendship, babe. I’ve never had a woman turn me inside out like you do. I like being with you. I want to keep being with you. Only you.” He reached up to caress her cheek, brushing his wayward thumb across her lips. “But I won’t lie to you, Holly. If you’re looking for forever, I’m not your guy.”
Ouch.
She’d known going in he was only hers on loan. He’d always have his work, his fans pulling him away. But she’d been okay with that, or so she thought.
So why did it hurt so much to hear him say it?
“Been there, done that.” Her tone was purposefully bright, her game face firmly in place. “Forever’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve learned to live for the here and now.”
“Then we’re good?” He bent his head, bringing his lips within striking distance again.
“Hold on, superstar.” She slipped out of his arms and crossed down to the apron of the stage, out of range of his lethal sex appeal. “I get that we’re...temporary. But that’s all the more reason for us to be discreet.”
He joined her in a few long strides. “So you want to keep sneaking around like horny teenagers?”
“You’ve got to admit, it has its advantages.”
“You weren’t the one with a rake stabbing you in the ass.”
“And you won’t be the one left behind when this temporary thing runs its course.”
A flash of something that looked like remorse darkened Nick’s eyes. “You’re right,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m in no position to make demands. If you want to keep things between us quiet, then quiet it is. I can be stealthy. Your own personal love ninja.”
Her heart did a little flip-flop at the word love, but her head knew he didn’t mean anything beyond its “making.” She took in his broad shoulders, muscular chest and all-around imposing build and shook her head. “I can’t quite picture you as a ninja. Of any kind. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Are you questioning my ninja prowess?” he teased, weaving his fingers between hers. “Haven’t you seen any of my movies? Trent Savage is an expert in karate, kendo and jujitsu, and has been known to dabble in the ancient Chinese art of yiquan, or mind boxing.”
“Mind boxing?”
“Yeah, it’s—”
“Never mind,” she said, forcing a laugh. “I take it back. Forget I ever doubted you.”
Reminder to self: be casual.
She could do it. She had to. The only other option was breaking up now and that was—well, not an option.
“Come on.” He tugged on her hand, pulling her in the direction of the stage door. “All of a sudden I’ve lost my appetite. For food, that is. What do you say we head back to the homestead?”
“What about Ethan?”
“Text him. Tell him something more important came up.”
“Oh, yeah?” She willed the corners of her mouth to curl up into what she hoped was a convincing smile, playing the part of lighthearted lover, even though another part of her was dying inside. That part wanted the white picket fence, two-point-five kids, a minivan in the driveway and a golden retriever in the backyard.
She knew she’d never have any of that with Nick. She also knew Nick might ruin her for any other man.
But oh, what a way to go.
Asking for more than a love affair with him was beyond greedy, and, flawed as she was, greed had never been one of Holly’s vices. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips lightly. “Like what?”
“Like we’ve only got a few hours until your parents get back from the garden show, and I need to practice my stealth moves.”
* * *
“YOU DIDN’T HAVE to come all the way up here to check on me.” Holly emptied another packet of sweetener into her chai latte. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, yes, I did.” Devin took a sip of her dark French roast. Black. No girlie drinks for her. “And you’re not fine. You should have heard yourself on the phone. You sounded like one of those heroines in a country song. You know, your husband left, your dog died and your pickup won’t start.”
“Since I don’t have a husband, a dog or a pickup, I think your friend-in-distress radar is out of whack.” Holly stared out the coffee shop window at the theater across the street where the cast was still deep in rehearsal, opening night only a few days away. With the script finally set after two weeks of rewrites, Ethan had practically pushed her out the door when Devin showed up, making one of her spur-of-the-moment, hey-I-was-in-the-neighborhood-so-I-thought-I’d-pop-in visits.
Had he sensed the tension between her and Nick? They’d tried to keep things light and breezy, but Holly had to admit it was wearing on her, being with him and not being with him at the same time. On more than one occasion, she’d caught herself staring at him across the rehearsal room, or in the greenroom at lunchtime, unable to so much as touch him when only hours before they’d been naked and sweaty in each other’s arms.
“Fine.” Devin leaned back in her chair, crossing her long, model-thin legs, bare from the hem of her short skirt to the top of her thigh-high, black stiletto boots. No less than three men had stopped to stare at her, causing a near pile-up at the take-out counter. “Don’t tell me what crawled up your ass and died. I’ll worm it out of you eventually. In the meantime I can entertain you with stories of how I tormented your brother on the way up here.”
Holly shook her head, smiling. “I still can’t believe you convinced Gabe to give you a ride.”
“What can I say?” Devin lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug and reached for a cinnamon roll from a plate in the center of the table. “I’m very persuasive. When I want to be. I needed to see you. The chance to wrinkle his oxford was an extra incentive.”
“My brother’s a good guy. He’s just...tightly wound.”
“As a yo-yo.” Devin licked crumbs from her ruby-red lips, resulting in another near collision. “He needs a few lessons in loosening up. Maybe more than a few.”
“Are you volunteering to teach him?”
“No way,” Devin choked out, almost spitting coffee across the table. “We don’t mix well. Like tequila and orange juice. He played classical music the entire two-hour trip. If I didn’t have Hendrix on my iPod, I’d have jumped ship when he stopped for gas at the Fairfield rest area. But enough about me. Start talking.”
Holly’s head snapped forward and she straightened in her seat. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“I was talking. You were listening. Now it’s your turn. What’s bugging you?”
“I told you. I’m fine.”
“That’s bullshit and we both know it.” Devin pulled her cell phone from the bag hanging off her chair and slid her finger across the screen. “Maybe I should call your mother. Get some insider info on what kind of trouble you could’ve gotten into up here in suburbia.”
Great. Holly had been so busy with rewrites and rehearsals she hadn’t seen much of her parents since she’d moved into company housing two
weeks ago. She was lucky and didn’t have to double up like some of the others. Her furnished apartment was small—even smaller than her place in New York—but it was private, a place for her and Nick to get together away from the watchful eyes of the cast and crew. And while she missed her mom’s cooking, it was worth it not to have her butting into Holly’s so-called love life.
“Okay, you win. Put the phone away.” Holly took a sip of her latte, gathering her courage.
“I’m sleeping with Nick.”
“Hallelujah!” Devin shouted so loudly a few of the patrons who’d been ogling her earlier turned to glare at her. Not that that made her lower her voice one bit. “It’s about freaking time you got some action. When did it start? The night you two were at the bar, right? I’ll bet he’s an animal in the sack.”
“Keep it down, will you?” Holly hissed, smiling apologetically at the other diners before turning her attention back to Devin. “This isn’t for public consumption.”
“Why the hell not?” Devin asked only slightly more softly. “If I were screwing Nick Damone I’d be screaming it from the top of the Empire State Building.”
“I’m sure you would. But we’re different people. I don’t want to flaunt it, for a lot of reasons. Mainly because, as sweet and hot and good as it is, it’s going to be over soon enough. No additional speculation needed.”
“Nice try. But you can’t fool me, Holls. I know you.” Devin leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Don’t try to pretend this isn’t what’s bothering you. Casual relationships are my style, not yours.”
“Maybe I’m trying to change that. After all, the last serious relationship I had didn’t turn out that well.” Holly tilted her chin up defiantly. Why was it so hard for Devin to believe she was as modern and liberated as the next gal? If Nick wanted a no-strings-attached affair, that was fine by her.
Liar. Holly might just be the world’s worst good-time girl, going by her behavior at the theater this week. Sure, she was the one who’d proposed their whole cloak-and-dagger bit. But she sucked, big-time, when it came to pulling it off, because of one simple, inescapable, immutable fact.
Despite all her determination, her precautions, her dire warnings to herself, she’d fallen in love with Nick Damone.
Devin raised a brow at Holly over her French roast. “A leopard can’t change its spots.”
The unmistakable nasal vibrato of Ethel Merman belting out “There’s No Business Like Show Business” rang out from under the table, saving Holly from another lackluster attempt to convince her friend she was happy being Nick’s current fling. She bent down and rummaged around in her purse, finally yanking out her cell phone. “That’s Ethan. I’d better get it. He might need me back at the theater.”
“Script emergency?” Devin smirked. “Or maybe he wants you to bring Malcolm a cinnamon roll.”
“Hey, Ethan, we’re just finishing up....” Holly felt the blood drain from her face as she listened to him. Her palms started to sweat and she almost dropped the phone. “Oh, my God, is he...?” Heart pounding, she slung her purse strap over her shoulder and stood, knocking her chair over in her rush for the door. “Okay. I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
“Wait up.” Devin was at her side in a flash, racing with her across the street to her VW. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident at the theater.”
“Is it...?”
“Nick. He’s hurt.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Ethan said something about one of the lights falling.” They reached the car and Holly fumbled for her keys, blinking back tears. She didn’t want to let Devin see she was an emotional basket case, but the thought of Nick injured—or worse—tore at her like a knife to the gut.
Or to the heart.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Devin asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“I’m not... I can’t be...” One look at her friend’s face told Holly her denial fell on deaf ears. Admitting defeat, she slumped against the car and let her tears fall freely. “Oh, God, Dev. What if he...?”
“He’s going to be all right. He has to be.” Devin pried the keys from Holly’s hand, opened the driver’s door and motioned Holly around to the other side of the car. “Get in. I’m driving.”
“You don’t know where we’re going,” Holly protested even as her feet carried her to the passenger’s door. Numb, she opened it and got in, swiping away tears with the back of her hand.
“So you’ll give me directions. You’re in no condition to drive.” Devin slid in behind the wheel and started the engine. Before putting it in gear, she reached into her bag and handed Holly a pack of tissues and her cosmetics case. “Here. Dry your eyes and make yourself pretty. The last thing Nick or anyone else needs to see is you falling apart.”
“Th-thanks.” Holly pulled a mirror from the case, flipped it open and made a halfhearted stab at pulling herself together to pacify her friend.
“Don’t mention it.” Devin maneuvered out of the parking space and into traffic. “Now, point me toward the hospital and I’ll have you there faster than you can say ‘last call.’”
18
EVERYTHING HURT.
From the ends of his hair to the soles of his feet, Nick’s entire body was one enormous ache.
And the too-soft pillow and too-hard mattress weren’t helping, either. Where the hell was he? Not his Malibu beach house or his apartment at the Plaza, that was for damn sure. Even the dump the Rep had set him up in had a bed more comfortable than the one he lay in now.
Nick struggled to open his eyes, the lids strangely heavy and uncooperative. When he finally succeeded, he moaned and slammed them shut against the harsh fluorescent lighting.
“Nicky?”
Mom?
He opened his eyes again, even more slowly this time, letting them adjust to the bright light.
He was in a world of white. Walls, sheets, blanket, floor. A tube ran from his arm to an IV bag hanging on a metal stand, and a monitor clipped to his finger relayed his pulse to a machine beeping at regular intervals in the corner.
Shit. The beeps picked up speed as Nick went into panic mode. He was hurt, clearly. Badly enough to be flat on his back in a hospital bed, complete with tubes and wires. But how? The last thing he remembered, he was onstage, rehearsing a scene with Marisa. After that, his Swiss-cheese mind came up blank.
A ragged sob came from his bedside, and a bony hand, surprisingly strong, gripped his. “You’re awake. Thank God.” His mother’s familiar voice washed over him and the beeping from the pulse monitor slowed. “I’ll go get the nurse.”
She started to rise, but Nick held her hand as if it were a lifeline.
“Stay,” he croaked, his mouth so dry ribbons of pain shot down his throat. He turned his head to look at her—more pain—and spied a plastic pitcher and cup on a rolling tray. “Water.”
Nodding, she poured and lifted the cup. “Not too much,” she warned. “Go slow.”
He took a sip then sank back against the pillow. “Better. What happened?”
“The police said one of the lights came down. You were lucky. It missed your head and caught you on the shoulder. But you lost consciousness when you fell.”
He didn’t feel lucky. More like cursed. Maybe Marisa had a point.
Marisa. She’d been standing right next to him. Nick tried to sit up. “Marisa. Is she...?”
“She’s fine.” His mother brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and held out the cup for him to take another sip. “You pushed her out of harm’s way.”
“Good.” With a relieved sigh, he closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he felt strong enough to open them again and brave the fluorescent glare. “How did you know I was hurt?”
“Your girlfriend called me.”
“Holly?”
“She’s lovely, Nicky. And she obviously cares for you a great deal.”
That was both
exactly what he wanted to hear and what he didn’t. The more she cared about him, the harder it was going to be for him to leave her when the time came. “Where...?”
“She went to get me some coffee.”
Damn, his mom was good. They spent most of their lives three thousand miles apart, and she could still finish his sentences for him.
“Dad?” he ventured, for some perverse reason needing her to voice what he already knew.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I tried. You know how stubborn he is. He calls it ‘tough love.’”
“He’s got the ‘tough’ part down. ‘Love’? Not so much.”
“He’s a fool.” A rogue tear rolled down her cheek and she swiped it away.
“It’s okay, Mom.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re here. I’m surprised he agreed to that.”
“He didn’t.” More tears, which his mother wiped with a tissue she pulled from her sweater. She had a pile going on the bedside table. “But I told him I had to come. That you’re our son, whether he liked it or not.”
Nick rubbed his forehead, convinced he’d entered the twilight zone. Either that or the light had hit him harder than anyone realized. Because he could have sworn his mother said she’d stood up for him against his father for the first time in, well, ever. “I’m sure that went over big.”
She lifted her free hand, palm up, in an “oh, well” gesture. “He’ll learn to deal with it if he wants his shirts pressed and dinner on the table at six.”
“Seriously, Ma.” Gritting his teeth, Nick managed to pull himself up a few inches, which his mother took as an invitation to force-feed him some more water. “He must be pissed as hell. He’s probably trashing the place as we speak. You can’t go back there.”
“Your father’s better now about throwing things. But he’s still unforgiving about dinnertime. And only light starch on his shirts.”
Nick groaned. “For God’s sake, Ma. You’re his wife, not a servant. I’m hiring a housekeeper and a cook. Hopefully, they can keep each other sane working for Dad. And you’d have time to do something for yourself for a change.”