Calling His Bluff

by Amy Jo Cousins

  The plane ride home might actually be his best bet. What with the possibility of an air marshal throwing them off, she might restrain herself from wreaking serious violence upon his person.

  There was one problem, however, and the small heavy lump of it had lodged just behind his sternum, building upon itself like an oyster creating a pearl around a speck of grit, layer after layer. When he’d told Sarah that their “marriage” was her idea, and she’d asked him why he had gone along with such nonsense, his first answer, the answer that surged to the front of his brain, was “because I wanted to be married to you.”

  And where the fuck had that come from?

  J.D. was beginning to worry that his recovery from this weekend might require something stronger than two aspirin and a coffee.

  Like therapy.

  For now, however, he was content to set those questions aside, reach out a hand to this confusing, desirable, smart, funny and constantly fascinating woman, and simply look forward to another evening with her.

  For now, he was just glad that she’d stayed.

  * * *

  His eyes on hers, J.D. brought Sarah’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. It was only a moment, but his attention was so fierce and focused that Sarah was sure everyone in the room must have stopped to watch them. She struggled not to duck from the intensity of his gaze. She held it instead, offering a lifted chin and a clear look in return.

  When he spoke, she expected humor or sarcasm to lighten the tension of their situation. But his voice was so husky and low that she had to lean in close to hear him, and he didn’t seem to be joking at all.

  “You are stunning, Sarah.”

  He held her hand and motioned her back a step before twirling her around in a slow circle. And Sarah, whose father had indeed died young, who had modeled prom and homecoming dresses for her sisters and her mother, enjoyed the uniquely female sensation of showing off a dress to a man whose good opinion she desired.

  Though she told herself she was wearing the dress because she enjoyed the way it made her look and feel, she knew that was only a partial truth. The slow smile and nod of approval from the man in front of her started a low, melting heat in her belly and brought a flush to her cheeks.

  “Absolutely stunning,” he repeated.

  With the confidence of one who had been professionally styled and painted, in a Dior dress no less, she was able to incline her head a fraction in return and say, “Thank you.”

  That simple moment was enough. Her self-consciousness about appearing at this event with J.D., who’d last been photographed with a Hollywood starlet on his arm, melted away.

  She would be fine. Everything would go well. Anonymous amongst people who did not know her, she would simply be looked upon as J.D.’s date. It would be an enjoyable way to spend an evening and she could do a little surreptitious celebrity gazing at the same time.

  * * *

  Later on, she would decide that the best word to describe the event would be surreal.

  The vast crowd of people milling in the giant hallway outside the Grand Ballroom, where the awards ceremony was being held, spilled onto the patio overlooking the pool area. The wall of sound from a thousand people gossiping over cocktails slapped her back a step. J.D.’s hand squeezed hers, and he tugged her forward into the fray.

  When the first person congratulated them on their wedding, Sarah’s mouth froze open and she could only nod and paste what she feared was a lifeless smile on her face. The director of a competing film congratulated her and J.D. again before stepping away to greet another acquaintance, and Sarah yanked J.D.’s arm until he bent over so she could reach his ear.

  “How the hell did he know we got married?”

  “The people in this casino know more about you than they do about me,” J.D. said, shrugging. “And all of these celebrities are handled personally by the casino management staff. Ask your boyfriend, Mr. Fiorentino.”

  Before she could even respond to that ridiculous idea, not to mention the juvenile crack about the floor manager, another man she recognized from the celebrity tabloids as a well-known producer swept over to them and wished them well, having just heard the good news from the director.

  By the time Sarah was cornered in the ladies room by an actress she’d read was a yoga addict who would only eat pureed fruits and vegetables, the well-wishers had already moved on to the subject of children. The actress was so happy to have run into Sarah, because she had it on the authority of L.A.’s most preeminent obstetrician “—only the most elite go to him, darling, he’s the best—” which sexual positions were ideal for conception.

  “I think she wanted me to verify my flexibility right there in front of the sinks. And then I stupidly mentioned being a vet. Well, that was a mistake. I got a dissertation on Spike, her poor dog. Probably fits in her purse,” Sarah said as she dragged J.D. behind a large shrub sculpted like the twist of a candle flame outside the bathroom, determined to duck for cover before the loony woman spotted her and started insisting that they all take a look at Sarah’s cervix.

  “Save me! I’ll do anything.” She poked her head out from behind him, pulling back the instant she saw the actress standing on the other side of the shrub. J.D. was just standing there, the big lug.

  Why didn’t he do something? He could accidentally set the tree on fire or something. All she needed was one little distraction so she could make her escape. She poked him in the chest with a finger, silently demanding his help. When he still didn’t move, she finally caught his eye.

  With raised brows and a wicked look on his face, he repeated her words back to her. “Save me. I’ll do anything?”

  She pursed her lips and tucked her chin, staring up at him through drawn-together brows.

  “How about, save me, and I won’t try to take you for every penny in our divorce?” she asked.

  “That’ll do,” he said and herded her in front of him to minimize her visibility as they started back toward the entrance to the ballroom. He guided her with his hands resting on her hips, moving so closely behind her that she picked up her dress. It was easier to focus on saving her hem than to think about the way his fingers made her light-headed, flexing on her hips, right, left, as he steered her around this person and that one. They slowed just outside a small group that was gathered around a short, silver-haired man who was delivering an anecdote that had everyone laughing and covering their mouths with exaggerated shock.

  “Here we are.”

  His low rumble in her ear was barely audible above the noise of the crowd, so she leaned back to hear him better. Her bare shoulders pressed against the front of his shirt and she could feel the warmth of him through the fabric.

  “What’s here?” she asked and felt his lips brush her ear as he answered.

  She hoped he didn’t notice her shiver.

  “Here is the man who paid for your stalker’s last round of plastic surgeries before they broke up. She’s afraid he’s going to spill on what she had done, so she avoids him like the plague.”

  “Genius,” she murmured and extended her hand to J.D. as he eased them into the group and began the introductions.

  Much to her surprise, her evening improved considerably from that point onward. J.D. stuck to her side during the pre-ceremony cocktail hour like he was her own personal bodyguard, always ready with a little bit of whispered gossip for her ears alone whenever she started to feel insecure.

  It was almost a little disconcerting how well he could read her. His timing was perfect. The little details and stories he filled her in on humanized the people whom she’d previously only read about in magazines. Knowing that an actor couldn’t leave his trailer on a movie set without checking in a mirror exactly three times to make sure that there was nothing stuck in his teeth made it easier to nod with equanimity when he thanked her for congratulating him on winning an award.

  And she was happy to have remembered the name of the fourth band member from U2 when she turne
d suddenly and accidentally elbowed the man in the stomach. It made apologizing so much simpler.

  When they bumped into Lana, she contemplated elbowing someone on purpose. Of course she was here with the rest of the cast. J.D. seemed caught off guard by Lana’s presence though. He clearly wasn’t expecting her.

  She decided to phone in an extra tip for her stylists, though, because she was able to stand next to the absurdly leggy blonde without feeling the need to hide behind the nearest potted plant. J.D.’s grip on her hand never loosened as he pulled her to his side.

  “Lana. I told you. Everything has been taken care of. Relax, okay?”

  His ex’s laughter rang out like silver chimes in a gentle breeze. She gave Sarah a friendly nod and a smile. Sarah bared her teeth in return. She wasn’t sure it could actually be considered a smile.

  “Don’t be silly, J.D. I know it’s on like Donkey Kong with you and the lawyers. Just tell me where to sign. Unless you’ve changed your mind. I do want to talk to you, though, and since you’re here, too, maybe we can step out for a drink?” She put a hand on his arm. “Off the crutches already, babe? I was totally ready to help you gimp around. Gives me an excuse to grab you, yeah?” She winked at them without an ounce of shame. Sarah couldn’t actually tell if Lana was flirting with him or both of them.

  “I have a guest.” His hand removed hers. “And I crossed every T and dotted all the Is in the divorce, so there shouldn’t be anything to sign. Consider it a done deal.”

  For a second, Sarah thought the actress would pout, but then Lana was too cheerful to stay down for long. She was like a big cork when you tried to hold it underwater. She just kept popping right back up.

  “If you say so. But you could help me convince Ben that I’m perfect for this role. If your new girl doesn’t mind sharing you for just a little bit.” Her grin was wicked as she mimed giving a porn-star-worthy blowjob. “I would totally make it worth your while.”

  J.D.’s eyes were rolling before she could finish, but he was laughing, too. Sarah was still standing there with her mouth hanging open while J.D. and his ex joked around like best buddies. After a moment, she noticed that the doors to the Grand Ballroom had been flung open and people were streaming into the enormous room, making their way through dozens and dozens of round tables covered with cream tablecloths.

  “You are just a moral-free zone, aren’t you? Go find your date, you goofball. I know you never come to these things stag.” J.D. was grinning at his ex now. Excellent.

  Lana paled at the mention of her date and glanced over her shoulder briefly, scanning the room. “I think I made a bad choice with that guy. He’s not taking no for an answer when it comes to putting his hands on my ass.”

  J.D. straightened up and stopped laughing. “Do you need me to talk to him?”

  As much as Sarah was happy J.D. was the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to offer backup in a situation like that, she relaxed when Lana rallied with a smile. “Thanks, babe. I can handle him.”

  He gave Lana a quick squeeze and nudged her toward the patio bar. “That redhead you always liked is trapped on the patio by that superhero actor who never stops talking. Why don’t you go get her, tiger.” And with that, he ambled away, towing Sarah with him as they headed to find their table. She glanced back over her shoulder and Lana waved at her, still smiling.

  If she didn’t hate the woman with a passion for having seen J.D. naked, Sarah had to admit that hanging out with Lana would top the list of once-in-a-lifetime adventures.

  Damn. It sucked to kind of like your guy’s smoking hot and weirdly nice ex.

  Inside the ballroom, J.D. seemed happy to find his friend, Ben, sitting at the table next to theirs. Meanwhile, the art director, two editors and one of the multimedia artists from the film J.D. had worked on were arranged around their table. The director, Jane, was seated far enough away from them that J.D. had done nothing more than exchange nods with her, an awkward but brief moment.

  “So what happened to your poker tournament?” J.D. asked her during a quiet moment. The broad stage at the far end of the room, framed dramatically by a burgundy and gold proscenium arch, only drew their attention when J.D. knew the person who was up for an award. They leaned toward each other in their red velvet chairs as the rest of the table’s conversation flowed around them. “Shouldn’t you have been spending today bluffing the pants off a table full of unfortunate souls?”

  “Yes, well.” She signaled the waiter for another cranberry and club soda. The threesome of her, Vegas and liquor were no longer seeing each other. She returned to picking at her plate, a surprisingly good filet. “I thanked them for their kind invitation this morning, but explained that I couldn’t afford the entry fee.”

  “Couldn’t afford it?” He pulled his head back and gave her a sharp look. She wondered if he even noticed when he picked her hand up off the tabletop and started threading his fingers through hers, stroking her palm with his thumb. “Don’t you practically have bags of money waiting for you in a vault somewhere at the casino?”

  The tingling was unbearable. She snatched her hand back and slid it into her lap to scrub her palm against her thigh. Feeling his eyes on her, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. The truth.

  “No, I already spent it.”

  “What?”

  Shock was stamped all over his features as he leaned away from her and stared. “All of it?”

  She nodded.

  J.D. shook his head and they both paused to applaud along with the rest of the crowd for whichever winner had just been announced from the podium at the front of the room.

  Once the clapping died down, he turned back toward her. He reached out, hooked a finger under the twinned straps over the shoulder nearest him and slid it up and down.

  His knuckle skimmed against her skin, from the edge of the fabric that curved over her breast, up to her shoulder and then back down again. Up and down. Hypnotically.

  “Even a dress as good at its job as this one isn’t worth that whole jackpot, honey.”

  “Its job?”

  She kept her response short, because her breath insisted on catching every time his hand dipped to brush the top of her breast.

  When he let go of the straps and ran his hand down her arm, she inhaled deeply at last. He lifted her hand away from her side.

  “Isn’t the job of any dress to make men want to take it off the woman who’s wearing it?” He grinned at her and she didn’t know if she hoped he was joking or not. “I think you should give it a raise.”

  She didn’t want him to be joking.

  God, she was in trouble.

  “I’ll take that under consideration. Thank you. I think. And no, I didn’t spend the jackpot on the dress. I sent the rest to 157 West Grand.”

  The slow, sexy smile morphed into a grin of sheer pleasure as J.D. shook his head at her and laughed out loud.

  “Just when I think you’re done surprising me,” he said as he leaned his elbows on the table and propped his chin on the palm of one hand. The servers quickly and efficiently removed their used dinner plates, whisking cutlery and dishware away at the same time as cappuccinos and espressos were offered. She was sticking with her sparkling fruit juice. Rehydration was key. “Tell me about West Grand,” he said.

  “You have to appease the poker gods,” she explained, wishing he were still touching her. Then it occurred to her that she could do something about that herself. She shifted in her chair until her leg was pressed against his under the table.

  “The poker gods?”

  The sudden narrowing of his eyes told her that he’d noticed the length of bare leg, exposed by the thigh-high slit in her dress, snugged up against him.

  She delicately fished into her glass with a fingertip and drew out an ice chip. Placed it between her front teeth and bit it, enjoying the cold crunch of it.

  And noticed that he kept his eyes on her mouth the entire time.

  “Mmm-hmm. I don’t want them to thin
k I’m ungrateful. So I get to splurge a little bit. Hence the hardworking dress.” She ran her own fingers from the shoulder strap down over her breast to her belly.

  Which certainly took his eyes off her mouth.

  This was turning out to be quite fun.

  “Nice splurge.”

  “I bought it for me, thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  “And then I sent the rest to the ACS. The Anti-Cruelty Society.” It seemed like he expected her to continue, so she did. “They’ve got a terrific facility downtown, but there’s no such thing as too much money when it comes to animal shelters.” She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable, and sat up straight in her chair. “I get a nice dress and a lot of unwanted pets get some extra time to be adopted.”

  Her last words fell into a lull in the ballroom’s volume of chatter. She felt exposed, like she’d changed the level of conversation from casual flirtation to the pedantic lecturing of an uptight do-gooder. Wishing she’d talked more about the dress and less about the donation she always felt compelled to make with the bulk of her poker winnings, she reached for her glass with a sigh.

  Only to look up and find J.D.’s eyes locked on hers.

  His hand on her knee twisted her around in her chair until she faced him, her legs parting as he pulled her closer and threaded one of his knees between hers. He slid his hands halfway up her thighs, until she felt like his entire body had lodged itself in her lap. The flush of heat that raced through her felt like it must be visible to anyone watching, although no one seemed to be paying attention.

  Although, Sarah wasn’t sure she would have noticed if a piano dropped in the middle of the table, so maybe she wasn’t the best judge of that.

  She didn’t care.

  “You’re uncomfortable because you think what you just said wasn’t sexy. That we were flirting and having fun and you got too serious on me.” His voice was low and his hands were hot on her thighs and she couldn’t breathe for the sudden thrill of it. Could barely pay attention to him as he kept talking. “I don’t want you to be unclear about this, so I’m going to tell you that if we walked out of here right now, I don’t think I could make it back to your room before wanting to be inside you.”