Page 120 of Wicked Fantasies

“Really?” She constantly struggled to figure out when he was kidding and when he wasn’t. Most of his comments were delivered so deadpan, she despaired of ever understanding his dry sense of humor.

“I owed her manager a favor and he decided to collect. I managed to do my part for this twisted Hollywood society and kept up the appearance of their golden girl’s straight image for another night.”

“I suppose I’ll get to read all about your torrid love affair tomorrow in the tabloids.”

“Oh yeah and then next week, when her manager finds another hot stud to pretend to be in love with her, I’ll be jealous and heartbroken and every dark mood I have for months afterwards will be attributed to our nasty breakup. Christ, I’m sick of this shit.”

She studied him as he lounged in the chair. Typically, their nighttime banter was playful, teasing in nature.

Tonight, his head was thrown back against the headrest, his eyes were closed and his hands were clenched together tightly against his chest. Despite the weariness she could see in every part of his body, he seemed tense, even a bit angry.

“So why not retire?”

He chuckled, though the sound held no mirth, and he opened his eyes to look at her. “I’m only forty.”

She smiled. “And you have enough money to live in comfort ’til you’re two hundred and forty. So why keep doing it? Why keep up this ridiculous pace?”

He shrugged, and she knew by his gaze he wasn’t going to answer her question.

“How old are you?” he asked.

She recognized his question for what it was. After only a week together, she was well aware of his tendency to change the subject if he didn’t like the current one.

“Thirty-four.”

“How come you never got married?”

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. His gaze had become too intense, too serious, and she’d felt for a moment as if she could drown in the depths of his deep blue eyes.

“I’m not sure,” she said, once she’d regained her wits. “I suppose you’ve noticed that, unlike you, I’m a bit of an introvert. I’m one of those lucky few who found success as an author fairly young, but writing isn’t one of those careers that leads to meeting a lot of people. I spend a great deal of time in my house alone with my laptop.”

“You don’t date at all?”

“Oh sure. I’ve dated plenty, but I’ve noticed since I turned thirty that the pool of available men has dwindled and unfortunately, most of what’s left is the duds who’ve been thrown back.”

“Gee thanks.” She giggled at his response.

“Present company excluded, of course.” She looked over at him.

He rubbed his eyes, and she felt her heart stirring at his vulnerability.

For all his money and fame, she saw a tired, weary man, and before she could think about it, she reached out toward him with her hand. “Come here.”

He glanced up in surprise, then took her hand. She tugged until he rose, directing him toward her with a pull. “Crawl in.”

She scooted over and watched as he lay down beside her.

“You’re inviting me to your bed?”

“To sleep,” she clarified. “I have a feeling you’re too tired to make the trek back across the lawn to your own bed or to be much use for anything else.” He grinned at her taunt, no doubt willing to prove her words false, but she put up her hand. “Just the same, stay on your side of the bed, Hollywood.”

He smiled tiredly at the nickname and his eyes drifted shut slowly. “Good night, gorgeous,” he whispered, seconds before she heard his breath steady and deepen with sleep.

He truly had been exhausted. She ran her hand lightly over his brow, pushing back his chestnut hair and staring at his handsome face.

It was no wonder every woman in the world had a crush on the man. With his chiseled jaw and strong cheekbones, he was destined to be a heartthrob. His blue eyes tipped with long, thick lashes could turn women to jelly with a single glance.

And yet, she sensed there was so much more to him than his classic good looks. In the past week, she’d discovered his intelligence, his humor, his undeniable drive to constantly succeed.

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