Page 38 of Fierce Love
“I just think I need to be really careful about how I present myself,” I say, trying not to give too much away. We don’t needto become confidantes. That’s a slippery slope that I’ve already gone far enough down.
“I’m confident people are going to love you.” He inches closer and tips my chin to meet his gaze. “How could they not?”
I’m wondering the same thing about him right now. How is he still single? There’s no doubt in my mind that women across the country—hell, probably the world—would do all sorts of incredible and terrible things to get a chance with Nathaniel Tucker. I had my chance, and I squandered it. Knowing what I know, it’s not right to pursue anything with him, even if it really seems like he’d let me walk back into his life.
His proximity has enveloped me, and his aura of care and concern is the softest, gentlest blanket slipping over my shoulders. There’s always been something about Nate that felt both unbelievably safe and yet incredibly thrilling. Even now, as my heart beats out of tune, frantic and flustered in my chest, I know he’d never hurt me, never do anything to put me in harm’s way, would do anything to keep me safe. That’s just who he is.
I’m not sure there’s a mask that I can slip on that’ll keep me from falling back under Nate Tucker’s spell. If he wants this to happen, I doubt I’m strong enough to say no.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I whisper.
“Give me one legitimate reason,” he says, brushing his nose against mine, his lips so close I can imagine how the mint of his breath would taste.
“I already gave you lots of reasons.”
“Those were reasons an eighteen-year-old might have,” he says, skepticism clear in his tone. “Nothing a strong, confident thirty-two-year-old would worry about.”
Heels click in the hallway. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Twyla calls, just before she reenters the room.
Nate and I jump apart like her voice is an electric shock, zapping some sense into us.
“I’m not feeling well. It came out of nowhere.” Her eyes are glassy, and her tanned skin has taken on a yellowish tinge. “I think I should go home, and I know I promised you a ride—”
“I’ll take her back to the apartment,” Nate says, cutting Twyla off. “That’s not a problem. Go home. Get some rest. We’ve got Monday morning. We don’t meet the first family until the afternoon to start shooting.”
“Sorry,” Twyla says. “So sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“I love that skirt. We’re keeping it,” she says, grabbing her bag and pointing to my leather outfit. “We just need a better shirt to pair with it.”
I give her a tight smile, unwilling to detail my insecurities in this room. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Once she’s out the door, Nate and I stand staring at each other. The tension that temporarily left the room when Twyla entered returns tenfold.
“All your reasons are bullshit, Hollyn, and I think you know that.”
“We don’t know each other anymore.” I search for something else. “And you’re my boss. How would that look?”
“I’maboss. Tariq runs the set. I just make sure everyone is happy, we’re on budget, and general production runs smoothly.” He searches my face for a beat. “If the answer is no, just say that. I can treat you exactly as I have the last two weeks. Completely professional.”
I take in a shaky breath and press my fingers to my temples because I know deep down—actually, not even that far down—I don’t want to be just his colleague. Whenever he’s in a room, I’m hyperaware of where he is and who he’s talking to, and I have no claim to him.
“We don’t know each other anymore,” I try again, the same argument that I know he can brush aside. The solution is easy and obvious.
“You said youcan’tat the spa, not that youwon’t. Maybe we don’t know each other, but we both know that’s laughably solvable. The only real obstacle to us trying again is if you don’twantto.”
His rich-boy confidence is out in full force. I loved it when we were teenagers because so few people in my life were confident with good intentions, and Nate’s intentions were always good. But sometimes I loathed his execution. He often put me in sticky spots with other people in my life without even realizing it. He’s doing it again right now.
“When the show is over, I’m going back to New York. I don’t want to stay in Bellerive. I don’t want to live here.”
“You want to put a ticking clock on us, is that it?”
“I want you to understand what this would be.” Because anything I agree to has to be temporary and as far from public as I can make it. There are consequences, beyond his feelings, that I’d like to avoid.
“And see, I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand what this is. What it’s always been.” His tone is challenging, like he’s daring me to contradict our connection that’s so strong it’s made the air in the room thick and heavy.
“Nate, I—” My phone chimes from inside the changing room, and I take the opportunity to break the tension between us by striding into the changeroom and closing the door. I scoop up my phone and see texts from both Shannon and Kinsley. The Youth Adventure Race Club ran around Victor Tucker’s campground, and now some dog on the property is having puppies. Kinsley wants to stay to watch the puppies being delivered, but Shannon needs to get to work.
