Page 49 of Second Act
“I don’t understand why it bothers you.” She bit into the crusty roll and sighed with pleasure.
He shrugged and took a sip of red wine. Then he surprised her. “When I was a young kid, potential foster parents were scared away by my looks. I heard one man say my eyes were unnatural. The bone structure everyone admires so much made me look older than I was, harder, less innocent. I would have preferred to be a blond cherub with round cheeks and brown eyes. Those were the kinds of kids who got chosen.”
Jessica put down her roll. “You never told me that.” She was stunned by the anger she felt that he had concealed such an important piece of the puzzle that was him.
“There were a lot of things I didn’t tell you,” he said, his voice tight. “I recreated myself when I became an actor. I didn’t want anyone to know who I’d been.”
“I wouldn’t have loved you any less. And I might have understood you better.” Although they’d both been so young then.
He locked his blue eyes on her. “I couldn’t take that risk. You were so smart, so accomplished, sonormal. I needed you to be dazzled by me so you didn’t realize who you were really in love with.”
Jessica rocked back in her chair. “But you told me about being a foster child, so why not tell me the rest?”
He gave her a crooked smile that held no amusement. “I was playing on your sympathy. I didn’t want you to know the whole truth.”
“You didn’t have to play on anything. I loved you.” And then it struck her like a flash of lightning. He hadn’t felt lovable. How could he, when no parent had ever been there to tell him he was? Her heart seemed to contract into a fist of sorrow. She stretched her arm across the table to lay her hand over his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through a constricted throat. “I didn’t realize...”
His brows drew down into a near scowl. “Sorry for what?”
“For—” She’d been about to say “for you,” but that sounded ridiculous when she remembered whom she sat across from. “For not understanding better.”
Hugh didn’t like the pity he saw clouding the clear gray of Jessica’s eyes. However, he did like the fact that she was touching his hand. He was also glad she hadn’t been offended when he’d called her normal.
In his world, normal was rare, but other people didn’t always comprehend that. Normal meant two parents, a home where they had to take you in, a significant other who didn’t care what part you could get for her or him, and being able to eat cheese puffs whenever you wanted to.
Dear God, he was turning into a whiner.
He rotated his hand under Jessica’s so he could feel her palm against his. She had the hands he’d expect of a working vet: short, unpolished nails, slightly chapped skin from the constant washing, and a strengthdeveloped from continual use. He remembered how they’d felt moving over his body during their night of lovemaking and felt the stirring of desire again. His gaze slipped down to the swell of her breasts exposed by her top’s curving neckline.
She wanted to be just “old friends.”
“Hugh? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset?” He shook his head. “Just thinking about the past.”
The little worry line formed between her eyebrows. He used to smooth it with his thumb when they were lying in bed together, usually naked.
“We were young and ambitious. Both of us, not just you,” she said. “Maybe our attention wasn’t on each other as much as it should have been.”
“Don’t feel guilty,” he said, putting his other hand over hers to hold it there. “I was the one who tried to make you into someone different. I fell head over heels in love with a hardworking veterinarian. Why would I want you to be anyone else?”
“It goes both ways. I loved an up-and-coming actor. I should have expected the publicity that went along with that.” Honestly, she’d been fine with it—even enjoyed their forays into an alien world of sparkling glamour—until Hugh started to dissect her public appearances under the microscope of his disapproval.
“Let’s stop worrying about our youthful mistakes,” he said.
“And try not to compound them with more recent ones,” Jessica said.
He knew exactly what she was referring to. “I don’t consider our night together a mistake.”
She pulled her hand away from his. “It wasn’t a good idea.”
“That’s the second time you’ve used that phrase in reference to me. I believe I’m offended.” Unless he could interpret it to mean that he affected her more than she wanted.
She folded her hands on the table and looked down at them.
So he could interpret it his way.
She lifted her head to look him in the eye as though she wanted to strip away all his masks. “What do you want from me?” she asked with quiet intensity.
