Map to the Stars (9 page)

“Why'd you tell me that?” I asked, before I lost the courage.

He ducked quickly underwater and emerged to shake his head like a dog after a bath. I wasn't fooled by his attempt to buy time. His next words were so soft I almost couldn't hear them over the steady grinding noise of the hot tub jets.

“Because I like you.”

I let the words dangle in the space between us, hoping he'd say more if I kept quiet. It worked.

“You're the first person I've met in forever who isn't all ‘showbiz,' doesn't seem to be angling for something, isn't all about being seen with a celebrity or having some arm candy to impress her friends with. I mean, at least from what I've seen. You just seem . . .”

He paused and I waited, everything held.

“. . . real.”

My breath was caught beneath the lump in my throat, but I didn't want to let Graham see that. I still had some questions for the guy and a kind word or two was not going to melt me like butter. Except I was
feeling distinctly liquidy. The thing was, despite all the hype around him, right now—one-on-one like this—he was pretty real too.

The jury was still way out on Movie Star Graham, but Regular Graham was turning out to be something else entirely. I
wanted
to trust him and let my own guard down, but as much as I liked this version of Graham, I also couldn't shake the image of him turning his back on me outside Harrods. Or of him dropping my hand when we got off the plane. Why did he have to be so contradictory whenever we
weren't
alone? And would it just keep happening again and again?

“Um, I . . . um . . . I think I need to jump in the pool for a minute. The steam is getting to me,” I announced.

Lie.

It wasn't the heat that was making me light-headed and I needed some space to get my emotions back under my control. I tugged my bathing suit across as much of my body as I could manage, then rose from the oppressive water. Instantly, the crisper air made my limbs feel less rubbery. I hustled across the deck and, ignoring the DANGER: HEAD INJURY, NO DIVING signs, dove beneath the pool's surface, where I stayed under for as long as I could stand it, letting the water cool both my skin and my thoughts.

Above me, there was a splash, and I tipped my face up to see Graham stroking across the lap lane. His arms crashed through the calm water and when he reached one end he executed a perfect flip underwater and began hauling ass for the opposite wall. I surfaced and watched him churn through several more laps before pausing to catch his breath against the wall.

I
should
have gotten out, toweled off, and returned to my room.

Instead, I swam over to the wall Graham was leaning against and hooked my arms above it, resting my head on my elbows. As much as I tried to keep my emotions in check, there was something completely irrational about the way he kept pulling me in, like I was a moth and Graham was the porch light. I just hoped
his
porch light didn't include a bug zapper.

I giggled a little at the image, and Graham seemed to interpret my laugh as a peace offering. He ventured a splash at me.

It took me by surprise and I followed my first instinct, which was to splash back.

Graham's eyebrows rose and he scooped his arm under the surface and aimed a direct spray at my face.

Oh no, he didn't. Game on.

I channeled all my confusion and all the tension I'd been feeling into a full-on splash to the death battle. Graham's goggles gave him a distinct advantage and he used it well, but I fought dirty, swooping my arms to dig in and send torrents of water whooshing up his nose. He was relentless, but I'd spent enough time in the murky pond behind Wynn's to turn me into a water sprite.

Although we each had plenty of opportunity to take it to the next level by grabbing ahold of each other to dunk, Graham was very careful to avoid touching me and I followed his lead. We scrambled for better footing and landed near the tiled stairs in the shallow end. Graham turned his back to me for a second to dump water from his goggles, but I was waiting for that. I ducked under and surfaced on
the other side of him, catching him with a splash just before he tilted the lenses back into place. He stumbled sideways.

“Shit!” he screamed, clutching his toe and hopping on one foot.

I hesitated, my arm just below the surface and poised for another surprise attack. Graham held up both hands as he plopped down on a step. “Mercy.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. I could just picture having to explain to the press how Triton broke his foot—underwater, no less. That would grab some headlines.

Seeing my expression, Graham gave me a wide grin. “It's just a stubbed toe. Man, that . . . Was. Awesome.” He looked like he'd just gotten off Space Mountain. The kid got to walk red carpets and fly in private jets and here he looked like the highlight of his year was a fifteen-minute childish water fight in a random hotel pool.

I couldn't help but laugh as I dropped next to him on the step. For about the tenth time that night he reminded me of a puppy, only this time it was an exuberant one. An adorable, exuberant one.

Why, oh why, couldn't I have been born a cat person?

“Let's see it then,” I said, raising one leg out of the water and wiggling my toes at him. He didn't reciprocate.

“Is it that bad? Show me?” I happened to glance over at him as I spoke and saw the tips of his ears tinge red.

“It's totally fine. I just prefer to wave with my fingers, if you must know,” he said, in an offhand tone that sounded way too casual not to be suspicious.

“What, are you like Hemingway's cats or something?” I teased.

“Hemingway's cats?”

“Yeah, apparently Hemingway's cats all inbred and ended up with six toes.”

“E
www.
Why do you know that?” he asked.

“Why
don't
you?” I challenged.

“Sure. Remind me to give my tutor a hard time for my second-rate education.”

I wasn't letting him off the hook. “Okay, so no six toes. Mermaid tail? Crazy-high arches? Bunions?”

He groaned and lifted his left foot out of the water, using his hand to cover his eyes. He separated two fingers to peek at me from between them, but I was more focused on his foot than on his attempt at flirting, if that was even what it was.

“No way. That is crazy.”

Graham curled his foot back to his body and grabbed ahold of it to tug it in closer. “What do they even call that toe?” he asked with forced casualness, dropping his foot back underwater. “I know the fourth finger is the ring finger, but does the fourth toe have a toe name?”

“I don't know what they call it, but I know what you can name yours: Toezilla! That thing is like twice the size of the average person's. How badly did you stub it?”

He sighed and lowered his eyebrows. “That's not even the foot with the toe I stubbed. It's just always been like that.”

I stared at him. “How do you even find shoes that fit with that monstrosity?” Then I poked him in the chest so he'd know I was only kidding. Well, and plus so I'd have an excuse to touch his chest. Truly
pitiful. Me, not his chest. Definitely not his chest.

I tried not to take note of the fact it was the first time we'd touched all night. Graham didn't mention it either, but I could have sworn he sucked in his breath just a little when my finger moved toward him. The tension rushed back big-time, but this was a different kind of tension altogether. I was suddenly very aware of every inch that separated us on the steps; there weren't that many of them.

Graham cleared his throat in the silence that followed and said, “Whatever. Fine, so I guess I have my flaws. I'm hoping I can count on your discretion. I don't need my ring toe suddenly sporting its own Tumblr account.”

Okay, so we were still joking around. Joking I could do.

“Hmm . . .” I stroked my chin and pretended to be deep in contemplation before pronouncing, “I'll give it some thought. For now, I may just hang on to it as currency. I'm not above a little blackmail if the occasion calls for it.”

“Oh really?”

I grinned. “Well, no, probably not really. But I have to say, I do actually enjoy the fact that you have this flaw. Even if I'm the only one who knows about it.”

“Well, you, and my mom, and the costume designer for
Triton
. She had to order extra thick rubber for my fins to disguise it. Why exactly are we rejoicing in my shortcomings?”

“It's just nice to know there are things about the way you look that aren't picture perfect. Makes you seem more like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Graham snorted. “Ha! I'm pretty far away from perfect. I hope you know that by now. That stuff that everyone else sees? That's a whole army of people and product and even then a really good airbrush is brought in to smooth it all over. Perfect isn't real.”

“Oh yeah, what's real, then?” I asked, with a tinge of daring to my voice. I half hoped he would laugh it off and start another splashing war and half prayed he wouldn't. What I really wanted was to revisit the conversation he'd started in the hot tub—the one I was too chicken to stick around to finish. I suddenly wasn't feeling very chicken anymore.

He shifted his body so that his hip settled against mine and my brain instantly calculated the lack of fabric between us at the moment. I gulped as Graham turned his eyes to mine. They looked slightly glassy and I couldn't tell if it was the weird quality of light in the indoor pool or if it was something . . . more.

“I told you already. You are,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine. Definitely
not
the pool light then.

My breath caught, right at the base of my throat. I gave a burst of nervous laughter that echoed mockingly off the tile walls. I couldn't look away and his eyes grew softer still. Were mine doing the same gooey thing? Could he hear how loud my brain was screaming at him to kiss me? The jets in the hot tub abruptly turned off; the timer must have run out. It was completely quiet in the room, save for the whale sounds coming through the speakers. Not that I was the least bit aware of them. All I could focus on was Graham's eyes, Graham's shallow breaths, Graham's hand reaching up to smooth back a strand
of hair that had been dripping water down my face, which I hadn't even noticed.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

“What? I . . . what?”

“You're shivering.”

“Oh. Yes. No. I mean, I'm not cold.” We were both whispering now, even though there was no need. Neither of us had broken eye contact.
God, pleeeeeeeease kiss me.

“Annie?” Graham leaned in ever so slightly and when he took a ragged breath, his exhale was warm on my cheek.

I was just collecting myself enough to answer him when his lips brushed mine, feather-soft and questioning. I was so relieved he'd heeded my wishes that I sighed into them and he took that as the invitation it was. He pressed more firmly against my lips for a few seconds before gently teasing them open. As he deepened the kiss, my body went slack. His arms wrapped around my back and he pulled me close. Water sloshed across the steps at the movement, but it registered somewhere very far away in my brain. All the front parts of my mind were focused on one thing only: Graham's lips on mine.

Holy hell, I'm kissing a movie star.
But just as quickly as I had the thought, it flew away because it wasn't like that. At all. It didn't feel like I was kissing a movie star. It felt like I was kissing this boy who'd opened up to me and told me he liked me and seemed every bit as real as he apparently found me. This boy I liked. A lot. Almost as though he was inside my brain and could hear my thoughts, he softened his kiss so that it became completely sweet and tender. His fingers traced
a light circle on my back.

I was melting. Melting fast. I wrapped my arms around his neck. For a first kiss, our lack of wardrobe should have been uncomfortable, but I barely noticed. Well, I mean, I
noticed
, but . . . I wrapped my finger around a lock of hair at the nape of his neck. His right hand moved to my hip and ran along my side as he broke the kiss and moved his lips along my jaw until his breath teased warm in my ear.

“Annie,” he whispered.

I didn't think I'd be able to form a word so I settled for a sound that I hoped sounded like something remotely close to, “Hmmm?”

“I—”

The door to the room clicked open loudly. Shit!

“Hey, kids, sorry to rain on the parade but it's closing time.” A uniformed hotel staffer addressed us before grabbing a mop and sloshing water around the pool deck. “There are some extra towels on the cart outside the door. Just grabbed them out of the dryer, so they're warm,” he offered with a smile, nothing but discretion in his attitude.

Graham scrambled out of the pool as if we'd been busted doing much more than kissing. By the time I got out of the water he'd already thrown on a T-shirt and was towel drying his mop of hair. Once again, the Graham Cabot Disappearing Act was about to take place. I shouldn't have been surprised.

Except after carefully observing the man now angling lounge chairs into position for a moment, Graham's shoulders relaxed and he turned to me again.

“Sorry about that. I'm a little paranoid about paparazzi these days
and you can't imagine the disguises they'll try.”

Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Possibly because none of my previous dates had ever involved the potential of cavity searches for hidden cameras.

“Um, it's okay,” I told him, while I finished getting my robe and slippers on and shuffled through the door he held open for me. Everything was fine, but there was an awkwardness that wasn't there before The Kiss.

We rode up in the elevator together and Graham insisted on “walking me home,” even though his suite was several floors above mine.

He paused outside the door to the room my mother and I were sharing. I fiddled around in my robe pocket for my room key while Graham looked about as uncomfortable as I felt. Awkward. So much awkward.