The Things She Says (7 page)

“Because you hang out with all blind and deaf people?”

In spite of the somberness coating the back of his throat, he laughed. How did she do that? He had the capacity to fall into moodiness for days—had, many times—but she blew right through it as if it didn’t exist. “Yeah. I guess so. But I don’t sit around having heart-to-heart talks with anyone about why I love being a director, either.”

“It’ll be our secret, then.” She smiled, and it dove right into his stomach. He forced his attention back to the road and tried to forget how her breast felt like velvet, which was impossible with the scent of coconut wafting in his direction as she leaned forward and said, “Tell me another one.”

“I can’t figure out the theme for
Visions of Black.
” Wow, that had not been what he’d meant to say at all. “It’s bothering me. Normally, I’d have all that down by now.”

“What’s the movie about?” Her hand inched closer to his but didn’t touch it.

“It’s a drama about a woman who wakes up in the hospital blind and suffering from amnesia, but she can see visions in her head of disjointed scenes. A persistence of vision she can’t stop.” He glanced at her, and she was watching him closely. No doubt picking apart his brain with her odd insight. “Persistence of vision is a theory that an image stays on the eye after that image has actually disappeared, which is how some scientists think people process the individual frames of film. So it all ties together. I’m boring you.”

“Not at all,” she said softly. “I love listening to you talk. Your voice does something to me. And it’s kind of delicious.”

The atmosphere in the car grew thick with thrumming anticipation again. He had to shift it, get a barrier up fast, or he was going to fall headlong into her and this time, he wouldn’t stop. He cleared his throat. “The backing and publicity for
Visions of Black
are really important. My career is at stake. I’ve been trying for years to find the right combination of art and commercial success with no luck. In Hollywood, it’s all about the numbers. A bigger budget and the right names attached to the movie are the only things I haven’t tried.” He fiddled with the air conditioner until it was blowing at exactly the same rate and temperature as before he’d started. “I have to do this, and Kyla’s a big part of it. Film is important to me. It’s my only outlet.”

“Oh. I see.”

He had a really distinct feeling she did. “No jokes about how repressed I am? You’re not going to offer to be my other outlet? I handed that to you, gift-wrapped. With a bow.”

She shrugged. “Trust me, I had a scintillating response on the tip of my tongue, but I’m going to apologize instead. I’m sorry I pushed you so hard. About love and romance. It’s none of my business. I understand the engagement is important to the film. I’ll back off.”

The barrier thumped into place. Quiet filled the car and pressed down on his shoulders. “You don’t have to apologize for having an opinion. A really strong opinion.” She didn’t smile. His shoulders got heavier. “Truthfully, I was looking forward to more stage five.”

She sighed. “It’s kind of pointless. You don’t even believe in love.”

Ouch. That pained expression on her face had him stumbling to speak. “What people think is love fades more easily than anyone will admit. Love is best confined to the screen, where it can last. So why not have a marriage based on a business agreement? At least then everyone’s on the same page.”

Even the idea of marriage nauseated him. Passion died, without a doubt, and when it did, a wife was on the front line for what it turned into. He couldn’t allow that to happen to anyone, least of all to a person unfortunate enough to fall in love with him.

Passion didn’t last. Love didn’t last. His career had been built on capturing both the only possible way. The safest way.

“You’re challenging me to prove love can last forever,” she said. “Which is impossible since I haven’t lived forever yet. Hook up with a vampire if you want better data.”

“Until I find one, you’re the only expert I’ve got. Why are you so sold on this whole idea of hearts and cupids? Read too many books?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Stiffly, she rested the side of her head on the glass, and he had the impression it wasn’t far enough away for her. “I just am.”

Something sharp clogged his windpipe. She had shut down, thanks to his stupid barriers, and he couldn’t stand it. “You can’t cop out. I’m being brutally honest. Now it’s your turn.”

She sank down in the seat. Way down. “I promised Mama. On her death bed.”

The last word was cut off as she buried her face in the T-shirt’s hem. Crying. Did his stupidity know no bounds?

Without hesitation, he took the next exit and rolled to a stop as soon as the car cleared the white line. Some things required his full attention. He stroked her back until she peered up from the pile of shirt. “Better now?” he asked.

“I’m not usually such a crybaby.”

“I’m not usually such an idiot.”

She choked out a laugh, and he finally took a deep enough breath to clear his head. One tear ran down her cheek and she seemed too drained to notice, so he wiped it away with the palm of his hand.

“I sat by Mama’s bed and read to her,” she said. His hand rested against her collarbone because he was unable to stop touching her while she hurt. “For two years. Romance novels because she liked knowing it was going to end happily. Mama had a tough life. She made me promise to find my own happiness outside of Little Crooked Creek, because she knew I’d end up like her if I stayed.”

VJ’s gaze sought and held his, begging him to understand. He did. The bruise under her eye said it all. Her hand slid up to cover his.

“I have to believe,” she said. “Those stories aren’t some author’s imagination. The magic between a man and a woman is out there. All I have to do is find it.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah, you know. The perfect blend of love, passion and friendship.”

Agape,
eros
and
philia.
Magic was indeed the only way they’d ever come together in one person. He yanked his hand away. That was a whole boatload of puppies to step on and the poignancy behind her single-minded perseverance added a few kittens.

The fairy tale she sought wasn’t some adolescent, misguided dream, it was a death-bed vow she intended to keep. She deserved a man who believed in the possibility of forever.

All the more reason to stay far, far removed from VJ. Emotionally and physically. Good thing they’d be parting ways soon.

“I hope you find it,” he said sincerely. He liked the thought of her out there in the world, happy and fulfilled.

She searched his face, looking for something, and this time he wished he had it to give, but knew he didn’t. The moment passed and he shrugged it off.

“Me, too,” she said. “Though I need to find a place to stay first. The condo I’m moving into won’t be ready for three weeks and my roommate is out of town until then.” She made a face. “So I’m homeless. Great plan on my part to escape Little Crooked Creek with no backup and no money.”

“You don’t have any money?” How did she intend to support herself? He’d assumed she had a place to go or they would have had this conversation before now.

Guarded tension hardened her expression. “I’ll be okay.”

“VJ.” She wouldn’t look at him. “You told me at the diner that you’ve been saving every dime. What happened to your money?”

“We have a long way to go. Get back on the freeway and drive.”

“Like hell I will.” This situation had him so angry he was cursing in English. “Answer the question.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest like a shield. “I’m not your responsibility. I’ll figure it out.”

“In the dark? In a strange city? You have a screw loose if you think I’m going to let you fend for yourself. Keep your secrets about the money or don’t. I don’t care. But you’re staying with me until you find other arrangements. Period.”

Mouth tight, he stomped on the clutch, threw the car into gear and turned up the music so she couldn’t argue. And so he couldn’t hear his subconscious laughing at his pathetic effort to sound noble when he’d greedily latched on to this perfect excuse to keep her around.

“I’m not sharing a hotel room with you,” VJ shouted over the music.

With a stab of his finger, he cut off the music. “I have a suite. Two bedrooms. So humor me,” he said, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. “And separate bathrooms before you start on that.”

Like the insubstantial impediment of a wall mattered, when VJ was on the other side of it, all gorgeous and amazing and alone.

How much of a glutton for punishment was he, really?

Seven

A
modest square sign of carved ebony wood marked the entrance to Hotel Dragonfly, visually separating it from the short-circuiting neon signs of every motel in VJ’s neck of the woods. Dallas really was in another realm.

Kris downshifted to turn into the drive and steered around a tour bus splashed with the name of a rap artist even VJ had heard of.

“Don’t worry. He’s one of the quieter ones.” Kris nodded toward the bus resembling a giant bumblebee as he parked.

“I guess you know a lot of famous people.” It wasn’t a surprise, but she’d been enjoying her Ferrari bubble where no one existed except for her and Kris. “Have you stayed here before?”

“Several times. The Dallas Film Festival is where I won my first award and the Studios at Mustang Park are a Mecca for those of us in independent film.” He helped her out of the car, and they walked to the lobby. “I’m going to use the studio for my new film, even though I’ll have a larger budget. Kyla and I are supposed to meet with a couple of other people there on Tuesday.”

That douse of cold water woke her up. She’d known he was driving to Dallas to meet Kyla, but it had always been later. Now it was now. “Is Kyla staying at this hotel, too?”

Lord have mercy, was she that daft? Of course Kyla was staying here. Probably in Kris’s room. Just because they weren’t getting married didn’t mean they weren’t sleeping together. She should have asked more questions a long, long time ago. She should have said no to the offer of a room.

As she weighed the mortification of sharing a hotel suite with the lovers versus another night on the street, he shook his head. “She’s from Dallas. She’s staying with her mom.”

Breath she hadn’t realized was trapped in her lungs hissed out. Kris and Kyla weren’t involved. She’d stake her life on it. Regardless, he wasn’t like that, looking for opportunities to humiliate her, and she was ashamed for even thinking it. He wanted to rescue her. Again. But without expecting anything in return. He was an all-around decent guy with hands skilled enough to make a girl lose her religion. A guy whom she did not have to say goodbye to for at least another night.

It didn’t matter.
The Rescue of VJ Lewis
wasn’t the title of a romance novel, and the extra room didn’t mean anything other than a place to sleep. Space he thought nothing of offering because Kris was generous to a fault—as long as it didn’t require him to give up anything emotionally important.

The chic clerk at the front desk greeted Kris by name, drew attention to her cleavage and dismissed VJ in one shot. VJ was too busy trying to hide the bruising on her face to have much energy left over to care. Kris slid a black credit card across the marble desk and smiled back at the tramp.

“How many keys, Mr. Demetrious?” Tramp asked.

“Two,” he said and nodded to VJ. “Ms. Lewis is helping me with preproduction on my new film, and we have a lot of work to do.”

“Of course,” she said with a fake smile and tapped on the keyboard in front of her. She handed Kris a small envelope, carefully touching her fingers to his before releasing it. “Enjoy your stay.”

VJ followed Kris to the elevator. Once inside, she glanced at him. “Smooth. Do you often squirrel away women in your hotel room under the guise of ‘helping’ with your movies?”

God on High, did she
really
want to know the answer?

Kris just laughed. “First time. Usually the hotel staff is pretty discrete. Have to be with so many headline-grabbers under one roof. But why invite someone to create a story where none exists?”

And didn’t that bit of truth hit the barn broadside? Yep, no story here. He needed Kyla to make his movie, and VJ couldn’t stand in the way. It meant too much to him. And she owed him an immeasurable debt. A step back from romance instruction and flirting and trying to claim his buried heart was the least she could do. Even if it made her eye sockets burn and her throat scratchy.

The top-floor suite defied description. She didn’t want to touch anything lest the magic wear off. Espresso-stained modern furniture dotted the living area and splashes of sage green, beige and dark purple accented the uptown theme. There was a cozy dining-room table on a raised dais with a half circle of windows beyond it offering an unbroken view of downtown Dallas skyscrapers, all lit for the night in winking splendor. A small area with a sink, microwave and refrigerator occupied the space next to the table.

Small being relative. Her kitchen at home was half that size.

The last time she’d stayed in a hotel was the after-prom party, of which the remarkable highlights were Walt throwing up eight wine coolers on her dress and Pamela Sue helping clean it up in the tiny bathroom. This was...not even close.

As promised, two doors, one on each side of the room, led to the bedrooms. “I’m going to sleep for about ten hours,” she said.

“This one’s yours.” Kris guided her to the room on the left and opened the door. “Do you want dinner?”

“Not really. You’ve done enough for me already. I can’t ever repay you.”

She turned to enter the room so she could collapse but he stopped her with a solid grip on her arm. “VJ.”

She kept her back to him.

Not now.

She might break into a million pieces if he said something sexy. Or nice. Or in Greek...

Actually, it didn’t matter what he said, her fragileness was due to being at the threshold of the rest of her life and scared to death. Scared she couldn’t hack life outside of Little Crooked Creek. Scared she’d made a mistake in getting into the Ferrari this morning. Scared she’d never find anyone else who lit her up inside like Kris did.

“Sleep well,” he said and released her arm. She had the impression it wasn’t what he’d intended to say but she didn’t dare press it.

“Good night,” she whispered and shut the door behind her.

The bedroom was done in the same style as the main area of the suite, but she hardly noticed it. She trudged to the giant, elegant bathroom and took off all her clothes. Her small bag looked forlorn and out of place against the richly tiled floor. Guests in a hotel like this probably had servants with more luggage. As if she’d needed some additional clues she didn’t belong here.

A hot shower went a long way toward improving her mood. The boiler at home never gave up more than about ten minutes of hot water, and she loved every second of the half an hour she stood under the multiple jets and streams. Beautiful little bottles lining an indention in the shower wall contained exotically scented shampoo, conditioner and shower gel, which she gratefully used. Finally, she felt clean and stepped out, kicking her clothes under the vanity at the same time.

She dripped water all over the bathroom floor and spent longer mopping it up than she had energy for, but couldn’t bear the idea of overworked maids cleaning up after her. In the drawer of the vanity, she found toothpaste, lotion and a brush and used them all.

Naked, she fell into the giant bed and wiggled under the covers.

When she woke, it was still dark. The clock on the chunky bedside table read 2:20 a.m.

Her stomach rumbled. It had been twelve hours since she’d eaten. She debated. Check the refrigerator in the other room for food or order room service? Either one would be charged to Kris’s slick credit card.

She bit her lip. None of this was what she’d intended or expected. The lure of escaping with the gorgeous stranger in the
muy amarilla
Ferrari had been irresistible. An adventure with endless possibilities.

Well, here she was, smack in the middle of the only possible outcome. Gorgeous stranger was about to be engaged to Kyla, she had nowhere else to go and she was starving.

Morosely, she stabbed her arms into the fluffy bathrobe from the peg in the bathroom and placed the sign hanging from the pocket on the vanity, which read,
Help yourself to this complimentary robe. We will gladly charge your room for it.

Everything cost something. That was the lesson here. So she’d wear it for now, and put it back neatly the way she found it. At least wearing the robe, she felt more like she belonged in this luxurious suite.

She eased the door open and tiptoed out into the main living area. The year of living quietly with Daddy’s drunken rages had honed her ability to creep through any room with the finesse of a jewel thief.

“Can’t sleep?”

Kris’s voice cut through the black, and VJ yelped. An exhale of breath, low and even, came from the direction of one of the trim couches, indiscernible in the dark.

“Hungry,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I was hoping the refrigerator had something in it.”

“It does. Champagne.” His voice snaked around her, burrowing under the robe to kiss her bare skin. “What are you hungry for? I’ll order room service.”

Before she told him exactly what she hungered for, she asked, “Why are you awake? I was expecting you to be in your room.”
Or I never would have left mine.

“Blocking scenes in my head. I have a whacked out creative process, which works best in pitch-black with no distractions. Bed is for sleeping.”

Full dark did something sinful to his accent. It was more pronounced and breaking at odd intervals. Fatigue, no doubt, and not due to the same heavy awareness messing with
her
voice.

“Sorry I intruded, then.” She started to back away and tripped, almost swan-diving into the unfamiliar low-pile carpet. Thankfully, the lack of light hid her graceless recovery.

“You didn’t. Stay. This is your room, too. I don’t want you to feel like a guest who can’t be hungry.”

His disembodied voice was disturbing as it spiraled around inside her, heating places it couldn’t be allowed to affect. He needed to be with Kyla, and she needed more than one night. Melancholy lodged behind her breastbone. “Can you at least turn on a light? I’m not part cat.”

Some shuffling and muted light spilled into the room from the half circle of windows as he drew back the drapes. He’d changed into a pair of soft pants which clung to every line of his hips and thighs. And he was shirtless.

Her tummy tumbled to Mexico. The glow of skyscrapers rippled along his shoulders and his lean torso as he tucked the heavy curtains aside. His arms were as sculpted as his face, bulging slightly with muscle, tendons wrapping to his wrist in a trail she’d follow any day.

“Um, maybe dark was better,” she blurted and smacked her forehead.
Shut up.

“I disagree. I like that tousled look on you.”

He disappeared into his room and returned covered up by a shirt and she stifled a sigh. Well, the image of his bare back was emblazoned across her retinas like lightning forking through the sky, shirt or no shirt. In what world did someone so charismatic and finely built end up behind the camera?

“I’ll order us something. I haven’t eaten, either,” he said as he settled back onto the couch as if nothing had happened. Nothing
had
happened, but she was still frozen four feet from her door.

It was just dinner. She’d eaten two other meals with Kris. But neither of those meals had taken place behind closed doors while she wore nothing other than a big towel.

“Sit down.” He nodded to the empty cushion a quarter inch from his thigh and picked up the phone from the end table. “You’re not bothering me. Really.”

You’re bothering me.

Cautiously, she edged onto the couch—the other couch—and tugged the robe up around her neck as a flimsy barrier.

The tranquil sage and deep purples artfully strewn about the suite invited her to relax, to enjoy the rare reprieve from taking care of Daddy and her brothers, but the oasis had no effect on her goose bumps. Or the grasshoppers in her stomach. This was entirely too intimate, and she had no business being here with an almost-engaged man.

Even if he wasn’t going to marry Kyla. Especially if he wasn’t.

Nothing good ever happened after midnight. This was the time of night when Cinderella was still hobbling home, minus a shoe and toting a fourteen-pound pumpkin. Good Baptists were in bed. Asleep.

They sat in edgy silence for an eternity.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, startling her out of a fantasy where she’d stripped him of all his clothes and straddled him, still wearing the robe, but loosening the sash enough for it to slip off one shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“What’s stage six?”

Her heart stumbled over a beat. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with now?”

Where should she start counting all the reasons why not now? “It’s late, and you’re working.”

“I’m done. Why are you sitting way over there?”

“I like this couch. It’s comfortable. That one is too small for two people. With your long legs and all.” God, she was babbling.

“My legs aren’t on the couch.”

He sounded amused, and why wouldn’t he be? She was laughably inexperienced at sitting around in the half-light of a bustling urban city with a sophisticated man almost engaged to someone else.

“What’s stage six?” he asked again, and merciful heaven, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of dinner. She sprang for the door before he could move.

A white-coated waiter stood in the hall with a rolling cart, staring at her expectantly. Kris materialized behind her, pressing the length of his taut frame against hers, leaning into it. Her breath rattled in her throat as the shock of awareness, the heat of his body, thrummed through her.

Then Kris gently guided her from the doorway to allow the waiter to roll the cart inside. Her breath rushed out in a sigh. She’d been in the way. That’s all. This roller coaster of hope and dashed hope was getting ridiculous.

Ridiculous because she shouldn’t have any hopes except to get her life settled and move on.

Kris tipped the waiter and moved the dishes from the dining area to the low coffee table shared by the couches. “Is this okay? I hate eating formally. Reminds me too much of when I lived with my parents.”

“Sure.” She wasn’t going to be able to swallow anything anyway. Then he lifted the metal cover from one of the plates. Fried chicken. She almost laughed, until the meaty smell of it weakened her knees. Okay, so she’d eat a little something.