“Then we can talk about it when we’ve both had some sleep.” He wasn’t going to make any rash promises tonight. Not with the smell of her perfume clouding his judgment and the softness of her hair tickling his chin.
Besides, she was in a heightened emotional state and who knew if she’d still feel the same tomorrow? Who knew if she’d even remember to say “thank you” to him for rescuing her tomorrow?
Not that it mattered. He didn’t go around rescuing damsels for the glory. He was just a sucker for a woman with tears in her eyes and tonight she’d had that look written all over her.
Tonight she needed a friend, someone at her side, not because of who she was and what she could do for them, but just to be there for her. He could do that.
And tomorrow…
Tomorrow had a way of taking care of itself.
Nina said nothing. Her lids hung heavy and she laid her cheek against his chest again.
He watched a satellite orbit slowly across the sky and when it disappeared from sight, he stirred, moving his aching limbs. “I should take you home before it gets light and the rest of the world wakes up.”
“I don’t want to go home. Can’t I just stay here?” She murmured.
“If you don’t mind getting some very curious stares from the early-morning beach walkers.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I’m damned if I stay and damned if I go, so home it will have to be.” She rolled away from him and sat up, reaching for her shoes. “Is my make-up smudged? If it is, we’ll need to find a restroom somewhere so I can try to fix it up. If I have to get past the inevitable cameras, at least I don’t want to look as if I’ve fallen to pieces.”
“There is another option. You could come home with me.”
She eyed him coolly for a long moment before she answered. “Thanks, but no thanks. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight, but I’m not that grateful.”
“That wasn’t a proposition. I have a guest room you can use.”
“You don’t want me?” She pouted, her big eyes rounding in a typical actress way, as if her entire being depended on being wanted and adored every moment of the day.
He laughed, hoping she was just messing with him. “You’ve had an upsetting and emotional night and I won’t take advantage of that. I don’t have many morals when it comes to pretty women, but I don’t prey on them in their moments of weakness.” Preying on their easiness tended to be way less complicated. “When I make love to a woman, it’s not because she’s grateful, or confused, or out of some misguided need for comfort. When you come to me, it’ll be because you want me.” He stood and dusted himself off. “And just for the record, of course I find you desirable. I am a man, after all.”
There was that smile again, the one that turned her luminescent and could make the strongest of men feel like a million bucks. The smile that was pure old-school Hollywood glamour.
They climbed back to the road. She straddled the bike behind him again, her body pressed up against his, her arms wrapped around his waist, and he smiled too.
The drive all the way back to Venice Beach suddenly didn’t seem so far.
Nina wasn’t sure how she’d imagined Dominic’s house, but this wasn’t it. Not the stereotypical penthouse apartment of a bachelor, all chrome and glass, but a craftsman cottage in a quiet walk street in Venice, bright-colored amid a lush garden oasis just visible now in the light tinge of dawn.
She was too tired to notice much more as she followed Dom through the house to the guest bedroom.
He hovered in the door and she turned to face him. “Thank you. For everything.”
The crooked grin curved his mouth, and it wasn’t gratitude that had her hoping he would lean in so she could feel that grin against her lips.
“For what it’s worth…” his voice was a purr that started at the top of her spine and whispered all the way down. “I’m glad you turned down Paul de Angelo.”
He pulled the door shut behind him and she found herself staring at it for a long moment, her pulse racing and her mouth dry.
Removing her make-up was a mission, with nothing more than soap and water at hand, but she managed to get rid of the worst before she shucked off the remains of her destroyed evening dress and crawled between sheets smelling of lemony fabric softener.
It was only as she closed her eyes to let sleep claim her that she remembered what Dominic had said. Not “if you come to me,” but when.
Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she drifted into sleep.
The angle of the light was all wrong. Nina forced open eyelids that seemed stuck together. Her mind was awake, but her body resisted. She snuggled deeper into the warm, soft duvet with its alien scent and peered out.
Her emotions were less easy to appease than her body. As the memories of the night came crashing back, so did the disappointment, excitement, humiliation, and turmoil. But her most overwhelming sensation was relief.
She’d done the right thing.
She was so not going to be one of those celebrities who racked up marriages and divorces faster than they racked up air miles.
What had Paul been thinking? They hadn’t even met each other’s families yet. How would her family feel hearing the news of her engagement from whichever reporter first managed to track them down for a comment?
She could imagine what Gran would have to say, and none of it would be printable.
Even so, she’d probably committed career suicide last night. But she couldn’t lie in bed all day and pretend it hadn’t happened. She’d have to get out there and face the music.
She stretched in the luxurious warmth of the bed and lifted herself up on her elbows. A large room, all in white but somehow not clinical. Golden sunlight slanted through the gap in the gauzy white curtains, across the white hardwood floor and onto the four-poster where she had slept. On one wall hung a dozen pictures in matching dark-wood frames. She climbed out of bed and moved to take a closer look.
Miniature movie posters; the kind they gave away free at movie theatres on opening nights. It was a moment before she registered they were probably all movies Dominic had worked on. Not all Christian Taylor movies, though she’d assumed they always worked as a team.
On the antique bench at the foot of the bed lay a pile of neatly folded clothes with a note. Hope something fits. She lifted the clothes gingerly. A pair of ladies’ sweatpants, jeans, a couple of t-shirts, and a hoodie. She didn’t want to think too closely who they might once have belonged to. She didn’t want to think too closely about what their owners had worn to go home in either. But at least they would be more comfortable than a way-too-revealing,
