Clearly, it was his only hope of keeping her on his side right now.
He could do this. He wouldn’t lose his temper, and he wouldn’t add fuel to the fire. If need be, he wouldn’t say anything. If he didn’t engage, sooner or later Thalia Thorne would get tired of asking. It was that simple.
The glint of sunlight off gold slowed him up, and he found himself staring at his Oscar. He didn’t know why he kept the damn thing out—after all, his Golden Globe and all his other awards were in a box in the back of his closet. Oscar had brought him nothing but heartache, today included. He hefted it off the mantle, feeling the cold metal. He’d been terrified the night he’d won, hoping and praying someone else—anyone else—would win, but knowing that the race was his to lose. And when they called his name, the terror had spiked right on over to panic. If he hadn’t figured it out before that moment, he knew then that he’d lost any semblance of control he’d had over his life. People had always expected things of him—his mother, his agent, film people—but he’d known when he’d won that the life he’d barely managed to keep a grip on was going to be wrenched from his control. And he’d been right. He’d stopped being a person and become nothing but a commodity.
He’d hated feeling powerless then, and he hated it now. That was the problem with Thalia Thorne. Her unwelcome intrusion left him feeling like he wasn’t in control anymore.
He looked Oscar in the face. “I’m the boss around here,” he said, more to himself than the inanimate object. So that woman had him a little spooked. So she’d won over Minnie and Hoss. He was not about to cede control of his life to the likes of her and, by extension, Levinson. No pretty face, no sweet touch and no amount of money would change his mind.
His resolve set, he headed downstairs. Nice? Sure. Polite? Barely. But he wasn’t taking the part. He wasn’t taking anything from Thalia Thorne.
At least he’d gotten back down to the kitchen before Hoss. Thalia was still on the stool with Minnie standing next to her. From the look of it, they were poring over Minnie’s latest People magazine.
“I love this dress on Charlize,” Minnie was saying in a wistful tone that was far more girlish than normal.
“Really? I thought the one she wore at last year’s BAFTAs was better.” Thalia glanced up at him, and damned if her face didn’t light up almost exactly like it had when he’d woken her up two days ago.
He was not being swayed by her face. So he crossed his arms and glared at her. It didn’t have the desired impact. Instead of paling or shrinking away, she favored him with a small grin. Damn.
“The BAFTAs?” Minnie was thankfully too engrossed in her fashion daydreams to notice his lack of manners.
“The British equivalent of the Oscars.”
“Oh.” It was hard to begrudge Minnie this little bit of fun, because she was clearly in seventh heaven. “Would pictures of that be online? We could look them up!”
“Sure.” Although Thalia was talking to Minnie, she was still looking at him like she was happy to see him again. For completely stupid reasons, J.R. was happy to note that she didn’t look at Hoss like that. Just him.
“I’ll go get my laptop.” Minnie looked up, registering his presence for the first time. “Oh, J.R., keep an eye on the casserole, okay?”
“I’ll do it,” Thalia volunteered as Minnie all but ran up the back stairs to get her computer.
He was alone with Thalia. That realization left him with an uncomfortable pit in his stomach. This was his chance—maybe his only chance—to tell her off. He was tired of feeling out of place in his own home. It was time to return the favor.
When she swung those long legs off the stool to head toward the oven, he made his move. He grabbed her arm so hard that she spun into his chest with a squeak. And just like that, they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest.
Big, huge mistake. Her breasts pressed against his chest with little regard to the two layers of sweaters that stood between them. With her boots on, her face was only a few inches below his, and when she looked up into his eyes, he realized how little space separated his mouth from hers.
“What are you doing here?” Besides driving him to distraction, that was. His body strained to respond to the light scent of strawberries that hung around her. She smelled good enough to eat.
Down, boy.
“I came back to see Minnie.” Her voice trembled a little as she pushed on his chest with her hands. Not hard—not enough to drive them apart—but enough to make him loosen his grip.
“It won’t work.”
“What won’t?” She had the nerve to look innocent. That made him mad again, which distracted him from the pressure building behind his jeans’ zipper.
“You’re trying to get Minnie to convince me to take the part. It won’t work.”
He had her full attention—and that was becoming a problem. Her eyes were wide open, her lips were barely parted. All he’d have to do would be to lower his head without letting go of her. Did she taste as sweet as she smelled?
She angled her head to one side a little. Her hair tipped off her shoulders, exposing the curve of her neck. Her hands, which had been flat on his chest, curved at the fingers, as if she was trying to hold on to him, trying to pull him in closer.
Against his every wish, his head began to dip. He could not kiss her; he could not be turned on by her; he could not be interested in her—but he was. She was going to ruin the life he’d made, and he almost didn’t care. It was almost worth the way she looked at him, soft and innocent and waiting to be kissed.
Almost.
“Did Levinson tell you to seduce me? Is that it?”
Indignant color flooded her cheeks as everything inviting about her burned up in the heat of her glare. J.R. wasn’t all that surprised when she pushed him back and slapped his face all at once. “I’m not his whore.” Her voice was level, cold—as if she were in complete control of the situation.
The way she hissed the words made it pretty clear that J.R. had finally, finally gotten under her skin. And it was still possible that her fury was an act, a cover for a seduction gone wrong.
So why did he feel like crap? “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I wouldn’t put it past Levinson.”
“I’m not Levinson.”
That fact was abundantly clear. He wished Minnie would come back so he could return to safely sulking instead of insulting Thalia’s honor. But as there weren’t any footsteps on the stairs, he might as well go for broke. “Why do you need me so bad? Actors are a dime a dozen.”
It was only after he said it that he realized his words could be taken at least two different ways. He felt his face get hot. Luckily, she looked down at the floor, so she didn’t see it.
She almost said something, he realized—but stopped short. Finally, she said, “People are curious about you. They’d pay money to find out what happened to you,” in the same cold tone of voice.
And just like that, J.R. was again a commodity to be bought and sold. That
