Below Unforgiven (6 page)

“Keaton! Sweetheart, I need those apricots!”

His eyebrows bounced on his forehead again at my grandmother’s call, and I glared at him. “
Sweetheart
?”

“I’m making waffles!” His animated answer made me think of Donkey on
Shrek
.

“What are you
doing
here?”

“I slept like shit. Been up since dawn.”

“You’re overly caffeinated. Or on crack.” I yawned, and he pinched my nose.

Actually leaned forward, reached for my face, and
pinched my nose.

I batted at his hand like I was shooing away an irritating fly, and he chuckled.

“Come eat. I made us an appointment at a bridal store in Johnstown at ten.”

“What?” I sat up, unable to shake my irritated glare. “Keaton, this is an invasion of privacy. I barely know you. And I can get a dress at Sears.”

He snorted, glancing around the sunlit basement. Multiple windows at ground level streamed bursts of morning light into the finished room, and his eyes followed the shelves along the wall that housed several knick-knacks, keepsakes, and memories of my grandmother’s. “You have a part to play, V, and nowhere on my script do I see the word Sears.”

V? “Hmn. Listen, snob,” I began, rubbing my eyes with my palms. “My money. If I can find a suitable gown at the mall, I keep the balance allotted for my ‘costumes’, right?” I made sure to air-quote the hell out of the word ‘costumes.’

He stared at me, and I finally cleared the sleep out of my eyes enough to really look at him. Khaki cargo shorts, black Van Halen tee-shirt, and bare feet.

“Where are your shoes?”

He gave me a look of mock horror. “I can’t wear my Chucks on your Grandmother’s carpet. Do you think I was raised in a barn?”

My mind wandered to the photos of him on the internet. He was classier than hell in a black tuxedo, cleanly shaven and manicured. I was sure he was the featured image on the Wikipedia entry for ‘debonair.’

Arms… biceps.
Sculpted and tanned, stretching the sleeves of his tee shirt. Unshaven, his stubbly face made the tips of my fingers prickle as I thought about the texture.

This close, I could see him in the bright light more clearly.
Rough
. Bags under his lower lids, and tiny, red veins in his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days. Younger up close than in those Google images.

I guessed this was his ‘nosedive’ look. I imagined what it would be like if he really did get me an audition, and I actually
got
the part.

Maybe we’d pose together on the red carpet, and he’d brag about discovering the brilliant Vivian Hale-

“Yes, you can keep your leftover costume money, but I have the final say on the gown. Agreed?”

His words snapped me back to the basement, and I nodded without thinking.

My grandmother’s voice carried down the steps. “Don’t make me drag my hip down those stairs, kids!”

He grinned, knowing and amused. “She would have said
ass
if it wasn’t for me, right?”

I exhaled a puff of laughter, reluctantly nodding. “Right.”

“Did I tell you that your grandma was my Sunday school teacher?” He winked, reaching for my hair and tugging. The action took me by surprise. Intimate, friendly.
Unnerving
. “Your hair is long.”

“Observant,” I said with a sarcastic eye roll, and started to stretch, but stopped when I realized that my top would ride up my stomach. Quickly dropping my arms, I scrambled to my feet. “Gram, we’re coming,” I called, reaching for my thin hair band. “Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.”

He climbed to his feet, his hands resting on my shoulders. I lifted my face to his, confused.

“I’ll need you in
heels
,” he said, his voice husky and low. As his hand slid down my arm and around to my back, my breath caught in my throat.

He tugged me against his chest.

Very conscious that I was completely braless as my breasts pressed against the AN in Van Halen, I braced my hands on his arms. My fingers wrapped around taut skin and muscle, and his palm pushed against the small of my back. When his thumb brushed the sensitive skin above the waistband of my shorts, I shivered, looking up at him quickly.

He was grinning like a madman. “Yes, definitely one inch. When we’re dancing, I want you to be able to lift your face and kiss me without me having to bend down to you.”

All of the blood rushed from my face, and he released me. “Kiss you?”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “Strategically placed kisses. No tongue, calm down. Look, this is going to be harder for me than it is for you. I’m a director, not an actor. But… I’ll do my best.”

“I’ve known you for-twelve hours!” I couldn’t help but protest, and he glanced at the watch on his wrist.

Nice
watch. Expensive.

“Okay, when exactly have we known each other long enough for our first kiss? Let me know, I want to plan accordingly. I need one in front of my mom, a few friends from high school, and maybe some groping in the hotel room elevator right before-…,”

“Jesus, this is crazy,” I shook my head, stalking to the bathroom. “Listen, I’m going to need a list of your ‘expectations.’”

“You are kind of an air-quote whore, did you know that?” He moved to the shelves by the laundry room, dragging his fingers along the canned goods. “Apricots, apricots… these are alphabetized. Gram did this?”

Gram? “She’s
my
gram, not
your
gram, and no, I did that. I organize things. When I’m nervous. Or bored. Now, go upstairs,” I ordered.

He took two steps at a time to the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but watch his calves flex up to his perfect ass the entire way to the door. He glanced back, catching me gawking. “Of course she’s looking. And the lady likes what she sees.”

“Go!” I shouted.

God, did he think this was a movie?

I used the bathroom and brushed my teeth, finally deciding to take a quick shower.
He can wait and hang out with ‘Gram’,
I thought smugly. Then I cursed myself for mental air-quotes. By the time I reached the kitchen, Gram was already done with her breakfast, and Keaton was standing at the sink, washing dishes.

“There she is! Good morning sunshine,” she greeted. I smiled, lowering to kiss her cheek at the kitchen table. Her perfect coif of silver hair was always in place, and her clear blue eyes mirrored my own. “Sleep well?”

“Yes. I hope I didn’t wake you up when I came home.” I lowered to the kitchen chair, my eyes still on Keaton as he soaped the dishes.

He turned to half face me, grinning, wearing Gram’s pink, rubber gloves, and I couldn’t resist smiling back at him. The V-shape of his shoulders and back were obvious as he leaned over the sink, and I decided that I liked Nosedive Keaton better than Red Carpet Keaton. Less intimidating.

More real.

“Not at all. Thanks for covering me up. Got a little breezy last night,” she gestured to the waffles. “Eat, sweetheart, you’re too skinny.”

I flushed. At least now
I
was sweetheart. “Thanks for making breakfast,” I answered.

“Oh, no, this was all Keaton,” she wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup. “Who would have guessed the little trouble maker in my Sunday school class would be making me waffles, sixteen years later?” She chuckled.

“Trouble maker, huh?” I poured a glass of orange juice, and she winked at Keaton as though they were old friends.

“When the nine-year-old star of the Christmas pageant stops in the middle of the play to argue that there was
no
way Mary could be a virgin-and pregnant-I knew he was something else,” she quipped, shaking her head. “Little shit.”

“Gram!” I widened my eyes, turning to Keaton. He shrugged, finishing the last of the dishes.

“A great production is all about the details.” He sauntered to the table with a cup of coffee, taking the seat next to me.

“And now he’s a star! He can introduce me to Liam Neeson. He knows him.”

“I met him, once,” Keaton corrected gently, his eyes still on me. “Cute dress.”

The sundress I grabbed from my makeshift closet (clothesline) was the same color blue as my eyes. “Thanks. Gram made this for me,” I smiled at her, and she blushed proudly.

“We spent hours at Jo-Ann Fabrics finding just the right color material to match those peepers. Too much black and brown in Vivie’s wardrobe. She needed something to make those eyes
pop
.”

“Well, I’ll keep this color in mind while we look for Vivie’s gown,” Keaton said, a smile playing over his lips before he took a sip of coffee.

I gave him a look that said
don’t call me that.
“She has the longest legs, so maybe something with a slit up the side-…,”

“Gram,” I protested again, feeling the entire morning tornadoing out of my control. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without me here?
Please
don’t climb up on that step ladder again.”

“I’ve been just fine for the past ten years since Granddaddy passed, and I’ll be just fine again. In fact, I have a date tomorrow evening.”

Gaping in disbelief, I turned to Keaton. He was fighting back a grin, those eyebrows bouncing up and down again like they were attached to springs. “Are you sure you don’t need anything from town, Mrs. Hale?” Keaton asked. I widened my eyes as he downed the coffee in seconds.

“No, no, I’m fine sweetheart. Just take care of my Vivie. I’m so excited she’s going to the wedding. I told your mom the trip to Pittsburgh was just too long for me. Jane understood, sweet dear. Oh, please tell her that mass has been changed to 11:30 starting next Sunday.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, squeezing my shoulder. His fingertips dug into all the right muscles. Pleasant chills raised my skin into a layer of goose bumps, and I moved uncomfortably in my seat.

I was getting pretty fucking annoyed at my body.

“You need a sweater for the convertible,” he said.

Thoughtful.

Close. So close.

Shifting away from him, I gathered my plate and carried it to the sink. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

Ten minutes later, seated in Keaton’s Ferrari as he drove down Hoss Pike, I reveled in the beautiful interior of the convertible. “I really can’t believe you’re
driving
this thing around. Did you drive here? From California? Or fly?”

“I drove. I left my car at my mom’s.”

I nodded, reading Robin’s text as it chimed on my phone.

My brother is insane. You know which brother I’m talking about. Run away Viv!

I laughed, and Keaton shot me a sideways smile, his eyes masked by aviators. “Texting again? Boyfriend?”

Flicking my eyes his way, I blanched.
Boyfriend?
“You think if I had a boyfriend, he’d just be
okay
with you paying me to spend the weekend as your girlfriend?”

He shrugged, reaching for the radio. The entire dash on the Ferrari gleamed, and I couldn’t help running my hands along the smooth leather. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“What kind of question is that? Did I ask you why you’re divorcing your wife?”

Settling on some kind of metal, slasher-screamer noise, he turned to me. “What, you didn’t read about it on
E!
Online
?”

“Watch the road!”

He swung back over the double yellow lines, and I caught my breath, shaking my head and turning away from him.

“So you know cars,” he said, and I shrugged.

“My dad’s thing. I just paid attention.” I cringed at his music. “What is this?”

He laughed. “Nine Inch Nails? Not a fan?”

“Nope. It sounds like you’re repeatedly hitting an animal in the road.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. He laughed again, all one-dimply and disarming, reaching for the radio.

“Let’s see… Vivian Hale, Vivian Hale, what would Vivian Hale listen to on her first ride in a 1962 Ferrari,” he was in that mode again, director mode, and I was beginning to recognize the wild gold in his eyes when it took over. “Quintessential driving songs. But she’s with this tall, dark stranger, and can’t stop admiring his rugged physique. She feels a twinge of danger, uncertainty, but her guilty eyes keep wandering to his wedding band.”

I glanced at the platinum ring right away, raising my brows.
Am I doing that?

“Got it.” He flashed me a crazy smile, and I watched, stunned, as he tugged his wedding band off and threw it into the highway.

“Keaton!”

“Stones.” He typed into his phone, and “Honky Tonk Woman” began. I turned back to him, gripping the dash in shock.

“Are you going to soundtrack our entire weekend?” I demanded, irritated that I’d made a mental note of where he threw the band.
I could have pawned that ring for at least a hundred bucks.

He grinned in response, replying by singing at the top of his lungs.

Off key, but admittedly entertaining. And charming. A whole lot of charming.

I hid my grin by turning away and focusing on the lush, green mountains. Truly, I loved New Florence more than anywhere in the world, even given the small-town atmosphere. The hills burst with summertime, and the natural spring water ran down the rocky cliffs and darkened the stone. I’d spent summer weekends there with Gram for most of my life.

He sang along, bobbing his head to the music, and I finally laughed and rolled my eyes at him. God, he had a terrible voice. It amazed me that someone so sexy, with a tone that turned everything on inside my body, couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. I laughed, though, reluctantly enjoying the contagious energy pouring from him.

His phone rang, silencing the song, and he glanced at the number before pressing it to his ear. “Hey-Frank. Hold on. Wait-no, I told you, Monday. Bull
shit
- he
knows
I’m leaving Monday. V, reach in the back and grab me that binder,” he ordered. I narrowed my eyes, turning in my seat to fish for the black binder in the tiny back seat.
Really? Am I his assistant now?

He’s paying me three grand. I’m anything he wants me to be.