Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy (5 page)

But staying was actually important for more reasons than his hedonist tendencies.

It wouldn't matter if he gave her what she'd asked for. This was Grace, not someone who'd use the information against him.

“I'm starting another project in a few weeks—a part I've been dying for—and I don't want the producers to think that I am going to slow down production. It was between me and one other, right down to the wire, and they went my way. If I show up limping around now, they're going to reverse course.” He opened his eyes and looked into hers, and then slid her hand from his cheek to his chest but kept holding it there. “We haven't even signed the contracts yet. It's all verbal agreements until there's a signature on the dotted line. And even then sometimes contracts can be broken.”

“What's so special about this part?”

“It's a book...” With her hand in his and her eyes fixed on him, he could tell her why. Maybe not everything, just give her an idea. “Sit here with me.” He patted the bed and transferred her hand to his other one so she could sit.

When she had, and turned her hand over to wrap her fingers around the edge of his palm in return, he took a breath to steel himself.

“Don't laugh.”

She shook her head, squeezed his hand.

“Do you remember, well, your parents would just come home with little gifts sometimes?”

She nodded, still not speaking.

“The book was the first time...I'd been hanging out at your house pretty much every day for about six weeks, and then one night they came home from work and had stopped at a bookstore. Lucy got you some book you'd wanted—I don't remember what it was—but then she reached into the bag and pulled out two copies of another book, handed one to me and one to Nick.”

“Mom liked to do that—still does that, actually. Now they're making that book into a movie and you want to be in it?”

She didn't get it, but he could see in her eyes that she was trying to.

He might be able to explain, but he couldn't do it while looking at her. Letting his gaze fall to where their hands joined in his lap, he tried again.

“It was the first time anyone ever gave me a gift for no reason. Birthday and Christmas presents were real hit-and-miss with my folks, depending on what they'd done with their money that week. It wasn't really about the book. I was just included, like I was an extra son who'd sprung up and was automatically accepted. So...it was the first time I had any idea of what it was like to be in a family.”

When he looked back at her, her eyes were damp and she was silent, clearly working through what he'd told her, and the implications of it all.

“Plus, it's outside my usual roles, so it's kind of a big deal career-wise that I have this part, Gracie.”

Lifting her free hand, she swiped her eyes quickly and nodded. “Okay.” Accepted. “I'll do whatever I can to help you, but understand something for me?”

He turned just a little to look at her better but kept her hand in his.

“It doesn't just anger me that you're causing yourself more pain, but I'll try to ignore that as much as I can. I'll help you do what you need, but please take pity on me, and make all these things you have to do as easy on yourself as you can. No unnecessary walking. Put your foot up anytime you can.”

“Come with me to the premieres tomorrow.” He said the words before he'd really thought about the urge. But the desire was real. He hadn't been at his best on the carpet tonight, and not just because of the ankle. He'd also kept wondering what she was doing. Just how angry she was with him.

“I thought that my coming with you to the premieres was what this was all about?”

“No,” he said, letting go of her hand so he could move around her and his foot was propped up on the bed beside her. “Come as my date.”

She opened her mouth to say no, and he held up a hand, energy coming from some unknown source to give his words some urgency. “Every time I've gone solo to a premiere or event, I end up doing way more walking around. Come with me. Be my date. Keep me with you and I won't do as much walking.”

“I don't know. I don't have a gown or anything.”

“Tom can fix it.”

“It's late, he'd have to do some night shopping or very early morning. We're leaving at seven, right?”

“Yes, but he can do a lot from the plane. He's got numbers for both coasts. We'll go to New York and then take a short flight down and back from Virginia. He can have prospective gowns waiting for you. And whatever you need to help get you ready.”

She didn't look convinced. The furrow in her brows could be doubt or worry. What would make her come around?

“You can be my walking stick. So I can lean against you a little and not put weight on my bad leg when we're not walking.”

Her frown deepened. “Will you use a cane?”

“If I have you, I don't need...” Her look stopped him. “I'll carry a cane if Tom can find me something that could look like an accessory. And then I can use it if I need to.”

The frown stuck and he caught her hand again, looking for any way to make it sound plausible. “You know, the movie is a historical. Gentlemen used canes. Maybe I could play it as a nod to the movie and theme.”

“You just thought of that now?” Shaking her head, she pulled her hand free. “Where's your phone? I need to call Tom if we're going to do this.”

He pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. “Inside breast pocket.”

She hung the jacket on the back of a chair and retrieved the trousers she'd thrown on the floor. “Scoot up to the head of the bed. I'm going to talk to Miles about the travel stuff and call Tom. You order dinner—the phone is on the table.”

He could do those things. Scooting up hurt, but he could do it.

She walked to the door, dialing as she went.

When he'd asked her to help him out, it had never occurred to him that she'd have to do so much for him, but it was like a godsend, having her here.

He hadn't thought about telling her about the project earlier. He knew it was silly and sentimental—there could never be resolution with all the dark parts of his childhood, even if the role felt like giving a gift to the child he'd been. A kind of resolution. His parents were dead and gone, so there couldn't be any peace from that corner, but David and Lucy had been the only real parental figures in his life.

And Grace...he could make things right with her. He could make their tentative friendship a real friendship again. Talk it out. Maybe it was time to talk it out now that she'd grown comfortable enough to yell at him. That had to be some kind of sign.

He just had to think about what to say, make sure that he planned it out and didn't do anything to make things worse between them.

Tomorrow. He'd think about it tomorrow. Tonight he'd eat, do whatever she told him to do, and tomorrow, when some of the pain had abated...

CHAPTER FIVE

“W
HAT
 
TIME
 
ARE
we taking off?” Liam asked, leaning back in his seat with the foot rest raised.

The private jet loaned to him by the studio had all the bells and whistles, and none of the executives—both of which he was thankful for. The circle of people in the know was already large enough between his crew, Grace, and Tom—who'd been sworn to secrecy about the ankle situation and seemed happy to go along with the ruse.

“We're supposed to take off in fifteen minutes.” Miles's voice came from the seats behind where he and Grace sat.

Grace had the ice back on his foot, and she'd managed to get another couple of diuretics from James. Liam looked up at her. “Shouldn't I take one of those swelling pills again?”

“Not when you're flying,” she said, settling into the seat beside him.

Despite the understanding they'd reached last night, she still didn't look happy with him or being there.

“Why not?”

“Being dehydrated on a flight increases the chances of a blood clot forming. Really, you should be drinking more water right now, especially since your mobility is lessened—you can't get up and walk around much, and you can't put weight on that ankle to flex the muscles well enough to—”

“But I'm not dehydrated right now. I'm just overly hydrated at the ankle. And our window between when we arrive and when we have to get ready is small.”

“I know. We're doing the best we can.”

“I'll risk it.”

“No.”

“Grace, it took three hours last time to get the swelling to go down.”

“I know, but we'll just have to try and make it work. Maybe keeping your leg elevated on the flight will help it.”

“It's not that elevated.”

“You can lie on the floor after takeoff and put it on the seat again if you want to.”

“It takes an hour to kick in. You want me to compromise on things? You have to compromise too, Grace.”

Shouldn't she be happier with him now? She knew this wasn't just about ego.

“I will, when it's not life-threatening levels of dangerous.” Her mouth said yes, but the shake of her head made him doubt she meant it. “Just relax for now. You have a long flight, and I know you didn't sleep well last night. Maybe you can sleep now that the worst of the pain has passed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I have a way to pass the time if you're all done fighting,” Tom, the middle-aged stylist, snapped at Grace, and pointed to the front of the plane. “I need a few pictures of you.”

Grace made a face. “Liam sent you a picture yesterday and I'm here in person today. Have you deleted the picture already?”

“No, but that was one angle, and it was from behind. I was flying blind on what your chest was like until I met you last night.”

“And now you've seen it.”

“He saw your chest?” Liam asked, frowning dramatically, wanting to cajole her out of her glowering a little. “That hardly seems fair. I'm the one footing this shopping expedition.”

“He didn't see-it see it.” Grace made an annoyed sound, unbuckled her seat belt and went to stand where Tom had directed. She suffered through a series of photographs as he had her stand full front facing, then three-quarter profiles both left and right, and then again from the back, and three-quarters profile back...

By the time they got to the last couple of photos, her hands were on her hips and she repeatedly took deep, disgruntled breaths.

“You're very pretty to be so camera-averse,” Tom mumbled, letting her off the hook with a gesture for her to go back to her seat.

“I don't even want to know why I did that,” she muttered, buckling back in beside Liam.

“You're probably lucky he didn't have you strip down to...” The statement died in Liam's throat.

Since last night he'd been mentally working through ways to bring up that trench coat, but that was not the right way to do it. Especially here in front of everyone.

The hint of color creeping back into her cheeks confirmed that her thoughts had gone to the same place. He had to say something else to drag her out of it, so he went with the real explanation. “He's probably looking at gowns on his tablet and some books. He wants to see you in the right profile so he can easily picture how a dress would work for you.”

“I guess.” She reached for a magazine stashed on the wall beside her seat, shutting the conversation down.

But if that look she'd given him was anything to go by, he had an inkling how she was going to react. Not great, but maybe if he did this right, it wouldn't be so bad.

“Body frame is very important when it comes to the style of a gown,” Tom confirmed.

Just another reason he didn't want to talk about this all here. The small cabin made it possible for everyone to hear every word. They didn't need all their issues on display, this uneasy alliance was already juicy enough.

But he didn't want to dance around the subject anymore. She didn't need to know all the gritty details but he could apologize. Tell her it wasn't a reflection on her that he had sent her away. Remind her about the loyalty and kinship he felt to her family that kept him from considering her as anything other than a friend. She didn't need to know the other reasons, the ones that made up the bulk of his present resistance.

So he'd tell a lie. But a white lie. A lie he wished was true. The loyalty part was there, but it still didn't help him not consider her as anything other than a friend. He considered, he considered so much that sometimes he even got confused about who they actually were. It just wasn't a situation he could pursue.

He'd spent years thinking of the incident in the only way he could minimize it: she'd been embarrassed but had then probably put it from her mind and moved on. Thinking about it any other way left him angry with nothing to fight against.

Twenty-four hours in her presence had brought a few other revelations he might never have come to on his own without seeing her again.

This mess wasn't about her feeling humiliated because they'd both wanted each other but couldn't go there.

She thought she'd been alone in that desire, and that's what hurt her. If that were the case, it meant she hadn't been smart enough to read him right. It labeled her dumb, clueless, or cocky that she knew but didn't care how he felt about the matter. Mostly, in every incarnation of the situation where she felt alone in the desire, there was no making it better.

He'd have to tell her that he'd wanted to drag her to bed and that even now, years later, it had been the sexiest night of his life.

Then tell her that nothing could happen because of his loyalty to her family. If they were both shutting down the attraction with good reasons that had nothing to do with desirability, that might take the edge off the situation for her. It would help him were the situations reversed.

Last night's conversation about the book had been way too revealing for his peace of mind, but maybe that reason was something she'd accept now. He just had to come up with some way to make this all right.

There were very few good things about never pursuing real, lasting relationships—but the one thing he would change right now was not having the tools to instantly know how to fix this. All he really knew was that he had to try.

When they were alone.

The pilot's voice broke into his thoughts, announcing their clearance for takeoff. He had five hours to come up with the right words. And three hours to start hounding her for that other swelling pill.

* * *

“The wrap is getting looser,” Liam said, gesturing to the foot he still had propped up on pillows piled atop the footrest.

The jet had just landed, and they were currently taxiing away from the runway.

She stashed the last magazine back in the rack and leaned over to look at his foot. “The pill is working already.”

“Oh, it's working...” he murmured, doing his best not to give her anything else to be angry about. All this nonsense, as she referred to it, didn't make him happy either. He was getting his way, kind of, but it was hitting home that his way was stupid.

“I hope it means that some of the bruising is dissipating. Seems like that might make sense, there's blood pooled there, and fluid is being whisked away by a medicine. Maybe it will take some blood with it. I really don't know if it works that way, but it would be nice if it did. Might take some of the soreness,” she said, then turned in her seat to look at Tom. “Did you find a good cane for him to use and pretend is just for show?”

“I did. I have a friend in antiques, he called around and found something nice and the right length. It has a sword hidden in it.”

“So, if we're set upon by bandits, I can defend you.” Liam smiled at her. She might not be trying to talk him out of his plan at every turn now, or telling him that it was stupid, but their conversation definitely hadn't diminished her surliness over the situation.

“I think it's more likely that if we're set upon by bandits, they'll be aiming to kidnap you. Ransom you for shiny baubles.”

And she was grumpier the closer it got to the premiere.

“Is there any way you can do the carpet prowl thing and then come back here and skip the actual movie?”

“We'll skip the early movie in Virginia, go strictly red carpet, then fly back to New York,” he answered quickly, then redirected her attention back to his ankle and away from worrying about tonight. “The bandage is loose enough to feel irrelevant. Think you could wrap it again before we disembark?”

She leaned over to look out the window. “I guess there's no flight attendant to tell me to stay buckled in until we get to the gate. So, sure.”

She unbuckled to head for the other side of his seat. He watched her flick the tape off and then unwrap the loose dressing. “How does it look? Think you can still tape it like before?”

“It doesn't matter if I should or not, but if the swelling continues to abate, we'll tape it. I'd be happier if it were also in the splint.”

“I think my ankle feels a little better.” He changed the subject to something that he hoped would ease her. She hadn't smiled the whole trip. Even when he'd assured her that it certainly felt better than last night.

It made him feel better at least. Reviews had come out that morning before the flight, and those had made him feel good too. Good enough that even if his ankle was hurting, he'd make the premieres.

The cane would help.

Having her there would help.

Two separate walks would not help, but it had started to look possible that his foot wouldn't actually fall off and leave him with that bloody stump.

Now, if he could get any clarity on the trench-coat situation...

* * *

Liam's ringing phone echoed inside the back of the car sent to fetch them on the tarmac. Miles sat in the front with the driver, leaving Hailey and Dexter behind to get the luggage from the jet and catch up, and Grace all alone with the Sexiest Man Alive.

“You just turned it on. Does it send a homing signal for people to call you when you turn it on?” she asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Her mood had to improve. How many women would kill to be Liam Carter's red-carpet date? But every time he looked at her she felt like he was going to bring up that night. He hadn't, thank goodness, and he'd given her no real indication that he wanted to. Every instance when something had been said that might lead into that conversation, he'd changed the subject too.

She should relax.

“I think so.”

He answered the phone and began talking. Reviews. Good reviews. Or what she'd call great, at least the ones she'd seen before they'd got into the air. And she had seen no mentions of his limp. So maybe he was right. Maybe she only noticed because it was her job to notice.

Tonight was the last night that he'd have to be on that ankle, and then tomorrow she'd get to go home, only see him at the clinic for treatment, and soon enough that would be over too. She'd get her quiet life back.

Today it was easier to look at him. Something had transpired between them last night when he'd held her hand to his cheek and made his soft confessions.

The king-sized bed in his hotel suite would have comfortably slept them both, without either of them ever touching one another or even realizing that they'd been sharing a bed probably, but it was a move that Grace hadn't been able to accept.

Even though he'd offered.

Even though she'd slept on the couch and had got up every two hours for twenty minutes to wake him and ice his ankle.

Staring was bad. She forced herself to look back out the window. It was safer.

Even though she'd undressed him. Actually, the undressing was probably a big part of why she said no. Yes, he had been in his underwear in front of her, and that was similar to the outfit she'd worn at the scene of the Big Rejection. But things had been different. He was confident in his body, because... Damn. They had him shirtless in every movie for a reason, and it wasn't to display the dramatic black tattoo wrapping around one shoulder and crawling down the arm.

She became aware that the pitch of his voice had changed, and then began actually listening to the conversation. “Yes. I have an injury, but it's really not that big a deal. I twisted my ankle the other day on a run. It's...”

He paused and listened. When she made eye contact, his scowl communicated enough: she was wrong. They cared. They cared a lot.

“Is that your agent?” she whispered.

He nodded, mouthed, “Conference call.”

So it was more than his agent. He squirmed in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. This car was much smaller than the one they'd used in LA. He could put his leg up, but he'd have to drape it across her lap.