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“Look, Ash, look.”
I opened my eyes and felt dazed. The boat was closer now and we could see small shapes. People were obviously taking pictures of the High Line and the hotel. And that was when I came in a blinding, leg-trembling rush, just as the flash of a camera went off and I imagined our carnality caught forever on some unwitting person’s holiday snap.
Chapter Ten
An hour later we were spent, on the bed, limbs entangled. My breathing was only just beginning to return to normal, skin dewed with sweat. I felt as undone as I had last night, and my mind boggled at what had happened in just the past twenty-four hours. I also felt more sated than I’d ever felt in my life. It was disconcerting.
This time yesterday I had been vowing not to let Johnny near me again. And look how well that had turned out, a voice said frigidly. I comforted myself with the thought that this was just the crazy initial rush of lust. Surely somet
hing that burned this bright would fizzle out just as quickly?
Johnny moved minutely, and as his arm shifted slightly from around me, something caught my eye. Without thinking I reached across his chest to stop his arm and turn it toward me. It was a tattoo, inked into his skin just on the underside of his biceps. “What’s that?”
Immediately I could feel him tense. I reached out and traced the line of Celtic script. “What does it say?”
He took his arm back down. “Ah, nothin’. It’s just something I got done a while back.”
Now I was wide-awake. Johnny was being evasive. Perversely it made me feel on a much more even keel. I pulled at one of his chest hairs.
“Ow!” He glared at me.
I smiled sweetly. “What does it say?”
He glared at me some more and then finally lifted his arm again. I stretched across him, very aware of my breasts pressed against his chest. I traced the joined-up words with a finger and read out loud, “‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.’”
“W.B. Yeats,” I mused aloud. “My dad’s favorite Irish poet to quote whenever he gets blind drunk, which is about every couple of months.”
I looked at Johnny and he was just staring at me. “Sorry about your Dad. That’s rough.”
I shrugged. “He won’t get help. He thinks it’s under control because he goes back on the wagon periodically. It’s probably the only thing saving his liver. Liam’s had to deal with it more than me. I had my own issues with our mom.”
Johnny’s hand drifted up my back, keeping me in place sprawled across his chest. “What happened in LA?”
His eyes were so dark, so blue, that I felt like I was drowning. I rested my chin on my hands.
“Mom was busy working. She’d always been ambitious, which was part of the problem with Dad, who was much more traditional. She got some high-powered job in an actor’s agency. And I...hit puberty and went off the rails. I missed Liam and Dad. New York. I was gangly, insecure. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. Smoking dope, joyriding, petty crime...”
My mouth twisted. “I’m lucky I didn’t get addicted to something or wind up pregnant.”
“How did you make a break from all that?”
“One day I ended up in jail for some misdemeanor with a bunch of friends. We were let off with a warning. My mom collected me and took me out of school the next day. I was never the most academic anyway.” I ducked from Johnny’s gaze now, self-conscious to be admitting such a thing. He tipped my chin back up with his finger.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I cursed him silently even as something swooped inside me. How could he read my mind like that?
“What happened then?” he prodded me.
I sighed. “My mom had a friend working in the film industry, so when I was seventeen I got a job as an intern on films. I discovered that I loved the makeup department the most. I worked my way up the ranks to become chief of the department. In the end the politics and relentless schedules got to me. And I’ve always missed New York. I’m looking forward to going into business with Jenna and having a life again. With film, it’s impossible to plan anything in advance.”
I hadn’t even told Liam exactly what my plans were, and yet here I was blithely spilling my guts to Johnny.
He smiled, oblivious to my inner conflict. “Well, I think your idea sounds like a grand one.”
His approval made something in my chest swell. Danger. So I pulled at his chest hair again. “Why the tattoo?”
He sighed this time and put his head back on the pillow. “It’s stupid.”
