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She sat up, swinging around to face him. “And where are you taking me?”
He walked toward her. “It’s a surprise. Are you game?”
“Of course I am, but what about the press?” She indicated the window.
“They’re not invited.” He grinned.
“But how . . .?”
He leaned over, touching his forehead to hers. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
Her pulse skipped. “Just give me a few minutes.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
Her lips twisted. “You could’ve done that earlier.”
His smile was wide. “Yeah, but my way was so much more enjoyable.” He opened the bedroom door, striding out.
~ ~ ~
He was gone for five minutes before Nicole jumped into action. Could this really be happening? Was he actually going to take her away for the weekend? Where were they going?
She threw an assortment of clothes in her backpack, along with her toothbrush, hair brush, comb, and bath paraphernalia. She added her laptop, iPod, and wallet to the mix before sprinting down the stairs. She glanced around the hall but couldn’t find him.
“Hey, where’d you go?”
“I’m in here,” he called down the hall to her.
She followed the sound of his voice, entering the office. “I see you’ve found my writing nook.”
The room had a large picture window, a window seat, and was situated at the back of the house. It was bright, airy, and she absolutely loved it. Her desk was positioned in a strategic corner, catching the best light. Reece’s poster was hanging directly above it.
He was silent as he looked at the walls; his face was everywhere.
“What do you think? Isn’t it great?”
He turned to her at last. She took a small step backward at the look on his face. He was angry. “What do I think?” he asked, gritting his teeth.
“Reece, what’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes, raking his hands through his hair. “I thought you were different.”
Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
He waved his hands at the walls. “All of this. You’re just like the rest of them,” he accused. “What do you want from me?” He bent over at the waist, breathing deep. “Did you plan it? Did you purposely throw yourself in front of me at the airport?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He scowled at her. “You heard me.”
“Is that what you think? That I’d purposely throw myself in harm’s way to meet you?”
He waved at the walls. “How can I not after seeing this shrine?”
Of all the stupid, egotistical . . . Yes, his pictures were the most predominant throughout the room, but they were hardly the only posters on display. There were pictures of assorted men tacked all over the walls, including other movie stars and models.
She planted her feet in a fighter’s stance; her hands were on her hips, and she was glaring back at him. “Conceited much?” Stomping over to the poster above her desk, she ripped it down, tossing it at his feet. “It’s called visual inspiration.”
