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Head tilted, she was still studying him. More like she found him curious rather than repulsive, but he wasn’t sure he liked it any better. “You don’t have to sound quite so appalled at the thought,” she told him. “It’s not like I’m a leper or something.”
What in the hell?
“It’s just tonight. Here. The dinner. Your dress. You offering me a key. It got out of hand for a second, but it changes nothing.”
She nodded. Her lips pursed now. “So you...liked how I looked tonight...” If she only knew. “I told you that my Hollywood persona gets me a lot of attention.”
She was taking his situation in stride.
He had a hard-on that was about to kill him.
“You don’t have to act like it’s so distasteful...being attracted to me.”
“Come on, Kace. You get this. You and me, sex isn’t a part of it. And it can’t be. Neither of us wants it to be. I still don’t. Mostly I didn’t want to make it any more than it is. I don’t want you to start feeling uncomfortable around me. Or thinking you can’t talk to me.”
She nodded. “Michael, sometimes I wonder if I have to hit you over the head with something. You bring something into my life that I’ve never had before. I’m addicted to it. I trust you. Completely.”
And then he realized he was the one who didn’t get it. “You aren’t upset that I’m attracted to you.”
She half shrugged. “In my own twisted way, it makes me feel more secure. You have to understand, Michael. Since I was a little girl I’ve been taught that my value is in my looks. If you didn’t like them, at least a little bit, then I’d feel, deep inside, that you didn’t like me. I’d spend the rest of my life telling myself differently, but it’s how I’d feel. According to Dr. Freelander, it’s how most American women are programmed, at least to some extent, because of our society and the attention given to models and beautiful women, and sex. It’s everywhere. On TV, the only women you ever see nude, or partially so, are gorgeous. Dr. Freelander says I’m a little more programmed than some women because of growing up in that very industry.”
Great. Okay. Good.
He wasn’t sure where that left them.
Or him. He was turned on by her. Not by every woman. Or any of the other beautiful woman he’d seen that night.
“If you were ugly, I’d still be dazzled by you.”
“And I think that’s why I’m addicted to you.”
Her grin was totally the old Kacey. And he kicked off his shoes.
“Welcome back,” he told her. And felt better than he had in a long time.
Even with a painful penis.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SHE NEEDED TO let him get to bed. Needed her own rest. The cameras weren’t kind to a woman with bags under her eyes, and she had another full day of shooting before three days off in Santa Raquel.
Where Michael lived. And now their relationship was changing. She didn’t know what it all meant. Didn’t have any idea where anything would lead. She just knew that for the first time since she’d been shoved down on the beach, she felt...good.
Like she was looking forward to getting up in the morning.
The furniture in her living room was pleasing. The lighting she and Lacey had carefully chosen was soft and nurturing. The city beckoned beyond the sliding glass door. Everything felt filled with possibility.
It felt...familiar. Dr. Freelander had told her those feelings of normalcy would return. They might leave again just as quickly, but they’d be back and stay for longer periods of time.
She’d been doubtful. Had really believed that those terrible moments on the beach had stripped away her ability to feel joy.
“I have a confession to make,” she told him.
“What’s that?” Michael was sitting back, an ankle on his knee, an arm along the back of the couch, watching her. There were no lines on his face. And there was no concern in his eyes.
“I’ve had the hots for you, too, tonight.”
His foot went down to the floor. The rest of him didn’t move. “If you think you need to placate me...”
