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‘What happened to the dress?’ he asked.
She looked down at the T-shirt and jeans she’d changed into after her shower. ‘I thought I’d go for a walk on the beach after breakfast. This outfit seemed more practical.’ And a lot less revealing. After her second shower of the day she’d been feeling considerably less bold.
‘That’s a shame—the dress was something else.’
She rubbed
her hands on the worn denim. Not sure what to make of the little peak in her heartbeat at the casual compliment. She really needed to get hold of her ridiculous reaction every time he said something nice to her.
She tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. ‘I think I’ll go for that walk now.’ The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating.
He smiled, placing his coffee cup on the table as he stood. ‘Good idea. We can walk round the point during low tide to the public beach.’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘They have the best ice-cream stand in LA there.’
She hadn’t planned on him offering to come with her. ‘I’m sure I can find it myself, if you have something you need to be doing.’
His smile widened as he pulled his T-shirt on over his head. Her eyes were drawn to the play of muscles as his abdomen disappeared behind white cotton.
‘As it happens, I don’t have a thing I need to be doing right now,’ he said.
He slipped his hand into hers as they took the terrace steps to the beach. Squeezed.
‘So what was his name?’
Drat, he hadn’t forgotten a thing.
She tensed and tried to pull her hand out of his. Mac hung on.
He’d seen how wary she was when she’d walked into the kitchen, and had considered for a moment letting it drop. But as he watched her eat the breakfast he’d cooked for her he knew he shouldn’t. Figuring her out was the first step to getting her out of his head for good. As long as she still had secrets, she’d continue to fascinate him.
Once he knew why she’d picked him, and picked now, he wouldn’t feel responsible any more. He was counting on it. There’d be no more guilt trips. And anyway, he’d always been deeply curious about people, other people; it was part of what made him good at what he did.
‘Are you really sure you want to hear this?’
He heard the plea in her voice and forced himself to ignore it. ‘Tell it like a story. It’ll be easier. That’s what my shrink says.’
Her eyes went round in her face. ‘You have a psychiatrist?’
‘Everyone in Hollywood has a shrink. They’re like a fashion accessory.’ He’d only been the once, and he hadn’t told the guy a thing—it had reminded him too much of being in the confessional as a lad—but she didn’t need to know that. If he wanted her to open up, it made sense to put her at her ease. ‘And confession’s good for the soul. Remember that.’
She slanted him a sideways look. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
Not for a minute.
‘Of course I do. I was born a Catholic.’ He swung her hand in his and grinned. ‘Now tell Uncle Mac everything. It’ll make you feel better, I guarantee it.’
She huffed out a laugh, and he knew he had her. ‘Oh, all right, then, but I still don’t understand why you want to know.’ She took a deep breath, shielding her eyes against the sun. ‘His name was Tony. I was just sixteen when I met him.’
‘How old was he?’ He hated the bastard already.
‘Older.’
Figured. ‘How much older?’
She dropped her hand from her brow. ‘I don’t know. I never asked him.’
‘So how did you meet him?’
‘Me and my best mate Candice wanted to see this movie. But it was an eighteen certificate.’
