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“How big a portion is that?”
“All of it. Only fair, don’t you agree, since I’m putting a roof over your head?”
“If you’d include some actual food with that roof—”
“Can’t you think about anything but food?”
“Not at the moment.” She grabbed one of the cookies from her tray and took a big bite. It was still warm…and delicious.
“No time for that.” He snatched the cookie away and stuffed it in his mouth. “Damn, these are good. Chaz’s cooking gets better all the time.”
She watched the cookie disappear. For a year everyone had been trying to coax her to eat, and now that she had an appetite, he was taking food away. It made her even hungrier. “I wouldn’t know.”
The end of the driveway came into sight, along with the beefy security guards stationed there. Several dozen paps and a few members of the legitimate press clustered in a noisy pack in the street. Georgie gave them a gay wave. Bram took her free hand, and fingers linked, they carried the cookie trays forward. The paps began “hosing them down,” a particularly distasteful term that described the aggressive shooting of celebrities.
“If you guys play nice, we’ll pose for some pictures,” Bram called out. “But if anybody comes too close to Georgie, we’re going inside. I mean it. Nobody gets near her.”
She was momentarily touched, and then she returned to Sanity Land as she remembered Bram was acting the role of the protective husband.
“We always play nice, Bram,” one of the women reporters shouted over the din.
Even before Bram passed both trays over to the security guards to distribute, the questions began to fly. When had they hooked up? Where? Why, after all these years, had they gotten together? What about all the bad feelings between them? One question followed another.
“Georgie, is this a rebound from Lance?”
“Everybody’s saying you’re anorexic. Is that true?”
She and Bram were pros at handling the press, and they answered only the questions they wanted to.
“People think this whole thing is a big publicity stunt,” Mel Duffy called out.
“You go on dates for publicity,” Bram retorted. “You don’t get married. But people can think what they like.”
“Georgie, rumors are flying that you’re pregnant.”
“Really?” The wound ached, but Georgie played the clown and patted her waist. “Hello? Anything in there?”
“Georgie isn’t pregnant,” Bram said. “When it happens, we’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Are you taking a honeymoon?” The reporter had a British accent.
Bram rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. “When we get around to it.”
“Do you know where?”
“Maui,” he said.
“Haiti,” Georgie said.
They looked at each other. Georgie went on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his jaw. “Bram and I intend to use this silly overexposure we’re getting to call attention to the plight of people living in poverty.” She didn’t know a lot about Haiti, but she knew it had poverty, and Haiti was a lot closer than Thailand and the Philippines, where Lance and Jade were doing their good works.
“As you can see, we’re still discussing it,” Bram said. Without warning, he drew her into his arms and gave her the lusty kiss the press had been waiting for. She went through all the proper motions in response, but she was tired, hungry, and trapped in the arms of her oldest enemy.
They finally separated. Bram addressed the crowd while he fixed her with a hungry lover’s gaze. “You’re all welcome to hang around, but I can guarantee we’re not going anywhere tonight.”
She tried to blush, but blushing was beyond her. Would she ever know what had happened in that Vegas hotel room? She hadn’t seen any signs that they’d made love, except they’d both been naked, which she supposed was a fairly big sign.
As they walked back to the house, his hand strayed to her bottom for the benefit of the onlookers they’d left behind. “Nice,” he said.
