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“I have a good feeling about you.” He winks.
The waiter returns with my wine and takes our orders.
Once he leaves, Vic leans closer. “So tell me about yourself. How did you become such a gifted stylist?”
Typically, I don’t mind talking about my business, but this feels personal, intrusive, like he’s asking about my private life rather than my professional skillset. I can’t form a realistic response so I take a sip of my wine, giving myself time to figure out what I can offer without revealing too much.
“Well, my grandmother taught me to sew when I was a teenager.” I spin a yarn a mile long, hoping he’ll eat it up. There are nuggets of truth woven through the story, but nothing that could be traced to my broken past. I might be outlandish in my clothes and personality, but I prefer to keep my past buried and locked away from prying eyes. I’m not one for wearing my shame in public for sympathy or ridicule.
The more I speak, the more he listens. It’s like he’s absorbing all of the information, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s interested or just placating me. Finally, I shift the conversation to him.
“Enough about me, tell me about you.” I smile and sip my wine. “Did you always want to be an actor?”
“No. I kinda fell into it.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and chuckles. “I was working construction on a film set when the lead actor was injured trying to do a stunt. I stepped in for the stunt work. After that gig, the director called me to audition for a role in his new film.” Vic shrugs. “I fell in love with it.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s a relief when you love your job. I mean, I couldn’t imagine doing a job I hate.” I shiver at the thought of being stuck in a thankless job I didn’t enjoy, and I’m reminded how fortunate I am for all I have.
Dinner arrives, and we eat while enjoying conversation scattered throughout the meal. Being in his company is the reprieve I need. His presence garners looks from neighboring tables, but he’s kind and gracious to those who recognize him. Vic Simmons is an enigma, and I find myself wanting to know more about him.
But that’s not how this works. I only accepted his invitation because I knew there could be nothing between us. Just distraction and maybe some hot sex.
After dessert, a decadent crème brulee, Vic signs the check and meets my gaze. “Shall we?” He stands and offers his hand.
I take it and let him escort me from the restaurant. I feel like a celebrity myself as we weave through the tables to the exit.
In the corridor, he leans down. “Would you like to come up to my room?” He whispers the question against my ear.
“That depends on what you have planned?” I tease, brushing against his body with my own.
“I have every intention of seeing those lips put to good use.” His blue eyes blaze with heat and unspoken promises.
But there’s something beneath it. Something dark and unnerving. A warning to walk away.
“Mmm. Tempting, but maybe another night.” I pull my hand free.
In a flash, the blue in his eyes turns to a raging, stormy gray. He snatches me by the wrist and pulls me into an alcove leading to the bathrooms. I try to wrench my hand from his grip, but he’s too strong. My heels twist uselessly on the carpet as I try to catch my balance, stumbling behind him.
“Vic!”
He smothers my shout with his mouth as he pins me against the wall. We’re alone in the dark hallway. I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His hot, unwelcome kiss leaves me stunned, and I squeal in protest when he shoves his tongue between my lips. He steals my breath, plunders my mouth.
The roast chicken I had for dinner churns in my stomach. No matter how hard I shove against his body, he doesn’t move. He’s a brick wall of solid muscle and determination.
Help! I’m screaming in my head, but no one can hear me. I have to get him off me before I choke on the panic.
In desperation, I bite his tongue. He rears back and glares at me. There’s a flash of movement and a burst of pain as his hand connects with the side of my face. Warmth blooms across my face.
I gasp and clutch my cheek. It’s wet. He strikes a second time, sending me reeling. Then he grasps my shoulders and slams me against the wall.
My skin burns and my brain shorts out.
It’s not Vic, it’s Dan. He’s standing over me with a wooden rolling pin. I barely scream when he swings it at me. My body aches from the countless strikes. I sob and pull inside myself, covering my head with my hands, hiding my face. Stop! I scream, but he doesn’t listen. He keeps going until he’s content with the damage.
Just like that, Dan is gone and Vic is back.
“You’d best not decline such a gracious invitation.” He grits his teeth.
No, I can’t let him win. I won’t let him best me like Dan did. I’m stronger now. Stronger than I was. I can fight back.
