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“Hm?”
“When I arrived, were you writing the scene you told me about earlier?”
“Mm-hmm, but the reality of you is so much better.” His fingers idly trace the outer curve of my breast. “I’ll go back and improve it in the morning. Add those fuck-me stockings.”
“I thoughtDark Angelwas a sci-fi thriller about a vigilante lawyer.”
“It is. With hot scenes that you inspire. Sorry about your blouse.”
“No, you’re not.” I rub my leg against his indolently. “But neither am I. In fact, I like knowing I’m your source of inspiration. Like a muse.”
“You fit the bill. A beautiful, feminine spirit who stimulates creativity by arousing the body and brain with sensual energy.”
“Sounds like a convenient description that artists invented to get laid.”
“Well…” He raises his lips to mine. “We are known for our ingenuity.”
“I can attest to that.”
Our laughter turns into wonderful kissing before he resumes his resting position. I close my eyes, feeling sated and sleepy and happily in love. His light caress on my skin is hypnotic. I’m starting to drift off when I hear the murmur of his voice again.
“My mind being on other things, I forgot to ask about your dinner.”
Lexie’s advice comes crashing back through the tranquil intimacy.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” The word ricochets in my head.Fine, fine, fine.People left you alone when you were fine. They didn’t probe and poke for the real feelings. They didn’t see the secret stashes of food or the stain of tears on the inside. Childhood memories twist inside me, matted and messy.
“Dee.” He stops the nervous play of my fingers in his hair and reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp. I blink against the sudden brightness and see his quizzical expression. “What just happened? You were relaxed before I asked about dinner and now you’re not.”
His awareness is no surprise. He knows me well. Knows from the tensile stress in my body that fine isn’t fine. I could feed him pretty white lies and get the easy, post-coital mood back. But since we’ve reunited I’ve been nothing but open and honest with Mick. It’s secrets that ruined us before. I won’t make that mistake again.
I take a deep breath. “Lexie brought up something we haven’t talked about.” Something that I have the urge to escape like a deer that senses an approaching wolf.
“What’s that?” The muscle ticks in his jaw. He knows.
“Your…your fame and handling reporters.”
“Christ.” He rolls onto his back and I mourn the loss of his body. “What did she say?”
“That we were seen together at her party, that someone alerted the media…that you’re gorgeous and famous…that a woman in your life will be a big story. She suggested we head it off with a press release.”
His features steel into a rigid mask. “No.”
I should be relieved that he doesn’t want this anymore than I do. Instead I’m taken aback by the finality of his response. “Justno. Didn’t you hear anything I said?”
“Yes. And don’t you think I hear you breathing through your anxiety? See the fear in your face?” He abruptly climbs off the bed. “I’m not putting you through a press release.”
I follow him, clutching the sheet to me while he remains naked. “Because you don’t think I can handle it?”
“Because you shouldn’t have to!” His hands fist at his sides. There’s an undertone of anger that I don’t understand. “Dammit, Dee.” He strides to the other end of the room. “You were the one to tell me that you couldn’t live with reporters invading your privacy. What do you think a press release will bring?”
Bony wings of panic beat in my throat. I can picture the headlines, the hash tags, the comparisons that will be made between his previous line-up of supermodels and me. They won’t be kind.
Mick isn’t blind to my insecurities. He sees them in me every day, every time I cover up. Of course, he doesn’t think I can handle the press and the things they will print. I’m not sure I can either.
He shoves his legs into a pair of sweatpants and prowls in front of the window like a caged tiger, his hand scraping through his hair, his movements restless and agitated.
